The following morning John sent a grumbling Rodney out to find a suitable target for him to shoot. It was a grey, drizzly day and Rodney returned, damp and complaining an hour later, having persuaded Vorra to part with a rutabaga type vegetable that she was about to cut up into a stew. He had made his way out through the gates and down the hill to perch his rutabaga on a rock that he estimated was about two hundred metres from the outer rampart.
"You'll just have to hope it's still there later," he said, crossly, holding up his damp cape in front of the fire. "Something'll probably come along and eat it. And you shouldn't be shooting, anyway. The recoil on those things is fierce."
"Can you hit a target at two hundred metres?" John asked, pointedly.
"You know very well I couldn't hit a barn door at two hundred metres, Sheppard!" replied Rodney. "I'm only thinking of you - Breesha's going to tie you to your bed!"
The door curtain was moved aside and Coll entered, followed by Breesha and Vorra. The women squatted by the fire, as usual, adding sticks to it and poking it into more of a blaze as if to show John and Rodney how they should have been tending it. John gestured to Coll to sit on the bed, with the P90 between them. Coll looked excited, as if he were about to receive a treat.
John took his arm out of its sling (Breesha narrowed her eyes at him) picked up the weapon and took out the magazine, showing Coll the rounds and then mimed them flying through the air. Rodney smirked at John's sound effects. Coll looked interested.
Then he put the magazine back and showed Coll the four others he'd had in his tac vest, pointing to the rounds and saying, "That's all there is." He wanted to get across that it wasn't a magic weapon that would last forever, but a finite resource. Coll nodded, but John wasn't convinced he'd understood.
"OK," said John standing up, P90 in his hands. It felt strange holding it wearing his Iron Age clothes. "I think we're ready for our demo."
He stepped out into the dreary day and everyone followed. The women put their cloaks over their heads and John could hear Breesha grumbling under her breath and Vorra agreeing. They made their way out through the inner gate and along the gap between the ramparts to one of the watchtowers. At the top several of Coll's warriors were lounging against the walls. They straightened up when they saw their chieftain and nudged each other, grinning when they saw John's weapon. John wondered what they expected to happen.
He saw the men were carrying their spears and thought he'd offer them a challenge. Going to the outer wall of the tower, John peered down the hill through the fine rain. He could see Rodney's target, sitting on its rock. So could Vorra, who pointed and spoke crossly, glaring at Rodney.
John pointed to one of their spears and then to the rutabaga on its perch. The men all snorted with laughter - nobody could hit that.
John gave another go ahead gesture, saying, "C'mon, have a go, just for comparison!"
One of the warriors shrugged, nodded, then waved everyone back to create some space. He raised his spear, drew it back over his shoulder and threw in a smooth, powerful motion. Coll and the other warriors gave a rumble of appreciation, clapping the man on the back. It was obviously a good throw, but John could see that it had landed less than halfway to his target.
John prepared to fire. He widened his stance, made sure he was stable and began to raise the weapon to his shoulder.
"Wait a minute!" Rodney stopped him and took the folds of John's cape, rearranging them and bunching them up to protect his injured shoulder. "Go on, then, get into trouble!" he said.
"C'mon, McKay, you know this'll be fun," grinned John.
Rodney moved away and put his hands over his ears, motioning to the other observers to do the same.
John raised the P90, blinking the rain out of his eyes, aimed, and let loose a short burst. The shockingly loud rattle ripped into the still morning air, the weapon slammed back into his shoulder, as expected, and the rutabaga exploded into vegetably fragments.
Coll and the warriors all roared in amazement and then cheered, clapping John on the back, heedless of his pain. Vorra had let out a surprised shriek when the gun discharged and then dissolved into laughter, pointing down the hill to the scattered remains; obviously a vegetable well-spent, in her opinion. Breesha tossed her head in disapproval; she could see the tenseness of John's stance and the furrow between his brows, even though he was grinning in delight at their reaction.
Coll reached out, asking if he could have a go.
"I'll deal with this," said Rodney, taking charge. "Put your arm back in the sling, Sheppard."
Rodney took the P90, made sure the safety was on and then held it up for Coll and helped him get a proper grip. He bunched Coll's cape up on his shoulder as he'd done for John, then he mimed squeezing his trigger finger very gently. He made sure Coll was pointing the weapon out at the empty hillside and that everyone else was out of the way, flicked off the safety and then waved: go ahead.
Coll squeezed the trigger, and the harsh sound of the weapon's discharge shattered the stillness once more. Coll was breathless with surprise at the shock of the noise and the recoil. He rubbed his shoulder and looked at John with concern. John smiled back and shrugged, lop-sidedly.
"Seefor?" asked Coll curiously.
Breesha intervened, clapping her hands in an 'enough's enough' manner. She spoke firmly and obviously so very much to the point that the warriors swiftly disappeared about their business, her husband was dispatched about his duties and Rodney, fearing she would start on him next, took himself off to the forge, taking the P90 with him. John sidled towards the steps, hoping to make a break for it, but Breesha turned to him, hands on hips, about to let loose a furious tirade. She looked at him, standing in the rain, his hair and cape drooping down damply, obviously in pain, but wearing a sheepish half-smile.
She sighed, shook her head and just pointed to the stairs and John meekly allowed himself to be herded back to the hut, Breesha admonishing him all the way, her words unintelligible, but almost certainly including the phrase, "Haven't got the sense you were born with," amongst others.
Back at the hut she made him sit on the bed and then ruthlessly stripped off his cape and tunic and removed his bandages. His half-healed wound looked red and sore, but it hadn't opened again. Breesha rebandaged it, still scolding and Vorra, who was building up the fire, met John's eyes and smirked as if she had been on the receiving end of her mother's wrath many times and was amused to see someone else targeted. Breesha pointed to the bed with a look that said, "Move from there at your peril!"
John put his tunic back on, his arm twinging painfully. He lay down on the bed. Breesha was right. He shouldn't have done it. But it was worth it, he thought, smirking. The look on Coll's face when the rutabaga exploded had been priceless!
Breesha took his wet cape and flung it over one of the rafters to dry. Behind her mother's back, Vorra caught John's eye and mimed an exploding rutabaga, grinning. Yes, it had definitely been worth it.
oOo
Rodney peered round the edge of the curtain.
"Has she gone?" he asked, nervously.
John, who had been dozing on the bed, yawned and rubbed his eyes. "Breesha? Yeah, she went ages ago."
Rodney came fully into the hut, still carrying the P90. He pushed it under John's bed and looked at John strangely.
"What?" John asked.
"Just looking for the ropes," said Rodney. "Where she tied you to the bed."
"Oh, ha ha," said John humourlessly.
"Seriously, that woman is scary. Maybe we should invite her back to Atlantis," said Rodney, thoughtfully. "She could mount a one woman campaign against the Wraith."
"Leave her alone, Rodney," said John. "Breesha's OK."
"Oh, let me guess," Rodney taunted, "You gave her the mischievous little boy look and she fell for it."
"At least I didn't slink away, tail between my legs!" replied John.
Before Rodney could riposte, the curtain twitched aside once more and Coll entered, looking nervously over his shoulder.
"See?" said Rodney. "He's meant to be the big important chieftain and he's afraid of her!"
Coll smiled at them and sat down on Rodney's bed. He gestured to John's arm enquiringly.
"Yes, good point," said Rodney, "tell us what damage you've done."
John put his left hand over his right shoulder and flexed it experimentally. He winced. "It's stiffened up quite a bit," he admitted.
Coll looked around the hut. "Seefor?" he said enquiringly.
"I'll show him," said Rodney. He took a block from his tac vest, throwing John the pack of Tylenol while he was at it, and sat on the bed next to Coll. Coll looked at the block in bewilderment.
"OK," said Rodney. "I'll keep it simple. P90?"
Coll nodded. Rodney made a little exploding motion with the fingers of one hand accompanied by a small "Pfitz!"
Then he waved the block of explosive at Coll and said, "C4?" Coll nodded again and Rodney replied by clapping his hands together and then moving both arms in a wide arc while simultaneously shouting, "Boom!"
Coll looked impressed.
John said, "Great miming, McKay. Is that how you explain things to your fellow scientists?"
Coll looked round and made a writing motion. Rodney extracted his slate from its place tucked behind his belt and passed it over. Coll drew a rough sketch of a raiders' ship. He pointed at it. "Boom?" he asked.
"Now you're getting the idea!" John grinned.