MAKE THE PIE HIGHER
or How to Build a Nation Using Only 2 Alien Warriors, 1 Genetically Superior Flyboy, 1 Mad Scientist, and a Single 10,000-year-old Flying City


John's First Proclamation as King of Planet X is as follows:

The old ways have been abolished. Planet X shall henceforth be a democracy. Elections will be organized in several weeks time.

He has it posted in the center of every village in his new domain. Nobody has yet informed him that even if the villagers could read, they wouldn't know the meaning of the word ‘democracy' let alone ‘elections.'


John Sheppard gets to be king of Planet X, thousands of light-years away from home like this:

"I would prefer it if you were to stay," the Lord Protector says, looking fat and hostile sitting back in the control chair like that.

"Well, I'd prefer it if I left," John replies, not bothering to keep the snide out of his voice.

"Please, John, you must stay. We can be married and you will make such a wonderful ruler. And our children . . ." Mara says, looking so very earnest. She's a nice girl and he doesn't like disappointing her, but he really really can't stay with these crazy people and party like it's 1399.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I mean, it's not you; it's me. I have obligations . . . duties. My own people depend on me and I need to get back to them right now."

He tries to give her a charming smile, even as he's activating his radio. "Rodney, Ronon, Teyla, get back to the Gate, we're going home."

"We're already there," Ronon says. Of course they are.

"Are you all right, Colonel?" Teyla asks, sensing the tension in his voice.

"I'm fine. Radio Weir, tell her we'll be in early." This way, if they try to stop him, the rescue team'll come in quick.

"I'm afraid I cannot allow you to do that, Lieutenant Colonel," The Lord Protector says. The chair reclines and John sees an image of the Gate, three figures stand there, two looking alert and the other impatient.

"No . . . don't!" John shouts, thinking that he's about to see another drone blast where his team is standing, but instead, the Gate deactivates.

"Huh," he says.

John can't hear anything, but he sees Ronon ask something and Rodney snap something agitated back. He tries to dial again. Nothing happens. Shit.

"You . . ." John yells, pushing his way past the alert but still non-threatening guards beside him to get closer to the Lord Protector. "I thought I was a guest here."

The Lord Protector nods. "You were . . . until . . ." he gasps a deep gurgling breath and the chamberlain races forward to attend to him.

John can just make out Rodney looking frustrated and angry on the monitor before it flickers out. Double shit. He can't see through the commotion happening in the throne chair, the guards suddenly body-checking him.

"The Lord Protector is dead," the chamberlain says at the same time John's radio crackles to life.

"He deactivated the Gate!" Rodney squawks.

John has just enough time to wonder why this always happens to him before he's shepherded off to a very plush velvety holding cell.

Mara comes to visit him that night, and thankfully, he's able to catch the shoulders of her robe before she can slip it off again. Velvet pillows or no, he's not really in the mood for this, what with the whole prison bars and deactivated Gate thing.

"What happened?" he asks her as she sits despondently on the bed beside him.

"His heart finally gave out," she sighs, leaning against him and not trying to protect her very perky breasts in the slightest.

"I'm sorry," John says, putting an arm around her. It was her father after all, even if he was kind of an evil tyrant. He wants to ask about the Gate, but he knows that's just not decent.

"If I am not married, succession will go to Tavius. He will mistreat the villagers and abuse his power. If you cannot find a way to escape through the Stargate, he will most certainly have you killed."

John nods. What he really needs to do is to find out whether or not McKay got the Gate working. Getting killed in a struggle for succession is high on his list of things not to do in the Pegasus Galaxy. "I'll think about it."

She looks at him, eyes liquid and wide, almost reminding him of one of those Japanese animations. "You must have your decision by morning."

Then she leans down to kiss him. It's sweet, more an invitation than anything else. As she rises he stops her. "Mara?"

"Yes?" She sounds far too hopeful for a girl whose father has just died – bouncy.

"Is there any way for me to talk with my people?"

She nods, opening one of the intricate folds of her robe and handing him his radio. Huh. Well, that's one good thing in there.

"Hey, guys, you there?"

"Colonel? Thank god. Are you okay?" Rodney's voice comes over loud and clear.

"Yeah, yeah. They've got me holed up in the tower. You guys?"

"Back in the village. Any chance you can get the Lord Protector to unlock the Gate sometime in the near future? Cardboard stew doesn't really do the body good, eh?" Rodney sighs, exasperatedly. John thinks he can hear his stomach grumble even over the headset.

"Um . . . that's going to be a little hard, Rodney."

"What'd you do now? Deflower his only daughter?"

He shoots Mara an apologetic look and a shrug. She takes the hint and heads out.

"No, actually . . . he's dead. Is there any way you can get the Gate to work from your end?"

"If I could have, I would have, Colonel." Oh yeah, this is why he doesn't like to let Rodney go unfed – he's pissy on an empty stomach. "He did it from the Chair and the only way to undo it is from the Chair. And seeing as how you're the only one of us living in the lap of luxury up in the Penthouse, it's going to have to be you."

"I'm in a prison cell, Rodney."

"Oh . . . well, maybe I should have called for those reinforcements after all. I didn't want to risk stranding anyone else here before the Gate's fixed, but I don't think Teyla and Ronon and I really stand a chance against . . ."

"It's okay, Rodney. The only immediate danger I seem to be in is getting married against my will."

"Married?"

"Mara, the Lord Protectors daughter, says succession won't go to her unless she marries."

"Okay, first, can fictional characters have reincarnated lives? Because, seriously, this whole Captain Kirk thing is really starting to get old. Secondly, what are you waiting for?" This is about the last thing John's expecting from Rodney, considering how he's actually just skipped right over the jealous little tantrums and gone straight to . . . pimp?

"Rodney . . ."

"You marry her, sit in the throne chair, unlock the Gate, make a couple of laws about feeding the townsfolk and not . . . being fascist, and we get out of here. It beats climbing the castle wall using Ronon's hair."

"But . . ." John's not entirely sure, ‘but, I don't wanna get married,' is an adequate excuse.

"Please, it's not like it really means anything anyway." Rodney huffs and hangs up on him.

The wedding ceremony and the coronation sort of blend into one. Ronon and Rodney eat their weight in local foodstuffs, Teyla gets hit on by disgusting noblemen, but pastes on a pained but diplomatic smile anyhow. John plays the one idiot that doesn't know the ceremonial dance, lights up the chair once, and is forced to drink far too much. He also kisses his new wife and makes a proclamation.

By sundown, he's drunk as a skunk, and also . . . king.


By the third day of John's rule, the villagers have come to a consensus that democracy is either:
a) Rule by demon
b) Anarchy
c) Part of an intergalactic empire
d) All of the above

They are not particularly happy.


John's wedding night goes down like this:

"Colonel? What exactly are you doing here?"

Rodney looks sleep-mused and comfortable, sitting up from a sprawl of plush pillows and silky blankets.

John slides down the door, looking both ways. He's wary of something standing oafishly in the corner. But after a while he realizes that it's just a statue. Oh right . . . still a little drunk.

"Um . . ." Rodney says. It's kind of cute.

"I'm hiding." John tries to struggle to his feet but fails spectacularly. Thank god the floors here are soft.

Rodney stands up, and walks over to help him. "Hiding from what?" he whispers.

"Her."

"Oh, that makes it so much clearer. Who, exactly?"

"Mara." John sniffles a little, leaning his head against Rodney's shoulder as he's manhandled over towards the bed. Rodney smells good.

"Your wife?"

"Yeah."

"And why are you hiding from a gorgeous blonde with a nice smile and an a similarly inbred genetic lineage on the night that you're supposed to consummate your marriage with said gorgeous and in all likelihood flexible space bimbo?"

Well, when he puts it that way, it does sound rather idiotic.

"It's not a real marriage."

"And since when has that ever stopped you from wallowing in alien pussy? Chaya wasn't even a real human and you still slept with her." Is Rodney never going to let that go?

"Wasn't like that." John waves Rodney away drunkenly, though he's finally beginning to sober up. "It wasn't real sex, either."

"Okay, so non-human sex with non-humans who are possibly only trying to manipulate you is okay, but real sex with real women who you're actually married to is not?"

"No."

"If you're trying to be noble and make me think that you're not an inter-galactic space-slut by being here, you've succeeded. Now, please, go get laid. Then at least one of us will be."

Rodney is kind of sexy when he's frustrated – brings color to his cheeks.

"Can't."

"Why not? She married you for your genes. I don't think she expects you to profess your undying love afterwards. But then again, knowing women . . ."

"Because she's um . . . she's missing some of the crucial parts." So maybe he's still a little to the left of sober, because there's no way that he'd admit that to Rodney under ordinary circumstances.

Rodney's mouth drops open. "You mean like she's not really human and we've stumbled into some society of asexual mutants with tentacles for sex organs?" Okay, so John really does want to think about that.

John rolls his eyes. For such a smart man Rodney can sure be dense. "She's a she."

"Oh . . . oh . . . those missing parts. So you're um . . . you . . ."

"I'm gay, Rodney."

"Hmmm . . ." Rodney broods for a moment, looking down at his hands. Then he brightens, flashing on of his devastating ‘I'm so brilliant' smiles. "Well can't you just fake it?"

John sighs. "No, I can't just fake it. Women just don't turn me on. Can you even imagine yourself naked with a man?" John's seen the straight guy tucking his tail between his legs and running thing enough times to know that there are just some things that don't work.

"What kind of stupid question is that?" Rodney snaps in a way that somehow implies that Rodney's imagined it plenty of times, thank you very much.

In all John's fantasies of finding out he and Rodney are sexually compatible, there's always a lot less patronizing stares and a lot more sex.

John's options are either to take one for the kingdom or sit here and listen to Rodney ramble on about the qualities he can come to appreciate in a woman and how he couldn't possibly imagine not being attracted to both genders (it's a speech he's heard before. In John's opinion, bisexuals aren't more open-minded; they're just greedy.)

He doesn't want to hear any more talks of beautiful blondes so he leaves Rodney to it and walks back to his rooms.

The royal bedroom is about the size of the Gateroom, with the biggest bed John has ever seen at the center. It's so big he's not entirely sure how it manages to be structurally stable. Everything smells of this heady mix of roses and cedar, a fresh deep floral scent that John can't quite pin down. It makes his eyes want to close against the bright colors of the textured tapestries that hang from the walls, the transparent silk that surrounds the bed like mist.

Mara is laid out in the center of it all, perky rounded breasts partially covered by golden ringlets. She smiles at him. It's a friendly smile, not a smoldering seductive one. He looks over the fine curve of her body, the small bulge of pot-belly from a little too much feasting, the small scar on her inner thigh, the clear blue of her eyes. She's beautiful, a body more pleasing to the eye than a man's, even with the alluring triangle of her pubic hair shaved away. But there's no stirring in his insides, no heat rising up, no instinct even to take her.

Perhaps he could want to feel those rosy full lips on his. Perhaps he'd love the feel of soft skin flowing beneath his fingertips, but he can't want her, not like this.

"John?"

He doesn't realize he's been sitting there, staring until she calls to him, drawing him down to nestle between her thighs as they kiss. She's an amazing kisser – no blushing virgin being sold off to the mystery of her wedding night.

He lips are playful and soft and they draw delicate sensations from him like sorcery, but even as she hungers for him, thrusting her own hips up to meet his, he can't feel anything, not even a hint of desire.

It's far too long before she notices, but when she does it's with a small disappointed sigh. "You are not used to our liquors, John. I am sorry I had you drink so much."

"It's okay," he shrugs. He should probably explain right now, but he really doesn't want to completely ruin this day for her. He collapses onto his back, clothes still on, and runs his hand down her belly and between her legs. At least one of them can come tonight.

He tries not to think about what he's going to do the next night if Rodney can't fix the Gate tomorrow, even as she whimpers and moans, crying out as his fingers move rhythmically within her.

Her hands reach blindly for him, fooling at his zipper, still trying to draw some pleasure out of him. He wants to tell her ‘no,' to explain, when the door bursts open and he's saved by the chamberlain charging in, expecting to find John in the throws of passion, an easy target.

You've got to love a galaxy where you're relieved when people try to kill you.


John's second proclamation is an amendment to the first:

When I said ‘the old ways are now abolished,' I did not mean that it's okay to kill the Lord Protector.


John, Rodney, Teyla, and Ronon get stranded like this:

"Are you sure you're okay?" Rodney asks, worriedly, clearly not liking the way John is wincing. "That was an incredibly strong poison he used if he really did die that quickly.'

Mara has ordered some of the palace soldiers to go burry the body of the chamberlain in the early morning light.

John closes his eyes further. "The only poison I'm suffering from is that wine." This is a really bad time for a hangover.

Rodney is panicking, Ronon is agitated and pacing and Teyla is trying to keep them all together. "I am concerned with this attempt on you life, Colonel. Perhaps it would be best to attempt to repair the Stargate first and then return to help deal with the political situation."

"But you can't go!" Mara protests. "You're the Lord Protector!"

"And your people are trying to kill him," Ronon snarls, still obviously pissed that he wasn't there to protect John himself.

"But that was just Otho and his own little political games. John, our people need you."

"I already made a few decrees. I'll come back if there's trouble. Mara, you can rule on your own."

"Not with my brother here. He will try to kill me the moment you are gone!"

"Then come with us. We'll keep you safe."

"And the villagers?"

"We'll figure something out. Look, I already told you. I have other responsibilities. Maybe we can have time-share or something. I could come back on weekends."

Rodney snorts. "As much as I'd like to discus your custody arrangements, Colonel, this whole discussion is academic until you sit in that Chair and find out if the codes Mara's father wrote into the Gate are reversible."

"But John . . ." Mara says, even as he's already making his way across the deserted great hallway, the minimalist charm of the Gateroom obscured by a thousand garish tapestries, as hideous and useless as pimples on the smooth metallic surfaces.

John hasn't even sat down when he feels the potential of this place, trapped by a society that can't even comprehend the kind of greatness it was made for.

He sits, scrolling automatically through the villages, seeing people gathered around his proclamations, speculating about them as he hoped. But then the stargate is calling to him like a forbidden treasure, thrumming with energy, wanting connection with a thousand other worlds. He thinks about Atlantis, a city freed from their feudal pomp, the chevrons already written in gold in his mind. He reaches out a hand, not hand, to dial . . . but then . . .

A face, old and fat and laughing, laughing like lightning and thunder rolling in his brain and all the can feel are flabby hands gripping him and words in red, in the flashing scrawl of the Ancients, but he knows their meaning: forbidden.

The pain consumes him even as he pushes. It doesn't have to be Atlantis. Any gate, anywhere. But the path is blocked, the storm clouds consumptive, and he can't . . . he's choking. How can he breathe when reality is liquid fire?

"Colonel! Sheppard? John?" a voice is yelling, high pitched and panicky. Rough hands grab him, pull him out of reality with a tear that rips a scream from his lips and then he's lying back against something warm, panting.

"Colonel?"

He opens his eyes to find Rodney staring down at him, features creased with worry. The carpeted floor is still cold against his back and movement feels impossible, reality thick like a wet blanket. It takes so much effort to move his tongue, it feels fuzzy and alien. "He's blocked it. There's no way to dial the Gate."

Rodney flinches back in horror. He's got that panicked glazed look in his eyes, like the world has just come crashing down.

Perhaps it has, John thinks as he himself crashes into darkness.


In John's absence, Rodney (who refuses to be humbled by the title of Chamberlain, no matter how many times people say it) makes another proclamation:

Democracy means a government decided by the people. And if I hear another person even talk about demons or evils spirits I will personally remove that rock you are clearly using for a brain and beat you over the head with it.

This results in the dismantling of approximately 1,421 shrines to the Earth Goddess Maya and 1 to the god Om, who appears in the form of an incredibly pissed-off tortoise. Many years later, the first generation of Planet Xian judges will take this as legal precedence for separation of church and state.


The first crime committed under John's government happens like this:

"The Lord Protector demands your tribute," the Constable says, gripping Eldred's arm tight.

"But the proclamation . . ."

"The proclamation says government by the people. And I'm a people. So hand over your crops."

"No!" Minedra shouts. "This is all we can spare! Can't you see that we are starving?"

"I do not care!" the constable says, backhanding her quickly and efficiently. "You will pay tribute, even if we must take it in other ways!"

After he rapes her, Minedra does not tell anyone. Perhaps the new ways are not so different than the old. She even manages a brave smile when Ronon comes to visit the next day. But, like any soldier, he can smell violence.

Just one look at her and he ignores her pleasantries, arguments that the next time she will offer more than sufficient tribute.

"What happened here?" he says. And she tells him everything.

Minedra has never seen one look so angry. The people of her village have learned to suffer through their anger and the soldiers are stony-faced and superior. But Ronon, he looks as though any moment he will crack at the seams. "Where is he?"

"What?" she asks, timidly.

"Where is he, so I can kill him."

Part of her wants that more than anything. But she knows that it will only stoke their anger. The Lord Protector needs soldiers as fish need water and all soldiers are the same, drunk with their own power. "He is a member of the royal guard. You cannot."

Ronon stalks up to her. His size still surprises her and she shrinks back in fear. "Where is he?" he growls.

"In the Tower, in the soldiers quarters with the rest of the guard."

He turns to leave, coat flying behind him, until he stops, looking around her modest hut. Eldred and her friends are out in the field, working to further increase their harvest for the next tribute, giving her one day of peace that they can barely spare.

"Come with me. We'll take care of you."

"But . . ." she protests. "I cannot come with you. I am not of noble blood."

If anything, he looks even angrier. "Doesn't matter."



Teyla is worried about John. He's been unconscious, tossing and turning with fevered dreams for two days now. She thinks that perhaps Ronon was mistaken, removing him physically from the chair, despite the pain it seemed to be causing him.

The court is agitated that John will not grant them audience and throw the usual nightly feast. Rodney has tried several times to have them all removed from the Tower, but they will do nothing while their king sleeps.

Teyla's two teammates react similarly for such disparate personalities. Ronon prowls restlessly, stalking around the grounds and into the nearby villages. He is going to visit Eldred today, which is in fact a blessing. Ronon's agitation never fails to make Teyla nervous. It is hard enough to react against the difficult situations they often find themselves in, without having to control Ronon as well.

Rodney is also restless, and exorcises it mostly by shouting at courtiers and working on the Chair interface.

There is a tentative knock on the door, which Teyla ignores. It is no doubt Mara, making another attempt to look after her ailing husband. Teyla still does not trust her alone with John. How could a strange creature like her who knows nothing of battle or even hardship even hope to understand someone like John?

Rodney says they are stranded, and on this world with customs even more alien than the Atlanteans, all they have is each other.

Teyla's meditation is broken by a soft moan. She's at John's side in an instant as he pushes himself up from his nest of uselessly decorative pillows, squinting and cradling his head in his hands.

"John?" she speaks softly.

"How much'd I drink?" he groans.

"You did not consume any alcohol, Colonel."

"Teyla?" He blinks up at her.

"Do you know where you are, John?"

He looks around, taking in the plush cushions and the gold-detailed wall hangings and sighs forlornly. "Planet X."

Teyla nods. "You tried to activate the Gate."

John groans. "How long?"

"Two days."

"How goes it in the kingdom?"

Unfortunately, Teyla has no good news for him. "Dr. McKay does not believe there is any way to activate the Gate. Atlantis is dialing in every twelve hours for radio contact, but they will not risk sending anyone else through."

John nods, forcing himself up higher on the stack of pillows at his back and accepting a drink of water from Teyla. He hasn't even finished when they hear shouting in the hallway.

"You can't just kill them, Ronon. As much as these people want to believe it, this isn't the dark ages."

"What he did is unforgivable," Ronon says, slamming the door wide open.

"Yes, yes, and maybe it deserves life imprisonment. I mean we don't even know if he's a repeat offender. We don't even know that he's guilty. You can't just don your loin-cloth, grunt a few times and beat someone over the head for their crimes."

"I'll make it quick."

This conversation is making Teyla nervous. First of all, Rodney arguing for compassion is always a strange thing. Second of all, Teyla's only ever seen Ronon this unleashed once and that was after he'd walked into a room full of armed men and killed in cold blood.

"Ronon. Rodney. Please calm down, explain to us what happened."

"Sheppard," Ronon acknowledges with a nod.

"Oh thank God," Rodney sighs. "Are you okay? Brain still intact? I mean who knows the true strength of the mental interface and without Carson here . . ."

"I'm fine, Rodney," John says with a small smile, though he quickly shifts the focus to Ronon. "Now what's this I hear about killing people?"

"The constable. He hasn't learned that the old ways are over."

"So you want to kill him?"

"He raped her, Sheppard. He deserves to die."

Teyla wants to interrupt, to ask who, because, really in all this they have to put the needs of the victim to the forefront, find out what retribution she demands and decide on appropriate punishment, but before she can get over the shock, John is talking. "Rape is a horrible crime, Ronon, but I'm not in the habit of just killing people without knowing the full story."

Teyla is not sure these are appropriate words for a soldier, but she holds her tongue.

"I'm not in the habit of killing people at all, Colonel," Rodney huffs, crossing his hands across his chest.

"Yeah, yeah, save the socialism for when we get back home, Rodney. I don't like the idea of it anymore than you do, but if I'm not sure if we have the resources to keep the ex-constable of the guard imprisoned."

"We can't feed him, so we'll just kill him? Apply human-rights codes you learned from Steve-the-wraith now, are we?"

John rubs at his temples. "Look, just give me some time to think this over."

"Who says it's your decision to make?" Rodney asks indignantly.

"Well, I am king."

"And if you want to be a good king you have to look at the future repercussions of this. Whatever you do now will set a precedent."

"So we send the message that if you rape a woman, you get shot," Ronon says. "Deterrence."

John seems to be considering it. He and Ronon are both soldiers. Teyla is a warrior, but she has never lived a life of orders, clear-cut policies and hierarchies and physical punishment.

"Well can't you just whip him or something?" Rodney asks. As Teyla has always suspected about Rodney, his line for compassion is very clearly drawn and it only extends so far.

Teyla herself is not entirely opposed to the idea of such punishment. On Athos the most popular punishment had been exile. That option has been removed from them here.

"Perhaps we should find out what the victim thinks about all this," Teyla states, forcing herself to calm. She is used to being the serene one in this group of impulsive men. "It is her right to assign both blame and punishment, not ours."

Rodney rounds on her. "Maybe that works in a small community of a couple hundred, but we can't just invite familial retribution and things like that by letting the victim decide the punishment. The purpose of government is to at least look impartial."

"Yes, but we do not yet know what is considered to be acceptable in this community. Perhaps rape is a regularly used tool of the guard and too-harsh punishment will cause an uproar. Or on the other hand, if whipping is as routine as I believe it to be, it will not convey the gravity of the offense."

"Well, Teyla does have a point," John muses. "We don't know what the guards have been trained to do. We can't just have a bunch of armed men roaming the streets without some sort of established code of behavior."

"Yes, Colonel, but what are we to do with them?"

Rodney snaps his finger, already grabbing for his tablet. "Easy. We lock them in. They're quartered here in the city. We just lock them in until we have this sorted out."

"You can do that?" John asks, incredulously.

"Please. Who do you think turned off all the hot water and environmental controls in Bates' room on three separate occasions, hm?"

Teyla smiles at that, knowing that Rodney had done it to defend her.

"Okay, good. You do that . . . um . . . Ronon, maybe tomorrow you can get started on er . . . retraining the guards."

Ronon grins, nodding.

"And the woman who was raped?" Teyla asks, not wanting them to forget the focus of the conversation.

"We'll hold a trial," Rodney states, flatly.

"Okay, um . . . Teyla could you round up some jurors?"

"Jurors?" Teyla has never heard this word before. She hopes that it does not mean a certain type of whip or perhaps manacle, though she's pretty sure she's heard all of the Atlantean's words for manacle – they've been held prisoner enough times.

"Um . . . random people, not related to the crime who will decide guilt or innocence."

"Are you kidding me?!" Rodney exclaims. "These people are barely able to farm potatoes, what makes you think they have the ability to decide a legal case?"

"Well what do you suggest, Rodney. This is supposed to be a democracy."

"And democracy doesn't necessitate a jury. There are plenty of countries where judges are considered acceptable. And who do we make judge, hm? You? You can barely stay sitting up right now."

"But I'm the Lord Protector and they'll accept what I say. To them you're probably just my Chamberlain."

Rodney throws his hands up . . . "Fine, fine, I'll just be in the Chair room, trying to figure out how we extract ourselves from this feudal mess."

"Wait, Rodney. Maybe we should . . . you know, establish you in some official capacity. Like, if we're going to have a government, shouldn't we have ministers or something?"

"Yes, yes, it should all be very official. We need to prepare them to have a government even after we're gone. Official positions . . . hm . . ."

And then there's a tentative knock on the door and Mara asks. "John? Are you finally awake?"

"Maybe we should include her," Ronon remarks.

Both Rodney and John shoot him twin glares. Rodney because he clearly believes her too stupid to determine her own people's destiny and John because, Teyla believes, she makes him nervous.

Teyla has a bad feeling about all of this.


Planet X has a penal code before it has a full constitution. It goes something like this:

1. Lethal force is only acceptable when:
a. Used against Wraith or enemy combatants or really scary animals
b. In self-defense
2. The role of a police officer is to quell violence and bring offenders to trial, not to punish. The following acts are not acceptable behavior for said officers.
a. Rape
b. Whipping
c. Unnecessary violence (yes, Ronon, you too)
d. Coercion
e. Stealing
3. Civilians are allowed armaments to protect themselves.
4. All crimes will be reported to the tower and will result in a fair and public trial, which may or may not be done by a jury of peers.
5. Punishments are determined according to the specifics of the crime. Murder, rape, and hideously violent acts may include death as a punishment.
6. Other more minor crimes may be punished by fine, forced labor, community shunning, imprisonment, and corporal punishment. Drone weapons will no longer be used for anything other than matters of national security.


The first cabinet meeting of acting-president John Sheppard's government is recorded on thick yellow parchment as follows:

Acting President Sheppard: Okay, so about these elections . . .

Minister of Agriculture/Education/Transportation/Comunication/Sanitation/Recreation/Health Emmagen: Excuse me, Colonel, but what are elections?

Acting President Sheppard: They're um . . . they're when you vote for who you want to be in charge.

Minister of Agriculture/Education/Transportation/Comunication/Sanitation/Recreation/Health Emmagen: Vote?

Acting President Sheppard: Teyla, exactly how do you choose leaders on your world?

Minister of Agriculture/Education/Transportation/Comunication/Sanitation/Recreation/Health Emmagen: We come to an agreement.

Minister of Science and Technology McKay: Oh, how very Kumbayah of you. How exactly do you do that?

Minister of Agriculture/Education/Transportation/Comunication/Sanitation/Recreation/Health Emmagen: It comes to pass. People will naturally group around a leader.

Acting President Sheppard: Well, where we come from it's a little more formal than that. But the idea's the same, only it's done in secret, writing the desired candidate on a piece of paper.

Minister of Agriculture/Education/Transportation/Comunication/Sanitation/Recreation/Health Emmagen: But how can you decide who should lead if you don't know who everyone else supports?

Acting President Sheppard: Um . . .

Minister of Science and Technology McKay: Well the point is to vote for who you want and not be pressured by oh say . . . the mob.

Minister of Agriculture/Education/Transportation/Comunication/Sanitation/Recreation/Health Emmagen: The mob?

Minister of Science and Technology McKay: Never mind. And it's all academic anyhow. We're not clearly set up for much of anything right now, Colonel. I mean, we barely have a means to get ballots and things like that out to the people, and when we do, most of them can't read them.

Acting President Sheppard: Well, that's why we have to make education a priority.

Minster of Justice and Security Dex: I already divided the soldiers into policing squads and civic duties. I think that some of those can be used to run elections. They think you'll fire drones at them if you catch them breaking the rules.

Acting President Sheppard: Good. See, we have the infrastructure. We'll um . . . we'll have the people elect a president first. Okay?

Minister of Science and Technology McKay: Prime Minister.

Acting President Sheppard: Prime Minister?

Minister of Science and Technology McKay: This is technically a constitutional monarchy, though you know . . . we don't have a constitution yet.

Acting President Sheppard: Neither does England.

Minister of Science and Technology McKay: So we elect a prime minister. Then what? I mean, we still have to deal with all the actual problems because these people don't know how to do anything other than farm.

Acting President Sheppard: Then we at least know the opinion of the people, Rodney.

Minister of Science and Technology McKay: But we're going to be deciding everything anyway. I mean, I already require about 10 village grunts and 2 relatively educated people to help me start searching the rest of the city. And Ronon's making himself a battalion of soldiers in his image. What more is there to decide?

Minister of Agriculture/Education/Transportation/Comunication/Sanitation/Recreation/Health Emmagen: It seems as though I am landed with a great deal more offices that the rest of you. Perhaps some of these tasks could be handled by the people themselves.

Acting Prime Minister Sheppard: And in time they will all be separate positions. But for right now, let's just stick with simple things.

Minister of Agriculture/Education/Transportation/Comunication/Sanitation/Recreation/Health Emmagen: But I was not a farmer or a teacher or a transporter or any of those things on my world. And I believe that Dr. McKay is the most experienced at matters of health, as he speaks about it so frequently.

Minister of Science and Technology McKay: No, Teyla, I think you're ahead of me in the voodoo department.

Acting Prime Minister Sheppard: Actually, I'm probably the most qualified – I used to fly medEvac and well . . . you get to see a lot that way.

Minister of Science and Technology McKay: So then you be minister of health.

Acting Prime Minister Sheppard: But I'm president.

Minister of Science and Technology McKay: Prime Minister. Acting Prime Minister.

Acting Prime Minister/Minister of Health Sheppard: Fine.

Minister of Science and Technology McKay: And you're better at transportation too.

Acting Prime Minister/Minister of Health Sheppard: I fly planes, Rodney, not horses.

Minister of Science and Technology McKay: Look, this is all very well and good, but I think we need to place city exploration as a priority. In the very least I need to get to the generator room to find the ZPM.

Acting Prime Minister/Minister of Health and Transportation Sheppard: Fine. We'll go this afternoon.

Minister of Agriculture/Education /Communication/Sanitation/Recreation Emmagen: Actually, Colonel, as Education Minister, I believe we should allow Dr. McKay to take several of the people with him, so they might learn more about the technology. You must attend to the court. They have become agitated by your refusal to convene.

Acting Prime Minister/Minister of Health and Transportation Sheppard: Well what if I don't want to convene?

Minister of Agriculture/Education /Communication/Sanitation/Recreation Emmagen: I do not believe you have a choice. They have lived here in the Tower their entire lives, catering to the whims of the Lord Protector. You cannot simply abandon them to figure out how to live in the world themselves without some form of proper training.

Acting Prime Minister/Minister of Health and Transportation Sheppard: Well I guess they can stay in the Tower. We'll just stop feeding them.

Minister of Agriculture/Education /Communication/Sanitation/Recreation Emmagen:: And how are they supposed to get their food?

Acting Prime Minister/Minister of Health and Transportation Sheppard: Buying it?

Minister of Agriculture/Education /Communication/Sanitation/Recreation Emmagen:: These people do not possess any money, John.

Acting Prime Minister/Minister of Health and Transportation Sheppard: Then they'll trade some of what they already own. It'll be like . . . like income distribution. We'll get one of the villagers to offer classes in farming.

Minister of Science and Technology McKay: Maybe we should make currency. It's not that hard. I mean, I'm sure I could figure out how to print a coin with my face on it.


The declaration of independence of the eventually evicted noblemen goes like this:

For as long as our family history has been know, we have been protected and cared for by the graces of the Lord Protector. We are noble in blood and spirit and that cannot be taken from us. We will not work in the fields! We will not learn to take care of ourselves! We will grovel but we will never submit to such dishonorable misery. The Tower will take us back into its loving bosom or we will revolt!

In the end, this proves a very difficult task, seeing as how none of the noblemen possesses nor understands the use of any sort of weaponry. It's also disturbingly difficult to mount a revolution when your natural reaction to an enemy is to invite him over for a feast and proceed to humiliate him before you guests.

In the end, the one who wrote the declaration and any that can read and write are conscripted into the ministry of education in exchange for their daily bread. Whenever she thinks they are about to attempt another strongly-worded letter, Teyla beats them with her sticks.


John and Rodney's first time is the night after the first cabinet meeting, and is much the same, though it is not recorded on any piece of parchment:

John sighs forlornly, burying his head in his hands. "I should've guessed Sateda was run by a military junta." This much is true, considering that Ronon's theory of government is much like Ronon's general approach to life – if it's bad or scary, you shoot it. Other than that, you survive. And having food is always good. John's afraid they might have to conscript whole villages just to feed Ronon and Rodney.

Rodney plops down onto a nearby cushion. "This is hell. Stuck on an alien world where a scythe is considered high technology with only you and Conan and Xena for company. Maybe if I pinch myself I'll wake up." He does. "Ow."

"It's not that bad, Rodney. I mean, at least you're kind of an adjunct ruler of hell."

"Oh, yippie doodle dandy for me. I knew there was a reason why we brought all those social scientists along. Why couldn't they get stranded here, hm? What do we know about government?"

John shrugs. "It's who writes our checks."

"How can you be so calm about this?! You have no idea what you're doing. I don't know what I'm doing! Ronon is training an army and Teyla wants to rule by mutual consensus and our subjects are farmers! And on top of that, we don't know how we're going to get home. People are trying to revolt and kill you and . . . and . . . this is not happening." Rodney is practically hyperventilating now.

"Hey, hey, calm down." John reaches over to grip Rodney's shoulders, looking him straight in the eye. "We'll make this work. I promise, we'll make this work."

"Well, I'm sorry if your highness' completely uninformed promises do little to convince me."

John squints. "You know something, don't you? What'd you find today?"

Rodney sighs. "The ZPM is almost depleted. Even running at the minimal level of operation that it has been for the past 10,000 years, I'd give us 2 more years, maybe 3."

John nods. "We'll get Earth to ship us a Naquahdah generator. It won't be enough to fight off a hive ship, but the threat of drone weapons to take out fighters has been enough to preserve this world for thousands of years."

"Yes, that's all well and good. We're not going to get eaten by the Wraith, but we're still stuck in the Middle Ages. All you're missing, King Sheppard, is some armor and a white stallion."

John smiles a little at that. Rodney's ranting, sure, but he'll get over it. "I want to go back to Atlantis too, Rodney. But there's something to be said about not having the responsibility of the entire galaxy on your shoulders." That's one thing John learned in the sanctuary, if nothing else – that the simple life really was a sort of blessing, if you had the right people to live it with (i.e. infuriating geniuses with surprisingly sculpted asses instead of meditation-fried hippies).

Rodney huffs. "Yes, here we only have a couple thousand backwards farmers, criminal soldiers, and useless noblemen to depend on us."

"I'm sure you can handle it."

"Oh, I can handle it all right. But I'm not going to be happy about it." Rodney crosses his hands over his chest, pouting.

This is when John kisses him.

John's not sure what makes him do it. He's seen all of Rodney's ridiculous pouts before and has been able to fend them off with little effort. But this time, it's different, because in the end, he doesn't think about crop rotations and elections and city plumbing and all those things at the back of his mind. The military's not here. He gets to make the laws and he's going to make them to allow himself this.

Rodney makes a kind of startled mphf, but doesn't pull away. It's not long before his genius-sized brain catches up and then he's scooting closer, hand running up the side of John's face, cradling his cheek as he nibbles lightly on John's bottom lip. It's ridiculously hot.

After about a minute of that, however, Rodney proves that he's perfectly capable of ruining even something this good. "What was that for? It this one of those things where bi and your gay and we're the last two intellectually advanced beings on this planet so we'd better make the best of it?"

John snorts. "I wasn't aware that there were those types of ‘things,' and as a matter of fact, ‘no.' This is one of those, ‘I've always wanted to do that and now I have the time' things."

"Yeah, but aren't you sort of you know . . . married?"

John looks at Rodney askance. "It's not as though it's even a real relationship."

"Oh yeah, right," Rodney says, pouncing. John's just lucky that he gets pushed back into a thick nest of ridiculously decorative pillows and not something hard, as Rodney yanks his shirt up and goes straight for tweaking a nipple.

Then he's licking down John's neck and over his chest and god . . . flicking his tongue in and out of John's belly button. He really hopes there's no lint in there. And then mouthing him through his pants, one hand pressing bruising down on John's hips as they thrust up to meet that hot mouth, urgently.

Rodney slaps his hands away when John tries to reach down to stroke himself. God this is good and why did they never think to do this before they were imprisoned in the dark ages and he was married to a blonde airhead with few skills and even less of the necessary body parts and god what was it that Rodney was doing with his mouth now?

He had John's pants pulled down around his waist, but was still kissing him through the soft silk of what passed for royal underwear here on Planet X. And that's right about when John's brain short circuits.

"It's good to be king," he says, pulling Rodney to him.


The Results of the first election for Prime Minister are as follows:

54% The Lord Protector
12% John Sheppard
8% Constable Viccu
5% Prince Tavius
4% Goldard of Kilmo
2% Senale of Weldland
3% Aska of Titlebourough
4% Mani of Qualla
3% Gallad of Melnach
3% Oliva of Stratsky
2% Vos of Netblack
.03% Abstain from voting
.01% Bart Simpson

Apparently the concept of a constitutional monarchy is utterly lost on the villagers.


First meeting of Prime Minister John Sheppard and his cabinet of advisors:
*The scribe decides that writing out the title of the ministers is giving him carpel tunnel (a disease the Minister of Science and Technology assures him could prove to be fatal)

McKay: I can't believe you voted for Bart Simpson. What are you, twelve?

Sheppard: Well clearly you can't just foist elections onto people who aren't used to that kind of freedom of choice. We'll have to work gradually.

Emmagen: While that is certainly true, Colonel, I also believe that the problem lies in the parochial nature of this planet. Each town seemed to favor their local leader when not voting for the Lord Protector. Clearly he and the constable and perhaps select members of the court are the only truly public figures in this society. We must find some way to adjust for this geographic separation.

McKay: If you so much as think ‘electoral college,' Colonel, I will rip that flag patch off your jacket and shove it down your throat.

Sheppard: Relax, Rodney. I was thinking more along the lines of local governments – Mayors and local town officers as well as representatives to report to the Tower.

Dex: It all seems like a waste of time to me. If we're doing the technology and the educating and the organizing, what exactly will a council of villagers be able to do?

Sheppard: Well, eventually, they'll take control over from us. But more importantly, they'll get to talk amongst themselves – share knowledge, mutual aid, all that.

McKay: And what knowledge would that be, hm? Knowledge of how to tip cattle?

Sheppard: Farming knowledge, for one. And since when do you want us to have a dictatorship, Rodney?

McKay: I never saw the problem with dictatorships, in theory. I mean, all the people who happen to get into power tend to be megalomaniacal psychos who gas their own people and try to take Poland, but we're not going to do that. We're centuries ahead of these people in every single way. We can only help them.

Dex: Maybe they don't want to be helped.

Sheppard: But they do! I mean, what would happen if I suddenly stepped down as Lord Protector?

Dex: Then they'd be vulnerable to the Wraith.

McKay: You can't seriously think they're happy this way. I mean they live in dirt huts. I know that's the lap of luxury for Ronon the Barbarian, but all societies want to progress. We can help them do that. Running water, irrigation, food storage, electricity . . . and that's just basic technological advancements.

Emmagen: And you intend to bring these people ‘into the future' single-handedly, Dr. McKay?

McKay: Are you being patronizing to me, Teyla? Is she being patronizing?

Emmagen: I am simply informing you that as much as you would like to, there is no way for you to help the villagers without their own help.

McKay: And that's why we made you minister of education.

Sheppard: Look, I'm sure we can get Elizabeth to send through info on basic sanitation along with schematics for rural irrigation systems and harvesting technology and all that, and then we can start working on that.

McKay: I'm sure it's needless to point out to you, Colonel, but my unsurpassed genius is completely and utterly wasted on drainage systems. We should be working on . .

Sheppard: Yes, Rodney, it is needless to point out. Look, these people don't need invincibility shields and wave generators and all of the fun things you normally find lying around the city. After we get the database downloaded and sent over to Atlantis and the basic city maintenance checked out, you're going to be working on aqueducts.

McKay: I have a PhD in mechanical engineering, not to mention two others that are a complete waste on this hole-in-the-wall of a planet and you want me to do something that people in togas and leather thongs invented thousands of years ago?

Sheppard: Are you sure you still can?

[Transcript edited for language use and unintelligibility]


The construction of Planet X's first local sewage treatment and running water system for the village of Meshka in the fourth quarter of the southwest province goes something like this:

"I found a shovel," Ronon says, at the same time Rodney comes to the terrifying conclusion that, "They want me to build it out of mud!"

The measure of just how screwed they are is that Ronon's statement might actually have been far more helpful.

After ten days, several thousand tons of mud, and some particularly hot sex (in John's opinion) in that unsanitary (in Rodney's opinion) mud, the village has an aqueduct with a Ancient flow pump. It's not as pretty as the Roman's but the villagers like it. John counts it as a win.


If John or Rodney or Teyla or Ronon knew anything about the hierarchical structuring of government bodies and the separation of powers, they'd be concerned that their constitution ended up creating something that looked like this:

John
|
|
Rodney ---- Ronon ----- Teyla
|
|
Villagers


Teyla's never been in control of the number of people that would make diagrams like this necessary and Ronon and John are military, so they can't really be expected to understand parallel power structures. Rodney, on the other hand, has no excuse other than the pretty view from the top.

Dr. Lin, one of Atlantis' ‘squishy scientists' took one look at the constitution and groaned, but he's and unfortunate choice for the one to read it, because anthropologists like to pride themselves in their policies of non-interference, and Lin isn't the talkative type.


The creation of the Planet X performing art troop goes something like this:

Sheppard: First order of business. The noble's uprising.

McKay: Hah, figures, he goes straight to the military threat.

Sheppard: The only threat to our safety. Besides, why not start with something I'm good at?

Dex: It's under control.

Sheppard: And what exactly do you mean by that?

Dex: I've selected a core group of fighters to name as Specialists. Their training has been rigorous and I am convinced of their loyalty.

Sheppard: How many are we talking here?

Dex: Twenty.

McKay: Twenty out of two-hundred? What are we doing with the rest of them? Making hot dogs?

Dex: Hot dogs do not taste of people.

McKay: And you would know, Hannibal.

Sheppard: Rodney does have a point, Ronon. What exactly are we doing with the others?

Dex: In their quarters.

Emmagen: You cannot just keep 180 men locked in their rooms all day, Ronon. You know they would go crazy.

McKay: Not to mention the huge strain on our resources. That many people should be . . . farming or something. What do people do on this planet anyway?

Sheppard: I guess they farm. Maybe we should institute some sort of basic training for the remaining men.

Emmagen: I am not certain we should consider reintegrating the police force on this planet. They are not needed in fighting the Wraith, and much of the local violence seems to originate from the guards themselves.

Dex: On Sateda, when the troops were on stand-down, we practiced battle hymns and staged recreations of historic events of the past, accompanied by song and rhythmic mock-battles.

McKay: You put on musicals!

Dex: Like that movie you showed me, Sheppard. With the shirtless people.

Sheppard: 300?

Dex: With better music.

*Please note that at this point, Ronon Dex is also appointed as Minister of Art.


Rodney outs them to the team like this:

"Baldric! Get yourself and that sack full of rocks that somehow passes for your brains over here!" Rodney screeches.

Teyla winces her sympathy, helping Baldric to unscroll some of the blueprints for mining of Naquahdah for the city's power generation system.

Several courtesans are milling around, and Mara is floating in the background somewhere, gossiping. Rodney ignores them all, screaming, "Renton, I don't care if Sheppard says we're never using drones again, if you don't stop trying to touch those power circuits right now, I swear I will send you on a drone-powered joyride halfway across the planet.

"Hey," Ronon says, "that's against the constitution." Ronon is warming up to the idea of a Bill of Rights. Of course, if he were able to make one it would probably look like this: Wraith – Bad. Freedom and Fried Chicken – Good. Privately, John thinks that he and America's current president might be soulmates.

"Seriously, McKay, haven't you ever heard of soft power?" John says, poking his head up from a book by some guy named Morgenthau.

"That's not what you said last night," Rodney replies.

Hallway across the room, Mara breaks into tears.


When she hears about what's her first contact team is doing to Planet X, Elizabeth sends through a packet of development handouts put together by the UN. She also includes a copy of ‘The Prince' as a joke. The next cabinet meeting proceeds as follows:

Sheppard: So, do I want to be loved, or feared?

McKay: I vote for feared.

Sheppard: Of course you do.

Emmagen: Surely, it must be better to be loved. If not, how will your people find confidence in your decisions?

Dex: Loved sounds good to me.

McKay: Really? You don't want to like . . . beat people over the head with the constitution?

Dex: Within the ranks, there is nothing greater than the love for one's fellow soldier. Save the fear for my enemies.

Sheppard: Love it is then.

McKay: Yes, says the human tribble. One look at that head of hair and whole nations swoon.

Sheppard: There has to be like . . . a ‘How to Build a Nation for Dummies' or something. I mean, there was that thing Lin sent us on farming . . . and the thing you refused to read about low-cost drainage pipes.

McKay: That's because it was completely unnecessary. I mean, genius here, hell-o. So what if I'm not exactly accustomed to using mud as a construction material.

Emmagen: According to the literature Dr. Weir sent to me, the largest problem for rural health measures following disease is indoor air pollution caused by unhealthy cooking fires. Women are disproportionately effected. As minister of health, I must suggest . . .

Sheppard: Hey! I though I was Minister of Health

McKay: Great, now Elizabeth's turned you into a feminist too!

Sheppard: Teyla!

McKay: Ow!

Dex: If you hit him again, we won't stop hearing about it.

McKay: That's right, that's right, pick on the man with possible parasites from being elbow deep in mud all week.

Sheppard: Teyla, no. Rodney, would you please try to . . . be . . . well, never mind. Just, these people depend on us. Teyla's concern is perfectly valid. If we don't do something about the smog problem, then these women are going to get sick and eventually die.

McKay: If they're stupid enough to use toxic products in their cooking then . . .

Emmagen: It is not their food, but the cooking fires.

McKay: Well, I'm sure that with a little training, I can teach some of the villagers how to make coiled heating elements. We're not lacking in scrap metal and the process is . . .

Sheppard: What are they going to power them with, Rodney? The mud of the ditches we spent the week digging?

McKay: The catacombs run under most of the villages. We'd need more wiring, which would mean either a better alloy-creation process or an extensive sweep of the city, but it shouldn't be that hard to connect them to the city's power grid. I mean, I'd have to down step the power significantly if we're just talking about heating elements, but . . .

Sheppard: How about we find out how much power we have first.

McKay: Which is what I wanted to do in the first place, but no, somebody wanted a big public show of mud-filled good-faith so he could preen like the darling little Lord Protector that he is.

Sheppard: Hey!

McKay: I'm sorry if I'm the only one on this god-forsaken planet with more than the technical knowledge to screw in a light bulb, but I can't both try to fix the city, find us a way home, and reinvent civilization from the ground up.

Emmagen: The Planet Xians already posses civilization, Dr. McKay. It is technology that they lack.

McKay: What's the difference?

Emmagen: The difference is that we are not here to tailor-make a world to fulfill out own desires, but to offer assistance to a people trying to fulfill theirs.


The first front page article of the Society section of the newly established Planet X newspaper reads as follows:

Lord Protector and Minister of Science and technology, secret love triangle!

THE TOWER- Those of us close to the royal family and the former nobility are familiar with Queen Mara's recent bought of depression. At first, we believed her half-hearted desire to only consume half a pheasant, instead of a whole one were signs that she was with child, but it has recently been revealed that the source of her depression is a secret Affair between the Lord Protector and his Minister of Science and Technology.

Several villagers in Meshka reported seeing two figures wrestling in the mud during the construction of their aqueduct system, but this paper did not know what to make of the accounts. We believed it to be some form of primitive ritual practiced on the Lord Protector's own world, little did we know that it spoke of unnatural cuckoldry!

Also, it is the opinion of this reporter that the Minister of Science and Technology is far too balding to attract the attentions of the Lord Protector and his rakish mane.

We must ask ourselves, now, what are the true intentions of these offworlders. If the Lord Protector seeks neither to impregnate our Queen with his royal seed, nor use his skills with the throne chair in order to maintain the peace, than is his purpose here more sinister? Or is he simply lapsed in judgment so that he would prefer musical demonstrations with indecently dressed men and trysts in the mud with balding Science Ministers to investment in the bloodlines that have kept us alive for so long.

What kind of demonocracy is this? Surely the will of the people is not naked mud rituals.


The first real rebellion on Planet X goes down like this:

"They have promised us a new world!" Mara shouts, standing proud above the townspeople. "A demonocracy!"

"Actually . . ." Rodney begins, until John nudges him.

"And what do they bring us? Water systems and signing guards? Papers that the common people cannot read and ‘electricity' that we must engage in dangerous mining of this ‘Naquahdah' in order to operate? And yet, the blood . . . the blood that gives us access to the Tower and their protection from the Wraith? They refuse to share it! What King does not consent to share his seed with his Queen."

John winces. "I probably should have slept with her."

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," Rodney whispers back. Is that Shakespeare? Boy, was he a smart man. Plays could have used more sex, though.

Mara looks fierce, proud and strong as she stands in front of the villagers and the expelled courtiers. She's not the delicate little flower, shrouded in innocence that they were all so content to ignore.

"Look at the changes they have wrought on our society!" she exclaims. "A power structure in which they are the new noblemen and we are nothing! Well, thought I find interest in this idea of the demonocracy, where we all participate in the workings of our world, I do not believe these conquerors share it!"

The villagers cheer.

"Shit," Rodney says, just as there's a flash of light and he and John are facing a stern (and constipated) looking Colonel Caldwell.

"Sheppard," he acknowledges.

"Good timing, Sir."

"You know," Rodney says, I almost forgot about the Daedalus.

"Sorry it took so long," Caldwell replies, still looking over the fancy robes John and Rodney have been forced to wear. Rodney hates them – they're not hypoallergenic. "We ran into an Ori ship on our way out."

"Yes, well, shit happens." John tries a grin.

"So things went well with the kingdom?" Caldwell looks skeptical.

"We have a timetable for withdrawal," Rodney adds hastily.

FIN