FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE

CHAPTER THREE: THE TRADER

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Sheppard watched as a fairly short man came around the side of the scientist, never lowering the bead of the rifle pointed up at McKay's skull. Most of the stranger was in shadow, but Sheppard could make out a long, dark duster over a lighter colored suit and a black hat like a 1920's mobster's hat. McKay's 9MM was stuffed in the front of the stranger's pants. Surprisingly, McKay seemed to take his hostage taking in stride, annoyance the only expression on his face as the cold barrel bumped his head a few times.

"Watch it," the scientist grumbled when the metal bumped him on the temple hard enough to force him to pull his head away. The man finally stopped moving then. Sheppard forced a smile, focusing on the glittering eyes hidden inside the dark recess created by the hat brim.

"Now, now, there's no need for that," the colonel said, laying on the charm and lifting his left hand up placatingly even if his right was still wrapped around the trigger on the P90. "We're not here to rob you or anything."

"This rifle is cocked and has a hair trigger, stranger," the man informed him, and to Sheppard's untrained ear, he sounded almost as if he had an English accent of some kind. "Any sudden movement will probably set it off, so I wouldn't try to shoot me right now, no matter how fast you think you are."

"Yes, well," Sheppard tried to take a step forward, "Perhaps then you should—"

"Put your weapon down," the stranger ordered. "I know a machine gun when I see one. Put it down. The handgun too. And if you have a knife, like this one did, toss that as well."

Sheppard grimaced, but, despite the man's obvious stealth, he didn't really seem that dangerous to the colonel. He glanced at McKay, seeing the sheen on sweat on the scientist's face, recognizing that the man was not likely to stay upright on his own for much longer. McKay wasn't even looking at him any more—the scientist seemed fixated on the flickering fire, like a drug addict on the lights at a rave.

McKay's unnatural stillness made the decision for him. Sheppard's right hand opened, releasing the P90, and both hands came up.

"Okay," he agreed, moving slowly to unclip the P90 from his vest. He let it fall, and then, equally slowly, he pulled the 9MM from his hip and dropped that to the ground as well. Finally, he pulled the knife and let it drop.

The man nodded, dropped his rifle to behind McKay's back, and nudged the scientist forward with it.

McKay nearly fell when he took a step on his bad leg, but he somehow made it into the circle of the campfire. He glanced balefully at Sheppard as he reached him, then sort of collapsed to the ground next to him, rolling over into a sort of sitting position.

"Sorry," he said weakly, his voice breaking on the word. Though whether he was apologizing to the colonel for being caught, or to the stranger for falling, Sheppard wasn't sure. It seemed to be a pattern with them tonight.

"You're hurt," the stranger noticed, as if it hadn't been obvious before from McKay's stagger.The shadows outside the camp must have hidden the extent of the damage, now that it was night.

"How observant of you," Rodney replied wryly, shifting again to try and alleviate the pain.

The stranger walked the rest of the way into the firelight, lifting his head and allowing Sheppard to see his face clearly for the first time under the brim of the hat. It was not a young man—he was, perhaps, forty five or so, with pale hair and a neatly trimmed vandyke beard and moustache. His eyes were almost black because of the light level, but the irises were pale...probably blue, though it was hard to tell. His hair appeared fairly neatly groomed under the hat, not long, but not short, and a few telltale white streaks made it seem even lighter. As for height, he probably wasn't an inch over 5 foot 7. A pair of shaggy eyebrows lifted, and the stranger pointed his rifle at Rodney before aiming it at Sheppard.

"He needs a doctor. He won't last long with that wound on his leg. Lost a lot of blood."

"Man's a psychic," McKay muttered, still not quite focused on what was in front of him.

"Rodney," Sheppard warned quietly, "be nice."

A snort came from the scientist, but that was about it.

"Who are you?" the stranger asked, still not lowering his rifle, which he now trained on John.

"I'm Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, and he's Doctor Rodney McKay. Who are you?"

"Doctor, eh?" the stranger smiled, looking again at Rodney. "What kind?"

"The bleeding kind," McKay mumbled.

"He's a scientist," Sheppard answered. "And who are you?"

The stranger looked at him again, tilted his head, and asked, "What are you doing here?"

Sheppard nodded, "You're not going to answer my question, are you?"

"I'm the one with the gun."

"Right," Sheppard smiled, "Good point."

"What are you doing here?" the stranger repeated.

"We had a bit of trouble back in Garillion. Got caught in the cross-fire when some rebels attacked the Governor's citadel. I'm trying to find a place where I can properly tend to his wounds, someplace safe I can hole him up for the night."

"Rebels?"

"That's what it looked like," Sheppard shrugged. "So...we answered your questions..." He trailed off, raising his eyebrows.

The stranger stared at him a moment longer, his eyes clearly measuring him. Finally, something in the colonel's face must have helped him make a decision as, screwing his face up a little, he sighed and lowered the rifle.

"The name's Connam. Eric Connam. I'm a merchant trader."

Sheppard arched an eyebrow at the familiar sounding name, "Eric? Really?"

Connam's shaggy blond eyebrows furrowed, nearly forming a line. "Yes. Why, is that odd?"

"No, no," Sheppard shook his head, "It's just...Eric's a fairly common name where we come from."

"It's a fairly common name among many worlds," Connam replied. He still looked puzzled, and he tilted his head again as he took in their clothing. "Actually," he glanced up at Sheppard again, "it's you who are the odd ones. I've never seen your style of dress, nor do I recognize your names." He frowned. "Where exactly are you from?"

Sheppard's smile reappeared, "Is that important?"

Connam arched an eyebrow, then shook his head. "No, I suppose it's not." He looked again at McKay, then at the dressings. He looked back at Sheppard, "I have some bandages and medicines in the back of my wagon. I'll let you have them," the eyes narrowed, "for a price."

Sheppard sucked in a quick breath, "I'm afraid we haven't any money."

"No," Connam looked down at the weapons at Sheppard's feet, "but you have other things."

The colonel's eyes narrowed a fraction. "What do you suggest?"

"One of them knives ought to cover it."

This time it was Sheppard who raised an eyebrow. "You mean they're not yours now?"

Connam snorted, "I am not a thief, Colonel. I'm a trader. Bandages and medicine for one of your knives. What say you?"

Sheppard stared at him for a moment, then smiled crookedly, "Throw in some of that food, water and a little information, and I'll let you have both knives."

Connam tilted his head again, then nodded, "Your word you will not try to take the knives back? Or anything else of mine?"

"Yes."

"Done."

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TBC...now didn't that seem easy...