FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE
CHAPTER NINE: THE RETURN OF THE LIGHT
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Sheppard ducked down a side corridor, narrowly missing being caught...again...by several guards trooping down the poorly lit halls. Didn't these people ever sleep?
With barely controlled patience, he counted softly to ten in his head, then lifted up his life signs detector. Clear for now. Damn thing needed more range.
Letting out a slow breath, he crept back out into the hall and slid down the cold, stone walls. The firelight had cast everything with a warm, orangey glow, but it was just an illusion. When you got right down to it, this place was an icebox in the lower levels.
And yet, down he went. Every staircase, he took. Every step down, he followed.
All he knew was that he wouldn't stop until he hit bottom.
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Rodney woke slowly, as if he were climbing up out of a deep hole, trying to reach for the faint suggestion of light at the top. He was desperate to wake up, anxiety driving him to fight the hold sleep had on him, his fear so strong he could taste the tinniness of it on his tongue.
With a gasp, he surged forwards, and found himself half leaning off the side of a cot in a small, dark wood paneled room. A sharp, stinging pain rocked his abdomen, while a duller, throbbing pain enveloped his left leg. Gritting his teeth, he screwed his eyes shut and shifted backwards, trying to relieve some of the agony he was in. The cot creaked and moaned beneath him, and he stilled, half worried it might collapse.
He tried to cobble together his memory, to understand where he was and why, but nothing made sense. He remembered…running. With the colonel holding him up. He remembered the blood. He remembered shots being fired at him and the others. Why? Where? Ronon! The image of the tall, Herculean Ronon Dex going down under an onslaught of soldiers shot to the forefront of his mind. Ronan was hurt!
"Colonel!" he yelled, once more attempting to surge off of the cot. But the attempt was as pitiful as the yell itself, which had turned out more like a croak. Coughing, trying to relieve the painful dryness in his throat, he tried again, using his arms to pull himself forward, trying to get numb legs to respond, calling for Sheppard. He needed to know what was happening, needed to know who was hurt. "Colonel!" The second yell made him cough even harder. Damn it, hadn't Sheppard just been there?
The door burst open, light flooding in from the room beyond, and a stranger with blond hair stared down at him, silhouetted so completely his face was invisible. All McKay could make out on his face was a pair of glittering eyes reflecting the moonlight streaming in from a small window above the cot. The scientist couldn't stop himself emitting a short squeak of fright.
"What!" the man demanded angrily, clearly unhappy for some reason. "What do you want?"
"Who are you?" McKay demanded, rubbing at his throat, not hiding his complete confusion over the appearance of this stranger. "Where's Colonel Sheppard? I have to find the colonel! What have you done with him?"
The man stared at him a moment, then sighed. "Oh, wonderful," he muttered, shaking his head and moving into the room further, paying no mind to the way Rodney shrank back on the cot. McKay coughed a little more as the stranger pulled out a lighter similar to Teyla's and a candle burst into flame on a sideboard next to the door. Rodney blinked at the increased light, brow furrowing as he was able to see more of the room. The stranger moved even closer, peering at him with dark eyes. "Look, Doctor McKay, the colonel's not here. He left you here with me until he comes back, or I kick you out." The stranger leaned over, revealing more of his face from the shadows, "Remember?"
If anything, McKay's blinking increased, and the bewilderment on his face resolved into an expression of frustration. More memories were coming back now, and he fought the fog numbing his thinking, trying to get them in order. A knot grew in his chest as clarity returned, rising up his neck, and he felt himself stop breathing. Images of Ronon going down, of Teyla trying to lead Travis and Weir down a different route and being trapped, of Sheppard yelling at him to keep moving, of leaving the others behind….
No! Sheppard wouldn't leave them in trouble! He didn't leave people behind.
"What are you talking about?" he spat, the vitriol thick on his tongue. "Don't you understand? Ronon's hurt! They could all be hurt. My friends! I have to help. Where's the colonel? He needs me!" He sat more upright, and moved to swing his legs over the side of the cot, "I have to—"
Pain suddenly exploded from his left leg when he tried to shift it, bursting up his left side and completely taking over his senses. He cried out and toppled forwards off the cot, almost blacking out, but the stranger was suddenly there, holding him up. McKay finally got a good look at his face, and the memory of this man holding a gun on him and Sheppard was suddenly very clear.
He gasped and tried to back away, still reeling from the pain he felt, but Connam…yes…that was his name…Connam held on to his arms, gripping them tightly, almost harshly. It grounded him enough to hear what the other man was saying.
"Calm down," the trader hissed. "Calm down and be still. You'll make yourself worse if you keep moving. Just calm down."
"Worse?" McKay gasped. "What happened?" He coughed harshly, "My throat..."
"Your leg. You've hurt it. And you've a gash on your stomach." Connam said, his voice softening, but not releasing the grip he had. "Now you have to calm down."
Rodney shook his head, unable to do anything right now except ride out the pain and concentrate on finding the others. He couldn't calm down, not yet, not until he knew why they weren't trying to rescue Teyla, Elizabeth, Travis and Ronon. For a moment, he stared at the base of the cot he was lying on...was that a baseball sitting there? He pressed his eyes closed tightly, then opened them. The ball was gone. With watering eyes, he looked at Connam, his need to understand clear on his face.
"Please," he begged, whispering now since his voice was all but gone, "where is the colonel?"
Connam sighed again, then moved to push the clearly disoriented McKay back so he was half propped up against the wall, his legs stretched out on the cot. Reaching over him, the trader plucked a cup off of the small windowsill and handed it to the scientist.
"Like I said, Doctor McKay, he's gone. To rescue four of your people. I'm assuming Ronon is one of them." Connam paused a moment, waiting for McKay to down the water in the cup before continuing. "Try to remember. The two of you ran away from Garillion, which was under fire, and you were hurt. The colonel was trying to find a safe place for you to hide and rest before he headed back for the others. You found me instead. I brought you here. And he left. Took my speedwheel." He sighed, gently plucking the now empty cup away from McKay's fingers. "Sound familiar yet?"
McKay frowned, and looked at the end of his bed again. Connam said the colonel was gone, but he could've sworn Sheppard had been standing right there...
"But...why didn't he take me with him?" he asked finally.
"Huh?" Connam looked surprised by the question, and he shrugged. "Are you kidding? He had to make a choice, remember? You or them. Your leg—you wouldn't make it."
McKay frowned a little at that, looking down at his left leg. He saw the bandage tied around it, and frowned some more. So he had a hurt leg, but his brain still worked, right?
"I don't understand. Why would he leave me here? He can't rescue them alone! I should be there to help—"
"Help?" Connam snorted, "Please. You mean, you actually care about those other people?"
It was asked so snidely, that McKay felt like he'd been slapped.
"What?" he asked.
"A few hours ago, you couldn't see beyond your own suffering," Connam said, still coldly. "Now you want to ignore it and skip off and help them." He shook his head, "If this is a death bed repentance, Doctor, it's a little late."
Repentance? Death bed?
"I don't…I didn't…." McKay shook his head, trying to clear it. It felt stuffed with cotton balls and weariness tugged at him still, trying to drag him back down. But the others were in danger. He couldn't go back to sleep. Deep down…deep down, he knew sleep was impossible until he knew they were all alright. Why was he just lying here, if the others were in danger? Why did the colonel….
Like a lightning bolt, it all came rushing back and McKay seemed to sink in on himself. His last words with Sheppard before the colonel had gone came back with a vengeance.
"I didn't want him to leave," he realized in shock, his voice still very soft. "I tried to guilt him into staying." He remembered it all now, and he lifted his wrist, looking for his watch to see how long it was until morning.
Connam snorted, "That's right. Good job, by the way. Oh, he tried to hide it, but I could still see the way leaving you behind bothered him. Not sure why. I'd leave you behind in a hot second."
McKay blinked slowly, and he stared at his leg again. The white edges of the bandage were soaked with blood, and dried lines of black blood snaked down towards his knee from the covered wound. After the flare of agony from before, it felt strangely numb now, only a dull, soft ache. If he survived it, it would scar.
"I…"
"Doctor, this is pointless. You should go back to sleep. We can talk about this in the morning." And with that abrupt statement,Connam nodded at him and walked back to the door, blowing out the candle as he did so. McKay watched him go, then closed his eyes.
"Wait," he pleaded softly, "I can't…I need…I need to find a way to help them." He opened his eyes again, looking towards the door. Connam was standing just inside the frame now, partially in profile as he stared off to the side. He was once more silhouetted by the yellow firelight behind, making his blond hair almost glow like a halo where everything else was in darkness. The light created some funny shadows on the trader's face, especially with the pointed beard and long, aquiline nose, and McKay vaguely found himself wondering if this was what Hades looked like. Connam finally sighed and turned to look at him again.
"I'm sorry, Doctor, but it's a little too late for that," the trader said. "You can't help the colonel or any of your friends anymore. And, frankly, I don't really think you want to. Guilt is a powerful motivator, Doctor McKay, but it's weak compared to real compassion. If you survive this, you should think about that."
"No," McKay shook his head, "You don't…you don't understand."
"Please. I've seen your type before. Self-important, arrogant, petty—people like you over-populate every world I've ever been to. The colonel was obviously assigned to protect you, right? And the others too? But, in the end, he'll choose their lives over yours, because theirs have more real value, no matter how important you think you are." Connam sneered a little, and turned his head away to look out into the other room. "Admit it, you just want to get home, hide yourself away, and forget all about them."
McKay's face reddened, which was amazing considering how pale it was. "You," McKay coughed, then snapped, "You don't know me."
"Sure I do."
"No!" McKay yelled, his face reddening even more, "You don't!" It took a lot out of him, but it also gave him back a little of his real personality, and Connam found himself turning in surprise at the vehemence in the other man's voice. His curiosity returned as he saw depths in the other man's eyes he hadn't seen before. Frowning, he crossed his arms and leaned on the doorframe.
"Really."
"Yes, really," McKay sneered, the effect ruined by another light fit of coughing.
"Are you sure you know yourself?" Connam asked, arching a bushy eyebrow.
McKay didn't answer, though there was a brief flash of uncertainty on his face at the question before once more showing a deep determination.
Connam shrugged, too tired to argue anymore. "All right, fine. Tell me how you plan on helping them, then, Doctor McKay. Tell me your brilliant plan to help your friends and let's see if it has any chance in hell of succeeding."
McKay stared at him a moment, then looked down. After a moment, he looked up again, "I don't know."
"There."
"No, no, I..." The scientist looked around, "Where are we, exactly?"
Connam shrugged. "My shack."
"No, I know that now," McKay snapped, before coughing again. Raising his voice was not really helping the scratchiness of it. "Are we close to the Stargate?"
"No."
"How far away is it?"
"By foot? 6 hours. By one legged shuffle, too long for you."
"But by wagon?" McKay's eyebrows lifted.
Connam shook his head, "No. I'm not taking you to the gate."
"Yes, yes," McKay snapped, "I remember that. I'm asking you how long would it take you without me?" He coughed again, and rubbed at his throat, not taking his eyes from the trader's.
The question engendered a moment of surprise, and Connam found himself turning more fully to look at him, more of the defensiveness fading from his posture. "What?"
"How long would it take you alone. Top speed?"
Something in the trader's eyes glinted, "Top speed?"
"Yes."
Connam seemed to waver a moment, before answering, "Three and a half to four hours."
McKay looked down, then up again. "How long do you think my friends have?"
"About the same. Maybe a little more. It's five o'clock in the morning right now. The hanging'll probably be close to ten."
McKay looked down, then up again. "It'll have to do." He grimaced. "Will you..." he suddenly coughed harshly, then tried again, "Will you go and deliver a message to my people for me?"
Connam stared at him, then crossed his arms tightly again, "First of all, even if I did push Dodge to get me there that quickly, there's no guarantee the guards will let me pass through. The valley's going to be locked up right now, with you two on the loose. Second of all, I'm not about to help you make war on this planet. These people are my friends. If you think I—"
"I promise you," McKay said, forcing back another cough, "my people do not need to go to war to stage a rescue. I doubt anyone will even be killed. And, as for the other…," he shook his head, "you're a trader. Probably a well known one, yes? I'm betting the guards know you and I think they'd let you through." He arched an eyebrow, "Am I wrong?"
Connam's lips twisted, then he shrugged, "Perhaps. But if I do this, what do I get in return?"
McKay stared at him, then pushed himself up a little more on the cot. "I overheard you tell the colonel that the speedwheel acted up sometimes." He paused, licking his still dry lips, and emitted another cough. Swallowing harshly, he took in a breath and pressed on. "My guess is, the speedwheel is not the only bit of technology you have in your wagon. Is there anything else in there that is broken? Anything else you need fixed?"
Connam tilted his head, "fixed?"
"I'll fix anything you have. All I need are a few tools, and I can probably make anything you have that is broken working again."
Connam continued to watch him warily, "But we don't have much time."
"Then leave it with me here. I promise you, whatever you give me will be fixed when you return. Plus," McKay licked his lips, his voice's power getting thinner the more he forced himself to talk, "In order for you to deliver my message, you'll have to go to…a place to meet more of my people." He coughed, then gave a weak smile. "Think of the potential trading possibilities? A whole new group of people to make bargains with? You said yourself, technologically advanced people are hard to…." He trailed off, and suddenly started coughing violently, the dryness finally too much.
For a second, Connam watched him, then he disappeared out the door and into the main room. A moment later, he was back, shoving the tin cup newly filled with water into the scientist's hands again. McKay drank as best he could around the coughing, finishing it quickly. After a moment, his fit stilled, and, though he wheezed, he managed to once more meet Connam's eyes.
"So?" he asked, coughing the word.
Connam just stared at him, then gently reached out to take the empty cup from the shaking fingers.
"Can you really fix anything?" the trader asked, his eyes narrowing speculatively.
McKay nodded without hesitation. "Anything."
Connam gave a small smile, undeniably impressed by the other man's supreme confidence. "Then I think we can make a deal."
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TBC...ah, there we go...that's one...