FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: GETS THE BLOOD FLOWING

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Connam attached the steering column to the front, adjusting and oiling the connections to the drive mechanism, not bothering to check on the doctor sleeping on the bench. With a grunt, he slotted the awkward mechanism into the slot and, balancing it on his shoulder, started to tighten the bolts to keep it in place.

When he was finally done, he stepped back and wiped the sweat from his forehead, and a grin lit his face.

It had been years since the wagon looked like this, like the truck that it was.

With a proud nod to himself, the older man walked around the side and looked into the engine. Tentatively, he touched a finger to the sealant on the radiator, and grinned when it came back dry. The grin faded somewhat when he regarded the spiderweb like wires running from his generator box to the tiny power cell that Rodney had fixed to the top of the box. It really just didn't look like it was going to work. Still...

"All right, then," he said, clapping his hands together and looking up at Rodney. The scientist didn't react. Connam pursed his lips, but, he could see Rodney was breathing, so he didn't think the worst. With some effort, he closed the covering of the box holding the engine and then walked to the side, where the crank handle hole was. "I'm firing her up," he said out loud to his unconscious audience.

Grabbing the crank handle, he fitted it into place, then jumped up onto the driver's bench to make sure the vehicle was in neutral and the choke depressed. Then he leapt back down and took the crank in both hands.

"Please," he whispered to himself, as he started to crank. The first turn was rough, but then it became easier and easier...

A smile lit his features as the engine started to whirr. Faster and faster, it began to make noises he hadn't realized he'd missed.

Something about the engine's sound must have startled McKay, because the scientist jerked and opened his eyes, pushing himself up slightly off the bench to look around.

As soon as the noise steadied, Connam pulled the crank, tossed it into the wagon, then jumped back up onto the driver's seat. Chewing on his bottom lip, the trader started pulling levers and pulling out the choke, shifting to feel the gears catch.

"Come on," he whispered, letting the fuel into the engine bit by bit, waiting for it to take, "come on..."

An explosive backfire erupted from the exhaust pipe, and the engine burst into life with a roar.

"YES!" Connam cheered, practically leaping out of his seat. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" He looked like he wanted to dance a jig, run a mile, and scream at the top of his lungs all at the same time. McKay had managed to push himself up into a sitting position, and was still sort of looking around dazedly. Connam grabbed the scientist's shoulder and shook it. "We did it!"

"Hunh," McKay frowned, looking behind him at the closed engine box. Then he looked up at Connam, eyes blinking very slowly. "Then can we go?"

Connam's smile faded a tiny amount, then burst back into life. "Yes! I've got the jugs of water in the back, for the radiator, and everything packed. Let me just get Dodge on board and we're out of here."

McKay just gave a tiny smile and closed his eyes again. "Finally," he whispered.

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Elizabeth stood as proudly as she could, with her arms tied behind her back and her red shirt partially torn. She was not about to show this hideous man even a moment's weakness despite the verbal and mental abuse he'd been torturing her with for the last two hours.

It had been apparent from the moment she'd arrived that Commander Chanee was an old, lecherous ass, his gray hair and craggy face failing to give him any air of wisdom or intelligence. He was the epitome of every bad military movie she'd ever seen, where the top brass were always conservative, war-mongering, young-handsome-upstart hating boobs. She had never actually met a general or a colonel like that in any military organization...until now.

He'd laughed at her at first, making advances and touching her face and neck, ripping open the zipper on her red shirt to reveal more skin. But her undaunted sneer had finally put him off, and he'd taken to trying to frighten her unto submission with words. He'd taunted her, yelled at her (complete with spewed spittle), berated her and even pushed her physically once. It was the only time he'd actually "hit" her, and the way her right shoulder throbbed, she knew it had bruised. Not that she really noticed. Hell, she'd received ten times worse from her brothers growing up.

The thought made her smile once or twice, thankful for the rather rambunctious up-bringing she'd had. Being the only girl surrounded by five boys was more than enough to get her ready for negotiating with the dictators and petty tyrants of the world.

It made Chanee seem even more pathetic.

The old man finally backed off. He'd switched tactics after the first hour, prompted by things Elizabeth said, unaware of the subtle ways she was turning his thinking. She eventually got him to start playing a sort of "game" with her, where, in return for information from her, he'd reward her with things like an extra half-an-hour on the hanging deadline, or breakfast for her people in the dungeons or, and though it hadn't been her main purpose, a stay on the execution of the governor's children and wife.

Delaying the hanging, though, was her main purpose. Her hope was, if she could get them to delay long enough, it might be enough time to give John and Rodney time to either break them out of here, or get home to Atlantis and come back with jumpers. Either that, or time enough for the King of this planet to arrive so she could speak with him. She just hoped he was more of a politician than this idiot.

So far, she'd managed to "win" almost two hours, pushing the hanging to 10:00. She was pretty sure she could get him to delay it until noon, if she kept at it.

In return, the information she gave him was mostly nonsense. Information about the Governor and his people, stuff she was pretty sure Chanee already knew, and information about the "weapons" they had been planning to trade. Nothing she gave him was of any real value—but it seemed to satiate the old man's desire to seem like he was beating her down.

"So," Chanee said, pacing back and forth near the tall windows behind him, "tell me again about these 'flash-bangs' as you call them?"

Elizabeth sighed, "They deliver a..." she trailed off, her mouth hanging open, staring out the windows behind Chanee's back. The Commander stopped pacing and turned to face her, his brow furrowing. When he saw what distracted her, he immediately turned around to look out the same tall, thin windows. The sun was peeking over the hills to the north of the valley, shedding everything in a reddish light, while the valley floor remained shrouded in darkness.

He frowned, and looked back at her. "What?"

She shook herself, focusing back on the old man. "I...the...the dawn," she said.

He watched her a moment longer, then suddenly smiled, lifting his head. "Ah, the last one you'll see, yes?" He chuckled, throwing his arms around his back and shaking his head, "A sign of your impending doom. I understand."

Turning, he walked back to the windows, to the one in the middle, and unlatched the metal hook. Throwing it inwards, he sucked in a deep lungful of the morning air and patted his broad chest. Turning once more to face the woman watching him, he smiled. Weir's own expression hardened.

"Nothing like a crisp morning breeze to get the blood flowing," he sneered, taking a step back towards her. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Her eyebrows flexed, "To get the blood flowing?" she repeated. She shrugged and smiled, "Actually, I think a solid whack on the back of the head probably gets it flowing more freely."

Chanee looked down and snorted a laugh, thinking she was making a joke, then he paused as his mind registered what it was she had just said. He blinked, looking up at her again.

"I don't understand," he said.

She just grinned wider, her eyes narrowing in contempt. "Oh, that's okay," she promised, "you will."

Chanee jerked as the butt of one of Ronon's stolen pistols smashed across the back of his skull. The old man fell like a stone, landing in a boneless, unconscious heap on the floor of the chamber. Ronon grinned ferociously, sneering down at the man. Sheppard jumped down into the room after him, stepped over the prone body and around Elizabeth's back, to untie her hands.

"You okay?" he asked over her shoulder as he sliced the bonds with a knife.

"Better now," she said, pulling her hands apart with a sharp tug and a grateful sigh. Pushing the ropes off, she rubbed at her wrists and regarded the two of them with smiling eyes. "What about the others?"

Ronon just growled and bounded over to listen at the door to the chamber. Sheppard, meanwhile, arched an eyebrow at her and lifted his radio, tapping it a couple of times.

A moment passed, then the radio came to life.

"Colonel Sheppard?" Teyla's whispered voice asked, the sound a little static heavy.

"Teyla, you and Travis outside?" He looked at Weir as he asked the question, and saw her lift her eyebrows.

"Yes," Teyla replied, still whispering. "We are by the meeners, as you suggested."

Sheppard nodded, "Can you get in the corral?"

"Yes."

"Then climb in with Travis and, if any of those animals are saddled, take a knife and cut the cinches on the underside. Understood?"

"Yes."

"Good. We'll be there soon."

"Understood."

"Sheppard out." John put the radio down, and turned to look at Ronon. "Well?"

The big man stood at the door, still listening. After a moment, he shook his head. "There's too many guards out there. They're still looking for us." Ronon shrugged, "We could try to fight our way out."

"Hmmm," Sheppard looked back at the window. "I'd rather not waste the bullets or the energy." He looked around the room they were in. It was one of a series of rooms in what was obviously the Governor's main suite. A front parlor from the looks of it. He glanced at the expedition leader, who was trying to adjust her torn shirt. "Elizabeth?"

"Yes?" she asked, looking up.

"Places like this...don't they usually have escape routes for the nobles if they're attacked?"

She shrugged, "Sometimes. I have seen priest's holes in the larger castles. They may not lead anywhere, however."

He grimaced, "Hmm. Okay, look around, see if you can find something. Ronon, watch that door."

"What are you going to do?" Elizabeth asked, already moving to inspect the walls.

"I'm going to see if there's a way up to the roof of this place," Sheppard replied. "There were guards up there, and I think I saw ladders leading up to the different levels when I was checking it out from below. It might be our best bet to get out of here." And with that, he headed back to the window to climb outside again.

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TBC...