(this one's going up a bit early, since I might be out tonight...if I make it back in time, I'll post the next chapter too...Thank you again for all the great reviews! Oh, and Evilclone...one at a time, my friend. If I try to do more than one, and I never finish anything! LOL!)

FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE

CHAPTER TWENTY: BEATING THE DRUM

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Sheppard and Elizabeth were forced to share a meener as they were herded back towards the Citadel, neither feeling near well enough to really make the ride. Luckily, the guards were equally interested in the speedwheel and were determined to bring it along, slowing their progress some as it was dragged on a travois behind one of the meeners.

Elizabeth sat behind the colonel, resting her woozy head on his back, letting him keep her upright. Her arm throbbed like it was broken, and she was holding it close to her chest, tucked in between him and her. The colonel, meanwhile, found his right knee was ballooning to an impressive size, and he could barely feel his right foot. He also felt the distinct pain of a wrenched back and neck, and his eyesight had a bad habit of blurring, giving him moments of dizziness.

Beckett was going to kill him when they got back.

And, yes! he snapped at the part of him that gave a disbelieving snort, he did mean when and not if.

When they emerged from the trees back onto the road, Sheppard looked up at the mountains, judging their location. With a self-deprecating smirk, he realized he had managed to eat up quite a lot of distance on the speedwheel before they were caught, getting him and Elizabeth most of the way back to the Citadel. They couldn't be far from the farm where he'd bought the meeners.

Someone had also obviously ridden on ahead, because a handful of men met them on the road with a cart, probably purchased from the same undiscriminating farmers. The speedwheel was quickly loaded up onto it.

With that, they started to make better time. At this rate, Sheppard figured, they'd be back in Garillion by 11:00 or thereabouts.

So…the hanging would proceed almost on schedule.

How fantastic for Commander Chanee.

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Teyla glanced over at Ronon on the meener next to her, disliking the way he had been slung over the back of the meener like a pack of feed. At least he was unconscious. Part of her wished she had been as well—her ears were ringing, her head felt like a dozen meeners were stampeding through it, and she was having trouble catching her breath. Every inhalation hurt. The result being that she was breathing shallowly, and it was doing odd things to her equilibrium. The rocking, uneven gate of her meener wasn't helping much either.

Gritting her teeth, she did her best to show none of this to their captors.

Riding on the other side of Ronon, occasionally reaching over to steady him, or perhaps just to check that the big man was still breathing, Travis looked a little like the smallest noise would set him off. Teyla would have called over some encouraging words, but she couldn't seem to muster any up.

Instead, she just watched the head of her meener bob up and down as it walked, the massive curling horns rather beautiful now that she was able to get a better look at them. Almost like the shells on the coast of Atlantis' mainland...

Which felt very, very far away from here.

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On the other side of the valley, the guards next to the Stargate were quickly mobilizing, getting into a defensive positions as the Stargate suddenly came to life. Rifles were pointed at the potential threat, every man and woman there hoping beyond hope that, whatever was coming through, it was not Wraith.

The wormhole engaged, and for a moment, no one breathed.

Suddenly, something long and box like flew through the gate at a high rate of speed, and the guards ducked down, afraid it would land on them and crush them, whatever it was. Heads were covered, and prayers were said as everyone cowered or dove into the earth to avoid being hit or worse, scooped up.

But nothing happened.

Mick peeked out from behind his cover, and then stood, looking around at the empty sky. The wormhole disengaged.

What the hell?

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Not far from the Stargate, Doctor Rodney McKay was as still as death, only the barest hint of respiration showing he was still among the living.

The radio was just as silent, tucked in his hands near his chin.

The blanket he had bought remained around his shoulders and body, making him an oddly shaped, light blue lump on the otherwise brown, red and orange forest floor. Softly, the brightly colored leaves fell around him, like something out of a Robert Frost poem. He was out of place in this beautiful place.

Gently, A bright red one shaped a lot like a maple leaf fell on his blanketed arm.

The small troop of guardsman sitting atop their meeners surrounded him in a circle, staring down at the insensible man.

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TBC...