“They’re not stupid enough to get that close,” he answered. “Not right away. They’ll shoot you first, most likely in the leg — bring you to your knees, both so you can’t run and because it amuses them to break their victims first. Then the shoulder — no way you can wield that branch with only one arm, so you’ll drop it. That’ll leave you defenseless.” He shrugged. “Then they can pick you off at their leisure.”
“You have a gun — give it to me!” Ronon demanded. “With that I can kill several before they can close! Or I’ll wait, lure them in, and then shoot them!”
The man shook his head again. “They’d still kill you, in the end,” he pointed out. “You might get a few of them, but not enough. Not enough to make a difference.”
“It would make a difference to me!” Ronon roared back. “They killed my world! They killed my wife! I have nothing left to live for!”
“I can give you something to live for.”
Ronon turned his back on him. He was almost out of time, he knew. The Wraith would be here soon. He refused to let himself be distracted.
“Will you listen?” the stranger called from behind him. “Please?”
“Go away,” Ronon growled over his shoulder. He hefted his club again. “I have matters to attend to.”
He heard the stranger sigh. “Fine. We’ll do it the hard way.”
Before Ronon could wonder what the man had meant, he heard an unmistakable sound. The sound of an energy pistol being fired. Even as the noise registered, his body convulsed, the club flying from his grip as his entire frame shook with pain.
Then the darkness swarmed in, enveloping Ronon. He tried to fight against it, but it was everywhere, and his world went black. He didn’t even feel the impact when he hit the ground.
Chapter Five
“Drink this.”
The words shattered the silence, and Ronon blinked reflexively, turning toward the voice. His motion became a wince, however, as flickers of light stabbed beneath his eyelids , and the act of shifting his head sent jolts of pain arcing up from his neck to his temples and back.
“Easy, easy,” the voice continued. “Just relax. Cup’s right by your mouth. I’ll hold it, you drink.” He recognized the voice now — the man in the forest, the one who had mocked his plans for vengeance.
The man who had shot him.
“I’ll kill you,” Ronon managed to whisper. His lips curled in a snarl, and brushed against something smooth, wide, and curved. The cup. The parched agony of his throat betrayed him then, and he felt his lips part slightly, jaw trembling. The man said nothing as he pressed the cup closer and angled it, letting cool water trickle into Ronon’s mouth and down his throat. Ronon gulped it gratefully, and felt his senses waken again as some of the pain eased.
“I’ll kill you,” he repeated, squinting against the brightness and trying to force his eyes to focus on the man in front of him. “They were coming and you took me away from them.”
“I took you away so you wouldn’t die,” the man countered. “What good would that have done anyone?”
Now Ronon was able to open his eyes fully. “It would have ended my suffering,” he growled back. “And it might have ended one or more of them as well!”
The stranger shook his head, but his eyes narrowed in a look Ronon knew well. The man was appraising him. “Maybe it would, at that,” he admitted after a few seconds. “You’ve shaken off the stun blast faster than I expected, and snapping that tree limb took a lot of strength. So yeah, you might have taken one of them with you.” He leaned forward, gray eyes intent. “But what good would that have done, in the long run?”
Ronon glared back at him. “There is no long run,” he insisted. “Not for me. Not anymore.”
“There could be again,” the man replied.
“How?” Ronon reached for the cup, annoyed at the sight and feel of his arm shaking, but managed to take it from the stranger and raise it to his lips without splattering himself. “Even if the first one falls, they will send others. And they will always know where to find me.”
Now the man smiled. It was a cold expression, with very little humor behind it. “Maybe, maybe not.” He leaned back. “I can help you. And you can help me, too. Together, we can help each other — and make the Wraith pay.”
Draining the cup, Ronon tossed it aside and wiped his mouth on his forearm. “You want to help me? Fine. Give me your gun.”
That at least got a laugh from the stranger. “What good would it do you?”
“You already know the answer to that.” Ronon stood, warily at first but his balance was still solid and the world stopped spinning after a few seconds. He took a deep breath, then another, and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he swiveled to stare down at the stranger. “Will you give me the gun or not?”
The stranger laughed. “I like you, I really do — you’ve got a lot of willpower. But that’s not going to be enough to deal with the Wraith.”
“It will if I have a gun.”
“I don’t think so. They’ll still — urk!” That last sound leaped from the stranger’s throat when Ronon turned and slammed his hand palm first into the other man’s stomach. It knocked the wind out of the stranger, propelled him several feet, and left him slumped on the ground against the back wall of what Ronon now realized must be some sort of small cabin, possibly a hunting lodge. The cramped space had three rickety chairs, a small circular table, several old sleeping pallets, and nothing else.
Right now, though, Ronon didn’t care about the cabin or its decoration scheme. He was too busy grabbing the stranger’s pistol and bolting for the door. He’d hit the man hard enough to stun him for a few minutes, but that meant he had to be well away from here — wherever “here” was — before he lost this window of opportunity. Ronon didn’t waste any time — by the time the door slammed shut he was already twenty paces away, and broadening that gap with every second.
Once he was back among the trees — it looked like the cabin had been nestled into a small clearing, and Ronon felt more comfortable with proper cover — he took stock. His head still ached but not enough to do more than slow him down. Same with the rest of him — sore but serviceable. He didn’t have any food or water, and he had no weapons beyond the stranger’s pistol.
It was a handsome-looking pistol though, Ronon thought as he studied the piece more closely. Longer and sleeker than most laser pistols he’d seen, a bit more solid and significantly better balanced. It had an indicator switch along the left side, just below a pair of tiny lights. So the gun had multiple settings! That was good to know. One of them must be the stun setting the stranger had hit him with, and one must be a standard “kill” setting. Ronon clicked the switch and the small red light lit up for an instant. Perfect.
Then he selected a clump of trees, took up a stance behind them, and waited.
As he’d suspected, it didn’t take long. Ten, perhaps twenty minutes passed and then he heard heavy footsteps approaching from the front. They weren’t the stranger’s either — he had moved through the trees without a sound.
And there had been only one of him.
Ronon took a quick glance around the tree, pulling back smoothly so no sudden movement would tip them off, and frowned. Three Wraith were rapidly approaching his hiding place. He could feel his blood heat up at the sight of them, with their pale green skin and long white hair.
Two of them wore heavy, segmented armor chestplates and strange ridged helmet-masks that completely covered their faces. They carried bulky rifles, the wide stock taking up most of the weapon’s length, a glowing energy beam visible through its center. They were soldiers, warriors, and Ronon had faced their kind back on Sateda. They were powerful but slow and not clever. Armed as he was, taking out both of them would not pose a problem, not even in his current state.
The one in front of them, however, was slighter in build and moved more easily, almost catlike in his grace. He wore a long, flowing black jacket and pants rather than armor
, and his head was bare, exposing his pallid features and yellow eyes and strange facial slits. His long pale hair hung over his shoulders and midway down his back, and he carried a small pistol of some sort in one hand. That one would be the dangerous one, Ronon knew. His eyes were everywhere, darting from tree to tree, searching. He was a commander, and he would be far more intelligent and resourceful than his two companions.
Ronon targeted him first.
He leaned out from behind the tree and snapped off a quick shot. His pistol flashed red, firing a matching red beam that struck the lead Wraith square in the chest. The creature staggered but did not fall, and its mouth opened into a wide grin, revealing all its sharp teeth.
“Ah, the prey bites back!” It called out, looking directly at Ronon despite the tree between them. “Good, I enjoy a more spirited contest. Come out and face me, Ronon Dex of Sateda!” Its grin spread. “Or did all the true men of your world die when we attacked?”
Ronon knew it was a deliberate goad but that couldn’t stop him from rising to the bait. “The last real man of Sateda is here,” he snarled, stepping away from his cover and presenting himself to the three Wraith. “Come and see what kind of spirit I possess!”
The Wraith eyed him up and down. “Indeed I shall.” It did not gesture or speak to its companions, but they raised their rifles as one and sighted on Ronon. “Run now and I will give you a moment’s head start, to make this more sporting.”
Ronon shook his head. “I’m done running.” He fired on the warrior to the left, but the blow glanced off its heavy chestplate. “And this isn’t a sport to me.” He aimed for the commander again, but this time the Wraith sidestepped the crimson bolt.
“Your choice,” it said with a hint of disappointment, raising its own weapon. “But I had hoped for a bit more entertainment first.”
Then it shot him.
Ronon’s body convulsed and he almost fell to his knees. Pain! The feeling was almost exactly like when the stranger had shot him, only not quite as intense, and he wondered about the pistol he now held. Where had the man gotten it, and why was its stun setting more powerful than the Wraiths’? Regardless, he managed to maintain his grip on the weapon and hefted it again. This time the Wraith commander was not expecting return fire, and took the hit square in the chest. It staggered back, smoke rising from the hole in its armored jacket.
“You dare?” It growled, eyes narrowing. “For that I will flay you alive before draining your life from your bloody flesh!”
And it sprang at him.
Ronon managed to fire once more before the Wraith was upon him, knocking his pistol aside. It had holstered its own weapon and now one fist slammed into Ronon’s jaw, jolting him and blurring his vision, while the other clamped onto his throat. The Wraith’s momentum knocked Ronon off his feet, and he landed on his back, the creature leaning over him and holding his head and torso up by that neck grip.
“Now you will die slowly,” it hissed at him. Its second hand raised again, but this time it opened the hand wide, revealing the narrow opening upon its palm. That was how the Wraith fed, Ronon knew — they sucked out a victim’s life force through that opening. And it was reaching toward him with deliberate slowness, taunting him with his inability to break away from the death that crept toward him inch by inch.
Then a burst of crimson light flashed across the Wraith commander’s head, lighting it with a halo of red. Its eyes widened in surprise before they glazed over, and the creature slumped, its grip on Ronon going limp. He shrugged off the body in time to see a second crimson bolt strike one of the Wraith warriors in the neck, between helmet and chestplate. The warrior gurgled and collapsed.
That was all Ronon needed to see. His own pistol had fallen by his hand and he quickly scooped it back up and hit the remaining Wraith warrior in the throat, dropping it instantly. Only then did he sit up and rub his own neck, coughing against the rawness the attack had produced.
“Feel better now?” It was the stranger, of course, sliding from behind two trees a few feet to the left.
“A bit,” Ronon admitted. He glared over at the man, then shook his head. “Thanks.” He was honest enough to admit he would have been dead without the man’s help.
“Now do you see that your way will only get you killed?” the man asked, brushing aside Ronon’s thanks. “Even with a pistol you weren’t able to take them on.”
“I didn’t know their weaknesses,” Ronon pointed out. “Now I do.”
“Now you know some of the weaknesses,” the stranger corrected, approaching and crouching down so he could speak to Ronon face-to-face. “Wouldn’t you like to learn more? To know them all?”
Despite himself, Ronon was interested. How many more Wraith could he kill if he knew all their weaknesses?
Apparently his thoughts were easy to read on his face. “I can teach you how to kill them,” the man explained. “I can help you kill them. Together we can wipe out dozens of them, maybe more. Possibly even eliminate whole Hives!”
Ronon nodded and clambered to his feet. “I’m listening.”
“Good.” The man glanced around. “But not here. There are probably more Wraith on the way. I know a place we can go to buy ourselves some time. Come on.” He turned to go, then paused and shifted back, extending his hand. “My name is Nekai.”
“Ronon Dex.” Ronon accepted the grip. It was firm, no-nonsense, and quick — the handclasp of a warrior.
“A pleasure.” Nekai favored him with a brief smile before turning away. “Come on then, Ronon Dex. Let’s go talk about how to kill more Wraith.”
He led the way into the trees, and Ronon eagerly followed. He spared only a single glance at the three dead Wraith behind them. You are but the first of many, he swore silently. And each of your deaths will feed the soul of my people, that all Sateda may one day know peace.
With those bloody thoughts in his head, Ronon took off after Nekai, already impatient for the knowledge the other man claimed he could provide.
Chapter Six
“We should be safe here — for now.” Nekai had led Ronon away from the forest and into a row of short hills. They had continued on through those, never stopping for more than a minute to catch their breaths and drink from nearby streams, until they had found a rockier plain beyond. The hills were lower and more angular here, and Ronon’s new guide had paid particular attention to their bases — Ronon wasn’t sure what he was looking for until the man had nodded, crouched, and brushed some dirt aside to reveal a small opening. A cave.
They had crawled inside, Ronon going first at Nekai’s insistence, and now they were huddled in a dark, dank little hole within the rock itself. Ronon didn’t like it — he was used to open spaces, and being trapped like this made his skin crawl. It also struck him as strategically lethal — there was only the one entrance. All it would take was the Wraith finding that hole and they would be completely trapped.
“Relax,” Nekai assured him, shifting about and folding his legs in front of him. “You’re thinking like a warrior. Don’t.”
“That’s who I am,” Ronon snapped, though quietly — he was afraid too much noise might cause the ceiling to collapse upon them. “It’s how I think.”
“No,” his new companion corrected him. “It’s who you were. That’s not who you are anymore. Not if you want to survive.”
“I already told you, I don’t care about survival,” Ronon growled back. “I just want to kill as many of them as I can before they take me.”
“And the longer you survive, the more you can kill,” Nekai pointed out. “But in order to do that, you have to change the way you think. A warrior charges into battle, even against overwhelming odds. That’ll just get you killed, and quickly.” He leaned forward, his eyes locked on Ronon’s. “You need to become a hunter.”
“A hunter?” Ronon considered that. “I know nothing of hunting,” he admitted softly. “My people do not hunt. We raise domesticated animals for meat.” He paused. “Or at least we did.”
“I can train you to be a hunter,” Nekai assured him. “You have the reflexes for it, certainly, and the stamina. It’s just a matter of learning a new way to think, a new way to look at situations — seeing things as predator and prey rather than warrior versus warrior.” He shrugged. “Once you learn that, the rest is easy.”
“And to what end?” Ronon demanded.
Nekai grinned, a quick flash of white teeth in the near-darkness. “So you can hunt the Wraith, of course. Isn’t that what you want?”
“They’re the ones hunting me!”
“I know.” The smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “But that’s exactly what makes them vulnerable. They know you’re a warrior — that’s why they made you a Runner. They expect you to stand and fight, just like you did back there. Twice.”
“You knocked me out the first time,” Ronon pointed out, rubbing the back of his head at the memory. It still ached.
“I had to — otherwise they’d have killed you immediately and that would have been the end of it.” Nekai studied him. “I saved your life.”
Ronon could hardly deny it. “I am in your debt.”
His companion waved that off. “I don’t want your debt, Ronon Dex. I want your friendship. I want your skills. I want you hunting at my side, as an equal.” He returned to his original line of thought. “They think you are a warrior. When you become a hunter, you can use that against them. They won’t be expecting it, and so you’ll have the advantage. Prey turned predator.” His grin this time was far nastier. “You’ll be able to take them down before they have time to adapt to the change.”
Ronon studied the man in front of him. Nekai seemed at ease most of the time, his posture relaxed, but he was always alert as well — his eyes were constantly on the move, sizing up the small space around them. His hand never strayed too far from his pistol. And there had been real anger there when he spoke of the Wraith.
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