SGA-13 Hunt and Run

by Rosenberg, Aaron

  “You have two hours,” he read as he picked up both the monitor and the scrap. “Find me before I find you.”

  Great. Another test. Of course. As their training had progressed and Nekai had pronounced himself pleased with this or that aspect of Ronon’s new education, these little tests had become more frequent — and more difficult. But this was a new one. Usually Nekai told Ronon how much time had and where he had to go or what he had to do, then they split up. For Nekai to have left before Ronon was awake, and to have removed his tracks as he went, and to leave the monitor behind — this had the feel of a final exam. All or nothing.

  Ronon studied the monitor in his hand. He could cheat, of course. Turn it on and use it to pinpoint the other man within minutes. Not that Nekai wouldn’t lay some sort of trap for him, but he was confident he could find his way around or through that. And using the tracker was how the Wraith would come for them.

  The Wraith! Ronon glanced up and around quickly, his free hand going to his pistol. How long had Nekai been gone? If there was a Wraith already in the area, and the creature had one of their tracking monitors, he would have noticed both Ronon’s signal and Nekai’s. They might not have much time.

  But Nekai knew that better than anyone. That’s why he was only allowing Ronon two hours. Two hours from dawn, presumably — he knew that was when Ronon woke if not awakened by something else beforehand. So Nekai must have felt that they would be safe for those two hours. Or safe enough.

  Ronon nodded to himself and slid the tracking monitor into his pocket without switching it on. He wouldn’t cheat. Nekai had probably known that. But he needed to know he could find the Retemite on his own, using just the skills Nekai had taught him and his own instincts and senses. He needed to know he could do this without any help.

  Crouching down, Ronon studied the ground around him carefully. No footprints, no drag marks — Nekai was careful. Maybe too careful. He grinned as his eye registered a swathe of dirt that was a little smoother than its neighbors. Gotcha.

  Straightening and dusting his hands off on his pants legs, Ronon drew his pistol, made sure it was still on stun, and headed into the scrub brush surrounding the little clearing. He was on the hunt. .

  * * *

  Some time later, he glanced up at the sky, gauging the time from the position of this world’s sun. At least that was a skill he’d already been taught in the military, even the calculations necessary to adjust for a sun’s size and a planet’s proximity to it. Right now, he’d say it had been at least an hour and a half since he’d left the spot where they’d camped the night before, and possibly closer to two. Which meant Nekai would be hunting him soon instead of just the other way around.

  He’d followed the brushed-out trail at first but had quickly lost it as the undergrowth had thickened, making it unnecessary to hide footprints. The ground here was covered in dry leaves, wet leaves, creeper vines, moss, and occasionally flower petals. The trees were close enough together to provide excellent cover but far enough apart to allow a man to slip between them without difficulty. Low branches offered concealment from above, as did hanging vines, and the foliage filtered the sun so only speckles of light shone through, dancing across dust motes and creating constant shadows. It was a perfect place to hide — or to hunt someone unsuspecting.

  Fortunately, Ronon was well aware of that. Unfortunately, so was Nekai.

  He had picked up the Retemite’s trail twice more, once when the shorter man had nudged aside a hanging vine and disturbed its place on the branch above and once when he had brushed leaves back into place behind his feet but had flipped one over, leaving it the only dry leaf among a patch of damp ones. Both times the trail had vanished again a few paces later, but Ronon had kept to the same general direction, sure Nekai meant to put as much distance between them before doubling back. The trick would be noticing when he did begin that wide turn, otherwise Ronon would keep right on going and Nekai would be able to come at him from behind.

  Nor had his mentor left the area unprepared. Twice Ronon had noticed snares, once just barely in time — his foot had literally been an inch off the ground when he’d spotted a vine with a little too much tension in it and had realized it was a rope concealed among the true foliage. He’d been forced to roll forward to avoid stepping into the trap, which had taken him safely out of harm’s way but had meant he’d spent several minutes concealing all the marks he’d left from that tumble. He knew Nekai would probably circle back and hunt for him along his own previous path, so there was no sense making it easy for the other man.

  Given the time, Ronon was sure Nekai had already begun his turn. He hadn’t seen any evidence of that, but he could feel it in his gut. Which just left the question of which way to go. If you were simply running from someone, you’d want to turn away from the sun so you could better see what you were doing and where you were going. But if you were hunting someone — or evading someone hunting you — you’d do the opposite. You’d turn toward the sun, using its glare to dazzle your pursuit so you could duck away and sneak up on them more easily.

  Ronon turned toward the sun. Even through the thick canopy above the sudden light made him blink, and he ducked behind a tree as he waited for his eyes to adjust. Then he glanced around —

  — and noticed a faint sheen to the bark on the tree beside him, a handspan or so below his eye level.

  He broke into a slow grin. Nekai had done the same thing he’d just done, stepped behind a tree while his eyes got used to the increased light. That tree. The sheen was where Nekai’s shoulders had rubbed against it, staining the sensitive outer bark ever so slightly. Ronon stepped away from his own protective trunk and glanced at it. Sure enough, he’d left a similar sheen. There was no way to conceal that — rubbing at the bark would only make it worse — but at least now he knew he had chosen correctly. Nekai had gone this way, and had turned at exactly this point, two hours in.

  Which meant the other man was somewhere ahead of him, and just beginning the process of sneaking back around to strike at Ronon.

  But Ronon was ready for him. He stroked the pistol at his side. This time, he was going to teach his mentor a thing or two about hunting. Mainly that sometimes a good thing was simply too good to be true. .

  * * *

  Ronon cursed. And for good reason. He was currently hanging upside down. His left foot was trapped within a vine loop he’d triggered by stepping into it, and the pressure of his weight had knocked loose the counterweight and jerked the vine and the branch holding it — which had been bent downward and pinned in place — up rapidly, yanking him from his feet and upending him to hang here trussed like a fatted calf.

  Just waiting for a hunter — or a Wraith — to stop by and finish him off.

  A faint rustling caught his attention, but it was behind him and Ronon couldn’t exactly turn around. Still, he wasn’t surprised when a voice cut through the silence of the forest a second later.

  “I thought I’d trained you better than that,” Nekai commented as he emerged from the bushes. Even listening hard, Ronon could barely hear his footsteps as the stocky Retemite came closer, pistol raised and leveled at Ronon’s chest. “You were doing so well, too — picking up on my tracks, avoiding my snares, covering your own traces well.” Ronon was sure the other man was shaking his head now. “Then you got careless.”

  “Must have,” Ronon admitted. “I’ll do better next time.”

  “What makes you so sure there will be a next time?” There was no humor in Nekai’s tone, and Ronon felt a chill run down — or up — him.

  “What’re you saying? That I failed?”

  “I don’t know,” the other man admitted quietly. “I really am surprised by you. I thought you’d do better than thi — ”

  The rest of Nekai’s words were cut short as his foot came down among a clump of wet leaves — and they shifted beneath him. Ronon had managed to twist and sway enough that he could see his mentor off to the side of his vision, so he had at least a
quick glimpse of the shock on the other man’s face as Nekai realized what was happening. Then Ronon’s snare had closed around his ankle, the counterweight had fallen, and the Retemite was being hoisted into the air. The sudden force of the ascent knocked the stun gun from his hand, and it fell to the leaves below as Nekai hung there, swinging from the built-up momentum of his rapid rise.

  “How?” he sputtered as Ronon bent his left leg, pulling himself higher. Then he bent and reached up with both hands, grasping the vine just above the loop. The added pressure above the knot forced it to loosen and he pulled his foot free, then swung both legs down and dropped easily to the ground. His own pistol was securely in its holster, and he drew it now, covering Nekai even as he crouched and collected the fallen Wraith stun gun.

  “I spotted the snare without a problem,” Ronon admitted, straightening and taking a few steps away from his strung-up mentor. No sense getting within range of the man’s knives. “So I rigged one of my own just a few steps away from it.” He shrugged, trying not to grin. “Then I stepped into yours and waited for you to hear the commotion and come running.” The grin slipped free anyway. “Which you did.”

  “You couldn’t know which direction I’d come from,” Nekai insisted.

  “No, but I knew you’d circle around until you were behind me,” Ronon pointed out. “So I positioned the snare where I wanted it, then adjusted my own orientation until it was directly at my back.” His grin widened. “The rest was easy.”

  Nekai studied him for a second — then laughed. “Nicely done,” he admitted. “You used my own planning against me, and I fell for it. I am impressed.”

  “Then I passed?” Ronon asked, lowering his pistol slightly but still not moving too close. “Can I cut you down, or are you going to try for me anyway?”

  “You definitely pass,” his mentor assured him. “The test is over.” Ronon holstered his pistol and drew a knife, slicing through the vine with a single quick overhand slash. Nekai fell to the ground, twisting and curling into a ball to lessen the impact. He was on his feet a moment later, and Ronon handed him back the stun gun without a word.

  “You’ve learned well, Ronon,” Nekai told him once he was armed again, and had removed the snare’s loop from his ankle. “There’s only one thing left now, one final step.”

  “You said I passed,” Ronon reminded him, his grin fading a little bit. How many more tests would he have to endure?

  “This isn’t a test,” Nekai answered. “More like a proving ground. It’s time.”

  “Time for what?” But deep down, Ronon already knew the answer, and his mentor echoed it a second later, a predatory grin crossing his face.

  “Time to hunt a Wraith.”

  Chapter Eight

  Snap! Ronon tensed, then forced himself to relax. He uncurled his fingers from around the butt of his pistol, unclenched his stomach muscles and his jaw, lay flat again, and forced himself to breathe slowly. Patience. He had to have patience.

  Where were the damned Wraith? Why weren’t they here yet?

  It had been over three hours since he and Nekai had separated. Nekai had suggested they wait another day, until they had both eaten and slept and Ronon had recovered from the stress and tension and effort of their recent mutual hunt. But Ronon had refused.

  “Now,” he’d insisted. “I want to do this now.”

  Nekai had decided not to argue. Probably he had seen the determination — what Melena had often called the “stonewall stubborn” on his face. Or maybe he had just accepted that it would be better to get this out of the way once and for all.

  Besides, resting hadn’t really been an option. During the hunt there’d been the risk that the Wraith might detect their signals and come looking for either or both of them. Disguising the tracking devices now would only intrigue any Wraith already in the area. They’d either have to flee to another planet immediately — or let the Wraith come, and deal with them once they arrived.

  Ronon was all for the latter. He’d been itching to kill Wraith since they’d first attacked his homeworld, and that itch had grown into an all-consuming rage once they’d killed Melena and the rest of Sateda and taken him captive. He’d suppressed the desire while training only by constantly reminding himself that what Nekai was teaching him would make him better able to kill Wraith and in much greater quantities.

  Well, now it was time to put that to the test.

  So Nekai had headed back toward a cave he’d selected for just such a purpose — the minerals in the walls would make him more difficult to pinpoint, he claimed. And Ronon had selected a likely spot, set a few snares and other traps, and settled in to wait.

  And here he was. Waiting.

  He hated waiting.

  What if there hadn’t been any Wraith in the area already, he wondered for the hundredth time. What if none of them were within range to detect his tracking device? What if he was laying in wait for an enemy that would never show? How long could he wait? A day? Two? Eventually he’d need to move, if only to find food and water. Otherwise when a Wraith did show he’d be too weak to deal with it.

  Snap!

  Ronon went completely still. His ears strained, trying to pinpoint the location and source of that sound. It had been nearby, certainly, but not right beside — definitely within visual range if he dared to turn his head and look, which he did not. There were dry leaves and small twigs littering the ground here, which was one of the reasons he had chosen this spot. It was all but impossible for anyone to sneak up on him here.

  Snap! Crunch! Crack!

  Too many sounds, too close together, Ronon decided. More than one pair of feet tromping through the forest on this fine cool day. If they were Wraith there would probably be three of them, two soldiers and one commander, just as there had been before. The last time, Ronon had needed Nekai’s help to finish them off. Not this time.

  At least, he hoped not. He had hunted animals without a problem, and had even gotten the drop on Nekai himself this morning. But that had been one man. This was three Wraith. He had never hunted multiple targets before, and suddenly Ronon found himself cursing Nekai’s oversight. Why hadn’t they gone after small packs and prides and other groupings, to get experience for exactly this sort of situation?

  True, he had a plan. He thought it would work. But there was no way to be sure. Not until it happened. And if the plan failed? Well, that would be very, very bad.

  Ronon waited, unmoving, and listened for more noises. They came soon enough, and confirmed what he had already guessed: three of them, all moving in this direction, all walking together. One of them was a little better at stealth than the other two, who didn’t care what they stomped on or how much noise they made.

  Wraith.

  Ronon grinned. Let them come, he thought. His hand tightened on the pistol but he still didn’t draw it. Not yet.

  He had learned to be patient. At least patient enough to make sure his prey was exactly where he wanted them before he struck.

  The noises were drawing still closer, and now Ronon thought he could make out actual footsteps mingled with the other sounds. Two sets, at least — the third was almost more an absence than a presence, a noise that did not accompany one-third of the dry-stick sounds that reached his ears. The commander was not bothering to avoid dry leaves or twigs, he could clearly care less about being undetected, but his step was naturally light enough not to register.

  Still, the other noises and the sounds of the two soldiers made tracking their progress incredibly easy.

  Ronon finally allowed himself to tense a bit as the three strangers passed into his line of sight. Wraith, just as he’d thought. And they were moving in the same configuration as the first trio he’d met, the commander in the lead and the two warriors flanking and slightly behind him.

  Perfect.

  Ronon had to force his hand away from his pistol. He had always been an excellent shot, and his time in the Satedan military had honed that skill to a razor edge. Then Nekai had hon
ed it further. Military training taught you to aim for vital organs, to cause the most damage in a single shot. But that often left an opponent bleeding out and staggering around — they were no longer a threat so you didn’t much care how far they got before they finally dropped. Hunting was different. You wanted your prey to stay close — the further it got the harder it was to chase it down again, and the more likely some other predator would try to claim it. So you aimed for incapacitation, joints and killing blows — if you couldn’t kill right away you sought to immobilize your target so you could finish it off quickly.

  Plus there was the whole issue of shooting from cover. That had been a completely new experience for Ronon — he had never been the “hide in the bushes, then attack by surprise” type. His attack formations had usually involved head-on charges, shooting and slashing all the way. But his last encounter with the Wraith had proven better than any lecture that such a technique would not be effective here. He couldn’t overpower three Wraith, not by himself. And he could never count on outside help or reinforcements, not even from Nekai. Especially not while hunting — if the Wraith ever figured out how their signals overlapped, they might devise a way to counter that, and then Ronon and Nekai would lose their one advantage, not to mention their one measure of cover.

  So Ronon had to take out all three Wraith as quickly as possible, as quietly as possible, and by himself.

  Which meant not shooting any of them. Not yet. He couldn’t guarantee he could take them all down before one of them tagged him, or called in help. And he couldn’t take that risk.

  Instead, he slowly, quietly shifted his hands forward and lifted the vine he had coiled just in front of his head. It was the strongest one he could find, strong enough to withstand his yanking on it with no ill effect, and he had looped a section of it and made a crude but very effective slipknot. Now he shifted his weight slightly on the thick branch he had chosen for his perch, and raised the loop, gauging the distance to the figures approaching his tree.