SGA-13 Hunt and Run

by Rosenberg, Aaron

  Frayne, Turen, and Adarr stared. Setien grinned. Banje’s only reaction was a slight smile and a quick dip of his chin.

  “Ancestors, you thought of all that just now?” Frayne asked finally. “Where’d you learn all that stuff?”

  “You were a Specialist, right?” Banje asked softly. It wasn’t really a question, but Ronon nodded anyway. “You had your own unit.” He glanced around at the others. “So did I. Adarr and Frayne were soldiers — they never had to worry about mapping out a mission, just following orders.” His matter-of-fact tone prevented them from taking insult — it wasn’t a slight on their ability, just a statement about their lack of strategic training. “Turen’s people didn’t have a standing military — when they had to fight they did, but it was more individualistic. Setien — well, she’s a special case.” Off to the side, Setien straightened, shoulders back, chest forward — proud, not angry. “She was a specialist of a different sort. She pulled solo missions.” That meant an assassin, Ronon translated in his head. Or a saboteur. Or a spy. No wonder she was so confident — she was used to fighting without any backup at all.

  “These are the kind of questions a good commander asks when given a mission,” Banje continued, now more to the others than to Ronon. “Finding out the mission parameters so you can plan accordingly for you and your team.” His eyes held a new measure of respect. “They’re exactly the questions I asked when Nekai first recruited me.” The gasp Frayne and Adarr were unable to hide only confirmed the awe they held for Banje. Nekai might be their overall leader, the man with the plan and the vision, but Banje was their unit commander, the one who actually held them together and took charge of the missions. Winning his trust and respect were imperative if Ronon wanted to stay here.

  Fortunately, it looked like he was off to an excellent start.

  “Missions vary in length, size, and number,” Banje was now talking directly to Ronon. “We never work from here — this location has to remain secure at all times. We take the shuttles — we have two others besides the one you and Nekai used, one up here and one down there — to the planet below and then jump from there. Typically we work in three- to six-man teams, though obviously we’ll be able to go up to seven now.” Another mark of a good commander — even though Ronon didn’t have his full trust yet, Banje was already planning how to include him in their missions. He wasn’t about to leave a valuable resource untapped. “Most often we jump together to a random world, scout a location well away from any settlements, dig in, and send one of us out as bait. When the Wraith show up we ambush them instead. Weapons are what you see here.” He gestured at his own side, and all around them. “We don’t have anything strong enough to take out a Dart, much less a Hive.” A quick, wolfish grin flickered across his lips. “But we’re working on it.”

  Ronon nodded. A good, thorough briefing. He only had one more question. “When do we start?”

  A few of the others grinned, but Banje shook his head. “Not yet,” he replied. “At least, not you.” Neither his voice nor his eyes held any malice. “Sorry.”

  “I get it,” Ronon assured him. “You want to make sure I can be trusted first. And you need to see how I handle myself as part of a team. That’s fair.”

  The answering nod from Banje was well worth the effort Ronon had made to rein in his own impatience . “Figured you’d understand,” was all the black-eyed man said, but those three words conveyed a hidden level of praise. Ronon knew Banje wouldn’t have expected any of the others to appreciate his decision as easily or with as little explanation — he’d probably had to explain it in detail to each one in turn, when they were the new recruits. Ronon wondered about the timeline of this unit — who had come first? Who had been second? He knew Adarr has been the most recent before him, but that was as far as his knowledge went. Clearly he’d have to learn more about the V’rdai, both the individuals and the team. That would come with time.

  Off which, right now, he had a surprising abundance. Only a few months before he’d been alone in the woods on a strange planet, unarmed and barely clothed, wounded and grief-stricken and enraged, ready to throw his own life away against the first Wraith he saw. Now he had weapons, allies, new skills, and a clear purpose: kill as many Wraith as possible. If that took him years, that was fine. He could wait. His grief was still there, raw and hot and threatening to overwhelm him at any second, but having a purpose helped. He could distract himself by planning, by training, by fighting. The grief became something he could use, something to help motivate him.

  It was strangely comforting to know, glancing around at these other men and women as they sat joking and laughing, that he was among people who understood. Each of them were Runners like him. Each of them was the last member of their respective races. Each of them had suffered a loss as extreme as his own. And each of them had survived it, had been found by Nekai, and had come together to form this unit, the V’rdai.

  It was like finding a second home.

  And Ronon discovered he was determined to make his place among them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Over the next week, Ronon did exactly that. He did his share of the chores, he sat with the others around the fire, he checked and cleaned weapons, he slept, he traded stories.

  Some of the V’rdai were more closemouthed than others. Setien, he learned, had a hundred tales of missions she’d gone on, foes she’d defeated, enemies she’d crushed single-handedly. To hear her tell of it, she had been a one-woman army, and had helped her people, the Mahoiran, defeat many other worlds where many of her peers had failed and where whole armadas had lost before. If not for the way she moved, with the reflexes of a natural warrior, Ronon would have assumed she was exaggerating. As it was, he was half-convinced, or at least he believed half of what she said about herself might be true.

  Adarr was equally talkative, but not about himself. When asked, he always claimed he hadn’t been anything special, just another Fenabian warrior, and that he had no idea why the Wraith had let him live when the rest of his people had been slaughtered or enslaved. What he lacked in self-confidence however he made up for in good nature, and he was happy to talk about his people, his family, old legends, boyhood exploits, and anything else that came to mind. After only a day Ronon was doubly glad he hadn’t been asked to bunk with the tall, pale man — he’d never have gotten a second’s sleep.

  Turen was friendly and willing to talk, but though she held up her end of any conversation she rarely said anything about herself or her people. Frayne was even more close-lipped — of all the V’rdai he was the one who made it clear he still didn’t trust Ronon or completely accept him, though he was starting to relax that mistrust a bit. Ronon didn’t blame him. Given what they had all been through as Runners, they should be cautious. And if Frayne’s caution bordered on paranoia, well, better to be safe than to be tricked by anyone.

  Banje rarely spoke at all, though it didn’t seem to be anything against Ronon — he was just as quiet with the others. Most of his responses were a few words, and only when asked a direct question. The rest of the time he simply sat back, watched, and listened.

  Nekai only joined them occasionally. When he did, the Retemite was a little more relaxed than he had been when it had just been him and Ronon. Which made sense. That had been out in the wild, with the threat of Wraith attacks at any moment — and with a half-trained Satedan barely containing his desire to hurl himself at even the chance of facing a Wraith. Here he was back in his element, in the base he had obviously built, surrounded by people he had trained. Even so, Nekai never relaxed completely. There was always an air of distance around him, as if he were holding himself slightly aloof. A lot of military commanders behaved that way, refusing to let themselves become one with their men in order to better maintain their authority. Ronon hadn’t been one of them — for him it was about earning his unit’s trust and respect rather than reminding them he was a higher rank, and he’d been happy to laugh and drink and joke with them between missions
and even during quiet moments on them. But each commander was different, and Nekai clearly felt he needed to remain in command, even during times of quiet.

  When they weren’t talking, the V’rdai were doing chores, though there were few enough of those. Or they were sleeping. Or playing cards. Or exercising. Or Ronon’s favorite — they were fighting. Each other. Only for practice, of course. But it was better than nothing. And sparring gave him a much better idea of each of his new teammate’s capabilities, as well as more insight into their personality.

  It was only his second day when he had his first sparring match. And there had never been any question as to who would be his first opponent.

  “Time to show me what you’ve got, big man,” Setien said the first time as they stepped into the chalked-off circle the V’rdai used for combat exercises. “Let’s see if you’re half as good as you think you are.”

  “Let’s see if you are,” Ronon taunted her, making a show of stretching and flexing. As he’d suspected she might, the warrior-woman chose the moment his arms were behind his back to hurl herself upon him, both hands coming down fast and straight-edged on either side of his neck.

  Ronon had been expecting something like that, however, and he snapped his own arms forward even as he flung himself backward — her hands stopped short of his new position, missing him entirely, while his own palms slammed into her sides and pounded the air from her lungs in a single explosive breath.

  He twisted to the side then, keeping his feet as she hurtled toward the ground. Her body didn’t hit the rough floor, however — instead her hands pushed down and she vaulted forward, twisting in mid-air to land on her feet a few paces away from him.

  “Not bad,” Setien admitted, gasping to restore air to her lungs. “Good feint.”

  “Thanks.” Ronon waited, knowing patience wasn’t her strong suit and determined to make her come to him. It took less than a second before her fist snaked out, punching hard toward his face. He knocked the blow aside, responding with one of his own, even as his other hand blocked a straight-fingered thrust toward his gut with her second hand.

  They traded blows for a few seconds before disengaging and stepping back. Neither of them had been able to land a solid blow, though they’d each had their fists glance off flesh a few times.

  “You’re good,” Setien acknowledged. “Better than any of them.” Her nod took in the other V’rdai, who were all crowded around the ring, watching closely. Her eyes never left Ronon, however.

  “You’re no slouch yourself,” Ronon told her. In truth, he hadn’t faced an opponent like her since his unarmed instructor, back in training. That man had been short and slight but lightning-fast, able to strike like a serpent while you were still blinking. Setien was almost as fast, and considerably stronger. Fortunately, she lacked his old instructor’s tactical sense. She was too aggressive to wait for the perfect opening.

  As if to prove his point, she suddenly spun in, launching a vicious side kick that could have shattered at least one rib. If it had connected. But Ronon had seen her pivot on the one foot and, knowing what that meant, he stepped forward himself, moving into her arc so that the back of her knee struck his side instead of her foot. Then he wrapped one arm around her leg, trapping it there, and pounded her across the jaw with the other hand.

  Setien stumbled from the impact, but it wasn’t enough to stun her. He felt her body coil in his grip. Then she kicked up with her free leg, scissoring both legs together as she spun parallel to the ground, before lashing out to clip Ronon in the jaw with her unencumbered foot. He staggered and stepped back, releasing her leg, and she completed the move by slamming both knees into his chest, knocking him to the ground. The second her feet touched the ground again she was launching herself forward, flipping over and landing hard on his stomach to drive the air from his body just as he’d done to her before.

  Only this time he was pinned beneath her, and she was squeezing with her thighs and knees enough to make his ribs cry out in protest.

  “Yield,” she crowed down at him, one hand moving to his throat, the other cocking back for a knockout punch. “Yield or it’s lights out.”

  Ronon managed to wheeze out a laugh. “What, already?” he gasped. “It’s still early yet.” He ignored her hands and instead slammed both fists forward — directly into her impressive chest. Setien’s eyes flew open at the impact on such a sensitive area, and she cried out involuntarily, both hands going instinctively to protect her chest from further assault. She recovered almost instantly, but it was too late — Ronon had used her distraction to drive his hands between himself and her legs. Now he hooked a hand around each thigh and had heaved upward. Setien went flying off him, and he rolled to the side and then to his feet. He took advantage of the time it took her to recover to catch his breath again.

  “How dare you!” she spat at him once she was on her own feet again. She stalked toward him like a great angry cat, her eyes flashing — if she’d had a tail it would have been lashing left to right in a frenzy. “I will not be manhandled!”

  He shrugged. “All’s fair in a fight,” he pointed out. Then he had to stop talking — all of his attention was on fending off her latest barrage of kicks, punches, slaps, and jabs. A few got through, and Ronon was even more bruised and winded when he managed to push her away again a minute later. She’d been aggressive before, but now she was actually enraged, and if her blows were a bit more wild and a bit more loose, they had even more power behind them. Each one that connected felt like he’d been kicked by a mule.

  “Okay,” he said finally, holding up both hands. “I yield. I yield!”

  “Really?” Setien paused in mid-stride, one hand still raised behind her. “You yield?”

  “Yes.” Ronon dropped to his butt on the hard ground, wincing a little, and leaned back on his hands. It was a vulnerable position — he wouldn’t be able to defend himself properly like this, with his weight on his arms — and he’d chosen it deliberately. “You win. This time.”

  He’d hoped she’d be gracious in victory, but he couldn’t prevent himself from tensing as she lowered her hand and crossed the distance to him. She stared down at him for a second, hands on her hips. Then she favored him with a wide grin and extended a hand to help him to his feet.

  “Well fought!” she said, laughing as she hauled him up without effort. Then she hugged him, which surprised Ronon completely — and apparently shocked the others, given the wordless exclamations he heard all around him. “You almost had me several times there!”

  “Just wait till next time,” Ronon assured her, giving her a quick squeeze back before pulling away. He didn’t want her or anyone else getting the wrong idea — including his own body. Right now his blood was singing from the recent combat, senses alive and pulse pounding — it would be all too easy to give in to the adrenaline. But his grief for Melena was still far too raw. “I won’t give in so quickly.”

  She slapped him on the back. “Good!” she said, and he could see that she meant it. “It’s nice to have a proper opponent again!” For a second he saw sadness in her eyes, before she banished it deliberately. “Only a few of my own people could ever come close to matching me, and I’ve met no one since who could last more than a few seconds.”

  “She’s right,” Adarr volunteered as Frayne led the way back to the fire. “Setien’s amazing in a fight. It’s a wonder you lasted as long as you did.”

  Privately, Ronon disagreed. He hadn’t been beaten, though there was no guarantee he wouldn’t have been — Setien really was good. But so was he. He’d felt it was wise to let her win this first match, though. He didn’t want any bad blood between them, or with any of the other V’rdai. Next time he promised himself he’d keep going until one of them was actually unable to continue.

  Of course, the way his ribs protested when he sank down onto a crate by the fire, that could easily be him.

  Either way, it would be one hell of a match. And he was happy to know his fighting skills wou
ldn’t suffer any. Sparring with Setien would definitely force him to stay sharp. .

  * * *

  Ronon had fully expected Setien to be a strong combatant, given her size, physique, grace, and attitude. Likewise, he was unsurprised to discover over the next two weeks that Adarr and Frayne were both solid but unexceptional fighters, though Frayne did have impressive reach and strength for a man his size. One of the other V’rdai, however, proved to be a revelation in the training ring.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.” Ronon gazed down at Turen, frowning. He was nearly twice her height! And he probably weighed twice what she did, as well.

  But the tiny white-haired Hiñati just smiled at him, those slanted green eyes twinkling. “Don’t worry — you won’t,” she assured him.

  Ronon glanced around. As with his match against Setien, the others were gathered at the edge of the training circle, watching intensely. He couldn’t really blame them — judging by what he’d seen so far, between missions there was little else to do but train, sleep, talk, play cards, and eat. And watching a fight was more entertaining than playing cards any day.

  He caught Banje’s eye, and the other man — Ronon had learned he was Desedan, but little more — gave him a slight nod. Well, if Banje felt it was all right to spar with Turen he’d have to accept that. Still, Ronon resolved to go easy on her. One solid hit could break her into pieces!

  He gave her a slight bow, really little more than a dip of the head, eyes on her the whole time. Concerned didn’t equal stupid and he knew better than to take his eyes off an opponent, even one as unassuming as his current foe. Then, without any windup, he swung at her, a powerful backhand that would knock her to one side and send her flying from the ring. One step beyond its boundary and you forfeited the match. A quick and easy end, and nobody got seriously hurt.