SGA-13 Hunt and Run

by Rosenberg, Aaron

  “We will,” Nekai agreed. “As soon as we can. But we don’t have a net. And the Wraith will be coming. We need to deal with them first. Take cover.” Ronon didn’t move. “Now, Ronon!”

  “He’s right, Ronon,” Setien shouted down to him. “I’m already bait — no sense in offering them more.”

  Ronon growled but finally took shelter behind a tree. He had his pistol in hand already, fingers tight around the butt, and he drew his sword as well, keeping the blade low so it wouldn’t flash in the filtered sunlight. It had taken him and Turen weeks to fashion the jagged Dart fragment into a proper blade, and longer for him to find something he felt was suitable for the rest of the weapon. He had finally settled on using only Wraith trophies. A Wraith jawbone formed the hilt and handle. A braid of Wraith hair wrapped around that for the grip, and the leather coat he’d taken from the first commander he’d killed formed the scabbard. The sword served not only as a weapon but as a symbol of his hatred for the Wraith, and now he focused on that, trying to push his fear for Setien aside. He’d kill anyone who came for her. Then they would get her loose and all head back to their base together.

  * * *

  It seemed far too soon before they began hearing sounds in the forest, coming from the direction of the ancestral ring. “Wraith,” Banje whispered, alerting the rest of them, and Ronon strained to pick up what the Desedan’s sharp ears had noticed. But he didn’t hear anything.

  At least, not at first. After another minute he picked up a faint rustling. It could have been the wind, but then he heard it again. And again. It was too regular to be a breeze. They were footsteps.

  But soft ones, not the heavy warrior’s tread he was used to. He glanced at Banje, who caught his eye and then shrugged. He was puzzled as well.

  Ronon peeked out from behind his tree — and froze, knowing that to move again might draw attention. He had seen a flash of white among the browns and greens and golds up ahead. Then another. And another. Even with so quick a glimpse, he recognized the shading. Wraith hair and flesh. Three of them.

  But not warriors. The warriors wore those helmets to protect their heads, and those covered their hair and faces completely. These Wraith were bareheaded.

  Which meant they were commanders. That explained why they were so quiet — the commanders were more graceful, more stealthy then the warriors they used for brute force.

  But three commanders at once? Hunting together? The Wraith had never done that before!

  The others had noticed now as well, and Ronon saw each of them tense in turn as they realized the same thing he had. The Wraith had changed their hunting tactics. And going up against three commanders was very different from taking out one commander and two warriors.

  Especially without Setien.

  Ronon started to raise his pistol, but a hand on his wrist stopped him. Nekai. The V’rdai leader had closed the distance between them so quietly Ronon hadn’t even noticed.

  “Not yet,” Nekai whispered. “Wait until they stop beneath her. Then we’ll take them.”

  Ronon hesitated, then nodded. It was the smart thing to do. They’d be more exposed that way, and they’d be stationary. He just didn’t like letting them get that close to Setien.

  But he knew if she was down here she’d have agreed. They had to take out all three Wraith at once, to prevent them from summoning help, and this was the best way to do it.

  He relaxed his arm slightly, and Nekai removed his hand. Then the Retemite slid away again, stopping a few feet to the side where he could take refuge behind another tree.

  And they waited.

  Within minutes the Wraith had reached the site of the snare. They moved silently, eyes wary, weapons drawn. These three would not be taken by surprise. When they stopped, they put their backs to each other, so that they had all sides covered. Only then did one of them glance up, and then only quickly.

  “What have we here?” it called out, its words hissing from between its pointed teeth. “Setien D’onbach of the Mahoir? Quite the prize!”

  “An odd place to find yourself,” one of the others commented, clearly speaking out loud for her benefit. “So high and so defenseless. Almost like a gift!”

  “But who would make us such an offering?” the third pondered. “Not that we can refuse, of course.” Even from here Ronon could see its sharp grin.

  “The question becomes, how to retrieve our present?” the first one asked. “We dislike climbing, especially when other dangers could lurk nearby.”

  “Cut me loose and I’ll come down to you,” Setien offered, which made all three Wraith laugh.

  “That is a good plan,” one agreed after their chuckling had ceased. “Yes, perhaps we should cut you down.”

  Then they all raised their pistols as one, and began firing — straight up.

  “No!” Ronon gave up all pretense of hiding and burst from his cover, charging the Wraith. He was already shooting at them as he ran, sword raised high to cut them down as soon as he was close enough. Behind him he heard commotion as the others followed, and more gunfire whizzed past him, targeting the three commanders.

  But the Wraith had clearly been ready for any threat. They split up at once, diving behind nearby trees, and returned fire,, continuing to shoot up into the branches every few seconds. And apparently their pistols had multiple settings like Ronon’s because he could hear the crackle of leaves and wood burning up above. Those were no stun-bolts!

  He had winged one of the commanders before they could duck away, and now he targeted that one, circling the tree it was using for cover. They traded shots back and forth before Ronon was able to swing around the other side and lash out with his sword. The blade bit deep through Wraith leather and flesh, and he heard the commander gasp in pain as he dropped to his knees. Ronon was pivoting back around the trunk again in an instant, sword flashing as it leapt forward to strike the Wraith’s head from his shoulders.

  One down, two to go.

  But those two were firmly entrenched now, and the other V’rdai hadn’t been able to get the drop on them yet. Nor could Ronon, not without running right into their weapons fire.

  “We need to go!” Nekai shouted, aiming at one Wraith but just missing him and striking the tree instead. Chunks of bark and wood flew.

  “Not without Setien!” Ronon insisted. He looked for a way to get behind the Wraith but didn’t see one.

  “They’ll have reinforcements on the way!” Nekai insisted. “We’ll all get killed — or captured!” The thought made Ronon shiver. But he wouldn’t abandon her. He couldn’t!

  One of the two remaining Wraith fired upward again, and Ronon heard something snap up among the leaves. Then he heard what sounded like a strong wind — but it was coming straight down.

  “Look out!” Banje yelled, ducking back behind a tree. The others followed his lead, except for Ronon — the Wraith were taking refuge as well, and he used the opportunity to cross the space to one of them. The Wraith commander had just enough time to glance up when Ronon’s shadow fell across him, sword blade and pistol bolt right behind it and both centered on his head.

  The Wraith’s body dropped, Ronon turned —

  — and leaped backward to avoid being crushed by a large shape as it crashed to the ground right beside him.

  It was only when he picked himself up again that he realized it was Setien. The last shot must have struck one of the branches supporting her, and the others couldn’t hold her weight alone. Or it had severed the vine itself. Either way, she had plummeted more than twenty meters — for a second he berated himself for not trying to catch her, then admitted that was ridiculous. Falling from that height, she would have crushed him, and then they would both be dead.

  For there was no question as to whether she’d survive. Not anymore. Ronon dropped to his knees beside her, trying not to notice the way her limbs were bent in every direction, or where bone poked through flesh. He ignored the blood seeping into the ground all around him, soaking his pants where his
knees touched, and reached for her head. She was still alive, her eyes still blinking, though they were already glazing over and blood was trickling from her nose and mouth and ears.

  “Always . . . knew . . . fruit would be . . . the death . . . of me,” she whispered thickly, and Ronon tried to smile. Behind him the remaining Wraith stirred — Setien’s impact had stunned him — then cried out and thrashed and stilled as five V’rdai shot him at once. But Ronon ignored them all.

  “You can’t die,” he told Setien. “Who’s going to whip my ass in the ring?”

  She managed a weak smile, though one side of her face didn’t respond. “Next . . . time,” she managed. Then her whole body convulsed and went slack, and the light faded from her eyes. She was gone.

  Ronon didn’t know how long he sat like that, her head cradled in his hands, before he felt a hand on his shoulder. “We have to go,” Banje told him, his voice even softer than usual.

  “I know.” Ronon laid her on the ground as gently as he could and allowed the other man to help him to his feet. He also knew they couldn’t bring Setien back with them. Not with the tracking device still imbedded in her back. She’d lead the Wraith right to their base the first time the rest of the team went out on a mission. And she wouldn’t have wanted that.

  Turen stepped up beside Ronon and handed him something without a word. It was a pear, one of the ones from the trap, slightly bruised now but still fresh. Ronon nodded his thanks and placed it in Setien’s shattered hands, then clasped them around the fruit. If there was an afterlife, she wouldn’t arrive empty-handed.

  Then he turned and let the others lead him back toward the ancestral ring. None of them spoke, not even Adarr. Ronon knew there had been other V’rdai before him, but not many of them, and not for a long time. Setien had been part of the unit for years. Things would never be the same without her.

  They had a second nasty surprise when they got within sight of the ring. There were Wraith troops stationed around it, and several Darts whizzing overhead. Obviously the Wraith were finally taking them seriously, but now was exactly the wrong time for them to have to fight their way home.

  Fortunately, someone must have discovered the three dead commanders soon after they left the scene. Within minutes of reaching the ring Ronon and the others saw the Darts take off, heading in the direction of the trap. Half of the troops followed. Only a handful remained to defend the ring, and they seemed to think they were safe from attack in the middle of a clearing. The V’rdai cut them down quickly, then sprinted to the ring as Nekai worked the controls, dialing open a portal and setting it to scramble the signal once they’d passed through.

  A minute later, the gate closed behind them. They took two more jumps before returning to the shuttle, just to make sure no one had followed them.

  Ronon barely remembered any of it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Nekai’s back!”

  Adarr’s shout startled the rest into motion, Ronon included. It had been almost two months since Setien’s death, and over three weeks since their leader had taken a shuttle and disappeared. Ronon had thought at first that it was simply a reaction to Setien’s death, but the others had told him that Nekai had done this a few times before — and the last two times it had been to recruit first Adarr and then Ronon himself. So none of them were too surprised a few minutes later when they saw four people step in through the dome’s airlock: Frayne and Banje, who had gone to escort the new arrivals in once their systems had detected the approaching shuttle, Nekai, and one other.

  Female, Ronon determined as he and Adarr and Turen joined the others. Average height, narrow build, the same loping gait he and Nekai and Banje possessed. Turen had an even more fluid walk, graceful and quick and quiet despite her shorter legs, and neither Frayne nor Adarr had ever fully mastered the hunter’s stride. But this woman clearly had.

  “You’re back!’ As when he’d first arrived, Ronon noticed that Turen approached Nekai rapidly, fast enough and with enough enthusiasm that he thought the little Hiñati woman would throw herself on the stocky Retemite, but at the last minute she slowed down and gave him a quick, awkward embrace instead. Frayne caught Ronon’s gaze and rolled his eyes. As bunkmates, the two of them had plenty of time to sit and talk at night, and more than once the conversation had turned to Turen’s obvious obsession with Nekai. Ronon had judged it equal parts hero worship, physical desire, and genuine affection. Frayne, being less kind, had ignored the third possibility and insisted it was entirely because Nekai had saved her and so was now this magnificent but untouchable figure in her eyes. Certainly the “untouchable” part seemed true — the rest of them all knew about her interest but if Nekai ever noticed he never acknowledged it, and Turen had never once acted on it.

  This time was proving to be no exception.

  Except that the newcomer’s reaction was interesting. She’d stepped closer to Nekai when Turen had approached, almost but not quite putting herself in the shorter woman’s way. And the minute Turen disengaged and stepped back the new woman slid even closer, her arm brushing against Nekai’s side. Possessive, Ronon recognized. The woman was staking her claim. And Nekai didn’t react one way or another — he didn’t reciprocate but he didn’t move away either.

  Judging by Turen’s scowl, she had seen it as well.

  “Welcome back,” Ronon told Nekai, edging past Turen to offer Nekai his hand once the Retemite had pulled off his helmet. “Glad you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine,” Nekai assured him and all of them, exchanging greetings with the others as well. “Everything here okay?”

  “Fine,” Banje answered, having already shucked his suit as well, but the one-word answer was even more flat than usual for the terse Desedan. Of course none of them were fine. There was still a large, Setien-shaped hole in their midst. It was impossible not to notice it — when they were eating, when they were parceling out chores, when they were training, when they were sparring. Especially when they were sparring. Banje and Turen had taken to double-teaming Ronon, and the pair worked together extremely well, his skill and experience coupled with her speed and agility, but it wasn’t the same. So yes, they were fine: they were healthy, they’d kept up their practice and training, they were eating and exercising and even sleeping.

  But they weren’t well. Not by a long shot.

  The newcomer had removed her helmet now, revealing a narrow face with sharp, angular features, dark brown hair pulled back in a severe bun, and black eyes that flickered constantly across them all. “Everyone, meet Lanara,” Nekai introduced her, and Ronon saw Turen bristle at the obvious pride in his voice. “The newest member of the V’rdai.”

  “I’m Adarr.” Of course the tall Fenabian was the first to welcome her. He offered a hand but pulled it back after she didn’t clasp it, accepting her curt nod instead.

  “Ronon.” He got a similar nod. So she wasn’t a touchy-feely type. She was still standing awfully close to Nekai, though. Ronon had seen enough body language back in the Satedan military to be fairly sure the two had slept together, and more than once. That was going to make matters . . . complicated.

  Frayne and Banje introduced themselves as well, and finally Turen gave the new woman a grudging nod. “Turen,” she muttered, shooting daggers at Nekai and barely sparing Lanara a glance. Oh yes, definitely complicated.

  “Lanara is Kadrean,” Nekai told them. “Her people are some of the finest hunters in the galaxy, and Lanara is one of the best they’ve ever produced. That’s why I was able to return so quickly — she’s already a better hunter than I’ll ever be. We just needed to adapt her skills to hunting Wraith.”

  “They’re a lot slower than alca-beasts,” Lanara announced, her thin lips pulling back in a vicious smile. “And less dangerous close up.” Her voice matched the rest of her, clear and sharp. Ronon wondered if she’d always been like this, or if becoming a Runner had stripped away any calmer emotions she might have possessed. He’d probably been just as brusque when he’d
first arrived, but he’d still had some sense of humor buried deep inside. Of course, for him it had been three months since his capture. For her, assuming Nekai had found her as quickly, it had been only a few weeks. He couldn’t fault her for still being raw. He just wondered if that would ease with time.

  “Have you been out since I left?” Nekai was asking Banje, and frowned when the Desedan shook his head. “Well, we need to fix that. I know we’re all still upset about Setien’s death, but sitting here doesn’t do her memory any honor. We need to remember her the way she’d want most, by laughing in the face of danger and killing as many Wraith as possible.”

  “And eating fresh fruit whenever we find it,” Frayne muttered, which brought a smile to everyone’s faces. Everyone except Lanara and Turen, who were now busy glaring at each other.

  Nekai had smiled along with the rest of them, but now that glimpse of humor vanished. “It’s time we got serious,” he informed them gravely. “We’ve been taking the fight to the Wraith when we can, yes — and sometimes even when we probably shouldn’t.” That last had been accompanied by a quick glance at Ronon, but he only grinned in reply. “But now we have to do more. We need to manufacture situations to draw them in, set bigger traps, lure more Wraith to their death. Ronon’s scheme with the dead shuttle worked beautifully, and took out an entire cruiser! We have to set more snares like that. Maybe even find a way to trap the ancestral rings themselves, so we can take out a Dart as it passes through.”

  He was pacing now, and the others watched him intently, knowing there was more their leader wished to say. Lanara had been forced to back away to give him room as he moved, and Ronon didn’t miss the victorious smirk Turen sent her way. If Nekai thought the two women were going to bunk together, someone would have to disabuse him of that notion, and quickly. Otherwise Lanara wouldn’t last a week — she might be an excellent hunter, but up close no one could match Turen with a blade.