Blood Ties

Chapter twenty-three

"Ow! Damn it, Ronon, this kind of activity offers what we Earth natives call a `hostile work environment.' Back home it's illegal to intentionally put coworkers into hazardous situations."

Ronon kept his face completely impassive, knowing it would aggravate Rodney all the more. "So?"

"So I-" Rodney's complaint ended sharply as he scuttled forward to avoid the wave that slapped against the pier behind him. As soon as he came within range, Ronon reached out and easily knocked the practice weapon out of his hand. "Ow! For the love of- Is this really necessary?"

"I didn't drag you out here." Ronon retrieved the wooden staff and handed it back.

"Yes, but neither did you mention the downpour or the fact that the pier gets extremely slippery when wet." Rodney wiped a sleeve across his face to clear the rain from his eyes. From the looks of it, the action made no difference.

`Downpour' was an obvious exaggeration. A light shower was falling on Atlantis, offering pleasantly cool conditions in trade for a slicker surface underfoot. The added challenge was good; it would keep their wits about them.

Ronon had chosen the location, and not by accident. This section of the lower pier was just wide enough for a handto-hand match. If Rodney backed up too far, he'd end up in the water-again. It wasn't a mistake the scientist was likely to make twice, considering how much he'd squawked when Ronon had to haul him out the first time they'd sparred. The man's later attempt to fight while wearing a floatation jacket had been a useless, ridiculous exercise, so there was now a life preserver and towline hanging from a nearby railing. A hundred yards away, two Marine squads were training with rappelling harnesses on the northeast tower, prepared to practice their water rescue skills on Rodney if needed.

"This is reality," Ronon told him, tying back his damp hair. "When you meet an adversary on a mission, it won't always be on a sunny day."

"When I meet an adversary on a mission, I'll either dazzle him with my grasp of Laplace transform functions or shoot him. Hitting him with a stick is a distant Plan C." Despite his grousing, Rodney didn't move to end the lesson. Instead he clutched the staff in both hands and bent his knees in a reasonable imitation of a fighting stance.

Ronon said nothing as he assumed an offensive position. He'd understood some time ago that his silence was the main reason Rodney was here.

"Supposedly I need an outlet, Heightmeyer said," the scientist continued, awkwardly blocking the basic attacks Ronon slowly delivered. "A certified psychiatrist, and all she can come up with is `Get a hobby.' Actually, meditation was her first suggestion, and when I shot that down out of hand she came back with the workout idea. According to her, many physical activities have elements in common with meditation."

"She's right."

"She's not right, but I'll let it go because it's a waste of energy to argue with her. Damn it!" Rodney hurried to reclaim his staff after Ronon sent it skittering across the pier. "And she must be tag-teaming with Elizabeth, because I've essentially been ordered not to supervise any of Katie's or Geisler's current projects. Did you know I could be kicked out of my own lab? It was certainly news to me. Elizabeth restricted me from doing anything resembling useful work for twelve hours. Sleep was strongly recommended, but I never sleep for more than six hours at a time even on the rare occasions when imminent doom isn't on the agenda." He dodged Ronon's swing and nearly lost his footing. "And since Sheppard's not around to amuse me with his creative chess strategies, that leaves… whatever it is we're doing right now."

With a quick feint and a sweep of his leg, Ronon buckled Rodney's knees and forced him to sit down hard. "You're talking. I'm entertaining myself until you start paying attention long enough to learn something."

Sputtering a little as a nearby wave coated him in a fine mist of saltwater, Rodney glared up from the deck. "Fine."

Ronon grasped his hand and pulled him to his feet. "Remember what I told you the first time. Watch my eyes."

"I vaguely recall something of that nature. Why your eyes?"

"I can always tell which way you're going to go because your eyes get there first." He wondered how many lessons it would take for Rodney to start remembering that.

"No telegraphing moves. Got it." But Rodney's gaze kept straying to one side or the other, checking his proximity to the pier's edge. "Regulated downtime is a farce," he said under his breath. "All it does is make us complacent. The worst thing to happen to this city in months happened on a downtime weekend."

And that was the real reason Rodney had come out here, Ronon was sure. Not long ago they'd all been caught unawares, believing they were safe within Atlantis's walls, and five people, including Carson Beckett, had died. Maybe Rodney had agreed to spar because he needed to feel more prepared for every contingency, or maybe he just wanted to vent his anger or pain. Ronon wouldn't presume to know his teammate's motivations, but in either case he was willing to help.

That didn't mean he had to let Rodney run things, control issues or not. "You're tensing up your arm. Keep your shoulder down."

Rodney lifted his chin defiantly. "I can't swing if-"

"You can't swing if an off-angle impact breaks your arm, either."

After that, Rodney closed his mouth. For a while they cir cled each other with only the accompaniment of the steady raindrops, the periodic waves, and the occasional goodnatured shouts between the Marines in the background.

The threat of another type of injury seemed to have sharpened Rodney's concentration, because he stopped making the beginner's mistake of over-committing to a motion. Eventually, if he worked at it every day for a year or two, he might be able to develop his focus and ability to learn into an effective defense. Ronon was well aware that Rodney had no intention of putting forth that level of effort. Still, they were making some progress.

When the scientist's gaze wandered again, this time to a specific point over his adversary's shoulder, Ronon turned halfway to see Lome jogging toward them.

"Dr. Weir's trying to get a hold of you two on the citywide," the Major informed them, raising his voice to be heard over the thrum of the water.

"Thanks," Ronon called back, watching Rodney's reaction. Gripping his staff tightly enough to whiten his knuckles, Rodney looked determined to hold his stance, yet it was obvious he was battling the temptation to lunge for his radio earpiece, sitting in a small waterproof case on the nearby steps.

Testing him, Ronon kept eye contact as he retrieved his own earpiece, lying alongside the other without any protective covering-they were supposed to be durable in any weather, after all.

"Dr. Weir?"

"Ronon, there you are," she responded at once. "Is Rodney with you?"

Since Rodney could only hear half the conversation, Ronon purposely kept his response vague and his staff at the ready. "Yeah."

"Good. Can you ask him to report to the jumper bay in half an hour?"

"Sure." He watched Rodney struggle to control his impatience.

"Thank you." Elizabeth hesitated for a beat. "He'll be traveling to Earth, and I'd appreciate it if you'd consider going with him. You're certainly not obligated in any way to help there, but John's asked for you, and the IOA agrees that we can use all the help we can get. If this effort fails, it's almost a certainty that the expedition will be recalled permanently… and this time I think any future contact with Pegasus, authorized or otherwise, will be halted."

Was the situation that dire? Motion off to the side caught Ronon's eye: the Marines were hauling all their gear down from the tower and packing with brisk efficiency. The electricity in the air had nothing to do with the clouds overhead. Something big was happening on Earth.

If Ronon's team leader wanted him there, that was good enough for him. He was willing to fight the Wraith wherever he found them-and these were still Wraith, no matter what they looked like or what they were called.

Aware of Rodney's heavy gaze on him, all he said aloud was "Okay."

"Thank you." Elizabeth sounded relieved as well as grateful. "Teyla's also agreed to go. We're sending as many people with Wraith combat experience as we can spare. See you in a few minutes °" She ended the transmission.

Having shown more restraint than Ronon had expected, Rodney practically vibrated with tension. "Well'? Did Elizabeth want us for something'?"

Ronon still didn't break his stance or his stare. Patience was a vital part of battle, an attribute Rodney needed to master above all others. Besides, they had some time yet.

At last, Rodney's need for information overwhelmed his concern that his instructor might hit him if he let his guard down. "That's it!" he snapped, jabbing his staff in the direction of the departing Marines. "If they know what's going on, Ineed to know. Start talking, Captain Laconic!"

Well, it was a start. "We're going to Earth," Ronon answered.

"Alen?"

Although John had requisitioned him a watch, Ronon hadn't gotten into the habit of wearing it. Once his years as a runner had ended, it had taken a while to get used to the idea that time mattered again. "Almost half an hour."

"Excuse me?" Rodney's eyes went huge, and he thrust his staff at Ronon. "You didn't think that was worthy of an immediate mention?" He scrambled to gather his earpiece and water bottle from the deck. "Honestly, some days…"

When he started toward the door at top speed, Ronon called, "Hey, Rodney."

The scientist glanced over his shoulder, obviously reluctant to lose any more time. "What?"

With no better way to make his point, Ronon gestured with the staffs, indicating the whole of their training area. "This was good."

Rodney huffed a short, derisive laugh. "I can feel six distinct bruises forming, to say nothing of the onset of pneumonia. Your definition of `good' lacks a certain resemblance to reality." But when he resumed walking, it was with a different kind of confidence than his usual, one that suggested he knew what his teammate had meant.

Shaking his head, Ronon headed inside to dry off and then stop by the armory. He had no reservations about leaving the galaxy to follow this fight. Even if he didn't owe it to the people of Earth as a civilization, he did owe it to the small number of them who had helped him reclaim his life.

He'd traveled to the planet briefly to bring Carson home some weeks ago. Though he hadn't had a chance to explore much, he'd been awed to see such a thriving culture, a haven as yet unstained by the Wraith. The absence of resignation and constant fear made Earth unique among all worlds he had ever visited, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Maybe, now that those who knew about the threat could no longer pretend Earth was safe, they might finally abandon their maddening viewpoint that the Wraith were somehow misunderstood, either ill or disabled, entitled to a degree of compassion. Maybe the danger was near enough this time that they would recognize the only option for lasting peace: the annihilation of every last Wraith in this galaxy and all others.