Hunt and run

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 wouldn’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.

Except that Turen wasn’t there. She slipped under his blow, stepped into his space, and hit him once, twice, three times in the stomach. The blows weren’t hard but they were fast and perfectly aimed, and Ronon doubled over, exhaling in a great whoosh of air despite himself. His arm was still extended but he chopped down with the other one, aiming for the juncture between neck and shoulder. Turen sidestepped it, but at least it gave him the second he needed to regain his balance and back away again.

His stomach ached from her blows, and he was gasping to refill his lungs. She wasn’t even breathing hard, and her smile was just a little bit sharper.

“Okay,” Ronon muttered, “I guess I don’t have to worry about hurting you, then.” Apparently Turen’s ears were as sharp as her smile, because her grin widened.

This time Ronon was careful not to overcommit. When he closed the distance again, he thrust forward with both hands at once, intending to grapple Turen. Once he had a solid grip he’d simply fling her out of the ring and be done with it.

That didn’t work, of course. Fast as a whip she ducked under one hand, hitting him on the wrist with the edge of her hand instead. She found a nerve there and Ronon felt his fingers go limp. Damn! He wasn’t able to make a fist but he still snapped his hand back toward her — the back of it caught her shoulder and the force of the blow staggered her, though she recovered almost at once. Hells, she was fast!

Clever, too. She knew he had only one good hand now, and she was clearly determined to take advantage of that as long as it lasted. She was already weaving her way toward him, shifting from side to side so he couldn’t get a clear shot at her, and staying on his weak side to protect herself further.

But Ronon had some tricks of his own. He spun away slightly, then back again, and at the same time lashed out not with his numb hand but with the elbow. It caught Turen on the chin, and this time she did lose her balance, though she managed to jab him in the forearm as she went down.

Ronon threw himself after her without a second’s pause. By the time she hit the ground he was in mid-air, and though Turen twisted to one side she wasn’t able to evade him completely. He hit the ground hard on both knees, but his bruised forearm was across her neck, and he put just enough pressure there to let her know how easily he could crush her throat. She stopped struggling immediately.

“I yield,” she gasped against the pressure, and Ronon sat back at once, releasing her. Then he rose to his feet and offered her a hand — his good one — back up.

“Ancestors, you’re fast!” he told her once they were both back on their feet. His fingers were starting to tingle back to life again, and he rubbed at them absently.

“So are you,” Turen admitted, brushing herself off. “I’m impressed — most non-Hiñati can’t even touch me.”

“I believe it.” Ronon shook his head. “I thought you had me there for a minute.”

She grinned at him, a friendly smile but one filled with clear pride — and perhaps a little longing. “You should see me with blades in my hand,” she assured him quietly.

“It’s true,” Adarr agreed from the sideline. “When we hunt Turen prefers blades to guns, and once you see her in action you’ll know why. They’re like flickers of light!”

Ronon studied the tiny woman with new respect. He’d heard stories of the Hiñati fighters and their speed and skill with swords and knives, but he’d never met one in person. Because of her size and looks he hadn’t taken Turen for a true warrior, but of course it made sense that the Wraith would have kept one of the finest of the Hiñati to turn into a Runner. He’d certainly know better than to underestimate her again!

“We’ll have to spar with blades next time,” he told her. Then he added, “I have a feeling I could learn a lot from you.”

That was exactly the right thing to say — Turen’s grin widened into a beaming smile, and her cheeks flushed slightly. “Any time,” she assured him.

“Any time except now,” Nekai corrected. He’d approached while they were still talking in the ring, or at least Ronon assumed so — he hadn’t seen the V’rdai leader during the match itself, though admittedly he’d been a little distracted. “Right now we have more important things to do.”

Ronon glanced at the Retemite but didn’t ask the obvious question. It had only been two weeks, and demanding answers from Nekai would only make him look insubordinate. That was no way to win the others’ trust.

Fortunately, in this group he didn’t have to say a word. “Are we going hunting?” Adarr asked.

Nekai nodded. “Everyone suit up.” He met Ronon’s eye and gave him a quick, predatory grin, a look Ronon had come to know well during his training. “Everyone.”

Ronon took it as a good sign that no one protested once Nekai’s meaning sank in. Frayne scowled for a second, but then shrugged. Banje nodded. Setien grinned, and Turen smiled. Adarr was the most effusive, but Ronon had already realized that the tall thin man was the most outgoing of the unit.

“Your first hunt with us!” He told Ronon as they all trooped over toward the airlock and the rack of atmosphere suits beside it. “This is going to be great!”

Ronon nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak at the moment. He hadn’t dared expect that he’d be included in this mission. But he was thrilled that he was. His involvement was a clear message from Nekai to the others, saying that he was truly one of them and that he had Nekai’s full trust. The fact that the others had more or less accepted that decision meant they were starting to trust him as well.

But far more importantly, Ronon was tired of sitting around waiting. He had spent three months training with Nekai, and then two weeks here in this dome, waiting. Now, finally, they were going to hunt. They were going after the Wraith.

And Ronon fully intended to return with the blood of at least one more Wraith on his hands.

Not that one was enough. Not by a long shot. But it would do for a start.