Hunt and run

Chapter Fourteen

“I hope wherever it is we’re going has fruit trees.” Setien licked her lips. “It’s been far too long since we’ve had fresh fruit.”

“You and your fruit fetish,” Frayne said, laughing as he dodged her lazy backhanded swipe. “I swear, you like fruit better than you like men!”

“Fruit doesn’t disappoint,” she retorted, laughing in turn as Frayne blushed bright red. “Find me a man who can hold up and I’ll consider changing my priorities.” Her gaze swept Ronon, bold and daring, but he refused to react. Setien was an interesting woman, and certainly striking, but he wasn’t interested. It was far too soon for him to even consider another relationship.

Instead he watched the front, where Nekai and Turen had taken the pilot and co-pilot chairs. The rest of them were hanging onto the grips spaced along the sides, just like in a military drop. The handholds were too high for Turen to reach comfortably, which was presumably why the diminutive Hiñati was sitting up front instead and Banje was back here with them.

Nekai aimed the shuttle for what looked like the valley where he and Ronon had found it. As they drew close Ronon scanned the immediate area, looking for signs of a similar craft, but he didn’t see one.

Not surprisingly, Banje noticed his search and guessed the reason behind it. “Twenty kilometers to the southwest,” he answered softly. “It’s got a tarp over it, just like this one had — you wouldn’t be able to spot it from the air.”

Ronon nodded, mentally mapping out probable locations. Twenty kilometers made sense — they were ten to fifteen from the ancestral ring, which put it roughly between the two shuttle locations but kept them far enough apart that anyone searching for one would never stumble across the other.

“One stays by the dome at all times?” he guessed out loud, and Banje nodded. That was exactly how he’d have done it, too — keep one ship close at hand for an emergency escape. With three shuttles you could do that, have one on the planet at all times in case it was needed, and have one at either location as necessary. But that begged another question. “How’d you get your hands on three shuttles?”

“It wasn’t easy,” Adarr answered, his chuckle threatening to turn into a giggle. His fingers were even whiter than the rest of him where they gripped the handhold. Apparently the thin man was a nervous flier. “They had two before I joined, but I helped them get the third one — it might have been this one, I can’t really tell them apart all that well. But we were on this one planet, it had the most glorious trees, I remember their leaves were like sunbeams, all slender and golden, and we — ”

“Enough yammering!” Frayne told his bunkmate sharply, giving him a glare to accompany the harsh words. “Just because you can’t handle flying doesn’t mean the rest of us should have to listen to you going on and on!”

“He asked,” Adarr mumbled, but his cheeks were flaming and he looked down at his feet. “I was just trying to tell him — ”

“We scrounged them,” Setien cut in, clearly hoping to shut down an argument in the making. “Most of the time we wind up on an uninhabited world, but sometimes we find one with actual settlements. And occasionally” — her eyes flashed — “it’s someplace the Wraith have destroyed. They don’t bother with the tech — no reason to, when theirs is better — so they leave everything behind.” She rapped one hand against the hull beside her. “This one we scavenged from a dead world. The body was intact but the systems were dead. Adarr found parts from others to fix it. He’s very good with machines.”

The tall man brightened. “I don’t like to fly them, but I can repair them,” he agreed, happy for the praise. He was like a big puppy, Ronon thought, all long limbs and enthusiasm. Yet again he wondered why the Wraith had chosen him to survive as a Runner — and just how long he would have survived without Nekai’s intervention. Probably as long as he would have, he admitted privately to himself, which meant he had no room to criticize the other man.

There was something that still didn’t make sense to him, though. “You were able to find and repair a shuttle but couldn’t get any weapons beyond pistols and rifles?” he asked. “And no armor either?”

This time it was Banje who answered. “The Wraith transport most of their victims,” he reminded sharply. “Weapons and armor, too. Anyone they’ve killed — ” he shrugged, but for once Ronon saw a flicker of emotion on the other man’s face: pain. “The bodies are too badly damaged to salvage anything, including their gear.”

Clearly the Desedan had suffered a horrible loss, just as they all had. From what he’d said Ronon guessed that someone close to the man had been among the “too badly damaged.” He didn’t press the issue. Banje had answered his question.

Their landing was just as rough as the one on the moon had been, and all of them clung to their handholds as they were jostled about. “Let me pilot next time!” Frayne complained as he struggled to his feet again, wincing slightly — the little man’s arms were long enough to reach the grip without a problem but stretching that far put him off-balance and he’d wound up dangling from it when the ship had tilted and scraped its way to a stop.

“Frayne’s a really good pilot,” Adarr whispered to Ronon as they waited for Nekai to power down and open the airlock. “He had a fighter of his own, back on his world.”

That explained a lot about the little man, Ronon thought as they stepped back out into the valley and covered the shuttle with the tarp again — judging from the marks on the ground Nekai had gotten within a few meters of the ship’s earlier position, which was actually fairly good. Frayne must come from one of the few worlds beside Sateda advanced enough to actually have fliers. He was fast enough and alert enough to have been a good fighter pilot, and his twitchiness would actually be an advantage in the air where he’d need to fire upon foes before they could target him back. Perhaps the orange-haired man had given the Wraith such competition in the air that they’d assumed he’d be just as effective on the ground, and that’s why they’d opted to turn him into a Runner.

Or perhaps it had amused them to see someone so talented in the air be so clueless on the ground. It was hard to say.

The team continued to banter as they made their way to the ancestral ring, but once there Banje motioned them to silence. There was no telling what world they’d wind up on once Nekai opened a portal, or whether there might be settlements nearby. Or Wraith. Adarr whispered to Ronon that once they’d stumbled through a gate, only to find a squad of Wraith warriors standing guard there. Only the fact that the Wraith clearly hadn’t been expecting them, and Turen and Banje’s fast reflexes, had allowed them to kill the closest and scatter the rest while the portal closed and Nekai quickly dialed a new location. They’d barely made it through the new portal in time, and then they’d had to hide until they were sure the Wraith hadn’t followed them.

“How does Nekai know what to dial?” Ronon asked softly, as much to himself as to the others, but Turen heard him.

“We found something on one of the Wraith we killed, a while back,” she explained softly. “A little plaque with line after line of symbols. The same symbols as that console.” She gestured toward Nekai with her chin. “It was a list of places. So far, every one Nekai’s tried has been a proper world.”

Handy, Ronon thought. Nekai must have been consulting that list somehow when the two of them had used the rings, or he’d learned a few of the numbers by heart. Ronon certainly wasn’t complaining. He remembered hearing tales of rings that floated in outer space, or stood deep beneath seas or even ice or dirt. Good to know they wouldn’t be walking into one of those!

Nekai worked his magic on the console while Banje and the others stood to the far side of the ring, weapons at the ready. Ronon was still unaccustomed enough to the rings that he started slightly when its surface plumed outward, earning him a few chuckles and snorts from the others, but that was fair enough. The new recruit always got picked on a bit, and he’d been surprised so far how little of that he’d had to put up with. The fact that he was a Runner like the rest of them had certainly made some difference, since they knew exactly what he’d been through and respected the fact that the grief and pain were still very raw for him, and Nekai’s personal training and invitation had most likely helped as well, but still Ronon had expected a few more pranks and jokes at his expense. Perhaps his sparring with Setien first had also done away with those, he thought as they stepped through the portal one at a time. The others had seen he was not to be trifled with, and so had left well enough alone.

Ronon found the trip through the ring disorienting but forced himself to keep moving, staggering after Turen as the team marched quickly across the small clearing and into the bushes beyond. There was no sign of Wraith presence yet, so Banje and Nekai allowed them a few minutes to get their bearings.

The trees they took cover under proved to be heavy with native fruit. There were both something that looked like perfectly spherical green grapes but proved to be utterly inedible — eliciting a cry of outrage from Setien and a “Never disappoints, hm?” from Frayne — and something like an apple but blue-black and juicy-sweet like a plum. After Banje used a small chemical tester to make sure the fruits were safe to eat — though Setien had already demonstrated that by shoving a whole one in her mouth, chewing, and swallowing triumphantly — they all devoured as many as they could stomach of the second kind, and harvested great handfuls more to secret in various pockets and bring back with them. Once their hunger was sated, Banje had them form up again and they moved out.

They trekked for an hour, perhaps a little more, before Nekai returned from scouting ahead and signaled that he’d found a suitable spot. The others followed him to a small copse of trees in the middle of a denser forest. The copse had enough space for Ronon to stretch out both arms and not graze a tree at all, but the branches overhead still filtered some of the sunlight, creating a soft dappled haze instead of a harsh glare. Just beyond the copse the trees were older, taller, thicker, and set more closely together, providing more shade and cover but allowing less room to maneuver. They were perfectly placed to provide shelter when setting an ambush.

“Turen, you’re up,” Banje told the tiny Hiñati, who nodded and took off at a run in the direction Nekai pointed. “Everyone else, fan out within the trees. Keep to within two meters of each other, though, otherwise your devices will show on the monitors.”

Ronon obediently took to the shade, scaling a low-hanging branch and swinging himself up into the canopy it and its siblings offered. He couldn’t help asking, though, “Why Turen? She’s the smallest of us — she can’t run as fast or cover as much ground.”

“She’s fast enough,” Nekai told him from a spot between two thick protruding roots a few trees over. All the foliage muffled his voice oddly, but it was just loud enough to reach Ronon if he strained to hear. “And she’s the most agile of us. Plus she’s not as good in an ambush, so she’s better for bait.”

Ronon mused on that as he settled in to wait. Not as good in an ambush — that must be because of what Adarr had said back in the dome, about how Turen preferred blades to guns. They wouldn’t be much use at range, but she’d be able to strike fast if a Wraith got in too close — like trying to feed off a Runner it thought was helpless.

The area grew quiet as their various rustlings and creakings faded away, and Ronon closed his eyes, determined to be as patient as he could manage. There was no telling how far Turen would run before turning back — she wanted to get far enough away that the Wraith wouldn’t start from here, but close enough that she could get back to this spot easily and could reach it before they found her. Ronon assumed she knew the right distance from previous hunts, and he figured she could take care of herself regardless. His biggest concern right now was remembering what Nekai had taught him about being still — he didn’t want his growing impatience to manifest as shifting restlessly on his perch, because the sound and motion could give all of them away.

So he waited.

Ronon wasn’t sure how long he’d rested — he’d slipped into a light doze, conserving energy and resting but still alert enough that he could wake at any time — before something woke him. He blinked once, twice, careful not to stretch or yawn as he glanced around. He could just make out Nekai between the roots but the V’rdai leader didn’t move a muscle. Between them Adarr was up in the branches of another tree, and he was so still Ronon thought at first he was looking at a collection of sun-bleached sticks. Frayne was on Ronon’s other side, as were Banje and Setien, and he didn’t dare turn his head to look at them but he guessed none of them had made the noise he’d heard through his sleep. Which meant it was probably Turen.

And that meant she was coming their way. And hopefully leading the Wraith behind her.

After a few seconds Ronon heard a sound again, followed quickly by another. Footsteps. Someone running — and the gait was rapid, meaning someone with short legs moving quickly. Definitely Turen. Then he picked up other noises behind those, slower and heavier. More footsteps, larger and longer and less hurried.

Wraith.

Moving slowly and carefully to avoid making any noise, Ronon eased his pistol from its holster. He raised it in one smooth arc, keeping it close to the tree trunk he was nestled against so its barrel wouldn’t gleam or protrude. The copse was right before him, and he would have a clear line of sight on anyone moving into or through it. He held his breath and tensed his trigger finger as the footsteps drew closer.

A second later a slight figure burst into the copse, white hair gleaming in the comparatively bright light. Turen. She got a little more than halfway across the space before she stumbled and dropped to one knee. But Ronon wasn’t fooled. Not after sparring with her. He couldn’t imagine the agile little woman tripping on anything.

But her pursuers didn’t know that. They came into view a few seconds later, slowing as they spotted their prey apparently downed by a stray root or rock. There were three of them again, one commander and two warriors, as before — Ronon suspected that was their standard configuration, at least when hunting. He sighted down his barrel, targeting the commander’s head. Then he waited, tracking the Wraith as it moved in for the kill. Shooting now would risk them turning and fleeing back into the forest if they didn’t go down with the first barrage. Better to wait until they were dead center, then gun them all down.

Of course, that meant the Wraith were getting closer to Turen. She was still on the ground, hunched over, hands against her stomach, as if she’d injured herself when she fell. Ronon couldn’t see the Wraith warriors’ faces through their masks, but the commander was openly gloating.

“Well, well,” he was saying softly, his words a snakelike hiss through his pointed teeth. “Turen Masaglia of the Hiñati. We’ve been hunting for you for quite some time, my dear. You’ve certainly led us on a merry chase. But it ends now.” He extended one hand, the life-sucking organ in his palm clearly visible and took another step closer. He was almost near enough to reach her now.

“Yes, it does,” Ronon heard Turen say quietly. Then she had turned, rising to her feet as she moved, her blades flashing out and around and down. They were little more than a flicker in the light, but the Wraith commander stumbled backward, a cry on his lips as he stared at the bloody stump where his hand had been.

Before he could voice that cry, Ronon shot him. The red bolt struck the Wraith in the right temple just as another shot caught him in the throat, and the commander convulsed as his body fell backward, a third shot striking him even as he toppled. He was dead before he hit the ground.

The others had opened fire on the two warriors, and Ronon quickly switched to them as well. It was difficult to tell who hit whom, but within seconds both warriors were also dead, and Turen was standing alone in the copse.

She knelt quickly and checked all three bodies before nodding. The others emerged from their cover and converged on her and on their fallen prey.

“You all right?” Nekai asked her, and Turen nodded quickly. She wiped her blades — two long, wicked-looking daggers — on the commander’s torso before replacing them in sheaths strapped to her thighs. Then she flashed Ronon a brilliant smile as if to say “See? Told you you should see me with blades in my hands.”

Banje had dropped to a crouch beside the commander and was checking not his body but his wrist, the one that still had a hand attached. “Damn,” he muttered quietly, holding up the limb for the others to see. “Shattered. Must have caught a stray bolt.”

There was a device on the dead Wraith’s wrist, a familiar-looking screen though this one was cracked and blackened and smoking. A tracking monitor.

“We only have two,” Banje explained to Ronon, rising to his feet again after appropriating the commander’s stun-pistol. “Nekai has one and I have the other.” He raised his right arm to show the tracking monitor strapped there. “They tend to damage easily, and we haven’t been able to recover any others intact.”

Out of the corner of his eye Ronon saw Nekai’s brow furrow and his mouth turn down at the edges. When he glanced over, however, the Retemite was as stone-faced as ever. Odd. He’d seemed displeased about Banje’s statement. But was it because they hadn’t been able to acquire more than two of the monitors — or because someone besides him had one?

The others had checked over the warriors’ bodies, and collected their stun rifles and knives. “We should get moving,” Nekai instructed. “Best not to linger by the bodies. Back to base.” He nodded at Ronon. “Good job on your first mission. You fit in just fine.”

Setien clapped Ronon on the back, staggering him slightly from the force of the blow. “Absolutely!” she agreed cheerfully. “You are now truly one of us!”

Turen and Adarr both smiled their assent, and Banje nodded. Even Frayne grunted what might have been approval, or at least wary acceptance. Ronon allowed himself to smile as well. He felt like one of them, to be honest, and it was a good feeling. It had been too long since he had been part of a team, with comrades he could count on. Not that he was ready to trust them completely yet, but that would come in time. For now it was good to know someone else had his back in a fight — and to know they trusted him to have theirs.

They had almost reached the ancestral ring when Banje motioned the others to stop. They did at once, freezing as the Desedan cocked his head to one side, listening intently. Then he gestured to the sides and they all dove for cover.

“What is it?” Frayne whispered as they wriggled behind trees and rocks and bushes. “More hunters?”

Banje shook his head and gestured up toward the canopy and beyond. Then Ronon heard it. A faint droning sound that quickly grew to a high-pitched scream that made his head pound.

A ship.

And he recognized that particular pitch, which cut into his thoughts and his ears alike. This wasn’t just any ship.

It was a Wraith Dart.

“Is it after us?” Adarr asked from behind a tree trunk. “Are they hunting us with ships now?”

“Unlikely,” Nekai answered softly, almost invisible within a scraggly bush. “It’s probably just on its way to somewhere else.”

Ronon considered that for only a second. “Does it have a tracking monitor?” he asked, his words little more than a whisper through clenched teeth.

“It might,” Nekai admitted. “We don’t know — so far we’ve only seen hunters with them, and they’ve all been on foot. Why?”

Ronon was thinking fast. “If it doesn’t have one, it won’t know about us,” he answered. “But it may know about the hunters we just killed. And it may realize they’re dead.”

“It may,” Banje agreed. “They’re telepathic, and if it knows other Wraith are on this world it may call out to them as a matter of course.” The scream had faded now, and Ronon found he could think straight again. The Dart had moved on.

“Which means it may track them down when they don’t answer,” Ronon continued his thought. He rose from his crouch.

“Where are you going?” Nekai demanded sharply, half-rising as well.

Ronon glanced at him but didn’t stop. “To kill a Dart,” he replied as he passed. “Anyone care to join me?”

To his credit, Nekai considered for only a second before abandoning his cover completely. “You’re insane,” he pointed out as he closed the distance between himself and Ronon. “We don’t have anything that can take down a Dart.” But he was grinning as he said it.

“We don’t need to take out the Dart,” Ronon replied, a plan already forming in his head. “We just need to take out the pilot. The rest will take care of itself.” He glanced around, gauging the distance back to the copse. “But we have to hurry — if he gets there before we do, we’re sunk.”

Nekai nodded at Banje, who immediately popped to his feet. “Back to the copse,” the Desedan ordered. “Fast as you can! Move!”

And then they were off at a run. Ronon let his body settle into a long, loping stride, his legs covering the ground swiftly, his blood singing through his veins. He didn’t care if the others were with him or not at this point. All he cared about was the lone Wraith approaching that clearing. The three they’d just killed, it had been impossible to tell who had fired the killing shot. But not this time.

This one was all his.