Hunt and run

Chapter Twenty-two

Rodney woke to a world of hurt.

“Oh, ow!” he complained, shifting slightly and producing a wave of sharp pain across his back, shoulders, and neck. Another twist and his legs and butt joined in, all protesting angrily.

“Shhh,” Ronon warned beside him.

“What do you mean, ‘shhh’?” Rodney snapped, but quietly. “We’re trapped in a tiny cave somewhere on a godforsaken planet in the middle of nowhere! Who’s going to hear me?”

“The people hunting us.”

That shut Rodney up, but only for a second. “Oh right, because they’re going around and putting their ear to every rock and cliff and hillside they can find, just on the off chance they’ll hear us in this little cave nobody knows exists?” He tried stretching again, but only succeeded in banging his elbow, forearm, and wrist on the low ceiling. The new injuries joined the chorus of older ones in shrieking at his misuse of his own body.

“Sound carries,” Ronon answered softly. “And we have no way of knowing if these walls have cracks in them. Our voices could be heard miles away.”

“But if they were,” Rodney argued, “wouldn’t that make us impossible to locate by sound alone?” He grinned, and was pleased to discover his face was one of the only parts of him that didn’t hurt. Thank God for small favors!

“Best not to chance it,” was all his companion replied. Which meant Ronon knew he was right but couldn’t admit it. The pleasure of winning yet another argument helped offset the pain of sleeping curled up in a hard rocky niche but didn’t drive it away completely.

“What time is it?” Rodney asked, though he did whisper the question. “How long have we been in here?”

“It’s almost dawn,” Ronon told him. “We slept maybe four hours.”

“Four hours? I’m useless without at least six.”

“Guess you don’t sleep much, then,” his companion said, and Rodney could tell the big lug was grinning.

“Ha ha, very funny. So when are we getting out of this lovely little hole in the wall? Dawn?”

But Ronon shook his head — Rodney’s eyes had apparently adapted enough to their environs that he could see the motion, even though the Satedan’s features were still a blur. “Too early,” came the answer.

“Too early? What are you talking about? We have to go find Sheppard and Teyla. We’ve got to get the Jumper up and running again. We’ve got to call Woolsey and let him know where we are!”

His companion turned and looked down at him. “They’ll be waiting for us at first light,” he explained. “It’s the best time to hunt — the prey’s still tired, not fully alert, and the early light can be misleading, even blinding at the right angles.”

“Oh.” Rodney thought about that. “So what do we do?”

“We wait until mid-morning. They’ll be getting restless by then, which means they’re more likely to make mistakes.”

“Great. So what do we do until then?”

Beside him, Ronon leaned his head back against the cave’s curving wall. “Sleep,” he answered. And within seconds he was doing just that.

Swell. “I can’t just go to sleep upon command!” Rodney whispered, but Ronon didn’t react. The Satedan had demonstrated plenty of times that he possessed that military knack for falling asleep instantly, though Rodney knew if there was danger Ronon would be awake again at once and fully alert. But he didn’t share that skill. He needed quiet, and calm, and a comfortable bed, and a soft pillow, and a warm blanket, and music playing, and —

Before he could even finish his list, Rodney was asleep.

“What is your name?” The masked figure loomed over Sheppard, leaning in close enough that he could make out angry blue eyes through the tinted goggles.

“Mickey Mouse,” Sheppard replied. He resisted the urge to spit, but did deliberately stick out his bottom lip. That caused his answer — and the hot air that went with it — to angle directly into his questioner’s face. The goggles fogged instantly, making the figure recoil and tear them off so he could see properly. Yep, blue eyes, and set in a narrow, pale-skinned face, Sheppard noticed. Human, unquestionably, but then he’d already figured their captors weren’t Wraith. This just wasn’t their style.

“Tell me the truth!” His interrogator struck him hard across the face, the blow knocking Sheppard’s head back against the rock behind him.

“Sure,” he answered, wincing slightly as he shifted away from the boulder. “What do you want to know?”

“Who are you, and why are you here?” The blue-eyed man demanded.

“We’re here because you idiots tried to blow up our ship!” Sheppard snapped, and instantly regretted it as his captor struck him again. “Look,” he continued more quietly, when the pain had died down enough for him to think clearly again. “What do you want from me? We’re not a threat to you — hell, I don’t even know who you are! And we only came this way because we picked up the distress signal you left on that shuttle. Let us go and we’ll leave and you’ll never have to see us again.”

The man laughed, a short, bitter sound. “You think I’d fall for that?” he asked. “You were just in the area and heard the distress signal? You’ll leave and never come back? Sure.”

“I didn’t say we were in the area,” Sheppard pointed out. “You’ve probably got scanners — you know we came through the Stargate. But yes, we’ll leave you alone. We aren’t interested in whatever you’re doing. We only came because we thought you needed help.”

“Or because you thought we were helpless,” the man corrected angrily, “and wanted to take us when we couldn’t fight back.” He hit Sheppard again, but this blow was more of an afterthought, a casual backhanded slap not really meant to hurt but that showed how helpless Sheppard was at the moment.

And that was plenty helpless.

Their captors had half-led, half-dragged him and Teyla across several foothills and to a small ledge along one of the steeper hills. They’d both had their hands bound behind them already, and gags tied across their mouth, but once they reached the ledge their legs were tied as well. A small smokeless fire provided a little heat and light against the cold winds that had risen as the sun had vanished, just enough warmth to keep Sheppard and Teyla from freezing to death as they huddled together, shivering.

Two more strangers had arrived just after dark, carrying on a whispered conference with the original four, but that seemed to be the extent of the group. They’d kept their facemasks and goggles on, at least as long as Sheppard could see them, so he hadn’t gotten a good look at anyone, but they were all armed, all wore the same armored jumpsuits, and all moved with the grace of experienced hunters. Which they clearly were, given how easily they’d captured him and Teyla.

The question was, what had they been hunting with that shuttle and now here on this miserable excuse for a planet?

And what did they do with their captures?

He’d apparently exhausted his captor’s patience, because Sheppard found himself being hauled to his feet and dragged back to the fire at the center of the ledge. Teyla was still there, and Sheppard was glad to see she didn’t look hurt in any way. Either these guys weren’t willing to interrogate a woman or they’d simply decided to start with him and keep at him until he broke. Or died.

Sheppard hoped they were patient.

“Are you all right?” Teyla asked softly as the blue-eyed captor shoved Sheppard hard enough to make him stumble. She caught him on her shoulder before he could bash his head against the rocky ground, and with a few nudges and hip-checks helped him twist around so he could sit upright again.

“I’ll live,” he replied just as quietly, “or at least I will until they get tired of this game.”

He’d wondered how sharp the blue-eyed man’s hearing was. It proved to be sharp enough. “You think this is a game?” the man demanded, grabbing the front of Sheppard’s shirt and hauling him up again, far enough that Sheppard’s knees were off the ground. The captor was still hunched over at that point, and Sheppard realized he’d be as tall as Ronon if he stood up fully. Great.

“This is no game,” the man continued, shaking him vigorously. “This is your life! You will tell us what we want to know if you wish to have any chance to survive to the morrow!”

One of the other captors approached, resting a hand on the first one’s arm. This one was shorter, and something about the gait suggested female to Sheppard, though he couldn’t be sure. If it was a woman, she was slender enough that any curves were hidden by her jumpsuit. “Enough,” she said, and her voice, though deep, confirmed his guess as to her gender. “You won’t get anything out of him that way.”

The first one dropped Sheppard like a heavy trash bag. “Maybe not,” he agreed, “but it makes me feel better.”

The second captor studied Sheppard and Teyla for a second, and he wondered if he might have found a potential ally. Her next words crushed that hope. “I say just kill them and be done with it,” she offered, her voice showing no more concern than if she’d been commenting on a distant rock formation. “Kill them, go after their friends, and move on.”

“We need to know who they are, where they came from, and what they know,” the blue-eyed man insisted. “They could be bait!”

“They are bait,” the woman replied. “Bait for their friends. Bait we’re using in our trap. Not bait for a trap for us.”

“How do you know that?” Those blue eyes were wide, darting here and there. Sheppard could almost smell the tall man’s panic. “How can you be sure?”

“We’re not part of a trap,” Sheppard offered. “We were just trying to help.” He was glad Rodney wasn’t here to tell him “I told you so” about the danger of helping strangers, though he hoped the scientist would get here soon. Or rather, he hoped Ronon would get here soon, and would have Rodney safely in tow. He wasn’t sure how much longer these people’s patience would hold out.

His comment earned him a swift, hard kick from the woman. He managed to twist enough to take it in the side instead of the head, but the tip of her boot caught him right between two ribs, producing an explosion of pain all along that part of his torso. “Shut up!” she warned him in a hiss. “Bait doesn’t get to talk!”

“Then why does he keep telling me to?” Sheppard muttered, winning a second kick for his sense of humor. I always knew being a smart-ass would be the death of me, he thought as he determined to lie there and shut up rather than give her another excuse. Not that it seemed she needed one.

“Leave them,” one of the others called out — Sheppard thought it was the one who’d arrived last the night before — and the other two obediently turned and rejoined their three companions on the far side of the ledge. Sheppard waited until they were safely ensconced before crawling back over to Teyla and pulling himself up to a sitting position again.

“You really should stop antagonizing them,” she advised once he was able to lean back against the rocks next to her and catch his breath.

‘I know,” he agreed. “But I can’t help it.” He grinned at her. “Besides, if I can get them angry they may get sloppy. And I’ll take any advantage I can get.”

“What will you do with it, though?” she asked. She gestured around them with tilt of her head and a shrug of her shoulders. “We are bound hand and foot on a ledge in a mountain range on an unfamiliar planet. They have our weapons and clearly know this planet well, plus they have set various snares across its surface. Even if we manage to escape this camp of theirs, where would we go?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. He sighed. “But I’m sure the others are still out there.” He deliberately didn’t use their names, or give any indication how many there were, just in case their captors were listening somehow. “If anyone can find us, they can.” “They” meaning Ronon. “We just have to stay alive until then.”

Teyla arched an eyebrow. “So your plan on how to stay alive is by provoking our captors?”

“No, by not answering their questions,” he told her. He lowered his voice to barely a whisper. “And as long as I’m irritating them, they’ll respond by kicking and slapping me. They’ll be too focused on that to consider killing me — punching is more immediate. It’s when they calm down and decide we’re useless that we’re in trouble.”

She nodded slightly, showing she understood both what he was suggesting and that they couldn’t let their captors overhear. “Should we try feeding them information to make ourselves more valuable?”

“No. Once you start talking about real things it’s hard to stop.” Sheppard thought about the anti-interrogation courses he’d had, years before during his Air Force pilot’s training. “Plus if we start trying to tell them some details while holding back or lying about others, we’ll be inconsistent. Better to just not tell them anything. If they question you, give them nonsense answers. Ask questions in return. Start talking and veer completely off-topic. As long as they’re listening, we’re safe.” Relatively so. A lot depended upon who these people were, what kind of training they’d had, and how hardened they were to cold-blooded murder. If they were hunters, they might be used to killing animals but not people, and especially not people they’d already captured and rendered helpless. If they were soldiers, they might be more callous. Sheppard hoped that wasn’t the case — a good soldier knew when a hostage had outlived his usefulness, and was prepared to kill that hostage before he could become a liability.

Movement caught his eye, and he glanced up to see one of the other captors approaching them. This one was male, he guessed, and no taller than the woman had been but broader. His steps were heavier but just as smooth, with the grace of a hunter and the assurance of a leader. This had to be the group’s commander.

“You said you came through a Stargate,” the man said without preamble. He crouched down, putting himself at Sheppard’s eye level, but stayed carefully just beyond lunging distance. The pistol at his side looked familiar, and at first glance Sheppard felt a chill. That was Ronon’s pistol! But a second look corrected his mistake — the weapon did look very similar, but it was not identical. Still, that was odd enough to stand out. The only other time they’d seen weapons like Ronon’s were with the Travelers, and Sheppard didn’t think those nomadic people would suddenly stoop to kidnapping and torture, even if they did decide to abandon their ships long enough to descend to a planet. Could this man be a rogue Traveler, or have some sort of alliance with them? Sheppard hoped the latter wasn’t the case. He and the Travelers’ leader, Larrin, hadn’t parted on the best of the terms, but he still hoped they might become allies — or more — some day.

“That’s right,” Sheppard answered. “But I’m sure you knew that already. Didn’t you use one to get here yourself?”

The man ignored the question. “Why did you call it that?” he asked instead. “A ‘stargate’?”

“Would you prefer ‘ancestral ring’?” Sheppard asked him. “It’s just a name,” he answered quickly, as he saw the other man tense. “That’s what we call it, because that’s what it does — it opens a gate between the stars.” He didn’t bother to explain about the Stargate’s history on Earth, or how Daniel Jackson had helped decipher that one and had translated the Goa’uld word “Chaapa’ai” as “stargate.” He doubted his captor would care for the lecture, and he didn’t want to risk mentioning anything about Earth or about Atlantis.

“Who is ‘we ’?” the man demanded, leaning forward slightly but still maintaining that safe distance. This guy was good, Sheppard realized. Careful and constantly alert but not on edge like the taller man. He’d be a hard one to provoke.

“My friends and I,” Sheppard answered. “What do you call it?” He decided to take a risk. “Astria Porta? The Portal?”

The first term — the original Ancient name for a Stargate — got no reaction. At the second one, however, the man went rigid. He uncoiled a second later, though it took another moment before his fingers released their grip on his pistol. Interesting, Sheppard thought. “Portal” was what the Wraith called it.

“How did you access it?” the man continued after a short pause. From the way his words emerged half-hissing, Sheppard guessed he was gritting his teeth under that mask. Mentioning the Wraith term had definitely struck a nerve.

“You push these big flat buttons on this panel thing right in front of the ring itself,” Sheppard answered, adopting a casual tone. “If you hit the right ones, the whole thing — ” the man’s hand lashed out and caught him on the cheek, not hard but a stinging blow nonetheless, and he stopped talking.

“How did you learn of the Stargates?” the man demanded. Sheppard noticed his use of the term and some of his feigned humor evaporated. This guy had been well trained, enough so that he knew to use Sheppard’s own term rather than revealing his. That suggested a military background. And from their captive standpoint, that didn’t bode well.

“We discovered one and managed to get it to work by accident,” Sheppard told him, which was true enough as far as it went. The fact that this had been on Earth, galaxies away, and that there was now an entire agency dedicated to the Stargates and their use — that was all stuff the stranger didn’t need to know. “How about you?”

“Where is your ship from?” the man asked next, again ignoring Sheppard’s question completely. “We have not seen anything like it.”

“I don’t really know,” Sheppard lied easily. “We just happened across it and liked it, so we took it.” He shrugged. “No one else was using it at the time.” The puddle jumpers had been docked in several hangars in Atlantis, of course, but it was interesting that the design was unfamiliar to the hunters. The Ancients had used them regularly, and several of the races here in the Pegasus galaxy recognized them from old descriptions and drawings. Either these people came from planets the Ancients hadn’t visited, or none of them were in a position to have access to such archives.

The stranger studied him quietly for a moment. “You will tell us what we want to know,” he said finally, his voice quiet and certain. “The only question is how much pain you and your companion will endure before you reach that point. For your own sake, I suggest you drop this pose and answer us fully and honestly when we return.” Before the last word was out of his mouth he was rising to his feet again, and stalking quietly across the ledge to rejoin the others.

“Return?” Teyla asked once they were alone on their side again. “Where do you think they are going?”

Sheppard watched as their captors conversed quietly, then split into two groups. Four of them — including the leader, the tall man, and the woman — moved quickly and quietly to the end of the ledge, then turned and pulled themselves up onto a smaller outcropping perhaps eight feet over their heads. That piece of rock was evidently just one end of a jutting cliff, because once atop it the trio disappeared from view. The remaining two shifted to positions against the wall where they could watch Sheppard and Teyla easily, then sank down into crouches again, breaking open some sort of food bars and passing a canteen back and forth. They both kept their weapons ready, however.

He squinted up at the sky. The first tendrils of light were snaking across, filtering into the nighttime gloom and softening it as they touched. It was almost dawn.

“They’re going to hunt,” he answered Teyla, deliberately turning away from the guards so they would have a harder time making out what he was saying. “They’re hunting our friends.”

She nodded. “Dawn is a good time to hunt.”

“Yeah, it is.” He gave her a quick, reassuring grin. “But it doesn’t work so well if your prey’s waiting for you.”

And if he knew anything about Ronon, the big Satedan would be doing exactly that.

Sheppard just hoped Ronon was ready for these three. Because they obviously knew what they were doing, and they were deadly serious about it.

Then again, so was Ronon.