SGA-13 Hunt and Run (10 page)

He didn’t intend to give them enough time to notice that.

Then he waited. It wouldn’t be long, he knew. The Wraith were angry now, and the commander was intrigued as well. They would be after him as quickly as they could manage without blundering into another trap.

Too bad for them the trap was already waiting.

Ronon had his head to the side, the rough bark on the bottom of the trunk scraping his cheek, his arms folded and hands on either side of his head, palms flat against the tree. The air was musty and rich and dank, but it wasn’t a bad smell, just earthy. Grubs squirmed under him but he did his best to ignore them and concentrate on the sounds beyond his makeshift hideout.

After a few seconds he was certain he could feel a faint vibration through the ground. Footsteps.

Then he heard them as well. Two sets, close by. As before, the commander’s footfalls were silent.

Something crunched against the edge of the tree trunk, and the footsteps stopped. One of the warriors had nudged it with a booted toe. The sliver of light had vanished along most of one side. The Wraith were here. They were right overhead, Ronon knew. The tracking device showed he was here, but all they saw was a rotting tree trunk. So they assumed he was hiding within it, planning to ambush them.

Several energy discharges, matched an instant later by impacts on the trunk that shuddered through to his arms and face and body, confirmed Ronon’s guess. The warriors had fired their weapons into the trunk, stunning the man lurking in that hollow.

Only he wasn’t there.

He couldn’t hear them — no doubt they were conversing in their heads — but Ronon could see the light shift to the side and he knew they were confused. They were wondering where he was, and whether the tracking device had been wrong somehow.

In a second they would back away and scan the area again.

Which meant he had to act — now.

With an enormous effort, Ronon put all his strength into his arms and legs — and heaved. The tree trunk, already dislodged, rocketed upward in a shower of shattered bark and tattered moss and rotted wood. It smashed full-force into all three Wraith, slamming them backward with its bulk.

Ronon was up in a sitting position the instant the trunk had cleared him, pistol flying from its holster. He put two shots into the chest of the warrior to the left, who dropped instantly, his breastplate smoking, the flesh beneath it destroyed, the Wraith heart within vaporized. A third shot took the other warrior under the right arm as he flung the trunk to the side, trying to clear it out of the way so he could raise his stun rifle. Then Ronon was rolling to the left, springing to his feet, and dashing across the clearing. Two energy blasts at his back told him the Wraith commander had been quicker to recover than his bodyguard, but both shots missed as he dove into leaves and vines and trunks, vanishing again from view.

Safely within the trees, Ronon grinned. One down, and one wounded. The odds were shifting.

Of course, next time the Wraith would be looking both high and low. He wouldn’t be able to pull the same trick twice.

But that was fine. He had plenty of other tricks.

Ronon made his way carefully but quickly to the east, toward the one large water source they had found — a wide, quick stream that flowed out from under the hills, cascaded across several rocks, and then split into a series of rivulets that snaked their way among the trees. Some of those rivulets were clean and clear, flowing across rock and stone and tight-packed soil. Others grew muddier, traversing softer ground. And still others disappeared completely, absorbed into the earth around them. It was toward the last that Ronon turned his footsteps.

He had to be very careful here. Nekai had cautioned him of that when they had first arrived, and Ronon had discovered it for himself when he’d sunk up to his waist with a single wrong step. The ground here was thoroughly saturated, and though it looked solid it was little more than a wide bog. He was heavy enough that only a few spots could hold his weight.

But then, so were the Wraith.

Ronon made his way across the bog, wishing desperately that he could speed up but knowing to do so would spell his own death. He was only a third of the way across when a stun-bolt sizzled past his right shoulder, leaving it tingling from the near miss.

Out of time. He would have to hope he had gone far enough.

Turning, he spotted the Wraith commander and his remaining warrior. The warrior was the one who had fired — Ronon guessed he was too far away for the commander’s stun-pistol, exactly as he’d hoped. And the warrior was having trouble holding his rifle, his right arm held at an awkward angle. The wound Ronon had just given him was throwing off his aim.

Perfect.

Crouching, Ronon raised his pistol and fired back. They were too far away for his shots to have any real effect, but they didn’t know that, and both Wraith immediately dropped into defensive stances themselves. Then they began to creep across the field toward him, weapons raised.

They were paying full attention to him and his weapon. What they should have been watching were the ground beneath their feet.

The warrior stumbled first, of course — he was in front, and he was both heavier and clumsier than his master. He took a step and his foot sank into the ground, his weight parting the water-soaked earth like a curtain. The sudden shift caused him to pitch forward, and his elbow must have caught one of the more solid patches because his body tilted to the side like it had been shoved over. Then he had vanished beneath the bog’s surface. The ground there rippled for a second before settling again. At a glance, no one would ever know the Wraith had disturbed it.

The Wraith commander was staring, aghast, at the spot where his warrior had been just seconds before. Ronon took advantage of that distraction to shift to the side several paces. He had deliberately kept what he thought was the edge of the bog close at hand, and now he felt the ground beneath him change in composition, becoming sturdier, dryer, and more solid. He was back on proper earth again. Which meant he could move normally without having to worry about falling through.

Too bad the Wraith commander couldn’t say the same.

The remaining Wraith glanced up as Ronon sprinted toward him, eyes wide in shock. Surely he was wondering how anyone could move so quickly across ground that acted more like liquid than solid. That didn’t stop the Wraith from raising his pistol and firing, but he was still badly shaken and misjudged Ronon’s speed. The first shot was simply too far away, and the second crackled through the air more than a foot behind him.

Then Ronon was in range as well. He already had his own pistol in hand, and he fired once, twice, three times. Each shot struck true, hitting the Wraith in forehead, neck, and cheek. He toppled, thrusting out an arm to catch himself, and recoiled as his hand plunged into the bog. That instinctive revulsion saved him from sharing his warrior’s fate, pulling the Wraith commander back and causing him to fall over backward instead. Fortunately for him, he landed on solid ground, right where his feet had been an instant before. Unfortunately, Ronon’s attack had already done its work. The Wraith commander was barely alive when Ronon slowed to a stop beside him.

“Well . . . played, Runner,” the Wraith gasped out as Ronon peered down at him, careful to keep just beyond its? reach. He knew all too well about the Wraith’s feeding capabilities — one step too close and the commander could latch onto him, drawing from his life force and healing the damage. He wouldn’t let that happen.

“You . . . gave me . . . a good . . . challenge,” the commander continued, his voice growing weaker with each word. Already his eyes were starting to lose focus. “Glory to . . . the one who . . . captures . . . you.” The last word was barely a whisper, and the commander slumped, his eyes glazing over. He was dead.

“No glory, then,” Ronon told his fallen adversary grimly. “Because no one’s going to capture me. Not ever.” He stared at the body a moment more, then crouched beside it. Other Wraith could already be on their way, so he had to work fast. He took the Wraith’s stun-pistol — it always paid to have a backup weapon — and stripped off the creature’s long leather coat as well. Then he rolled the body over and forward and let the bog claim it. Once it had vanished Ronon rose and made his way back toward the cave where he knew Nekai would be waiting. .

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*

“It’s me,” Ronon called softly, coming to a breathless halt just shy of the cave. He didn’t know how deeply his mentor was dug in, whether the Retemite could see him, but he did know better than to approach unannounced. “It’s over.”

After a few seconds, Nekai emerged, stun-pistol in hand. He studied Ronon, taking in his battered, mud-spattered appearance. “What happened?”

Ronon held up the leather coat. “They died. I didn’t.” He glanced up at the sky. “We should go.”

“Absolutely,” Nekai agreed. He disappeared again, but reemerged a few seconds later, his pack slung over his shoulder. “Congratulations,” he said, offering his hand once he was close enough. “How does it feel?”

Ronon returned the handclasp and grinned. “Like a good start.”

“Excellent!” Nekai clapped him on the back. “Now you’re ready.”

“Ready?” Ronon frowned as they disengaged. “Ready for what?”

But his mentor only smiled. “You’ll see.”

Nekai turned and led the way out of the foothills without another word. Ronon had no choice but to follow. No, that wasn’t true — he did have a choice. Nekai had given him that. He could turn away, make his own course, and hunt the Wraith on his own. He had the skills now. But they’d be after him soon, and without Nekai to cancel out his tracking device he’d be an easy target. So perhaps it wasn’t much of a choice at all.

Besides, Ronon admitted to himself as they walked, he was curious. All this time, Nekai had only concentrated on his training. But now, the way he’d said “you’re ready,” made it sound as if he had something bigger in mind.

Ronon had learned to trust the other man. Nekai had saved him from the Wraith, and in a way from himself. He was willing to see where the man would lead him next. .

*
 
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*

“Okay, so you learned hunting from Ranger Rick, the crazy version,” Rodney commented, stretching and then biting back a curse as he bumped an elbow against the low ceiling. “That’s swell, and very touching. What does that have to do with our current predicament?” He was being testy and he knew it, but he was tired and sore and he hated being stuck here in this little tiny alcove of a cave!

“I’m getting to that,” Ronon assured him, taking a swig from his canteen. He offered it to Rodney, who accepted it and drank, though not before wiping the lip with his shirt cuff. He could hear his companion’s smirk even in the near darkness.

The water was warm, and flat, and had that particular tang that came from being stored in a canteen too long. But it eased the dryness in his throat, and Rodney swallowed gratefully before handing it back. “So this guy who trained you,” he continued after a few seconds, “this Nekai, he’s the one we’re dealing with?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Rodney groaned. “If you’re not even sure it’s him, why are we doing Happy Story Hour?”

“If it’s not him, it’s one of the others.” Rodney heard the growl in Ronon’s voice and knew the big Satedan was just shy of losing his temper. As usual.

“Okay, okay.” Rodney shifted and tried to make himself more comfortable, which of course just meant exposing other parts of his body to unfamiliar aches and pains. “Please continue.”

Ronon glared at him for a minute, and it seemed like he might decide not to, just out of spite. But finally he picked up the tale again. “He led me out of the foothills,” he explained, eyes and voice looking back into the distant past once more, “and straight to the planet’s ancestral ring. I’d more or less expected that. It was what happened next that took me by surprise. . . .”

Ronon studied the ancestral ring as they approached it, every sense on high alert. He kept expecting the massive circular arch to activate and a Wraith Dart to emerge from its depths, weapons firing down upon them before they could scramble to safety. And this ring, like all the others he’d seen, was set in a small clearing, so if danger did pour from it they would be easy targets.

“You learned how to activate the ring entirely on your own?” he asked Nekai as the other man made his way to the altar-like console and began tapping the broad square panels in some sort of sequence. Back on Sateda only a handful of elders and military commanders had mastered the secrets of the ring, and the techniques for opening and closing gateways to other worlds was carefully guarded — Ronon had been through rings several times, but a high-ranking officer had always been on hand to open the connection. Nekai had claimed he’d figured out the process himself, but what he was doing now seemed too careful and planned for Ronon to completely believe that.

“Not entirely,” Nekai admitted over his shoulder, his hands still moving. “There were people on my world who knew how to operate it, and I had seen them at work enough times to have some sense of the procedure.” He finished and glanced up. “When I went on the run I had no choice but to experiment firsthand.” Then he grinned. “I’m still not entirely sure what I’m doing.”