SGA-13 Hunt and Run (11 page)

“So we could walk into the middle of a sun?” Ronon asked as the air within the ring began to shimmer and thicken. It rippled like water, then a plume burst forth from its center, quickly subsiding back and leaving a glistening surface stretched between the ring’s edges.

“I doubt it,” his mentor assured him. “They didn’t put rings in suns, as far as we know.” Not that anyone really knew much about the Ancestors or their activities — who was to say they hadn’t been able to walk the surface of a star as easily as a man might stroll through a grassy plain? “But don’t worry — this time we’re going someplace specific.”

Ronon was intrigued. Up until now he was sure they had selected locations entirely at random — that way if any Wraith were tracking them they wouldn’t leave a discernible pattern. But now Nekai had a destination in mind?

“Lead the way,” Ronon instructed, gesturing toward the ring. His companion chuckled but took the lead, walking confidently toward the ring and then stepped into it. The shimmering field parted around him, and he disappeared within its glowing surface.

With a sigh, Ronon followed, but he kept his hand on his pistol. He hated this part.

There was that second of disorientation, that sensation of being stretched and pulled and condensed, combined with the sudden rush of rapid motion. Everything blurred around him, his eyes only registering streaks of light and color, his ears filled with a dull rush as if they were trapped within a waterfall. He couldn’t tell which way was up, what was forward, but his foot was still half-raised and so he set it down in front of him and then raised the other foot, trusting his body to complete the familiar motion.

Then he was through to the other side. The rushing faded, the colors resolved into a small, stark clearing surrounded by rocks and cliffs, his sense of balance returned. Ronon wasted no time shifting to one side of the ring and scanning the area. Nekai was doing the same.

There was no one else here, no sign that anyone else had been here, and after a second they both straightened. The air within the ring swirled in on itself, the shimmer vanishing into a tiny central vortex, and then with a faint popping sound that disappeared, leaving nothing but empty air behind. The ring had closed. Then Nekai made his way to the console nearby, a twin for the one they had left behind, attached a small dark square he’d pulled from a jacket pocket, and pushed a sequence of panels. There was a spark from the other object, which leaped to the console and produced an answering arc of electricity.

“Can they follow us here?” Ronon asked, relaxing only slightly. He relaxed a bit more when Nekai shook his head.

“Not a chance,” the Retemite assured him, removing and pocketing the square. “I’ve scrambled the record of that last connection.”

Ronon studied him. There was definitely something the stocky man wasn’t saying. “How do you know?” he demanded. “We’re here, they’re there. How can you be sure?”

“Because I’ve been here before,” Nekai answered easily, “and I’ve even used the same ring to reach this place twice in a row. I know how to recall the last destination entered, and when I tried it I got nothing. So I know scrambling it works.”

Ronon nodded. That made sense. And it fit with Nekai’s sense of caution. Of course he’d go back to a world he’d just come from, to make sure he’d removed all traces of his previous passage. “What was that little square thing?” he asked. “Is that what did it?” He’d never heard of anything that could affect an ancestral ring or its console, but his education in that area was admittedly limited.

“Just something I picked up in some old ruins a while back,” Nekai answered. “Come on.” He was already leaving the clearing and Ronon caught up to him in two long strides. The other man had his stun-pistol tucked in his belt but Ronon kept his own weapon drawn. He believed Nekai that the Wraith couldn’t follow them here through the ring, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t found some other way to track them. Or that there weren’t other threats nearby.

They seemed to be high up, he noticed as they half-walked, half-climbed. The air was thin and cold, and he almost considered putting on the Wraith leather coat he’d so recently acquired. But the idea of something from the Wraith touching his skin made him shiver worse than the cool breeze, so he kept the garment wadded in his other hand instead. He wasn’t even entirely sure why he was keeping it, since he wouldn’t ever wear it, but something in him had wanted a trophy. And perhaps he’d find some other use for the garment some day.

The ground was rough here, all rock and stone with only whatever dirt the wind had carried to them, and soon Ronon had to holster his pistol and tie the coat around his waist so he could free his hands for climbing. Nekai didn’t speak and so Ronon didn’t either, concentrating instead upon finding handholds and footholds through the crevices and up the cliffs and along the ledges that formed their current path.

Finally, after several hours of difficult travel, Nekai crested a small rise and nodded. Joining him, Ronon saw a small valley nestled into the rocks just below them — and something filling that space. Something large.

A spaceship.

“You keep this hidden here?” Ronon asked as he followed the Retemite down a narrow trail to the valley and up to the ship. He was impressed — he knew Nekai was resourceful, but stashing an entire ship here just for emergencies? That was something!

“There aren’t any ancestral rings where we’re going,” Nekai responded, pulling a gray-brown tarp from the small ship and keying a code into the panel beside the airlock. The lights on the panel shifted to green and the door hissed as it slid open. He stepped inside, carrying the bundled-up tarp with him, and Ronon quickly followed.

It was a simple vessel, not unlike ones Ronon had traveled in or even flown during his military days. Bare bones, no frills but good sturdy construction, decent shields but only a single gun and that only for last-ditch efforts — firing the weapon would probably drain the ship’s power completely. This thing wasn’t built for long-range travel, or for combat. It was strictly a shuttle.

Ronon scanned the sky through the viewport as Nekai slid into the pilot’s seat and began powering up the engines. “We heading to that moon?” he asked, pointing at a faint crescent high in the sky.

Nekai hid it quickly, but Ronon saw the other man’s eyes widen for a second. “How did you know?” he demanded.

“Just figured,” Ronon answered with a shrug. He hid his grin and dropped into the co-pilot chair. Nice to know that even after these months of training he could still surprise the Retemite.

“Not bad,” his mentor admitted, shaking his head. “I knew I was right about you.” He didn’t say anything further, but hit the thrusters. The ship groaned as power surged through it, then shuddered slightly as it lifted off the ground. It hovered for a second, adjusting its fields, and then shot into the sky with enough force that Ronon was pressed back into his seat. Seconds later the pressure eased as the planet’s atmosphere fell away behind them, and they were out among the stars.

Ronon had always enjoyed space travel. There was something very freeing about floating through the galaxy, untethered by gravity, surrounded by the welcoming dark of space and the comforting twinkling of the many stars and other bodies it contained. It was beautiful up here, and soothing. This was the first time Ronon had been in space since his capture — or at least the first time he had been able to see it, since during his captivity
 
he’d been held deep within a Hive somewhere — and he released a deep breath and let some of the tension ease out of him. Sometimes he thought he could simply stay up here forever.

It never lasted, though, and this trip was no exception. Already Nekai was turning the shuttle, curving its path around the planet and angling toward the moon that floated there, just out of reach. It was a small moon, blue-gray in color though its surface sparkled where the sun’s rays struck it. Judging from their trajectory, Nekai was bringing them toward its dark side, out of sight of both sun and planet.

“What, you have a secret base up there?” Ronon asked idly, studying the moon as it drew quickly closer.

“Something like that,” his companion replied. He didn’t say any more, and Ronon decided not to press it. He’d find out soon enough. .

*
 
*
 
*

Nekai proved to be a competent pilot if not a good one, and the shuttle jolted a bit as it came in for a landing on the pitted surface of the moon. Ronon pressed back into his chair, letting it absorb most of the impact, but was still tossed about as the shuttle set down. At least there wasn’t a tearing sound coming from the underside, so he didn’t think Nekai’s fumbling had ruptured the hull. If it had, they’d know soon enough.

When the ship had halted its motion, groaning to a stop, Nekai shut everything down. “Suit up,” he instructed, tossing a light atmospheric suit at Ronon and grabbing another himself off the rack occupying the shuttle’s side wall. Ronon did so quickly — the suit was a standard one, much like the ones he had used as a Specialist, and was easily donned, sealed, and activated. He noticed as he did so that the rack still held six suits. Were they just spares, or was Nekai not the only one who used this shuttle — or this moon?

Once they both had their helmets on and oxygen pumping through, Nekai opened the airlock and hopped out. Ronon was right behind him. The moon had very little gravity, so his first step outside carried him several meters away in a slow arc. He’d have to be careful about that. It had been a while since he’d had to move in microgravity.

With the shuttle shut up tight again, Nekai motioned for Ronon to stay close. Then he crouched and sprang, his momentum carrying him halfway to a cluster of nearby ridges, their shapes perfectly conical without an atmosphere to deform them. Ronon took off after the shorter man, his longer legs propelling him quickly, and he caught up in two strides, just in time to avoid slamming into those precipices. They were shorter than he’d first thought, perhaps fifty meters tall, and Nekai’s next bound carried him straight up — he grabbed the closest cone near its top and hung there, waiting for Ronon to join him.

When Ronon was hanging from one of the crags as well, Nekai gestured ahead of them and down toward the ground. Ronon followed his motion — and stared. He had been half-expecting the secret base he’d joked about, so the sight of a deep crater just behind the peaks was not completely a surprise. It was exactly the terrain he would choose for a hideout: close to a flat plain where the shuttle could land, concealed behind these peaks, and deep in shadow.

But that didn’t mean he’d expected the domed base he saw below him.

This was no mere hideout, Ronon realized as Nekai released his grip and let the moon’s weak gravity tug him gently groundward again. He studied the dome more carefully as he followed his mentor down. It had been textured to match the moon’s surface, he noticed, so it would be hard to spot unless you were practically on top of it. And it was big. Far too big for the needs of just one man.

His feet touched the ground and he bent his knees to absorb the impact, rather than be flung skyward again. By the time he straightened up there were two guns in his face.

That explained the extra atmosphere suits.

Ronon raised his hands slowly, palms outward, fingers extended, to show he wasn’t about to try anything. The strangers weren’t worried about Nekai at all, and when the Retemite motioned they lowered their weapons and stepped back, though they didn’t holster them. Fair enough. Ronon would have done exactly the same in their position. For now he’d have to trust Nekai, and the fact that the man had spent far too much time training him to just lead him into a trap. The fact that these two clearly trusted Nekai as well was hopefully a good thing.

Nekai had already moved past their welcoming committee. Now he stepped up to the dome and pressed his hand flat against its surface. A quick swipe and part of that covering slid aside, revealing a door panel, which Nekai quickly accessed. Seconds later a portal opened behind the covering, which Ronon could see now was like a curtain over the dome itself. Nekai was already ducking through, and Ronon followed, his two temporary guards bringing up the rear.

Inside, the dome was equipped much like a military camp, with tents and folding chairs and crates of equipment. Three other people were sitting around a smokeless fire and stared as they entered. The dome’s door was a full airlock with an inner door that had cycled open only once the outer door had closed again, so the trio weren’t wearing atmosphere suits. Their clothes looked rugged and a bit worn, clearly meant for durability and comfort rather than fashion, and all three had pistols at their sides — he’d seen them reach for the weapons when they saw him, but then relax when they noticed Nekai and realized he was still flanked by his guards.

“Nekai! You’re back!” One of the strangers — a short, slender woman with close-cropped white hair and large, slanting green eyes — hopped up from her crate and rushed over. She hugged him quickly, then stepped back, frowning. “Where’ve you been? We thought maybe you’d been taken.”

“Sorry,” Nekai told her as he pulled his helmet off. “No way to get word once we’d begun.” He gestured for Ronon to remove his helmet as well, then addressed the others. “Everyone, gather round.” The two left by the fire quickly joined them. “Meet Ronon Dex, former Specialist of the Satedan military. Now a Runner. Just like us.”

That made Ronon start, and he studied each of these strangers in turn. They were all Runners?