"I vaguely recall something of that nature. Why your eyes?"
"I can always tell which way you're going to go because your eyes get there first." He wondered how many lessons it would take for Rodney to start remembering that.
"No telegraphing moves. Got it." But Rodney's gaze kept straying to one side or the other, checking his proximity to the pier's edge. "Regulated downtime is a farce," he said under his breath. "All it does is make us complacent. The worst thing to happen to this city in months happened on a downtime weekend."
And that was the real reason Rodney had come out here, Ronon was sure. Not long ago they'd all been caught unawares, believing they were safe within Atlantis's walls, and five people, including Carson Beckett, had died. Maybe Rodney had agreed to spar because he needed to feel more prepared for every contingency, or maybe he just wanted to vent his anger or pain. Ronon wouldn't presume to know his teammate's motivations, but in either case he was willing to help.
That didn't mean he had to let Rodney run things, control issues or not. "You're tensing up your arm. Keep your shoulder down."
Rodney lifted his chin defiantly. "I can't swing if-"
"You can't swing if an off-angle impact breaks your arm, either."
After that, Rodney closed his mouth. For a while they cir cled each other with only the accompaniment of the steady raindrops, the periodic waves, and the occasional goodnatured shouts between the Marines in the background.
The threat of another type of injury seemed to have sharpened Rodney's concentration, because he stopped making the beginner's mistake of over-committing to a motion. Eventually, if he worked at it every day for a year or two, he might be able to develop his focus and ability to learn into an effective defense. Ronon was well aware that Rodney had no intention of putting forth that level of effort. Still, they were making some progress.
When the scientist's gaze wandered again, this time to a specific point over his adversary's shoulder, Ronon turned halfway to see Lome jogging toward them.
"Dr. Weir's trying to get a hold of you two on the citywide," the Major informed them, raising his voice to be heard over the thrum of the water.
"Thanks," Ronon called back, watching Rodney's reaction. Gripping his staff tightly enough to whiten his knuckles, Rodney looked determined to hold his stance, yet it was obvious he was battling the temptation to lunge for his radio earpiece, sitting in a small waterproof case on the nearby steps.
Testing him, Ronon kept eye contact as he retrieved his own earpiece, lying alongside the other without any protective covering-they were supposed to be durable in any weather, after all.
"Dr. Weir?"
"Ronon, there you are," she responded at once. "Is Rodney with you?"
Since Rodney could only hear half the conversation, Ronon purposely kept his response vague and his staff at the ready. "Yeah."
"Good. Can you ask him to report to the jumper bay in half an hour?"
"Sure." He watched Rodney struggle to control his impatience.
"Thank you." Elizabeth hesitated for a beat. "He'll be traveling to Earth, and I'd appreciate it if you'd consider going with him. You're certainly not obligated in any way to help there, but John's asked for you, and the IOA agrees that we can use all the help we can get. If this effort fails, it's almost a certainty that the expedition will be recalled permanently… and this time I think any future contact with Pegasus, authorized or otherwise, will be halted."
Was the situation that dire? Motion off to the side caught Ronon's eye: the Marines were hauling all their gear down from the tower and packing with brisk efficiency. The electricity in the air had nothing to do with the clouds overhead. Something big was happening on Earth.
If Ronon's team leader wanted him there, that was good enough for him. He was willing to fight the Wraith wherever he found them-and these were still Wraith, no matter what they looked like or what they were called.
Aware of Rodney's heavy gaze on him, all he said aloud was "Okay."
"Thank you." Elizabeth sounded relieved as well as grateful. "Teyla's also agreed to go. We're sending as many people with Wraith combat experience as we can spare. See you in a few minutes °" She ended the transmission.
Having shown more restraint than Ronon had expected, Rodney practically vibrated with tension. "Well'? Did Elizabeth want us for something'?"
Ronon still didn't break his stance or his stare. Patience was a vital part of battle, an attribute Rodney needed to master above all others. Besides, they had some time yet.
At last, Rodney's need for information overwhelmed his concern that his instructor might hit him if he let his guard down. "That's it!" he snapped, jabbing his staff in the direction of the departing Marines. "If they know what's going on, Ineed to know. Start talking, Captain Laconic!"
Well, it was a start. "We're going to Earth," Ronon answered.
"Alen?"
Although John had requisitioned him a watch, Ronon hadn't gotten into the habit of wearing it. Once his years as a runner had ended, it had taken a while to get used to the idea that time mattered again. "Almost half an hour."
"Excuse me?" Rodney's eyes went huge, and he thrust his staff at Ronon. "You didn't think that was worthy of an immediate mention?" He scrambled to gather his earpiece and water bottle from the deck. "Honestly, some days…"
When he started toward the door at top speed, Ronon called, "Hey, Rodney."
The scientist glanced over his shoulder, obviously reluctant to lose any more time. "What?"
With no better way to make his point, Ronon gestured with the staffs, indicating the whole of their training area. "This was good."
Rodney huffed a short, derisive laugh. "I can feel six distinct bruises forming, to say nothing of the onset of pneumonia. Your definition of `good' lacks a certain resemblance to reality." But when he resumed walking, it was with a different kind of confidence than his usual, one that suggested he knew what his teammate had meant.
Shaking his head, Ronon headed inside to dry off and then stop by the armory. He had no reservations about leaving the galaxy to follow this fight. Even if he didn't owe it to the people of Earth as a civilization, he did owe it to the small number of them who had helped him reclaim his life.
He'd traveled to the planet briefly to bring Carson home some weeks ago. Though he hadn't had a chance to explore much, he'd been awed to see such a thriving culture, a haven as yet unstained by the Wraith. The absence of resignation and constant fear made Earth unique among all worlds he had ever visited, and he wanted to keep it that way.
Maybe, now that those who knew about the threat could no longer pretend Earth was safe, they might finally abandon their maddening viewpoint that the Wraith were somehow misunderstood, either ill or disabled, entitled to a degree of compassion. Maybe the danger was near enough this time that they would recognize the only option for lasting peace: the annihilation of every last Wraith in this galaxy and all others.
Chapter twenty-four
Looking up from the screen, Elizabeth saw Teyla arrive in the control room and motioned her over to join their intergalactic conference call.
"There's nothing inherently fantastical about chimeras," Agent Larance was saying from the SGC briefing room. "Russian virologists successfully engineered an Ebola-smallpox hybrid more than fifteen years ago. You don't want to know what kinds of genetic Tinkertoys some of our so-called allies have been brewing up since." Her expression quickly became contrite. "I apologize, Dr. Weir. You're probably the last person who'd need that explained."
Elizabeth couldn't tell whether the profiler was referring to her onetime role as a diplomat on Earth, negotiating intricate and treacherous political landscapes, or the failed experiment to `cure' the Wraith of the iratus virus. Then again, she wasn't entirely certain Agent Larance had been fully briefed on all aspects of the Atlantis program, good and bad, so she chose to acknowledge the apology with nothing more than a rueful smile.