“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.