“There could be again,” the man replied.
“How?” Ronon reached for the cup, annoyed at the sight and feel of his arm shaking, but managed to take it from the stranger and raise it to his lips without splattering himself. “Even if the first one falls, they will send others. And they will always know where to find me.”
Now the man smiled. It was a cold expression, with very little humor behind it. “Maybe, maybe not.” He leaned back. “I can help you. And you can help me, too. Together, we can help each other — and make the Wraith pay.”
Draining the cup, Ronon tossed it aside and wiped his mouth on his forearm. “You want to help me? Fine. Give me your gun.”
That at least got a laugh from the stranger. “What good would it do you?”
“You already know the answer to that.” Ronon stood, warily at first but his balance was still solid and the world stopped spinning after a few seconds. He took a deep breath, then another, and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he swiveled to stare down at the stranger. “Will you give me the gun or not?”
The stranger laughed. “I like you, I really do — you’ve got a lot of willpower. But that’s not going to be enough to deal with the Wraith.”
“It will if I have a gun.”
“I don’t think so. They’ll still — urk!” That last sound leaped from the stranger’s throat when Ronon turned and slammed his hand palm first into the other man’s stomach. It knocked the wind out of the stranger, propelled him several feet, and left him slumped on the ground against the back wall of what Ronon now realized must be some sort of small cabin, possibly a hunting lodge. The cramped space had three rickety chairs, a small circular table, several old sleeping pallets, and nothing else.
Right now, though, Ronon didn’t care about the cabin or its decoration scheme. He was too busy grabbing the stranger’s pistol and bolting for the door. He’d hit the man hard enough to stun him for a few minutes, but that meant he had to be well away from here — wherever “here” was — before he lost this window of opportunity. Ronon didn’t waste any time — by the time the door slammed shut he was already twenty paces away, and broadening that gap with every second.
Once he was back among the trees — it looked like the cabin had been nestled into a small clearing, and Ronon felt more comfortable with proper cover — he took stock. His head still ached but not enough to do more than slow him down. Same with the rest of him — sore but serviceable. He didn’t have any food or water, and he had no weapons beyond the stranger’s pistol.
It was a handsome-looking pistol though, Ronon thought as he studied the piece more closely. Longer and sleeker than most laser pistols he’d seen, a bit more solid and significantly better balanced. It had an indicator switch along the left side, just below a pair of tiny lights. So the gun had multiple settings! That was good to know. One of them must be the stun setting the stranger had hit him with, and one must be a standard “kill” setting. Ronon clicked the switch and the small red light lit up for an instant. Perfect.
Then he selected a clump of trees, took up a stance behind them, and waited.
As he’d suspected, it didn’t take long. Ten, perhaps twenty minutes passed and then he heard heavy footsteps approaching from the front. They weren’t the stranger’s either — he had moved through the trees without a sound.
And there had been only one of him.
Ronon took a quick glance around the tree, pulling back smoothly so no sudden movement would tip them off, and frowned. Three Wraith were rapidly approaching his hiding place. He could feel his blood heat up at the sight of them, with their pale green skin and long white hair.
Two of them wore heavy, segmented armor chestplates and strange ridged helmet-masks that completely covered their faces. They carried bulky rifles, the wide stock taking up most of the weapon’s length, a glowing energy beam visible through its center. They were soldiers, warriors, and Ronon had faced their kind back on Sateda. They were powerful but slow and not clever. Armed as he was, taking out both of them would not pose a problem, not even in his current state.
The one in front of them, however, was slighter in build and moved more easily, almost catlike in his grace. He wore a long, flowing black jacket and pants rather than armor, and his head was bare, exposing his pallid features and yellow eyes and strange facial slits. His long pale hair hung over his shoulders and midway down his back, and he carried a small pistol of some sort in one hand. That one would be the dangerous one, Ronon knew. His eyes were everywhere, darting from tree to tree, searching. He was a commander, and he would be far more intelligent and resourceful than his two companions.
Ronon targeted him first.
He leaned out from behind the tree and snapped off a quick shot. His pistol flashed red, firing a matching red beam that struck the lead Wraith square in the chest. The creature staggered but did not fall, and its mouth opened into a wide grin, revealing all its sharp teeth.
“Ah, the prey bites back!” It called out, looking directly at Ronon despite the tree between them. “Good, I enjoy a more spirited contest. Come out and face me, Ronon Dex of Sateda!” Its grin spread. “Or did all the true men of your world die when we attacked?”
Ronon knew it was a deliberate goad but that couldn’t stop him from rising to the bait. “The last real man of Sateda is here,” he snarled, stepping away from his cover and presenting himself to the three Wraith. “Come and see what kind of spirit I possess!”
The Wraith eyed him up and down. “Indeed I shall.” It did not gesture or speak to its companions, but they raised their rifles as one and sighted on Ronon. “Run now and I will give you a moment’s head start, to make this more sporting.”
Ronon shook his head. “I’m done running.” He fired on the warrior to the left, but the blow glanced off its heavy chestplate. “And this isn’t a sport to me.” He aimed for the commander again, but this time the Wraith sidestepped the crimson bolt.
“Your choice,” it said with a hint of disappointment, raising its own weapon. “But I had hoped for a bit more entertainment first.”
Then it shot him.
Ronon’s body convulsed and he almost fell to his knees. Pain! The feeling was almost exactly like when the stranger had shot him, only not quite as intense, and he wondered about the pistol he now held. Where had the man gotten it, and why was its stun setting more powerful than the Wraiths’? Regardless, he managed to maintain his grip on the weapon and hefted it again. This time the Wraith commander was not expecting return fire, and took the hit square in the chest. It staggered back, smoke rising from the hole in its armored jacket.
“You dare?” It growled, eyes narrowing. “For that I will flay you alive before draining your life from your bloody flesh!”
And it sprang at him.
Ronon managed to fire once more before the Wraith was upon him, knocking his pistol aside. It had holstered its own weapon and now one fist slammed into Ronon’s jaw, jolting him and blurring his vision, while the other clamped onto his throat. The Wraith’s momentum knocked Ronon off his feet, and he landed on his back, the creature leaning over him and holding his head and torso up by that neck grip.
“Now you will die slowly,” it hissed at him. Its second hand raised again, but this time it opened the hand wide, revealing the narrow opening upon its palm. That was how the Wraith fed, Ronon knew — they sucked out a victim’s life force through that opening. And it was reaching toward him with deliberate slowness, taunting him with his inability to break away from the death that crept toward him inch by inch.
Then a burst of crimson light flashed across the Wraith commander’s head, lighting it with a halo of red. Its eyes widened in surprise before they glazed over, and the creature slumped, its grip on Ronon going limp. He shrugged off the body in time to see a second crimson bolt strike one of the Wraith warriors in the neck, between helmet and chestplate. The warrior gurgled and collapsed.