“So, you and McKay going to get married?”
“Well, we…” Jennifer said, looking flustered. “We hadn’t really… I think it’s a little too soon to…” She looked up at him. “Why do you ask?”
He shrugged. “No reason. I just — ”
There was a noise from above them, muffled enough by the soil that Ronon didn’t think Jennifer heard, but he froze, drawing his pistol in one smooth movement and covering the trap door above. He motioned for Jennifer to stay back, and she nodded, and then drew her own pistol, holding it inexpertly but steadily.
The trap door opened, pouring more dirt down in front of Ronon. He waited as someone crouched by the entrance. It wasn’t one of the Wraith, but one of the locals, a pale-haired woman with a tracery of lines painted across one cheek like the ridges that would have been etched into a Wraith face.
“You may come out,” the woman said. “The dead god who brought you here wishes to speak with you. He bids you follow me back to the place where he awaits you.”
Ronon looked at Jennifer. She shrugged. “Why didn’t he come himself?” Ronon called.
“I did not question him,” she said. “The dead gods do not reward us for idle questions.”
“No, they reward you for being — ”
Jennifer made a frantic throat-cutting motion and shook her head. Ronon took a deep breath and let it out. If there was anything to find out here, she was right that they shouldn’t screw that up just for the pleasure of telling these people what was wrong with them.
“Fine,” Ronon said. “I’m coming up first.” He glanced at Jennifer’s pack. “Can you climb wearing that?”
Jennifer looked at the rope dubiously. “I don’t know.”
Ronon nodded and looped the straps of her pack around one arm, pulling himself quickly up the rope. He hoped it wasn’t obvious how grateful he felt when he got his first breath of fresh air. He heaved himself up over the side of the opening and rolled up to a crouch, holding his hand down for Jennifer. “Come on,” he said.
Jennifer was struggling with the rope, but she managed, reaching up gratefully for his hand. He supported her until she could scramble to her feet. As he stood up, he felt something hard press between his shoulder blades.
“Don’t move, or I will shoot,” the woman said.
Ronon’s hand was already reaching for his pistol. He made himself hold still, his eyes on Jennifer’s. Her eyes had gone very wide, but she was watching closely, as if taking in every detail. “What’s she got?”
“I don’t know,” Jennifer said. “It doesn’t look like a stunner.”
“You don’t want to do this,” Ronon said.
“Greatest of all the gods is Death,” the woman said. “Her enemies will be destroyed, and those who serve her will taste eternal life.” The weapon dug in harder at his back. If it was some kind of stunner, he could slap it out of her hand as she shot him, and give Jennifer a clear shot when he went down. If it fired bullets, he’d probably end up dead.
Jennifer’s eyes were steady on his. Trust me, they said. He spread his hands the tiniest bit. If you have an idea, go for it.
He hoped she did.
“You can’t cover both of us with that thing,” Jennifer said.
The woman looked at her around Ronon’s shoulder. She slid her hand around to spread it flat on Ronon’s chest. Jennifer could see him flinch, even though he knew this was a human holding him. “If you try to run, I will kill him.”
“Then the dead gods will restore him,” Jennifer said. “Won’t they?”
“You wear the uniform of Atlantis,” the woman said. “The people of Atlantis do not trust in the mercy of the gods.”
“Not all of us,” Jennifer said. She didn’t dare come any closer, didn’t dare go for her pistol. She wasn’t sure what she’d do with it anyway; she’d done a fair amount of damage to some paper targets, but she didn’t think she could shoot the woman without risking hitting Ronon. “We serve the one we call Todd.” Ronon’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue.
“That is not his name.”
“He hasn’t yet honored us with his true name,” Jennifer said. She tried to channel every henchman ever in all the bad horror movies she’d seen. “When Atlantis falls to the Wraith, he has promised us that we will be rewarded.”
“I cannot wait so long,” the woman said. Jennifer looked her over with a physician’s eye. Her color was bad, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She moved like she was in pain.
“I’m a doctor,” she couldn’t help trying. “I might be able to help you.”
The woman stiffened, and jammed the pistol hard enough against Ronon’s back to make him wince. “Death will reward me when I deliver you to her,” the woman said.
“I think she’d like you to deliver us both in one piece,” Jennifer said. “It would save her the trouble of having to bring us back to life. And you know we might not…” Jennifer reconsidered. It was entirely possible that these people believed the Wraith could restore any dead body to life, if it had taken them a while to give up on someone they’d already buried. “She is more likely to give you the gift of life if she hasn’t already had to revive us.”
“You serve a god who keeps secrets from her,” the woman said. “I can’t trust you to come with me quietly. We have little time before her servants depart through the Stargate.” She sounded more rattled, the formal cadence of her speech slipping a little.
“You could tie us up,” Jennifer said. “There’s a rope tied to the door there.”
“Get it,” the woman said. Jennifer knelt and struggled to unfasten it, her hands shaking. That probably wasn’t a bad thing. It didn’t make it look like she had a plan, here.
“I can’t get it untied,” she said. “There’s more in my pack.”
“Throw your weapon down first,” the woman said. Jennifer drew her pistol carefully, knowing Ronon would probably manage to shoot the woman in the same movement. She tossed it away.
“I’m getting the rope now,” she said in the same voice that she used to explain what she was doing to terrified patients. “See?” She drew it out, turning over her right hand to show it empty except for the rope. It took her too long to find what she was looking for by touch and jam it up her left sleeve, but she hoped she covered it by fumbling with the rope.
“All right,” she said, holding out the rope. Ronon would have noticed the way her sleeve hung wrong now, and the awkward way she was keeping her hands high, but she didn’t think this woman was really a fighter. “Tie us up.”
The woman shook her head. “You tie him,” she said.
She’d bet on that. There wasn’t any way the woman could tie either of them up and still cover Ronon. “Okay,” she said. “I’m going to tie his hands.”
She came up in front of Ronon, looping the rope around Ronon’s wrists, praying that she remembered the knots Teyla had showed her. If she was doing it right, it ought to look sound, and still slip free at a single tug. She saw Ronon’s eyes flicker to the knot, and thought he saw that it wouldn’t hold.
Jennifer edged closer, wrapping the rope around his waist. It was tempting to go for his pistol, but she was afraid she wouldn’t even get it clear of the holster before the woman fired. Instead she tied one last ineffective knot and slid the weight from her left sleeve into her right hand. She hoped Ronon could see what she was doing and that the woman couldn’t, but she didn’t dare look up to be sure. “All right,” she said. “You’re going to have to tie mine.”
“No tricks,” the woman said, stepping around to cover her, and it was the hardest thing Jennifer could remember doing to wait until she saw the muzzle of the pistol clear of Ronon’s side before she pulled the pin on the flash grenade. She squeezed her eyes shut and dropped it, knowing it was too close to both of them, but afraid to try to toss it further away.