SGA-13 Hunt and Run (8 page)

“Because the man was trying just as hard to kill you,” his mentor had pointed out. “This beast wasn’t doing anything to us. It couldn’t hurt us if it tried.” Judging from the sharpened horn gracing the animal’s brow, Ronon wasn’t entirely convinced of that, but certainly it had made no move toward them. It had raised its head in alarm when Ronon had lowered his weapon the second time, its delicate ears swiveling toward the faint noise, but had looked poised to run away rather than to charge.

“Don’t feel bad for not wanting to kill it,” Nekai had assured him. “That’s natural. It means you’re not mean-spirited — you kill it because you have to, not because you want to. But you do have to. We need to eat to survive, and this creature wasn’t smart enough or fast enough to escape you. That makes it prey.” He’d pulled a knife from somewhere — Ronon was never entirely sure where his mentor stashed all the knives he seemed to carry — flipped it over so the blade was resting atop his palm, and had offered it hilt-first to Ronon. “Now you have to finish the job.”

Ronon had forced himself to slit the creature’s throat, making sure the cut was fast and smooth so it felt no pain. He had lost whatever food had already been in his stomach the first few times Nekai had shown him how to skin, gut, and dress an animal, but by then he was able to handle the chore without difficulty or pause. Nekai was right — they needed to eat. And any beast foolish enough to be taken down by them probably deserved it. Especially since they never killed more than they needed, which meant it was only the slowest, stupidest animals around that became their prey. That had made it a little easier, but not a lot.

This morning, however, was different. Ronon knew that at once, because not only was Nekai gone, so were all traces that he had ever been there. All except for one.

Sitting atop a small rock not far from his head was a device Ronon had never seen away from Nekai before. The tracking monitor. And under it was a single scrap of paper.

“You have two hours,” he read as he picked up both the monitor and the scrap. “Find me before I find you.”

Great. Another test. Of course. As their training had progressed and Nekai had pronounced himself pleased with this or that aspect of Ronon’s new education, these little tests had become more frequent — and more difficult. But this was a new one. Usually Nekai told Ronon how much time had and where he had to go or what he had to do, then they split up. For Nekai to have left before Ronon was awake, and to have removed his tracks as he went, and to leave the monitor behind — this had the feel of a final exam. All or nothing.

Ronon studied the monitor in his hand. He could cheat, of course. Turn it on and use it to pinpoint the other man within minutes. Not that Nekai wouldn’t lay some sort of trap for him, but he was confident he could find his way around or through that. And using the tracker was how the Wraith would come for them.

The Wraith! Ronon glanced up and around quickly, his free hand going to his pistol. How long had Nekai been gone? If there was a Wraith already in the area, and the creature had one of their tracking monitors, he would have noticed both Ronon’s signal and Nekai’s. They might not have much time.

But Nekai knew that better than anyone. That’s why he was only allowing Ronon two hours. Two hours from dawn, presumably — he knew that was when Ronon woke if not awakened by something else beforehand. So Nekai must have felt that they would be safe for those two hours. Or safe enough.

Ronon nodded to himself and slid the tracking monitor into his pocket without switching it on. He wouldn’t cheat. Nekai had probably known that. But he needed to know he could find the Retemite on his own, using just the skills Nekai had taught him and his own instincts and senses. He needed to know he could do this without any help.

Crouching down, Ronon studied the ground around him carefully. No footprints, no drag marks — Nekai was careful. Maybe too careful. He grinned as his eye registered a swathe of dirt that was a little smoother than its neighbors. Gotcha.

Straightening and dusting his hands off on his pants legs, Ronon drew his pistol, made sure it was still on stun, and headed into the scrub brush surrounding the little clearing. He was on the hunt. .

*
 
*
 
*

Some time later, he glanced up at the sky, gauging the time from the position of this world’s sun. At least that was a skill he’d already been taught in the military, even the calculations necessary to adjust for a sun’s size and a planet’s proximity to it. Right now, he’d say it had been at least an hour and a half since he’d left the spot where they’d camped the night before, and possibly closer to two. Which meant Nekai would be hunting him soon instead of just the other way around.

He’d followed the brushed-out trail at first but had quickly lost it as the undergrowth had thickened, making it unnecessary to hide footprints. The ground here was covered in dry leaves, wet leaves, creeper vines, moss, and occasionally flower petals. The trees were close enough together to provide excellent cover but far enough apart to allow a man to slip between them without difficulty. Low branches offered concealment from above, as did hanging vines, and the foliage filtered the sun so only speckles of light shone through, dancing across dust motes and creating constant shadows. It was a perfect place to hide — or to hunt someone unsuspecting.

Fortunately, Ronon was well aware of that. Unfortunately, so was Nekai.

He had picked up the Retemite’s trail twice more, once when the shorter man had nudged aside a hanging vine and disturbed its place on the branch above and once when he had brushed leaves back into place behind his feet but had flipped one over, leaving it the only dry leaf among a patch of damp ones. Both times the trail had vanished again a few paces later, but Ronon had kept to the same general direction, sure Nekai meant to put as much distance between them before doubling back. The trick would be noticing when he did begin that wide turn, otherwise Ronon would keep right on going and Nekai would be able to come at him from behind.

Nor had his mentor left the area unprepared. Twice Ronon had noticed snares, once just barely in time — his foot had literally been an inch off the ground when he’d spotted a vine with a little too much tension in it and had realized it was a rope concealed among the true foliage. He’d been forced to roll forward to avoid stepping into the trap, which had taken him safely out of harm’s way but had meant he’d spent several minutes concealing all the marks he’d left from that tumble. He knew Nekai would probably circle back and hunt for him along his own previous path, so there was no sense making it easy for the other man.

Given the time, Ronon was sure Nekai had already begun his turn. He hadn’t seen any evidence of that, but he could feel it in his gut. Which just left the question of which way to go. If you were simply running from someone, you’d want to turn away from the sun so you could better see what you were doing and where you were going. But if you were hunting someone — or evading someone hunting you — you’d do the opposite. You’d turn toward the sun, using its glare to dazzle your pursuit so you could duck away and sneak up on them more easily.

Ronon turned toward the sun. Even through the thick canopy above the sudden light made him blink, and he ducked behind a tree as he waited for his eyes to adjust. Then he glanced around —

 
— and noticed a faint sheen to the bark on the tree beside him, a handspan or so below his eye level.

He broke into a slow grin. Nekai had done the same thing he’d just done, stepped behind a tree while his eyes got used to the increased light. That tree. The sheen was where Nekai’s shoulders had rubbed against it, staining the sensitive outer bark ever so slightly. Ronon stepped away from his own protective trunk and glanced at it. Sure enough, he’d left a similar sheen. There was no way to conceal that — rubbing at the bark would only make it worse — but at least now he knew he had chosen correctly. Nekai had gone this way, and had turned at exactly this point, two hours in.

Which meant the other man was somewhere ahead of him, and just beginning the process of sneaking back around to strike at Ronon.

But Ronon was ready for him. He stroked the pistol at his side. This time, he was going to teach his mentor a thing or two about hunting. Mainly that sometimes a good thing was simply too good to be true. .

*
 
*
 
*

Ronon cursed. And for good reason. He was currently hanging upside down. His left foot was trapped within a vine loop he’d triggered by stepping into it, and the pressure of his weight had knocked loose the counterweight and jerked the vine and the branch holding it — which had been bent downward and pinned in place — up rapidly, yanking him from his feet and upending him to hang here trussed like a fatted calf.

Just waiting for a hunter — or a Wraith — to stop by and finish him off.

A faint rustling caught his attention, but it was behind him and Ronon couldn’t exactly turn around. Still, he wasn’t surprised when a voice cut through the silence of the forest a second later.

“I thought I’d trained you better than that,” Nekai commented as he emerged from the bushes. Even listening hard, Ronon could barely hear his footsteps as the stocky Retemite came closer, pistol raised and leveled at Ronon’s chest. “You were doing so well, too — picking up on my tracks, avoiding my snares, covering your own traces well.” Ronon was sure the other man was shaking his head now. “Then you got careless.”

“Must have,” Ronon admitted. “I’ll do better next time.”

“What makes you so sure there will be a next time?” There was no humor in Nekai’s tone, and Ronon felt a chill run down — or up — him.

“What’re you saying? That I failed?”

“I don’t know,” the other man admitted quietly. “I really am surprised by you. I thought you’d do better than thi — ”

The rest of Nekai’s words were cut short as his foot came down among a clump of wet leaves — and they shifted beneath him. Ronon had managed to twist and sway enough that he could see his mentor off to the side of his vision, so he had at least a quick glimpse of the shock on the other man’s face as Nekai realized what was happening. Then Ronon’s snare had closed around his ankle, the counterweight had fallen, and the Retemite was being hoisted into the air. The sudden force of the ascent knocked the stun gun from his hand, and it fell to the leaves below as Nekai hung there, swinging from the built-up momentum of his rapid rise.

“How?” he sputtered as Ronon bent his left leg, pulling himself higher. Then he bent and reached up with both hands, grasping the vine just above the loop. The added pressure above the knot forced it to loosen and he pulled his foot free, then swung both legs down and dropped easily to the ground. His own pistol was securely in its holster, and he drew it now, covering Nekai even as he crouched and collected the fallen Wraith stun gun.

“I spotted the snare without a problem,” Ronon admitted, straightening and taking a few steps away from his strung-up mentor. No sense getting within range of the man’s knives. “So I rigged one of my own just a few steps away from it.” He shrugged, trying not to grin. “Then I stepped into yours and waited for you to hear the commotion and come running.” The grin slipped free anyway. “Which you did.”

“You couldn’t know which direction I’d come from,” Nekai insisted.

“No, but I knew you’d circle around until you were behind me,” Ronon pointed out. “So I positioned the snare where I wanted it, then adjusted my own orientation until it was directly at my back.” His grin widened. “The rest was easy.”

Nekai studied him for a second — then laughed. “Nicely done,” he admitted. “You used my own planning against me, and I fell for it. I am impressed.”

“Then I passed?” Ronon asked, lowering his pistol slightly but still not moving too close. “Can I cut you down, or are you going to try for me anyway?”

“You definitely pass,” his mentor assured him. “The test is over.” Ronon holstered his pistol and drew a knife, slicing through the vine with a single quick overhand slash. Nekai fell to the ground, twisting and curling into a ball to lessen the impact. He was on his feet a moment later, and Ronon handed him back the stun gun without a word.

“You’ve learned well, Ronon,” Nekai told him once he was armed again, and had removed the snare’s loop from his ankle. “There’s only one thing left now, one final step.”

“You said I passed,” Ronon reminded him, his grin fading a little bit. How many more tests would he have to endure?

“This isn’t a test,” Nekai answered. “More like a proving ground. It’s time.”

“Time for what?” But deep down, Ronon already knew the answer, and his mentor echoed it a second later, a predatory grin crossing his face.

“Time to hunt a Wraith.”

Snap!
Ronon tensed, then forced himself to relax. He uncurled his fingers from around the butt of his pistol, unclenched his stomach muscles and his jaw, lay flat again, and forced himself to breathe slowly. Patience. He had to have patience.

Where were the damned Wraith? Why weren’t they here yet?

It had been over three hours since he and Nekai had separated. Nekai had suggested they wait another day, until they had both eaten and slept and Ronon had recovered from the stress and tension and effort of their recent mutual hunt. But Ronon had refused.

“Now,” he’d insisted. “I want to do this now.”