Aaron Rosenberg - Hunt and run

Case in point — Nekai leaned back on his perch and shut his eyes. “Two hundred,” he announced softly. “One ninety-nine. One ninety-eight. One ninety-seven. ”

Ronon rose with a groan. He had already learned that Nekai didn’t kid about training, not at all. If he was counting down, he meant it — and when he reached “one” he would open his eyes and shoot Ronon where he stood if he was still in sight. And the Wraith stun-pistol Nekai used — apparently his backup weapon, but since Ronon now had his usual pistol and no intention of ever giving it back Nekai was using the stun-pistol entirely these days — hurt like hell when it hit you. It didn’t stun Ronon completely, not on the first shot, but it did stop him in his tracks, and Nekai had no compunctions against following that first hit up with two or three more to make sure he’d put Ronon down.

One of these days, Ronon swore to himself, he was going to turn the tables on the stocky Retemite. He was going to sneak up on Nekai and stun him instead. That thought was now just as powerful a motivation as the idea of killing more Wraiths in keeping him moving and training.

Which meant that perhaps Nekai’s way wasn’t all that different from Satedan methods after all.

Ronon woke up at dawn two months later to discover that he was alone. That wasn’t entirely unusual — Nekai often woke before him and scouted the area, or found some sort of food.

Food — that had been another new experience. Ronon had never hunted before. Now he was learning how to hunt Wraith, but he was also learning to hunt animals. They kept moving, switching to a new planet every two to three days so the Wraith couldn’t pinpoint their location during the times when they were far enough apart that both their tracking signals would be clear, and Nekai could tell at a glance whether a planet held edible flora and fauna. Ronon was learning how as well. It had to do with recognizing various plants, noticing telltale hints of poison in their fruit or nuts or roots, but also in searching for and reading animal tracks, teeth marks, dung, and other signs. Now he knew the difference between marks made by a small burrowing mammal and a large, poisonous reptile, and could tell whether fluttering overhead was from harmless birds or dangerous bats or deadly winged snakes.

Even so, the first time he’d had to shoot an animal he had found it incredibly hard. He had lowered his pistol several times before finally taking the shot. And it had been set on stun, because a killshot from the weapon would have charred the creature and left it inedible.

“Why is it,” he had wondered out loud after the beast had fallen and he and Nekai had crouched beside its still form, “that I can shoot a man or stab him or cut him without a second’s hesitation, but I could barely bring myself to shoot this thing?”

“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.