Aaron Rosenberg - Hunt and run

When Ronon was hanging from one of the crags as well, Nekai gestured ahead of them and down toward the ground. Ronon followed his motion — and stared. He had been half-expecting the secret base he’d joked about, so the sight of a deep crater just behind the peaks was not completely a surprise. It was exactly the terrain he would choose for a hideout: close to a flat plain where the shuttle could land, concealed behind these peaks, and deep in shadow.

But that didn’t mean he’d expected the domed base he saw below him.

This was no mere hideout, Ronon realized as Nekai released his grip and let the moon’s weak gravity tug him gently groundward again. He studied the dome more carefully as he followed his mentor down. It had been textured to match the moon’s surface, he noticed, so it would be hard to spot unless you were practically on top of it. And it was big. Far too big for the needs of just one man.

His feet touched the ground and he bent his knees to absorb the impact, rather than be flung skyward again. By the time he straightened up there were two guns in his face.

That explained the extra atmosphere suits.

Ronon raised his hands slowly, palms outward, fingers extended, to show he wasn’t about to try anything. The strangers weren’t worried about Nekai at all, and when the Retemite motioned they lowered their weapons and stepped back, though they didn’t holster them. Fair enough. Ronon would have done exactly the same in their position. For now he’d have to trust Nekai, and the fact that the man had spent far too much time training him to just lead him into a trap. The fact that these two clearly trusted Nekai as well was hopefully a good thing.

Nekai had already moved past their welcoming committee. Now he stepped up to the dome and pressed his hand flat against its surface. A quick swipe and part of that covering slid aside, revealing a door panel, which Nekai quickly accessed. Seconds later a portal opened behind the covering, which Ronon could see now was like a curtain over the dome itself. Nekai was already ducking through, and Ronon followed, his two temporary guards bringing up the rear.

Inside, the dome was equipped much like a military camp, with tents and folding chairs and crates of equipment. Three other people were sitting around a smokeless fire and stared as they entered. The dome’s door was a full airlock with an inner door that had cycled open only once the outer door had closed again, so the trio weren’t wearing atmosphere suits. Their clothes looked rugged and a bit worn, clearly meant for durability and comfort rather than fashion, and all three had pistols at their sides — he’d seen them reach for the weapons when they saw him, but then relax when they noticed Nekai and realized he was still flanked by his guards.

“Nekai! You’re back!” One of the strangers — a short, slender woman with close-cropped white hair and large, slanting green eyes — hopped up from her crate and rushed over. She hugged him quickly, then stepped back, frowning. “Where’ve you been? We thought maybe you’d been taken.”

“Sorry,” Nekai told her as he pulled his helmet off. “No way to get word once we’d begun.” He gestured for Ronon to remove his helmet as well, then addressed the others. “Everyone, gather round.” The two left by the fire quickly joined them. “Meet Ronon Dex, former Specialist of the Satedan military. Now a Runner. Just like us.”

That made Ronon start, and he studied each of these strangers in turn. They were all Runners?

They were studying him just as closely, and he could see the suspicion on their faces. And the caution that came only from hard experience. It was an expression he knew he carried himself. Yes, they were Runners. He’d never imagined there could be so many of them, much less that they might all be in one place. He would have wondered how each of them had managed to survive, but suspected he already knew the answer to that one. Clearly there was more to Nekai — and his plans — than he had realized.

“Ronon,” Nekai continued, “this is Turen” — the woman who had hugged Nekai nodded — “Adarr” — one of the two behind him, a lean man nearly as tall as he was with skin the color of bleached bone, spiky white hair, and arctic blue eyes — “Frayne” — a short man with broad shoulders, long arms, and a fuzz of orange hair across his head and cheeks and jaw — “Setien” — the other guard, who proved to be a tall, powerfully built woman with thick black hair and regal features — “and Banje” — the last to approach, a man of average height and build with weathered skin, dull brown hair, but sharp black eyes.

Ronon nodded to each of them, and most of them nodded back, though Adarr and Setien still hadn’t holstered their weapons. “What is this place?” he asked Nekai, though the question was tossed out to all of them. Several of them frowned, and they all turned to the Retemite for his answer. Just as Ronon had thought — Nekai was their leader.

“This,” Nekai answered, “is our home. Such as it is. We are the V’rdai.” He turned and clasped Ronon’s hand. “And you are now one of us.”

That proclamation brought an instant wave of noise.

“What?” was the most obvious reply, shouted by several of the others at once. “Have you gone mad?” came from the raven-tressed warrior-woman, Setien. Banje was the only one not shouting. His scowl said more than enough all by itself.

“Hold on.” Ronon held up his hands, both to ask for quiet and to protect himself in case any of them turned to violence. He left his pistol in its holster, though — no sense antagonizing them. Further. No one responded, so he raised his voice. “Hold on!” That shut them up, and they all turned toward him instead of Nekai.

“I appreciate being included,” he told them and Nekai, “but I don’t even know what’s going on here. And it’s clear you’re a unit. I don’t want to disrupt that.” He’d figured it was a fair bet that most, if not all, of the others had military training like his own, and the shift he saw from several of them confirmed that. They knew military language, and recognized what he was saying — that he’d respect the chain of command, that he wasn’t here to cause trouble or take over, that if he was included he’d play by the rules. That meant a lot.

Ronon remembered all too well when his unit back on Sateda had been assigned a new member. The newcomer had been cocky at first, brash and demanding, convinced he knew better than anyone else, including Ronon himself. As a result, he’d tried bucking the system, ignoring rules he didn’t like, bending others, and both encouraging and even occasionally ordering the others to do the same. He’d acted like an outsider, and so they’d treated him like one. It had taken Ronon dragging him outside one morning and beating him almost to a pulp before the new addition had accepted that you had to know your place, and accept it. After that he’d lost a lot of his arrogance, and had discovered that the more experienced unit members knew a lot they could teach him. Tyre had eventually become a valued member of the unit, Ronon’s right hand, but it had been neither a quick nor an easy process.

Ronon was determined not to repeat his lost friend’s mistakes.

“You won’t disrupt it,” Nekai assured him, glaring at the others to make sure they got the message as well. “And you are one of us.”

Ronon shook his head. Nekai was an expert hunter, and he said he’d been a warrior, but it was obvious he’d never been a soldier. Perhaps the Retem had had no fixed military, no standing army — Ronon had seen worlds like that, where everyone was trained to fight and came together in times of need, but still fought more or less alone. Good for learning to be self-sufficient, but bad for understanding how to build a unit and foster the close camaraderie needed in such a team. Ordering the others to accept him was not the way to win their approval.