Aaron Rosenberg - Hunt and run

Then again, neither was contradicting the commanding officer. Especially not right from the start.

“What is ‘us’?” Ronon asked instead. “You said ‘V’rdai’ — I don’t know that word.”

As he’d hoped, one of the others answered. “It’s short for ‘V’rdai Nehar’lem,’” the white-haired woman — Turen, Ronon remembered — told him sharply. “Nekai taught it to us — it’s a Retem phrase. It means ‘when the hunted become the hunters.’” Her quick, vicious grin told him what she thought of that idea, and he caught approving nods from the others as well.

Ronon studied her. Slight build, short stature, white hair, slanting eyes, pert features — “You’re Hiñati,” he half-asked after a second.

Those large green eyes widened slightly. “You know of my people?”

“We had trade dealings with them,” Ronon told her. “Our composite armors for your blades.”

“We made beautiful blades,” she agreed, her eyes unfocusing as she stared off into the past. “Elegant and deadly.”

“I know — I had one,” Ronon agreed. “A dagger, double-edged, long as my hand, with a horn grip. Perfectly balanced.”

She was studying him in turn now. “Your people gave us our armor?” She took in his nod. “They were well-crafted — light but sturdy, durable, surprisingly flexible.” Ronon felt a flush of pride. Sateda had been known for its armor. “Not that it stopped the Wraith,” she added, almost as an accusation.

“Nor for us either,” he agreed, biting back an angry reply about her people’s blades being no more effective at saving either world. He was trying to build bridges, not burn them. “I’d gladly have it again, though — and I miss that dagger.”

That earned him a small, quick smile from her. “I miss mine as well,” she admitted softly. “Perhaps some day we’ll find some of them again, my people’s blades and your people’s armor. They would serve us well now.” Ronon noticed the “us,” which could have been meant to include him along with the rest. One person at least conditionally willing to accept him.

The others were still unswayed, however. “There is no ‘us,’” Setien insisted loudly. “We are V’rdai. He is a stranger.” She leveled her gaze at him, gray eyes as hard as flint boring into him. “You are not welcome here. Go back whence you came.”

“His world is gone,” Nekai snapped at her. “Just like yours. And yours. And yours. Just like all of ours. They destroyed his world and made him a Runner. The same as they did to each of us.” Hearing it stated so baldly struck Ronon like a physical blow, and he gritted his teeth as he fought to keep his legs from buckling beneath him. He knew Sateda was gone, of course — he had seen much of it destroyed before he was taken, including his beloved Melena. But hearing it described, its utter desolation described so matter-of-factly, stripped away any false hopes he might have still harbored. There really was no going back. He was the last Satedan alive. Or at least the last one alive and free.

“That’s not our problem,” the short orange-haired man — Frayne? — was saying. “I’m sorry for him, but he’s not V’rdai. He’s not one of us. We’re a team.” He glanced at Ronon, sympathy evident in his face. “What we do is dangerous, to ourselves and to those around us. You’re better off on your own.”

That produced a snort from Turen. “Better off on his own?” she scoffed. “That’s ridiculous! If you don’t want him here, say so, but you know as well as I do that being on his own would only get him killed, and fast!”

Nekai was wise enough to step in before the exchange grew more heated. “He knows what we do,” he told the rest of them. “Or at least, how we do it. Where do you think I’ve been all this time? I’ve been training him.”

That got stares from everyone, and Ronon made a mental note. There were two kinds of commanders — those who shared their plans and those who didn’t. Nekai was clearly one of the latter. If the commander had his team’s trust, such a relationship could work, but it meant following blindly and trusting him to know what he was doing. Ronon wasn’t big on trust. Still, Nekai had yet to steer him wrong, and had saved his life and given him the skills he needed to pursue his goal of vengeance, so he would at least give the man the benefit of the doubt. For now.

“You trained him?” Banje asked. “To make him one of us?”

Nekai nodded. “I was out scouting when I saw the dot appear on my monitor,” he explained. “I knew it wasn’t one of you, which could only mean one thing — a new Runner. So I went to check him out.” He grinned at Ronon. “He was howling his rage at the top of his lungs. Then he broke a limb off a tree — not a dead branch, a live limb — and prepared to club the first Wraith to get close.” Several of the others chuckled, but all of them nodded slightly. Ronon guessed he wasn’t the first to take such an aggressive course of action.

“Did he knock you out?” It was the tall one, Adarr. They were the first words he’d spoken directly to Ronon, and they were surprisingly friendly.

“Shot me,” Ronon agreed. “In the back.” The chuckles grew louder.

“Three times,” Nekai added, which Ronon hadn’t known. The chuckles changed to gasps. “It took three shots to take him down.”

“Three?” Frayne was staring openly at Ronon. “That’s insane! That’s — ”

“ — as many as it would take to put down a Wraith,” Nekai finished for him. “Yes.”

“A Wraith — or one of their followers,” Banje pointed out quietly. His voice was as sharp as his eyes, but soft at the same time. “How do we know he isn’t one of them?”

But Nekai was already shaking his head. “He hates the Wraith as much as any of us,” the Retemite assured them all. “I’ve seen his eyes when he faced them. Believe me — he’d rather die than submit to them.” Ronon nodded fiercely, scowling back at Banje. Any man who claimed he was a Wraith follower would pay with his life for such an insult!

To his credit, Banje nodded and held up his hands. “Sorry,” he told Ronon. “Just making sure.” Ronon could hardly argue that one.

“So you’ve spent the past three months training him?” Turen asked, returning to the original conversation. Ronon was already starting to like her.

“Yes, and he’s a natural,” Nekai answered. “Once I convinced him that running away was sometimes the smartest move.” More chuckles, this time even from Setien — judging from her aggressive stance Ronon suspected she’d been just as uncomfortable with that thought as he had been. “He killed three Wraith just hours ago, all without my help.” The glances this time were more appreciative, less hostile, and Ronon understood why Nekai had told him he was finally ready. It hadn’t just been about making sure he’d mastered the skills — it was also about earning the trust of the other V’rdai.

“I was brought in six months ago,” Adarr volunteered suddenly. “My people were the Fanash. When Nekai found me, I was trying to chip a piece of stone into a spearhead.” He stepped forward, past the others, and extended a hand. “If Nekai says you are one of us, I welcome you.”

Ronon met him halfway and clasped hands with him. “Thank you.”

Turen was next to offer her hand, and she smiled as she welcomed him to the V’rdai. Frayne was less enthusiastic. “I guess we’ll see how it goes,” he muttered, but his handclasp was firm.

That left Setien and Banje — the most aggressive member and the one Ronon had already pegged as Nekai’s second in command. It didn’t surprise him that Banje was the one who acted first. As second, he had to back Nekai. Plus he had yet to be antagonistic, just cautious.