Aaron Rosenberg - Hunt and run

“It may take a while for you to fit in,” he warned as he shook Ronon’s hand. “But give it time.” That quiet addition told Ronon that Banje wasn’t worried — he was just cautioning him not to assume an instant bond with the others, or to assume he had their complete trust yet. Which was fair. Trust had to be earned.

Everyone turned to Setien, who was still standing behind Ronon, her pistol lowered but still in her hand. She was glaring at him, at Nekai, at all of them. Then she sighed. “Fine!” she announced, making a big display of holstering her weapon. “You can stay. Unless you anger me, in which case I’ll snap your neck!”

Adarr grinned. “She threatens everyone like that,” he assured Ronon. “You’ll get used to it.”

Ronon nodded. “You’re welcome to try,” he told Setien, but he made sure he was grinning when he said it. He wanted her to see that he wasn’t making a threat. Still, as tall and powerful as she was, he was still bigger, and he was an expert at barehanded combat. He had no intention of being a pushover. One of the most important tricks when joining a unit was establishing that you could hold your own, so that when you did give way they knew it was from respect and not from weakness.

Setien answered his grin with one of her own. “I’ll take you up on that,” she assured him, and Ronon didn’t miss the looks of horror that flashed across most of the others’ faces. Clearly they’d all sparred with her before. Only Banje was unswayed — he gave Ronon a quick nod, clearly understanding his move and approving of it. Already Ronon could see that Banje was the one to watch for cues on how to behave.

And he had a feeling he was going to need a lot of cues.

“You’ll bunk with me,” Banje told him. He was giving Ronon a quick tour of the dome, which wasn’t very hard considering it was perhaps a hundred meters across. Of course, that made sense given the tracking devices each of them bore — they’d want to stay close to at least one other at all times to blur the signal and keep them and their base undetected. “Adarr, you’re with Frayne.” The two other men nodded, as did Ronon. Nekai would have his own tent, of course, and clearly Banje put the newest man in his own tent where he could keep an eye on him. Adarr had been the most recent before Ronon, but now he’d proved himself and could bunk with Frayne instead.

That was fine. Ronon judged Frayne to be twitchy and a complainer, neither of which sat well with him. Adarr was friendly — maybe too friendly, the kind who wanted to sit up all night swapping stories and being buddies. Ronon didn’t need that when he was trying to sleep. He had the feeling Banje would be quiet but not rude, and that was ideal in a tentmate. Especially if they were going to be getting into combat situations.

Because no one had told Ronon yet exactly what the V’rdai did. He got that the name spoke to some vengeance, and that was fine with him, but how exactly? What was their structure? What were their plans, their strategies? How did they intend to hurt the Wraith? He was itching to know, but figured this was a test, the first of many. They were waiting to see how long before his curiosity won out over his discipline and he started asking questions.

He was determined to wait them out.

“That’s our tent,” Banje continued, gesturing at the second of three that formed a neat row beyond the fire. “Frayne and Adarr are to the left, Turen and Setien to the right. Nekai’s is over there.” That was a fourth tent, a short distance away from and behind the others. The commander clearly liked his privacy. Or maybe the others just felt it was a mark of respect — Nekai hadn’t seemed too concerned with distance when they were curled up in a cave hiding from the Wraith.

“We don’t bother with a proper mess,” Ronon’s guide was saying. “Not enough of us to need one. We keep the fire going during the day and use that for any cooking, and we rotate chores. Can you cook?”

Ronon shrugged. “Well enough.” They’d handled things the same way back in his unit, and he hadn’t been the best at preparing meals but he hadn’t been the worst, either.

“Fine. Stores are there” — another tent, this one much bigger — “and basic equipment’s over there” — another large tent beside it. He eyed Ronon, specifically his attire — he was still wearing the loose shirt and drawstring pants the Wraith had given him upon his capture, now spattered with mud and blood and filth from the past three months. “We’ve got some clothes that’ll probably fit you. Boots’re a little tougher, but we’ll see what we can do. Setien’s a fair hand at cobbling, though you’d never know it — if we don’t have anything that fits she can probably put something together.”

Ronon and Nekai had shucked their atmospheric suits after the initial introductions, and now Banje eyed the leather coat around Ronon’s waist, his bland features wrinkled in distaste. “You plan on wearing that?” was all he said, but the tone spoke volumes.

“No.” Ronon didn’t bother to explain further. Maybe by the time he figured out what he wanted to do with the trophy, he’d be comfortable enough with the others to feel like talking about it. Maybe.

“That’s Nekai’s pistol, isn’t it?” Frayne asked from behind Ronon. He was gesturing to the weapon at Ronon’s side.

“Not anymore,” Ronon told him. He grinned, and the smaller man backed away a step. Yes, definitely twitchy.

“How’d you get his gun?” Adarr wanted to know.

Ronon shrugged. “I asked.” The answer apparently stunned the others into silence, and after a second the tour continued.

The dome was well laid-out, in proper military fashion. The space had been divided into quadrants. There were chemical latrines off in the far corner of one quadrant, showers in another, equipment and stores in a third, and the one airlock centered in the wall of the fourth. The fire was at the center, with the tents just behind it. The rest was open space. Plenty of room to train, to spar, to pace. The supplies, what Ronon saw of them, were a strange mixture. Some looked like military issue, no-nonsense and sturdy. Others were clearly handmade, though those ranged from crude to elegant, from barely lashed together to cunningly fitted. Then there was everything in between, most of which looked as if it had been purchased at some rural bazaar. Considering they had access to an ancestral ring, Ronon guessed that some of the materials had been purchased on various worlds, and others had been crafted here. It gave the dome a more eclectic feel, softening the military edge but not disguising it completely.

“Water’s reclaimed from the air, and recycled from waste,” Banje mentioned. “We ration it, both for drinking and for cleaning, so don’t make a mess.” They’d returned to the area around the fire. “Food’s a mix of rations and whatever we can bring back from a hunt. Not a lot of frills here, but it’s solid and safe.” He turned to face Ronon. “Any questions?”

Ronon could almost hear Adarr and Frayne hold their breath, so he deliberately opened his mouth as if to speak — then shut it again. “Nope,” he finally drawled before dropping to his haunches and then stretching out beside the fire. The other two men goggled at him.

“That’s it?” Frayne couldn’t help asking. “‘Nope’? You’re in this dome with five other Runners, you have no idea who we are or what we’re doing, and you don’t have any questions? None at all?”

Ronon shrugged, putting all the nonchalance he could into that gesture. “Figured you’d tell me anything I needed to know,” he said slowly. Then he smiled.

“Ha!” Adarr crowed. The tall thin man slapped his leg. “He totally suckered you, Frayne! He didn’t ask a single question — but you did! You owe me one week of dish-scraping duty!”