Aaron Rosenberg - Hunt and run

“We don’t have to do anything,” he answered. “Just wait. Our friends should take care of the rest.”

The argument had concluded, he noticed, so he turned his head to watch their captors again, though he also folded his legs under him and leaned forward a bit. It was a more casual position, so he’d look less threatening, but he could actually kick up to a standing position in a hurry if he had to.

The tall man was still upset, but the leader had calmed him down somewhat. Now they exchanged a few final words, and then the group split in half. The leader and the angular woman moved to the back of the ledge and the outcropping there — within minutes they had vanished from sight. The tall man and his remaining companion grabbed their guns and stomped over to stand near the fire, and their captives.

“What do you know about all this?” the tall man demanded, glaring at Sheppard.

“About all what?” Sheppard replied, giving his best unconcerned shrug. “About you guys luring us in here, damaging our ship, capturing us, and torturing us for no reason?”

“You’re the enemy!” was the angry response, and the tall man half-started toward them before his companion pulled him back.

“The enemy?” Sheppard laughed at him. “How’re we your enemy? We don’t even know you! We didn’t know you existed until you attacked us. So how does that work, exactly?”

“It doesn’t matter,” their other guard said. It was the first time Sheppard had heard him speak. Definitely male, with a deep voice that belied his short stature. Broad, though, and sturdy. Not someone Sheppard wanted to have to tangle with. Especially since this one was completely calm, his gun rock-steady in his hand. The tall man’s was bouncing all over the place as he twitched and jumped at every sound and every shadow. “All that matters,” the shorter guard continued, “is finishing this hunt and getting out of here.”

“That won’t be easy if that was our ship we heard,” the tall man argued. “And I’m pretty sure it was.” He glared at Sheppard again. “Your friends did this, didn’t they? The ones we haven’t caught yet. They found our ship and destroyed it!”

Sheppard held up his bound hands. “I have no idea,” he admitted. “I’ve been here, remember? But if they did, let’s face it — you earned it.” He met his captor’s glare with one of his own. “You attacked us. You hit our ship. Turnabout is fair play.”

“What I don’t understand,” the shorter guard said, low enough that it was probably meant to be to himself, “is how they’ve evaded our traps. That takes skill.”

The tall man snorted. “You’re thinking about those stories again,” he accused.

“So what if I am?” his companion asked. “Maybe they’re true!”

“They’re not,” the tall man insisted. “Nekai said it was impossible, remember?”

“Well, maybe he’s wrong!” Judging by the way the tall man recoiled, that was something people simply didn’t suggest, and the shorter guard sounded defensive as he continued, “it could happen. He doesn’t know everything!” Sheppard guessed that Nekai was their leader, the one who’d questioned him about the Stargates.

“He knows everything about Runners!” was the tall man’s angry retort, and beside him Sheppard felt Teyla stiffen and glance at him. He fought the urge to look at her as well. He didn’t want to give their captors any hints. But inside he was straining to take in everything they said, and doing his best to become invisible so as not to interrupt what was turning into a fascinating conversation.

“Maybe not everything,” the shorter man said softly. “Look, it makes sense,” he insisted. “Somebody got past our traps. Somebody managed to hide from us all yesterday and last night and this morning. That’s not just a hunter, it’s someone who’s used to being chased. Someone who’s good at disappearing. And that’s a Runner.”

“There are others with the same skills,” the tall man claimed, but he didn’t sound very convinced. “Fugitives, stowaways, refugees. It could be any of them.”

“And would any of them be able to take out Misa and Castor?” the other guard asked. “I couldn’t do that. Could you?” >From his tone, he already knew the answer. “That’s more than hiding, that’s fighting. And who can hunt, hide, and fight? A Runner.”

“There aren’t any other Runners right now,” the tall man said with as much certainty as he could muster, which to Sheppard’s ear didn’t sound like a whole hell of a lot. “There’s us and there’s the ones who died. That’s it.” Sheppard could feel Teyla’s look boring into his back but he refused to turn around. Yes, he’d heard. These men were Runners. From the sound of it, all of them were. He’d never heard of a group of Runners, and he wondered if Ronon had. Did the big Satedan know he wasn’t the only one? Did he know there were others who had banded together like this? If they got out of this, Sheppard had a lot of questions for his friend.

But right now he was too busy listening. “There’s one,” the shorter man was saying. His tone was strange — Sheppard would have described it as “faraway,” like when someone talked about Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny or some other favorite childhood memory. Wistful, hopeful, but not completely convinced.

“He doesn’t exist,” his companion said bluntly.

“He might. Think about it. A Runner who’s shut down his tracking device. A Runner who hunts freely, and can’t be traced.” The shorter guard was practically bouncing with excitement now. “If it’s true, there’s a way to do it. And that means we could do it, too.”

“There isn’t,” the tall man insisted. “It can’t be done. Nekai’s seen what happens when someone tries.” He seemed to feel that was the end of the discussion, and turned away slightly.

“Yeah, I know what he said,” his companion continued, “but think about it. What if — ”

He didn’t get any further, because just then a shadow fell across him. The guard glanced up, just in time to see a tall, powerfully built figure dropping down on top of him. Sheppard almost shouted with relief! Ronon!

The Satedan landed hard on the guard, both boots coming down on the smaller man’s chest and shoulders, slamming him into the ground. The guard grunted in pain and surprise, his pistol flying from his hand, and then collapsed. Ronon was already rolling off him, dodging away as the taller guard turned, bringing his weapon to bear.

Well, time to get involved, Sheppard decided. He sprang to his feet, lunging forward as he did so that his bound hands came up and struck the tall guard’s forearm from underneath. The clumsy blow was enough to jolt the man’s arm upward, throwing off his aim, and his first shot went wide. Teyla had gained her feet as well and moved around to the other side, flanking their remaining captor, and Sheppard saw another figure appear at the far end of the ledge, moving carefully. Rodney.

A shot flew toward them, its coloring a familiar crimson, but the tall man was partially shielded behind Sheppard himself, and Ronon’s first shot sizzled past. It did make the guard turn, however, and Teyla took that opportunity to step forward and slam both fists into the tall man’s side just below the ribs. The blow doubled him over and Sheppard hammered him across the back of the neck. He couldn’t put enough force behind the blow, however, and the tall man shoved him away and backed up himself, putting himself against the rock wall.

“Get back!” he shouted. “I’ll shoot you all!” His gun was waving wildly between them, though it didn’t look like he’d seen Rodney yet.

“I doubt it,” Ronon answered, straightening and stepping forward. “You were never a killer, Adarr.”