Aaron Rosenberg - Hunt and run

“You could have done it with us,” Nekai suggested.

“Maybe so.”

“We were a good team, once.”

Ronon smiled, remembering. “We were a great team.”

“We could be again.” Nekai had been holding his pistol the entire time, but now he holstered it. “Come back with me,” he urged. “Come back to the V’rdai. It’s where you belong — tracking device or not, you’re still a Runner. You’re still a hunter. Come back and we can hunt together again!”

It was tempting. Ronon admired and trusted Sheppard, and liked Teyla — he even admired Rodney for his mind if nothing else. But they weren’t like him. They never had been. They couldn’t understand what he’d been through and they didn’t have the same sort of skills he did. Sheppard was pretty good in a fight, and Teyla could hold her own as well, but neither of them were hunters. To be with the V’rdai again meant living and working with the only people who really knew what it was like to be a Runner. And it meant being with other hunters, and being able to set traps and ambush prey together without a single word.

Yes, it was tempting. And if he could go back to the V’rdai the way it had been when Nekai had first brought him in, with Setien and Turen and Adarr and Frayne and Banje, Ronon knew he might have accepted.

But that was a long time ago. Most of them were dead now. Adarr had changed. Nekai had changed. And the V’rdai had changed with them.

“I’ll come back,” Ronon said finally. “If you give up attacking innocents.”

Nekai ground his teeth together. “There are no innocents.” he insisted again. “There’s only us and them. That’s it! No other choices, nothing in between!”

Ronon sighed, though it was the answer he’d expected. “You’re wrong,” he told his former friend. “And I can’t be a party to that.”

The shorter man sighed as well. “I’m sorry it’s come to this,” he said, and he did sound disappointed and regretful. “But if you’re not one of us you’re one of them, and I can’t let someone with your skills and your knowledge of us go free.” He drew his pistol again.

“So that’s it?” Ronon asked him, his entire body tensing. “You’re going to shoot me?”

“You don’t leave me any choice.” Nekai raised his gun and pointed it at Ronon’s head, still keeping more than ten feet between them.

“Put the gun down,” Ronon urged. “You owe me a better death than that, at least.”

“It’ll be quick,” his old mentor assured him. “One shot and it’s over. You won’t feel a thing.”

“I’m a hunter, and a Runner,” Ronon reminded him. “Don’t take me out with a pistol. If you’re going to kill me, use a blade, at least. Give me a warrior’s death.”

Nekai considered for a second, then nodded and holstered his pistol a second time. “Fair enough.” He drew a long knife from his belt instead. “I’ll still make it quick, and as painless as I can.” He raised the blade and approached Ronon slowly. “I really am sorry.”

“So am I,” Ronon answered. “So am I.”

Nekai was less than five feet away now. Ronon hung as still as possible, watching as the other man took one slow step after another — and then stopped. The Retemite crouched down, and brushed at the leaves and dirt scattered in front of him. Then he grinned and lifted a loose rope coil from where it had been hidden just in front of his right boot tip.

“Did you think I’d forgotten?” he asked as he straightened again. “Your final hunting test, when you set a snare for me and then let yourself get caught by mine so I’d get careless? I’m not stupid, Ronon, and I don’t fall for the same trick twice.”

“It was worth a shot,” Ronon muttered as his former mentor tossed the snare aside, sidled over to right a bit, slid forward another step —

— and yelped in surprise, the knife flying from his hand, as something snapped tight around his foot and ankle. Ronon had a quick glimpse of the other man’s shocked expression as he shot upward, his feet yanked out from under him by the snare closing and the tree branch it hung from snapping aloft again.

At the same time, Ronon felt the tension of the rope holding him lessen. This is going to hurt, he thought just before the rope came plummeting downward, and he followed it head-first, his weight no longer supported by anything. He curled in, twisting in mid-air so he hit the ground with his rear first and then his back and sides and legs.

Pain exploded through him, both from the sudden impact and from the reawakening of nerve endings as blood flowed again to legs and upper arms and receded from hands and head and chest, but Ronon couldn’t let that distract him. He forced his body to uncoil, leaping to his feet, and drew his boot knife as he moved. One quick slash and it was over.

“There,” he said, sheathing his knife again and then stretching, letting his body work out some of the kinks it had gotten from its recent suspension. “Now we can talk more freely.”

Nekai glared down at him, their positions now reversed, but his eyes were still wide from shock as well. “How did you do that?” he demanded. “I found your snare!”

“The first one,” Ronon agreed. “Which made you cocky, so you missed the second one.” He grinned up at his former teacher. “I figured you’d remember what I’d done, but who’d look for two snares right next to each other?”

“How did you know which way I’d move?” Nekai asked, then shook his head as he answered his own question. “I’m right-handed, and you remembered that,” he realized. “You knew I’d approach you head-on if we were talking, and then I’d shift to the right once I’d spotted the first snare. Smart.” There was clear admiration in his tone. “You’re still as good as ever, Ronon. Maybe better.”

“I am better,” Ronon agreed. “I had to be. I had to survive on my own all those years.” He gestured up at the trees. “The first time, I didn’t think to link your snare and mine. This time I did — when your branch rose, it released the counterweight on mine.” He rubbed his backside and winced. “Of course, I could have done with a shorter drop, but it couldn’t be helped.” He bent and scooped up Nekai’s belt and pistol, which lay where they’d tumbled when he’d cut them loose. He was far enough out of reach that, even if Nekai could get to one of his many knives, he wouldn’t be able to attack with it. He’d never been that good at throwing them, and doing so while upside down would be almost impossible.

“What now?” Nekai asked. “You kill me instead?” Even hanging there, he kept his cool.

“I could,” Ronon pointed out. “And you were ready to do the same to me.” Ronon made a point of drawing his knife again, tossing it end-over-end so the handle smacked back into his palm — and then sheathing it once more. “But I won’t.”

Instead he gazed up at the man he had once called mentor, leader, and friend. “I didn’t kill the others, either. Except for Castor — I’m sorry.” He saw Nekai’s surprise in his eyes and the twitch of his mouth. “The rest are alive, just bound and gagged not far from our ship. Of course, they know now that the stories about me are true. And they know you’ve been lying to them. You won’t be able to control them like that anymore. You’ll have to start telling them the truth. They’re your team — you need to trust them.”

“I would have trusted you,” Nekai grumbled.

“But you didn’t,” Ronon replied. “You never let me in on your plans, any more than you did the others.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. No matter what you may think, I didn’t betray your trust. I’d think not killing you or the others would prove that.” He studied his captive. “I’m not your enemy, Nekai. And neither are most people. You need to learn that.”