Aaron Rosenberg - Hunt and run

“Ah, the prey bites back!” It called out, looking directly at Ronon despite the tree between them. “Good, I enjoy a more spirited contest. Come out and face me, Ronon Dex of Sateda!” Its grin spread. “Or did all the true men of your world die when we attacked?”

Ronon knew it was a deliberate goad but that couldn’t stop him from rising to the bait. “The last real man of Sateda is here,” he snarled, stepping away from his cover and presenting himself to the three Wraith. “Come and see what kind of spirit I possess!”

The Wraith eyed him up and down. “Indeed I shall.” It did not gesture or speak to its companions, but they raised their rifles as one and sighted on Ronon. “Run now and I will give you a moment’s head start, to make this more sporting.”

Ronon shook his head. “I’m done running.” He fired on the warrior to the left, but the blow glanced off its heavy chestplate. “And this isn’t a sport to me.” He aimed for the commander again, but this time the Wraith sidestepped the crimson bolt.

“Your choice,” it said with a hint of disappointment, raising its own weapon. “But I had hoped for a bit more entertainment first.”

Then it shot him.

Ronon’s body convulsed and he almost fell to his knees. Pain! The feeling was almost exactly like when the stranger had shot him, only not quite as intense, and he wondered about the pistol he now held. Where had the man gotten it, and why was its stun setting more powerful than the Wraiths’? Regardless, he managed to maintain his grip on the weapon and hefted it again. This time the Wraith commander was not expecting return fire, and took the hit square in the chest. It staggered back, smoke rising from the hole in its armored jacket.

“You dare?” It growled, eyes narrowing. “For that I will flay you alive before draining your life from your bloody flesh!”

And it sprang at him.

Ronon managed to fire once more before the Wraith was upon him, knocking his pistol aside. It had holstered its own weapon and now one fist slammed into Ronon’s jaw, jolting him and blurring his vision, while the other clamped onto his throat. The Wraith’s momentum knocked Ronon off his feet, and he landed on his back, the creature leaning over him and holding his head and torso up by that neck grip.

“Now you will die slowly,” it hissed at him. Its second hand raised again, but this time it opened the hand wide, revealing the narrow opening upon its palm. That was how the Wraith fed, Ronon knew — they sucked out a victim’s life force through that opening. And it was reaching toward him with deliberate slowness, taunting him with his inability to break away from the death that crept toward him inch by inch.

Then a burst of crimson light flashed across the Wraith commander’s head, lighting it with a halo of red. Its eyes widened in surprise before they glazed over, and the creature slumped, its grip on Ronon going limp. He shrugged off the body in time to see a second crimson bolt strike one of the Wraith warriors in the neck, between helmet and chestplate. The warrior gurgled and collapsed.

That was all Ronon needed to see. His own pistol had fallen by his hand and he quickly scooped it back up and hit the remaining Wraith warrior in the throat, dropping it instantly. Only then did he sit up and rub his own neck, coughing against the rawness the attack had produced.

“Feel better now?” It was the stranger, of course, sliding from behind two trees a few feet to the left.

“A bit,” Ronon admitted. He glared over at the man, then shook his head. “Thanks.” He was honest enough to admit he would have been dead without the man’s help.

“Now do you see that your way will only get you killed?” the man asked, brushing aside Ronon’s thanks. “Even with a pistol you weren’t able to take them on.”

“I didn’t know their weaknesses,” Ronon pointed out. “Now I do.”

“Now you know some of the weaknesses,” the stranger corrected, approaching and crouching down so he could speak to Ronon face-to-face. “Wouldn’t you like to learn more? To know them all?”

Despite himself, Ronon was interested. How many more Wraith could he kill if he knew all their weaknesses?

Apparently his thoughts were easy to read on his face. “I can teach you how to kill them,” the man explained. “I can help you kill them. Together we can wipe out dozens of them, maybe more. Possibly even eliminate whole Hives!”

Ronon nodded and clambered to his feet. “I’m listening.”

“Good.” The man glanced around. “But not here. There are probably more Wraith on the way. I know a place we can go to buy ourselves some time. Come on.” He turned to go, then paused and shifted back, extending his hand. “My name is Nekai.”

“Ronon Dex.” Ronon accepted the grip. It was firm, no-nonsense, and quick — the handclasp of a warrior.

“A pleasure.” Nekai favored him with a brief smile before turning away. “Come on then, Ronon Dex. Let’s go talk about how to kill more Wraith.”

He led the way into the trees, and Ronon eagerly followed. He spared only a single glance at the three dead Wraith behind them. You are but the first of many, he swore silently. And each of your deaths will feed the soul of my people, that all Sateda may one day know peace.

With those bloody thoughts in his head, Ronon took off after Nekai, already impatient for the knowledge the other man claimed he could provide.

“We should be safe here — for now.” Nekai had led Ronon away from the forest and into a row of short hills. They had continued on through those, never stopping for more than a minute to catch their breaths and drink from nearby streams, until they had found a rockier plain beyond. The hills were lower and more angular here, and Ronon’s new guide had paid particular attention to their bases — Ronon wasn’t sure what he was looking for until the man had nodded, crouched, and brushed some dirt aside to reveal a small opening. A cave.

They had crawled inside, Ronon going first at Nekai’s insistence, and now they were huddled in a dark, dank little hole within the rock itself. Ronon didn’t like it — he was used to open spaces, and being trapped like this made his skin crawl. It also struck him as strategically lethal — there was only the one entrance. All it would take was the Wraith finding that hole and they would be completely trapped.

“Relax,” Nekai assured him, shifting about and folding his legs in front of him. “You’re thinking like a warrior. Don’t.”

“That’s who I am,” Ronon snapped, though quietly — he was afraid too much noise might cause the ceiling to collapse upon them. “It’s how I think.”

“No,” his new companion corrected him. “It’s who you were. That’s not who you are anymore. Not if you want to survive.”

“I already told you, I don’t care about survival,” Ronon growled back. “I just want to kill as many of them as I can before they take me.”

“And the longer you survive, the more you can kill,” Nekai pointed out. “But in order to do that, you have to change the way you think. A warrior charges into battle, even against overwhelming odds. That’ll just get you killed, and quickly.” He leaned forward, his eyes locked on Ronon’s. “You need to become a hunter.”

“A hunter?” Ronon considered that. “I know nothing of hunting,” he admitted softly. “My people do not hunt. We raise domesticated animals for meat.” He paused. “Or at least we did.”

“I can train you to be a hunter,” Nekai assured him. “You have the reflexes for it, certainly, and the stamina. It’s just a matter of learning a new way to think, a new way to look at situations — seeing things as predator and prey rather than warrior versus warrior.” He shrugged. “Once you learn that, the rest is easy.”