Casualties of war

Chapter ten

As soon as the hunting party aimed their weapons, Ronon had his trained as well. Sure, they could use these people's help, but not if the price was to be an arrow in his chest. Hadn't they just had this same experience on P7L-418?

"You have been visited by raiders as well?" Teyla seemed to be considering the probability of such a coincidence. Not likely, to Ronon's way of thinking. Maybe the raiders on 418 hadn't dialed this place by mistake after all. "We do not belong to their number. In fact, we were attempting to stop them on another world when we were accidentally transported here."

"A convenient tale." The lead hunter sized them up, pale eyes sharp with distrust. Her dark hair was captured in a tight knot at the nape of her neck, giving her face an angular, severe look. She looked skittish. The whole group did, come to think of it.

"An honest tale," Teyla returned. "We carry only what you see. We have little food and no means of transport. How can we be a threat to you?"

"That question has been answered in painful fashion before."

One of the hunters stepped forward-an adolescent, younger than any member of the Atlantis expedition. "Dantir, keep your place!" hissed the leader.

The teen ignored the warning, openly studying Ronon. "I've never seen anyone as big as you," he observed.

"It's not so rare where I come from." Ronon noted that all the hunters were relatively slight, some bordering on malnourished. None of them stood even as high as his shoulder. They wore boots that appeared to be nothing more than thick soles bound to their feet and laced up over the ankle. Their clothes were sturdy and plain, made from rough fabrics and animal hides. Not uniforms, at least not intentionally, but they might as well have been for the lack of variety.

"Where do you come from?" the boy, Dantir, wanted to know.

"Somewhere a long way from here." It occurred to Ronon that he wasn't sure if he meant his home world or his adopted city. At the moment, it didn't much matter. "We don't mean to cause any trouble. We just want to go home."

"Do your people use the Stargate?" Teyla asked. Receiving only blank stares in response, she tried again. "The Ring of the Ancestors?"

"The big metal circle in that direction." Ronon gestured with his gun. "It's wedged between some rocks in what remains of an old building. You must have seen it."

The leader replied cautiously. "We have seen the ruins, but they are of little use to us. How should we use this ring you speak of?"

"For transport. It connects many worlds. Although it still functions, it is missing a key piece…" Even as Teyla attempted to explain, Ronon could tell she wouldn't make much progress. These people obviously had no idea what a Stargate was, much less a dialing device.

"Is that how you arrive to rob from our village?" another hunter demanded. "Does your ship travel through this magical ring?"

"We don't have a ship." Ronon tried to rein in his frustration. "If we did, we wouldn't stand here and argue with you-we'd use it."

When Dantir took another step forward, Ronon was forced to lower his aim. He really didn't want to shoot a curious kid. "All we want is to find a way home," he insisted, more quietly. "If we can't…we still don't need to be your enemy."

Not all the hunters appeared convinced of the visitors' honesty. Dantir, however, continued to watch Ronon with rapt fascination. "You travel to other worlds," he said, awed. "Like the tales of the Ancestors?"

"Yes, indeed. The ring was their creation." Clearly heartened by the comment, Teyla glanced from him to the leader. "You know of the Ancestors, then?"

"Only that they once defended our world but were at last chased away by the Wraith," said the woman, sounding impatient. "They do not help us now. Dantir, step back."

"You taught me that we do not turn people away from our circle without reason, Mother," the boy answered, his eyes never leaving Ronon. "They have not given us reason to doubt them."

Ronon had no idea why the kid was so focused on him. He knew that a big man with a weapon didn't make the most trustworthy picture. Somehow, though, the kid was willing to vouch for him. He'd take what he could get. "And we won't," he vowed, holstering his gun.

The leader acknowledged her son's claim by lowering her bow. Grudgingly, the others did likewise. "Your words carry wisdom, if not respect," she told him with a glare of rebuke. Turning to the visitors, she continued, her features softening slightly. "Dantir is correct. Unfounded suspicion is not noble, and I apologize for mine. My name is Ilar. You may join our hunting circle."

"Thank you." Teyla relaxed a bit, hope still evident in her gaze. "Might there be someone among your people with knowledge of the ring, or of the building that contained it? A village historian, perhaps?"

Ilar hesitated. "There were many storytellers among us, once," she allowed. "Or so I have been told. It is becoming a lost art. I fear we may have little knowledge to offer."

The light in Teyla's eyes dimmed, but her smile did not falter. Ronon chose to pay more attention to the immediate situation. They'd found a native society, one that might at least provide them food for a time. The problem of getting off this planet could be faced later.

"We will hunt for the remainder of this day and the next before returning to our village," said Ear. "You may travel with us if you wish."

Ronon glanced at his teammate, leaving the choice to her. He knew Teyla had been reluctant to leave the gate for fear a rescue team from Atlantis would fail to find them. All the members of the off-world teams had recently had transmitters placed under their skin so that they could be easily located, but as yet no one was certain of the devices' range. If a rescue was as improbable as he suspected, however, their best chance-as slim as it might be-lay with these people.

After a moment, Teyla gave a slight nod. "I am Teyla Emmagan," she replied. "My companion is Ronon Dex. We would be honored to join your hunt."

Dantir beamed and fell into step beside Ronon as the group moved out. "Are you properly called Ronon or Dex?"

With a shrug, Ronon said, "Ronon's fine."

"Very well. We are tracking the paledon, Ronon," Dantir explained. "Winter comes, and the village will need to store much meat."

"Paledon." Ronon watched the trees for movement. "Is that the small four-legged creature we saw before we ran into you?"

"It is," the boy confirmed. "We will pick up its herd trail, and I will show you how we hunt."

A muted laugh came from one of the older hunters. "You are on your first hunt yourself, and you mean to show the off-worlders how it is done?"

"My aim is truer than yours, Temal," Dantir shot back.

Ronon grinned to himself. This kid had guts. Then he spotted a flash of fur disappearing behind a rock, and he halted. The instincts of the hunters were well honed, because they immediately noticed and followed his lead.

Before long, a paledon stuck its head out from behind the rock, and after another moment it emerged fully. Ilar silently fell to one knee and drew her bow, but something startled the animal, and it began to scamper away.

Without a second thought, Ronon leveled his gun. The energy bolt sizzled through the air and dropped the paledon instantly to the ground.

"Ronon!" Teyla's voice was appalled. A beat late, he wondered if he might have offended their hosts: some cultures that hunted for sport placed specific rules on such pursuits. But these people needed the food. They couldn't get too angry about his method.

Risking a look at the hunters, he found their expressions shocked and impressed. Dantir's eyes were huge as he smiled widely.

liar found her voice. "Perhaps," she said, "this arrangement will benefit us all."

From her elevated vantage point on the walkway outside her office, Elizabeth watched the security team form up in the gate-room. To be sure, her second journey to PM-418 would be undertaken more solemnly than the first. There would be no idealized optimism this time. Atlantis had nothing to gain from the proceedings; she was returning solely to help the Falnori and Nistra find a way to coexist. She could only hope that both groups' leaders would take her at her word.

John stepped out of the control room to join her. "Jumper Three's starting its second orbit," he reported neutrally.

Without knowing just what debris might be lurking right on the other side of 418's space gate, it had seemed more prudent to send a jumper through the ground gate and fly it up to orbit to scan for both the gate and Teyla and Ronon's transmitters. The recovery team had departed about an hour ago, and John hadn't left the command level since.

"Anything yet?" Elizabeth asked, knowing she'd already have heard if the answer was positive.

He shook his head. "There's a lot of space out there. It might take a while, but we'll find them." Glancing over at her, he asked, "What about you? Sure you want to do this?"

She raised her eyebrows. Maybe she'd let him off the hook in their previous discussion, but time had renewed her resolve, and in her view the subject of his resignation was far from closed. "Are you asking if I'm sure about going back to 418, or about leaving you in charge?"

Subconsciously, maybe, she'd hoped to produce a flinch with that comment. He didn't oblige. "I recommended Rodney."

"Yes, you did. But you also agreed to remain at your post until the SGC could send a replacement on the Daedalus, and if I hand the reins over to the chief science officer instead of the chief military officer, people are going to start asking questions that I don't think you'll want to answer just yet."

With a slight tilt of his head, John conceded her point. "I was asking about going back to 418. There's not much we can accomplish there."

"If we can do anything to keep the leaders from coming to blows, I'll consider the trip a success." Elizabeth leaned one elbow on the railing, facing him. "We jumpstarted this fight. Granted, it may only have been a matter of time before it escalated to this point on its own, but we brought the two sides face to face. Now six people are dead, and two societies are moving toward a pointless conflict. We can't walk away from that. Sometimes we have to do the right thing for all concerned, not just the expedient thing for us."

"I understand. I'm just not sure how far we should be willing to go to protect these people from their own out„rage.

She didn't have a ready answer for him. Objectively she knew that they'd have to draw a line sometime; if ten sions came to a head, she couldn't put Atlantis's Marines between advancing armies. Still, she had to believe peace was possible, and she had always believed that the carnage of needless battle was the purest form of tragedy.

Too many of her principles had been shaken by this galaxy already. She needed to cling fiercely to those that remained.

"These people shouldn't be at odds," she said at last. "They don't have incompatible values or beliefs. All I have to do is convince them of that."

"While also giving them a surprise about the ore that drives their respective economies. Better you than me." John sighed, rolling the strain out of his shoulders. "You think they'll listen this time around, or just step up the rhetoric? Or worse?"

She shrugged, choosing not to muzzle a brief burst of fatalism. "War is the continuation of politics by other means, I've heard."

The rueful twist of John's lips resembled a smirk, but it was entirely humorless. "Somehow I think Clausewitz would've had more to say if he'd met this galaxy."

At that point they were joined on the walkway by Carson, shouldering into a tactical vest as he walked. "I must say I have my doubts about whether the governor and minister will understand a warning about the hazards of adarite any better coming from me than they would from you," he remarked.

Not long ago Elizabeth might have believed his comment to be rooted in anxiety about going off-world. Carson Beckett had not been the most eager member of the Atlantis expedition at first, at least when it came to anything outside his infirmary. Now, of course, she knew better. If a task had to be completed for the greater good, whether it involved the weapons chair or an off-world mission, he wouldn't hesitate.

He might not sleep all that well afterward, she reflected, recalling with a twinge their utter failure with Michael, but he would act.

"I don't want to run the risk of being unclear and making the situation worse," she told him. "This way you can back me up if my Cliffs Notes version of the neurological effects goes astray."

"This may sound paranoid," said John, "but are you prepared to trust both those guys? As unlikely as it may be, there's still a chance that one of them is in league with the raiders."

In spite of the circumstances, Elizabeth felt encouraged by his caution. The Colonel may have been willing-too willing-to give up his title, but its associated responsibilities came more naturally to him than he may have realized.

"We can't eliminate the risk completely," she replied. "All we can do is assess it and mitigate whatever elements are within our control."

John made a face. "Why am I getting creepy flashbacks to the Air Force's Operational Risk Management course?"

"Because I once oversaw an Air Force installation, and civilians aren't exempt from taking that training." She zipped up her jacket. "Try to keep the archeology team from executing a hostile takeover of Rodney's unidentified Ancient gadget locker while I'm gone, would you please?"

"Never happen. They're too afraid he'll booby-trap something vital in their quarters." A hint of a smile finally reached his eyes, forced though it might have been. "Be safe," he said, echoing the request Elizabeth so often made when their positions were reversed.

"Will do. We'll check in as scheduled."

She headed for the stairway, Carson following. No sooner had their boots hit the gate-room floor than Major Lorne fell into step beside her. "Dial it up!" he called to the control room.

After the event horizon materialized, she cast a glance up at John, standing at the railing. She raised one hand in a tentative wave and turned to step through the gate, wondering if, when she saw her teams off from that post, she looked quite as alone as he did now.

The Marines secured the whole of the gate area as soon as they emerged from the wormhole. Leaving nothing to chance, Lieutenant Cadman began to sweep the perimeter with a scanner appropriated from Rodney. If one alternate entrance to the Ancient facility existed, the possibility of two alternate entrances was very real.

Elizabeth noted a shift in the general atmosphere as she approached the Hall. For their first meeting, Governor Cestan and Minister Galven had brought four guardassistants apiece. Today each man had eight. Hardly a promising start. The wind was stronger today than it had been before, and the calculating stares being traded across the open expanse brought to mind images of a gunslinger duel at dawn.

"Minister, Governor," she greeted them formally. "I'm pleased to see that both of you deemed our discussion to be worth continuing."

"I am here over the objections of my advisors," Cestan informed her. "The most recent incident has convinced many among my people that the Nistra are uninterested in securing a meaningful accord."

"I am here as well, Governor," Galven pointed out archly. "Our commitment to peace is not for your people to judge. And, might I add, it has been only shaken by these reprehensible raids and by the insistence of the Falnori on using this latest one as an excuse to vilify us."

Before the same tired accusations could be dragged out again, Elizabeth broke in. "It's commendable that both sides are present, and the issue of the raids will certainly be part of our discussion. First, though, I would like you to hear from my chief of medicine on a topic that concerns all of us."

The unexpected request seemed to jar both men out of their indignation, at least temporarily. She considered it a moral victory when the group entered the Hall with no further comment, and she tried not to dwell on the fact that a full four guards from each faction remained outside to stand watch this time. Lorne spoke quietly into his radio, alerting his Marines to keep an eye on the augmented security detail.

Once the delegations had taken their seats around the table, Elizabeth wasted no time. "Gentlemen, I'd like to introduce Dr. Carson Beckett. He's highly experienced in the field of medical research, and he's discovered a characteristic of adarite that may affect our negotiations."

Though his discomfort would be apparent to anyone who knew him well, Carson spoke with calm patience. "I've studied the sample we were given and found that the energetic properties of the ore damage the mind. Difficulty with short-term memory is the first symptom, as evidenced by some of our people after only a brief exposure. I believe the long-range impact to be quite serious." He faced Galven. "Minister, you told Dr. Weir that many Nistra suffer from poor health. Are your miners commonly among those afflicted?"

Gray brows knitted as the older man considered the question. "It is possible," he allowed. "But they ail because they are hungry, not because they are forgetful."

"I'm afraid it may be a bit more complicated than that, sir," said Carson, his bedside manner on display. "Memory is only the most significant area of influence we've identified; our people also have reported headaches and difficulty thinking clearly. A memory deficit could potentially cause a kind of ripple effect, impacting higher-level function in addition to simple tasks, like eating or washing, that could lead to health concerns."

"If this were so, we would have realized it." The Nistra leader was understandably skeptical. "We have been mining the adarite for generations."

"The damage may be partial or limited, and it's likely your people have unconsciously adapted their behavior to compensate over the years. They may also have become inured to the discomfort our people felt upon first exposure. The current generations of your people have spent almost all their lives in the mining territory or near adarite in some manner-they don't know what it would feel like to be free of the effects. You had no way of making the connection. We have sophisticated equipment which diagnoses such hazards." Carson withdrew a printout from his pocket and unfolded it. "These two images represent the brains of two of my people. One was exposed to adarite, while the other was not. Can you see the difference?"

Both leaders examined the picture, looking unconvinced. Elizabeth couldn't fault them for their resistance to the concept. They had no frame of reference for the data they were seeing and had only the word of some offworlders to demonstrate the danger.

"The Falnori have not been so afflicted." Cestan put the printout aside. "We are in need, but we have health. You believe that to be a consequence of not working in the mines?"

"Not entirely. There's an additional wrinkle."

The doctor paused for a moment before Elizabeth interceded. They'd given enough variations of this speech in the past that she barely had to think about how to tailor it for her current audience. "Governor, the Falnori are descended from the offspring of the Ancients. As such, many of them possess an ability, as you call it, to use Ancient tools. That hereditary ability is marked by a physical trait we call a gene."

"This gene also appears to make the brain resistant to the effects of adarite," Carson continued. "I'd wager that all your warriors are gene carriers, just due to natural selection. Because of the cognitive effects, those without the gene would never become proficient with an adarite whip."

The governor's heightened interest came as little surprise. "Should your theory be correct," he said thoughtfully, lacing his fingers together on the table, "it would imply that the Falnori are better suited to handle adarite than the Nistra."

Galven didn't bother to hide his disdain. "A fortunate possibility indeed for the Falnori."

"Gentlemen, I see solutions here." Elizabeth could see apprehension stiffening the minister's spine and worried that her proposal would do nothing to lessen it. "A job swap of some type may be feasible. If Falnori gene carriers took over the mining duties, we could improve the overall health of the Nistra dramatically-"

"And now the true goal is brought to light." Galven's eyes glittered. "You mean to steal our livelihood by whatever means necessary," he accused Cestan. "The raids were not sufficient, so now you conspire with these offworlders to manufacture a reason to take the mines from us.

"Now wait just a minute," Carson objected. "The damage caused by adarite exposure is very real. I could demonstrate it for you if I wanted to risk the neurological fitness of everyone present. Since I'm not willing to do that, I'd ask that you let me examine some of your miners to provide evidence."

"I should trust you?"

"Yes, you should." Elizabeth leaned forward. "What would we have to gain from feeding you a lie? Even if the adarite was harmless and my people could use it, we have no reason to favor trade with the Falnori over trade with the Nistra."

"The absence of an obvious reason does not mean there is no possible reason," remarked Galven, sitting back in his chair with an air of tranquility that was plainly false.

"We can help you re-center your economy," she persisted. "You don't have to be slaves to this ore-any of you. It's been the source of far too much conflict over the centuries, and it will continue to poison your relations with each other for as long as you let it."

"Don't be foolish, Galven." Cestan's expression, receptive only moments earlier, was beginning to close down. "You stand in the path of progress."

"I stand for the rights of all Nistra. And I will stand in your path should you attempt to take the mines by force."

Damn. Until this point there had been no overt mention of violence. Elizabeth had hoped to avoid it for a while longer. "No one is suggesting the use of force here," she tried, but the Falnori leader quickly ran over her attempt at pacification.

"Neither am I ruling it out. My people will no longer remain idle as our places of honor are defiled and our allies attacked."

"Save the propaganda for your war-hungry public. Perhaps it will comfort them when their children march off to enact an invasion."

Human interaction was the same irrespective of galaxy, it seemed. Elizabeth had recognized the gradual shift in the leaders' posturing, from outrage to resolve, even as it occurred. For all her training, so far she'd been helpless to sway them from their intractable anger. There could be little doubt now that armies were being readied, and she had no idea what would happen if the two sides met on a battlefield.

By nightfall, the hunting party had amassed a considerable bounty. More than any previous hunt had accomplished, if Dantir's triumphant chatter was to be believed. Ronon's tracking abilities were razor-sharp from years of necessity, but he had to admit that these hunters were skilled as well. Each time someone located a paledon, he or she would give a silent signal: right arm extended straight ahead, then bent to tap the forehead. If the animal was in a group, bows and spears were put to use; if alone, Ronon's gun became the weapon of choice, as its effect was louder yet cleaner.

The efficient strategy had netted them almost twenty paledon, which seemed to be as many as ten people could carry. Once they had reached their load capacity, Ilar had directed them to make camp in the foothills of the nearby mountains and transport their game to the village in the morning.

Dantir proved to be adept at building fires, and a circle formed to share a meal and trade tales. The stories felt more fanciful than historical, similar to the fairy tales sometimes referenced by the Earth team. The hunters' earlier suspicion had given way to frank curiosity and openness. Ronon devoured a chunk of tough meat and listened to Teyla recount a legend from her youth, a fable about a young man who showed kindness to an old woman and received great wisdom in return.

He continued to sit near the dying flames after most of the hunters had found places to bed down. Watching the tendrils of smoke weave through the canopy of trees, he tried to remember when he'd started to relax around these people. Trust didn't come naturally to him, at least not anymore; there had been instances in the past of easilywon faith causing harm, either to him or to those he had trusted. It had taken great effort to make himself feel comfortable on Atlantis, let alone consider it his home. Yet, in the span of mere hours on this planet, he'd accepted a place among the hunters, maybe because they'd been so willing to accept him.

Finding a way to use the gate was tomorrow's matter. Tonight they had the bond of a hunting circle.

Ilar sat down beside him, having returned from inspecting the results of the day's hunt. "We are in your debt," she told him warmly. "Your weapon results in a neat kill. Good skins are always in demand for clothing, especially before winter."

"Seems like the least we could do, since you let us join your group." Ronon glanced behind her to where Dantir had finally surrendered to sleep.

Ilar's smile grew fond as she followed his gaze to her son. "All we know of other worlds comes from stories such as the ones told tonight. You must forgive his eagerness. He has never seen anyone like you."

"It doesn't bother me."And it didn't. "You really didn't know what the ring was for? No one's ever come through it before?"

She tucked her legs up underneath her and folded her hands in her lap. "As I said, we do not have many records. If other visitors have come, their stories have been lost."

"What about the raiders-the marauders?" Although he could see her face darken even in the flickering light, he pushed onward. "They came through when we did. For all you know, they may use it all the time."

The hunter hesitated. "We may not be speaking of the same marauders. The rogues who rob our villages come from distant lands on this world. They believe themselves the children of the Ancestors, superior to us and possessed of the right to do whatever they please. We fight them on the occasions when we discover them in the act, but they rarely make the same mistake twice." Her contempt was evident as she prodded the fire with more force than necessary. "The Wraith take lives, and the marauders try to take everything else."

Watching her, Ronon attempted to reconcile the conflict inherent in what little he knew of her people. "You didn't have to trust us," he said. "In your place, I wouldn't have trusted us."

Ilar turned to face him, her features sharpened by the flames. "Our lives are not easy," she replied. "We are aware of this, but we cannot let it shape us or sway our choices. Simple though we may be, we cling to our honor."

He admired her viewpoint, and wasn't sure how to say so. "I can tell."

With another smile, she reached for a folded blanket at the end of her bedroll. "A spare, brought in case Dantir found a way to ruin his. Since he did not, you should take it.

"Thanks. I'll give it to my friend-she could use it more than I could." It occurred to him that Teyla had not lingered near the fire, and he twisted around to scan the area. Locating her, a solitary figure standing next to a massive tree trunk and staring off into the distance, he climbed to his feet. "Excuse me."

By the time he approached, Teyla had summoned a serene expression. Their hosts might have believed it. Ronon didn't. "You all right?"

"Of course. Weary from the hunt, perhaps." Her fingers brushed across her temple before she accepted the blanket he held out to her. "Thank you."

"Thank Ilar."

Teyla nodded. "These are good people. We were fortunate to find them."

"Yeah, we were." He folded his arms. "So why are you over here while they're over there?"

She returned her gaze to the forest and the mountains beyond. "They are good people," she continued quietly, "who know nothing of the Stargate."

The implication was clear. "You're afraid no one on this planet will be able to help us, and we'll be stuck here."

Her eyes flicked to him. "And you are not?"

"I am." Not in the same way, though. That much he could tell just by watching her.

Seeming to understand his unspoken question, she said, "I have never faced such a separation from my people before. There have been times when death appeared likely, of course, but…I truly fear a lifetime spent without them." She held the blanket tight to her chest, looking deeply troubled. "For Athosians, home is defined more by personal bonds than by location. We survived the cullings of our world and the challenges of coming to Lantea because we depended on each other. Even though I now live apart from my people for much of the time, I continue to draw strength from them. The possibility that Athosians will be born, and die, and I will not even know… The loss is unimaginable."

He could think of nothing to say. His experiences had been so vastly different. After a moment, Teyla must have realized that, because she dropped her gaze to the ground in obvious contrition. "Ronon, forgive me. I didn't mean to suggest that this would be easier for you because you were alone for so long."

"I know. But it probably would be." In truth, he envied her, just as he envied the Earth-born Atlanteans, who often took for granted how lucky they were simply to be together. He suspected that Teyla, having lived her life under the shadow of the Wraith, understood him better than anyone.

"It's not going to matter, anyway," he said, out of impulse more than confidence. He wasn't at all used to giving comfort. Still, he reached out and closed a hand around her shoulder, and she lifted her eyes to meet his. "We'll find a dialing device, or Sheppard and McKay will find us. Don't give up yet."

She managed a small, tolerant smile. "I have not."

Of course she hadn't, and in hindsight he felt a bit embarrassed for implying it. Fatigue was beginning to weigh him down, though, so he just squeezed her shoulder and tipped his head toward the last glowing embers of the fire. Acquiescing, she selected a flat piece of unoccupied ground and unfolded the blanket. He found his own space not far away and settled in for the night.

At first light, Ronon found himself less rested than he would have liked. He pushed himself up on one elbow, blinking to clear both his vision and his scattered thoughts. It took a moment for him to recall his surroundings and the events that had led him there, and he grimaced. Sleeping outside had been a common occurrence not so long ago. A year on Atlantis had made him soft.

Dantir instantly appeared in front of him, somehow looking worn-out and enthusiastic at the same time. "If we set out soon, we will be home well before supper," he urged. "Will you show my friends how you hide the blades in your hair? They will not believe it if I tell them. We could even win a wager on it."

Tired or not, Ronon had to grin at the young man. As he started to respond, a blast sliced through the still morning air.

Instinctively, he threw himself flat. Before he could draw his gun, Dantir was sprawled limply on the ground, and bolts of energy rained down on the hunting party.

"Marauders!" someone hissed. Dantir didn't move. Surging with fury, Ronon tracked the source of the shots, forced to squint into the dawn light, and aimed his weapon at the silhouettes crouched near a tree. He took down only two before a blast caught him in the back.

As a gray veil smothered his senses, he spared some anger for himself, for letting down his guard.