Fic: You can run with us 17/?

[valandhir]

Author: Flaim aka Darkfalconheart

Story: You can run with us. (17/?)

Pairing: nothing as of yet,

Rating: for this chapter: 13 , may be higher in later chapters

Warnings: some violence

Status: WIP

Spoilers: Up to ‘The lost tribe’.

Wordcount: ca. 3600

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, names or other various parts of the SG/SGA universe and all rights are with their respective owners. This is a work of non-profit fanfiction, and no copyright infringement is intended. 

 

 

Chapter 17:  Navigating the maze

 

He forgets to pursue the point.
It is now what he wants to know.
It is what he wants not to know.
It is not what they say.
It is what they do not say.

 

(James Fenton: A German Requiem)

 

Walking down into the cell decks of the hive ship proved much harder than Sheppard would have expected it to be. Ashaviiýr had escorted him down here without questions. The tall Wraith acted sometimes more like body guard than a jailer. A fact that bothered John a little. He had not been really conscious of it until the moment they had reached the cell decks. The gaps in the doors had revealed the gaze of a number of prisoners held in the different cells on this deck. John had expected that the hive carried an amount of human prisoners, but had counted himself among them. Yet, when an angry shout from a cell, ended in Ashaviiýr levelling his heavy gun on that prisoner, he realised that it must look different from the other side of those cell doors. Here he was, no less captured then them, but he was walking freely about, accompanied by a tall Wraith fighter, walking two steps behind him. They must think he was a Wraith worshipper.

Caught up in his thoughts, John didn’t see the woman behind the next cell door, extracting a long, sharp item from her hair and throw it through one of the gaps of the door. He only felt Ashaviiýr push him down on the floor, blocking the razor sharp blade with his left hand. John could see the blade pierce the hand, Wraith blood smearing it. The Wraith guards and some drones came running towards them, weapons ready. Ashaviiýr ripped the blade out of his hand, before he turned and offered John his healthy hand to help him up. John accepted, not because he needed the help, but because the Wraith may well just have saved his life.

The leader of the guards spoke in the hissing Wraith language, to John it looked like he was either explaining or apologizing, perhaps both. Ashaviiýr shrugged. “Have the rest of her family moved up one level. It won’t be long before our troops will return, they’ll be exhausted.”

John shuddered. With her ill-planned attack on him that poor woman had just moved her family up on the feed list. And her face told him, that she understood – horror marked her features, as she clung her children closer to her. John looked down, he felt sick. The attack had been meant for him, whom she probably believed a traitor, a Wraith worshipper. One of the drones stepped forward, to open the cell door, only hindered by the fact, that John was still standing in the way. “Ashaviiýr…” John didn’t know what he could do, but he couldn’t just stand by and let it happen either. “…is it necessary to punish her? She…she just fought back.”

The Wraith’s gaze turned to John. “She attacked you, not me.” He pointed out.

John felt like the ground beneath him had opened up, thrusting him into free fall. The punishment dealt out was for the attack on him…. “Ashaviiýr, don’t punish her, not for the attack on me.” He said, trying to be firm, but it sounded awfully like blurting. “Please.” He had just crossed a line, he’d never believed he would cross. He might have bargained with Wraith before, he might have cajoled or pretended to deal with them, but he never had asked something of them, let alone begged.

Ashaviiýr’s eyes met his, fiery embers lighting up all the brighter. “She tried to kill you.” He stated. “if you want to kill her yourself…” he raised his left hand, offering John the blade the woman had thrown.

“No!” John met Ashaviiýrs gaze, marshalling all his strength. “I don’t want to kill her and I don’t want her family moved up… just because she attacked me.” He didn’t know why Ashaviiýr should listen at all. One prisoner trying to talk the captor out of punishing another prisoner. It was nothing that would work out.

Ashaviiýr was still for a moment, then nodded curtly. “As you wish it.” He turned to the guards, hissing orders at them. They marched off, leaving the cell alone. Behind the door John saw the woman, staring at him, tears in her eyes, confused.

 

“Thank you.” John’s voice was low, not because he couldn’t bring himself to thanks Ashaviiýr but because he was still fighting to get some measure of control over his voice back.

“She attacked you – her punishment was yours to decide.” The tall Wraith replied. They were walking deeper into the cell deck, but mercifully the cells that they were passing were empty. John suspected that Ashaviiýr had taken a longer route to avoid further problems, part of him wondered if the tall Wraith tried to spare John further confrontations with imprisoned humans.

“I hope you are less merciful when they bring in Cxreeshaách.” The Wraith observed casually.

John looked up, he didn’t need an explanation to know that Cxreechaách was the Wraith who had made him a Runner. He had learned the name the day before, albeit only half remembered it. Not for the first time John had the feeling that Ashaviiýr was looking forward to his brother’s success and to seeing said Cxcreshaách brought low. “Me?” John asked, raising his hands in a gesture of protection. The Wraith sense of justice was something he found hard to deal with at times. “Todd, I mean Tharishaár will probably already have decided his fate.”

Ashaviiýr stopped, staring at John incredulously. “His transgression was against YOU.” He stated. “So the great Lord will hear you, before deciding. I doubt, though that your mercy would be enough to save that cresh’al’ki moa.”

John didn’t really understand the word in the Wraith language, but he got the gist of it anyway. “How do you – I mean how do Wraith traditionally punish such transgressions?” He should not even like the thought  of it, but he couldn’t help but wonder what the Wraith might do to that one.

“He will die as slow, painful and very public death.” Ashaviiýr replied. “depending on your decision, and that of Lord Tharishaár, he could be punished by hacking off his feeding hand and presenting him in a cage, for all to see, or he might be thrown into the pit.” A grin lit up on the Wraith’s features at the last words.

“The pit?” John asked, hoping he wouldn’t find a Pegasus version of “The Pit and Pendulum” somewhere on this ship. “What’s this?”

“A large area – a pit – filled with deadly traps, cunning dangers and other hazards. If it was an ordinary Wraith he offended, the Wraith would go with him into the pit, fight and kill him there. In this case Lord Tarishaár will name the one who gets to rip that cretin apart.”

“Why do I have the feeling, you are looking forward to it?” he asked, as they walked on.

“I do.”

Only the fact that they stopped right in front of a cell door relieved John from answering. Ashaviiýr opened the cell door. “I’ll stand guard outside.”

 

John had rarely felt as self-conscious as at the moment he entered the cell. What had transpired in the corridor left a bitter feeling in him, that made facing his friend all the harder. Ronon hated the Wraith, rightly so, and what would he say about all that happened?

“John?” Ronon’s voice was heavy with worry. “You look like hell. Come, sit down.” The tall Satedan urged him to sit down on the cell floor, squatting down opposite of him. “Take a deep breath, just let go.” He said softly.

“I’m not sick…” John shook his head. “or I am… maybe… about myself.” It was far more true than he had realised. In one rush the words broke out of him, a jumbled mess of fragments, about what happened in the corridor, about that woman and her knife, about Todd having the tracker removed, about himself being something of a traitor…

When he finished he felt Ronons strong hands on his shoulders, steadying him. “Just let it go, John.” The Satedan said softly. “Just let it all out…”

 

***

 

Carson’s return to the hideout had been in a hurry. “You’ll need to go right now, Doctor, or you’ll have to wait until the strike team comes back.” Chuck had said. “They are on their way to the gate and will be coming in hot.”

Carson felt a little bit guilty about his relief. The thoughts of everyone were with the strike team, making a run for the gate, so nobody asked him any questions. Chuck knew that he had to return to the hideout and was efficient as ever to get the gatetravel timed well. “I’ll go at once.” Carson said. “Any wounded on the strike team?”

“No, just running to the gate, the Wraith in hot pursuit.” Chuck replied “I guess half of them will come in wounded, but nothing above the average.”

Carson was grateful to hear that. Dr. Keller was competent and would take care of that. He saw that the dialling sequence was nearly finished and walked down the stairs. He had not much time. 

Stepping out of the gate Carson found Jircanor still sitting where he had left him. The Runner looked up to Carson, as he approached him. “You people dropped all this stuff off, before they left.” His eyes pointed to the equipment.

“The General is already acting on the information you gave him.” Carson said. “So there’s quite a situation in Atlantis right now.”

Jircanor’s weak nod indicated he understood. “So, what’s the plan?” he asked, referring to Carson’s words when he had left.

Carson looked around, it wasn’t exactly the ideal surroundings, but he had by now become accustomed to field surgery, Pegasus style. The team had everything set up, prepared for what needed to be done. “We begin by tacking care of your tracker.” He said confidently.

“You know it will kill me anyway.”

Carson sighed. “Lad – I know the risks of that procedure, and there is way to get you through it. Ye’ have to trust me on that.” For the first time Carson actually focused on what had been awoken in him. He could feel it,  like he would feel some the Atlantis tech at times, only stronger and less foreign. He was very careful, not to send a shock through Jircanor’s body. Just enough to stabilise him.

The Runner’s eyes flew wide open. “Carson… what…?”

“Don’t worry, lad. We’ll get you through this.” Carson cut off the question. “I am going to give you a sedative, that will blank you out for some hours.”

Jircanor nodded. “I trust you.”

 

***

 

Dietmar had had a bad feeling about this every since General O’Neill had given them permission to raise hell on the supply depot. Getting into the compound had been easy enough, the guards had been sloppy, third rate, no problem at all to take down. But inside the compound their troubles had begun, there had been troops here, that were far too sharp and too well trained to be stationed at this depot, and they were too strong in numbers. Whatever they were guarding: Dietmar couldn’t care less. They were here to obtain tracking devices and to get out again. With that as their primary focus they had fought their way into the main storage area, obtained the tracking devices along with some spare trackers and made their way out again. On crossing the courtyard between the three main buildings of the depot, they had found themselves under fire from two sides. A set of explosives had opened them a way out and they had started their retreat to the gate. The Wraith had after some initial confusion come after them in greater numbers than Dietmar would have estimated could have hidden in the compound. But their head start should still have enabled them to make it out.

They were still half a kilometre from the gate when the shrieks rose in the sky, a set of explosions shook the ground. Dietmar scowled. This couldn’t be good. He gestured the first group to start making their way up the steep path that led up to the plateau with the gate. They needed to make use of whatever time they had left before another wave of bombings came down on them. Together with the second team he made it to the beginning of the path, taking cover behind rocks and tress. Their fire held their pursuers at bay for now. But there were more coming. “Captain! We have reached the gate! Dialling out!” Dietmar gestured half of the team to start their way up, he and Henderson were the last to begin the retreat. A second wave of darts followed, they did not throw explosives but white light to the ground. All around them, on the path, on rocks up and below, behind the enemy troops and in the woods emerged more Wraith warriors.

Henderson and Dietmar reached the upper end of the path. Hundred meters left to the gate. And the path crawling with Wraith, storming up. Dietmar frowned as he changed the clip of his P90. Were there shots fired between the Wraith? “They are too many – we’ll never make it to the gate.” Henderson wasn’t wrong. Up on the plateau, without cover, the Wraith would catch up and stun them in no time.

“You go first – I’ll hold them off.” Dietmar checked, he still had grenades left.

“Captain…”

“That’s an order! Go! I’m right behind you!” Dietmar barked at the man, who obeyed and started towards the gate. Dietmar couldn’t say how many Wraith his shots killed, there were always more to come. The grenade bought him time to change clips again. Henderson had reached the gate! Dietmar threw another grenade down the path and started his own retreat, keeping a steady stream of fire on the Wraith coming up on the plateau after him. Another shriek high up in the air – and four white beams fell down to the plateau, Wraith troops emerging from them. A blue shot hit Dietmar in the side. Falling to the ground he saw Henderson stepping through the gate. Then his world went black.

 

The Wraith commander stood over the human prisoner, studying him coldly. He had not expected humans to be here, except for some worshippers perhaps. But this wretched hive seemed to have more quarrels than they were actually worth. “Transfer him to the ship.” He ordered one of the dart pilots. “Have him imprisoned there and make him talk. I want to know what these troops were doing here.”

He did not wait for his orders to be confirmed, it wasn’t necessary. Instead he turned and sped down the narrow path. He had a far bigger catch to make.

 

***

 

“Better now?” John still felt shaky and more than a little embarrassed at his collapse, but he nodded. “Yeah. Thanks, big guy.”

Ronon sat down beside him. “I know how it is – I’ve been there myself.” He replied. “but you know that.”

John hugged his knees, resting his arms on them, his chin just above his hands. “I know only bits and pieces… but I don’t understand them, Ronon. Tharishaár, the whole brother thing. I still don’t understand half of it.”

“The powers of a Wraith Lord are great.” Ronon began speaking. “far too great to be fuelled by ordinary…sustenance.” The Satedan’s gaze went to the other wall, not really seeing it as he spoke. “When feeding of normal people, their powers are stunted, their control severely diminished. Contrary to when feeding on one of us. That’s been at the heart of any deal cut with a Wraith Lord, ever since this war began.”

“But why would anyone cut such a deal?” John asked, then looked up startled. “I don’t mean you were wrong when you saved your comrades…”

Ronon waved it off. “In most cases the deal is cut so a certain planet or village will be left alone by the Wraith. Others just know they spare lives that way – once you know how many lives, it becomes tempting just to accept.”

“Lives? Ronon what are you talking about?” John tried not to push his friend. He was still grateful that Ronon had not condemned him outright, but he needed to understand what was going on here.

“When a Wraith Lord has his full powers, enough strength to utilize them fully, he has a control over his hive, which is far greater than the one of a Queen. In effect he suppresses the more instinctive sides of the Wraith and gives the conscious side more room. Meaning the animalistic instincts of the normal Wraith vanish nearly completely and even the Drone’s develop a decent amount of mental capabilities.”

“But that would make them more efficient soldiers.” John observed, wondering where this was going.

“Yeah, it does.” Ronon confirmed. “But it also takes the instinct to feed out of the equation. The instinct, the lust to feed drives them to feed more often than they actually need. Left upon his own devices a normal Wraith feeds on ten to twelve humans per year on average. A drone takes four. Under the control of a Wraith Lord, without the instinct to feed, taking only what they need, the number usually drops to four lives per normal Wraith warrior and one per Drone.”

A cold hand was creeping up John’s spine. “Meaning they kill only a quarter of what they would kill otherwise.” He said in a whisper. He could do the math easily enough for himself.

“I had heard of such deals,” Ronon said. “Stories of that kind had been around all worlds fighting the Wraith. I had never seen a Wraith Lord, until that day.”

“I remember what Todd said, that the Ancient’s weapon made the High Wraith like the… what did he call it?”

“Wild Wraith.” Ronon supplied. “Yeah, I believed the High Wraith to be a legend until… until I learned the hard way that this legend was for real.”

“So I am like a long lasting snack for Todd?” John summed up the facts.

To his surprise Ronon scowled. “You should know by now it is not that easy.”

John jumped up. “I know it, but I don’t understand it. It’s not like I had many facts to go on.” He knew the last was a cheap shot, but his anger was hard to keep at bay.

Ronon rose too. “What did you want to hear?” he shouted back. “That I tried to hate Sherakáar as long as I could? That I told myself many a day during those long three years that I just did uphold my end of the deal? That I was horrified when I realised that I grew used to his presence? That I hated myself when I saved his life in a fight by shooting a soldier that had crept up at him from behind? That I tried to take my own life the night after?” Ronon’s eyes shone with rage, with grief. “Had it not been for my oath to Sateda, for my friend Avila and for my little boy I might not have returned home.” He added hoarsely. “I was closer to Sherakaár in the end, than I wanted to admit.”

John stepped closer and drew his taller friend in a tight hug. “I am sorry,” he whispered. “I am sorry.” He repeated, his own voice growing hoarse. “I shouldn’t have lashed out on you.” He felt Ronon’s arms coming up, enveloping him in a bone-crushing hug.

 

***

 

 It was the weirdest of feelings. He knew the patient was dying. Small wonder with the procedure he’d been through. Even in a very good hospital the outcome would have been foreseeable. But Carson was not afraid of it any more. His hands over the unconscious Runner’s back, he focused on the life in the dying man, on the powers unleashed inside himself. It was hard to describe, hard to understand, but inside this weird state he could feel the damage that had been done to his patient, the fresh wounds, and the scars from long ago. The light emanating from his hands went through the body, healing, repairing, cleansing away old scars, old damage. There was something else there, trickily hidden beneath layers of biochemistry: something that not really belonged here, yet the man had been born with it. In his trancelike state Carson knew he could clean away this manipulation, restoring things back to their original form.

Waking from the deep trance he had been in, the first thing Carson realised that it had actually worked. Jircanor lived, his body was healed from the manifold wounds, and his tracker, the treacherous device that had been sitting inside his spinal chord, lay on a small medical tray nearby. The second thing Carson realised that the Runner was awake. He must have woken sometime during the treatment. The dark eyes met his, the gaze projecting such a mix of emotions that Carson would not even start to decipher them. The Runner was starting to sit up, Carson at hand to steady him. “Careful, take it slow.”

Jircanor sat up completely. “Did you have anyone of your people come here?” he asked in a hush.

Carson frowned. “No, your friend Syrkan left quite a while ago, to bring some things to Belkan. Why?”

“Because someone is coming.” Jircanor replied. “At least ten. That direction.” He pointed towards one of the corridors leading away from the hall. From somewhere down there faint footsteps echoed up, coming their way.