Fic: You can run with us 19/?

[valandhir]

Author: Flaim aka Darkfalconheart

Story: You can run with us. (19/?)

Pairing: nothing as of yet,

Rating: for this chapter:  NC 17

Warnings:  violence and a public execution.

Status: WIP

Spoilers: Up to ‘The lost tribe’.

Wordcount: ca.  4600

 

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 19: What friends are for

 

You fought the way a hero fights -

You had no need to fear

My friend, but you are wounded now

And I'm not allowed to leave you here

Alive.

 

(James Fenton: Out of the East)

 

“Ronon – go, save yourself.” John tried to reason with his Satedan friend. Ronon had come up with a plan to get out of here, faster than John would anyone expected to. How had Woolsey dubbed it once? ‘The ultimate survivor.’ And he should better get out of here, before Ashaviiýr returned with the inevitable reinforcements.

“My life isn’t in so much a danger.” The former Runner growled, while he helped John to move Illo in a stabile resting position. “And this one won’t go anywhere soon. He went for the most efficient way to kill himself.”

John couldn’t help but shudder. All to vividly he recalled that day in that other village, and Ronon pressing a knife to his own throat, pressuring the villagers into releasing John and Teyla from captivity. He had always forced himself not to imagine what would have happened, had things gone bad. Here and now, with another friend half dead, he got a gruesome picture what death his brave  Satedan friend would have died.

Heavy steps drew closer and only moments Ashaviiýr returned, with him were not only two of the Wraith healers, but also Todd. The Wraith Lord didn’t seem surprised by what he saw. His eyes met Ronon’s with a kind of wry amusement. “Your young friend got away.” The Wraith Lord stated calmly. “He was wounded and managed to inflict only part of the damage he had hoped for.”

Ronon rose to his feet. “It was a distraction.”

The arching eyebrows of the Wraith Lord made abundantly clear that this was the main reason why he was here, and not down in the core sections. He had seen through the plan right away and drawn the right conclusions. But he did not discuss them any longer, but turned his attention to John. “Sheppard, you know this one?”  His gesture indicated clearly whom he met.

John nodded mutely. “He tried to take his own life.” He stated, still focusing on keeping the wound from bleeding more. “What did your troops do to him?” He could only guess what must have transpired to drive Illo to such a drastic decision. Even down in that asylum, fighting his way though the dwellers of that sinister place, Illo had never hesitated, never given in to despair. Neither had he when that Taliban leader threatened to mutilate him.

“They assumed he was allied with the Wraith they were send to capture, because the presence of him and his men proved quite an efficient distraction.” Tarishaár replied. “So they interrogated him on the way back.”

“I kinda’ see that!” John’s anger was getting the better of him. “And you know – they must have put him through worse than your kind usually does. I know this man, he is a friend, and I know how much he can take. More than me and he keeps his head in situations where others would have gone mad long before. So… Tarishaár what the hell did they do to him?“

“They took the memory of all the pain he knew and made him experience it tenfold.” Tarishaár stepped closer until he was right opposite of Sheppard. “Had he not been so weak to try and kill himself, you all three might have made it out of here.”

John froze. It had happened again. Nearly each time John and Todd had dealings with each other some things came up, usually by the actions of others, to shake whatever fragile trust there had been. The last time had not been all that long ago, when the Asuran device was activated. Why should Todd even consider that John and not been in on the escape plan from the beginning? “He wouldn’t have been in any shape to run, even without trying to kill himself.” He stated, he had to come up with some reasonable facts. Todd had no reason in the world to allow Illo to live.

“And yet… you estimate his ability to take pain higher than your own. You trust his ability to fight and escape more than your own.” Tarishaár stated.

John’s head shot up, when he realised that the Wraith must have picked up on his surface thoughts. An idea bloomed in his mind. “Read my mind.” He said. “Then you’ll know for yourself.” He met the Wraith’s gaze calmly. “Go on – you have my permission.”

The Wraith’s gaze grew more intense, as John felt a slight pressure on his mind. It was like Tarishaár was trying to let him know he was there, to let him know what he was looking for. John felt a rushed version of this afternoon’s events running through his mind again. He left it happen, did not try to fight or hide anything. Yet, the connection wasn’t one way, some jumbled pictures from Todd’s mind sprang over to him. A friend – there was something that was also heavy on Tarishaár’s mind. The Wraith thought of a friend, a friend trapped, a friend in need of help. Tarishaár worried greatly about this friend, feared he might die eventually or be found… found by the wrong people?

It was over as fast as it had begun. The pressure lifted and the pictures vanished again. Tarishaár hissed some orders at Ashaviiýr before speaking to John again. “The healers will take care of your friend.”

 

***

 

It was a déjà vu in the worst way Carson could imagine. Again he was in a cell onboard one of Michael’s ships, in the hands of the wretched Wraith hybrid. And he wasn’t alone this time, Jircanor was standing close to the cell door, watching the corridor outside. “Two guards outside, several more down the hallway,” he observed calmly, undeterred by the sheer numbers of the enemy.

“There won’t be a way out, he always saw to that.” Carson tried his best not to sound defeated. But he knew Michael had all he needed to again enforce his cooperation. “And I can’t even take comfort in the fact, that I won’t live much longer, because it leaves you at Michael’s tender mercies.” Carson had never believed he could accept his own death in such a calm manner.

Jircanor leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms in front of his chest, the posture seemed kind of habit with him, a habit deeply ingrained. “What did the hybrid man by that, anyway?” he inquired. “I know it’s hardly my place to ask, but I had not recognised you as one of the true blood.”

“If you mean having the ATA gene by ‘being of the true blood…”

“No, but carrying the heritage of the Lanteans. You carried some of their blood, but not the true heritage.” Jircanor explained.

Carson nodded. He had no idea how Jircanor knew, but perhaps he could sense it just like Michael had. “I used a device the Ancients left behind to acquire the healing abilities I needed.” He tried to state this as calm as possible. It was not Jircanor’s fault that this plan had gone awry.

“You actually used the stairwell of the Lanteans?” Jircanor exclaimed. “I have read of this artefact, it gets mentioned heavily in late Lantean history.”

Carson sighed. “I had hoped to reverse the process, before death or ascension become inevitable.”

Jircanor left his place, walking over to Carson. “You used a possibly lethal device to save me? Why?”

The question was asked with an odd mixture of awe and shock, Carson wondered what had triggered it. “I refuse to loose a patient, no matter whom.” He stated firmly. “and ever since I met Ronon and learned about what Runners are… the very thought has haunted me. Nobody seemed to care whether  Runners lived or died, people like Ronon abandoned and left to fight for themselves. Practically they allowed the Wraith to pretty much as they liked, to do this to you.” Carson’s voice grew more confident as he spoke. “I refuse to be bystander, a silent uncaring witness to murder, to cruelty. It was high time that somebody stood up and opposed them.”

“Still, you risked your own life, to save the life of a stranger.”

“Lad, the risk wasn’t so terribly great. I knew how to reverse the process. Only Michael making a surprise entrance wasn’t part of the plan.”

“I guess I know what the hybrid meant.” Jircanor’s voice grew thoughtful.

“He actually assumed you could do something about it?” Up till now Carson had taken Michael’s words as a deliberate cruelty, something to torture the warrior with.

“My people fought a war with the Lanteans, later served them and we know a thing or two about…” Jircanor’s voice faltered, his expression grew puzzled. “The compulsion… it’s gone.”

Carson frowned. “The compulsion?” Then he remembered the so well hidden manipulation he had felt during the healing process. The hiding chain Jircanor had been born with, but that was no real part of him. It had been cleaned away during the healing process. “You mean that manipulated gene you had? It felt… detrimental to you, and I acted on that. It’s hard to tell the more precise details in that state.”

“You freed me.” There was genuine awe in Jircanor’s voice.

Carson felt a little uncomfortable having that amount of awe and admiration directed at him. “Lad, don’t make too much of it. In that state I only knew it was damaging you and acted on it.” Ascension was a process they hardly understood, which was why it could end deadly, Carson mused.

“No, it won’t.” Jircanor replied to Carson’s unspoken thoughts.

Carson’s eyes flew wide open. “You are telepathic?” he asked astonished. Up till now he had believed this to be a main quality of the Wraith.

“Many species in this galaxy are. Telepathy, Empathy and the ability to share and draw energies, or emotions, are a trait common to many species here in Pegasus.”

The scientist in Carson couldn’t help but jump at those words. They provided a glimpse of an insight into topics he had been researching ever since arriving here. “You are saying that the feedings process is not restricted to the Iratus bug and the Wraith?” The same seemed to be true about telepathy.

“There are species who share those traits, some feed on emotions, some on energy, some are just able to share the selfsame.” Jircanor explained. “But we are getting off topic again.”

Carson still had a myriad of questions, if he could spend the last days of his life to learn more about the questions that had been the centre of his research since the encounter with the Wraith, those last days would not be wasted. “Jircanor, what do you think can be done? The machine leaves only two options – death or ascension.”

“The machine creates a potential and helps the body to move with it. The power it created can be released again, there is no power in this world to be given, that cannot be given back. It a way it means coming very close to ascending and then releasing all the excess energy. Simply put.”

“It makes sense in way – it could be the same technique used to descend again.” Carson said thoughtfully. “But I wouldn’t know how to get there.”

“I think I can help you there.”

 

***

 

The Wraith healers went to work with an efficiency that made clear they knew what they were doing. John was standing close to the infirmary doors watching them silently. Illo had passed out before they had managed to bring him here. Part of John assumed it was merciful that Illo wasn’t awake during the treatment, it was enough to freak out anybody. A short hissing passed between the Wraith. “Your friend will live.” Tarishaár stated, translating the healer’s words. “he came very close to die, but he’ll make it.”

“Illo is tough, a fighter.” John replied.

“Illo, is that his name?” Tarishaár asked, some measure of wondering in his voice.

“I guess not.” John answered after a moment. “We met twice, both times imprisoned and interrogated. We busted out both times too…”

“And you just gave him a nickname? You seem to make a habit of that.” The Wraith’s words were echoing his dry humour.

John didn’t feel like joking. “For a long time, I wasn’t even sure Illo had been real, and when I knew better… I never learned his real name.”

“Dietmar Schmiedeberg.” The Wraith mangled the pronunciation  of the  name slightly, but not enough to make it not understandable.

Name, Rank, Number. John could easily guess that these were things they had gotten from Dietmar. Dietmar, the name sounded foreign, like it did not really belong to Illo. “You are worrying about a friend too,” he observed, his mind returning to the brief telepathic contact he had with Todd earlier on.

“I do,” Tarishaár admitted.

“What happened to him?” The jumbled pieces in his mind, provided not much detail, rather general impressions, supplemented by flashing pictures, that made only partial sense.

“He was caught in a trap, caged as I was by the Genii, but for him there was no escape, no way out. He has been caught in this trap for ten thousand years, and I lack the ability to save him.”

“Is this where you need my help?” John asked. Again he navigated the maze, only led by his intuition.

“Why do you even ask?” Todd hissed. “A Wraith in a cage, built by your Ancestors, why do you even care?”

The words echoed the general sentiment John had held during most of their encounters. “Because this is the one thing we truly have in common: we don’t let our friends down, no matter what.” And after all he had seen, John knew this to be true. “And I’ll help you to get your friend out of that trap.”

Tarishaár’s eyes scanned him, clearly astonished. “You will? Why?”

“Because that’s what friends do: they help each other out.” And god help him, somewhere along the way he had found himself friends with a Wraith Lord.

 

***

 

“No tracks, no traces, Sir.” Lieutenant Indriedents reported. “And no other sign of Captain Schmiedeberg. The Wraith cleared out the whole place. It’s very likely they took him.”

O’Neill nodded. “Have the trackers brought to the lab, McKay shall start working on them.” The Lieutenant left and O’Neill was left alone. He walked out of his office, standing on the far end of the command gallery and stared down at the gate. What had gone wrong? He knew the answer, the mission had been ambushed and the Captain had covered the retreat of the team, being taken prisoner in the process. The irony wasn’t exactly lost on O’Neill. Now they had two people to find, with next to no useful intel and only slim chances of locating the captured men again. Somehow it had been easier to fight the Goa’uld. Back then they had at least known where to look, where their territories were.

“General.” A voice interrupted his thoughts. Teyla was standing beside him on the gallery. Her eyes too were down on the gate. “I am sure Captain Schmiedeberg is still alive.”

O’Neill looked up. “I won’t give up hope on the man, he is stubborn and strong. But still… he is in a hell of a situation.”

Teyla nodded. “This was no food raid, no culling judging by what I heard from the returning troops, rather a squabble among the hives. So he will be taken for information.”

“Interrogation.” O’Neill’s voice grew cold. The next time the Captain walked into an ambush and ended up in enemy hands.

“It gives us more time to find him.” She hesitated for a moment. “After being threatened by Michael, my people have begun making contacts to others fighting the Wraith. Contacts and some small dealings with different groups. One of them consists mainly of surviving Satedans, and has a fairly large network around the fighting worlds. They also have very good information on the Wraith squabbles, as we learned during the last year. They warned my people a number of times, when danger was immediate. If you wish so, I will ask Hollin to contact them and see what we can find out. Perhaps they know what hives are at odds with the hive we attacked and where to find those.”

O’Neill didn’t need to guess that she trusted him here with something that was well hidden secret of her people, perhaps even a measure they had come with during Woolsey’s tenure in Atlantis. “Teyla, every bit of intelligence helps. If they can find out anything it’ll be a great help.”

Teyla nodded. “I’ll speak to Hollin, he is the one who knows how to contact them.” Her eyes again studied O’Neill. “You worry about them.” She stated.

O’Neill didn’t want to deny it. “I do. I may be new this galaxy, but I have a good idea how ugly things can get easily enough.” He replied. “Usually when things went straight down to hell it was me out there, bitching about my CO and the decisions made by the higher ups… but I always could fight, come up with a plan or rely on my team to find a way out of the mess. And I was alright with it, the danger included. But…” He took a deep breath. “I talked both of them into it, Teyla. Sheppard and Schmiedeberg, both are here because of me. Hell, I didn’t leave Sheppard much chances, I knew his career was screwed and I hardly left him a way out, because the expedition needed him. And Schmiedeberg, the moment he heard that Sheppard was MIA, he was in, no questions asked. I brought both of them here.”

“And both of them accepted the risks.” Teyla pointed out. “John considered Atlantis home, I do not know much about the Captain, but he seemed more thrilled than frightened about being in another galaxy.”

O’Neill didn’t steer his gaze away from the gate. “I truly hope so Teyla. For me the gate was a salvation, a complete start over. I left all the other life behind, and began anew. No matter what this galaxy threw at me, it was still far better than what had happened before. And… and I assumed it might do the same for others.”

Teyla smiled. “And it did. John thrived during his years in Atlantis. This is why he was willing to break all the rules necessary to rescue Atlantis time and again. It is his home. And no matter what – we will bring them home.”

 

***

 

Night onboard the Wraith hive, the lights changed with the cycles of ship’s day and night. John could tell be the lighting that midnight was approaching fast. The day had been already long and it was far from over. Striding through another corridor of the ship, he eyed his constant companion Ashaviiýr. The Wraith warrior had returned to his duties earlier during the day and John had nearly become accustomed to his presence. “Who will be there?” he asked.

“Everybody who is not on duty, I’d say.” Ashaviiýr replied. “Everybody wants to see the scumbag thrown into the pit.”

John took a deep breath, he knew what lay ahead tonight and while he did not feel much remorse for seeing that Wraith die, he didn’t look forward to another Wraith ceremony tonight. And it seemed the Wraith would not just leave it at a simple execution. Which made him nervous. The situation in the hangar had taught him caution when it came to those ceremonies.

Suddenly Ashaviiýr stopped, standing opposite of Sheppard, he might have been towering over him, but he tried clearly to leave Sheppard enough space. His eyes searched Sheppard’s mien for some moments. John had no idea what made the Wraith hesitate. Eventually Ashaviiýr spoke. “Sheppard, remember – you don’t go into this hall as a prisoner, you go there as the brother of Lord Tarishaár, as one of us in a way. There is nothing you have to fear there.”

Astonished John blinked at the Wraith, he had hardly expected Ashaviiýr to go out of his way to encourage him. “I just hate ceremonies, no matter with whom or where.”

They walked on, a grand door opened before them and John saw a huge hall of long oval shape. On all sides John saw Wraith assembled, the whole crew of this hive and perhaps some more ships, he guessed. Like in the hangar, Tarishaárs Officers formed a crescent on the upper end of the hall, with Tarishaár at the centre. With a small, nearly invisible gesture, a small move of the fingers,  Ashaviiýr pointed John to the same position he had taken in the hangar earlier that day. John strode on, pretending to be far more confident and comfortable than he felt. He saw that there was no ground in the middle of the hall, but a big hole that opened up to another level of the ship. He could see some pointed spires down there, as far as the odd green light down there allowed him to see at all. What other dangers might be hidden down there, he could only guess. So this was “the pit.”

The hall fell silent as the doors opened again and the guards brought in the prisoner. John felt a cold jolt running through him. He still could not be in the presence of this Wraith without feeling anger rise in him. During the time he had been running he had seen this one a number of times, he had been down with his troops on some occasions, and had spearheaded the culling on Anchoril.

The guards stopped, keeping a tight check on the prisoner. The chained Wraith barked a string of angry words, John did not understand. Turning his head to the side, he cast a questioning glance at Ashaviiýr.

“Some mockery, some insults.” Ashaviiýr said in a hush. “He is daring Lord Tarishaár to kill him here and now.”

Tarishaár eyed the captured Wraith coldly, before he began to speak. Again John turned to Ashaviiýr for a translation of what was said. “He is stating, why the captive is here. That by raising a hand against you, he raised his hand against a brother, and thus against Lord Tarishaár himself.” Ashaviiýr translated. Tarishaár raised his voice and at his words a thunderous shout rose among the watching crowd. “The captive is sentenced to death in the pit.”

John could feel the energy in the hall, this whole crowd of Wraith was looking forward to the spectacle, that would follow. He should be disgusted by it, but he could not find it in himself.

On a curt gesture of Tarishaár another Wraith stepped forward, on his open hands presenting two blades. Two curved, complicated long daggers.

The captive Wraith laughed in a bark. “You think one of your warriors will kill me to avenge your brother, Wraith Lord?” He laughed again hoarsely. Ashaviiýrs hiss didn’t need a translation, it projected the anger more than clearly. John remembered what he had already learned about this whole thing, his eyes met Tarishaárs, and with a sudden clarity he knew what to do. It might mean crossing another line, but at this point he wasn’t sure if he had lines left to cross. He left his place, walking confidently into the centre of the scene, taking the two daggers from the waiting Wraith, who then silently stepped back. Silence had fallen on the hall. Only the captive Wraith smirked. John turned around, walking back some steps, before offering the blades to Ashaviiýr. The Wraith warrior’s eyes lit up, like glowing embers. He accepted both blades from John, a short inclining if his had, like a silent acknowledgment. The captive Wraith’s smirk faltered somewhat, as Tarishaár ordered. “Send him down!”

The guards did exactly that, losing the chains and hurling him down into the pit. Surprised as he might be, the Wraith landed on his feet, down in the misty green light of the pit. Rising up he broke off the top of one of the spires, raising it like a blade. Ashaviiýr didn’t loose time, crossing the short distance to the rim, he jumped down himself, landing not so far from his enemy. An encouraging shout rose from the spectators: the fight had begun!

John watched the fight unfold with a fascination that surprised him himself. Both fighters were Wraith, strong enough to hurl an opponent across the room, both were swift and able to jump far higher than humans could. The traps in the pits, be it spears rising from the ground, the floor collapsing or blades flying out of a wall, provided additional hazards. John could see from the beginning, that Ashaviiýr didn’t go for a fast kill, but for something more elaborate. That he could event think of trying something like that, spoke highly of his abilities as a fighter. Still, for a long time it looked like both warriors were evenly matched. With some more strength on the captives side and more swiftness on Ashaviiýr’s. The captive’s makeshift dagger landed a long slash in Ashaviiyr’s side, only moments later Ashaviiýr kicked his opponent into one of the spear traps, causing him multiple injuries. A loud cheering howl from the crowd, accompanied that move. John looked around, the Wraith had gathered around the pit, watching the fight intently. Shouts, laughter and outright hissing cheers accompanied the battle. Was he imagining things, or did some of them bet on the outcome? The fight went back and forth, but slowly Ashaviiýr gained ground, as his opponent suffered more wounds and began to slow down. Ashaviiýr used the advantage to deliver one blow after the next. Systematically he weakened his opponent down, chasing him mercilessly through the pit. He obviously knew the layout of the traps, because he made efficient, very efficient use of them. Eventually Ashaviiýr picked up a spear from a trap, with one magnificent throw he nailed his opponent on the wall. The Wraith screamed, then his body began to sag.

John knew it was over. Some part of him noted that he should be disgusted by the gory spectacle down there, but still… he couldn’t help feeling a tremendous relief when he saw the Wraith die. Suddenly he understood what Ronon had felt on Sateda, why he had hugged Carson, there and then he had truly know he was free again. And so was John. When Ashaviiýr climbed out of the pit again and handed him the two bloody daggers, John did not hesitate to accept them.