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Fic: You can run with us 3/?
Author: Flaim aka Darkfalconheart
Story: You can run with us. (3/?)
Pairing: nothing as of yet, maybe John/Ronon later on
Summary: John get’s captured by the Wraith, they make him a runner.
Rating: for this chapter: 13 , may be higher in later chapters
Warnings: some violence
Status: WIP
Spoilers: Up to ‘The lost tribe’.
Wordcount: ca.3700.
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.
Author’s note: So, here is the next chapter. I am sure some of you might not like the turn things take, but I am doing what I am doing here on purpose. I still hope you won’t hate the chapter too much.
SNAFU
Across the Earth are leading
many a road and bend,
yet all of them are speeding
to the selfsame end.
Be you riding or driving
as twosome or three,
the last of your steps
belongs but to thee.
For skill's not as valid,
nor all that is known,
then doing all the hard things
alone and on your own.
(Herman Hesse – Alone)
The mood in the conference room was tense and of Teyla’s diplomatic efforts went to waste on the attempt to change that fact. Richard Woolsey had not been in a good mood ever since he returned from Earth and his evaluation. “And you actually claim that this -,” he pointed to the carved piece of wood, the leather strap and the strand of hair, “ is some sort of message?”
Ronon nodded. “Right. The man who sent it knows something about what happened to Col. Sheppard and he wants to meet us – or at least me – on the place he specified.” It was an uncharacteristic long speech for Ronon. But contrary to what many people thought, he was very much capable of handling long sentences and there had been a time when he had been talking more lightly. Until he had learned to be silent, until words failed him, until there had been no one any more to whom he could have talked.
Woolsey again eyed the message rather critically. “Who is ‘he’ and where is this meeting supposed to be?” he inquired in the very same level, matter-of-fact tone.
Ronon glared at him, this was not going well. And there was something else, something that had changed, Ronon could feel it, and he did not like it at all. “I already told you: I do not know his name and I can’t tell you the gate address.”
“So how can you expect us to be sure that this message is genuine?” Woolsey asked coolly. “Either you do truly not know, which means we can’t trust the message, or you won’t tell meaning you don’t trust us.”
The look Ronon shot him could easily have been a knife slicing Woolsey into slices, very thin slices. “I do not know the name of the man,” Ronon repeated, trying very hard to be patient. He had some guesses who the man might be, Lorne’s description had narrowed down the options considerably, yet this was nothing he could explain here. “but I know what he is. That’s why I trust this message, and that’s all I can tell you.”
Woolsey let the words slide at least for the moment. “You say you won’t dial the respective gate address from Atlantis. Why?”
“Yeah, I need a normal DHD – a round one – to even remember the right sequence.” Ronon growled. “and I won’t have it saved on one of your computers.”
“You won’t verify the source of this ‘information’, you are not willing to share the information where this meeting will be held, and you completely forget to mention how you come by all this knowledge in the first place – but you expect us to act on this so-called information.” Woolsey summed up the meeting so far. “Incidentally we are talking about the self-same ‘source’ that might be responsible for another piece of ‘information’, about the so-called ‘Wraith Lords’ wakening from their long slumber, a story that sounds like a fairy tale.”
If Ronon managed to keep his temper from flaring up, than only because it wouldn’t help John if he flew into a rage now. He had to try and be reasonable, but it became harder with every passing minute. “Let’s just keep these two things separate, will you?” he asked. “The High Wraith a very much real…”
“How can I keep those things apart, when the source of the information is the very same? One that apparently only you know more about?” Woolsey interrupted him dryly.
Ronon scowled. “A long time ago I gave my word, my word of honour, that I would never reveal this information, not under torture, not under threat, not in dying, not in desperation and not to save the person I love most.”
“I see.” Woolsey’s gaze met Ronon’s and it was none too friendly. “Perhaps you should take the time and think long and hard about your loyalties,” he observed. “Meanwhile, I can’t risk the lives of our people on such a vague note.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Ronon rose. “I’m going alone.”
“I’m afraid this is not acceptable, Ronon.” Woolsey’s gaze now became harder. “No member of the Atlantis expedition will risk his or her life on information so dubious as this, even if said member believes the intel for genuine.”
“Fine.” Ronon shrugged. “then don’t. I’m leaving Atlantis, permanently and go on the search on my own.”
Woolsey’s sigh sounded almost heartfelt. “I was afraid you would say that. At this time it is impossible.”
“You think you can forbid me to leave?” Ronon’s voice was dangerously low.
“I have to.” Woolsey straightened up. “Because of your time here you gathered quite a lot of information about Atlantis, Humanity and Earth. I will have to determine how it can be insured, that this knowledge does not lead to any damage to Earth or mankind, before you can be allowed to leave. Until such a time you will be confined to your quarters.”
***
John Sheppard had killed the last of the hunting group. The last one for now at least. The group had consisted of seven Wraith that had been pursuing him through the gate. Now the last of them was dead. For now he was safe.
The last three worlds had been a blur. He had never stayed long, kept on moving and thus actually managed to gain some ground. He knew it was not going to last, his pursuers would keep up with him and eventually find him again. But it had been enough to get two detours done. Each one leading to a fallback camp of Atlantis, to the hidden weapon’s caches they had off-world. In each one he had left a message, a short message carved into some soft limestone. In some indeterminable time, weeks, perhaps even months, someone would check up on the caches and hopefully find the message and understand what had happened.
This world he had reached now had proven to be a blessing in disguise, despite the windy and rainy weather. Not only had he found an abundance of food, most if it edible plants of a wide variety, but he had also been able to use the long light days to trap the newest Wraith hunting party in the swampy delta of the river. Taking their possessions had brought up his arsenal of knives and other weapons considerably. He had refrained from taking a gun from the weapon’s caches, it was too dependant on ammo. He rather took the Wraith pistols, when they ran out of power, he could always take another one from a dead Wraith.
Now he was on his way back to the gate. It was a hard trek along the rushing stream, but at least it provided all the water he could possibly want, a commodity he had learned to value. The river’s water was clear and clean, another thing John had learned he liked. He had found water in ponds of all sizes in the woods, to find out that it often was far from clean and he had no means to purify it. Marching along the riverbanks John felt lighter than he had in days. It might take time until the messages were found, but once they were, Atlantis would know of his predicament. It was just a matter of time, the thought gave him strength and what was more – hope.
The dawn was already falling, the light friendly dawn of this world, when John reached the ford where he would cross the river. Ruins of a ling destroyed city graced both sides of the river, the bridge was long broken and lay in the rushing waters, it’s stones effectively providing the basis of the ford. In the warm light of the evening, every single part of the ruins cast long shadows on the river, the wind was warm, rustling in the leavers around and the rain had finally stopped pouring down. John sped up his pace, he would be much safer once he was on the other side and had the cover of the trees there, whose long branches hang deep down, touching the water in some places.
It was no easy feat crossing the river on foot, using the ruined bridge as a kind of ford. The water was still knee deep at the most shallow places and rushing fast over the stones. On both sides of the ford the water was much deeper, John knew that and it rushed at a pace, that could only be explained by the perpetual rain. The river had probably risen in the last some days.
Carefully balancing on the stones, he made his way to the middle of the river. “You there – stop where you are!”
The shout made John nearly drop into the water. Not because somebody was there, but because the shout had been perfectly in modern English, not in any of the Ancient dialect spoken around the Pegasus galaxy. He looked up and saw two familiar figures on the other side. Sergeant Shelleau and Hawkins. What was their team doing here? Or had he by accident stumbled across a world on their mission list? John cursed inwardly, this was no good. He could see only two of them, the other two were either somewhere further uphill or guarding the gate. “Stay away!” he shouted back.
“Colonel Sheppard?” Sergeant Shelleau gave up on his secure position wading into the river. “Sir, careful, that current is dangerous.”
“Sergeant, stay back! Don’t come closer!” Sheppard checked how fast he could retreat. It was next to impossible, he was standing on a precarious position, stepping back would likely toss him into the rushing waters.
“Sir, calm down. We know this place already. Stay where you are, I’ll help you across.” Sergeant Shelleau made rapid progress towards John.
“Turn back! You can’t come closer!” John shouted. “That’s an order.”
Shelleau shook his head. “Sir, calm down. Nothing is going to happen…” ,he took another step forward, intending to cross a particularly difficult part on the stones, when his body was engulfed in a bright flare, and his body was ripped apart by an explosion.
“It’s a trap!” The shout was already accompanied by the hammering of three P-90’s. John tried to duck, lost his balance and was tossed into the rushing waters. The running river drew him under, pushing him along faster than he could react, carrying him away from the ford at a rapid pace. The whirling waters tossed him here and there, currents pulled him under, he had to fight his way out of them, nearly drowning all too easily. Eventually tossed against something hard, it got all dark around him.
***
The guard was not even arching an eyebrow when he saw Major Lorne and Teyla approaching. If somebody was to talk sense into Ronon Dex it would fall to those two. Their attempts to talk sense into a certain Mr. Woolsey had shaken Atlantis command centre earlier this day. The sympathies of the marine standing guard at Ronon Dex’s door were with the Major. “You want to speak to him, Sir?”
“If he is still up.” Lorne replied. “does he give you any trouble?”
“That’s the strange thing, Sir: that first week I would have believed he’d try to take us all on and run. He certainly behaved like he would, but ever sine – he has been calmer. Dr. Keller talked to him time and again, she also brought him some pen and paper.”
Lorne gazed to Teyla, that sounded most peculiar. “Let us in,” he ordered.
The room they entered looked chaotic, not that anything was broken or otherwise damaged. But Ronon was sitting on the ground, surrounded by a lot of looses papers, some covered with drawings, some filled with odd lines and patterns, there were also some on which he had written in odd looking letters. Laying the pencil aside he looked up. “Major Lorne, Teyla – what brings you here? Has Woolsey changed his mind?”
Lorne waited until the door was closed, than he sat down on an empty chair. “No, he hasn’t, quite the contrary. The situation has taken a turn for worse.”
Ronon looked up. “Worse, what has happened? Is John…?” ,he did not dare to say it aloud. He could not bring himself to speak aloud of the dread possibility that John Sheppard might be dead.
Lorne sighed. Explaining the matter to Rodney had been hard enough. “There has been an incident, Ronon. One of our teams came across John Sheppard on P391-50X, Sergeant Shelleau lost his life and the whole thing stinks of a set-up. I debriefed Hawkins, Riler and Mikaz myself and their account of the events sounds odd enough, but Woolsey’s interpretation took the whole thing and blew it up to full conspiration theory.”
Ronon growled. “Tell me the details.”
Lorne did so, efficiently as possible he recounted the details of the fateful meeting at the river. “We do not know what caused the explosion, a mine is our best guess. Hawkins insists that Sheppard warned Shelleau not to go on, but neither Riler nor Mikaz are backing this claim.” He stopped, shaking his head. “The thing is, Ronon – with Sheppard’s past, he is the perfect scapegoat to place all the blame on, for everything that went bad in those last some months. All while he is conveniently absent and can’t fight back.”
“His past – you mean that story about his comrade back in that war on your homeworld?” Ronon asked. “In Afghanistan?” He had heard from Sheppard about it, the barest details and after that read all he could get about this conflict. A helpful hint from a British scientist had gotten him on to reading about the history of the conflict, too.
Lorne nodded. “Yeah, he came close to be court-martialed for this one. And even as he got off the hook – hell, you can’t court-martial a man, who just single-handedly saved some of your allies’ troops out of the shit, without looking very stupid – there were still many people who would see to it that Sheppard’s career got nowhere. Had he not ended up here, he would have stayed in Antarctica for the rest of his natural life.” It was hard for Lorne to discuss these details, the dirty scheming political details of his homeworld with Ronon, but the Satedan had to understand what they were dealing with. “Right now, the search is called off, and if John Sheppard is not declared dead, he will be declared most wanted before long.”
“Can you get me out of the city?”
The question startled Lorne. “You want to flee?” he asked. Not that Ronon could not have made it out of this room and to anyplace in this city, except the gateroom perhaps.
“I want to go and search John Sheppard.” Ronon replied. “But I need to get out of here at first.”
Lorne thoughtfully studied Ronon. The man was all action, and he would do exactly as he had said, he would search for John Sheppard, even if Sheppard’s own people gave up on him. The thought left Lorne ashamed, John Sheppard would deserve the same loyalty from every member of the Atlantis expedition. “I can get you out of the city, Ronon.” ,he said eventually. “and I truly hope you succeed and find Sheppard. But Woolsey won’t let you come back and communication with us will be complicated.”
Teyla looked up. “That will not be a problem. Zycrán, a blacksmith who is friends with many of my people has moved his workshop and trade to Belkan. Whatever messages Ronon leaves there, will reach me. And I often go to Belkan on behalf of my people.”
Lorne nodded, this might actually work. “I will insist on accompanying you, Teyla. For security reasons. I wish we could do more.”
“Actually, you can.” Ronon said. “The man who threw the dagger – left the message – you saw him. Can it be one of those three?” He took three pieces of paper, each one was a drawing, a portrait of a man. All three of them were incredibly detailed. Lorne suddenly understood what Ronon had done to occupy his time. When he saw the third drawing, he recognised the man at once. “This one, that’s him. His hair was longer, and I think there was another scar, one that ran across his cheek.”
Ronon closed his eyes. “Thank you, Major Lorne. It will help me to know whom I am looking for.”
***
None of the marines of Lorne’s team had asked about the odd long bundle below the puddlejumper’s bench. They had not looked at it, asked no question and pretended to be deeply employed with studying the mission material about the planet they were flying to. They accepted Lorne’s orders to go and scout the village without as much as blink and Lorne was grateful for that. They probably felt the same as him about Col. Sheppard, but he still was glad they supported him silently. Once they were gone he untied the bundle.
Ronon groaned. “I had expected some devious plan, but being checked out as excess luggage was hardly what I expected.”
Lorne grinned. “Hopefully your absence will be noticed only much later, when it is too late for Woolsey to guess, who helped you to run.”
“I hope so.” Ronon took his weapons and very small amount of baggage, most if it just some equipment, up.
Lorne studied him silently. Where would Ronon go? Could he accomplish alone, what all Atlantis was unable to do? “Good luck, Ronon. If you need help, never hesitate to call on me.”
A noncommittal nod acknowledged the offer. The Ronon turned away and vanished into the woods.
***
Some time during the night the pain had breached the walls of unconsciousness and brought John Sheppard back to the waking world. He was lying on the banks of the river, among some wood and half a tree-trunk the river had tossed on it’s shore. His body ached, had there been a spot that was not in pain, John Sheppard would have probably been able to tell. But the pain he was in registered only vaguely with him, his waking mind replayed the events right before his fall into the river in vivid details. Shelleau, wading through the water, disregarding John’s warnings, ripped apart by the explosion. Again and again John saw those short, mad moments that ended in the fatal explosion. Why had Shelleau not listened to him? Why had he not reacted fast, getting away before the critical distance was breached? Shelleau’s death was on his hands, there was no doubt about that.
John tried to sit up, it was painful, breathing hurt more than just a little. But right now John welcomed the pain, it seemed like a fitting punishment for his negligence that had ultimately killed Shelleau. He should have broken off the moment he realised that he had run into Atlantis people. He should have jumped into the river before Shelleau came too close. He should have…. He should never have met them.
Forcing himself to get to his feet again, he found himself able to stand. A hot pain shot up in his chest, he coughed. A step, then another, a third one, slowly John made his way off the riverbank. He did not look back, in his mind still the pictures of Sergeant Shelleau ripped apart by an explosion, that John had caused. No more, he decided. No more trying to contact them, no more trying to get back to Atlantis, no more hoping for help. He would not have anyone else die on account of him. He was a Runner, and Runners stayed away from all people.
***
It was trading day on Belkan, the market was bustling with people, animals and carts. Laughter and shouts mixed with the bleating of animals and the voices of children. Major Lorne had no ears for the pleasant, peaceful cacophony around him. Sitting on the ground behind the blacksmith’s cart with Teyla he stared at Ronon in utter disbelieve. “What do you mean: gone?”
“I was too late.” Ronon replied gruffly. “The place was not save any more and he had already left. The whole place was crawling with Wraith.”
Somehow Lorne was glad, that he would never have to report to Woolsey about that. “Wait… you say Wraith were there… the man who sent the message – he was a Runner?”
“Is a Runner.” Ronon corrected him. “I’m sure he got away before the Wraith were realising what had happened.”
Lorne sighed. “And there goes our chance to find out what happened to Sheppard.”
Ronon shrugged. “I’ll find him. It only will take more time.”
“Ronon, how in the world will you find that Runner again? It is next to impossible to find one Runner on purpose and the odds of finding a specific Runner are even worse.”
Ronon shrugged. “It will take time, it may take years. Jir was always a careful one and tracking him down will be tough.”
“Jir? You know his name?” Lorne asked. He remembered the drawings Ronon had shown him. Had they all been Runners, Runners Ronon somehow knew off? “And is there any chance at all to find him again?”
Ronon did not reply for a while. “I know off him, mostly,” he then said. “he’s a runner with more years to his name, than most will ever claim. Give me some time.”
Lorne shook his head. “Ronon, what you are proposing is next to impossible. Even if you manage to track down this Runner, and it could take years, what hopes are there, that his intel is even of use, at that time?”
Suddenly Lorne found his wrist in Ronon’s steel hardened grip. The man stared at him, clear fury in his eyes. “I will find John Sheppard, Major Lorne. No matter how long it takes, no matter where I need to look, no matter what obstacles in the way – I WILL find him.” He let go, rose and walked away.
Teyla gestured Lorne not to follow Ronon. “Give him a moment alone.” ,she said.
Lorne nodded, it was probably wiser not to vex the Satedan even more. “I hope he can do it. Woolsey has declared Sheppard MIA and possibly dead yesterday.”