Fic: You can run with us 7/?

[valandhir]

Author: Flaim aka Darkfalconheart

Story: You can run with us. (7/?)

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. 4200

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: Another chapter done. I got some e mails of people having problems with Dietmar Schmiederberg’s  full name. For this reason I will only refer to him with his last name when it is absolutely necessary, and call him Dietmar otherwise. This is more for the ease of the reason than for storyreasons.

 

Chapter 7: Prowling the dark space

 

The seas was roaring,

I remember well…

 

(Chris de Burgh: Waiting for the Hurricane)

 

Another shadow descended down on him, John only barely managed to dodge, roll over the rough ground and shoot the creature. He would have survived as long without his gun, it enabled him to kill the winged predators that haunted this place. After finding the DHD not functioning, he had intended to use what remained of the night to climb down the ravine. The darkness would provide him with some kind of cover, while he dared the long dangerous climb down to the bottom of the ravine. Or so he had hoped. The long climb down the rocky surface had proven a nightmare of clawed attacks  by winged shadows and all too near misses, while he had been in constant danger of slipping and falling down to crush on the rocks below.

Under normal circumstances he would not have risked it, he just would have left this inhospitable world. But with the DHD malfunctioning, or perhaps disabled, his slim hopes rested on finding the necessary means to fix it in the ruins of the settlement he had seen from above.

By the time he reached the had reached the bottom of the ravine had began wondering how long the night was going to last. It was still dark, and the skies above were littered with stars, foreign and strange constellations he had never seen before. The red and violet light of an anomaly close by littered the skies like a blood mark. John began wondering how far out he was this time.

Moving on was not an easy task. The bottom of the ravine was filled with rubble, loose rocks and parts of wreckage, that looked like ships perished here a long time ago. Finding cover often meant crossing open grounds, and John found that each moment without cover was deadly dangerous. Something was moving in the darkness, a shadow deeper and darker than the normal blackness around them. John’s hand came up, another shot and yet another shadow fell down shrieking painfully. Pressed against the hard rock face John listened into the darkness. There were more of them,  he could hear the soft swishing of their wings above. He whirled around shot them in rapid succession as they descended down into ravine. Still, one of their wings brushed him, leaving an icy cold feeling tickling in his arm, it felt cold, dark and tainted.

Slowly John crept on further down the ravine, towards the opening end of the rift, ready to shoot any time he heard the another soft swishing in the air, heralding another of these creatures close by. The ravine steadily fell down and in time it got easier to walk. There was less rubble and nearly no wreckage, broader rock grounds took their place, allowing him to walk more speedily. Yet, the constant attacks forced him to stay close the walls of the ravine, for cover and to protect him to be picked up from above, as had the Wraith right after arrival.

It got harder to hear the predators close by as he got closer to the open mouth of the ravine. Sometimes they came horrifyingly close, their wings touching John, before he managed to shoot them. The sick cold remained in his limbs for minutes sometimes. Ducked below a ledge  John made his way past a pile of loose rock the end of the ravine could not be far. Waiting motionless, crouched beneath the ledge, he strained his ears, listening into the night, for the soft sound of their wings. But he could not hear them. It took a while until he realised that there was another sound, a steady sound that drowned out the swishes and whirling of the dark wings in the air. It was a sound John knew well and had come to associate with home during the past some years: down, below the mouth of the ravine the sea was roaring hollowly against the dark coast. A small smile lit up John’s lean features. He had missed the eternal song of the dancing waves, crashing against the shore. Even here, on this infernal planet, it felt like a gift to hear it again.

Bereft of the best indicator he had for the presence of the predators John had to be very careful. Slowly but steadily he worked his way down to the very end of the ravine, where it opened up, it’s rocky sides retreating left and right.

No new attacks came, it seemed that the predators were finally backing off. John breathed a relieved sigh, when he stepped out of the ravine’s shadows. He could even see a little better.

Stopping on the last of the flat rocks, he peered ahead. Dawn had finally come to this place. Not a rosy or fiery dawn, like on other worlds, but the bleak, pale light of a far-away sun shimmering through the ragged clouds, gracing the sea with eerie pale lights. The sea, there really was a sea, down below him, crushing against the rocks, roaring in an eternal song, that no one, who learned to love it, would ever forget. A bay opened up down there, walled by the same rocky structures that had formed the ravine. And down there, between the rocks and the waves he saw the dismal remains of a settlement. Two or three grated towers rose from the waters, part of an older installation no doubt, now they were not really solid any more, but softly flailed with the dance of the waves. Most of the buildings he had seen, were on the opposite side of the bay. Only a single building was on John’s side. It was built right against the rock in which he was standing and looked like a small installation shed of some sorts.

It took only one gaze to tell him that swimming was out of question. The sea would smash him on the rocks and there was no way to tell what kind of predators might lurk down in the water. Predators… the winged creatures had backed off when dawn came, and John began his way out of the ravine. But John had no idea how brief this respite might be. He had to make the best of the time he had.

Studying the area again, he saw a railing leading right from the building below to the first of the grated towers. These towers seemed to share similar connections, perhaps the remains of a walkway. Again John wondered what kind of industrial installation this had been. Broken and in shambles these remains might provide the way across he needed. Without hesitation John dropped down on the outer wall of the building below. It was semi-stable and he was able to walk up to the front side of the building. Looking up his eyes found the railing above him. He jumped hard, his hands found the round metal, and gripped it tightly. The metal was cold under his fingers and he felt traces of rust. Speedily he began to climb along towards the grated tower.

The wind shook him hard the farther he proceeded on his way. John concentrated all his efforts on moving as fast as possible and not getting thrown off into the crushing waves. Finally he reached the tower, his foot found hold on a sold looking metal bar. There actually were the remains of a walkway here. Swinging over he landed on the grate. It creaked and groaned but it supported his weight. There was no time for relief, the tower was shaking and moving with the dance of the waves, and so did the walkway right beneath John’s feet. ‘Uh, I haven’t felt like this since Ronon introduced me to Belkaran ale.’ John thought as he began to walk along the shaking walkway. Involuntarily his hands sought whatever hold the rest of flailing construction might offer. But there was not much, so he had to trust his sense of balance and hurry on. Determined not to give up John began to make his way across.

By the time he was able to let himself drop down from the railing again, even as it was just on the crumbling remains of a ledge, he was grateful to have solid ground beneath his feet again. He did not like to remember how many times he had feared the whole construction might fail and drop right into the ocean. At the moment he had no wish to contemplate his way back. In front of him rose a group of solid looking buildings. A little further up he saw a hole in the wall, it looked like a window that had been blasted open by a grenade. Climbing up to it was a minor effort, even as the wall of the building also showed signs of massive deterioration.

Inside he found himself on a broken stairwell leading up and down. John turned and followed it down to the base of the building. Down and down went the stairs, as John had guessed the lower parts of the building were in a more solid shape than those up. The stairs ended in a wider sort of room. It was dark in here, there were no windows at all, nor other openings in the wall he could see. Suddenly he heard it again: a swishing of shadows against the darkness, swirling black wings fluttering all around him. He drew his gun and fired at them, one went down, and another, but there more, many more, surrounding him, their wings engulfing him, the darkness swallowed him up and he knew no more.

 

***

 

General O’Neill knew he should not enjoy this so much, but he did and he had spent the last day on Daedalus to prepare that moment properly. But Dietmar and a full detail of marines materialising inside the command gallery of Atlantis, weapons levelling at startled Mr. Woolsey, was a sight to behold. Dietmar made good on his promise and delivered a cold-eye no-nonsense ‘You will come with us, Citizen Woolsey,’ that was actually rather disquieting. O’Neill strolled up the long stairwell, taking his time, leaving Woolsey to fluster and then to go completely quiet. “Mr. Woolsey!” Jack could not help himself, he sounded cheerful, it was a cheerful occasion after all. “The IOA has relieved you from command of the Atlantis expedition, effective immediately, from your seat on the committee and whatever other chairs you might have sat in. Upon your warmly expected return to Earth a full inquiry of your activities will hopefully bring you to… wherever you belong.” To jail Jack wanted to say, but it would not come out right. He gestured the marines. “He is all yours.” Jack knew he should not enjoy this so much, but he could not help it: it felt damned good.

 

***

 

Teyla was not sure what she should think or feel right now. She had not been there when Daedalus arrived and this new General made his entrance on Atlantis and relieved shell-shocked Mr. Woolsey from his command. Dr. Zelenka had described the scene to her in glorious detail. She understood that Dr. Zelenka was happy, he had risked a lot to help Rodney and Major Lorne. But Major Lorne had not returned from Earth and this new General had brought a replacement for John with him. John, that name made Teyla’s heart clench painfully, while her eyes wandered to little Torren John, who was playing gleefully, unaware of his mother’s worries.

Teyla had only remained in Atlantis, because Lorne had convinced her and needed her help. She could not have let another friend down. Dr. Zelenka’s report about his meeting with Ronon had sounded optimistic, but still… it got harder and harder for Teyla to cling the slim hopes they had. Perhaps it was the lifelong habit ingrained in her: whom the Wraith took was lost forever, dead and mourned. Only thus life could go on, but her life had been on hold since the day that dart took John. If John was still alive, why had he not returned to Atlantis? Could he be still alive after all this time? He was capable and brave but… Yes, she could admit there was a but, but he had not been trained to survive from earliest childhood on like she had, like Ronon had, like all children were if they were to live long enough to see their twentieth naming day. There were days and long dark nights when Teyla found herself wondering when she would sing the mourning song for John, admit that he was dead and raise little Torren John to honour the brave warrior whose name lived on in him.

“General, I already told you that Teyla wishes to rest.” Kanaan’s voice broke through her trail of thought.

Cradling her newborn daughter in her arms Teyla walked to the door. “General O’Neill, I believe I already told you that Kanaan and me will be departing shortly. The naming ceremonies for my daughter will be held with my people.” And it would allow her to discuss the change of situation with Rodney.

The grey haired man nodded. “Great. What’s the name going to be?”

“Ronan, after one of the bravest and most loyal men I ever knew.” Teyla shot back. This man had no right to ask any questions, not when he already brought a man to replace John.

“Look,” O’Neill seemed a little odd, or was he just nervous? She wasn’t sure. “I know how Woolsey handled things here, this is why he is on the way to Earth with a lot of explaining to do. But we’ll need your help to find our people, McKay and Sheppard and bring them home.”

Teyla interrupted him. “After all that has happened, I somewhat doubt that you actually care. If you would leave, please. We will be departing shortly.”

After the door closed Kanaan took her in his arms. “He seems worried.” He said in a hush. “perhaps he means what he is saying.”

“He already brought in a replacement for John, a man approved by the IOA.” Teyla replied. She had learned a lot about Earth politics in this last year. “Lorne warned me, that they might have written John off.” She shook her head. “How can they do that? There is no nation I ever met, no tribe I ever encountered, that would not be proud to have someone like John among them.”

“When hope comes to you it sometimes wears a face that you least expect.” Kanaan quoted one of the old sayings to her. “don’t give up, just now.”

 

Sheppard’s team was officially disbanded after McKay fled, Major Lorne’s team is down with injuries from that last fight against the Wraith, teams 3 through 9 are on various missions offworld, teams 10 to 16 are securing the city.” Dietmar summed up the facts efficiently, albeit his preliminary status report covered several pages.

The condensed version suited O’Neill just fine. “You suggestions?” The question was an old trick, O’Neill had seen countless times with Hammond. By asking his men for their input he got a better picture of their abilities and reactions. He had thrown Dietmar on quite a pile of problems and wanted to see how the man was adjusting.

“Sir, we could call back teams 3 through 9, their missions are nothing that cannot wait, and send them out to those of our allies, who are still talking to us and are in immediate danger of a Wraith attack. Helping to prepare defences, making preps for evac operations in case things go wrong, will help to improve things on our allies side. If we can the cities defence reorganised it could free up some of the other teams, we might need in case one of our not-any-more-speaking-to-us allies gets attacked by the Wraith and is dire need of assistance.”

“Nothing that can’t wait?” O’Neill challenged the statement.

“Nothing that lives depend upon, Sir.” Dietmar corrected. “The missions may have some importance, but if you cut down on them to have the men assist our allies in need, it would send a message…”

“…that I am here to sort out Woolsey’s mess.” O’Neill had already thought about things along the same lines. “So, about the city defence…” They had a lot of planning to do, to get this rolling.

 

It was already far past midnight when O’Neill found time to go over some of preliminary reports. But his heart was not in it. During his career he had seen more than one fucked up command situation. It happened, a commanding officer failed, fucked-up badly and it took time to straighten out the mess. But he had rarely seen a cause as bad as this one. He could well read and understand the cautious glances and very guarded statements of the various team leaders he had called back from their missions. It had been painful to see how much of their trust was gone, replaced by a careful wariness that was unlike anything he had ever seen at the SGC. Yes, this was perhaps the reason why this shocked him so much. No matter what happened, no matter how bad the situation got, all of the men and women serving at the SGC trusted their commanding officers and the general in charge of the SGC. General West, General Hammond, Landry, none of them had ever let them down. This trust was absolute, without this trust in your comrades, your fellow soldiers, your superior officers, the SHC would have fallen apart a long time ago. This trust had enabled them to weather the various crisis’s , dangers and daily absurdities, it had held them together during invasions, plagues, attacks, torture and ultimately enabled them to get back to their feet time and again.

O’Neill had seen the same trust and the same commitment in the members of the Atlantis expedition, when he had sent them off into the unknown years ago. And now, it was gone. Destroyed by one man and the scheming of the NID. Winning back this trust would not be easy.

O’Neill stood up and went to get another mug of coffee. On the command gallery he saw Dr. Zelenka and Dietmar discussing something. The Czech scientist’s eyes went back and forth between a city map and his screens. “It is certainly doable, Dietmar. But quite ruthless, if I might say so.” He eyed Dietmar somewhat warily.

Dietmar nodded, admitting the scientist had a point. “You are of course right, Dr. Zelenka. Unfortunately we have a huge terrain to cover and not enough soldiers to get the job done. So we have to find other ways. If you have any other suggestions, other options we could take, it would be very much appreciated.”

Zelenka sighed. “I have no other suggestions, Dietmar. I wish I had.” He took his laptop and went back to his workstation.

Dietmar’s eyes strayed over to the gate and lingered there. His expression was pensive, and he seemed lost in his thoughts for a moment.

O’Neill had strolled over, originally intending to join the debate and to find out what Dr. Zelenka found so disquieting. “Impressive, isn’t it?” he asked instead.

“It certainly is, Sir.”

O’Neill heard the guarded statement and knew that Dietmar had said what he believed O’Neill expected to hear. It did not fit exactly with the man who had grilled O’Neill with uncomfortable questions during the mess in Greenland. The questions, pointing out all the holes in the cover story, finding all the points were O’Neill contradicted it somewhat, had kept O’Neill constantly on his toes. “Second thoughts?” O’Neill wouldn’t be surprised if Schmiedeberg had some second thoughts by now. He wasn’t very welcome with the troops, new to fighting wars on this scale and in a completely foreign environment.

“Certainly not, Sir.” Dietmar pointed down to the gate. “I was just wondering if there was way to block the command gallery from access from the gateroom, just in case we have the enemy getting at us from that direction.”

An all too familiar blaring alert cut their discussion short. “Unscheduled off-world activation, unscheduled off-world activation.”

The wormhole became stable and O’Neill’s gaze went to the gate technicians that were monitoring the transmissions. “Incoming transmission, Radio only, Sir.”

“Let’s hear it.”

The first thing they heard was the crackling of static, followed by the sound of blastfire. “Atlantis, do you copy?”

O’Neill recognised the voice at once. “”McKay, this is General O’Neill. What’s your status?”

“O’Neill… oh thank god…” the voice of the scientist was short of a panic. “two hiveships just appeared over New Athos… they are landing troops… massive attack… troops at the gate…” a new explosion rendered the rest of the transmission inaudible.

“McKay, get away from the gate and find cover. Extraction is on the way.”

 

***

 

Ronon Dex raised his flashlight high as he stared into the darkness of this abysmal planet. Outside the white circle of light he heard the fluttering of shadowy wings of the Nocturnals that prowled this place. He did his best to ignore them.

“Your friend must have left the gate.” Jircanor carried a light similar to Ronon’s and was on his guard as well. “That’s a dead Nocturnal over there, and two more right by the ravine. Could John Sheppard have tried to find shelter on the bottom of the ravine?”

“No,” Ronon pointed eastward. “he has seen the ruins of the colony. He’ll go there to find out why the DHD is not working properly.”

“For a Lantean, he is blissfully ignorant of their tech.” Jircanor observed ironically, while turning around, taking in the whole scene as it was revealed in the light.

“His people don’t know. The Lanteans did not leave their tech to them. They have to discover it step by step.” Ronon explained, he knew Jircanor’s dry comments on the Lanteans. But was it a wonder with a nation, that had fought wars with the Lanteans when they arrived in this galaxy?

“Why does this not surprise me?” Jircanor turned around. “Let’s hurry, your friend should be not too far ahead.”

Following the trail of corpses was the fastest way to track the path John had chosen. Their flashlights and guns were enough to keep the Nocturnals at bay. And dawn was already rising. Whatever miserable dawn came to this wretched place. Ronon  blinked into the sickly pale sunlight it wasn’t much and wouldn’t get any brighter. But it allowed him to examine the few tracks he had found. “he jumped down here and then climbed on the railing.” He concluded.

“He’s resourceful.” Jircanor jumped for the railing, gripping it with both hands and started to climb,  Ronon followed him. Silently they crossed the dangerous bay. On the other side Ronon stopped. “It’s a nest.” He said in a hush.

Jircanor could feel it too, the cold darkness stirring inside those very walls. “We better…” he began, wanting to work out a strategy first, but Ronon walked past him, climbing up to the entrance, vanishing inside. Jircanor swore and followed him.

Fighting a whole nest of Nocturnals was a terrible risk for a single man to take and even for two men the odds rose only slightly. By the time Jircanor caught up to Ronon, the main chamber was ablaze with flashes from gunfire, burning torches and flashlights. But even as Ronon was putting on one hell of a fight, he was outnumbered and would ultimately loose. Jircanor stopped right by the door, taking up his gun and began weeding out the crowd closing in on Ronon.

 

Ronon virtually ripped the last Nocturnal to shreds, before he hurried over to the huddled figure on the ground. “John.” Hastily freeing the unconscious man from the dark web that entangled him.

Jircanor helped, checking for life signs. “He lives.” He said to Ronon. “But he is very weak, the got to him badly and the fed.”

Ronon could see that, and he could feel how cold John already was. All too well he remembered his own nightmarish stint on this planet. “We need to get him out of here,” it was no question, it was a statement. A statement of what Ronon would do.

“It’s nightfall already.” Jircanor pointed out. The Nocturnals would be hunting again.

“John won’t last another night in this hellhole. The darkness is too close.” Ronon insisted. He would carry John to the gate alone if need be.

Jircanor admitted that Ronon had a point. “You carry him, I fight. No stopping, no resting until we reach the gate.” They both would have to prove what it truly meant to be a Runner, if they wanted to pull this one off.

Ronon gently lifted Sheppard from the ground, a deep cold radiated from Sheppard’s body. A cold Ronon knew. “Don’t fear, we’ll get you out of here.” He said to the sleeping man. He had found him at last, and hell take all that dared to cross their path.