“Red Sands” (12/15)
Jul. 3rd, 2010 02:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kristen999Title: “Red Sands” (12/15)
Author:Kristen999
Word Count: 125,000~
Rating: PG-15
Genre: Gen, Drama, Action, H/C
Characters: Sheppard, Ronon, OCs
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Violence and coarse language
Summary: Stranded on a harsh, desolate world, John and Ronon learn that merely surviving is only half the fight.
Notes: This is not a WIP. A chapter will be posted every other day until complete.
I wanted to thank![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
d_odyssey for her amazing support and advice during the writing of this. I also wanted to thank my awesome betas wildcat88 and everybetty for their time, patience, and bucket-loads of red ink. It was their honesty and willingness to tear this story apart that allowed it to finally come together.
“Previous Chapters”
Feedback is always appreciated.
---
Ronon dreamed of rushing sand, grains abrading his eyes, filling his throat, sucking him into a bottomless pit. He woke with a start, resting a calming hand over his thundering heart, his eyes straying over to his friend.
“John?”
Sheppard slowly craned his neck. “Hey.”
Ronon scooted over a few inches. “How long you been awake?”
It took a moment for Sheppard to answer, as if he had to think long and hard. “Don't know.”
Rolling his shoulders to loosen stiff muscles, Ronon popped his back and scraped the gunk out of his eyes, and found a full dunka pouch next to him. It'd been empty the night before and he wondered if they were being watched. Uncorking the pouch, he swished and swallowed the liquid. “You really should have some of this.”
Sheppard contemplated the water, but his broken right hand lay on his thigh and his left hand was a permanent brace against his side. “Here.” Ronon supported Sheppard's head and neck, waiting for him to take his fill then resting it within reach. “You're gonna have to finish a few of these to replenish what you lost.” Scanning the immediate area, he noticed a larger container sitting in a new spot, knowing it, too, would be full. “We've got plenty. Don't worry about our supply.”
Closing his good eye, Sheppard took a steadying breath. “Status?”
“We're in the outlying area of the Void. Think about two klicks.” There was no point in lying about their situation. “After I found you, I got you to our cave. Malvick was there and he carried you to a pond. Got you cooled down.”
It was unnerving to be greeted by silence, Sheppard's quick mind stunted and slow. “The Void? And we're....okay?"
“Yeah, we're safe.”
Sheppard tried digging in his elbows to get a better view and settled for craning his neck, taking in his surroundings. “The Void,” he repeated. “Must still... be hallucinating.”
“No, you're not imagining things.” Ronon wanted to yank Sheppard out of the deep dark place he was trapped in but squeezed his shoulder instead, offering a rope to hold on to. “You're not out there anymore. I wouldn't have stopped searching.”
It never ceased to amaze Ronon how Sheppard's rules never seemed to apply to himself. But Ronon's words resonated and his friend seemed to pull himself together a little more. “Shouldn't we be dead or something?”
“There's no sign of any enemies or danger.”
“What...what about the Jad?”
No more holding back. “I killed one of them and was followed. Our cave's compromised and we can't return.” Sheppard stared vacantly, processing things. “We have water and shelter. And I was going to search for food.”
“Where's Malvick?”
Good question. Ronon had no clue. “Don't know. He'll be back.” Sheppard wasn't thrilled with that reply, but first things first. “I should check you for injuries.”
“Yeah. Give me a second.” Sheppard lay unmoving, preparing himself by controlling his breathing. “Okay... guess...we should get it over with.”
At some point Malvick had draped a thin blanket over Sheppard and Ronon pushed it away, revealing a badly sunburned chest covered by deep bruising. “Everything's gonna hurt. Just tell me about the really bad parts.”
Ronon wavered, but knew what was at stake. He palpated each rib, waiting for Sheppard's lungs to expand, feeling if the bones moved oddly, and noting the difference between hissed grunts and all-out cries of pain. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
He gently pressed around Sheppard's abdomen, searching for rigidness. Thankfully, it didn't show any signs of internal bleeding, though by the way Sheppard flinched, it was incredibly painful. Sheppard sweated profusely, his good hand clenched in a fist. Ronon checked both legs, noting the swelling down both limbs from being stomped and kicked and the bottoms of both feet were sunburned. Sheppard's pallor had gone from pale to milk white and Ronon gave him time to cope with the pain.
“What's...what's the verdict?”
Ronon wasn't a doctor, but the military was a good teacher and hanging out with Melena and in the Atlantis infirmary had rubbed off. “Think you have three broken ribs and the rest of you is really bruised and banged up.” His eyes strayed to Sheppard's hand. “Don't have any ideas how many fingers are broken.”
“All of 'em?”
Ronon didn't have anything to splint them with and he decided to leave well enough alone. He'd been in enough fights, endured persuasive measures for information to know how a beating could incapacitate a fully healthy person, let alone anyone in Sheppard's state.
“John—”
“Don't want a pep talk.”
“I'm not gonna give you one.” Ronon stared at his friend and Sheppard looked away. “You don't share your burdens. Fine. But they're not always yours alone.” Sighing, he growled, “You think I'm a failure?”
John looked up sharply. “What? No.”
“We've made the same choices.”
“No. We haven't.” And Sheppard was back to staring at the sky.
Ronon studied the vast nothingness of dark gray, wondering if it concealed the stars. “If you'd been the one with a broken leg, I'd have done anything to help us survive.” Sheppard held himself stiffly, making no attempt to engage any further. “I killed one of the Jad. He was unarmed and I couldn’t have cared less. Now we can't return to the cave. Can't trade for water and food. What makes me better than you?”
But the conversation was over; Sheppard closed his eye, ending things with silence.
Words were not Ronon's thing and more than likely he'd mimic his CO's action if the roles were reversed. He remembered what it felt like when his team came for him on Sateda, or how they embraced him after being turned by the Wraith. As much as he’d hated himself, his family never allowed him to fall.
He placed a hand on Sheppard's shoulder which stiffened, but Ronon gave it a light squeeze. “Going to see about finding dinner.”
“’kay.”
Sheppard didn't ask how or where and Ronon wanted to kill the men responsible for silencing his friend's passion. “Give me a signal if you hear anything.”
There was no one within several klicks, but it put Sheppard in a fake position of importance.
His leg protested the strain of standing and Ronon leaned on his cane as his entire limb shook with the effort. He got his blood pumping, scouting the surrounding rocky area, glancing skyward at the ominous blackness looming in the opposite horizon, eyes falling at the approaching figure.
Malvick was in his element on his turf; gone was the robe as he strolled over in a black shirt and pants, dropping a sackful of something at Ronon's boots. “This should take care of food for a while. I know you prefer roasted rodents, but thought you might want something that'd taste better.”
Ronon picked up the bag, surprised to find chunks of tough, shriveled meat. “There's game to hunt here?”
“If you know where to look.”
Stomach growling, Ronon tore into a piece with his teeth, but it was like chewing rotted wood.
“ It ain't fresh.” Malvick smiled. “Heating it makes it softer.”
There wasn't any timber and Ronon had forgotten the flint rock and was in no mood for tests. “Got anything for a fire?”
“No.” Malvick took a seat across from him. “I have something better.” Rolling a pack off his shoulder, he pulled out a small black square that got hot from a set of heating coils. “Ta-da.”
“You get that around here?”
“Out further west.” Malvick carved the meat into strips and placed them over the heat and sprinkled a little water over it form a thin juice. “Got to save time where we can. We need to get a move on soon.”
Ronon's body hummed with new adrenaline. “Why?”
“Because we're leaving Medena.”
Malvick was studying his reaction, but Ronon kept his voice steady. “How?”
“There's an Ancestor ring in the Void and your friend's going to activate it.”
Excitement, suspicion, anger, they bombarded Ronon with a series of punches. “There's a ring here!”
“Yep.”
“Does it work?”
The meat strips sizzled and Malvick flipped them over with his blade. “Not for me. Seen thousands of prisoners come and go. None with the ability to operate Ancestor tech. Until now.”
They were being played and Ronon was deciding how to use the heating plate as a weapon. “The ring doesn't work like that.”
“Don't you you think I haven't tried? Sometimes for cycles at a time!” Malvick growled. “It's different. The Saurin programmed this one to lock out anyone other than those of the Ancestors.”
“You've known about this all along,” Ronon accused.
Malvick's face was impassive, his tinted goggles a constant shield. “I suspected.”
Ronon's temper soared. “And you didn't do anything! Didn't tell us?”
“Do you think he would have left you in that cave? Not knowing if I was telling the truth?” Malvick challenged.
“Yes.”
“You're a liar.” Malvick got into Ronon's face. “He'd die first. Try denying it.”
Ronon met the challenge to his space, dreads nearly in Malvick's face. “That day outside the cave.” When Ronon was going to end things. “If you hadn't said anything, I would have been out of your way.”
Why save him? Why not strike at such a ripe opportunity?
Malvick wasn't quick with his answer, like he'd been caught in a deception. “I only had suspicions before. I didn't confirm his ability 'til later. Besides, he wasn't all right in the head. Who knows what he might have done.”
“Then why'd you wait?”
There. A slight muscle tremor near the jaw line, then Malvick stemmed all emotion. “By the time you were mobile, the balick matches had started. Got to obey the rules.”
“Now who's lying?” Ronon demanded. “You live in the Void. Who cares about the Shan'ka and their laws?” Unless there was more to it. He studied the goggles still masking Malvick's eyes even in the dark, remembered his inhuman agility and speed. “You're one of them. Aren't you?”
Another facial twitch. “No. But I am one of their rejects.”
Whose? The Saurin or Shan'ka?
Malvick licked his fingers, gesturing at the charring meat. “You should eat up. We're not staying.”
All the questions bouncing inside Ronon's head thinned out to a single blaring alarm. “Why?”
“Another transport's due soon. We shouldn't be around when it arrives.”
“The prison ship. What threat does it pose?”
“A large one,” was Malvick's reply. “Gonna scout out the edge, see if your pals were brave or stupid enough to follow you in here. We'll head out when I get back.”
Ronon was on his feet. “We can't move Sheppard yet.”
“This ain't a discussion.”
“No. It's not.” Ronon stood firm, matching Malvick's hostile posture. “There's no way he can walk. And you're not hauling him over your back. Not with his injuries.”
“That didn't seem to stop you earlier.”
“He would have died if we hadn't gotten him cooled down,” Ronon argued, not mentioning that being unconscious spared Sheppard pain.
“He'll be as good as dead if we stay.”
“Tell me why!”
“When I get back, we're leaving,” Malvick declared, dodging the question.
Ronon said all he was going to, staring defiantly. Malvick's body visibly thrummed with tension. “The last I checked your buddy wasn't in good shape. I'm not going to watch the key to escaping this pit die in front of my face. Not when I've allowed myself to believe in something again.”
Malvick turned his back on Ronon, leaving him to battle a storm of unanswered questions and danger. He needed time to think and formulate a plan. Malvick's threat was unspoken. Grabbing the knife from the last slice of meat, Ronon mentally prepared himself for killing the one person who could possibly take them home.
John took in the sounds of his new environment, a dead shroud of nothing punctuated by his own raspy breaths. They were stuck in unknown terrain with him flat out on his back, their only source of intel the very devil who prowled its lands. And if he'd learned anything, it was to look for the knife to the back, and Malvick had dozens of sharp ones.
He swallowed, his jaw a set of crunching rocks with a mule constantly kicking him in the middle of his back. He was on surveillance, but his brain had ideas of going into stand-by mode. The Void terrified the Jad and Spraza alike. Myth or fairytale, there were kernels of truth to all morality tales and the Shan'ka's demonstration of power had proven the locals' fears of them.
But he'd been way off his game and hurt. God, he hurt so much. And he kept thinking about all his mistakes, second guessing every one of his decisions. Finally his body won out, his ability to fight back depleted long ago, and the pain gobbled him up.
John and Ronon sat in a small meeting room after the whirlwind tour of Mengele's lab, Dumma pacing in agitation like McKay on three pots of coffee. He'd dismissed the security team except for two guards, and John already had a plan to take them out if need be.
“I do not understand. With our combined resources, we can harness the Wraith's greatest powers.” Dumma stabbed a finger at John. “Imagine controlling your ships from another room with your mind. Communicating with your troops. And you.” He stared at Ronon. “You're a fierce warrior. What if you could hear sounds for miles, see through any object, run at speeds of machines?”
“Wraith don't do that,” Ronon answered.
Dumma slammed a hand on the table. “But we could! You think Atlantis is a technological marvel? Our cities were more splendid, bristled with more wonders than you could ever imagine!”
“Were? And where are they?” John asked, because the Saurin city was half the size of Atlantis and he didn't see signs of a large population.
Flustered, Dumma stared at John and his head exploded with pain, words drilling into his brain. “You'll regret this, Colonel.” But Dumma's lips hadn't moved until they ticked into a cruel smile at John's discomfort from the mental invasion.
Ronon looked between them and stood up, knocking his chair over. “Don't,” John hissed at his teammate, who sat down grudgingly. Shaking his head, he looked up. “Neat trick.”
“An inherited trait,” Dumma said, lifting his chin. “It's just the beginning of what we could accomplish for the good of our people.”
“You mean the ones you experiment on? All those locked in stasis pods? We won't help.” John waited to be hauled away, thrown in some prison, but Dumma picked the lint off his uniform.
“Very well,” Dumma said and turned, speaking to someone on the radio. “Langurd, escort our guests to the ring. All of them. They are unwelcome.”
John's spidey sense was going nuclear and it must have shown, because Dumma blew out an annoyed breath. “Your people will be unharmed, Colonel. We are not barbarians. We are a civilized people searching for greatness.”
“I've heard that before,” was John's response, but he and Ronon were not being escorted away. ”Civilized, huh? With how many weapons?”
“Protection, Colonel. Nothing more. You're military. I merely appealed to that side of you.”
There didn't seem to be a lot of Saurin to make up a large fighting contingent. But that didn't mean anything. Atlantis proved that with their small, but well-armed units. “I want to talk to my---”
“Colonel Sheppard, this is Woolsey,” his radio squawked.
Dumma waved a hand and John answered it. “I'm here.”
“I have just been pulled out of a meeting...in fact all of us have been gathered together in the Saurin control room. Is there a situation I should be aware of?”
“Are you safe?” John asked.
He could hear Rodney's complaints over the radio and Woolsey talked over them. “Yes, Colonel. I take it you know more than we do?”
Based on Dumma's expression, John wasn't about to go into detail. “Unfortunately.”
“And are you accompanying us?”
“Mr. Woolsey, this is Dumma Morel. Colonel Sheppard and Ronon Dex will be following you shortly.”
“I'd like them to accompany us now,” Woolsey insisted.
“In just a few minutes.”
John tensed, the silence crowding in on them.
“ Colonel Sheppard, this is Teyla. Mr. Woolsey was told to dial out and all of our people have been forced back to Atlantis. I am the last to remain. Shall I...”
“Go, Teyla. I'll explain things when we get there,” John said. Teyla didn't use any distress signals, so their people had returned to Atlantis safely. He turned to their possible captor. “Now what?'
Dumma talked on his radio and finally looked up. “I must take my leave. I have pressing matters to attend to. Dr. Uruh will come in and wipe your memories of what you saw. A simple procedure for security reasons and you'll be on your way.”
“Memory wipe?” John questioned, not liking the sound of that.
“Painless, I assure you. We are not a violent people, Colonel.”
“Not so sure about that,” John mumbled, looking at the weapons the guards carried.
“Force is necessary at times, but we are above senseless bloodshed. Those seeking great knowledge do not stoop to the level of those obsessed with violence. It wastes energy. We merely seek out a greater path.”
John watched Dumma's exit and looked to Ronon who was practically vibrating in his seat. “Atlantis will never know about what's being done here.”
“I know,” John said, disgusted.
“They'll continue their Wraith research. Maybe make it work.”
John followed Ronon's unspoken desire. “We can't--”
“They have thousands of clones!” Ronon growled. “Beckett is a clone.”
Not exactly the same thing, but John got it. Hell, he was just as pissed, but what could they do?
“We can't take any action.”
“Why?” Ronon demanded.
“There are rules.” John cringed at sounding exactly like those who never had their boots on the ground. “We can't go off half cocked.”
“Remember what happened last time people experimented on the Wraith?”
Ronon's words stung and John resisted the ploy. “I said no.”
“Millions died last time. I was right about trying to turn Wraith into humans and I'm right now. You going to listen to me this time?”
John wavered. “This is not a good idea.”
“They never disarmed us,” Ronon whispered.
John still had C4 in his tac vest. “All their data is secured in a single area,” he said under his breath, realization dawning on him. Go commando; commit an act of war on another society. It was reckless and stupid.
“We'd have the element of surprise,” Ronon said with a fake stretch as the guards eyed their private conversation.
Ronon's gun could be set on stun. “You have the layout memorized?” John caught himself asking.
“Yep.”
“I don't know, big guy.”
“We can't let them keep working. We have one shot at this.”
Everything screamed at John to stand his ground, but his hands patted down his vest. “This has to go down as one of my dumbest moves ever.”
“You don't have to come.”
John shot Ronon a look, rising to his feet, both guards getting antsy. “Got a plan?”
“No, but you'll think of one.”
John jerked awake, memories of their impromptu sabotage sharp and noisy in his head. Gasping for air nearly tore him apart inside. He curled in around the pain, the movement stretching all his battered muscles. He longed for the ground to swallow him up and cursed his cowardice. He fell asleep when he was supposed to have been on watch. Opening his good eye, the world spun in blurry grays, every fiber of his being one gigantic spasm. Then it hit him. All the fists to his face and head, all the soft and hard leather smashing down on him. The boot grinding his fingers into the dirt with three methodical twists.
He'd allowed the Jad to work him over, had welcomed the numbing blackness, wishing his internal fuse would have gone out. And during those few minutes of semi-consciousness, he'd lain there waiting for the sun to finish him off.
“Your friend is dead.”
Rolling to his side, he searched for Ronon, his brain a block of Swiss cheese. Ronon wouldn't have given in like that. Now they were stranded in hostile territory, unable to flee because of John's mistake. His mouth was parched, his head dizzy from dehydration, and he reached for the dunka pouch with his left fingers. He groaned when his ribs moved, his tender muscles protesting with fireworks. But nothing could compete with the throbbing of his broken hand, the minutes ticking by like the tightening of a metal vise grating bones into nerves.
He was on his back again, riding the tsunami crashing into him, the dunka pouch shaking. Water dribbled out all over his face and he flailed to keep the pouch stable, accidentally knocking it over. He tried stopping it from spilling over the ground, reaching out with his busted fingers. “Fuck!”
Squeezing his eye closed, crimson blossomed behind his lids and he banged his good hand into the ground again and again.
“Sheppard!”
Something grabbed his wrist and dreads scratched his face, red fading into Ronon's frantic eyes. “What are you doing?”
John ripped his arm away. “Nothing. I...” He gasped for breath, agony's fingertips clawing inside his chest. “Nothing,” he repeated.
“Saying it doesn't make it true. I know.”
Reiterating it worked for John. It always had.
“Nothing,” he whispered to no effect.
Ronon checked the heating plate and poked at the strip of frying meat, wondering how Malvick preserved it like that. Salt maybe? He needed to boil it into a stew that Sheppard could eat with his swollen jaw. They hadn't spoken since he found his CO---losing his shit? McKay's voice echoed in his head and he dismissed it, conjuring Teyla's quiet expression instead. He missed his friends' counsel and support. Their jokes and laughs, even the pointless disagreements. He placed the memories on a shelf inside his head; such platitudes were as damaging as they were joyous.
He went over to check on Sheppard. “You’re gonna have to sit up.”
Sheppard's one eye rolled around, studying the best way to get mobile and Ronon knelt down beside him. “Let me help.” His CO acquiesced and Ronon supported Sheppard's shoulders, slowly easing him into a sitting position. “Breathe,” he whispered at the shuddering gasps.
Allowing Sheppard a moment to get acclimated, Ronon held him up by the arm pits. “Ready to scoot back?”
There was a slight nod and Ronon eased Sheppard the few inches to the wall, his friend panting from the effort, “M'good.”
Falling over sideways was a real possibility, so Ronon waited, and when Sheppard managed to stay upright for a few minutes, he brought over the pot of stew. Sheppard gave him this look, this don't you dare feed me expression and Ronon settled at balancing the pot between Sheppard's knees.
Watching a friend struggle for independence was disrespectful;he turned his back, hackles rising at sensing a familiar return. His mind was in flux, allowing the moment to dictate his action, knife hidden under his robe. “Malvick's back,” Ronon announced, causing Sheppard to pause mid-sip. “Gonna see if he's ready to share some answers.”
Ronon failed to mention that part of the conversation would be made out of earshot, striding over to meet the other man. “Well?”
“No search teams,” Malvick replied.
“I thought everyone's too afraid to enter here?”
“They are.” Malvick eyed Sheppard all propped up. “I see we're almost ready.”
The knife offered Ronon little comfort, forcing him to think of dishonorable acts. “No.”
“It's not a request.”
“Food and shelter aren't substitutions for loyalty.” Ronon waited, finding an opening. “You've said that we're alike. Then tell me why I should listen to you. Why didn't you ask us for help?”
Malvick Adam's apple bobbed in a quiet tug-of-war. “I didn't think you'd agree.”
“That's your reason!”
“Have you looked around?” Malvick snarled, sweeping his hands. “Who does sumthin' for nothing? No one. There's always an agenda. Always a double cross.”
“Not if you talked about an escape!”
“To follow me into the Void?” Malvick's deep laughed bounced off the mountain. “When I first had my suspicions, I wasn't gonna offer a choice. If your pal didn't agree, no problem. I'm much bigger,” he chuckled. “I'd drag him along if I had to. But I knew. No way would he help without you. Even if I put a knife to his throat, he'd refuse.” Turning his back, Malvick said, “Just like I know you plan on using a knife on me if I force him to go now.”
Ronon couldn't believe his ears, but deep down he understood. He remembered when Beckett offered to cut the tracker out of his back and he’d expected to be attacked as soon as he released Teyla as a hostage. Nothing was free without leverage.
“How long have you been here?” Ronon knew time destroyed all sense of trust. Killed hope.
This time Malvick looked away. “Too long.”
“What do the prison transports do in the Void?”
Malvick walked in a small circle, stopping in front of Ronon. “Drop off all their failures. All those too messed up to use. And too scary to control.”
Ronon stared at him. “Their own people?”
“They won't get their hands dirty with killing. Me, on the other hand, that's my job.” Malvick pulled out a blade and tapped it on his hip. “See, I am a liar. I don't hang out with the beasts. I hunt 'em down and put them out of their misery.”
“You've killed them all?” Ronon couldn't even guess such numbers.
Maybe the goggles hid Malvick's guilt, or maybe he didn't feel anything at all. “Don't waste your energy feeling sorry for them. They ain't innocent anymore. Some of them could rip your head off with their bare hands. Others could track you halfway across the desert with their sense of smell. And a few, well, they're barely human at all.”
“Like Michael's experiments,” Ronon breathed.
“Don't know him.”
“That's why no one enters the Void? Even if there's water here?”
There. Another odd facial twitch. “Most don't have the skills to find a path through the mountain. And if you ever saw what the beasts have done to those who've tried. You'd be scared, too. A few are lucky enough to escape and share what they've witnessed. Besides, you'd have to live long enough to discover the water. After enough people enter the Void and don't return. Well, lesson learned.”
Like the Shan'ka and their use of 'deterrents'. There was more to it, but Ronon didn't press.
Malvick nodded in Sheppard's direction. “Don't think he's going to be fighting off wild beasts anytime soon. You're lucky to have me, because time's almost out.”
Ronon's chest tightened at his choice. “How long?”
“A couple cycles. Maybe more. It'll take that long to reach the ring with him, walking or not.”
Sheppard didn't have the strength to move, and carrying him could puncture a lung. “We're waiting. Give him time to get ready.”
“Dead men can't operate the ring.”
“He can't do it!” Ronon growled.
“Oh, I don't know. I think you underestimate what he can do with a little persuasion.” Malvick gave a tight smile, fully at ease again. “Why don't you ask him? And while you're at it, ask him about what's possible when using orris.”
John ate the stew despite the chewy bits, his belly twisting hungrily in relief. He licked the brown juice at his lips, the clay pot cradled against his sunburned chest, catching bits of angry words carried by the wind. They had to withdraw, he got that much, no doubt his injuries a hindrance to a speedy retreat. Mistakes were like cockroaches, resistant, able to multiply and swarm. He'd been captured, submitted, and yet lived long enough to be a liability.
Or maybe he was the cockroach, allowed to skitter around to spread disease and destruction. It didn't matter with so much at stake. Not that he knew what those stakes were. He hated this, his head fuzzy, ideas and thoughts evaporating out his ears.
Ronon came over, fatigue pronounced in all his movements. Sitting down next to John, he stretched out his bad leg, fingers absently massaging the muscles. “Sheppard.”
John listened to the latest briefing about threat assessments and mission goals. Facts and objectives drawing him out of his haze. He was left with more questions than answers, his mind in tactical mode. The Void was in constant nightfall with little visibility. “How far to the gate?'
“Few days.”
“That with or without me?”
“There is no without you,” Ronon said with a glare.
“Right. Because I'm the only one who can activate it.” John took a deep breath, testing his endurance and failing miserably.
“We can wait a day or two.”
“And risk being overrun by...” By what, John? Human experiments? Frankenstein and Igor? “I don't want to be forced to defend ourselves against victims of the Saurins. No, we'll go--”
“After we sleep.”
He didn't want to sleep; he wanted to leave, to do anything instead of lie here. Ronon was giving him that no backing down look and John had already lost too many battles. “Okay,” he relented, wondering when he'd ever win another round again. John was handed a fresh dunka pouch, and he nearly downed the whole thing with a few gulps.
Ronon broadcasted an obvious ‘we need to talk’ vibe. “What?” John grunted.
“We've all done things we want to forget. But when you can smell the blood on your hands, hear those you killed in your dreams, you'd do anything to forget.”
“This supposed to lull me to sleep?” Because John really wanted Ronon to shut up.
“We've all found ways to get through stuff when there's no way out. But you don't have to face your demons alone, John. This isn't Atlantis and there are no reports to fill out.”
There was a hand on his shoulder and John actually longed for the human contact, allowed himself to accept what was offered. And felt himself break a little.
Ronon dipped down to his ear. “Just you, me, a keg of ale, and a set of bantos sticks when we get home. Then you're telling me everything.”
“Okay,” John breathed. “Think I could handle that.”
“Going to find Malvick. See about our supply situation.”
Ronon disappeared into the dusky shadows and John wondered who was kidding who about the three day journey. He hadn't even managed standing up yet.
“Guess he doesn't have a strong backbone.” Malvick came out and plopped down, sitting with his legs sprawled out. “Didn't picture him as the non-confrontational type.”
John's body pulsated from one pain or another and he was too exhausted to play mind games. “What do you want?”
“I want revenge. I want to see the sun set and rise one last time.” Malvick placed his hands behind his head and leaned against the rock. “I want to see your people stop the Saurin. Makes you wonder, what's been going on this whole time while you've been gone.”
Thinking about Atlantis only brought on depression. “Haven't really thought about it.”
“Their technology and ambitions pose a real threat. If your world didn't ally with them, makes you enemies.” Malvick waited, allowed the words to fester. “I could help, you know. Once we escaped.”
“How's that?”
“I'll tell you all about their past, their secrets. Their weakness.” Malvick's big hand fished around a pocket and pulled out a shred of fabric. “I have this. We both know you can't hack it. Not a reflection on you, but do you really want your final mission to fall apart?” Pulling his goggles down, milky white eyes stared aimlessly at him. “You have no idea what they've accomplished with their enhancements. Or the extent of their mistakes.”
Malvick eased the scrap of cloth in John's good hand. “We both know this will make the journey bearable. But you'll make it. Not just for you and your friend. But for your people.”
Sleep was closing his eyes and concentrating on the color black, or counting backwards from a thousand without effect. A migraine took up permanent residence behind both eyes and the consuming pain that'd robbed him of consciousness earlier, now kept him awake. There'd been a gate on this world right under their noses. If it was true, if he could use the golden ticket that brought him to this galaxy to find a way home, then he could reach down and beat everything back one last time.
A John Sheppard Hail Mary.
His fingers strayed to his pocket, rubbing over the needle-shaped bumps.
Ronon came over with a pair of shoes. “Malvick found these for you.”
“He just happened to have a pair lying around?” John checked the worn-out leather soles and stitching; obviously they'd been manufactured elsewhere. Sliding his sunburned feet into them, he was surprised they were about the right size, and tried not to think about the previous owner while lacing them up.
“You ready?” Ronon asked.
“Yep.”
Ronon supported him under the armpits and slowly helped him get vertical, John's legs shaking as they tried to support his weight. Things went from gray to reddish black, the world tilting, and Ronon held on to him, waited until John stopped swaying. He fought the urge to throw up, breathing as deeply as possible, imagining all those who'd kill to be in his place. All those who'd die just to see the next miserable day.
“Okay,” he grit out. Ronon backed off, still within reach, still too close. John stood on his own, knowing this was just the tip of the iceberg. Get it together. He didn't have any bleeding holes in him, no gaping wounds. “Alright,” he said breathlessly.
Ronon was going to pop his jaw if he clamped it any tighter. John gave him a nod and the whole walking on his own thing was nixed when Ronon wrapped an arm around his waist. “Ow,” John said.
“Sorry,” Ronon mumbled before adjusting things so John could lean on him a bit.
“Ain't this cute. Maybe the beasts will slow down to give us a head start,” Malvick mocked, goggles boring a hole through John. “Come on, we've wasted enough time.”
It really was ridiculous. Ronon used his cane for support while John leaned on his friend's other side. It was like they were in some kind of alien potato sack race without the burlap. Moving mapped out every inch of his busted body, but he was alive to experience it, and that was one second more than any person who died around him ever had. He forced his legs to endure his weight, counted every painful intake of oxygen, and bumped his broken hand against his thigh to focus the pain when the rest of him tried to quit.
John was dragging himself across another damn desert, except this time, he was the one in need of support; anytime Ronon faltered, it nearly brought them both crashing down. John let Ronon lead since he couldn't maintain a straight path. Things got real tunnel-visioned; pain did that, warped all sense of time and distance, made him see and hear odd things. Buzzing then ringing noises. Fractals and starbursts twinkling no matter if his eye was open or closed.
Whenever his body attempted to give in, his ability to berate himself soared to new creative heights.
“Enough.”
“No,” John rasped.
“We need a break,” Ronon insisted.
John shook his head, not knowing if he could ever start again if they stopped.
“I need a break,” Ronon growled, halting their momentum.
John slowly settled down next to a boulder, bones grating, muscles giving out as soon as flesh met stone. He was a living piñata, waiting on the next swing of the baseball bat.
Ronon nudged him. “You okay?”
“No,” John admitted, surprised by his blind honesty.
“Maybe we should--”
“We can't stop for long.” John took a shuddering breath, and exhaled, squinting in the growing dimness. “I'll be good in a few.”
For a moment he thought Malvick had left them, but the walking mountain had done a quick perimeter and had come back to hulk nearby. “Shall I learn a new hobby while you two relax?”
“What's our progress?” John spoke up, noticing Ronon's agitation.
“Not much,” Malvick informed them.
John watched Ronon's eyes do that non-blinking thing when he was about to lose it. He grabbed his friend's wrist, dug his nails in, and felt Malvick take in the whole display. “I'm curious. Why are you here? What crime did you commit?”
“None.”
“Most people in prison are there for a reason.”
“This wasn't always a prison,” Malvick said, staring off in the distance.
“And you know this how?”
“What does it matter?” Malvick asked impatiently.
“Who cares?” Ronon barked.
“Shan'ka, ex-Shan'ka. You were all prisoners of the Saurin, but you're the special one?” John bit off.
Malvick grabbed John by the scruff of his robe, pulling him up and Ronon's knife was instantly under the man's jaw.
“Let him go.”
“Think you're faster?” Malvick challenged Ronon.
“No, but I'll still make you bleed.”
John was sick of Malvick's laugh, but Malvick released him and smiled that big grin of his. “Never said I was a prisoner of the Saurin.”
Ronon caught John before he fell to the ground and helped lower him down.
“What came first, the chicken or the egg?” It was rare to catch anyone off-guard these days and John enjoyed his own private joke. “Not a prisoner, not a guard. Just do the dirty work?”
“I hate what they did to me.”
“Who?” Because John was confused. Why did someone like Malvick live in the Void?
Malvick spat on the ground. “Doesn't matter.”
“Sounds like you have a beef with the Shan'ka. Why? When the Saurin are your enemy?” John wanted to know.
“The Shan'ka were the Saurin. They changed their names after the Great Extermination. When the Saurin left, the Shan'ka adapted to life in the desert.”
“If the Void's better, why didn't they stay there?” Ronon asked.
“Would you live in the ashes of the very place that was your prison?”
“No,” Ronon agreed. “And you stay in the dark because you're sensitive to light?”
“Light don't bother me.”
“How far can you see?”
“Far.”
Ronon growled again and John jumped in. “How...I mean what's it like?”
Malvick looked down at him. “Heat. Emotion. Everything has a different color.”
It was unimaginable. Walking radar and a lie detector rolled in one. Like the fucking Shan'ka. “And the goggles?”
Malvick smiled at John. “Good to hide behind. Puts people ill at ease.”
He might have dug deeper for answers, there was something more to Malvick's hate of the Shan'ka, but there was a dull spoon burrowing into his spine, and to top it all off, all the water he'd been drinking had finally reached a saturation point.
“Hey, buddy?”
Ronon lowered to his haunches. “What's up?”
“Think you could give me a hand?”
“Sure.”
Ronon lifted him by the armpits again and he sagged at first, cursing his weakness. He waited for his equilibrium to right itself and grunted an “okay” which was John Sheppard for 'you can let go.' Too bad Ronon didn't get the translation.
“Now what?”
“I can walk three feet to take a piss,” John argued.
Ronon let go of him, staying a meter away.
John waited, almost hummed, and rolled his eyes when the rest of his body finally caught up to his bladder's demands. What he didn't expect was the sucker punch to the small of his back when he relieved himself. By some miracle he stayed on his feet, the onslaught receding enough to notice the red-tinged sand by his shoes.
“What's wrong?”
Damn Ronon and his sixth sense. “Just gimme a second,” John said over his shoulder.
The timer on their ticking clock just got sped up a notch. Digging through his robe, John fingered the only weapon he had in this whole fubared situation. Maybe it would mask his pain; maybe it'd make him forget how much he hurt. But it'd do something. He fingered ten needles, chewed and swallowed them quickly, his taste buds overcome by a familiar bitterness.
Turning, he shuffled toward Ronon, keeping his voice down. “Think my kidneys are messed up. It's probably best we get moving again.”
Ronon hid his worry with a simple nod and John didn't grumble when they started their three-legged potato sack hobble again.
Hobbling, panting, transcending physical barriers was like the ryoko, a Satedan's test of endurance during a crossroad in life. A warrior went out alone without supplies to hike the salt barrens of Natel for a three day journey to cleanse the soul. Sometimes you carried weights around the ankles and shoulders to fortify the challenge, clarifying your vision. This was Ronon's second such journey; the first was made when he chose continuing in the military instead of attending the university. He'd accepted the wisdom granted from his first ryoko; the current one was a sinister taskmaster, intent on seeing him fail.
He had no problem accepting its harsh teachings, or bowing and admitting he was unworthy of new knowledge if it meant surviving to the gate. Because he was going to carry his CO home and he vowed to live long enough for revenge. Against the Saurin and to exact violence on the Jad.
Sheppard wheezed this odd guttural noise, wavering on his feet, his shoes scraping the ground when Ronon picked up the slack. Pissing blood meant things were broken inside, things that a bandage or water and food couldn't cure.
“You okay?” he asked Sheppard.
But only those whistle breathing sounds responded. They'd been walking for over two thousands steps, further than the settlement. The horizon was charcoal gray and getting darker; the rocky ground no longer reflected the blaring sun like a mirror, but that didn't stop his body from shaking with fatigue.
“Time for another break,” he rasped, a cough threatening to rip through his lungs.
Sheppard was silent, his arm still around Ronon's waist in a frozen grip for life. Once he stopped, it was like one of those rubber bands. Sheppard's feet kept going until the rest of him snapped back and Ronon caught him. “Hey, easy,” he said, lowering him to the ground.
Malvick was out of range, his pace always meters ahead of them. He'd stop eventually, walk and sniff the air, ignoring them for the mere pieces of the puzzle they represented. Ronon hated relying on a man who had lied to them since the beginning for their only means of food and water.
He rolled his sore shoulders, looking over at Sheppard curled on his side. “Think we've made good time.”
Sheppard squinted, rolling onto his back in the same painful way of Ronon's grandfather during his last days. “Sky's getting darker.”
Ronon looked up. “Yeah.”
“That fucking eclipse's still there. Hiding everything. I...I really wished we could see the constellations.”
“You two ready?”
Ronon glanced at their escort, then at Sheppard as he searched for his missing stars. “No. We should eat then we'll go.”
Malvick made grunts of displeasure, but what choice did he have?
Ronon kept searching for signs of a real night, wondering if they'd been swallowed up in a giant cave. “So, the sun never sets in the desert and never rises here?”
“The Void is the only place without the sun. If you walk far enough from the gate, it's waiting for you on the other side,” Malvick snorted.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“Why?”
“Because...” Ronon started, then he thought of planets with really long nights and days. Weeks or even months by Atlantis time, but those were rare. “Outside the Void. The sun has to set at some point. Maybe it just takes a thousand cycles of something.” Maybe hundreds of years? Ronon had never heard of that, but that didn't make it true.
“I've been here my whole life. The sun's never left the sky outside the Void. Moved maybe in different points, but still always there.”
It was a mystery for McKay, but there'd been something else. “You've been past the gate? What's there?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
Malvick turned his head. “If you walk too far past the settlement into deep desert you'll die from the heat.”
“And if you keep walking in the Void?'
“Even before the Great Extermination, I only went north of the compound once. And you don't go through the Void, it gets too cold. You go around the edges. But the whole Void's surrounded by the desert.”
Ronon was going to ask about this extermination, but Malvick outpaced them with four or five quick steps, forging another giant gap between them.
“You doing okay?” he asked Sheppard.
“Baayad beh-ram.”
It was the third time his friend had mumbled in another language and Ronon didn't want to know where his CO thought he was.
He counted the next thousand steps and the next, and wondered if his ryoko's lesson was about repetition, and what one gains from being forced to do the same thing over and over again as he counted his twenty-fifth hundredth footfall.
A small, odd black box and pair of bedrolls waited for them by a crumbling wall of rust-colored rock. Ronon lowered a boneless Sheppard onto the closest bedding and hobbled over to the odd box, his sweat-coated skin shivering in the chilly air. The object gave off a source of heat and he moved it between the both of them, stretching out, his vertebrae popping and cracking like elastic.
“John?”
“Think...I'm beat, buddy.”
At least Ronon understood those words. “Yeah. Same here,” he said, drifting off as soon as his eyes closed.
The aroma of food wafted through the air and Ronon rolled over to a rag covered with recently heated meat strips. Even before he was fully awake, he gnawed at the stringy bits, careful not to bite his own hand, weirded out at how much it tasted like an MRE.
“Get any sleep?” he asked Sheppard.
Sheppard tested his lower jaw with a wince. “What's sleep?”
Ronon snorted, setting aside his meal. He had to take care of business and prep himself for the next phase of their journey. “You need to…you know?”
“Think I can handle it myself,” Sheppard grumped, unable to stand fully on his own.
Ronon stepped in without a word. It was far easier to haul Sheppard up and get him taken care of than the last time. After finishing with his own needs, Ronon shook his head as Sheppard shuffled back unaided. Ronon studied his friend's graying pallor, both black eyes framing the right side of his bludgeoned face.
Ronon returned to his spot, rubbing his hands in front of the heater box. “Don't think we have the proper clothes for the rest of the trip.”
“Based on what Malvick says, I don't think the 'gate is too deep inside the Void. We should be good. If not. I'm sure he'll make things appear,” Sheppard said with a lazy wave of his hand.
“Hmmm. Maybe.”
“Admit it. You admire him,” Sheppard spoke matter of fact. “In that crazy villain type of way.”
“I admire survivors.” The meaning was lost on his CO's vacant stare. Looking down, Ronon pushed the rag of food over. “You didn't finish eating.”
“Breakfast of champions,” Sheppard mumbled, slowly picking through the rest.
Ronon wasn't stupid; he knew what was suppressing Sheppard's appetite and was fully aware of the necessity of certain actions during battle. They were in the fight of their lives. “Does it help?”
Sheppard stiffened. “What?”
He didn't reply; they both knew what Ronon was referring to.
“Help?” Sheppard played with the word with his tongue.
“With the pain?”
“No...it's more like I'm outside myself.” Sheppard gnawed at his scabbed bottom lip. “It...distances the pain. I still feel it...like this continuous echo beating me.” He raised his mangled fingers. “Wish it was stronger to tell you the truth.”
“Why not take more?” Malvick's voice came out if its usual direction of nowhere.
Sheppard actually seemed to consider it and while Ronon was all about sparing his friend obvious suffering, he wasn't going to go about it recklessly. He knew orris was used to control appetite and the Jad pushed it as an escape. Who knew what amount did what? And what was too much?
Ronon stood, cutting off the debate. “We're ready to go.”
“Does go include moving faster?”
When they got to the gate, Ronon considered the best way to pay back Malvick properly for all his aid.
Self doubt was a disease, a cowardly enemy that nibbled at you on the inside, and hid out of striking distance. Maybe they should make a stand, wait for the transport and attack. Ronon had two good hands and Malvick was a proven hunter. But he would risk Sheppard's health, not knowing the extent of his injuries, completing what the Jad had begun.
Ronon sipped his water when he should be sleeping. There was no hiding a heavy limp, his strength waning under hours of his CO's dead weight and their unyielding pace. This was the greatest of ryokos, to keep hauling his friend's damaged body around, a dying shell held together by will and a clouded mind.
Malvick strolled over, wiping dust off his pants. “We're not creating enough distance.”
Ronon didn't reply. There was no going any faster.
“You've been hunted before. I know all the signs.” Malvick coiled like a snake next to Sheppard, taking Ronon's silence as affirmation. “Then you understand how to be the predator. Stalking your prey, soaking in the thrill of the chase, savoring the moment when you both realize you've won. Losing yourself in a rush of violence and euphoria.”
Ronon's heart pounded.
“The beasts have itches in the brain, a fever that robs them of rational thought.” Malvick popped his knuckles. “They've been caged, dissected, and put back together. Words become noise; people represent pain. They kill for a moment's silence that won't ever come. But it's all they have. An insatiable appetite for aggression.” He glanced over at Sheppard. “We need to improvise.”
“We're doing this my way. And if you try anything, Sheppard and I will find the gate on our own,” Ronon threatened.
Malvick stood and for a moment, Ronon thought he was going to challenge him. Instead he walked away, disappearing again into the growing night. Ronon shifted his bedroll next to Sheppard's and slept right next to him, weary of Malvick's growing restlessness.
“Get off your asses!”
Ronon sprung awake, scrambling to his feet before his vision cleared from sleep.
“Move it!” Malvick barked, spinning on his heel as Sheppard stared glaringly up at them.
Ronon was by his friend's side, getting him mobile. “What's going on?” His answer was the clunky transport breaking through the atmosphere, skimming across the Void on its way to dump its live load. “How long do we have?”
“We don't.”
Ronon adjusted Sheppard's arm over his shoulder. “Where's the drop-off point?”
“Behind us, ahead. It changes.”
“How far to the gate!”
“Another cycle, maybe less if we ran the whole time.”
His calf picked this time to spasm, the cramp spreading down Ronon's leg. He gritted his teeth, trying to quell the rest of his body from trembling.
“Carry me.”
Ronon didn't think Sheppard had even been coherent enough to comprehend what was going on. “John.”
“No, I'm slowin' us down.” Sheppard nodded at Malvick. “He's a big boy. I'm sure he could handle it.” Turning to face Ronon, Sheppard looked him directly in the eyes. “It's a strategic risk. The gate's our only escape, but only if we have time to get there. If I aggravate my injuries Keller'll fix me up. But if we die before we reach our objective, it's game over.” His declaration finished, he gave Ronon a pat on the shoulder, disentangling himself from his friend's support.
The facts were simple. They were out of choices.
“Let's do it,” Ronon said, using his CO's famous words.
“Take these.”
Malvick handed Ronon two eight inch blades of steel and he couldn't help admiring the weight and balance. “What about you?”
“Got six more.” Malvick flashed his teeth and if wasn't for the goggles, Ronon would've sworn his eyes were filled with anticipation “Alright. Enough talking.” And he turned to Sheppard. “Be sure to hold on tight.”
Sheppard concealed his pain as he always did while Malvick picked him up, adjusting him across both shoulders. Malvick was smart, hooking his left arm around Sheppard's thigh and wrist, leaving his right hand free. “Come on.”
As they started the last leg of the journey, there was a familiar set of engines in the background, the transport flying ahead and making its second stop east and parallel to their position.
Malvick cursed under his breath. “Guess there's no avoiding them now.”
“Chapter Thirteen”
Author:Kristen999
Word Count: 125,000~
Rating: PG-15
Genre: Gen, Drama, Action, H/C
Characters: Sheppard, Ronon, OCs
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Violence and coarse language
Summary: Stranded on a harsh, desolate world, John and Ronon learn that merely surviving is only half the fight.
Notes: This is not a WIP. A chapter will be posted every other day until complete.
I wanted to thank
d_odyssey for her amazing support and advice during the writing of this. I also wanted to thank my awesome betas wildcat88 and everybetty for their time, patience, and bucket-loads of red ink. It was their honesty and willingness to tear this story apart that allowed it to finally come together. “Previous Chapters”
Feedback is always appreciated.
---
Ronon dreamed of rushing sand, grains abrading his eyes, filling his throat, sucking him into a bottomless pit. He woke with a start, resting a calming hand over his thundering heart, his eyes straying over to his friend.
“John?”
Sheppard slowly craned his neck. “Hey.”
Ronon scooted over a few inches. “How long you been awake?”
It took a moment for Sheppard to answer, as if he had to think long and hard. “Don't know.”
Rolling his shoulders to loosen stiff muscles, Ronon popped his back and scraped the gunk out of his eyes, and found a full dunka pouch next to him. It'd been empty the night before and he wondered if they were being watched. Uncorking the pouch, he swished and swallowed the liquid. “You really should have some of this.”
Sheppard contemplated the water, but his broken right hand lay on his thigh and his left hand was a permanent brace against his side. “Here.” Ronon supported Sheppard's head and neck, waiting for him to take his fill then resting it within reach. “You're gonna have to finish a few of these to replenish what you lost.” Scanning the immediate area, he noticed a larger container sitting in a new spot, knowing it, too, would be full. “We've got plenty. Don't worry about our supply.”
Closing his good eye, Sheppard took a steadying breath. “Status?”
“We're in the outlying area of the Void. Think about two klicks.” There was no point in lying about their situation. “After I found you, I got you to our cave. Malvick was there and he carried you to a pond. Got you cooled down.”
It was unnerving to be greeted by silence, Sheppard's quick mind stunted and slow. “The Void? And we're....okay?"
“Yeah, we're safe.”
Sheppard tried digging in his elbows to get a better view and settled for craning his neck, taking in his surroundings. “The Void,” he repeated. “Must still... be hallucinating.”
“No, you're not imagining things.” Ronon wanted to yank Sheppard out of the deep dark place he was trapped in but squeezed his shoulder instead, offering a rope to hold on to. “You're not out there anymore. I wouldn't have stopped searching.”
It never ceased to amaze Ronon how Sheppard's rules never seemed to apply to himself. But Ronon's words resonated and his friend seemed to pull himself together a little more. “Shouldn't we be dead or something?”
“There's no sign of any enemies or danger.”
“What...what about the Jad?”
No more holding back. “I killed one of them and was followed. Our cave's compromised and we can't return.” Sheppard stared vacantly, processing things. “We have water and shelter. And I was going to search for food.”
“Where's Malvick?”
Good question. Ronon had no clue. “Don't know. He'll be back.” Sheppard wasn't thrilled with that reply, but first things first. “I should check you for injuries.”
“Yeah. Give me a second.” Sheppard lay unmoving, preparing himself by controlling his breathing. “Okay... guess...we should get it over with.”
At some point Malvick had draped a thin blanket over Sheppard and Ronon pushed it away, revealing a badly sunburned chest covered by deep bruising. “Everything's gonna hurt. Just tell me about the really bad parts.”
Ronon wavered, but knew what was at stake. He palpated each rib, waiting for Sheppard's lungs to expand, feeling if the bones moved oddly, and noting the difference between hissed grunts and all-out cries of pain. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
He gently pressed around Sheppard's abdomen, searching for rigidness. Thankfully, it didn't show any signs of internal bleeding, though by the way Sheppard flinched, it was incredibly painful. Sheppard sweated profusely, his good hand clenched in a fist. Ronon checked both legs, noting the swelling down both limbs from being stomped and kicked and the bottoms of both feet were sunburned. Sheppard's pallor had gone from pale to milk white and Ronon gave him time to cope with the pain.
“What's...what's the verdict?”
Ronon wasn't a doctor, but the military was a good teacher and hanging out with Melena and in the Atlantis infirmary had rubbed off. “Think you have three broken ribs and the rest of you is really bruised and banged up.” His eyes strayed to Sheppard's hand. “Don't have any ideas how many fingers are broken.”
“All of 'em?”
Ronon didn't have anything to splint them with and he decided to leave well enough alone. He'd been in enough fights, endured persuasive measures for information to know how a beating could incapacitate a fully healthy person, let alone anyone in Sheppard's state.
“John—”
“Don't want a pep talk.”
“I'm not gonna give you one.” Ronon stared at his friend and Sheppard looked away. “You don't share your burdens. Fine. But they're not always yours alone.” Sighing, he growled, “You think I'm a failure?”
John looked up sharply. “What? No.”
“We've made the same choices.”
“No. We haven't.” And Sheppard was back to staring at the sky.
Ronon studied the vast nothingness of dark gray, wondering if it concealed the stars. “If you'd been the one with a broken leg, I'd have done anything to help us survive.” Sheppard held himself stiffly, making no attempt to engage any further. “I killed one of the Jad. He was unarmed and I couldn’t have cared less. Now we can't return to the cave. Can't trade for water and food. What makes me better than you?”
But the conversation was over; Sheppard closed his eye, ending things with silence.
Words were not Ronon's thing and more than likely he'd mimic his CO's action if the roles were reversed. He remembered what it felt like when his team came for him on Sateda, or how they embraced him after being turned by the Wraith. As much as he’d hated himself, his family never allowed him to fall.
He placed a hand on Sheppard's shoulder which stiffened, but Ronon gave it a light squeeze. “Going to see about finding dinner.”
“’kay.”
Sheppard didn't ask how or where and Ronon wanted to kill the men responsible for silencing his friend's passion. “Give me a signal if you hear anything.”
There was no one within several klicks, but it put Sheppard in a fake position of importance.
His leg protested the strain of standing and Ronon leaned on his cane as his entire limb shook with the effort. He got his blood pumping, scouting the surrounding rocky area, glancing skyward at the ominous blackness looming in the opposite horizon, eyes falling at the approaching figure.
Malvick was in his element on his turf; gone was the robe as he strolled over in a black shirt and pants, dropping a sackful of something at Ronon's boots. “This should take care of food for a while. I know you prefer roasted rodents, but thought you might want something that'd taste better.”
Ronon picked up the bag, surprised to find chunks of tough, shriveled meat. “There's game to hunt here?”
“If you know where to look.”
Stomach growling, Ronon tore into a piece with his teeth, but it was like chewing rotted wood.
“ It ain't fresh.” Malvick smiled. “Heating it makes it softer.”
There wasn't any timber and Ronon had forgotten the flint rock and was in no mood for tests. “Got anything for a fire?”
“No.” Malvick took a seat across from him. “I have something better.” Rolling a pack off his shoulder, he pulled out a small black square that got hot from a set of heating coils. “Ta-da.”
“You get that around here?”
“Out further west.” Malvick carved the meat into strips and placed them over the heat and sprinkled a little water over it form a thin juice. “Got to save time where we can. We need to get a move on soon.”
Ronon's body hummed with new adrenaline. “Why?”
“Because we're leaving Medena.”
Malvick was studying his reaction, but Ronon kept his voice steady. “How?”
“There's an Ancestor ring in the Void and your friend's going to activate it.”
Excitement, suspicion, anger, they bombarded Ronon with a series of punches. “There's a ring here!”
“Yep.”
“Does it work?”
The meat strips sizzled and Malvick flipped them over with his blade. “Not for me. Seen thousands of prisoners come and go. None with the ability to operate Ancestor tech. Until now.”
They were being played and Ronon was deciding how to use the heating plate as a weapon. “The ring doesn't work like that.”
“Don't you you think I haven't tried? Sometimes for cycles at a time!” Malvick growled. “It's different. The Saurin programmed this one to lock out anyone other than those of the Ancestors.”
“You've known about this all along,” Ronon accused.
Malvick's face was impassive, his tinted goggles a constant shield. “I suspected.”
Ronon's temper soared. “And you didn't do anything! Didn't tell us?”
“Do you think he would have left you in that cave? Not knowing if I was telling the truth?” Malvick challenged.
“Yes.”
“You're a liar.” Malvick got into Ronon's face. “He'd die first. Try denying it.”
Ronon met the challenge to his space, dreads nearly in Malvick's face. “That day outside the cave.” When Ronon was going to end things. “If you hadn't said anything, I would have been out of your way.”
Why save him? Why not strike at such a ripe opportunity?
Malvick wasn't quick with his answer, like he'd been caught in a deception. “I only had suspicions before. I didn't confirm his ability 'til later. Besides, he wasn't all right in the head. Who knows what he might have done.”
“Then why'd you wait?”
There. A slight muscle tremor near the jaw line, then Malvick stemmed all emotion. “By the time you were mobile, the balick matches had started. Got to obey the rules.”
“Now who's lying?” Ronon demanded. “You live in the Void. Who cares about the Shan'ka and their laws?” Unless there was more to it. He studied the goggles still masking Malvick's eyes even in the dark, remembered his inhuman agility and speed. “You're one of them. Aren't you?”
Another facial twitch. “No. But I am one of their rejects.”
Whose? The Saurin or Shan'ka?
Malvick licked his fingers, gesturing at the charring meat. “You should eat up. We're not staying.”
All the questions bouncing inside Ronon's head thinned out to a single blaring alarm. “Why?”
“Another transport's due soon. We shouldn't be around when it arrives.”
“The prison ship. What threat does it pose?”
“A large one,” was Malvick's reply. “Gonna scout out the edge, see if your pals were brave or stupid enough to follow you in here. We'll head out when I get back.”
Ronon was on his feet. “We can't move Sheppard yet.”
“This ain't a discussion.”
“No. It's not.” Ronon stood firm, matching Malvick's hostile posture. “There's no way he can walk. And you're not hauling him over your back. Not with his injuries.”
“That didn't seem to stop you earlier.”
“He would have died if we hadn't gotten him cooled down,” Ronon argued, not mentioning that being unconscious spared Sheppard pain.
“He'll be as good as dead if we stay.”
“Tell me why!”
“When I get back, we're leaving,” Malvick declared, dodging the question.
Ronon said all he was going to, staring defiantly. Malvick's body visibly thrummed with tension. “The last I checked your buddy wasn't in good shape. I'm not going to watch the key to escaping this pit die in front of my face. Not when I've allowed myself to believe in something again.”
Malvick turned his back on Ronon, leaving him to battle a storm of unanswered questions and danger. He needed time to think and formulate a plan. Malvick's threat was unspoken. Grabbing the knife from the last slice of meat, Ronon mentally prepared himself for killing the one person who could possibly take them home.
John took in the sounds of his new environment, a dead shroud of nothing punctuated by his own raspy breaths. They were stuck in unknown terrain with him flat out on his back, their only source of intel the very devil who prowled its lands. And if he'd learned anything, it was to look for the knife to the back, and Malvick had dozens of sharp ones.
He swallowed, his jaw a set of crunching rocks with a mule constantly kicking him in the middle of his back. He was on surveillance, but his brain had ideas of going into stand-by mode. The Void terrified the Jad and Spraza alike. Myth or fairytale, there were kernels of truth to all morality tales and the Shan'ka's demonstration of power had proven the locals' fears of them.
But he'd been way off his game and hurt. God, he hurt so much. And he kept thinking about all his mistakes, second guessing every one of his decisions. Finally his body won out, his ability to fight back depleted long ago, and the pain gobbled him up.
John and Ronon sat in a small meeting room after the whirlwind tour of Mengele's lab, Dumma pacing in agitation like McKay on three pots of coffee. He'd dismissed the security team except for two guards, and John already had a plan to take them out if need be.
“I do not understand. With our combined resources, we can harness the Wraith's greatest powers.” Dumma stabbed a finger at John. “Imagine controlling your ships from another room with your mind. Communicating with your troops. And you.” He stared at Ronon. “You're a fierce warrior. What if you could hear sounds for miles, see through any object, run at speeds of machines?”
“Wraith don't do that,” Ronon answered.
Dumma slammed a hand on the table. “But we could! You think Atlantis is a technological marvel? Our cities were more splendid, bristled with more wonders than you could ever imagine!”
“Were? And where are they?” John asked, because the Saurin city was half the size of Atlantis and he didn't see signs of a large population.
Flustered, Dumma stared at John and his head exploded with pain, words drilling into his brain. “You'll regret this, Colonel.” But Dumma's lips hadn't moved until they ticked into a cruel smile at John's discomfort from the mental invasion.
Ronon looked between them and stood up, knocking his chair over. “Don't,” John hissed at his teammate, who sat down grudgingly. Shaking his head, he looked up. “Neat trick.”
“An inherited trait,” Dumma said, lifting his chin. “It's just the beginning of what we could accomplish for the good of our people.”
“You mean the ones you experiment on? All those locked in stasis pods? We won't help.” John waited to be hauled away, thrown in some prison, but Dumma picked the lint off his uniform.
“Very well,” Dumma said and turned, speaking to someone on the radio. “Langurd, escort our guests to the ring. All of them. They are unwelcome.”
John's spidey sense was going nuclear and it must have shown, because Dumma blew out an annoyed breath. “Your people will be unharmed, Colonel. We are not barbarians. We are a civilized people searching for greatness.”
“I've heard that before,” was John's response, but he and Ronon were not being escorted away. ”Civilized, huh? With how many weapons?”
“Protection, Colonel. Nothing more. You're military. I merely appealed to that side of you.”
There didn't seem to be a lot of Saurin to make up a large fighting contingent. But that didn't mean anything. Atlantis proved that with their small, but well-armed units. “I want to talk to my---”
“Colonel Sheppard, this is Woolsey,” his radio squawked.
Dumma waved a hand and John answered it. “I'm here.”
“I have just been pulled out of a meeting...in fact all of us have been gathered together in the Saurin control room. Is there a situation I should be aware of?”
“Are you safe?” John asked.
He could hear Rodney's complaints over the radio and Woolsey talked over them. “Yes, Colonel. I take it you know more than we do?”
Based on Dumma's expression, John wasn't about to go into detail. “Unfortunately.”
“And are you accompanying us?”
“Mr. Woolsey, this is Dumma Morel. Colonel Sheppard and Ronon Dex will be following you shortly.”
“I'd like them to accompany us now,” Woolsey insisted.
“In just a few minutes.”
John tensed, the silence crowding in on them.
“ Colonel Sheppard, this is Teyla. Mr. Woolsey was told to dial out and all of our people have been forced back to Atlantis. I am the last to remain. Shall I...”
“Go, Teyla. I'll explain things when we get there,” John said. Teyla didn't use any distress signals, so their people had returned to Atlantis safely. He turned to their possible captor. “Now what?'
Dumma talked on his radio and finally looked up. “I must take my leave. I have pressing matters to attend to. Dr. Uruh will come in and wipe your memories of what you saw. A simple procedure for security reasons and you'll be on your way.”
“Memory wipe?” John questioned, not liking the sound of that.
“Painless, I assure you. We are not a violent people, Colonel.”
“Not so sure about that,” John mumbled, looking at the weapons the guards carried.
“Force is necessary at times, but we are above senseless bloodshed. Those seeking great knowledge do not stoop to the level of those obsessed with violence. It wastes energy. We merely seek out a greater path.”
John watched Dumma's exit and looked to Ronon who was practically vibrating in his seat. “Atlantis will never know about what's being done here.”
“I know,” John said, disgusted.
“They'll continue their Wraith research. Maybe make it work.”
John followed Ronon's unspoken desire. “We can't--”
“They have thousands of clones!” Ronon growled. “Beckett is a clone.”
Not exactly the same thing, but John got it. Hell, he was just as pissed, but what could they do?
“We can't take any action.”
“Why?” Ronon demanded.
“There are rules.” John cringed at sounding exactly like those who never had their boots on the ground. “We can't go off half cocked.”
“Remember what happened last time people experimented on the Wraith?”
Ronon's words stung and John resisted the ploy. “I said no.”
“Millions died last time. I was right about trying to turn Wraith into humans and I'm right now. You going to listen to me this time?”
John wavered. “This is not a good idea.”
“They never disarmed us,” Ronon whispered.
John still had C4 in his tac vest. “All their data is secured in a single area,” he said under his breath, realization dawning on him. Go commando; commit an act of war on another society. It was reckless and stupid.
“We'd have the element of surprise,” Ronon said with a fake stretch as the guards eyed their private conversation.
Ronon's gun could be set on stun. “You have the layout memorized?” John caught himself asking.
“Yep.”
“I don't know, big guy.”
“We can't let them keep working. We have one shot at this.”
Everything screamed at John to stand his ground, but his hands patted down his vest. “This has to go down as one of my dumbest moves ever.”
“You don't have to come.”
John shot Ronon a look, rising to his feet, both guards getting antsy. “Got a plan?”
“No, but you'll think of one.”
John jerked awake, memories of their impromptu sabotage sharp and noisy in his head. Gasping for air nearly tore him apart inside. He curled in around the pain, the movement stretching all his battered muscles. He longed for the ground to swallow him up and cursed his cowardice. He fell asleep when he was supposed to have been on watch. Opening his good eye, the world spun in blurry grays, every fiber of his being one gigantic spasm. Then it hit him. All the fists to his face and head, all the soft and hard leather smashing down on him. The boot grinding his fingers into the dirt with three methodical twists.
He'd allowed the Jad to work him over, had welcomed the numbing blackness, wishing his internal fuse would have gone out. And during those few minutes of semi-consciousness, he'd lain there waiting for the sun to finish him off.
“Your friend is dead.”
Rolling to his side, he searched for Ronon, his brain a block of Swiss cheese. Ronon wouldn't have given in like that. Now they were stranded in hostile territory, unable to flee because of John's mistake. His mouth was parched, his head dizzy from dehydration, and he reached for the dunka pouch with his left fingers. He groaned when his ribs moved, his tender muscles protesting with fireworks. But nothing could compete with the throbbing of his broken hand, the minutes ticking by like the tightening of a metal vise grating bones into nerves.
He was on his back again, riding the tsunami crashing into him, the dunka pouch shaking. Water dribbled out all over his face and he flailed to keep the pouch stable, accidentally knocking it over. He tried stopping it from spilling over the ground, reaching out with his busted fingers. “Fuck!”
Squeezing his eye closed, crimson blossomed behind his lids and he banged his good hand into the ground again and again.
“Sheppard!”
Something grabbed his wrist and dreads scratched his face, red fading into Ronon's frantic eyes. “What are you doing?”
John ripped his arm away. “Nothing. I...” He gasped for breath, agony's fingertips clawing inside his chest. “Nothing,” he repeated.
“Saying it doesn't make it true. I know.”
Reiterating it worked for John. It always had.
“Nothing,” he whispered to no effect.
Ronon checked the heating plate and poked at the strip of frying meat, wondering how Malvick preserved it like that. Salt maybe? He needed to boil it into a stew that Sheppard could eat with his swollen jaw. They hadn't spoken since he found his CO---losing his shit? McKay's voice echoed in his head and he dismissed it, conjuring Teyla's quiet expression instead. He missed his friends' counsel and support. Their jokes and laughs, even the pointless disagreements. He placed the memories on a shelf inside his head; such platitudes were as damaging as they were joyous.
He went over to check on Sheppard. “You’re gonna have to sit up.”
Sheppard's one eye rolled around, studying the best way to get mobile and Ronon knelt down beside him. “Let me help.” His CO acquiesced and Ronon supported Sheppard's shoulders, slowly easing him into a sitting position. “Breathe,” he whispered at the shuddering gasps.
Allowing Sheppard a moment to get acclimated, Ronon held him up by the arm pits. “Ready to scoot back?”
There was a slight nod and Ronon eased Sheppard the few inches to the wall, his friend panting from the effort, “M'good.”
Falling over sideways was a real possibility, so Ronon waited, and when Sheppard managed to stay upright for a few minutes, he brought over the pot of stew. Sheppard gave him this look, this don't you dare feed me expression and Ronon settled at balancing the pot between Sheppard's knees.
Watching a friend struggle for independence was disrespectful;he turned his back, hackles rising at sensing a familiar return. His mind was in flux, allowing the moment to dictate his action, knife hidden under his robe. “Malvick's back,” Ronon announced, causing Sheppard to pause mid-sip. “Gonna see if he's ready to share some answers.”
Ronon failed to mention that part of the conversation would be made out of earshot, striding over to meet the other man. “Well?”
“No search teams,” Malvick replied.
“I thought everyone's too afraid to enter here?”
“They are.” Malvick eyed Sheppard all propped up. “I see we're almost ready.”
The knife offered Ronon little comfort, forcing him to think of dishonorable acts. “No.”
“It's not a request.”
“Food and shelter aren't substitutions for loyalty.” Ronon waited, finding an opening. “You've said that we're alike. Then tell me why I should listen to you. Why didn't you ask us for help?”
Malvick Adam's apple bobbed in a quiet tug-of-war. “I didn't think you'd agree.”
“That's your reason!”
“Have you looked around?” Malvick snarled, sweeping his hands. “Who does sumthin' for nothing? No one. There's always an agenda. Always a double cross.”
“Not if you talked about an escape!”
“To follow me into the Void?” Malvick's deep laughed bounced off the mountain. “When I first had my suspicions, I wasn't gonna offer a choice. If your pal didn't agree, no problem. I'm much bigger,” he chuckled. “I'd drag him along if I had to. But I knew. No way would he help without you. Even if I put a knife to his throat, he'd refuse.” Turning his back, Malvick said, “Just like I know you plan on using a knife on me if I force him to go now.”
Ronon couldn't believe his ears, but deep down he understood. He remembered when Beckett offered to cut the tracker out of his back and he’d expected to be attacked as soon as he released Teyla as a hostage. Nothing was free without leverage.
“How long have you been here?” Ronon knew time destroyed all sense of trust. Killed hope.
This time Malvick looked away. “Too long.”
“What do the prison transports do in the Void?”
Malvick walked in a small circle, stopping in front of Ronon. “Drop off all their failures. All those too messed up to use. And too scary to control.”
Ronon stared at him. “Their own people?”
“They won't get their hands dirty with killing. Me, on the other hand, that's my job.” Malvick pulled out a blade and tapped it on his hip. “See, I am a liar. I don't hang out with the beasts. I hunt 'em down and put them out of their misery.”
“You've killed them all?” Ronon couldn't even guess such numbers.
Maybe the goggles hid Malvick's guilt, or maybe he didn't feel anything at all. “Don't waste your energy feeling sorry for them. They ain't innocent anymore. Some of them could rip your head off with their bare hands. Others could track you halfway across the desert with their sense of smell. And a few, well, they're barely human at all.”
“Like Michael's experiments,” Ronon breathed.
“Don't know him.”
“That's why no one enters the Void? Even if there's water here?”
There. Another odd facial twitch. “Most don't have the skills to find a path through the mountain. And if you ever saw what the beasts have done to those who've tried. You'd be scared, too. A few are lucky enough to escape and share what they've witnessed. Besides, you'd have to live long enough to discover the water. After enough people enter the Void and don't return. Well, lesson learned.”
Like the Shan'ka and their use of 'deterrents'. There was more to it, but Ronon didn't press.
Malvick nodded in Sheppard's direction. “Don't think he's going to be fighting off wild beasts anytime soon. You're lucky to have me, because time's almost out.”
Ronon's chest tightened at his choice. “How long?”
“A couple cycles. Maybe more. It'll take that long to reach the ring with him, walking or not.”
Sheppard didn't have the strength to move, and carrying him could puncture a lung. “We're waiting. Give him time to get ready.”
“Dead men can't operate the ring.”
“He can't do it!” Ronon growled.
“Oh, I don't know. I think you underestimate what he can do with a little persuasion.” Malvick gave a tight smile, fully at ease again. “Why don't you ask him? And while you're at it, ask him about what's possible when using orris.”
John ate the stew despite the chewy bits, his belly twisting hungrily in relief. He licked the brown juice at his lips, the clay pot cradled against his sunburned chest, catching bits of angry words carried by the wind. They had to withdraw, he got that much, no doubt his injuries a hindrance to a speedy retreat. Mistakes were like cockroaches, resistant, able to multiply and swarm. He'd been captured, submitted, and yet lived long enough to be a liability.
Or maybe he was the cockroach, allowed to skitter around to spread disease and destruction. It didn't matter with so much at stake. Not that he knew what those stakes were. He hated this, his head fuzzy, ideas and thoughts evaporating out his ears.
Ronon came over, fatigue pronounced in all his movements. Sitting down next to John, he stretched out his bad leg, fingers absently massaging the muscles. “Sheppard.”
John listened to the latest briefing about threat assessments and mission goals. Facts and objectives drawing him out of his haze. He was left with more questions than answers, his mind in tactical mode. The Void was in constant nightfall with little visibility. “How far to the gate?'
“Few days.”
“That with or without me?”
“There is no without you,” Ronon said with a glare.
“Right. Because I'm the only one who can activate it.” John took a deep breath, testing his endurance and failing miserably.
“We can wait a day or two.”
“And risk being overrun by...” By what, John? Human experiments? Frankenstein and Igor? “I don't want to be forced to defend ourselves against victims of the Saurins. No, we'll go--”
“After we sleep.”
He didn't want to sleep; he wanted to leave, to do anything instead of lie here. Ronon was giving him that no backing down look and John had already lost too many battles. “Okay,” he relented, wondering when he'd ever win another round again. John was handed a fresh dunka pouch, and he nearly downed the whole thing with a few gulps.
Ronon broadcasted an obvious ‘we need to talk’ vibe. “What?” John grunted.
“We've all done things we want to forget. But when you can smell the blood on your hands, hear those you killed in your dreams, you'd do anything to forget.”
“This supposed to lull me to sleep?” Because John really wanted Ronon to shut up.
“We've all found ways to get through stuff when there's no way out. But you don't have to face your demons alone, John. This isn't Atlantis and there are no reports to fill out.”
There was a hand on his shoulder and John actually longed for the human contact, allowed himself to accept what was offered. And felt himself break a little.
Ronon dipped down to his ear. “Just you, me, a keg of ale, and a set of bantos sticks when we get home. Then you're telling me everything.”
“Okay,” John breathed. “Think I could handle that.”
“Going to find Malvick. See about our supply situation.”
Ronon disappeared into the dusky shadows and John wondered who was kidding who about the three day journey. He hadn't even managed standing up yet.
“Guess he doesn't have a strong backbone.” Malvick came out and plopped down, sitting with his legs sprawled out. “Didn't picture him as the non-confrontational type.”
John's body pulsated from one pain or another and he was too exhausted to play mind games. “What do you want?”
“I want revenge. I want to see the sun set and rise one last time.” Malvick placed his hands behind his head and leaned against the rock. “I want to see your people stop the Saurin. Makes you wonder, what's been going on this whole time while you've been gone.”
Thinking about Atlantis only brought on depression. “Haven't really thought about it.”
“Their technology and ambitions pose a real threat. If your world didn't ally with them, makes you enemies.” Malvick waited, allowed the words to fester. “I could help, you know. Once we escaped.”
“How's that?”
“I'll tell you all about their past, their secrets. Their weakness.” Malvick's big hand fished around a pocket and pulled out a shred of fabric. “I have this. We both know you can't hack it. Not a reflection on you, but do you really want your final mission to fall apart?” Pulling his goggles down, milky white eyes stared aimlessly at him. “You have no idea what they've accomplished with their enhancements. Or the extent of their mistakes.”
Malvick eased the scrap of cloth in John's good hand. “We both know this will make the journey bearable. But you'll make it. Not just for you and your friend. But for your people.”
Sleep was closing his eyes and concentrating on the color black, or counting backwards from a thousand without effect. A migraine took up permanent residence behind both eyes and the consuming pain that'd robbed him of consciousness earlier, now kept him awake. There'd been a gate on this world right under their noses. If it was true, if he could use the golden ticket that brought him to this galaxy to find a way home, then he could reach down and beat everything back one last time.
A John Sheppard Hail Mary.
His fingers strayed to his pocket, rubbing over the needle-shaped bumps.
Ronon came over with a pair of shoes. “Malvick found these for you.”
“He just happened to have a pair lying around?” John checked the worn-out leather soles and stitching; obviously they'd been manufactured elsewhere. Sliding his sunburned feet into them, he was surprised they were about the right size, and tried not to think about the previous owner while lacing them up.
“You ready?” Ronon asked.
“Yep.”
Ronon supported him under the armpits and slowly helped him get vertical, John's legs shaking as they tried to support his weight. Things went from gray to reddish black, the world tilting, and Ronon held on to him, waited until John stopped swaying. He fought the urge to throw up, breathing as deeply as possible, imagining all those who'd kill to be in his place. All those who'd die just to see the next miserable day.
“Okay,” he grit out. Ronon backed off, still within reach, still too close. John stood on his own, knowing this was just the tip of the iceberg. Get it together. He didn't have any bleeding holes in him, no gaping wounds. “Alright,” he said breathlessly.
Ronon was going to pop his jaw if he clamped it any tighter. John gave him a nod and the whole walking on his own thing was nixed when Ronon wrapped an arm around his waist. “Ow,” John said.
“Sorry,” Ronon mumbled before adjusting things so John could lean on him a bit.
“Ain't this cute. Maybe the beasts will slow down to give us a head start,” Malvick mocked, goggles boring a hole through John. “Come on, we've wasted enough time.”
It really was ridiculous. Ronon used his cane for support while John leaned on his friend's other side. It was like they were in some kind of alien potato sack race without the burlap. Moving mapped out every inch of his busted body, but he was alive to experience it, and that was one second more than any person who died around him ever had. He forced his legs to endure his weight, counted every painful intake of oxygen, and bumped his broken hand against his thigh to focus the pain when the rest of him tried to quit.
John was dragging himself across another damn desert, except this time, he was the one in need of support; anytime Ronon faltered, it nearly brought them both crashing down. John let Ronon lead since he couldn't maintain a straight path. Things got real tunnel-visioned; pain did that, warped all sense of time and distance, made him see and hear odd things. Buzzing then ringing noises. Fractals and starbursts twinkling no matter if his eye was open or closed.
Whenever his body attempted to give in, his ability to berate himself soared to new creative heights.
“Enough.”
“No,” John rasped.
“We need a break,” Ronon insisted.
John shook his head, not knowing if he could ever start again if they stopped.
“I need a break,” Ronon growled, halting their momentum.
John slowly settled down next to a boulder, bones grating, muscles giving out as soon as flesh met stone. He was a living piñata, waiting on the next swing of the baseball bat.
Ronon nudged him. “You okay?”
“No,” John admitted, surprised by his blind honesty.
“Maybe we should--”
“We can't stop for long.” John took a shuddering breath, and exhaled, squinting in the growing dimness. “I'll be good in a few.”
For a moment he thought Malvick had left them, but the walking mountain had done a quick perimeter and had come back to hulk nearby. “Shall I learn a new hobby while you two relax?”
“What's our progress?” John spoke up, noticing Ronon's agitation.
“Not much,” Malvick informed them.
John watched Ronon's eyes do that non-blinking thing when he was about to lose it. He grabbed his friend's wrist, dug his nails in, and felt Malvick take in the whole display. “I'm curious. Why are you here? What crime did you commit?”
“None.”
“Most people in prison are there for a reason.”
“This wasn't always a prison,” Malvick said, staring off in the distance.
“And you know this how?”
“What does it matter?” Malvick asked impatiently.
“Who cares?” Ronon barked.
“Shan'ka, ex-Shan'ka. You were all prisoners of the Saurin, but you're the special one?” John bit off.
Malvick grabbed John by the scruff of his robe, pulling him up and Ronon's knife was instantly under the man's jaw.
“Let him go.”
“Think you're faster?” Malvick challenged Ronon.
“No, but I'll still make you bleed.”
John was sick of Malvick's laugh, but Malvick released him and smiled that big grin of his. “Never said I was a prisoner of the Saurin.”
Ronon caught John before he fell to the ground and helped lower him down.
“What came first, the chicken or the egg?” It was rare to catch anyone off-guard these days and John enjoyed his own private joke. “Not a prisoner, not a guard. Just do the dirty work?”
“I hate what they did to me.”
“Who?” Because John was confused. Why did someone like Malvick live in the Void?
Malvick spat on the ground. “Doesn't matter.”
“Sounds like you have a beef with the Shan'ka. Why? When the Saurin are your enemy?” John wanted to know.
“The Shan'ka were the Saurin. They changed their names after the Great Extermination. When the Saurin left, the Shan'ka adapted to life in the desert.”
“If the Void's better, why didn't they stay there?” Ronon asked.
“Would you live in the ashes of the very place that was your prison?”
“No,” Ronon agreed. “And you stay in the dark because you're sensitive to light?”
“Light don't bother me.”
“How far can you see?”
“Far.”
Ronon growled again and John jumped in. “How...I mean what's it like?”
Malvick looked down at him. “Heat. Emotion. Everything has a different color.”
It was unimaginable. Walking radar and a lie detector rolled in one. Like the fucking Shan'ka. “And the goggles?”
Malvick smiled at John. “Good to hide behind. Puts people ill at ease.”
He might have dug deeper for answers, there was something more to Malvick's hate of the Shan'ka, but there was a dull spoon burrowing into his spine, and to top it all off, all the water he'd been drinking had finally reached a saturation point.
“Hey, buddy?”
Ronon lowered to his haunches. “What's up?”
“Think you could give me a hand?”
“Sure.”
Ronon lifted him by the armpits again and he sagged at first, cursing his weakness. He waited for his equilibrium to right itself and grunted an “okay” which was John Sheppard for 'you can let go.' Too bad Ronon didn't get the translation.
“Now what?”
“I can walk three feet to take a piss,” John argued.
Ronon let go of him, staying a meter away.
John waited, almost hummed, and rolled his eyes when the rest of his body finally caught up to his bladder's demands. What he didn't expect was the sucker punch to the small of his back when he relieved himself. By some miracle he stayed on his feet, the onslaught receding enough to notice the red-tinged sand by his shoes.
“What's wrong?”
Damn Ronon and his sixth sense. “Just gimme a second,” John said over his shoulder.
The timer on their ticking clock just got sped up a notch. Digging through his robe, John fingered the only weapon he had in this whole fubared situation. Maybe it would mask his pain; maybe it'd make him forget how much he hurt. But it'd do something. He fingered ten needles, chewed and swallowed them quickly, his taste buds overcome by a familiar bitterness.
Turning, he shuffled toward Ronon, keeping his voice down. “Think my kidneys are messed up. It's probably best we get moving again.”
Ronon hid his worry with a simple nod and John didn't grumble when they started their three-legged potato sack hobble again.
Hobbling, panting, transcending physical barriers was like the ryoko, a Satedan's test of endurance during a crossroad in life. A warrior went out alone without supplies to hike the salt barrens of Natel for a three day journey to cleanse the soul. Sometimes you carried weights around the ankles and shoulders to fortify the challenge, clarifying your vision. This was Ronon's second such journey; the first was made when he chose continuing in the military instead of attending the university. He'd accepted the wisdom granted from his first ryoko; the current one was a sinister taskmaster, intent on seeing him fail.
He had no problem accepting its harsh teachings, or bowing and admitting he was unworthy of new knowledge if it meant surviving to the gate. Because he was going to carry his CO home and he vowed to live long enough for revenge. Against the Saurin and to exact violence on the Jad.
Sheppard wheezed this odd guttural noise, wavering on his feet, his shoes scraping the ground when Ronon picked up the slack. Pissing blood meant things were broken inside, things that a bandage or water and food couldn't cure.
“You okay?” he asked Sheppard.
But only those whistle breathing sounds responded. They'd been walking for over two thousands steps, further than the settlement. The horizon was charcoal gray and getting darker; the rocky ground no longer reflected the blaring sun like a mirror, but that didn't stop his body from shaking with fatigue.
“Time for another break,” he rasped, a cough threatening to rip through his lungs.
Sheppard was silent, his arm still around Ronon's waist in a frozen grip for life. Once he stopped, it was like one of those rubber bands. Sheppard's feet kept going until the rest of him snapped back and Ronon caught him. “Hey, easy,” he said, lowering him to the ground.
Malvick was out of range, his pace always meters ahead of them. He'd stop eventually, walk and sniff the air, ignoring them for the mere pieces of the puzzle they represented. Ronon hated relying on a man who had lied to them since the beginning for their only means of food and water.
He rolled his sore shoulders, looking over at Sheppard curled on his side. “Think we've made good time.”
Sheppard squinted, rolling onto his back in the same painful way of Ronon's grandfather during his last days. “Sky's getting darker.”
Ronon looked up. “Yeah.”
“That fucking eclipse's still there. Hiding everything. I...I really wished we could see the constellations.”
“You two ready?”
Ronon glanced at their escort, then at Sheppard as he searched for his missing stars. “No. We should eat then we'll go.”
Malvick made grunts of displeasure, but what choice did he have?
Ronon kept searching for signs of a real night, wondering if they'd been swallowed up in a giant cave. “So, the sun never sets in the desert and never rises here?”
“The Void is the only place without the sun. If you walk far enough from the gate, it's waiting for you on the other side,” Malvick snorted.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“Why?”
“Because...” Ronon started, then he thought of planets with really long nights and days. Weeks or even months by Atlantis time, but those were rare. “Outside the Void. The sun has to set at some point. Maybe it just takes a thousand cycles of something.” Maybe hundreds of years? Ronon had never heard of that, but that didn't make it true.
“I've been here my whole life. The sun's never left the sky outside the Void. Moved maybe in different points, but still always there.”
It was a mystery for McKay, but there'd been something else. “You've been past the gate? What's there?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
Malvick turned his head. “If you walk too far past the settlement into deep desert you'll die from the heat.”
“And if you keep walking in the Void?'
“Even before the Great Extermination, I only went north of the compound once. And you don't go through the Void, it gets too cold. You go around the edges. But the whole Void's surrounded by the desert.”
Ronon was going to ask about this extermination, but Malvick outpaced them with four or five quick steps, forging another giant gap between them.
“You doing okay?” he asked Sheppard.
“Baayad beh-ram.”
It was the third time his friend had mumbled in another language and Ronon didn't want to know where his CO thought he was.
He counted the next thousand steps and the next, and wondered if his ryoko's lesson was about repetition, and what one gains from being forced to do the same thing over and over again as he counted his twenty-fifth hundredth footfall.
A small, odd black box and pair of bedrolls waited for them by a crumbling wall of rust-colored rock. Ronon lowered a boneless Sheppard onto the closest bedding and hobbled over to the odd box, his sweat-coated skin shivering in the chilly air. The object gave off a source of heat and he moved it between the both of them, stretching out, his vertebrae popping and cracking like elastic.
“John?”
“Think...I'm beat, buddy.”
At least Ronon understood those words. “Yeah. Same here,” he said, drifting off as soon as his eyes closed.
The aroma of food wafted through the air and Ronon rolled over to a rag covered with recently heated meat strips. Even before he was fully awake, he gnawed at the stringy bits, careful not to bite his own hand, weirded out at how much it tasted like an MRE.
“Get any sleep?” he asked Sheppard.
Sheppard tested his lower jaw with a wince. “What's sleep?”
Ronon snorted, setting aside his meal. He had to take care of business and prep himself for the next phase of their journey. “You need to…you know?”
“Think I can handle it myself,” Sheppard grumped, unable to stand fully on his own.
Ronon stepped in without a word. It was far easier to haul Sheppard up and get him taken care of than the last time. After finishing with his own needs, Ronon shook his head as Sheppard shuffled back unaided. Ronon studied his friend's graying pallor, both black eyes framing the right side of his bludgeoned face.
Ronon returned to his spot, rubbing his hands in front of the heater box. “Don't think we have the proper clothes for the rest of the trip.”
“Based on what Malvick says, I don't think the 'gate is too deep inside the Void. We should be good. If not. I'm sure he'll make things appear,” Sheppard said with a lazy wave of his hand.
“Hmmm. Maybe.”
“Admit it. You admire him,” Sheppard spoke matter of fact. “In that crazy villain type of way.”
“I admire survivors.” The meaning was lost on his CO's vacant stare. Looking down, Ronon pushed the rag of food over. “You didn't finish eating.”
“Breakfast of champions,” Sheppard mumbled, slowly picking through the rest.
Ronon wasn't stupid; he knew what was suppressing Sheppard's appetite and was fully aware of the necessity of certain actions during battle. They were in the fight of their lives. “Does it help?”
Sheppard stiffened. “What?”
He didn't reply; they both knew what Ronon was referring to.
“Help?” Sheppard played with the word with his tongue.
“With the pain?”
“No...it's more like I'm outside myself.” Sheppard gnawed at his scabbed bottom lip. “It...distances the pain. I still feel it...like this continuous echo beating me.” He raised his mangled fingers. “Wish it was stronger to tell you the truth.”
“Why not take more?” Malvick's voice came out if its usual direction of nowhere.
Sheppard actually seemed to consider it and while Ronon was all about sparing his friend obvious suffering, he wasn't going to go about it recklessly. He knew orris was used to control appetite and the Jad pushed it as an escape. Who knew what amount did what? And what was too much?
Ronon stood, cutting off the debate. “We're ready to go.”
“Does go include moving faster?”
When they got to the gate, Ronon considered the best way to pay back Malvick properly for all his aid.
Self doubt was a disease, a cowardly enemy that nibbled at you on the inside, and hid out of striking distance. Maybe they should make a stand, wait for the transport and attack. Ronon had two good hands and Malvick was a proven hunter. But he would risk Sheppard's health, not knowing the extent of his injuries, completing what the Jad had begun.
Ronon sipped his water when he should be sleeping. There was no hiding a heavy limp, his strength waning under hours of his CO's dead weight and their unyielding pace. This was the greatest of ryokos, to keep hauling his friend's damaged body around, a dying shell held together by will and a clouded mind.
Malvick strolled over, wiping dust off his pants. “We're not creating enough distance.”
Ronon didn't reply. There was no going any faster.
“You've been hunted before. I know all the signs.” Malvick coiled like a snake next to Sheppard, taking Ronon's silence as affirmation. “Then you understand how to be the predator. Stalking your prey, soaking in the thrill of the chase, savoring the moment when you both realize you've won. Losing yourself in a rush of violence and euphoria.”
Ronon's heart pounded.
“The beasts have itches in the brain, a fever that robs them of rational thought.” Malvick popped his knuckles. “They've been caged, dissected, and put back together. Words become noise; people represent pain. They kill for a moment's silence that won't ever come. But it's all they have. An insatiable appetite for aggression.” He glanced over at Sheppard. “We need to improvise.”
“We're doing this my way. And if you try anything, Sheppard and I will find the gate on our own,” Ronon threatened.
Malvick stood and for a moment, Ronon thought he was going to challenge him. Instead he walked away, disappearing again into the growing night. Ronon shifted his bedroll next to Sheppard's and slept right next to him, weary of Malvick's growing restlessness.
“Get off your asses!”
Ronon sprung awake, scrambling to his feet before his vision cleared from sleep.
“Move it!” Malvick barked, spinning on his heel as Sheppard stared glaringly up at them.
Ronon was by his friend's side, getting him mobile. “What's going on?” His answer was the clunky transport breaking through the atmosphere, skimming across the Void on its way to dump its live load. “How long do we have?”
“We don't.”
Ronon adjusted Sheppard's arm over his shoulder. “Where's the drop-off point?”
“Behind us, ahead. It changes.”
“How far to the gate!”
“Another cycle, maybe less if we ran the whole time.”
His calf picked this time to spasm, the cramp spreading down Ronon's leg. He gritted his teeth, trying to quell the rest of his body from trembling.
“Carry me.”
Ronon didn't think Sheppard had even been coherent enough to comprehend what was going on. “John.”
“No, I'm slowin' us down.” Sheppard nodded at Malvick. “He's a big boy. I'm sure he could handle it.” Turning to face Ronon, Sheppard looked him directly in the eyes. “It's a strategic risk. The gate's our only escape, but only if we have time to get there. If I aggravate my injuries Keller'll fix me up. But if we die before we reach our objective, it's game over.” His declaration finished, he gave Ronon a pat on the shoulder, disentangling himself from his friend's support.
The facts were simple. They were out of choices.
“Let's do it,” Ronon said, using his CO's famous words.
“Take these.”
Malvick handed Ronon two eight inch blades of steel and he couldn't help admiring the weight and balance. “What about you?”
“Got six more.” Malvick flashed his teeth and if wasn't for the goggles, Ronon would've sworn his eyes were filled with anticipation “Alright. Enough talking.” And he turned to Sheppard. “Be sure to hold on tight.”
Sheppard concealed his pain as he always did while Malvick picked him up, adjusting him across both shoulders. Malvick was smart, hooking his left arm around Sheppard's thigh and wrist, leaving his right hand free. “Come on.”
As they started the last leg of the journey, there was a familiar set of engines in the background, the transport flying ahead and making its second stop east and parallel to their position.
Malvick cursed under his breath. “Guess there's no avoiding them now.”
“Chapter Thirteen”
