Ways And Means

[Day 8 – Death to Adverbs]

Between the time Ronon passed through the liquid mouth of the Ancestor’s Ring on the last planet and the instant he stepped onto terra firma of the next planet there was only a moment for one thought: it had been a good killing day. Five Wraith dead! Within the next minutes his mind was consumed with appraising the situation in his new locale.

As often was the case, the Ring of the Ancestors, set in an open field, was surrounded by the wooded beauty of the orb’s natural environment. Sometimes, though not often, he was met by a contingent of the inhabitants guarding the vicinity. His predicament warranted that no people be near as he arrived. The past had taught Dex the consequences of accepting the hospitality of residents. Having spent a night in a village on one world to eat and sleep, he later discovered that the Wraith had repaid their generosity to him by destroying the entire village. That lesson need only be learned once.

Scanning the immediate region, finding it empty of locals, Ronon circled around behind the Ring, disappearing into the cover of the trees bordering the field. He knelt down, watching, listening, smelling, and taking inventory.

Before life irrevocably changed for him, Ronon Dex had been one of the military elite. The governments of Sateda used The Ring of the Ancestors to travel to other worlds for trade and other needs and while some existed, Sateda’s space travel programs were sorely lacking in funds. Thus, whenever the Wraith came knocking little could be done to protect the planet on a ship to ship basis and once Ronon had been caught in the Wraith dart’s beam, he had no idea what had become of the others on his world.

For seven long years, running, Ronon had dialed so many different addresses, which he used prior to this time as a soldier on Sateda. It was easy at first to recall what worlds he automatically knew but time blurred his memory, as did the lack of sleep and his suddenly compact universe of staying one step ahead of the enemy. Where he was now could have been any number of places he’d known back in the days before what he came to think of as the final culling.

Nothing on this planet looked familiar. The disadvantage was any harm which might befall a population who would unwittingly get the fallout from his own tactics while the advantage was his strategies would change with new terrain. Time was of the essence. Soon the skies would echo back the raucous sound of the engines from the Wraith Darts and the game would start all over again.

As he inspected his surroundings, Ronon noted that there had been some recent foot traffic, though this section of the forest had less than that which was closer to the Ancient Ring. Weariness was his greatest obstacle during these times of setting the traps for the next round of Wraith warriors.

It was this same exhaustion which allowed Ronon to either ignore signs of planetary population or simply not see them. Rigging his final trap, the rising of a bird from the branches overhead and the snapping of a twig drew his attention to movement in near-by bushes. Ronon stepped behind a tree and stood quietly waiting to hear the telltale sounds that he was being watched and followed. He knew it is not Wraith. The whine of the ship had not yet broken the silence.

Within moments a young boy rounded the bend in the trail, stopping and searching, as Ronon had done when first arriving. Almost in imitation of what Dex recalled doing, the boy knelt down and examined the soil, tracing with his finger the print Ronon’s own boot left. Not wanting to scare the youngster, Ronon remained quiet, watching, almost smiling.

At that moment the scream of the Wraith Dart’s engine started as an indefinable far off whirring but Ronon knew it better than any sound. His reflex action startled the boy who looked back over his shoulder at what seemed to be a figure from an age far gone. The wildness in Ronon’s mud splattered face, eyes flashing anger and his towering tattered hulk raised an equal squeal from the younger’s lips. Reaching out, Dex snatched the boy off his feet and covered his mouth with a large dirt crusted hand. “Shhhhhhhhhh” he said quietly, waiting for the flailing to slow down. With one ear listening to the sound of the nearing vessel, Ronon knelt down, releasing the child. “You don’t belong here.” Ronon hissed. “Go back to your people, now.”

The young boy was already running back down the path he’d taken when following Ronon. The sound of the Dart filled the air and a look of panic transformed quickly into utter terror as the kid recognized the dreaded culling ship’s wail. “Tell them the Wraith have come!” Ronon called after the fleeing youth.

Not awaiting the hoped for kill to land, Ronon Dex raced toward the Ancestor’s Ring again, hoping to detour the ship’s course once they lost his signal here. Their interest was only with their runner. It would not take them long to pick up his blip on their monitors when he stepped through the Ring on yet another planet.