Debriefings were protocol, no matter how uneventful the mission; the irksome task of rehashing things for the formal report was just another layer of bureaucracy. Ronon was glad that he wasn't formally part of the Atlantis military; too much red tape. Once the team came through the 'gate, the details of what had transpired would wait until a complete medical exam. A quick, it was a trap and, no, we don't know whose would suffice until everyone was tended to; another rule after a hostile encounter. Weir wasn't even there to greet them which was odd, although not a major blip on his radar.
Ronon wasn't injured and, while he understood the necessity of post check ups, the tediousness of it could wear on him from time to time. McKay was given a gurney ride to the infirmary, complaining about his foot the entire time. The man's whines died away as a four wheeled escort was faster than two legs. Normally he'd hang back out of the way, but his CO had taken a pretty nasty looking blow to the head. While the colonel remained upright the entire way back, Sheppard wasn't as steady on his feet as he wanted people to believe.
The man hated unwanted attention as much as Ronon did. If you could walk and your wound wasn't bleeding profusely, then it could wait. Like Sheppard, that philosophy applied only to his own well being. He walked casually next to the man until they reached Beckett's corner of the base where they were treated to the end of one of McKay's diatribes as the Doc and a nurse examined him.
"Ow! Will you stop pressing on it and give me some pain medication," Rodney growled, laying on the gurney.
"I have to examine the punctures and if ya would stop wiggling around so much, this would go a lot quicker," Carson explained, prodding the man's foot.
Ronon exchanged a look with Teyla who stood by the physicist trying to offer support. He simply raised an eyebrow at her. He admired Teyla for her loyalty and wealth of patience which he could lack at times.
A petite red-headed nurse came over to Ronon, distracting him from the activity several beds away. He didn't know her name; she was nice, but like most of the staff, was too sweet for his liking. "How are you doing, Mr. Dex? Were you hurt during the mission?"
"I'm fine."
She proceeded to smile at him, her hand reaching for his wrist to check his pulse. He gave her an impudent stare but it failed to earn him the intended effect. The Doc was apparently getting better at training his staff for them to so easily ignore his bad bedside manner. Ronon allowed the examination to go on for another sixty seconds before he sunk low.
"Colonel Sheppard got hit in the head."
He didn't exactly instruct her to go and bother his team mate, so it didn't count as a sell out. With a new target in her sights, the nurse made a beeline for Sheppard. Ronon risked a look and, sure enough, Sheppard glared at him.
Traitor, the colonel mouthed.
Ronon shrugged.
"Now, Colonel, don't be so troublesome and remove your vest for me."
Sheppard grinned. "Janice, why are you always making me strip?"
That was her name and, of course the colonel knew it. Ronon didn't roll his eyes; he just crossed his arms and watched Sheppard's shameless flirting that had the woman eating out of his hand. Janice even giggled, reduced to brainless teenage behavior.
"How did this happen, Colonel Sheppard?" Janice palpated a gash with trails of dried blood that had been hidden by his black t-shirt.
"Just a scratch."
"I'll be the judge of that," the nurse admonished, pulling over a tray and preparing a bottle of antiseptic and arranging several bandages. "Now take a seat."
Sheppard had been keeping an eye on Rodney while leaning against the side of a gurney. Both Ronon and the nurse noticed how the colonel's balance wavered when he turned around and hopped up ungracefully.
The coy nurse morphed into professional mode, pulling out a clipboard and beginning a litany of questions. Ronon didn't feel so bad now, sticking the woman on his CO. He grabbed a chair and strategically placed himself between both his team mates as they were fussed over. While his body seemed the picture perfect embodiment of bored and relaxed, his mind was nothing of the sort.
His brain processed the last hour of their encounter. The attack on the team wasn't made by roaming bandits, or hostile natives. They had been expected and deliberately engaged in combat. There had been no demands, no attempt to over run and capture them. If their opponents had decided to rush them, then the battle would have been very bloody.
His attention was drawn to McKay as he was taken to get x-rays made of his foot, Beckett following closely. Teyla was in the middle of her own examination, politely talking to one of the nurses.
The booby trap McKay had walked into was another sign of a formulated and elaborate design. It had taken patience to sabotage the ground with deadly obstacles and the enemy's cunning in forcing them towards that area revealed a more devious plan.
Ronon locked eyes with Sheppard and, once again, the two engaged in similar behavior. While the nurse pestered the colonel with questions as she cleaned and bandaged his wound, he saw through the carefully orchestrated mask. Sheppard was analyzing, replaying the battle in his head in search of answers. When their eyes met, Ronon saw the darker depths within.
Janice left in search of the doc, leaving them alone. Sheppard allowed a tiny slip of his facade, rubbing wearily at his eyes and grimacing as fingers gingerly probed the bruised and swollen part of his forehead.
"You need to learn to duck," Ronon lectured.
"Yeah? Well, I was a little distracted by one of my guys getting involved in an unfair fight."
Ronon considered the answer. "Doesn't change the fact that you didn't dodge fast enough."
Sheppard wrinkled his brow. "Maybe."
"I'll get your back next time," Ronon offered.
"Of that I have no doubt." Sheppard gingerly laid back, closing his eyes.
For a moment, Ronon thought the colonel had drifted off and he considered waking him, knowing a little about concussions. His thoughts were interrupted when Sheppard began talking. Obviously, the man was just trying to get comfortable.
"Dobluis, the head councilman of the Narthions, told us about the strange energy readings on PMX257. He was the only one besides our own people who knew we were going over there to check things out."
"And tell me again why didn't his people investigate?" Ronon inquired.
"They're traders, not explorers. He was trying to be 'helpful'. We've been friendly with them for several months now and I find it odd that they would try to lure us into a trap."
Ronon stood up and walked over to the bed the colonel occupied. "Wouldn't be the first time. Money and promises can buy anything."
"Why?" Sheppard rubbed at the new dressing around his arm. "What was the mission objective?"
"To test our fitness in the field of battle, observe our weapons, typical intel reconnaissance." Ronon spoke out loud things he knew about first hand.
"We may be looking at a new set of players in the game. Rumors of our survival after the siege of Atlantis have spread to groups and planets who have gate travel. Maybe they want what everyone does."
"What's that?"
"New technology, weapons, any means to gain more power. Just what we need... another set of bad guys." Sheppard's voice trailed off as he cradled his head into his hand.
"Want me to get the doc?"
The colonel grimaced when he shook his head. "No, just a few aspirin and I'll be good as new."
Ronon didn't believe it for a second, but was saved from any further comment when he heard the bickering voices of Beckett and Rodney.
Rodney sat upright on the gurney while jabbering away, a poor nurse doing his best to steer the bed back. "I seriously think you should have a specialist check for nerve damage. I had two gigantic spikes driven into my foot, Carson. One may I add, that went all the way through."
"Aye, I know that, Rodney, though I'll remind you that one of us has a degree in medicine and the other doesn't."
"It's not a real degree," the physicist retorted.
"There is tendon, muscle, and ligament damage. The puncture wounds were thankfully small and were meant to hurt more than to injure," the Doc placated.
"A sharp pointy object drilled a chasm through my foot. I have to be on my feet all day working on vital experiments. I can't be sidelined to a wheelchair for the rest of my life just because one of your tests didn't detect a severed nerve bundle or worse, an infection that might mutate and spread to the rest of my toes."
"If you lost all your toes then you wouldn't have to go off world," Ronon pointed out.
Beckett whirled around at him. "Don't you start!" Then the physician held out his hand to stop another barrage from his patient. "You have a fracture of the second metacarpal where the wood punctured through and the second injury did not penetrate past the bone."
"But what about---"
"Your x-rays and scans are clean; nothing to worry about except muscle and soft tissue." Beckett patted the agitated man's knee. "We're going to get you comfortable and wrap and bind it."
"Comfortable means narcotics, right? Nice, large dosages of narcotics?" Rodney asked, hopeful.
"Yes, Rodney." Beckett signed off on a chart. "Now let me tend to the others while you are taken care of."
Sighing, the doctor headed towards Teyla and the nurse who had been chatting up a storm. "Teyla, love, how are things?"
"I am well, Carson. I've just been discussing..." She paused and smiled. "Some matters with Carol here."
The other nurse blushed and busied herself by pulling the privacy curtain around Rodney's bed to begin the task of sterilizing and bandaging his injury.
"This has nothing to do with that new staff sergeant that arrived with the new guys from the Daedalus last week does it?" Sheppard's voice drifted over.
Teyla arched an eyebrow. "I know it has nothing to do with that new female pilot you've been… what's the term? Drooling over with Major Lorne."
Ronon smirked, knowing she had the colonel there. "That new girl is pretty hot."
"All right already," Beckett huffed, standing next to the Satedan. "I feel like I'm in a room full of wee school kids."
Beckett grabbed Janice's notes, flipping through them. "Blank. Figures."
"Nothing wrong," Ronon replied gruffly.
"Aye, and this was your first off world mission since I released you to active duty after your one-man war with those Wraith."
"It's my third mission and I've been plenty active the past couple of weeks." Ronon didn't need to be reminded about his brief recapture by the one who had tormented his life as a runner. He would never forget what it was like to be someone's prey, even while he honed every skill as a predator.
Beckett had to know the drill by now and, although he appreciated the concern, one hug in the back of a jumper after going twelve rounds with his nemesis did not award the man any more coddling points.
The physician looked to the colonel for confirmation but when his CO failed to speak up, Beckett turned his sights on Sheppard.
"All righty, Colonel, Janice took care of your abrasion and everything looks good," he said, examining the bandage. "What bit a piece out of ya?"
"Bullet grazed me."
Carson pulled out a penlight. "We need to get you some Kevlar for your poor arms." He shined the beam into each pupil. "Follow my finger." Sheppard went through the motions without sighing which had to be a record.
Ronon tried not to squirm; he felt on edge, always did after a fight. It was time to work off all the excess energy and escape before Weir could corner him into participating in another briefing. Running, sparring, even target practice would release the build up of endorphins and allow his mind to focus. A deep desire burned and his blood pumped faster, awaiting an adrenaline outlet. He wouldn't fidget though, not even tap his foot. He waited. He hated it, loathed every second, but he sat, appearing relaxed in the hard plastic chair and he'd remain that way until the rest of his friends were cleared.
Beckett tutted after his evaluation. "You have a mild concussion."
"I'll be sure to re-stock my ice cube tray," the colonel replied, his tone drier than normal.
"For starters. You know every time you suffer a head injury the longer it takes for you to heal, lad. I want you to take it easy for the next few days and I'm restricting you to light duty."
Sheppard raised his hand in a placating manner. "I know the drill."
"That's the problem," Beckett said, exasperated. "I can give you some Tylenol. Expect some dizziness and light headedness, but if it gets worse, let me know."
Teyla wandered over, sensing the wrap up of things. She stood next to the colonel's bed, then turned to Beckett. "Are we free to go? I am sure that we have much to discuss about this mission."
"You are, my dear." The doctor eyed the patient in bed. "You'll be free to leave with them."
"What about Rodney?" Sheppard asked with no hint of getting up.
"He'll be fine. Like I told him. He just needs to stay off his foot for a few days with some crutches. I'm taking him off active duty and sending him on his way with some pain medication and antibiotics."
The colonel's features seemed to relax, but his gaze drifted elsewhere thinking. One barrier came down, another went up. Sheppard's modus operandi was a fascinating thing to observe. It took time to decipher all the layers if you could get close enough to sift through them all. One of the worst mistakes an enemy could ever make was to underestimate their opponent. Colonel Sheppard exploited that weakness time and time again, and a few times the man overcame impossible odds with sheer balls and luck.
Everyone was in one piece and that was Ronon's cue to go. The mystery from today's battle would click in place after he shed all post mission restlessness. He had just begun to get out of his chair when Dr. Weir and Colonel Caldwell entered.
Sheppard sat up instantly, swinging his legs over the gurney.
"At ease, Colonel," Caldwell instructed.
Ronon's opinion of Caldwell had always been that he was a sufficient soldier and a competent leader. He knew the colonel was responsible for getting the team out of many jams. Caldwell was a commanding figure, even if he failed to evoke the same loyalty that Sheppard did with those under his command. Ronon was curious about this visit observing that Weir was slightly more on edge than usual. Maybe there was something more to her absence during their return from the mission than he'd considered.
Teyla had moved closer, forming a circle with the visitors. Sheppard was instantly alert, all signs of weariness pushed to the side. "What is it?"
Weir's posture was rigid in an effort to calm obvious signs of antsiness. Ronon rubbed his palm on the handle of his weapon as the leader of the expedition spoke in that diplomatic tone she used when concealing her emotions. "I'm sorry I was unavailable when you all arrived. I was in the middle of a meeting. I spoke with Major Lorne who briefed me with what little information you gave him."
"We were ambushed, but escaped with minor injuries," Teyla advised.
Sheppard's gaze went back and forth between Caldwell and Weir, the anxiousness of their unusual appearance affecting him. The colonel tested his legs and stood to full attention before he approached his superiors.
Ronon got up, standing to his full height, and purposefully strode the few feet to be at his CO's side. Caldwell straightened a fraction, a reaction barely noticeable to anyone else. If the other colonel's presence created subtle uneasy reactions in Sheppard, it was only right that he return the favor.
"We received a transmission from Ladon Radim earlier today," Caldwell informed them.
Weir shot him a look, obviously wanting to be the one to share the news.
Sheppard glanced from Weir to the older colonel. "And what was in the message?"
Weir glared at Caldwell, letting the man know she would take it from here. The colonel hid his perturbed feelings, but his eyes gave him away.
"Ladon would like to meet with us about beginning talks for a negotiation," she explained.
"What type of negotiation?" Sheppard asked irritably, closing the distance with the others.
Weir's voice exuded calm and a tone that dictated no more interruptions. "We're not sure. It was short and to the point. Ladon wishes to begin talks to form a neutrality agreement of some sort in hopes of a treaty later on."
"That's it?" Ronon asked.
"There were no more details except that the Genii would be contacting Atlantis in a couple of days with a possible date and location to begin talks," Weir explained, eying each of her team members.
"I don't buy it. The timing of this so called invitation is suspicious and considering what we just encountered, I'd wager is not a coincidence," Sheppard expressed bitterly.
"You care to elaborate on what took place during the mission?" Caldwell pressed.
It looked like Ronon wasn't going to be able to escape a lengthy explanation. The thrum of his nervous system increased. It just meant that some unsuspecting Marines would be on the receiving end of one of his de-stressing sessions as soon as he could break free.
-------------------------
Entering the planet's atmosphere was relatively easy considering most of the defense systems deployed were designed to seek out larger crafts. He piloted his ship low, over the ocean as a precaution and pinpointed the abandoned sections of the city. Atlantis may once have been the mighty home of the Ancients, but most of it was still not powered and it made it easy for him to slip in at one of the easternmost points.
The Hunter used a lightweight polymer rope to scale a large wall and hoisted himself onto a landing. Knowing the city was capable of underwater submersion made locating an entrance difficult. He scoured platforms and tested weak parts of structural areas until he found what he needed, several levels up, with a damaged docking bay. Gaining access was simple and once he was securely inside he used the thermal readings from inside his mask to navigate the darkened hallways.
He'd been lucky. The technology that powered his jamming array had been stolen several years ago from space pirates that a weapons dealer had employed him to track down and dissolve as a lesson to any other bandits. This particular group of thugs had attacked and raided a vessel that's haul was meant to arm one side of a civil war. When the shipment of guns wound up late, it tipped the scale of a major battle and ruined the chance for the dealer to keep supplying both sides.
The bandits had proved elusive; their ship had never appeared on radar or left an energy signature to track. After having leaked false information that a merchant vessel with a cargo full of valuable spices would be traveling in a risky sector, he had lain in wait, and slaughtered the group who boarded his ship in the ruse. The Hunter had torched the pirates' spacecraft and delivered the severed hands of the captain to his employer who nailed them as a warning to a wall of the tavern the crew and other gangs frequented.
A bonus from the mission had been discovering the key to so many successful raids. The bandits had a brilliant engineer among them who had created and installed a stealth device that rivaled that used in his sleek body's exoskeleton. The jamming array impeded long and short range sensors, allowing him to approach vessels undetected.
Now that he had effectively memorized the dozens of corridors, rooms and labs of the section he occupied, the Hunter inserted a data chip into a palm-sized computer and calculated his current location; he was many clicks from the populated part of the city. The depths of the uninhabited region would provide enough of an obstacle for his escape after the job was completed. It made tracking down his target a longer operation, but he knew this mission would require a few days. The provisions he carried with him would be adequate for an even longer amount of time.
The hallways were silent, the low humming of the city a dull background. The Hunter unpacked his weapons, inspecting both pulse guns. Each blaster had served him well for many years and he polished every smooth inch with a cloth. They would be used as a last resort; a kill from a distance was the work of an amateur.
He unsheathed a, six inch long blade, its steel folded over one thousand times by the hands of the finest craftsman. The edge could cut through bone in a single strike. He balanced the knife perfectly with a gloved finger in admiration. Despite the beauty of such a fine instrument, it was not his favorite ally. His best friend was the hidden dagger designed to slide out perfectly from where he'd cut away his own fingers to accommodate it.
A single swish and it was over. That was true stealth; a revered tribute to their code.
The Hunter fingered a roll of fine black cord in one of his pockets and remembered the sounds of his Master as it compressed both larynx and trachea. In their Order it was expected to take out your mentor at the time he ceased to be useful. When his faithful master succumbed to unconsciousness he honored the man, tying one complicated knot after another, tightening the cord that ensured completion of the act.
The Hunter closed his eyes, immersing himself in this new environment. Despite the number of flawless kills, he longed for a difficult opponent; to match wits with a formidable enemy tested ability, reaffirmed that his purpose held merit. The day he could not take out a target was the day he himself would be deemed useless and unfit to fulfill his obligation.
Without purpose there was no need to live and expend resources. His kind served the art of their code, their creed. Victory was a fulfillment of a job condition. No matter the outcome, what it took to complete the mission was all that counted. There was never any room for emotion, because it was simply his personal duty.
Tomorrow was another sunrise. It could be a good day to die. Failure was never an option.