?

Log in

No account? Create an account
January 2018   01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31
McShepGate

Fic: Fall of Sateda

Posted on 2011.02.02 at 23:24
Tags:
Title: Fall of Sateda
Characters: Ronon/Melena, Kell
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~1100
Summary: In a universe where Teyla was made a Runner, Sateda fell much later.
Notes: Ties in with Femina Cursor Est.


* * *



The hand Ronon slams onto the table stings like a mentu anuva. The rest of his squad is staring at him in shock, but his eyes rest solely on Kell. “I don’t get why we can’t ask for assistance!”

What was supposed to be a strategy meeting is quickly turning into anything but. For the first time, Ronon regrets the day their shared time in the military secured them a place on Kell’s council of advisors.

He supposes he should be relieved that there even is a meeting. Reassured that Kell trusts the new sensors Dr. McKay installed enough to believe that the Wraith are coming at all.

It doesn’t help that he hears more than one of the Specialists murmur, “Pretty sure it’s all the Lanteans’ fault.”

“The Lanteans have proven themselves useful friends, I agree with you,” Kell says, holding up a hand for silence. “But asking them for help on a matter we are perfectly capable of handling ourselves… Specialist Dex, you must see how that would put us into a position of weakness.”

Ronon opens his mouth to counter, but is interrupted by Councilor Frall stating, “When the Wraith come, the dead won’t care about our position of weakness.” For the first time since he stepped down, there is incredulity at his nephew’s leadership choices in the old man’s voice. “’It’s only one Hive’, as if that doesn’t mean Ancestors know how many darts.” As if the Satedan army, impressive though it is, has got anything to hold against an aerial assault for long.

Only Frall and Mordan and Nerela are old enough to remember the last Satedan Culling. All council members have visited enough worlds in their time, however, to know the devastating impact of a Culling on a society. They must see, Ronon thinks. They simply must -

“Why now,” Specialist Ara asks.

Kell pointedly doesn’t look at Ronon when he answers, “We cannot know for certain, of course, but it is entirely possible that the new technology the Lanteans left behind have made the Wraith turn their eyes toward us.”

“That’s shit,” Ronon blurts out and goes completely cold inside. Councilors have been removed from future meetings for less, as evidenced by old Novon’s absence.

Luckily, Frall agrees. “Worlds with as high a population as ours have been Culled before, and there weren’t any Lanteans around then.”

“Be that as it may,” old Mordan rasps. “Whatever their reason is, they’re coming.”

“And we will meet them and repel them forever from our world,” Rakai calls. Frall shakes his head. Ronon’s heart sinks even further. Even his own squad is against him.

“To make it very clear,” Kell says with a hard look at Ronon, “you are forbidden – all of you – to send a message to the Lanteans. If intercepted by the Wraith, it could cause immeasurable harm.”

“Is this your final word?” Ronon asks through clenched teeth, struggling to maintain eye contact with the man he has, up until this week, always admired. Around him, at least half the council members whisperingly voice their disapproval at his insolence.

“As I believe I was saying, Councilor Dex,” Kell says evenly. Not even in battle has Ronon ever seen his leader look so cold.

He lost. He must salvage what he can. “Then if you don’t need me in my capacity as liaison, I ask that you let me consult with the primary hospital, to let them know to expect injuries.”

For a moment, it looks as if Kell is going to profess that their army’s might is above casualties and refuse that request, as well. Maybe Ronon is reading too much into it and the man is just thinking of giving the order to someone else. But then Nerela looks up from her hands for the first time in the whole meeting, and Kell relents.

“Go, then.”

* * *



Walking briskly along the streets, all Ronon can think of is that the general public doesn’t even know yet what’s going to happen in four days’ time.

The receptionist tells him that Melena is doing her rounds. Ronon sits down on an empty bed and waits until she is finished, staring down at his hands. He should be briefing Melena’s superiors. Instead, he is wasting time he can hardly afford, trying to decide what to do.

One more hour to prepare for the attack may not make any difference at all.

“How bad is it,” Melena asks when she sits down beside him, so softly that her patients cannot hear.

“Bad,” he forces out, thinking, I don’t know what to do. “So bad, Melena, and I doubt that Kell is seeing the right path.” He feels like a child. He never wanted her to see him act like a child, and he is so, so lucky because she may not know the exact news the recent meetings have brought, but she knows his heart.

Her hand over his, she says, “I follow your path.”

Ronon tries to breathe. If he opens his mouth now, there will be no going back. But he has known this is the only thing to do since he saw the horror on Mordan’s face, seconds after he understood what was depicted on the sensors.

If Frall was still in charge. If Kell could have seen reason. It should never have come to this.

Slowly, he reaches inside his jacket and pulls out the radio Sheppard gave him. “You must contact the Lanteans,” he tells Melena. “If I try to go through the Ring, he’ll have me stopped.” The words are bitter on his tongue. He would never ask this of her, either, if there was anyone else on the council he knew he could trust.

His heart is beating very fast when she takes the radio from him.

“They have a ship,” he says, gripping her hand as her face goes pale. “They have – from their home planet, it must have reached them by now. It has a ray of some sort, almost like a Culling light, that can transport people up. If that’s not a possibility, they can still pick a few of the darts off.”

For a long moment, they sit on the bed together, very still. Then Melena breathes out, and out, and out, inhales deeply and lets the air out with resolve as she frees her hand and gets up.

“I shall have to collect a new supply of Benis weed from Sinta while I still can,” she says and presses a parting kiss against his cheek.

* * *


Comments:


michelel72
michelel72 at 2011-02-04 04:00 (UTC) (Link)
This is a fascinating alternative. I really like this view of Ronon as more contained but still passionate.
Previous Entry  Next Entry