John spun slowly in the water. Which was better than the fast spinning he'd been doing a minute ago and better still than the precarious tilt he'd done before that, which had nearly landed him in the sea. He had risen early and, seeing a group of children leaving the fort carrying between them small round coracle-type boats, had followed them out of the main gate and over the rocks to where they launched their little craft and began fishing with handlines. The sea was calm today or, John thought, their little round canvas-covered boats would quickly have been swamped.
John stood watching until one of the boys jumped out of his coracle and hauled it up onto the rocks and, seeing John, held out the paddle to him and indicated the boat, speaking questioningly.
John took the boy up on his offer, but quickly realised he must have been a bit of a joker. John nearly fell in just climbing into the tricky little craft and then, using the one paddle, could at first only get the boat to spin in circles. Eventually, by observing the other children, he managed to make some progress by wedging his feet against the opposite side of the boat for stability and reaching forward to paddle in a figure eight in front of the boat. The children grinned and clapped encouragingly and seemed especially attentive when John, deciding his arm had had enough exercise and he wanted his breakfast, paddled himself over to the rocky shore and began to climb out. There was a burst of delighted laughter when the coracle decided to part company with John's chosen landing place, and John was deposited in the cold water. He emerged, spluttering and gasping at the cold and the rasping saltiness, hauled himself out and sat, his woollen clothes dripping heavily and smiled ruefully at the children.
"You knew that would happen, didn't you?" he said.
The children, seeing John was inclined to take his dunking in good part, climbed out of their coracles and, beaching them, helped John to wring out his clothes and gave him a couple of their fish. He noted, for future reference, that they'd worked in pairs, helping each other climb out; it was obviously a two-man job.
John was the target of delighted laughter once more when he returned to his hut.
"Enjoy your morning swim?" Rodney chortled.
"Yes. Thank you!" said John, "and less of the laughter if you want to share my fish."
He set the fish down by the hearth and Jed and Mal eagerly began preparing them. John took off his wet cape and flung it over the rafters in such a way that heavy drops of water flicked all over Rodney. "This is going to take all day to dry," he said. "Looks like I'm going Atlantean today!"
"It might help," said Rodney, through a mouthful of barley porridge.
"What, why?" said John, struggling out of his water-logged tunic.
"If Orrin sees you all black-clad and business-like," said Rodney, waving his spoon. "Do that expression you do when we're in a life-or-death, saving-the-world kind of situation. You know!"
"Do I?" said John. "I'm not sure I can do that if we're not actually in a life-or-death situation."
"Try," Rodney said.
So after breakfast, John emerged from the hut, mission ready, his shirt-sleeves rolled up, his tac vest on and his P90 slung crossways in its usual fashion. He didn't intend using it, but it made an impressive statement. John tried to look warlike but was thwarted by the children running around him, laughing; they knew exactly why he'd had to change his clothes.
Rodney shooed the children away with impatience, but John grinned at them, unable to maintain his serious expression for long.
There was a broad empty space in the middle of the fort, next to the high watchtower and longhouse. Some of the men were practicing their skills, throwing spears at targets, fighting with wooden swords and a group were practicing unarmed combat. Orrin and Coll strode between the groups, Orrin obviously showing off his warriors with considerable pride.
Coll's eyes fell on John and Rodney and he spoke to Orrin, who looked impressed by John's appearance. Coll looked at John speculatively and John thought that if he was hoping for another firearms demonstration he was going to be disappointed. But that wasn't what Coll had in mind at all.
They approached and Coll spoke, gesturing to the three practicing groups as if to say to John, "Which is it to be?"
Rodney groaned. "Did I say something foolish and reckless? I think this qualifies!"
John looked at Coll. He knew that this could be his chance to impress Orrin. He also got the impression that Coll needed to see John compete on their terms in order to give John his full backing, rather than relying on his weapons to give him an edge.
John sighed. He knew he'd have no chance with the spears. The wooden swords were a possibility if he used the techniques Teyla had taught him with her bantos rods. Unarmed combat he could do, but there were some tricky issues involved; firstly, the unarmed combat group were all huge. John knew he could take any of them down one-on-one, but he would have to be quick and decisive and not give his opponent a chance to use his superior size and strength. Which led him to the other problem; John's quick, decisive techniques were those he had learnt carrying out black-ops and tended to result in fatalities, which wouldn't leave a good impression. So, back to the swords. They were practice long-swords, designed for slashing rather than stabbing. They consisted merely of a blade, round-ended, and a hilt with no cross-piece; so far, so similar to a bantos rod. There were also some similarities with bantos fighting technique, but enough differences to give John an advantage.
John turned to Coll. "Swords," he said, pointing.
"This is such a bad idea," Rodney said, worriedly.
"I need to do this, Rodney," said John, looking at him intently. "I need to earn their trust.
"I don't see why they should trust you more just because you can beat someone with a wooden stick!" spluttered Rodney. "But, yes, I agree, it'll impress them. The question is, can you do it?"
"I've got one or two ideas," grinned John.
"Right, then," said Rodney. "If you're going to do this, do it properly. First you need to strip off, like them."
All the other combatants wore just their leggings and boots; there was a lot of posing going on and flexing of muscles.
"I don't think that'll be impressive," mumbled John, shiftily.
"Yes. It will," said Rodney, who had taken charge and was enjoying the fact. "These people look the type to be impressed by scars and you've got plenty."
"They're more likely to think I just get beat up all the time, and I don't know how to say: 'You should see the other guy!' in their language."
Rodney glared at him. John sheepishly began to remove his P90 and tac vest.
"Second," continued Rodney, "you need to make a show of it. Not that quick and dirty stuff you do when it's real. Manly posturing is what's needed here!"
John, unbuttoning his shirt, looked even more shifty. "That's not really my style, Rodney."
"Well, make it your style!" Rodney insisted. "You wanted an opportunity to impress, so impress!"
John took off his shirt and, reluctantly, his t-shirt. There was a general rumble of approval from the men. Rodney was right; they were the type to be impressed by scars, although John wondered if he'd just committed a tactical error. His opponent would be able to see the fresh scar on his arm and would probably take advantage.
A space had been cleared for the fight and John's opponent stepped forward. Kerran. Not looking so good-humoured now, a wooden blade in his hand, as if it were a natural extension of his arm. Coll passed John a sword and he tested it for balance and tried a few moves with it, just some simple passes so as not to reveal any of the unusual techniques he intended to try. The wooden weapon was well-balanced and felt good in his hand. He gave a small smile. He had practiced fighting Teyla with one stick to her two. He knew his reactions were quick; this might be fun.
John and Kerran circled each other, each studying their opponent. Kerran seemed a straightforward kind of man, not given to hiding his emotions; John wondered if he would use much guile and deceit in his fighting style. He gave his sword a circular flourish as he would with a bantos rod and watched Kerran's eyes move to the blade; he could be distracted then. John moved forward quickly trying a flurry of strikes, scoring some minor hits, testing Kerran's defences. Kerran's eyes narrowed, focussing on John's, trying to see the attacks coming. He became more determined, launching his own attack and driving John back towards the edge of the circle. Their blades locked, but John gave way to one side and rolled underneath Kerran's arm, reversing their positions and striking Kerran's back as he rose. Kerran instantly whirled round and managed to strike John's cheek before John had regained his balance. John, momentarily disoriented, didn't see the next blow coming and took the full force on his half-healed arm, splitting the skin and surprising from him a gasp of pain. At this point his training with the bantos rods became crucial; he transferred the blade to his left hand, knowing that he was just as effective fighting left-handed. Kerran found it more difficult to counter John's attacks, which came in thick and fast from unexpected directions, striking him about his shoulders and ribs. John decided to end it. He flourished his blade and feinted to the right, Kerran's eyes following the blade's confusing movements. Then he hit hard at Kerran's arm, driving his blade out of the way and moving past him to come at him from behind. Unfortunately, John caught a hefty blow on his ribs as he passed, but he succeeded in pulling Kerran's head back with his blade under his chin, and thrusting his body forward with his knee, leaving Kerran helpless. Thank you, Teyla, thought John, breathing heavily.
Kerran dropped his sword and waved his hand in submission. John released his choke-hold and Kerran slumped to the ground, rubbing his throat.
The problem now was that John was genuinely annoyed. He was trying to help these people and now he was battered and in pain; his arm hadn't been completely healed and this had definitely set it back. And it hadn't even been a proper fight, not like real fighting where your life and the lives of others were at stake. These people needed to see what he was really about.
John flung aside the sword angrily and marched across to the men who had been practicing unarmed combat. He sized, them up, pointed to the largest and said: "You! Here! Now!"
The man strode out eagerly, flexing his arms and posturing to the crowd. John didn't give him a chance. Battered and sore as he was, he allowed the adrenaline to flood his body and fought as if his opponent were Genii, Wraith, anyone who dared to threaten his team, his city, his world. In a few practiced, decisive moves John floored the man and only held back when he had his head in a hold that could clearly result in a broken neck, were he to apply more force. The crowd was shocked, silent. John released the man and staggered over to Rodney, the adrenaline fast leaving his system leaving him feeling sick and in pain.
"Um... that was what I meant," said Rodney. "That was your life-or-death, save-the-world expression." He looked round at the stunned faces. "Yes, I think I can safely say that did the job."