SGA - 14 - Death Game by Jo Graham Page A

full in the face. Up one wave and down the back side. Up and down. He kicked his other shoe off. Up and down, not fighting it. The rope was attached to a sail which dragged on the surface of the water, billowing out as though in unseen winds beneath the surface. Possibly the sail had torn away, or possibly it was still attached to the mast. Which was a big wooden thing that would float. That would be a useful thing to reach.
    Radek followed the rope, only once getting a mouthful of water when he didn’t see a wave breaking through his streaked glasses. Coughing, he let the water pull him along with the rope, along with the sail.
    Yes, perfect. There was the dark smudge ahead, and he heard Ronon shout, though he could not make out the words.
    “I am here!” Radek yelled back.
    The sail was attached to the mast, which was underwater. The little fishing boat had capsized and floated hull up on the waves, buoyed no doubt by a pocket of air trapped beneath it. Radek let go and swam the last few meters, grabbing onto the rough wood of the hull gratefully.
    “You ok?” Ronon was on the opposite side, holding on near the other end, but he made his way closer hand over hand along the hull. Radek was incredibly glad to see him.
    “I’m fine,” Radek said. He more or less was. No bruises, no cuts, the water too warm for hypothermia. Other than drowning, his prospects were not bad. And finding the hull of the boat greatly increased his chances of staying afloat. He had read once that most people drown at sea when their strength simply gives out, after hours or days. With the boat to hold onto, things were better. They were less likely to drown immediately. And who knew what opportunities might arise?
    “Good,” Ronon said. He looked younger with his hair soaked, less certain and impervious than usual.
    “We will just hold on,” Radek said. “And surely they are already on the way with a puddle jumper.” A thought occurred to him and he swore volubly. “The boat is capsized. We have lost my laptop.” All his data. All his personal files. All sinking to the bottom of an alien sea.
    “And our supplies,” Ronon said grimly. Of course the backpacks were lost as well. Their food, their water…
    There was a worse thought, but he could not put off voicing it. “And our radios,” Radek said. Without the radios, how would the rescue team find them? They were two men adrift in a big sea, and the pilot would not even know where to look.
    ***
    Night came, and the storm abated. It was no longer raining. That was a small mercy. The upended hull floated on calmer seas. Radek had managed to climb onto it, sitting on the hull rather than clinging to it, which required less energy.
    Ronon held the side, despite all invitations to climb on too. “I’m too heavy,” he said. “I’ll tip it over.”
    Now, with the waves less jagged, Radek tried again. “It will not tip if you balance,” he said. “You should save your strength. We will need it.” He thought perhaps Ronon was abashed that strength had not been enough. It was all very well to be powerfully built, but that did not compensate actually for not knowing how to sail.
    Gingerly, Ronon climbed on top, inching his way forward to lie on the hull on his belly, just breathing for a long moment. Resting.
    Radek tried once again to dry his glasses on his sopping wet shirt. It did make them less streaky. He looked up. The clouds were thinning somewhat. Through a break he could see stars. Not a bad storm, then. Just an afternoon thunderstorm of the sort that sent tourists running for the awnings of cafes, that made ship passengers cut short their jogs around promenade decks. If it had been a bad storm they would be dead. Rather than just adrift on an overturned hull, somewhere in the middle of an alien sea, with no supplies and no radios.
    Still, this was an archipelago. There were other islands, and indications from the air had suggested they were populated. When the weather