And Ronon would betray, as planned. Marcon wanted to know how Teyla had managed to make the Stargate work, and Marcon would get what he wanted. He always did. Once he had the information, Teyla was expendable. There could be no doubt as to what that meant. Besides, Marcon had as good as ordered it already, and she wouldn't be able to keep herself alive by proving her usefulness as a warrior. According to the technician, she was blind.
Ronon couldn't even begin to imagine what it must be like for her. Horrible frustration at no longer being able to accomplish the simplest tasks, and he wasn't sure he'd have the strength to still go on in her place. But out of the two of them she'd always been the stronger, the one more in control-not that he'd ever admit it.
She sighed, then tensed, telling him that she was awake and alert to his presence. "Who is there?" Her voice sounded hoarse, sandpapered by the sedative they'd given her. "I need to find a woman called Teyla Emmagan."
"So you've gone looking for yourself now?"
A gasp, then her right hand reached out, groped, searched, until it found his and held on. Hard. "Ronon? You're Ronon!"
He couldn't help it. He smiled. "Good job you can't see me. You might not have recognized me."
"I'm surprised you were able to recognize me. After all, I'm-" Cutting herself off, she let go of his hand, flexed her fingers several times, looking stunned. She bent her knees as though she were testing the joints and at last sat up in one fluid move and touched her face. "Oh... that... that's unexpected," she murmured.
"What is?"
"In the timeline where I've come from I was over seventy years old and afflicted with all the aches and pains you'd expect at that age."
"Timeline?"
"Charybdis... You remember Charybdis?"
"Yeah. Unforgettable" Ronon snorted. "As a matter of fact, until I saw you, I thought everybody else was dead. What about Charybdis?"
But she'd already jumped ahead to another subject. "You remember. Only the originals... You're the original!"
"The original what?"
"It's not possible..." She still wasn't listening. "I shouldn't have been able to find you. I shouldn't have got here. I-" Her face lit up with a spark of realization. "Of course! Your finger!"
He remembered Marcon showing him that ghastly chunk of dead bone and tissue he couldn't recall losing, but how did that matter? She wasn't making sense, probably still dazed from the sedative. The Behemoth hissed, angry and impatient, pushing him to pursue the information it wanted to obtain. "What do you mean by timeline?" Ronon ground out.
"Charybdis created them all," Teyla replied distractedly and without making much sense. "And there's an infinite number of versions of us, but only one..."
A flash of agony blotted out what she was saying as the Behemoth demanded to know the identity of us. He hadn't meant to groan, but he must have, because the next thing he became aware of were Teyla's hands clamping his shoulders, sightless eyes trained to where she guessed his would be.
"Ronon! Ronon, what's wrong?"
And how was he going to answer that? I don 't want to betray you, but there's this thing burrowing through my mind forcing me to do it anyway? Hardly, though he wondered how many words he'd actually get out before the Behemoth... Did what? What could it do? Hurt him? Yes, obviously. Kill him? Given the situation, his death would be the best of any number of bad outcomes. Which made things very, very simple.
Suddenly he started laughing through the unholy pain in his head. For once Marcon had overreached himself. He'd manipulated Ronon into a situation where he had nothing left to lose and everything-his honor most of all-to gain. Marcon had made him invulnerable in a way he'd never expected.
"Ronon!"
Teyla sounded scared, and she had every reason to be. This could go terribly wrong. The only advantage they possessed, the one Ronon banked on now, was the fact that she had something Marcon wanted. As long as she didn't tell him anything, she'd be reasonably safe.
"Don't say another word until I tell you," he gasped and grabbed her hand. "Come with me. Quick!"
It was barely an idea, let alone a plan. The only thing he knew for sure right now was that he had to get her out of here. He pulled Teyla off the bed, and she was far too seasoned a warrior to resist or ask questions. She also trusted him implicitly, he realized, queasiness pooling in his stomach at the notion of what he still might do. No promises, no guarantees. He'd only ever pushed back so far against the Behemoth, because there'd never been a reason to endure the consequences of taking it further. Now there was.
Question was how long he'd last... The door, less than five steps away seemed on a telescopic slide into endless distance, its outline shimmering in colors that couldn't possibly exist. Five steps, and the two he'd taken so far had required inhuman effort, all but forcing him to his knees in a sludge of treacly heaviness.
"Ronon!"
"Don't talk!"
His own voice roared in his ears, unbearably loud, the sound distorted and pulsing, filling his skull with its insane pressure, and he could swear he felt the Behemoth move, thrashing about, raking his brain with its claws. The third step loomed like a rock face, impossible to scale, except he no longer believed that, couldn't afford to believe it, and he was going to-
The rock face burst apart in a white-hot explosion of pain, and Ronon fell, helplessly pitching forward onto hands and knees, bringing Teyla down after him, and he was screaming like a thing possessed, howling until the walls of the room bulged outward with the noise.
Without warning, it all stopped, tumbled into the utter silence of a winter morning, brilliant with freshly fallen snow. For what seemed like an eternity he heard nothing, felt nothing, half decided that he was dead. Then he realized that he was panting as though he'd just outrun a whole wing of Wraith darts-if he was panting, he was breathing, and if he was breathing, he was still alive. Even McKay wouldn't be able to dispute the logic of that.
Teyla's hands searched again, found his face and cupped it and withdrew almost as quickly. "You're wet," she whispered, about to lick her finger and determine the nature of the liquid.
"Don't!" Ronon clamped her wrist in an iron grip.
"You're hurting me!"
"Sorry." Taking a deep breath, he eased his hold a little, took stock. Though his head still swam, the pain was gone completely, as if it'd never existed, and there was no presence to constrict his mind or force his will. The hand he was still grasping glistened with blood. He brushed his fingertips across his face and neck, realized that he was bleeding from his nose and ears, and sat back on his haunches in surprise. Couldn't be a stroke; overall he was feeling too good for that. No nausea, no nothing. It could be a ruse on the part of the Behemoth. Or it-
"Ronon? It would be helpful if you told me what's going on.,,
"Nano-robots. They use them for mind control. Clean your hands, else you get infected."
He reached over to the bed, ripped off the sheets and wiped her hands as best he could. They'd have to take care of the rest as soon as they had access to water and two minutes to spare. Right now, their clock was ticking way too fast for his liking-if it hadn't run out already. Marcon had to have realized what was happening and would be on his way down here with a contingent of STs. The tactically most sensible thing to do would be to dispatch the guards in the Stargate room, but Ronon doubted that would happen. The Ancestors' paranoia wouldn't allow them to leave the gate unattended. In any case, he and Teyla had to make it to the lab before the STs arrived, wherever they came from.
"I'm fine, and I'll explain everything, but now we gotta go. Fast." Pulling Teyla to her feet after him, he headed for the door-so easy and everyday now-opened it a crack and carefully checked the hallway outside. Still deserted, which was good news, and at the end of it gleamed the lights of the laboratory. "Quiet," he whispered. "Hang on to my shirt.'-'-
Her hand wandered to his side, grabbed a fistful of fabric, and he let go of her and drew his sword. A few more steps brought them to
the entrance of the lab. Teyla glided along behind him, a noiseless shadow. Cautiously, barely daring to breathe, Ronon poked his head around the corner. The technician was on his own, no STs in sight, and the lab door leading out into the second corridor and the room with the Stargate was closed. Securing that door-the only ingress to the lab from the side where the most immediate threat would come from-was the first order of the day.
The lab technician's back was turned, and he seemed completely immersed in his work, dissecting that mysterious surplus finger and inserting the samples he took into small, transparent containers. Momentarily Ronon wondered what the man was hoping to find, then he shook off the thought as pointless, and detached Teyla's hand from his shirt. Grasping her shoulder, he signaled her to stay put, received a brisk nod of acknowledgement. Then he raised his sword and tiptoed forward until the tip of the blade nudged a spot midway between the technician's shoulder blades. The man froze, back stiffened, and dropped the container he'd been in the process of sealing.
"Don't move," Ronon said mildly. "Might make me jumpy and then things could get real messy. Now, I need you to lock the door."
"I can't do that from here," the technician croaked.
"Turn around. Slowly."
Shivering, the look of a cornered rabbit in his eye, the man did as he was told. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his raised palms were damp, and he oozed the acrid smell of fear. "You can't do this," he stammered. "The Behemoth won't let you. It will stop you."
"What if it wants me to do it?"
The terror on the technician's face deepened as he obviously contemplated a global malfunction of the Behemoth, causing hundreds of thousands of soldiers to turn against their masters and their masters' property. Ronon grinned. The idea had a lot going for it.
"What's the Behemoth?" Teyla had been listening attentively, but attention hadn't stopped her from getting confused.
"Later," promised Ronon and waved the technician over to the door. "Lock it."
The way his knees wobbled it was nothing short of a miracle that the man could move at all. But move he did. Fingers trembling, he keyed the lock code. From inside the door came the clank of bolts sliding into place.
"Good." Ronon smiled at him, which provoked another shudder. Then he smashed the pommel of his sword into the pad, destroying it. It wasn't going to keep the STs out forever, but hopefully it would slow them down just long enough. "And now you're going to tell me where the hidden exit is."
He wouldn't have thought it possible, but the technician turned yet another shade paler, enough to make Ronon worry that the man was going to faint.
But instead of passing out, the technician pulled himself together, marshaled that ounce of courage he possessed, and stuttered, "Wha...what do you mean? There is no hidden exit. The only door is the one you just ordered me to lock."
"The Behemoth asks you to quit lying to me. It doesn't like lies."
Smiling again, Ronon emphasized the point by placing the tip of his sword against the man's neck, just above the carotid artery. He felt almost as confident as he sounded now, because the technician's startled reaction had already proved that his guess was correct. He'd banked on the Ancestor's obsession with covering all bases, even the unlikely ones. There was no way they'd have only one access route to the Stargate and leave themselves without an escape hatch or a means to ambush the enemy, should such an enemy ever manage to arrive through the gate.
Of course, if Teyla really had solved the problem of making the system work, he'd also just cut off their own easiest escape route, but that was a question of getting your priorities straight; in the short term, staying alive took precedence. They'd find another gate eventually.
"So. The hidden exit. Where is it?" Steel nicked skin, and Ronon watched a trickle of blood run down the technician's neck. The man yelped. "No! Please! It's... There! It's behind there!" He pointed at the bank of computers that ran along one side of the lab.
Ronon couldn't see so much as a crack in the wall to indicate a hidden doorway, but that meant nothing. The Ancestors' technology wasn't as sophisticated as what he'd seen in his Atlantis, but it ran a close second. It'd be simple enough for them to cloak the exit. "Open it." Something else occurred him. "And disengage the alarm before you do so."
Another yelp. "How did you-?" The technician flinched from the minute increase in pressure applied to the blade. "Yes! Yes, I'll do it. I... I need to get to that computer, alright? The passage is password controlled."
It made sense. This way you could-
"He's lying." Her head cocked, Teyla seemed to listen to something only she could hear. "He is planning something."
"It that so?"
"No... No!" the man gasped and turned on Teyla, furious all of sudden. "How would you know, woman? What are you? Some kind of witch?"
For reasons best known to herself, Teyla grinned. "Perhaps. But you see, if a person loses one sense, the others sharpen to make up for it. The sound of your voice gave you away. I recommend you practice lying more often. Now, the truth. You don't want me to curse you, do you?"
Taking an involuntary step back, the technician collided with Ronon's chest. Before he could correct his mistake and skip forward again, Ronon had him in a stranglehold and gently reduced his victim's air supply to the minimum requirement. "Alternatively, I could just hurt you. A lot. Which do you prefer?"
"Please..." The whimper barely squeezed past Ronon's chokehold. "She's right. I was lying. Please... here. It's the red button," he croaked, flopping his arm until the sleeve of his robe slipped to reveal a wristband like the one the ST officer had worn.
Sliding a glance at Teyla, Ronon saw her nod. Must be his lucky day. "Take it off. Nice and easy."
Nice and easy no longer was in the guy's vocabulary. With all the signs of panic, he ripped off the device and held it up. "Red button," he stammered again.
Ronon snatched the wristband, spun him around, landed an uppercut on the technician's chin before the man had come to a standstill, dropping him cold. "Right. Let's get the hell out of here." Stepping over the crumpled body, he sheathed his sword, held his breath and pushed the red button, hoping that Teyla had read the man right.
Seemed as though she had.
The wall behind the computer banks twisted out of focus, and for a moment Ronon thought that he'd been wrong, that the Behemoth was reasserting its presence, and braced himself for an onslaught of agony. It never happened. Instead, he watched the whole side of the room burst into a rainbow of colors as the force field, and with it the illusion it had generated, dissolved. Behind lay another hallway, descending into the bowels of the Defense Command Center.
It was wide enough to accommodate the standard marching formation of six men to a line, with a low ceiling that, like the walls, was soundproofed. Inset into the floor at regular intervals were light panels, glowing in a dull red and providing just enough illumination to see where you were going. Best of all, there wasn't a soul waiting in the tunnel.
"Ronon? What's going on?"
For a few seconds there, he'd clean forgotten Teyla's presence. He whirled around guiltily, and as he turned his gaze caught on that huge, gross jar of McKay preserve. Something she'd mentioned earlier popped into his mind. "You said you found me because you had my finger?"
"Yes, but-"
"How?"
"It has your DNA,so the Stargate took me to you. It's something to-"
Ronon no longer listened. Three swift strides brought him in front of the preserve jar. There probably was a release mechanism somewhere, but he didn't have the time to look for it. This would have to be done the old-fashioned way... He drew his sword, aimed at the middle of the glass tube and swung. The impact almost broke his wrist. Not glass, then. Great.
But then there was the faintest of whispers, and he saw a hairline crack running out from where he'd struck the tube. Two more blows finished the job. The tube exploded in a fountain of shards and stench and liquid, drenching him to the skin, and he barel
y jumped out of the way of the corpse toppling toward him. Gross!
"What are you doing?" Teyla was starting to sound pissed off. Not that he could blame her. "And what's that smell?"
"Whatever they use around here to pickle dead people."
McKay's body lay on the floor like something about to melt, and Ronon fought back the urge to gag-substantially helped by loud banging from the door.
"You in there! Open up!" The STs had arrived.
"If we're going anywhere, now would be a good time!" advised Teyla.
Then a new voice from outside. "Ronon, you don't want to do this!" Marcon yelled through the door, a tremor of fear in his voice. Yes, resistance definitely would scare him. "Surrender! You won't survive it if you don't."
And he wouldn't survive if he did.
He raised his sword one last time, brought it down with barely a glance and snatched whatever body part he'd just sliced off... an ear? If nothing else, it was easy to stow. Fighting that urge to hurl again, he stuffed the ear into his back pocket, wiped his hand, and grabbed Teyla's arm. "Let's go!"
As they bolted through the opening, Ronon activated the wristband again, and the force field reestablished behind them. It wouldn't keep them safe, not by a long shot. As soon as the STs broke down the lab door and realized that the fugitives were gone, Marcon would know and have the tunnel opened. They had maybe ten minutes, if that, to get a comfortable head start. It would have to be enough.
Still holding on to Teyla, he set off at steady jog. "You okay?" he asked as he ran.
"Yes. What kept you in there?"
The embalming fluid dripping from his booty had soaked through Ronon's back pocket. It felt sticky on his skin and made him want to squirm. Never mind. "I got us a ticket to meet the one guy who's able to fix this mess "
Mirror, Mirror Page 17