Mirror, Mirror

by Sabine C. Bauer

  CHAPTER 13

  Charybdis +4

  t some point before the lights went out, Brother Maniac had told John-that would be Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard-that they were living in the Age of Aquarius. Or something. His head disagreed. Capricorn came closer, especially as Capricorn was butting its horns against the inside of his skull. Persistently and with the kind of vengeance that could be achieved only through years of determined malevolence.

  He groaned.

  In response, somebody removed something warm and wet from his forehead, replaced it with something cold and wet, and said, "Thank God!"

  "Elizabeth?" That couldn't be his voice, could it? It sounded like somebody had run it through a veggie grinder. He tried again, with moderate success. "Elizabeth?"

  The answer came in stereo. "I'm here, John."

  Followed by, "About time."

  His voice, with vastly improved smoothness, probably because he hadn't actually said anything.

  Then a female solo, "Don't get your hopes up. He is waking up, but it might take awhile yet."

  John figured he had two options; either assume he was hearing things and leave it at that, or open his eyes and check it out. He knew which option he preferred, but he also had a nasty suspicion that this particular option wasn't really an option. As if to confirm his hunch, there was a low rumble and the ground shook.

  "Damn," said his voice-the smooth version. "That's the third in the last hour. We had the same thing happening in my timeline. Teyla thought that Charybdis was causing it."

  "I don't like it here. It's dirty," complained one of the Elizabeths. "And damp."

  The other one soothed, "We won't have to stay here much longer. Just until John comes round." In a whisper, obviously not meant for her alter ego to hear, she added, "We've got to get out. It's not safe."

  "I know," the smooth voice hissed back.

  Okay. Time to take that option, which was easier thought than done. Next to extracting a team of injured Rangers from deep within Taliban territory in Afghanistan, opening his eyes was the trickiest thing he'd ever tried to do. His eyelids weighed a ton, for starters, and he was constantly scrambling for a foothold on that greased slope back into oblivion. The other senses were more accessible.

  Wherever he was, it was cold. Clammy. John could feel the ground under his fingertips-rock-and it was moist and covered in something slick, algae or moss or sediment. The place also smelled funny, musty, dank, as though it hadn't seen sunlight in... ever. There was a constant, slow drip-drip-drip coming from his left, and the sound, just like the voices, had that hollow, echo-y quality. Belowground then, a tunnel or a cave.

  And they'd just had a seismic tremor. Oh goodie.

  "Why the hell didn't you wake me?" he groaned.

  "We tried, believe me."

  "Should have tried harder, Junior."

  There was no reply other than a soft scraping of metal. The next thing John knew was a cascade of ice water exploding in his face. He gasped, spluttered, and finally yanked his eyes open, only to be rewarded by a new attack from the Capricorn as the dim flicker of a torch hit his retinas.

  "Oh boy..." Passing out again seemed like a great idea, and he devoutly wished he could afford to. At least his head would stop hurting that way.

  "Better?" His alternate was grinning, but right behind the smirk sat a whole heap of worry and impatience.

  "No," John grunted, forced himself up from the cloak-whose?-he'd been lying on, and shuffled sideways so he could sit leaning against the rock at least until their present locale quit doing the loop-de-loop around him. Gradually the motion stopped and with it the worst of the nausea. His head still hurt, though.

  The vista he'd gained didn't improve matters. They were belowground alright, in a high, narrow rock chamber claustrophobic with stalactites. Several of them-too many for comfort-had broken off during the tremors, their shards littering the floor of the cavern. Two tunnel mouths gaped at opposite ends of the chamber; the lower one was drooling water that rapidly advanced to where they were camping out. Pick an exit... Across from him guttered the torch, which someone had wedged into a crack in the rock. Shivering and smoking, its flame shed just enough light to make out the faces of Junior and the two Elizabeths, all of them ghostly pale under streaks of dirt, their eyes huge and dark. They looked like they'd been down here forever.

  "Anybody care to fill me in on what I missed?" John asked. "You can leave out the glaringly obvious, like us getting drugged by Brother Love and his traveling freak show."

  "He's scared, John," Elizabeth said. "When you arrived, he-"

  "There's scared, and then there's dangerous. Those folks have started a goddamn cult, with Radek as their messiah!" John sucked in a breath, somehow managed to swallow his anger. It wasn't going to achieve anything other than making his headache worse. He squinted at Elizabeth. "What are you doing here?"

  "I left the cult, so to speak. Quite some time ago, actually." She gave a wry smile. "When I realized that the flower was addictive, to be precise "

  "The tea... You knew and you didn't stop us from drinking the stuff?" John figured he would have to revise that not-getting-angry decision, headache or no.

  "The dosage you had wasn't enough. Otherwise... Look, you know me better than that, Colonel. I've never frivolously put you in harm's way, and that hasn't changed." Her voice had taken on an edge, but she seemed to notice, eased off. "You'd have to ingest the blossom extract regularly for several days to become addicted. Prepared properly it wouldn't even be strong enough to knock you out like it did. I swear I had no idea of what Radek had planned."

  "So how does the addiction show?" asked Junior. "Paranoia and delusions of grandeur?"

  `No. You simply won't be able to bring yourself to leave this place."

  John blinked. "Good old Homer... the Greek one, not Simpson. It's the original island of the lotus-eaters, isn't it?"

  "The Odyssey..." She shot him a brief smile. "Your choice of reading matter never ceases to amaze me."

  "Actually, we watched the NBC series," Junior threw in.

  "Speak for yourself." The absurdity of that only dawned on John when he clocked Junior's grin. He sighed. "So, what happened?"

  "This is part of a huge cave system beneath what used to be Atlantis here," Elizabeth explained. "Star and a couple of his men discovered it last year when they were out hunting. One of the men slipped and fell into a sinkhole. After we'd rescued him, we started exploring-the usual, in other words. We were hoping that this might provide us with a refuge in case we ever came under attack, but it turned out that the caves were simply too dangerous. If it's raining hard enough flash floods submerge the tunnels, and they're completely unpredictable." She shrugged. "Well, you can imagine. One of the teams got caught in one of those. Two of the men never made it back. Besides, we couldn't find a second access to the caves. Without a backdoor to get out if you have to, no hiding place is any good."

  Staring toward the pitch darkness of the upper tunnel, John asked, "I take it we're not hiding, then?"

  "Not exactly," Elizabeth replied grimly. "Radek wanted to get you off-planet as quickly as possible. Once you were out cold he and his people piled you into the jumper and tried to send you back through the gate." Pausing for breath, she shook her head. "It was the weirdest thing I've ever seen. The wormhole engaged, but it wouldn't let the jumper pass through the event horizon. After that they decided the best way to make you disappear was to take you to the sinkhole and lower you down. I tried to prevent it, but Radek had told them it was the only way to appease Charybdis, so the others-"

  "Figured they'd abandon common sense and take their chances with a bit of human sacrifice," John finished for her, grimacing. "Nice. Which brings me back to my initial question: what are you doing here?"

  "Attempting to keep you alive. All three of you were out cold, which could have been a death sentence down here. I insisted on coming with you. Radek didn't seem to mind," she added dryly.

 
"Crazy. Crazy, but thanks."

  "You're welcome."

  So, if he recapped correctly, they were trapped underground with no known way out, and if they tried to return to sender they'd likely get tossed right back into the sinkhole by Zelenka and his disciples who were in the throes of some kind of superstitious frenzy. Even the fact that someone had been kind enough to leave them with a torch couldn't dispel John's certainty that in at least one timeline created by Charybdis today had to be Friday the thirteenth. His gaze drifted to the lower tunnel and the water pouring in from there. Was he imagining it, or had the volume increased? Even if it hadn't, their chamber definitely was flooding. At the bottom end of the cave a stalagmite that looked like the Hunchback of Notre Dame stood up to its knees in water. Last time he'd looked, the water had only reached mid-shin.

  "Somebody please tell me that that's where we came from." John pointed at the lower tunnel.

  Thankfully, Elizabeth nodded. "I don't really know the caves; I've only been down here a couple of times, but considering the hailstorm I decided it was best to keep moving uphill as soon as Major Sheppard and my alternate were awake and able to move."

  Good point. "So how did I get here?" asked John.

  Both Elizabeths stared at Junior who tried to look innocent. Did he always make such a bad job of it?

  "He carried you," the original Elizabeth said.

  "Sorry." John winced. He knew the state Junior's leg was in. "Like I said; crazy. Crazy, but thanks."

  "Don't mention it. You're at least ten pounds underweight anyway." As if to demonstrate that his leg wasn't an issue, Junior rose and gimped over to a trickle of water gushing from a stalactite to refill the canteen he'd emptied into John's face. "Besides," he added, "Teyla seemed to think we need you."

  Teyla's confidence was flattering, but John had no idea how to merit it, given that there were no Rodneys running around on this planet. Worse, given the vagaries of the Stargate system, there obviously was no way of gating elsewhere without an alternate willing to act as a conduit to his or her original's matrix. He doubted that Zelenka would volunteer. In other words, they'd have to do this the old-fashioned way.

  "Where's the jumper now?"

  "Where you left it. Why?"

  "Because we're getting out of here." Clinging to a stalagmite for dear life, John maneuvered himself to a stand. That loop-de-loop thing happened again, and he held on until the rotation of the cave slowed down a little.

  "Haven't you been listening, John'? There is no exit."

  "You said you hadn't found one. Elizabeth, stay with me; Junior, you look after her double." With that, John groped his way toward the upper tunnel, hoping he'd be able to stay on course.

  Charybdis +13

  The wall ahead was real. No matter how often Ronon punched the controls on the wrist unit, the concrete remained solid.

  A few minutes ago they'd emerged at a subterranean crossroads from which eight other corridors branched off. He'd had no idea how far they'd come or where exactly beneath the gov- ermnent district they were, and there'd been no time to scratch his head and wonder. So he'd taken nearest turn -and led them straight into a dead end.

  Behind him the footfalls and shouts of the STs were approaching far more quickly than he would have liked.

  Beside him Teyla's breath came in harsh gasps, as loud as a bellows to his ears. "What is it?" she rasped.

  "Trouble."

  He whirled around, stared back into the tunnel where the STs' flashlights slashed crisscross beams over walls and ceiling. Some fifty yards back in the direction where they'd come from gaped a dark opening, a niche or, if he was undeservedly lucky, another corridor.

  No luck, deserved or not. It was a niche, just large enough for him and Teyla to flatten themselves into the shadows and quit breathing. Ronon was under no illusion that the STs wouldn't find them in here, but it would buy them a minute or two. A lot could happen in a minute or two. At the very least they'd have time to prepare to die.

  Shouts firmed into snatches of words.

  "Along there!"

  "They're trapped!"

  "Careful! At least one of them is armed!"

  The STs ran past, still keeping an orderly rank and file despite the excitement of the hunt, until they realized that the cul-desac was empty and surged to a halt like a wave breaking on the cliffs. A moment's silence gave way to rumbles of confusion as the men in front turned, searching. The murmurs were stilled by a cultivated baritone drifting along the corridor.

  "Well, where are they?"

  Ronon recognized it instantly, the siren song of betrayal. Marcon. Marcon was down here.

  "They're gone," an ST shouted back.

  "They can't be! Are you sure they took this corridor?"

  "Yes, Excellency. We're positive."

  "Then they must be here. There is no way out." The voice was coming closer, at a measured pace, as though Marcon had all the time in the world. And he had, of course, because he was right. There was no way out. He laughed, softly, mockingly. "Ronon, my friend! You know which quality I've always admired most in you? Your refusal to acknowledge defeat, even when it's staring you in the face. But you had best break the habit, amusing as it is. Give yourself up now, and I promise you the end will be swift-and as painless as I can make it."

  Ronon's fist clenched around the grip of the sword. The voice was close, so close. He could picture it easily; burst from cover, with one slice of the blade cut the lying excuse for a man in half, and never mind what happened after. Death and oblivion didn't sound too bad. He would have done it if he'd been alone. But he wasn't alone, and he owed it to Teyla to go down fighting for their escape.

  Then the beam of a flashlight made the decision for him. It fingered along the wall, found the niche, found Ronon's chest. At the other end of it, an ST's eyes went wide, his mouth opened, about to shout out his discovery. Ronon wasn't going to wait for it.

  He propelled himself out into the corridor the same instant as Marcon came abreast of the niche. The blade snapped across the man's throat, while Ronon's left arm clamped around his chest, pulling him in front of his body like a shield. Startled outcries from a few STs exploded through the tunnel and rolled away into silence.

  "Anyone tries to follow us and he is dead," Ronon said and threw a quick glance over his shoulder. "Teyla. Hang on to me."

  She slipped from the niche, one hand searching until it caught the fabric of Ronon's sleeve, held tight. Slowly, never losing sight of the STs, Ronon began to back away toward the open end of the corridor, dragging Marcon with him. Gawking and immobile, the STs let them go. He had suspected as much. At least for the time being the Behemoth wouldn't allow them to endanger the chairman of the Defense Council who, ripe with sweat and fear, trembled in Ronon's grip. Suavity had fled Marcon with a vengeance, revealing him for what he was: a coward. Ronon allowed himself to enjoy it just a little.

  They reached the main tunnel without incident, turned the comer, lost sight of the STs. "The quickest way to the surface?" he hissed in Marcon's ear. "And don't lie to me."

  "You won't get away with this!" Marcon whimpered. "It's only a matter of minutes until the Behemoth orders them to disregard my safety and-"

  "I know. So we'd better hurry up." Ronon let the blade bite a fraction of an inch deeper into Marcon's throat. "Answer my question."

  The man groaned. "Continue along here. The third cross corridor to the right leads to a flight of stairs and straight to the surface."

  "He's telling the truth," Teyla whispered.

  Ronon shot her a look, realizing too late that a gesture she couldn't see would hardly get him an answer. "How do you know?" he asked.

  "I can feel it "

  Ah. That explained it...

  "Keep moving. We haven't got much time." She gave him a gentle shove.

  True enough. And Marcon seemed to share their desire to put distance between them and the STs.

  The corridor narrowed and began to lead uphill. Promising, b
ut Ronon wasn't going to let his hopes rise just yet. They were buying added lifespan in two-minute increments, was all. He lengthened his stride, forcing Marcon into a jog. Teyla kept pace behind him. The first cross tunnel flashed past, unlit and dusty, burrowing into black, then the second, not much more inviting. Just before they reached the third corridor, the STs shouts caught up with them, driven on by the flicker of flashlights in the distance. The Behemoth had made up its mind. Marcon yelped, tripped, ran on, stinking with fear now.

  Ahead and to their right the third corridor yawned. Barely wider than Ronon's shoulders, the tunnel seemed to predate the rest. It meandered wildly and was showing signs of decay-in places, groundwater was seeping up through cracks in the floor, and the lighting, dim and desultory, looked to be on its last legs. Finally they came up against a spiral staircase that disappeared in pitch darkness after ten steps or so-no way of telling what was lying in wait up there. Then again, it still beat the certainty of what lay behind.

  Ronon stopped.

  "What?" hissed Teyla.

  "Take the lead. There's no lighting up there, and you've got more practice with this than I have."

  Chuckling softly she slipped past to take point. "Hold on to me," she ordered Marcon and started up the stairs.

  An eternity later-by now Ronon figured they'd probably come out a the top of the Flight Surveillance Tower-she froze. "There's something ahead. A door or some other kind of barrier. Can you sense it?"

  Sense it?

  Though now that he focused, he thought he could feel something; the air seemed denser, packed more tightly up here. "I guess so. I-"

  He'd heard it almost the same time as she. When he turned around he could just about make out a faint, unsteady graying of the pervasive black; reflected brightness from the flashlights the STs were carrying. "Go!" he hissed.

  Some ten or fifteen steps further up, Teyla stopped again. "It's metal," she whispered. "Probably a door. I don't hear anything on the other side."

  Another dead end. Maybe. Unless Teyla was right. Unless...