Mirror, Mirror

by Sabine C. Bauer

  And a surprise.

  For a split-second he was so stunned, he forgot to swim and almost went under again. There was light. Hardly more than a faint, gray twilight, to be sure, but enough to outline the towering cliffs behind him and lend a ghostly white shimmer to the spray of the cascades they'd just shot down. On either side of the river rose ancient trees and high above John's head the last stars fought a losing battle with morning fog and dawn.

  They'd made it out of the caves.

  They-

  "Elizabeth?"

  She hadn't surfaced.

  Swearing, John pulled at the lifeline, only to find a frayed end that had got snagged on a piece of wood, which must have been the pull he'd noticed. Panic wanted to rise, but he refused to let it, refused to even think about the chances of finding someone in this light in a large pool with a slow but appreciable current and probably one hell of an undertow nearer the cascades. No point thinking about it, because he damn well was going to find her.

  He took a few deep breaths, then a final, shallower one and dived. Airy froth churned up by the rapids and the cascades rendered the water practically opaque. He could see perhaps two feet, that was it. Fine, so he'd grope. A few strong strokes brought him to the bottom. Pebbles, which was a small mercy; at least he wouldn't have to worry about stirring up silt as well. He pulled himself upstream along the riverbed, one arm extended, patting all around him. Nothing. Finally, with his lungs burning for air, he shot back to the surface. Then he repeated the process, gradually working his way closer to the waterfall.

  When he came back up for the third time, he knew this next dive would have to be the last. He was shaking uncontrollably, and the muscles in his legs were beginning to cramp. Wildly determined to make this one count, he dived directly under the cascades-and found her almost immediately, flopping like a rag doll in the undertow, clearly unconscious. Obviously unconscious. There was no alternative as far as John was concerned. He hauled her in, threaded one arm under hers and across her chest and began kicking out of the milling current and toward the surface for all he was worth, which wasn't very much at this stage. Just when he thought he'd never get clear of the undertow, the river suddenly seemed to change its mind, relinquished its grip, and let him and Elizabeth drift toward a shallow bank.

  Crawling on all fours, he dragged her limp body up the shore with him, rolled her on her back, searched for a pulse, which was pointless. His fingers were so cold, he couldn't have felt a one-stroke diesel engine. What was obvious, however, was the fact that Elizabeth wasn't breathing. Blue-lipped and drained of blood her face looked as though it belonged to a wax doll-or a corpse.

  How long had she been under? Five minutes? Seven?

  It was difficult to say, but at least the fact that the water was cold enough to freeze a polar bear's privates would have bought her some extra time. If he could get her breathing again, and if he managed to warm her up quickly enough afterwards...

  Willing his hands to move with a semblance of coordination, he cleared Elizabeth's airway and began CPR. For the briefest of moments he hesitated before starting compressions-if her heart hadn't in fact stopped this might kill her-then he went ahead, because he didn't have a choice. Five compressions, breathe, five compressions, breathe... John blanked out everything, except that steady rhythm.

  After a while-minutes that felt like hours-he felt sweat trickling into his eyes and pouring down his back. His hands and shoulders were aching, and she still hadn't stirred.

  "Dammit, Elizabeth! Snap out of it! The originals mustn't die, remember?" John kept going with the dogged determination of a man who had run out of all other options.

  Without warning, Elizabeth convulsed in a coughing fit, water gushing from her mouth and nose.

  "Yes! Good girl!" He rolled her over onto her side, rubbed her back, while she continued to bring up water.

  When she wasn't wheezing and choking up fluid, she was shivering violently, and they didn't have a scrap of dry clothing on them. Perfect. Adrenaline and the glow of exertion had worn off, and John was starting to feel cold again, too. He cast a baleful glance skywards. At some point, while he'd been busy breathing for Elizabeth, fat-bellied, lead-gray clouds had begun to push in, blotting out that timid gleam of dawn. A few hesitant flakes of snow were spinning toward him, tiny and innocuous, and promising hell on whatever this planet was called.

  "You're the one who did survival training," Elizabeth stuttered between rattling teeth. "This is when you ask, What have we got? What do we need?"

  "We've got zip and we need a suite at the Hilton. With a Jacuzzi," he said, grinning in spite of himself. "Welcome back."

  "No Jacuzzi. Nothing that involves water," she protested weakly, trying to sit up. "My chest hurts."

  "You... uh... you'll probably get a whopper of a bruise there," he said a little sheepishly. "It took a few minutes to get you ticking again..."

  "I..." She blinked. "You saved my life."

  Uh-uh. No speeches and medals, please. If it hadn't been for him, she wouldn't be here. None of them would. After all, he was the genius who'd insisted on trusting Ikaros and ignoring Rodney. John pulled a face. "You heard what Junior said. The originals have to survive."

  Elizabeth winced. "You think they..."

  She didn't finish, but then she didn't have to. It was the first time the subject of the alternates had cropped up since that heated and utterly futile argument he'd had with her on the raft, several centuries ago or so it seemed. Of course there'd been no way of going back for them, especially since she'd made the right decision to start with. Or rather, Junior and Elizabeth's alternate had, knowing full well what would happen to them.

  "They're dead," he said as gently as he could- absurdly, he thought, because there was no way of making this sound pleasant or comforting in any way at all. "Look at the water levels. They must have drowned hours ago."

  Her only reply was a bleak little nod. Then another coughing fit shook her, reminding John that certain essentials needed sorting out before he indulged in the luxury of wallowing in regret. He didn't much like the thought of leaving her on her own, but there was little else he could do. Waiting around wouldn't improve things.

  "I'll be back as soon as I can," he said, easing her back until she sat reclined against a boulder. "Stay put. I've got to go and get some of those things we need."

  She nodded again, tried a parody of a smile. "If you insist on that Jacuzzi, at least bring a bottle of champagne."

  "Yes, ma'am." He straightened up, staggered his way through a head rush-no less than he'd expected-and made for the tree line along the top of the small beach.

  It was an old growth forest, none of the trees under a hundred and fifty feet high, densely shot through with brush, ferns, and moss and a whole array of other things you could trip over. After some twenty meters of tripping and swatting aside branches John hit a narrow trail. Absence of any kind of spoor suggested that it probably wasn't a game trail but the route the esteemed members of Zelenka's ashram used to go for a swim or to wash their underwear.

  Not a good thing.

  By the same token, not having to stumble through the undergrowth would speed this business up considerably. He'd just have to be careful. About half a klick along, the path looped around a moss-backed hillock, overgrown with trees, rocks jutting from its flanks. They looked like limestone. Given the geology of the area, there might be a chance of finding shelter up there somewhere; a cave if they were really lucky, though right now-he'd-happily settle for an overhang.

  John dipped back among the trees, sinking ankle-deep into moss and peat as soon as he left the trail. Under normal circumstances the climb would have been child's play. Unfortunately, circumstances were slightly inferior to normal, to say the least. He pulled himself up a ledge, scrabbling over its edge with the grace and agility of a flipped-over beetle. Lying flat on his belly, he spent a moment catching his breath and studying the snowflakes that were melting on his sleeve. They'd become chunki
er in the last little while, and there were more of them. Charybdis was well and truly out to get him.

  Oh yeah.

  The ledge was just a ledge, no beckoning entrance to a warm and cozy cave with piles of marinated mammoth steak stored inside.

  "Crap!" he whispered, struggling back to his feet. This time the dizzy spell was bad enough to make him grope for support.-

  The hill slowly stopped spinning, and as that weird sizzling sound in his ears subsided he heard a noise that had nothing to do with his blood pressure bottoming out. At least he didn't think so... John gingerly sidled closer to the edge, praying that the next bout of dizziness wouldn't make him lose his balance.

  "Crap!" he said again, quieter though more emphatically.

  He'd heard right. It was footsteps The trail ran along the hillside directly below the ledge, and on it Brother Star was heading for the river. Swimming was out, considering the weather, so he probably planned on catching his lunch-unless he'd somehow got wind that they'd made it out of the caves and planned on catching someone else entirely... Either way, Elizabeth was down there on her own and in no shape to run and hide.

  And given the shape you're in, John, you haven't got an ice cube's chance in hell of winning a wrestling match with that guy!

  True, but he did have the element of surprise. Plus, Brother Star was lugging along a nice, big, heavy-looking haversack, which should be cumbersome enough to slow him down at least initially. At any rate, doing nothing wasn't an option.

  Brother Star-in enviably dry clothes, by the way-was walking at a brisk pace, clearly alone, clearly unconcerned about what lay either side or ahead of him. He did, however, check his six periodically, which struck John as more than a little odd. Ill feelings among the brethren? Or perhaps Brother Star had made off with this fall's dope harvest.

  They might get a chance to discuss it later.

  If John survived this.

  He peered over the edge for one last, measuring glance and snapped back into the cover of a boulder. Flattened against cold stone, he did the math. Roughly an eighteen-foot drop, he guessed, which should give him plenty of momentum. Below, Brother Star was approaching the target area.

  John took a last deep breath, pushed himself off the rock face and jumped. The trajectory was just so, slamming him onto Star's shoulders like some deranged, outsize monkey. Star staggered forward under the weight, sent them both tumbling to the ground in a series of a soggy thuds. The first impact of landing on top of the man had detonated a sparkling burst of agony in John's head, half blinding him. Barely able to stay astride his stunned victim and struggling to ignore the pain, he tried to place a left hook, missed by a mile.

  The second attempt was even less successful. Meanwhile, Star lay flat on his back, staring up at his attacker with a look of disbelief in his eyes. If anything, that look intensified when John's third attempt barely grazed the man's shoulder.

  "At least defend yourself!" John hissed, somewhat insulted by the fact that apparently he didn't rate a proper fight.

  "If I defended myself, you'd be dead," Star said earnestly. "You hit like a girl."

  Somehow that took the wind out of John's sails. There also was the minor issue that he had a point. So far Star had saved him a fortune in plastic surgery, and the furtive undertone of amusement in his voice indicated that it probably had little to do with rules about not hitting guests.

  Deciding that it might be better for the remains of his dignity not to reduce the man to tears of laughter, John folded and rolled off his not-so-victimized victim. "What are you doing here?" he grunted.

  Star sat up and straightened himself out. "I was looking for you. The cascades upriver are the only other exit from the cave system I could think of, so I was hoping you'd somehow make it there. Where're the other one and the Elizabeths?"

  "Why?" Though the man didn't present any obvious threat, John was a long way from trusting him. For all he knew this was some elaborate charade designed to capture any potential survivors.

  "Colonel, please" Star actually sighed. "I'm trying to help you. True, we all believe that Brother Moon is right. You shouldn't be here, and none of us wants to cease to exist when you do whatever you're going to do to Charybdis. Having said that, there were several of us who didn't agree with just dumping you in the caves. In the end it was a majority decision, though... you see?"

  "Oh yeah. Clear as day. Death by democracy."

  Star had the decency to wince. "We just... we just want to live."

  "So did my and Elizabeth's doubles."

  You could see the blood drain from the man's face. "They're...

  "Yes, they're dead. Happy now? They drowned to give Elizabeth and me a chance to make it out of there."

  The words managed to achieve what John's hapless flailing earlier hadn't. Star flinched as though he'd received a knockout blow. "I'm sorry. I truly am. I... I don't know what to say." Scrambling to regroup, he angled for the haversack he'd lost in their one-sided tussle, fished around inside it, and at last seemed to find what he'd been looking for. "Maybe this'll help to convince you." He held out Junior's Beretta.

  John snatched the gun, unsafed it, and trained it on his would-be rescuer.

  "Brother Moon explained its purpose to us. You can shoot me if it makes you feel better." Star gave a tired shrug. "I guess I would if I were in your shoes. But there are only three projectiles left."

  "Never mind." Feeling like an idiot, John lowered the Beretta. "I think I'll keep that in reserve for the time being."

  With a small jerk of the head at the sidearm, the man said, "Sister Dawn isn't too keen on what happened either. She is in a, uh, position of trust and took it while Brother Moon was asleep. And this." More rummaging in the haversack produced the cloak remote for the jumper. "We figured that way you could go someplace safe."

  John took the remote, too, weighed it in his hand. "You do realize that we can't leave the planet, don't you, Star? Elizabeth tells me Brother Moon tried to send us through the gate, without much luck. For the gate to work he would have to come with us."

  Star looked uncomfortable. "He can't. I... well, I guess Elizabeth explained about the flower."

  "The drug, you mean."

  "Yes, I suppose you could call it that..."

  "No doubt about it."

  "Where's Elizabeth?" asked Star, obviously figuring that a change of topic was in order and adding, "I won't tell anybody, I swear."

  "I left her near the shore. She damn near drowned." Suddenly aware of how long he'd been gone, John shot to his feet and would have keeled over if Star hadn't leaped up and caught him. Dangling from the man's grip, he scrubbed a hand over his face and stopped when he realized that even that much pressure seemed to set his eyeballs ablaze. "I've got to get back. I need to get some firewood. She's hypothermic... cold."

  "And so are you." Star carefully leaned John against a tree. "Can I trust you to stay upright on your own for a minute?" When he got no answer, he took a step back, observed that there was no discernible list in either direction, and gathered his haversack. Slinging it over his shoulder, he took hold of John's arm again and said, "Let's go. I've got dry clothes and food in there, and you can get changed once we get that fire going."

  "Why are you doing this?" John murmured, unsure of why he was quibbling with anything, except perhaps that dry clothes and food sounded too good to be true.

  "I guess because Sister... because Elizabeth believes that that's what we ought to be about."

  CHAPTER 17

  Charybdis -908

  o you think it ever stops raining here?" Teyla sounded frazzled.

  "You should see it in winter." Ronon grinned.

  After realizing that the journey through the gate had had the same rejuvenating effect on him that it'd apparently had on Teyla, the rain couldn't even begin to bother him. What did make him shudder, though, was the litany of complaints they'd be treated to once they found McKay. Then again, he'd gladly listen to it and the inevitable
encores, just as long as they did find the scientist. Ronon wanted to go back to his Atlantis and hug a few Wraith.

  Ahead the trees were gradually thinning out, admitting wads of glum gray light that seemed tired enough to wink out at a moment's notice. It was impossible to tell what time of day it was, though Ronon guessed it had to be mid-afternoon or thereabouts. If they were lucky they had maybe three hours of daylight left, perhaps four, tops. Which meant that they'd better find themselves some shelter, because even Ronon's current tolerance of the weather conditions didn't extend to wanting to spend the night out in the open.

  When they reached the edge of the forest he stopped, pulling Teyla in close beside him. Stretching out before them was a vast alpine meadow that sloped down toward a jumble of farm buildings at its bottom. More than likely the home of those pigs and their herder-who might or might not be McKay. Still, instinct warned him against wading in there and asking questions. Two strangers suddenly appearing out of the mountain wilderness were bound to raise suspicion.

  Interestingly, there was a lot of non-agricultural commotion happening on the farm. In pairs or small groups people were filtering out through the main gate and onto the road. Further down in the valley more people from other farms and homesteads joined the stream of travelers. It looked like birds gathering for their winter journey south. Ronon had a fairly good idea of what this was all about.

  "You know," he murmured to Teyla, "my father had a farm back on Sateda."

  "As a matter of fact, I didn't know that. You never told me."

  "Yeah, well, I don't think of it much anymore." Which wasn't entirely true. He did think of it, but he refused to hanker after things that were lost. Neither the farm nor his parents had survived the Wraith attacks. "Farm sounds too grand, really," Ronon continued. "He farmed maize, made barely enough to feed us. Once a year there'd be a market in the nearest town, everybody would go and the roads into town looked just like this" A boyhood memory of the sheer excitement of trekking to the fair made him smile whether he liked or not. "Place was full of gossip. If you wanted to hear all the latest news, that was where you went."