Mirror, Mirror

by Sabine C. Bauer

  "What do you-" Elizabeth cut herself off, suddenly realizing exactly what he meant. "DNA."

  "Yeah. So much of the Ancients' technology is gene activated, it only stands to reason. Besides, what else would the gate use to compare matrices?"

  Star frowned. "I don't know what this DNA is, but you can have mine anytime."

  "It's something contained in hair, skin, teeth, any part of your body. And yours won't do us any good, I'm afraid. Thanks for offering, though. We need that of Brother Moon." Turning to her, John added, "He's the next best thing to Rodney... provided that the original hasn't developed a god complex, too."

  "How do you plan to get Radek's DNA?" asked Elizabeth.

  "Leave it to me," Star said. "I'll think of a way."

  John directed a probing look at him and finally nodded. "Now that that's cleared up, I reckon we should break camp."

  There wasn't much to break, and they were ready to go in a matter of minutes. Well, willing to go, Elizabeth amended silently, because John was two weeks of solid bed rest away from being ready for anything more taxing than a leisurely stroll on the beach. Which this probably wouldn't be.

  Star doused the campfire and in the meager light of a single torch obliterated any sign that there had been more than one person resting here. "Just in case. I'd suggest you two hang back a bit. Keep the torch in sight, but don't follow me too closely."

  It was like staggering through the marshes after a will o' the wisp. The flicker of the torchlight weaved in and out among the trees, disappearing completely at times and leaving Elizabeth and John to stumble through the pitch darkness of a moonless, starless night, pregnant with snow. Then it would reappear suddenly, barely visible anymore through the driving snowfall, and they'd run half-blind and at a breakneck speed just to catch up with it a little. Between the errant light and the darkness, the trek was disorienting even for Elizabeth who knew the area well. Still, on the whole she felt as certain as she could be that Star wasn't pulling a fast one but instead was leading them to the village as promised.

  As if to confirm that feeling, a more steady glimmer of brightness began to outline trees and bushes and fern fronds. Eventually she could make out the colorful bubbles of tents and the gleam of oil lamps bouncing back brightly from the thick layer of snow. Drifts covered half the village, piled a white mantle over the jumper that still sat where they'd left it at the edge of the forest, and tongues of snow had pushed in under the overhang of the remaining structure that still embraced the Stargate like a band shell. To the left of the gate-safely out of the way, just in case there ever was an incoming wormhole-someone had built a roaring fire, and figures were huddled around it for warmth. In fact, there were far more people than she would have expected up this late, and the debate was heated; even from the distance she could see stiff shoulders and harsh gestures.

  Not good.

  Despite the obvious tension, the hominess of the gathering around the fireside triggered a sharp pang of regret in Elizabeth. This had been her home and her family for the past three years, and in many ways she'd come to know these people better than many in her own timeline, perhaps because, in spite of the dangers and difficulties the Atlantis expedition posed from day to day, life had been harder here. They'd had to fight for each basic amenity, and it had welded them together as a group.

  And perhaps this simpering bout of nostalgia was caused by a combination of cold feet and the remnants of the drug in her system. In her system and all around her; the plant's thick vines were trailing down from branches and snaking through the undergrowth. Out of sheer habit she checked for mature blossoms. What she saw froze her in her tracks; buds, blossoms, tendrils-everything was encased in ice and shimmering like pink and red jewels. Utterly beautiful and utterly useless. Even if the plants survived and even if this unannounced winter stopped eventually, it would be months until the next crop was available. Which more than likely explained the late powwow around the fire by the gate. If she had noticed, they would have, too, and the community would be angry at the very least, panicked into an irrational frenzy at the worst.

  This wasn't good at all. If she and John were going to steal back the jumper, it would be safer to wait until things had simmered down a little. To get caught now...

  "John, I think we-"

  "Shh!" He grabbed her arm and yanked her into a crouch behind some bushes.

  It would have been too late anyway. Star had reached the village and several people spotted him simultaneously. They jumped up and toward him, and now their agitation was more than obvious.

  "Must be nice to be missed," John whispered.

  "That's not it," she hissed back. "I think they've discovered that they'll be going cold turkey once their current store of blossoms is used up."

  His gaze traveled in the direction she was pointing. When he clocked the frozen flowers he swore under his breath. "They'll be pissed."

  "To say the least."

  "What about Star? He's as dependent on the stuff as any of them. Is he going to go through with it?"

  She shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine, John. Given this development, all bets are off. You have no idea what it's like."

  "That's where you're wrong, but I'll save the war stories for another day."

  Star hadn't stopped for his welcoming committee. He strode through them and made straight for the campfire, which could mean any number of things. Oblivious to the cold that was again seeping under her skin and into her bones, and wishing she could make out what was being said, Elizabeth watched as Radek Zelenka rose in response to whatever piece of information his renegade disciple had flung at him. Then Star spun around and pointed back down the trail. To her it felt as if he were pointing straight at them.

  "He flipped." John swore under his breath. "Let's-"

  "They're all dead! I saw them! He's been lying to us all along!" roared Star, and that was audible enough. He whirled back at Zelenka to loose a straight right that caught the erstwhile scientist squarely in the jaw.

  Yells of shock and outrage went up among the bystanders, and Zelenka reeled back, clutching his face. When he let go, he spat out a mouthful of blood that blossomed in the snow like one of the flowers. Star launched at him again, slipped and pitched into a headlong fall.

  "My God, what is he doing?"

  "I think he just got us Zelenka's DNA. The hard way." For the first time in days there was something like amusement in John's voice. "I bet you anything that Radek lost at least one tooth."

  Over by the fire, Star pushed himself to his knees, his fist closing around that bloody flower in the snow.

  "I know what he's up to," John whispered urgently. "In addition to giving us one hell of a diversion. We've got to get to the jumper. Now!"

  He hauled Elizabeth to her feet and prodded her on, along the trail for twenty meters or so. Then he veered sideways into the undergrowth, pushing through bushes and ferns and stumbling over roots to make a beeline for the jumper. He pulled out the remote as he ran, activated it, and Elizabeth fully expected to hear an outcry go up as the hatch slid open. The outcry came, but with a split-second's delay she realized that nobody was paying any attention to them or the jumper. Everybody's attention was riveted on the fight breaking out by the fire.

  One hell of a diversion.

  Pale with rage, Zelenka flew at his attacker who was still down. Star dodged the onslaught, rolled to his feet, hands kneading the fistful of snow he'd grabbed. He let out an inarticulate shout and hurled that rosy snowball as if to release at least some of his anger before swatting aside Zelenka who'd charged again.

  With a -dull thud, the snowball struck the jumper and slid down the side of the hull. John shot from cover and dived for it, scraped up every speck of pink snow he could see and a whole armful more besides, shoved it all at Elizabeth.

  "Don't lose any of it and get in the jumper!"

  "What are you-"

  "Get in the jumper!"

  Finally one of the ringside crowd notice
d what else was happening. "Over there! Look!" It was a woman's voice, not that it mattered.

  People swung around, dumbstruck, but their surprise wouldn't last. Elizabeth ducked up the ramp and stayed just inside the hatch to see what was going on. Over by the fire things were getting uglier by the second. Shouts of "Traitor!" went up, a chorus led by Radek Zelenka. People had recovered from their initial shock and the mood was turning against Star with a vengeance. The woman who'd shouted was pulling Zelenka out of harm's way, while three of the men, then four launched themselves at Star. The rest came stumbling through the snow and toward the jumper.

  The report of a gunshot rent the air and stopped them in their tracks. Even the foursome that had set upon Star ceased their attempts to beat him into a pulp, and for a moment an eerie silence settled over the village.

  It was shattered by John's voice. "Don't make me fire again. The next time I will shoot somebody, I promise."

  Nobody was stupid enough to doubt him. Nobody moved a muscle.

  Then Star, on all fours, blood trickling from a split lip and eyebrow, hollered, "Go! Get out of here!"

  "Not without you! Get your ass into the jumper!"

  A smile contorted the Star's bruised face. "But I can't. You know I can't. Once you manage to fix this it won't matter anyway, right?"

  "Star-"

  Zelenka seemed to have woken up to what was happening. "Stop them!" he screamed. "Don't let them leave!"

  It galvanized the whole group into action. Those who'd stood staring so far, broke into a sprint, heading straight for the jumper.

  "Go!" Star yelled again and was buried under a pile of attackers.

  John Sheppard hovered for a moment, indecisive, then he must have realized the odds; he turned around and in a shambling run scrambled for the ramp. "Dial the gate!" he yelled at Elizabeth. "Doesn't matter where!"

  Not bothering to acknowledge, she dumped that freely dripping armful of snow into a storage box, raced into the cock pit and dialed-Atlantis. With any kind of luck they would be going home. John came stumbling up the ramp, slapped the door switch, and joined her in the cockpit. The jumper's engines came online before he'd even thrown himself into the pilot's seat, responding to his thoughts. From outside, muted by inches of metal, came furious shouts and the clangor of fists and sticks pounding the hull. She knew that nothing the men outside could do would leave so much as a dent, but it was unsettling all the same, and she shuddered with relief when she felt the jumper leave the ground.

  The small vessel turned on the spot like a compass needle searching for north, until its nose pointed at the event horizon that exploded out toward them in a glorious cascade of silver and blue. To the left of it an uneven fight was taking place, and she grasped in a second what the outcome would be.

  "Don't look!" John's lips were compressed in a strained white line, he kept his eyes stubbornly on the large, shimmering target that was the event horizon.

  Elizabeth's gaze dropped to the storage box she was cradling in her lap. The snow in it was melting into rose-tinted puddles. At the bottom of one of those sat a small white clump. John had been right. Star had managed to get them one of Radek's teeth. Whether it was enough remained to be seen.

  John goosed the engines, the jumper shot forward into the wormhole, and four years of Elizabeth's life dissolved into cold nothing and the vague awareness of a rough, rough ride.

  CHAPTER 19

  Charybdis -908

  leyla drowsily turned over, smacked her elbow against unforgiving stone, and realized that she actually must have fallen asleep at some point. It bore witness to how tired she'd been. The first thing she noticed was that her sleeping place was markedly cooler than it had been when she'd dozed off. At least it was still dry. Ronon had explained about the porticoes and the braziers and found them shelter right by that large market square where they'd ended up the previous evening.

  At a guess, the brazier had gone out.

  She swiped her hand across the floor until her fingers struck metal, and she cautiously traced the leg of the brazier upwards, prepared to let go as soon as she felt the heat. There was none. A little residual warmth, perhaps, but nothing else. She must have slept for hours. And the space beside her was still deserted.

  "Ronon?"

  Apart from a sleeper somewhere to her right who shushed her angrily, there was no reply. So he was still gone. She couldn't begin to imagine what he could be doing reconnoitering for so long.

  With a soft sigh, she drew up her knees, pulled her cloak tighter around her, and listened to the rain slapping the pavement. It had to be dawn by now, she supposed. Over the steady crackle of raindrops, she could hear the hurried footfalls of a handful of early risers who one by one arrived in the square among quiet calls of morning greetings. Then the rustle and creak and clatter of stalls being opened and readied. Before long the sounds were complemented by smells. At least one of the stalls was a bakery, and the scent of freshly baked bread drove her half crazy with hunger, especially when an early customer had the indecency of walking past, munching on his purchase.

  She barely suppressed a moan.

  Then she thought of Rodney, which went a considerable way toward curbing her appetite. He wasn't going to eat either, probably hadn't eaten in however long he'd been locked in that cage-and that, by all accounts, was the least of his problems. Ronon had filled her in on the details of what he'd seen and, together with the gossip they'd picked up the previous evening, it didn't paint a pretty picture. They'd spent half the night in hushed conversation, trying to figure out what to do. By all accounts, Rodney McKay was going to be executed at daybreak tomorrow-which left her and Ronon twenty-four hours, or the local equivalent thereof, to save his life.

  The attitude of the onlookers in the market had made abundantly clear that any appeal for mercy would be a waste of time. Which meant a prison break, but how did you break someone out of a prison that was in plain sight of hundreds, perhaps thousands of people? They'd bandied about dozens of possibilities, and the later into the night their discussion lasted, the more scurrilous the proposals became, until Ronon at last had decided he would use the cover of darkness to find out as much as he could about the city and the fortress.

  The fact that he hadn't returned worried her. Yes, this was a large place, but yesterday's events had shown that its inhabitants were deeply suspicious and that nobody could be trusted. What if Ronon, too, had been captured? Or worse?

  Fear tightened her throat, and the attempt to convince herself that he was too experienced to make any careless mistakes failed. Suddenly something was thrust under her chin, and she gasped with apprehension, sucking in a lungful of warm fragrance. Bread.

  "Ronon?"

  "Sleep well?" he asked casually. "Thought I'd bring breakfast "

  "Where have you been?" Fear and relief funneled into a surge of anger, and she wanted to hit him. About to move, her hands twitched against a crunchy, flaky crust of bread, and suddenly anger, too, evaporated. Instead of striking out, she grabbed the roll, tore it apart, inhaled that magical scent of sourdough and flour and spices. It tasted as delicious as it smelled. "Where have you been?" she repeated around a mouthful of bread.

  "Sightseeing." In a series of soft thuds he slumped to the ground beside her.

  Teyla heard scraping noises she couldn't place, then a new aroma hit her. Spicy, meaty, mouthwatering.

  "Careful, it's hot." Ronon placed an earthenware bowl and a wooden spoon in her hands. "They eat soup for breakfast here. Go figure. Smells good, though."

  "Do I want to know how you came by the means to buy this?" she asked lazily, not really caring. The soup was every bit as good as the bread and had started a comfortable pool of warmth in her belly.

  "Does it matter?"

  "Just curious."

  "I made a new friend in a tavern last night" he said. "Got drank as a skunk, and I helped him home. Did him a favor, deserved to be paid."

  Teyla grinned. "Obviously. I hope that, othe
rwise, your friend is in good health?"

  "Hung over, maybe. Anyway, we need the money more than he."

  "I'd have been happy with just the bread."

  "Food was an added bonus," Ronon chomped between two slurps of soup. "Getting out of here will be expensive."

  "Oh?"

  "After breakfast we should go for a walk," he said and tore into a chunk of bread.

  She listened to the crackle of the crust and, above that, the stirrings of their sleeping companion. Evidently the man was awake enough now that Ronon couldn't risk any further discussion. Just as well. The food deserved her full and undivided attention and was gone more quickly than Teyla would have liked. They were ready to go within a few minutes, and Ronon led her out from under the portico and into the persistent rain. Either side of them people hurried up and down the stairs, which suggested that the building that had sheltered them wasn't a temple, as Ronon had assumed, but some kind of administrative office.

  The market had well and truly woken up now, and they were shunted along by throngs of shoppers going about their business. Vendors were praising their goods-everything from beauty products to pig's ears-and serious haggling matches were going on all around. At last the tide of people spat them out on the opposite side of the market where, according to Ronon, that huge chasm gaped to swallow Rodney. It was quieter here, except for another clump of spectators staring up at the cage amid curses and mutterings of outrage and disgust, but Ronon steered her around the group and into the shelter of a small parapet at the lower end of the square. He sat down and pulled her onto his lap.

  As soon as she came in contact with him, she realized that he must have changed clothes. He was now dressed in a leather shirt and pants, his chest protected by a metal plate of armor, well scratched and uneven with patches of rust.

  "Try and look hopelessly in love with me," he said. "It'll explain why we're alone."