Mirror, Mirror

by Sabine C. Bauer

  "Am I still pregnant?" she asked.

  "We're not married yet "

  "Glad to hear it. So, where have you been?" Teyla asked for the third time that morning. "And where did you find this outfit?"

  "I've been looking for ways to get into the fortress. Turns out there's only one, unless you're one of the guys in those big houses along the street to the city gate."

  "You have to be a guard," she guessed.

  "Not just any guard, either. You need friends in high places to pull that detail. Lucky for us."

  "Why is that lucky?"

  "Because my friend of last night had a brother-in-law in the fortress guards"

  "Had?" She knew what had happened before she heard the answer, didn't like it.

  "He... had an accident." Ronon squirmed uncomfortably. "There was no other choice. Anyway, if we get back to Atlantis and put a stop to Charybdis before Ikaros turns it on, it won't matter, will it?"

  "You don't know that "

  "Is that what you told that friend of yours, Pirna, and her little girl?"

  His voice sounded rough with resentment, and she could feel him tense. The mood matched her own anger. He had no right to throw this back at her... As little right as she had to blame him for dealing the best way he could with an impossible situation. And in truth, she didn't believe that he had killed the guard lightly.

  "I'm sorry. I'm the last person who should judge. I set all this in motion." She blew out a breath. "So, this uniform will get you into the fortress?"

  "Already has."

  He told her how he'd snuck into the guardroom last night, hoping to find out about schedules, watch changes, any intelligence that could be exploited. It had been almost too easy. Nobody had challenged him, in fact they'd barely looked past the uniform and the insignia. It was partly indifference, partly excitement about the impending execution. Dozens of men, most of them off-duty, had been milling in and out, heading up to the battlements to take a look at the delinquent in the cage. Ronon had heard guards take bets on how loudly the crook would scream after he was dropped and how long it would take until he disappeared from view.

  After spending a good hour in the stuffy, smoke-clogged guardroom, listening to the chitchat, he had accompanied a couple of other men for a trip to the battlements. On the way up, they'd stopped at a small window carved into solid rock. It opened just above the cage and offered an excellent view of the prisoner.

  "Did you see Rodney?"

  There was no answer.

  "Ronon?"

  "I heard you... I don't know if McKay's even alive. The cage is exposed and it's colder up there. All I can tell you is that he wasn't moving. But it was dark, and there was no way of making out every little twitch." Ronon tried to sound positive, but the act couldn't have convinced anybody. Eventually he contin ued. "Good news is that there are no guards up there-nobody could escape from that thing. There's constant traffic, though, with people sneaking up to take a look. Guards would be better, `cos at least they're predictable..."

  As she listened to Ronon describe the arrangements up at the fortress, Teyla's heart sank. How could anybody reach the cage unobserved, let alone get Rodney up to the parapet and safely out of the fortress-especially when they had to act on their own? Even if Ronon somehow managed to smuggle her into the fortress, she'd be more hindrance than help, because everything that needed to be done required sight. Teyla supposed that up until now she'd somehow believed that there would be some loophole magically presenting itself. Crazy, of course, because experience should have taught her that such a thing never happened.

  Unless you made your own loophole...

  "You'll need a diversion," she said slowly, an idea tugging at the back of her mind.

  "A big one. How about an earthquake?"

  "Something a little easier. There are all these braziers everywhere, aren't there?"

  "Yes."

  "You'd have thought people would be more careful around such fire hazards..."

  He leaned back a little, mulling it over. "One fire won't be enough," he said at last. "We'd need three or four at once, in the city and the fortress; we'd need incendiary devices, and you won't find any in this place."

  "They've got what we need, but we have to start now. Take me back into the market. I'm sure I smelled it there."

  "Smelled what?"

  "Just take me to the market." Sensing his impatience, she smiled. Served him right if he had to wait a little. Payback for scaring the life out of her this morning. "You'll see."

  Muttering under his breath, he eased her off his lap and guided her back among the bustle of the market. The noise and the labyrinthine arrangement of the stalls were disorienting, and she had difficulty remembering where exactly she'd noticed that smell before. After a while she stopped, frustrated.

  "This is pointless. I can't find it like that," she growled. "Can we retrace our steps from where we slept last night?"

  Wordlessly, he guided her back along the earlier route. The only sign of his annoyance was the force of his grip on her arm. Traffic had increased, so had the chatter, and the main subject of conversation was the upcoming execution. Teyla tried to tune it out as best she could, focusing solely on her sense of smell. Finally, she caught it, faint, almost like a ghost, but it was there, and she pulled Ronon along with her, colliding with shoppers, apologizing, and staying on the scent.

  "There!" she said at last.

  The stall sat at the fringes of the market, and there were few other shoppers around. Hardly surprising. The wares sold here were less universally demanded than bread and soup.

  "Oil?" Ronon murmured a little skeptically.

  "Yes," she whispered back. To the vendor she said, "Would you mind if I sniffed your oils? I can't recall the name of what I'm looking for." A lie, but she didn't want to give herself away by using a name the locals wouldn't recognize.

  "If you wish," the woman in the stall grunted, almost as skeptical as Ronon, though she had enough business sense to hold out the various ceramic jars for Teyla's convenience.

  The oil in the sixth jar had the peculiar musty, almost rancid aroma Teyla had been looking for. She smiled. "That's it."

  "That? That's flax oil," the woman said as though she couldn't believe that anyone would be stupid enough to forget the name.

  "How much of it have you got?"

  "Three skins." Suddenly the vendor sounded hopeful.

  "We'll take them all. My husband will pay and carry them."

  Ronon spent ten minutes haggling the exorbitant first quote down to a price that was acceptable. After which Teyla demanded to be taken to a stall-any stall-that sold wool or linens or both. An easier job, as there were at least a dozen of those. Finally they returned to their perch by the parapet, armed with the flax oil and three large strings of handspun wool and a bundle of linen.

  "Now what?" Ronon asked curiously.

  "Wait and see " She tore off a fistful of wool, poured oil on it, wrapped in a strip of linen, and set the little parcel on the paving, making sure that the spot where she put it was protected from the rain. "It'll take a while," she cautioned him, "but we need to time it anyway, if we want the fires to start more or less simultaneously."

  It took about half an hour until she could smell it. The aroma of the oil intensified. Within seconds of her noticing, Ronon let out a low whistle.

  "It's smoking. How-?"

  "Linseed oil. When it dries, it starts a chemical reaction that bums oxygen. Enough of it to ignite."

  He laughed softly. "How did you know?"

  "Back on Athos our neighbor accidentally burned down his tent. He'd been oiling wooden tool handles and left the rags in a corner..." She grinned at the memory. "What do you think? Will it do?"

  "It'll do. Let's go to work."

  Wake up! Hey.' Wake up. We need to talk!

  Wake up? Who on God's green Earth would be able to sleep in this? He hadn't slept since they'd put him up here.

  Rodney McKay groaned a
nd tried to contract himself into an even tighter ball. It made no difference. Any body warmth he might have possessed in some distant past had leached out of him an eternity ago. All that was left was another eternity of wet, windblown misery. On the upside, come break of day tomorrow that would be the least of his worries.

  "For once in my life, I can see absolutely no point in talking, so if you don't mind, leave me the hell alone. I'm busy." The reply was barely intelligible through the rattle of his teeth. Which didn't really matter, of course, because that brat Ikaros was squatting inside Rodney's head and no doubt snooped on every piddling thought.

  I'd never stoop to snooping. Especially on piddling thoughts. We still need to talk

  "What's there to talk about? We'll be dead tomorrow. Both of us. End of discussion."

  For a while-perhaps half the first day, perhaps even all of it-Rodney had held out hope that something would happen. If for no other reason, then because the kind of demise in store for him seemed to be too ignominious for words. Terminal velocity in just under five seconds, and by the time he reached the bottom of the gorge his body would have picked up enough speed to all but liquefy on impact.

  Hope hadn't lasted. Propelled by the relentless cold and rain and hunger, the notion of Colonel Sheppard riding to the rescue at the penultimate nanosecond-the man's timing tended to be unnerving, to say the least-had slipped further and further into the realm of wishful thinking.

  Today, all Rodney asked for was that it'd be over soon and that he'd pass out before he hit the ground.

  Did anybody ever tell you that this relentless optimism of yours is downright infectious?

  "All the time. I'm famous for my bright and positive outlook, especially in desperate situations. Go away!"

  Rodney pulled himself closer to the bars and stared down into the late afternoon light that thickened like pea soup above the square. Another exciting day on the market was coming to a close, but he was delighted to see that he was still able to draw a respectable audience. They gathered along the edge of the abyss, necks craned to a degree that would make any chiropractor cringe in dismay, their faces turned up into the rain. He was as certain as he could be that their mouths were hanging open. What the hell did they expect? That he would start waving at them? Or turn somersaults for their entertainment?

  Even at night, when the crowd down on the market was invisible, if it was still there-though, if the rain didn't disperse them, he doubted darkness would-there was no shortage of thrill seekers. Any number of guards visited the parapet, and just above him was an opening carved into what looked like solid rock but had to be part of the fortress. Behind it, an endless procession of faces rolled past, jeering and mocking. The thought that those jeers would be the last thing he heard-apart perhaps from the air screeching past him as he fell-was profoundly depressing.

  Oh please! Break out the violins! Who said the situation was hopeless?

  One thing you had to say for Ikaros; he had a sense of humor. Rodney almost laughed. The only thing stopping him was the thought that his audience might derive the idea that he'd gone nuts. No, wait! He was the guy who couldn't quit talking to himself, because he'd engaged in a Vulcan mind meld with a ten thousand year old standup comedian. Of course they thought he was nuts.

  In other words, it didn't matter.

  Except, the moment had passed and the laughter must have been washed into the ravine by the rain.

  I ask again: who said it was hopeless?

  "You're so right. I'm going to break out my Superman cape and fly off into the sunset."

  You're mixing archetypes. It's nearly as bad as mixing metaphors. I could help you.

  "Now you're telling me?"

  I'm not sure it'll work.

  "You know, I wish you'd said that before switching on Charybdis."

  Why would I? With Charybdis I was sure it would work.

  Rodney groaned and decided it didn't bear answering. Besides, something new was happening below, something he couldn't recall seeing in all his time here. A sliver of light stole across the market, tinting the pavement in pink and golden hues. The rain had stopped for once, and the clouds had broken just enough to admit a shaft of evening sunlight that could have been painted by Durer or Caspar David Friedrich. Below, the crowd turned, almost simultaneously, a move devised by some largerthan-life choreographer, and raised their faces toward the sun. Like a faint echo at first, a sound that might or might not exist, a chant rose. As more and more voices joined it became more solid, more real.

  He couldn't make out the words, but it didn't matter. He didn't care. Like his fan club on the market square below, he closed his eyes, turned his face into the sun, relishing the brightness and the color and the illusion of warmth that it brought.

  You realize that this merely confirms their superstitious notions?

  "What?" He wished Ikaros would keep quiet and just let him savor those few moments. The rain would resume soon enough.

  Oh, don't tell me you missed the fact that they believe this deluge is some kind of divine retribution for your heresy. Now, at the eve of your excuse me, our- execution the sun comes out for the first time in months. Obviously they take it as a sign the things will look up once we're dead.

  "Thannks for reminding me," Rodney snapped. "For a moment there I almost enjoyed what's probably the last pleasant thing to happen in my life. Good job you nipped that in the bud."

  As I mentioned earlier, I may be able to help.

  "Don't tell me. You're going to knit a hot air balloon?"

  You're hilarious.

  Coupled with a distinct sense of sulking. For an ineffably glorious three seconds, Rodney thought he might have managed to shut the kid up. But no.

  I may be able to make us both ascend. Charybdis has indicated that it would allow us to do that.

  Okay. Two disturbing concepts right there. Not for the first time Rodney wished he could stare the kid down at least. He supposed that imagining the act might do the trick, but for now he settled for prioritizing. "Charybdis has done what?"

  I joined with Charybdis, remember? I know what it wants, because I'm part of it. So are you, seeing as you decided to muscle in on the act. Ifyou were a little less self-absorbed here, you'd sense it too.

  "Yes, silly me, preoccupied with my impending demise. Go figure!" It lacked conviction, and Rodney knew it. The notion of Charybdis's awareness-if that's what it was-infesting his mind alongside Ikaros was more than he cared to contemplate.

  Charybdis isn't a killer It just wants the same thing as you

  "Oh really? And again: oh really? Just to cover both counts here."

  and me. It wants to survive. Getting rid of us permanently would ensure its survival, and I think it may actually have engineered this entire situation.

  "You must be so proud of your brainchild!"

  In a way, yes.

  The little jerk possessed the cheek to actually feel proud. With Rodney McKay's personal emotional repertoire, limited as that might be... though pride admittedly came easy...

  I didn't expect this to happen. Obviously. I'd also be grateful if you'd actually let me finish a thought. As I was saying, Charybdis wants to survive. Our going back hypothetically speaking-and preventing me from bringing Charybdis online would kill it. Hence its determination to take you out of the picture. Your amnesia may have been a first attempt.

  "Practice makes perfect," said Rodney.

  No, it makes sense. Whether you believe it or not, Charybdis was not designed to kill anybody except Wraith, of course, and those only in a roundabout way and it would prefer a solution that enables all three of us to survive.

  "And how does ascension-" Realizing the answer, Rodney cut himself off. "We wouldn't be allowed to interfere."

  Exactly.

  The rift in the clouds widened to a pool of gold set in a mass of dark gray murkiness. Painfully bright, the light spilled over the city, refracting from a myriad puddles on rooftops and in the streets. The effect was as dizzy
ing as the potential of Ikaros's-or Charybdis's-proposal. Rodney's vertigo ratcheted up a notch, and it was difficult to tell what had caused it; the giant glitter ball below or the notion of learning everything anyone could possibly want to learn.

  That's what ascension meant, wasn't it?

  He rolled on his back, stared up at the churning clouds, and tried to steady his breathing. If he ascended, he could go anywhere he liked, see anything he wanted to see... God, there was every chance of actually finding out how quantum mechanics worked and why! He could hover there, exempt from Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle, and watch it all happen. Or maybe he could make music in a way even someone like Glenn Gould could only ever have dreamed of.. Best of all, if he ascended, he'd stay alive. In a manner of speaking. In every manner that truly mattered.

  If he ascended, he'd know where his team mates had ended up. He could find them... and look on as they died.

  "Ay, there's the rub," he whispered.

  What?

  "Hamlet."

  No interference, no matter what happened. If you interfered, they un-ascended you, though, if Dr. Jackson was anything to go by, the worst thing that could befall Rodney was to end up in pretty much the same situation he was in now: cold, wet, exposed, and with a ripe case of Alzheimer's. Okay, he'd be minus his clothes, too. Given the climate, that might pose a problem...

  Of course, in order to avoid that scenario, all he had to do was not to interfere. Everybody in the galaxy might die-would die, provided Charybdis's entropic tendencies continued-but Rodney McKay would live on.

  Rodney found that the cost of survival was too high. Even for his strongly developed sense of self-preservation. "No," he said.

  Excuse me?

  "You heard me."

  Are you saying you prefer a pointless death to unlimited opportunities?

  "I'm saying I prefer a pointless death to a pointless life."

  And it's never occurred to you to consider what I'd prefer has it?

  "Feel free to goon ahead."

  I can't. Not without you. We're... linked. It's either both of us or neither. Rodney... Dr. McKay, we'll both die!

  The kid was sounding-sounding?-panicked. Considering that Ikaros was some ten thousand years old already, Rodney felt the sentiment was slightly on the greedy side. He also, and somewhat to his surprise, felt sorry for the boy. Apparently even an unreasonably long lifespan didn't diminish that teenage conviction that immortality was a God-given right.