Sabine Bauer - Mirror, mirror

"Take your-"

"Not for long. It'll be fine."

With that Ronon grabbed the rope, which, on closer inspection, revealed itself to be a somewhat less than trust-inspiring affair knotted together from strips of cloth. Christ! The old Let's escape from prison by tying together the bed sheets trick… Rodney would have groaned, but at that moment the Satedan swung himself free, and a sharp pull squeezed the air from his lungs and served as another reminder that he was probably developing a pneumothorax this very minute.

The rope sagged under Ronon's considerable weight, and for a few moments the Satedan disappeared below the top of the cage. Then, hand over hand, he pulled himself up toward the window. Prehensile tail… In real terms it took less than two minutes of undiluted hell for him to get there, but to Rodney it seemed like a breathless, agony-riddled eternity. When Ronon reached the casement, hauled himself in, and took the tension off the rope, Rodney almost wept with gratitude.

Almost. What stopped him was the inevitable question: How on Earth was he going to get over there? His idea of upper body strength confined itself more or less exclusively to the cerebral. Then he reminded himself that he was harnessed to the end of the rope, for want of a more accurate word, which meant that-

"Let go!" Ronon hissed from above.

"What?"

"Let go of the chain!" This time it was accompanied by a sharp tug.

Oh no, no, no, no. No way was he-

Just do it.! How else are we going to get out of here?

His fists unclenched, obeying a volition other than Rodney's own. For a split-second he stood precariously balanced on two bars, then a violent gust shoved the cage sideways and catapulted him into the air. As he fell, he could hear himself scream over the howling of the wind, then, with a brutal yank, he dropped into the harness and found himself swinging toward the rock face. There was no time to bring up his legs for a buffer, and he slammed sideways into unforgiving stone. It felt as though the left half of his body had been pulverized, and Rodney hung there staring into the darkness and trying to concentrate on catching his breath.

The next jolt, considerably gentler, dragged him upward by about two feet. It was followed by another, and another, and he slowly but steadily came level with the top of the cage again, then rose above it. His life was measured in jolts now, he thought dizzily, a whole new unit all of his own, designed to accurately assess sheer panic. Between the cold and the rope strangling his circulation, he could barely feel his arms anymore, which probably was a good thing.

Jolt by jolt the dim halo of light spreading from the window was getting closer and more intense. Now he was almost within reach of the casement. And the rope looked as if it was fraying. Just his kind of luck. Salvation in his sights and-

Ronon reached down, grabbed Rodney's shirt again and heaved him into the casement. For several minutes they both lay there, panting as though they'd run a marathon, then the Satedan pushed himself to his knees.

"Come on," he gasped, trying to flip Rodney on his back. "We've got to-" He'd succeeded, and his eyes had gone wide as saucers. "Holy crap! No wonder you were a lot lighter than I expected. How old are you?"

"What do you mean, `a lot lighter'? I'll have you know, I-',

"How old?" Not content with obviously having retained his real age, the man had the audacity to smirk.

"Sixteen, at a guess," Rodney snarled, feeling himself blush. "You can stop grinning. It's not like I asked for this. Anyone who tells you they want to be sixteen again because it was the best time of their lives is lying through their teeth."

"Oh, I dunno…" The smirk widened. "I had a pretty good time…"

"I'm surprised you can remember this far back."

"Of course I didn't have boils in my face…"

"Zits! They're called zits!" Rodney hissed savagely. "And you're wondering why the Wraith decimated your home planet!"

"Not really. They're Wraith. It's what they do. Come on." Ronon dragged Rodney from the casement and into a gloomy hallway, where he tried to untie the harness without much success. Between the rain and the pressure applied to them, the knots might as well have been welded tight. Giving a shrug, the Satedan picked up his sword. "Don't move."

"This may be difficult to believe, but moving is the last thing on my mind." Rodney scrunched his eyes shut just to protect his nerves. "I was thinking of a nice warm bed in which I can precisely not move and- ah!" He could feel the tip of the sword working under the rope, dangerously close to his left nipple, and struggled not to flinch. "Just… watch it, okay?"

The rope snapped with a soft pop. "You can open your eyes now," Ronon said and handed him a largish piece of fabric that looked like it might have provided the raw material for the rope. "Put his around you and over your head."

The cloak-at least Rodney assumed that's what it had been before Ronon went to town on it-was heavy and stank of sweat and unwashed soldier, but it was only moderately wet, and it was warm. Grateful, Rodney wrapped himself in it and peered at Ronon. "So how are you going to get us out of here?" The moment he asked the question, something else occurred to him. "And where are the others?"

"Teyla's waiting for us downstairs. As for Colonel Sheppard, well, we're hoping you can help us find him. It's kinda urgent, so let's go."

"How long do you plan on just sitting here?"

Elizabeth sounded impatient, and John could relate. Still shaken by Star's death and by the slaughter they'd unwittingly caused when the vortex had lunged into the mass of people here, they'd emerged from the gate to find themselves in the middle of a scene that looked deceptively like the one they'd just left. The cast was bigger, though. Much, much bigger, and by the looks of it these good folks had rather more advanced technology at their disposal than the alternate Zelenka's mob. Which might pose a problem if they decided to take a step back and think. Right now they were attacking the jumper with bare fists and sticks, driven by a volatile mix of rage and grief.

"John?"

"We'll stay put and play possum for now. If we try to fly out, we might hurt more people, and there's no guarantee that they won't come after us with real weapons."

"You're right." Sighing, she settled back into the seat. "What do you think they're doing here in the first place?" she asked suddenly.

"Best guess?" He nodded up toward the sky that stretched red and riotous above the frantic mass of bodies outside the jumper. Somehow John didn't think that this was the usual state of atmospheric affairs on this planet-yet another version of Lantea, likely as not. "I'd say they're having some major natural disaster."

"Evacuees?"

"Yeah. Look at the gear they've got on them. Tents back there. Cooking fires. I mean, it could be some kind of citywide jamboree, but somehow I doubt it…"

It was a fact. Many seemed to have brought only the clothes on their backs, and they looked disheveled and dirty, as if they'd barely escaped with their lives from whatever had happened here. Others, who appeared to have had a little more advance warning, had brought vehicles-ground gliders, from what John could see-piled high with possessions ranging from bedding and cookware to ancestral portraits. So far, and discounting the righteous fury being vented on the jumper, either personal discipline or the authorities around here seemed to have been able to uphold the law, since there were no signs of looting.

"What do you think happened?" Elizabeth sounded tired, making conversation merely to stay awake-or to keep him awake, which probably wasn't a bad idea at all.