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 Mirror, Mirror



The first time it was aired, the footage was run by rebels who had managed to gain control of one of the major transmitter towers. Then, stunned by the revelations, the twenty-four hour news channels ran the footage again and again, in spite of efforts by government officials and the military 'police' to shut the transmissions down...


"Ladies and Gentlemen, my name is Colonel Harold Maybourne. I have information that has been kept from the public, information about how this 'new order' that's been forced upon us came to be. And how there were those who have tried to free us from this tyranny, and keep us free from an even worse fate. None of this footage has been tampered with. I'm certain that the news channel on which you're watching this broadcast has already determined this fact. Listen carefully, and you'll learn just who the true criminals are...

May God forgive them for what they've done..."


Once again the citizens of the world were outraged. Only this time the focus of that outrage was upon the groups of politicians who had manipulated the 'facts' to fit their personal agendas. Not a new concept by any means. But certainly one that had never been taken to such lengths, with such life-altering results. The truth turned out to be the polar opposite of what they had been told. Already regret and remorse were the catch-words of the day, as the deaths of true heroes were mourned; and that they had all, according to one news anchor, been duped by 'politicians with special interest in bringing about the new order' resulted in a new revolution hitting the streets.

The scene was repeated in city after city, capitol after capitol. In Washington DC, Congressional members, many of whom had been jailed for opposing the military rule put into place by President Taylor, and subsequently freed by those who worked feverishly to overthrow that leadership, convened an emergency session. A President-Pro-Tem was elected from the ranks of the surviving legislators. Elections would be held to fill all of the empty seats. Canada, the United States, and Mexico were once again independent countries, agreeing to retain the borders as they had been for over two centuries; although the ties with one another were stronger than ever...the people recognizing a kinship that hadn't been in place before. The ousted commanders of the Pentagon returned, arresting those officers who had turned on their own people so quickly. Sighs of relief echoed through the ranks as the enlisted, those who had been given orders that they hadn't wanted to hear, were finally returned to the place of defenders, rather than oppressors.

He'd made a martyr out of the Kinsey, had used his death as the reason to pursue the members of SG-1 with such fanaticism. The president sat and watched the news with dull eyes. Watched as pictures of the three remaining members of the team were shown, and they were hailed as innocent victims in a plot orchestrated to destroy the SGC, and them. Declared heroes, alongside of the other SGC personnel who had been killed or imprisoned. Ignored the fact that his staff had left the White House in protest. Didn't even flinch when one of the Secret Service agents raised his weapon. Welcomed the quick death he was being offered when the sound of the shot echoed around him.

SG-1 had accomplished what those few who knew them had hoped for. They had righted a world turned topsy-turvy. The saddest part was that those who'd had the most faith in the team hadn't lived to see them pull that magical rabbit out of the hat one more time.

The report of the explosions in Cheyenne Mountain, and the resulting earthquakes in Colorado Springs, and its suburb Silver Springs, with aftershocks felt as far away as Denver, was met with quiet acceptance. After all, one news journalist mused, had the members of SG-1 been left with any other choice?

A day of prayer was declared by the United Nations. One in which the elite of the SGC were remembered, and those three brave souls who had brought sanity back to a world gone mad were remembered not as criminals, but as world heroes.


A  A  A  A  A  A


The ruins of the city were half a days' hike from the Stargate. The trek was made all the slower by the fact that they had the F.R.E.D and its sleds in tow. Jack had hurried ahead to scout out the terrain, and to make certain that there would be no unpleasant surprises.

What he found was a small group of people who were camped...living...among the ruins. He jogged back to tell Sam and Daniel of his discovery. They debated their options...continuing to the village, or going to the Alpha site, but none of them could come up with a good reason not to at least visit the ruins, and allow Daniel time to check out any Ancient writing he might encounter.

The archaeologist's eyes had lit up like a child in a candy store when he caught his first glimpse of the ancient city. Greeted warmly by the elder of the people in residence, a man by the name of Shamda, the team was welcomed, and SG-1's offerings of blankets and MREs were accepted with humble gratitude. The people could see that the three newcomers were in need of healing...their spirits more than their bodies. Quiet acceptance, willingness to share on both sides resulted in the three settling in quickly. Finding the peace they so desperately needed.




It was easy to settle into a routine, the tranquil life of the simple people just what their battered hearts and souls had needed. Every day Daniel spent copying, reading, translating. Sam worked on the naquadah generator, hoping to get it operational so that it could provide power for the computer she had brought with her. Jack spent his time fishing in a nearby stream...or hunting with the men of the village. And Sam and Jack were married in a simple, tribal ceremony.

Shamda watched Daniel carefully, not afraid that the young man might not show the proper respect to the home of the Old Ones. If anything, the man with the light-colored hair and eyes the color of the sky seemed to understand even more than his own people just how sacred the place was. He watched because he could sense how special the young man was.

What the old man saw, however, was the deep sorrow that hid within the archaeologist. And the glow around him. That glow foretold of a great future. He never mentioned the slight figure that often appeared beside Daniel as he worked. Twice the beautiful woman had turned her green eyes upon him, smiled and motioned that he should remain silent. Nor did he mention the tall, dark man who accompanied her, always a little off to her side, as though standing guard, protecting her, watching out for her as she watched over Daniel. He knew, somehow, that the woman was important to this Dan'yel. And that she would soon join her friends once again. The old man never questioned how he had come to have such knowledge in his head. Nor did he question the validity of that knowledge.

Soon, the sadness that was so much a part of the young man named Daniel would be past. Shamda was certain of that fact. Very soon...


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