Chapter Text
He wasn't exactly sure if his Imperial reassignment had looked at the black indictments on his record before they sent him here. The StarGate Command was a pretty good posting for any Imperial even if it was a little bit insulting to be on babysitting duty for couple of contracting freeman scientists. That was no big deal. He'd do his time and maybe he could get in on the action a little, build up his profile again and they might put him back in the real Imperial Airforce again.
John had made his way through the base at Cheyenne, reporting in with personnel and had been a little bit perturbed by the pitying looks he got when he presented his chipped dog tags, complete with his not so spotless record and reassignment details.
It was a cake-walk assignment for someone who had frontline action with Imperial Wars, but after what he'd done, maybe it was the kind of trust-building exercise they wanted to saddle him with until they felt he'd served enough boring penance to get back to doing what he'd always done well.
Inside Cheyenne, they processed him in through with the efficiency he was used to inside the Guard. He was given new dog tags with new orders imbedded in a micro-chip, and a new security card. He stood around for a good thirty minutes after he was finger and palm-printed while they verified his prints against the ones they had on record for Sheppard, John A. He'd picked up a nasty scar on his palm since he'd last been printed, and one of the security techs kicked up a little fuss about it until John threatened to shove the medical records that *proved* he'd been cut there right up said tech's ass.
He tried to smile as he said it, his voice just raising a little glancing just a little at the technicians cuffs, that showed him to be a buy-in from some Imperial contracted house.
He was Imperial, born and bred. Mother and father both Imperial Guards, and by default with no House to pay for his education he was one of the Forces brats, cutting his teeth on guns instead of cuffs as his dad used to say. He had no House to act as a safety net, his life was owed to the Imperial Forces until he retired out on an Imperial Pension, a Freeman. Which would've been a lot sooner if it hadn't been for a decision he couldn't bring himself to regret when he went after some of his squadron. All very laudable, very... human. But orders were more important than blood and friendship to the higher ranks, and so here he was.
Apparently somewhere in this building was a Dr Rodney McKay and a Dr Carson Beckett, who both ranked enough to get personal attention by an Imperial guard.
it wasn't something he could feel bad about or really kick himself over. It wasn't like he could see himself really sitting back and loving the retired life if he'd left his friends to die in a mountain wasteland. The guilt would have killed him, even if he hadn't been the type of person to not actually think first and just do, just save.
That was probably why he was protecting the two freemen contractors. They were important to the program, he'd been told. And they were probably so boring that normal people would cut their wrists if they were stuck in a conversation with them, and that was probably also why he was being given pitying looks.
"Fine, fine. Those are your prints. Go through there and the guardsman you'll find will get you into a suitable uniform."
"Thank you," he said moving into the bustle of the SGC. Seemed like a busy place, lots of high rank Imperials, fair amount of glitter on gem cuffs for bond slaves, and a lot of freemen insignia as well, all working side by side. Probably nowhere else would there be such a mix as one of these special project enclaves. Huh, that was a Meta of some description and a handler. Interesting, he'd only met Imperial Meta's and obviously ones on the other sign of the fighting.
He'd once been in a fire fight of fighters and meta's. Saw a buddy of his take a swan dive when some floating guy ripped the wing off of his F19, and then the Meta scoop him up as a War-Slave. Didn't have enough rank to be bought back, or part of an exchange so he was probably still over there somewhere, though his records had come up on the networks as officially processed as captured. Whenever the war declared, he would be in the accounting and then would be shipped back. Unless he managed to escape.
That had been a year ago, and he just put himself on smile and nod as they gave him a uniform, gave him a radio mike, issued him with weapons, did another security sweep and finally told him to go join the other Imperials and wait for his assigned targets to come out of whatever meeting was going on.
All he had to go on were the pictures that were taken of each man for their security cards, and it didn't hurt to glance at their pictures again to refresh himself while he waited. 'Carson Beckett' had been smiling at the camera, bright teeth and a relaxed smile.
'Rodney McKay' looked dour in his photograph, dour and distracted, with his eyes canted towards something that was off camera.
If you could go by pictures, he had a feeling he knew who he was going to like and not like. But maybe Rodney had been having a bad day that day. Who knew?
He let himself in to where the other Imperials were hanging out, and they did the usual. What his buddy Gary used to call 'butt-sniffing' -- checking the insignia's, comparing rank, combat stars, mission bars and commendation pins, working out who was above and who was below with an ease that was automatic. Well, he ranked a fair few.
There was a guy on the same as him so that was a good place to start. "Hey...John Sheppard, new in town..." he said pouring charisma into his smile as he sat down next to a very young looking imperial and a Major. "Thought I might see if anyone could give me the low-down."
The guy was a little shorter than John, stockier. He was definitely not the kind of guy who’d end up piloting a plane – seemed more ground forces imperial to John. But he smiled, and turned towards Sheppard. “I’m Major Lorne. What’s your assignment, Sheppard? Other than within the SGC.”
"Personal Bodyguard for two contracted freeman specialists," John said easily. "A... Dr Rodney McKay and Dr Carson Beckett. Know them?"
Lorne's mouth curled up, and he nudged John's elbow. "Look, I was going to wait to have a word with Lieutenant Carter, but if your targets are in that room? We'd both be better off getting a coffee in the canteen."
"Why do I get the impression you are trying to break bad news to me gently huh?" John replied, recognising that sort of look . "Okay, coffee it is. And the bad news."
"Got any idea how long you're playing bodyguard?" Lorne asked, shrugging his shoulders gently as he turned down the opposite hallway. Yeah, he was harboring bad news and it was probably the news that John's life was going to become a living hell soon.
"Contract not defined. As long as they feel like I guess," John replied as he followed taking note of the lay out automatically. "In the hands of the Imperials administration I guess."
He was used to that, too. Everything in his life had been in the hands of Imperial administration for as long as he could remember. Schooling as a kid, healthcare, everything. "Probably until you're promoted, then. Have you met McKay?"
"Nope. Never even heard of him. Though, looking at his picture, he doesn't look like the life and soul of the party," John replied. "But hey, body guarding...can't be as tough as front lines right?"
"Tougher. I had to fight the mouthy little bastard's fights *every* day and even on drill fights that's tough. Sure there's a kidnapping or assassination risk with someone like him, but *I* think that if someone kidnapped him they'd be paying us to take him back." Lorne tossed Sheppard a grin. "I worked the detail for 3 years. Just got a promotion, and he's been kept on-base until some poor bastard got the assignment."
"Enter the poor bastard," John replied with a sinking heart. "Fights every day huh?"
Okay, he had a good rating hand to hand and drill fights didn't usually get too rough. Most of the Guard-born Imperials did training in hand to hand but he'd gone Air force, pilot as his specialism and there he was up there with just a handful in his league. But in hand to hand? Probably a fair few would could wipe the floor with him especially if they had a Fighter background.
He was going to have to work on it. "Most every day. Sometimes he stays in and watches bad movies at night, and you're *more* than welcome to join him." Lorne chuckled a little. "Man, I was getting worried that I'd be knocked back down because we had an officer turn down the post."
Turn down the post. Oh hell. He'd looked sour and bored in the picture, but someone turned it *down*?
"But you get penalties for turning down a post..." John said frowning. "I can't afford penalties..." He had enough from Afghanistan. Anymore and he might as well find a hole and pour himself into it and drag the dirt over his head. "How bad is this guy?"
Fights here were probably little more than glorified sparring sessions. That was fair enough. Probably to a first yield or a three count press. Standard rules. He guessed it would be a way of staying in trim. And he was pretty good at talking himself into seeing the best side of a situation.
"He's an asshole. A smarmy little asshole who thinks he's God's gift to the sciences, and women." Lorne's mouth twisted upwards as he pushed open the doors to the canteen. "He's a drama queen, too."
"Great." He wanted to think maybe they were exaggerating, but had a feeling this Major Lorne was a straight up guy. "What about the other one? Dr Beckett?"
"I didn't have him, but I've met him around the base. He's a pretty nice guy. Little nervous, you know. He's the guy who *discovered* the ATA Gene. Real unassuming guy." Lorne picked up a paper cup for coffee, and then another, stacking them inside of each other. "Coffee's decent here."
"Oh right. ATA gene." John nodded and then smiled. "I have no idea what that is. Got my butt handed to me in a sling and stateside right from assignment. I'm not really sure what the big things are here."
"You're kidding?" Lorne lifted an eyebrow at John, and gestured at the cups for him, a hint that he should get going. Then Lorne leaned over and depressed the spout that was stuck on the side of the coffee... tank for lack of a better word. "Stargates? Ancient cities? Area 51? None of this rings a bell?"
"Well, rumours, yeah. I mean, we all heard about the stargate. Ancients... too much detail. If it didn't have wings to fly with I wasn't that worried. There's SG1 right? And other SG teams that go through the gate. That I got. Not sure what's going on *right* now.”
"Right now..." Lorne leaned over and grabbed a pack of sweet and low. It was kind of funny to watch, a bulked out, strong guy who looked like he slept in his uniform, picking up a little packet in his fingers to dump into his coffee. "All gate activity has been suspended. Teal'c -- that's one of the SG1 guys -- is trapped in the stargate as some kinda energy signature. Your McKay is trying to fix it."
"*My* Mckay?" John quirked an eyebrow. "Wasn't he yours until recently? Hasn't he got anything that you'll miss?"
Lorne tilted his eyes up to the ceiling, and then started to shake his head. "His whining? Nope. His fear of citrus? Nope. The bad hair? Nope. Definitely not going to miss movie night. Definitely not going to miss guarding him when he gets up the spine to go to a bar to try to pick people up. And I'm *not* going to miss having to fight the representative of every contractor or high ranking person who pisses him off. Just be happy that everyone in the SGC is willing to forgive McKay for breathing, and they don't press things."
If they were, the fights would be a lot nastier, a lot less token. "I guess he must be good at something, if they are willing to forgive things. Right?" There had to be some redeeming feature about him. Something somewhere. Beckett sounded fine, but god help him...
"He's brilliant. When he tells you that you're an idiot, he's probably right. Bought himself out when he was twenty two, and he's been contracted to the SGC arm of the Imperial since. Pretty good for a kid from up in a mining town, I guess." Lorne pulled a chair out, and sat down at one of the big tables. "The Asgard can actually stand him, but I guess that's because the creepy little greys are pricks, too."
He was really starting to wish those briefings had seemed a little more relevant at the time. "Congratulations Major Lorne, you've managed to depress the hell out of me," he said in a wry tone. "McKay doesn't go off world I take it."
Lorne lifted his coffee cup in what John figured was either a toast or a salute. "Thank god, no. He's too much of an asset, and he doesn't have the gene."
"I guess not many people do," John replied sipping at his coffee. Lorne was right, it was good. "I thought they'd slipped up on the punishment detail for me, but I guess they really do get pissed off and make you pay if you disobey a direct order huh?"
He might as well get the story out there. It would find a way without him.
Lorne grinned at him, and set the cup down with a chuckle. "I punched my commander. Right in the mouth."
He raised his eyebrows at that. "Okay. I disobey a series of direct orders to go after some downed members of the squadron. They were already dead. I screwed up a mission big time."
"I punched my commander in the mouth in the *field*. South America. What used to be Peru, I think. It was great. Look, if you want to play 'who fucked up worst' we've got a full bird Colonel you could play that game with. They don't exactly sent their sparklingest people through a wormhole that could collapse at any moment and kill you."
"I know what the rumour mill can be like. Thought it would be better just to get it out there," John replied. Maybe in the scheme of things a disobeying order wasn't as serious as punching a commanding officer.
It was sort of common sense disobeying, anyway. It was the kind of disobeying that other officers lower on the totem pole would appreciate, because everyone wanted to think that their friends would save their lives. "Nah, it's a good idea. but trust me, McKay is your biggest concern. As long as he's on base and working? Leave him alone. Otherwise he'll have you getting coffee for him. Just know where he is roughly."
"So basically you survived the experience by not exactly being anywhere near him?" John summarised. Sounded like a plan to him.
"No, no," Lorne laughed, picking up his coffee cup again. "*He* survived because I spent as much time away from him as I could. But they put me up in an apartment next door to his. I don't know what you're going to do with two of them to watch out for."
“I'm guessing one on each side. Or something," John said and then looked around. There were more people moving into the canteen area. "Looks like some meeting has broken up somewhere."
"Look for your targets, then, and good luck, Sheppard. I hope I see you around again." Lorne stood up, and he looked like he was going to take his coffee with him. It was probably, no, definitely hot enough to be used as a weapon.
John decided to follow suit, grateful for being warned but hopeful that a bit of charm might smooth over some of those rough edges. He relied on that a fair bit as well. He headed out, scanning the corridor for signs of either of his targets. A polite introduction and a few smiles and maybe he could smooth out some of the guy's prickly edges
For a moment, John just let himself stand in the hallway, enjoying the mingling of ranks and levels. There were Imperials of every branch and grade, contracted bond slaves, and of course, the freemen. He kept his eyes out for the freemen, looking for their faces and then their marks.
He'd half been expecting to hear McKay before he saw him, but he rounded a corner with a messenger bag slung over one shoulder. He didn't look particularly professional, with a plaid shirt over a t-shirt and trousers, hair a little on the long side.
"Dr McKay?" he called out and moved to intercept him. "Dr Mckay? Hey, wait up...."
"Hmn? Am I supposed to know you?" He stopped a little short, fingers knotted around the strap of his bag. He had a smooth face, and a surprisingly guileless expression on his wide mouth.
Not so bad. He was at least easy on the eyes.
"No. Major John Sheppard, your assigned Imperial. Yours and Dr Carson Beckett's. I've just picked up the duty. It's good to meet you, sir," John said, focusing on the fact that Dr Rodney Mckay had really nice eyes. There. One good thing about the guy and he was going to hold on to that.
"Oh, well, I've been waiting for them to replace Lorne. I've been stuck here for the past week, and I'm starting to miss sunlight." Rodney shifted his balance, and reached with his free hand for John's coffee.
John found himself rather bizarrely just handing it over, and then had the nagging suspicion that he might well just've conceded the whole war to come, with that one action. The stupid thing was, he had no idea why he did it.
"Okay. Well, we'll have to coordinate any trips with Dr Beckett," John said. "Either ensuring he is protected by base security when we go out or, he accompanies us."
"So you're guarding both of us?" Rodney frowned, and looked off into a spot in the distance as he sipped at the coffee he'd just stolen. "Huh. I don't think Carson would mind seeing some sunlight or moonlight eventually."
"You know each other then?" He hoped so. It would make life a lot easier if they did and could be reasonable. "From the information I received I will most likely be in a neighbouring apartment. To you both."
"Oh, great. Do you happen to know where that might be, since they pulled me up out of Area 51, and have been housing me in what I suspect is actually a storage closet?" Rodney started to walk, and John wasn't sure where he was headed.
He just walked alongside him, hoping this would all make sense somewhere along the line. "Not yet. But I can assume that I'll be in whatever is next door to your storage closet," he said with a faint smirk. Too much of a sense of humour could get him in trouble, but from the looks of it, he didn't have much to lose. And so far, McKay? Not so bad.
"This is what I consider a temporary assignment. Carson's been here a while longer, so I assume this means either we're both being moved somewhere, or..." McKay shrugged his shoulders, and he glanced over his shoulder at John. "Actually, I'm not sure. I've never had to share a guard before."
"Well I've never had to guard two people before so I guess that works out," John replied trying not to sound too dry. He also wondered where the hell they were going.
"You have your job cut out for you, then." Rodney stopped for a moment, tipping the cup of coffee back and back, draining it. "Okay, right. I'll be in the labs trying to keep them from blowing us all up."
"I'll go check on Dr Beckett, and check in on you regularly," John said as procedure dictated. "And I'll do my best to make sure no one blows you up, while you are stopping us from being blown up." So far so good. Didn't seem that unmanageable after all that. Maybe Lorne had been giving him a wind up after all.
"Great. It's highly unlikely, I mean, if I end up dead around here, we all will." Rodney handed him back the cup, and then patted John's shoulder before he started back down the hallway. "Say hi to Carson for me."
John gave a lazy salute in Rodney's general direction and nodded amused rather than offended by the patting. Bit of charm, a bit of careful handling and he wasn’t sure what he had been worried about.
The whole thing was going to be a piece of cake.
Right down to the wire.
No-one listened to him until it was right down the wire, and he'd never before had the pleasure of having someone out and out ignore his theories and his knowledge the way Sam Carter was.
The *nerve* of the woman! First, she'd tried to get him out of the lab but they both knew that no-one slept when something like that was going on and he really didn't want to see if his new guard was practically sleeping on top of him or not. They didn't have a DHD, and the energy that held Teal'c's energy signature was slowly leaking away, and *no*one was listening to him!
Rodney checked over his laptop simulation again, hunkered down in the corner of the lab.
He was surprised when someone approached him and it turned out to be that new Imperial. "Dr McKay, I think it's time to call it a night?" he said sounding eminently reasonable.
"Dead line's up in twelve hours," Rodney informed him, glancing up towards the doorway the man was looming in, and then back towards his laptop. No, even if they had a DHD, it ended up exploding.
"And sleeping a couple of them might give you an inspiration. Or you can plug-in when you are back in your room, but at the moment Dr Beckett probably needs some sleep as well," John said glancing over at the laptop. "And I can't take him back without leaving you here."
"Take him back where? His rooms? It's all on base," Rodney shrugged, starting to set up another simulation. If they lowered the power flow somehow... "Which you might have noticed is under a mountain."
"Yes, but I am meant to be guarding you both and if I am up in the apartment guarding him, then that makes it a bit tricky if something happens down here," the Imperial said patiently. "Couldn't you run simulations back there?"
"It's not an apartment, it's a shoebox. Have you *seen* it?" Rodney half-demanded, but he glanced up at Sheppard again, just for a moment. "No, look, I need to get this done. I can sleep in 10 hours."
For a moment it looked like the Imperial was going to argue. "What are you doing?" he asked instead.
"They're trying to get a DHD from the Russians. I'm testing the different scenarios, and all of them end up with the data re-set." And Teal'c dead. Deader than Rodney already thought he was. If they'd had a DHD in the first place, Teal'c would have come out the other side.
"Right." Oh, of course he was saying 'right' as if he had even a clue what he was talking about. The Imperial... Major Sheppard leaned in disturbingly close over his shoulder looking at his simulation. "Like that one will", he said before straightening up. "I think you're right, it won't work without a DHD. In my experience, you can't do a back door work around without something to have a back door in." He shrugged. "Looks like we'll be up a while then. Want a coffee? I'm heading down that way."
"I could use a coffee," Rodney murmured. "Just watch after Carson. There's more Imperials here right now than you can shake a stick at, and I have another meeting in an hour."
"Okay, Dr McKay." The way the man drawled his words made it difficult to work out if he was being mocked or not, especially as this Major John Sheppard seemed to have a permanent half smirk attached to his face. He watched him head out a moment, even as the simulations failed again, which seriously had to be a guess on the hired muscle's part.
There was no way he understood what Rodney was doing, or what *any* of them were doing. He wasn't an Imperial like Sam Carter. More like O'Neill, who just smiled and nodded and listened to Sam even when she was lying about how safe something was or wasn't.
As long as he had coffee when he came back, Rodney didn't care much one way or another whether there were brains in that head.
He wasn't too bad to look at. Lorne had been okay to look at whenever he had managed to actually *see* him. The guy did his body-guarding from afar which would be no use to anyone if anyone actually did make an attempt on his life or safety. Even when they went out, Lorne would be so tucked away as to be practically invisible.
In fact he'd probably had more conversation with this new guy than he had with Lorne in the past three years. Well, very nearly.
Probably. Rodney shifted, leaning to peer at the now empty doorway, and then cracked his neck and settled back over top of the laptop. Ten more hours. The SGC would mourn their large, space alien friend, and life could go on.
He didn't like to be the one setting deadlines, because he might be good, but there were certain absolutes, and that involves the laws of physics. Okay, there was a remote possibility that pattern storage had safe guards for such an eventuality which was unlikely because the Gate was designed to have a DHD and the safeguards would be centred in that. Which mean the data had been degrading, fuzzing out about the edges and the thought of...well, getting a 63% of a Jaffa back was not appealing. But they couldn't see that and that didn't mean he should stop working because he wanted to *show* Samantha Carter that he did know what he was talking about.
Rodney just wasn't an Imperial like she was. He was a free contractor, and while he was free-er than she was, he hadn't been born that way. He'd had to work hard, and that should have been proof that he knew what he was talking about, that he knew his sciences and his bombs and his structural facts, and his Naqadah.
He just hoped they didn't subscribe to the shoot the messenger theory of gate science.
Oh and here came his new shadow, complete with a cup of coffee in each hand. "Here we go," he said passing it over and then rather inexplicably sat down near him.
"Weren't you just muttering about needing to guard Carson?" Rodney asked, reaching down for the cup of coffee that looked like it might be sweeter.
"Had a quick word. He decided he could sleep down at the Infirmary tonight. Swap a shift or something. I told him you'd buy him a drink," John replied. "Which means there's not a whole lot of people awake at the moment."
"Just General Hammond, Sam Carter and all of them." But he was left alone in the lab for the moment, which implied that either Sam was sleeping -- unlikely -- or plotting something. Or trying to get herself blown up.
"Not Colonel O'Neill though. He's off-base so I've been told. Shame really, I would've liked to talk to the guy. He's a bit of a legend," John replied making himself comfortable there with his coffee.
Imperial thugs flocked together, Rodney decided, taking another sip before he absently set the cup off to the side. "Mm. I didn't actually find him all that impressive."
"No?" John queried and there was hint of something behind his eyes even as the smile stayed there. "Saving the world doesn't impress some people I guess."
"It's what he does. Exploring worlds, battling the Goa'uld, no, no, he's *good* at what he does. Sam Carter is *good* at what she does. but trust me, there are more impressive things if you're talking in terms of puppy-dogging after someone." Rodney tapped on his mouse, frowning at the data. No, no, there was just no way to do it.
John snorted a little. "Somehow, McKay, I can't imagine you puppy-dogging after anyone," he said in that irritating laid back voice. The man obviously had no sense of urgency.
"I sense a poor attempt at a joke." Rodney closed his eyes for a minute. Think, think, he needed to think. He was right, of course, but if he hadn't looked at it forwards and backwards and sideways before the meeting, then Sam would suggest something that he might not be able to stamp down before she blew them and the gateroom to hell.
"Our trainer in Personal Classes had a good tip for problems. She said sometimes with an insoluble problem, you could manage the impossible by trying to 'remember' what the solution was instead of creating it. Something to do with memory modes accessing subconscious data. It works though. Might work for uh...math and wormhole physics," John said into the silence.
"Well, I'm sure if we let professional sexpots deal with stargate physics, the world would be a better place. They'd all have blown up and we wouldn't have to worry about them!" Rodney snatched for his coffee again, and shook his head. "Can't be done. We need a DHD."
"What if you're looking at the wrong problem?" John suggested. "Maybe there is a different way to preserve the pattern until you can get a DHD? Some other form of digitizing? Hell, I don't know...maybe taking a back up?"
"Oh! Oh! Why didn't I think of that? Why didn't *I* think of -- oh, because I did already." Rodney could feel his mouth pulling down, while he twisted to look at his guard. "What do you think this system is, a laptop computer? The information is etched in crystals!"
John shrugged. "Hey, I'm not the genius guy here, that's your job," he said. "I'll go if you want. Just thought it was sometime easier when ideas are being tossed around. Even...obvious ideas."
"Do you know how long I've been working on this?" Of course he didn't and the brief beat of silence gave him that answer. "Thirty six hours. I'm the foremost expert in gate science, and Carter has the most hands on experience, and together... Bupkiss. Nothing. One dead Jaffa. Or, if we're lucky, we'll get the *better* 62% of him back. If only 62% of you could come through a stargate, Sheppard, what 62% would you prefer?
"The 62% of me that can fly," John replied in a light tone. “So are you mad because you can't save him or mad because you can't solve this?" It was asked in a very mild tone.
"Both." Probably the fact that he couldn't solve it slightly more than that he couldn't save him. Teal'c was a well-known badass, and the SG-1 team were national treasures as far as most of the SGC were concerned.
There was a pause and John nodded slightly as if he had given him important information with that answer. "Better leave you to the thinking then. Just a word of advice - if you're dealing with Imperials and there's a team member missing? No one will want to hear about risk factors. They'll take the longest shot there is in the end."
Rodney snorted, but he took another sip of the coffee. "Then I hope you like being blown to smithereens. I'll, yeah. I'll see you around. After the meeting and the whole kaplow thing."
"I'll be checking in," John said getting up in a fluid movement as if the prospect of getting blown up didn't bother him much. "Down time when this is over right?"
"Days of it. Your predecessor thought I was manic-depressive." He was just tuned into his work. Rodney flashed John a smile, and hoped he left and stopped--
Shit, his pager.
Which meant he had to go, had to go fast, either an idea or some new development had hit and they'd *need* him. How could they not?
John stood to one side as he blazed out of the lab in a flurry. He just hoped it was the break they were all looking for.
John was secretly pleased that he appeared to be charming the apparently difficult Dr McKay. His making friends tactic seemed to be paying off and Dr Beckett was turning out to be a genuinely nice and pleasant person. They were already to calling each other by their first names, and Dr Beckett... Carson had been effusively grateful for the coffee he had bothered to take down to the infirmary when he headed back out there.
He was also turning out to be a mine of information on base politics.
"....and the next thing we know, General Hammond is *very* unhappy about the fact there was some sort of alien entity trying to take over Colonel O'Neill, especially with it sticking a spear thing through his shoulder into the wall. We nearly killed him trying to save him.....but it all worked out in the end."
"It all worked out in the end," John echoed, and okay, maybe he stared at Carson a little, because he was so calm. So calm about it while they dealt with space aliens and amazing things every day. "How does this stuff go on every day without you all going crazy?"
"Aye well, I think the answer is that most of us have a little bit of crazy tucked away somewhere. We have our pet projects and we stick to them. Mine is the ATA gene." Carson said. "I isolated a genetic component that allows someone to activate ancient technology. Only, we had only had a few items of ancient technology to work with. So far it's only myself and Colonel O'Neill who has the gene strongly - there was this whole thing with an Ancient database... well it was complicated, but I'm doing research on it, because if they ever find an ancient weapon system only someone with the gene could operate it, and they might need to know who that is immediately." Carson explained as he sat back on one of the Infirmary chairs. "The rest of the time I do doctoring, along with the others.”
And he was friendly. John could only imagine what doctoring was like in a base where people came in from other planets on a regular basis. Carson probably didn't see a lot of the usual Imperials with broken bones and slaves with who knew what done to them. Maybe he saw people who had huge tentacle-waving parasites.
"Sounds like you lead a pretty interesting life here. Did you have a guard before?"
"Me? No. Which makes we wonder if they have somewhere they think I should be going," Carson replied with apparent good humor. "How about you John? You're wearing an imperial pilot insignia, not ground forces. Done much body guarding?"
"Not a day in my life," he admitted honestly. Smart, *and* he effortlessly took note of insignia. He probably had enough patients who ranked high to do that so naturally. "This is a new type of assignment for me."
"Well that's a wee bit worrying considering..." Carson replied sounding uncertain. "Rodney's assigned Imperials tend to get a little bit of a workout."
"Major Lorne warned me about that," John smiled, and he reached towards reassuring with his voice. "I'm not green to hand to hand combat. I was over-seas until recently." And sometimes even airmen needed to know how to fight hand to hand, or hand to gun which had always been his strong point.
He got good combat ratings, but usually in life or death situations not formal Challenge fights. Which he shouldn't be fighting because he wasn't a Fighter. But McKay and Carson were both Freemen, with no contracted house affiliation, only an Imperial affiliation, which meant the Imperials had to fulfil the House duties by providing fighters from their own. So, bodyguards in case any cried insult on either of his charges
"Oh, really? Well I'm sure you're capable. Truth be told, it's nearly built into the training sessions. There's not been that many that warranted a weapon fight, and unbladed at that. Rodney is valuable to them so it's only when they must that they call insult on him," Carson said seriously.
That sounded... just a little dire, but John knew how other Imperials would approach it. "I talked to him today and he seemed pretty all right. What exactly does he *do* to bring it on himself?" And his guard.
Carson raised his eyebrows. "Rodney? He's... well, you must have caught him at a slightly a-typical day is all I can say is that it is usually obvious. He is... a genius and in general he finds other people intolerably stupid. And does not hesitate to tell them that."
"But that's it?" Calling people stupid was it? If that brought on a challenge, then the Imperials in the SGC needed to grow thicker skins.
"Well..." Carson seemed to shrug. "It's more the way he does it. And Imperials tend to resent being treated like House Slaves. And the fact he is just as likely to say it to the top ranks as lower downs. I can't really explain it, I think it's something you need to experience Major... John."
"I'm sure I will. Maybe he was just--" John paused and shrugged his shoulder, smiling into his coffee cup. "Tired? So, I'm curious. How long have you known him?"
"Rodney? Well..." Carson had to think "About a year, on and off. I was brought in as a geneticist when there was that thing to do with Colonel O'Neill and the data base and Rodney came in after that when they started getting more of the naqah... naqadah. I always forget how to say that. He pretty much designed the naqadah generators, which is incredibly high yields of clean energy. It's really quite remarkable actually," Carson said still smiling at him.
Carson, it seemed, had a good word to say about anyone he met.
He had a feeling that the likelihood of his having to fight someone because Carson instigated something was pretty comfortably low. Carson had a great voice, and an easy expression and he just seemed relaxed. "Sounds it. I hope you don't mind if I try to learn a little of what's going on here while I'm working."
"Oh of course not. I'm grateful if anyone shows an interest," Carson said. "I'm hoping to develop something in time that will allow people without the gene naturally to use the technology. But to do that I have to find enough naturals, and they need to be registered. It's a bit of a thorny issue actually, because there are some sections, like the NID, who think that the gene is like a Meta. But considering Colonel O'Neill is one of two, they are having a distinctly difficult time making the idea of him take a collar. And I'm none too keen myself to be quite frank."
"So, do you just test everyone in the program, or are you looking to expand it to the civilian population, or..." John trailed off when the infirmary door slammed open.
And in stormed Rodney. "I can't *believe* how much this sucks!"
John looked around a bit startled even as Carson said. "What is it Rodney?" He clearly heard the unspoken 'this time' tacked on the end.
Rodney ran a hand back through his hair, twisting to look back towards the door. "Siberia! Give the big fucking *insanely stupid* Imperials bad news, and instead of acting gracefully and accepting that nothing is going to work, they consult a Goa'uld . A *Goa'uld*! And they have Russia's DHD, *which* they’re going to blow up in the process, and we're going to *Siberia*! *Siberia*! Do you have any idea what the food is like in *Siberia*?!"
“Siberia?" John found himself blinking a moment. Oh, he had really, really pissed his commander off. No doubt about it. “All of us?"
"Why would they be sending any of us to Siberia?" Carson said sounding a little alarmed.
"They decided to promise them naqadah generator technology and testing of their officers for the gene in exchange for the DHD that they are *going to blow up*. I can't believe they'd rather listen to a *Goa'uld* because he's saying things that they want to hear. He's a space alien used car salesman and they're *listening* to him!" Rodney's mouth was pulled down into a sharp frown, and he was gesturing expansively, voice creeping towards a shout and a whine at the same time.
John couldn't help but think of what he said to Rodney about taking what chance they could. "Dr McKay, it sounds like we don't get a choice..." he said.
"Bloody Siberia...." Carson moaned to himself.
"Surprise! We don't get a choice," Rodney muttered, and he stormed further into the room, pacing. "Idiots. I hope it takes the gate with it."
"Rodney, they must think they have a chance of getting Teal'c back," Carson said. "A man's life is at stake. A wee bit of discomfort is worth that surely?"
John nodded agreeing tacitly. "When it comes down to it Dr McKay, they’re our orders and there is not a lot we can do about it."
Except hoard like crazy in preparation. Every Imperial knew to do that before going on assignment abroad. First thing, he'd hit the nearest town and buy up as much chocolate and mall luxury items as he could manage to stow away. Amazing what a difference that could make on a new base.
It probably wouldn't be amiss to mention that to Carson, who was looking unhappy and shell-shocked. "*Siberia*, Carson. That's not a 'wee bit of discomfort' -- we're talking a whole different way of life, in a hellish backwater of an empire! Okay, fine, they disagree -- I'm used to that, and eventually I'm proven as right and they grumble a little less, but this is *petty*!"
"Or perhaps they need the gene screening, and they need your naqadah generators. It won't take you forever to build them, or me to do the screening. This is not forever," Carson said. "Quicker we settle in, the quicker we'll get back right John."
"Sounds like it..." John said, still thinking about it. Russian Empire, still a good few decades back in common attitudes to things that had moved on in the Western Empires. Hmm. Well, he'd managed in Asia and that was a touchy minefield of honor and infinitely subtle distinctions. And Afghanistan where women were not allowed out without full chain sets, and you never saw a woman buy Free and the men would see a disparity in ideology as a reason to commit an honor duel to the death. Crazy country, as far as he was concerned.
He needed to do a little research and make sure he was up on their rules. "Great. You two just convince yourselves you're happy with this petty bullshitty trick, and *yes* I know you can hear me General Hammond." Rodney twisted and oh, god, he knew where the security cameras were, and he flipped them off.
John tried to stifle a groan. It was vaguely possible that General Hammond might let them get away with that, considering. "Dr McKay, there is a difference between being *happy* about something and making the best of something that is not going to change," he said trying to placate him. "If orders have been given then...there's not anything we can do about it. Except get a drink or something."
Rodney gave one last angry gesture towards the security camera, and twisted to glare at John. "Well, Carson? Care to get drunk before we have to go to the land without toothpaste? Our plane leaves *tonight*, which is thankfully a full 14 hours off."
Carson sighed. "Aye well, a couple of hours won't make a lot of difference. We'll still have time to pack."
No time to sleep though, John considered, not if he wanted those bargaining chips. "Okay then, let's get out of here for a couple of hours. Where's the best place to go?"
"There's a place just off base that I don't think ever closes. It's crappy, but unless you have some booze tucked away in your quarters..." Rodney let that suggestion hang. Maybe he *could* convince them to stay on base, together, while he went out supply hunting.
"Not since the last time you came over and stole my last bottle of whiskey Rodney," Carson said. "John, do you have anything?"
"I don't even have quarters,” John said a little reluctantly. At least he knew why he hadn't been assigned anything if the word was out they were just staying overnight. He hadn't been here long enough to know who to go to, to scrounge for anything. "Looks like we're heading out."
"Great. I want to hit a, a tech store, get some extra laptop batteries. Things." Rodney was fidgeting, frowning, and finally looked at Carson. "Why do I think they were already planning to do this?"
"Because they assigned us a bodyguard for the both of us and don't bother to give him quarters?" Carson suggested, showing that he wasn't slow when it came to putting things together.
"Well, we'll swing by the nearest stores after a couple. Or before. Max out our credit," John said easily. "Best not to over think the politics too much. It'll bite you in the ass, sure as hell."
"Already bitten," Rodney muttered, holding up a hand. He glanced at his wrist-watch, and looked thoughtful. "First, then. I think I'd rather be drunk for the plane ride than drunk with my credits account card in hand."
Carson got up slowly, taking off his lab coat. "Let's go back to our quarters, get our things and go. I'll buy the first round."
It was a sad thing that he wouldn't be drinking, John considered but he also stood to flank them both, making a mental inventory of things that might be useful, things that might smooth their way there.
There were things they'd be able to buy there, so there wasn't any point in taking too many of them. Clothes, boots, coats, it was bulky in luggage and you could get decent stuff in pretty much any country.
Electronics... not so much. He could get some little shiny electronics, maybe, save them for big problems, things that you could only get in the Northern Americas, or more expensively in the empire of Japan. And when two empires were subtly at war, getting goods like tiny mp3 players and game-things, was hard as hell. Chocolate definitely, luxury items.
"Great. I'll buy the second and the third, and we should probably stop at three. Or so."
No point taking drink, or... he could do DVD's, CDs. He had lots of mp3's, he had... hmm, memory upgrades, cool toys. Yeah. That would work.
They were moving now, out the corridor up towards the sleeping quarters. Some of the ranks had houses on the base, some had dormitory buildings or there were the levels themselves.
Rodney had had an apartment off base, and he'd been living on base since Lorne had been promoted. He probably had his every belonging crammed in that space, too. Sometimes freemen hoarded, and it seemed to fit McKay's personality that he would, miserably stomping off down the hallway.
"Not a happy camper," Carson murmured to John. "Rodney... Rodney, I really don't think this is about what has happened, now..."
Maybe it was a combination of a year's worth of things like that, but John didn’t want to say that.
"They just can't take being wrong *over* and *over*. I don't know why they contract me if they're just going to mock me and ignore my recommendations," Rodney muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I could be in Nevada building bombs and working on hyper drive technology, you know."
"Aye, you could. But you wanted to work with the Stargate and you have been," Carson replied. "And the naqadah. It might be Rodney, that you are pretty much the only person who could do this. Who else knows enough about naqadah? Aside from Major Carter of course."
"Who apparently walks on water despite having written the most *flawed* piece of dialling code I've ever had the pleasure of repairing." Rodney was still frowning sharply, stomping along and turning down a hallway.
Oh. Now it was becoming more obvious about the Challenges.
"She's part of SG1," John said. "Naturally they have a good reputation, especially with the Imperial command. That counts for a lot."
"Aye, and the saving the world thing probably doesn't go amiss either," Carson added.
"They can't save the world without power." Rodney stopped in front of a door, and reached into his back pocket to pull out his id card. It was quickly swiped down beside the door, and he pushed it open. "I'll get my wallet."
"Me too," Carson said doing the same a couple of doors a long.
John loitered - his credit details were on his encrypted dog tags and Imperial credit was good anywhere. He peered into McKay's room, hearing the muttered swearing.
He'd left the door cracked open, so it wasn't hard to miss. And even if he'd closed the door, John had a feeling it would have gone on whether someone was listening or not. There had to be a way to distract him from the situation.
"Son of a!" There was a thud, and Rodney's voice trailed off into a whimper.
Temper, sounded like.
"You okay in there McKay?" John asked pushing the door open. "Being ambushed or something?"
"Hah. Hah." Rodney had his back to John, and it looked like he'd been changing his shirt, because he had a new shirt pulled on over his grey t-shirt, and he kept his back to John. "Shit."
"Seriously. I'd hate to screw up the body guarding thing on the first day," John said keeping half an ear open for Carson.
"Hit my hand. Is all." Rodney shrugged his shoulder tightly, got his shirt the rest of the way on. "God dammit. Siberia. I can't believe this."
"Shit happens," John said shrugging his shoulders. "I guess as an Imperial I'm used to being uprooted and sent wherever at a moment's notice. Must be tougher for you guys. Frees and contractors."
"I'm used to having some *say* in where I'm going." Rodney kept his back to John, pulling open a drawer to take out his wallet. "I was in Nevada for six years. It was fantastic. I was with the internal Imperial investigators before that -- threats to the government, break off organizations, enclaves, spying things, it was fantastic. *Siberia* is going be the low point of my career."
"I'm pretty sure it'll be a step up for me," John murmured. "Fact is Dr McKay, we don't get to argue with order. You could always take a penalty clause and back out....?"
"Can't." Rodney flipped through his wallet, and shoved it into his back pocket. "I literally cannot take a penalty clause."
A penalty clause would mean never working with this level of the Imperial services again. This was the top level of classification and they didn't give second chances. John could understand that. "It's not a long term assignment," John tried to soothe him a little. "Six months maybe?"
"Yeah, maybe." Rodney turned around, rubbing his knuckles as he paced back towards John. They looked reddened, like he'd hit something hard. "Let's go. Supplies, then booze."
"Definite plan," John said and turned seeing Carson hovering behind him, waiting for them both.
The walk down to the vehicles was comparatively quiet. Carson filled up the empty silence by making rambling suggestion on what they should buy and what might be useful or the best investment and the upshot of the conversation was that by the time they had been to the stores selected, there wasn't much left in the way of small consumer electronics left.
Rodney was, not really surprisingly, a bit of a geek. He bought extra lithium-ion batteries and a solar recharger, and more little do-thingies than John could properly identify, and things to go with them. A lot of the smaller House stores were closed at that hour, so they ended up going to the bigger ones that sold more than one type of product, and John had been able to break off and get some other things he'd been plotting about.
He arranged for them to be parcelled up and sent up ready for dispatch with them from the SGC. It helped that he had very little in the way of personal possessions, because that meant his main space allowance could be necessary items like that and ten million DVD's, games, and CD's. And chocolate.
It was later than he would've liked when they finally got to a bar and he stared morosely at his non-alcoholic coke.
"Still can't believe it," Rodney muttered, into his second vodka -- Vodka, he'd said, because they might as well get used to drinking fermented processed potatoes, since he doubted that good beer from one of the Canadian-States would be at hand. "Hey, Sheppard? You leaving any family behind here?"
"No," John replied because his mother had died in a stupid training exercise when he'd been fourteen and his father...well his father had never been a confirmed kill in the action in the middle East, but he hadn't appeared on the War Slave accountings when the ceasefire came around at the end of the designated action time. "No, jumped around too much for that. Been on pretty much every continent. Except Antarctica."
Even the fucking North Pole, doing an air strike against a rogue Meta. That'd been hair raising.
"Don't say that too loudly around the base," Rodney grinned. "Or they'll send us on some half-assed trip there, too. You wait. We'll be shacking up with penguins, won't we, Carson?"
"Lovely creatures, penguins," Carson said agreeably. "Terribly...terribly faithful. Emperor Penguins mate for life. Eggs on their toes...all of that." He looked a little hazily at his nearly empty glass mournfully. "My mother was hoping I would visit her again. I was looking forward to Scotland. I don't think I'll...I'll get to see her this year..." His expression turned to tragic and he knocked back the vodka that was left in one gulp.
"Arrange to go after the contract transfer whatcha thingy," Rodney suggested. "I mean, they like you well enough. If my sister were hit by a truck, they wouldn't give me the time. Probably because I'd kill her owner, but, well. Yeah. Hey, bartender?" Rodney leaned forwards, gesturing with his empty glass at the man who stood behind the bar. He had brightly polished cuffs on his wrists, and a pretty face.
"Yes sir? Another drink?" the bartender asked brightly.
Not bad, John thought. Not bad at all.
He looked like the kind of guy that, if he'd had time and the opportunity, he might have seen if he could take home for a little fun once his shift was done.
"Please. Uh, the same. And my buddy needs a refill."
His eyes slid over the cuffs as the bartender poured, and John smiled, seeing a metal marked specialty in the Personal area. Couldn't make out the precise detail, and it was at the lower end of the metal types, steel or aluminum, but a metal was a good sign.
For the first time he was regretting having to ship out. Especially when the bartender caught his eye and smiled a little wider.
"Ah, a wonderful human being," Carson said looking at his drink. "It looks like...surgical alcohol, you know that? Maybe I could sell my surgical alcohol as 100% proof vodka."
Rodney snorted, and leaned onto his elbows. He was slouched, relaxed and lazy looking, eyes drifting around the room. "You'd kill them all, Carson, and then the guilt would get you."
"Would not. I'm capable… capable of being ruthless I'll have you know," Carson said waggling his finger at Rodney. "I'm a doctor you know... there's gore and blood and all of that..."
Much like being an Imperial then. So far it wasn't so bad. There was a couple of Pleasure slaves in the corner who looked a little bored and John was frankly surprised when one of them bothered to saunter over towards them. "Any of you...fine upstanding gentlemen want to buy me a drink?" she asked.
John blinked a little. She was okay, blonde and still with a good body. But he was technically on duty.
Rodney glanced at her, and his mouth fell down into a frown. "Ugh, I've had enough dumb hot blonds for one day. And no, Carson. No matter how much you wish you were that badass, you're not. You're just... Mister badass is sitting there with the coke."
John raised his eyebrow at her as she looked affronted. "Sorry, I'm on duty..." He let his smile imply that he would if he could.
"Shame..." She turned to Rodney. "And if I'm not your type, there's no need to be insulting about it, the bar contracts more than one of us. There's Jess and Tom over there if you were capable. But somehow I doubt it."
Carson sighed. "Aye, but you're a pretty wee thing..." he murmured leaning his head on his arm and looking at her.
Rodney grinned, and nudged John with a loose gesture. "I used to think he did that, the accent and the phrases, like pickup lines? And then I watched him scream at Captain Rente for being an 'bleeding idiot' when he put lemon in my coffee. It was great."
"Problem with the lemon?" John asked managing not to slop his coke around too much as the Pleasure Slave wandered back to the corner after waving at Carson, who managed to wave with fingers back.
"Massive allergy," Rodney nodded as he lifted his new drink, and grinned at the bartender. "Throat swells up and everything. It's pretty embarrassing."
"And...pretty deadly," John replied. "I need to know things like that. They dock my pay if I let you die." He gave a half smirk at him.
"I keep an epipen handy, just in case. Keeps things going until I can do anti-histamine shots." Carson added in a muffled voice. "And he doesn't really get hypoglycemic. Not enough to call it proper hypoglycemia. If he stopped the caffeine drinking, he'd have no problem at all."
John was impressed that Carson could apparently talk medical sense while being half-cut. "Oh, okay, sure, I'll just go cold turkey. And I'll stubbornly refuse to take any of your 'uppers' the next time someone needs me to calibrate nukes." Rodney leaned forwards a little, enough past and over John to stick his tongue out at Carson.
"Rodney... you've got two tongues. " Carson announced. "I always wondered how you talked so fast."
John snorted a little at that. A very good point and maybe a sign they had had enough. "Maybe we should think about heading back."
"It's our last night... day? Stateside for at least months. It's going to take forever for me to teach the Russians about, well, the thingy." Rodney took another sharp gulp, and then just swallowed and swallowed his drink, barely stopping to breathe. That took some skill, and John wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.
"Well they can't all be stupid right?" John asked, stifling a yawn. It'd been over 24 hours and he was getting tired himself though he was trying not to show it. "At least they'll want to listen."
God, he really hoped so.
"Let's go back Rodney...I'll help you pack," Carson offered.
"But I'm already packed..." Rodney slipped off the stool. He'd already given the bartender his data, but Rodney leaned over to tell him to add ten credits for himself, and then went back to looking at Carson with a funny puzzled expression. "Oh! Oh. Packed."
"Aye..." Carson smiled happily and John stood up to help the inebriated Doctor. Doctors... yeah, both of them.
Well, maybe it would sweeten McKay's temperament. And at least that wasn't going to be a problem in Russia. "Come on you two, that's it. Oof, Dr Beckett? You need to lose some weight...."
"It's pure medical muscle son," Carson protested. "Got to have some protective covering to put the needles into..."
"He used to wrestle, back before they figured out he was brilliant. He was going to be a fighter." Rodney had probably never been about to be anything but what he was. He was still talking, yapping, really, and he had a good sense of balance for a drunk guy.
"Aye when I was about...Six. Seven, maybe. Then I got picked up on one of the IQ tests, but I still did the wrestling. My Dad was a Fighter, and there weren't that many Houses that would Challenge us with him on the books. Mum was always worried that the fights would kill him, but the irony was it was, was a genetic condition in the end. He just...wasted away from this brawny giant of a man to a shadow of himself," Carson shook his head. "Didn't seem right. Dying in the Fights, that's a job hazards, they get the good pay for that, but dying like that..."
Not something anyone wanted to think about. John didn't particularly expect to live to a ripe old age, but on the other hand he'd hoped to retire early enough to have some fun. Not a chance now.
"This way, back to the car..."
"Rodney was going to be a pianist," Carson said randomly. "Concert pianist. He's good, really good. But he could earn more as...astrophysicist genius than… musician... but you look at his cuffs… on the wall at his room. Look...He was gem level music. That's...that's bloody good."
"I didn't have the." Rodney waved one hand a little. "Spark. Soul. Something, I forget. It's not like it was some great tragedy and I lost my hands and I couldn't play anymore. I was better at other things. You were better than other things. Sheppard here was better in -- oh, wait. Born free."
"Born Imperial," John agreed. "Been serving since I was 15." It wouldn't have been an early retirement. Most people served the twenty but for them they didn't start as early. Train as early. "Guess it's different to growing up in a House." He yelped a bit and looked around at a pinch to his bottom.
Carson looked sheepish. "Sorry major, my aim is a little off tonight."
Really off. John was pretty sure that his ass was flat, and Rodney's ass wasn't. Rodney had kind of a bubble ass, not a trained personal's ass, but just nice in a natural way. "Is it a challenge offense if you hit on your *own* Imperial guard, Carson?"
"I hope not, because the wrestling was a long time ago," Carson replied. "I apologize John, I hope you will accept my apology."
John inclined his head graciously. "No-offense take Dr Beckett, no apology necessary."
"I'd be offended," Rodney smirked, giving Carson a wider grin, leaning past John again to do it. "Back to the base and we'll see you when the plane leaves?"
Least it might mellow Rodney out some. "Yeah," John replied. "Sleep on the flight."
He was in the middle of two drunk and horny scientists. He wasn't entirely sure if he felt annoyed or left out. Anyway, he wasn't going to get any sleep tonight. Not unless he borrowed a bed in the infirmary or one of the cells. Might be an idea.
Hell was Siberia.
It really went along with the whole literary concept that hell was cold, and Rodney understood that now. He could step outside and want to die. Walking from building to building in the Russian Gatecity was a hell that he couldn't conceive of and he hoped that summer would be better, warmer, sunnier.
Because the weather could change, but Rodney was sure that his idiotic co-workers couldn't. 'Best of the best' was obviously an objective term in Russia.
They really were impossibly stupid, and resistant to being proved wrong. All they seemed to say was 'impossible' 'ridiculous' and 'the equations won't support it!' .
They hadn't even bought free, so how good could they be? On the other hand, the Russian Empire had some strange rules about the House system and levying to the common good of the Empire which apparently meant personal gain didn't happen as fast. Anyway, what did he care? He was trying to teach them the basics of a naqadah generator, trying to get them to build mock ups and every single tiny little thing? They questioned and whined impossibly.
"Dr McKay, I am not seeing how putting a, ah, resistance buffer here, will have any effect," one of the Russians was saying hesitantly. "Surely it will... be counterproductive?"
"Oh, sure, it's counterproductive if your goal is to have us all be incinerated in a blaze of fire and radiation," Rodney cut in, leaning past him to point at the mock-up. "I have *built* these. Do you understand that? They exist. They work! And miraculously, none of us have died!"
The scientist , Dr Pershin, or whatever his name was looked affronted. "The yield conversion rate is stable enough that the buffer could be minimized and external output increased by approximately 8 percent! I can calculates an equation myself you know. You do not have the monopoly on good ideas."
"I think I have the monopoly of ideas where we don't end up *dead*," Rodney snapped. "The yield conversion rate spikes at a particular point, because Naqadah is exotic matter. You minimize the buffer, and things start to go to hell."
"What Dr Pershin is saying Dr McKay..." one of the female scientist said. "Is that whenever we suggest a development you deny it without consideration." She was quite prickly and had some ridiculous name like Sorcha Petrenko.
He was willing to bet she'd scorched some pretrenkos in her day. "I'm not denying it without consideration. Have you perhaps considered that I can *think*, and read your equations and see where they're wrong? If you give me a good suggestion on a development, then you'll be surprised to see that I don't shoot it down."
"You have been here nearly two weeks Dr McKay, and as yet you have yet to acknowledge any idea's aside from your own!" Dr Kaibyshev announced. "I gave you some perfectly good calculations on the output potentials and I have been told that you did not even *look* at them!"
"Because I already *know* what the output potentials *could* be, but since I haven't even been able to get you all to finish a mock-up, let alone a working generator, that's skipping a few steps." Rodney tuned his chair and good lord, there was an uprising going on behind his back. "Naqadah is an unstable element."
"Perhaps," one of the observing military Russian Imperials cut in, "conveniently unstable...neh?"
"It wouldn't surprise me! It is no secret that Dr McKay does not want to be here, to *work* with us! Perhaps it is more than that. " Ah. Now that was the frothing idiot Meylev who self combusted on a regular basis.
"Oh, I don't want to be here *or* work with you -- surprise! -- but I'd also like to not have an ally of my country wiped off the map because they're using poor generator designs! I'm telling you, if you come up with something *useful* or intelligent, I'll gladly integrate it into the design. Hell, I'll take you out for drinks!"
Rodney knew he was starting to lose his temper, but frankly he didn't care. They weren't listening. The only one who seemed to be listening was the Czech guy he could never remember the name of, who was sitting back in the corner, looking at the schematics and muttering under his breath.
"Ha! You'd probably poison the drinks. That would be good for you, hmm? I knew this deal was too good to be true. The United States Empire would never release the real schematics to generators like this!" Meylev retorted. "You are trying to sabotage the Russian Empire. First you take our DHD, and then you destroy it, and then you are sent to *help* us, and all you have done is berate and yell very loudly as if we were idiots!"
"Because you're acting like idiots!" Rodney snarled finally. "Look, I'll build you a god-damned generator on my own -- these are the *real* schematics, and if your insane paranoia refuses to believe it than *FINE*!"
"I call Challenge!" Meylev pointed apoplectic with rage. "I hold gem level is calculus and astrophysics. I am no idiot, and obstructionism is obvious to everyone."
"Fine! Call challenge! If you're going to be that touchy, I'll just let you blow yourselves up the next time you get a bright idea!" He didn't dare turn his back to them, not when there was a mob of them.
"I shall have my champion contact yours," Meylev nodded tersely. "Again." He chose then to stand and leave in a huff.
Unexpectedly from the corner, the Czech with the strange hair put the schematics down. "It will work. They are genuine schematics. Maybe some improvements after we have seen one working yes?"
"Thank you! Finally, someone with two brain cells to rub together!" Rodney gestured over towards the Czech man. "This is really something you can only modify when you have a real one on hand to see the data on in real time."
"Yes, yes. The subatomic reactions look fascinating. Therefore... buffer yes? To stop cascade reaction and unstable isotopes.." He mimed a collision and explosion more to himself than the table of scientists.
"Dr Zelenka, that is ridiculous. You would need lead for that sort of control," Sorcha said in a patronizing tone.
Zelenka shook his head. "No, no...I see the mistake we are making. You are all looking at this as if it were a nuclear device. This is not. Is more... more like the cold fusion, yes?" He looked at Rodney, and Rodney got the distinct impression he was laying it on a bit thick for some reason.
That was fine. If he wanted to lay it on thick, Rodney didn't care. "Yes, that's exactly what it's like. The final result of a generator is small, portable. One of you could carry if. Do you think if it was a normal reaction, fusion or fission, we could *compact* it like that?"
"Cold fusion is impossible." Dr Pershin said folding his arms. "We disproved its viability some years ago."
And god, he sounded smug and patronizing about it too.
"Congratulations. Did you disprove it at the same time that your disproved the existence of space aliens and wormholes that were stable enough to allow travel through?" Rodney asked, letting a little mockery slip through his voice.
Pershin glared at him. "I am the head of the research department, not some neophyte... wet behind the ears. I am fully briefed in the Stargate project. I am warning you to have some more respect Dr McKay!"
"I'm being serious," Rodney reiterated. "At this point, you should know that nothing is impossible with the right technology."
"I find it hard to take seriously who immediately blew up valuable equipment the moment he secured it," Pershin said. "Or do you deny that the DHD is now a smouldering pile? Hmm?"
"I'm not denying that at all. Except. I'm here because I *told* them it was going to blow up. It wasn't an answer they liked, so here I am. Siberia. With all of you. I guess this is what we all get for being right about the DHD, hmn? Because the imperials never listen to their scientists." Rodney shifted, leaning back casually in his chair now. "So, it's probably a *huge* pile of disintegrated DHD and 10000 year old tech. Score one for the Imperials of the American SGC!"
"Such disrespect to your Imperials, " one of the Russian Imperials he didn't recognize mutter. "It is shameful!"
It was true, he didn't see the need to bow and scrape like a lot of them here did to the Russian Imperials.
"Hey, if *I* blow up a piece of 10,000 year old technology, it comes out of my pay for the next year. If they do it, they're heroes." Rodney shrugged his shoulders as he glanced at that imperial. Then he looked back towards the snotty near rebellious scientists. "So, Zelmkpah? over there agrees with me. Do you want to try building one and *then* we can work from there to improving the tech? Hey, and I'm not obligated to take any improvements back states-side with me."
There was a mutinous sullen silence, until there was a discrete clearing of a throat from a quiet high ranking Imperial in the corner.
"Well perhaps that is the way to understand the flaws...." Pershin said. "And his name is Zelenka. Dr Radek Zelenka..."
Zelenka raised his fingers in a wave of acknowledgement. "I am offering to make first if others too busy with own projects?" he suggested mildly.
"Zelenka," Rodney repeated, because maybe it would help him remember. "Fantastic. We'll build it, then, and in a home of weeks you all can test and throw theories, but I'm telling you that when you have your hands on the real thing you're going to see that the naqadah doesn't react the way that a normal radioactive substance would."
"We shall see," Pershin replied. "Very well. Dr Zelenka will be trained and will report for us on progress. If he produces a viable generator, we will construct more. Radek, your current assignments will be put on hold and you will work with Dr McKay full time until this is over, yes?"
Zelenka nodded gravely, looking at Rodney.
"Then this meeting is over," Pershin said and dismissed the scientist began to stand up and leave. And one their way out, two other scientists pressed folded notes down in front of him, announcing their intention to minor Challenges for disrespect and that they would be contacting his champion forthwith.
It was somewhat insane, because a challenge didn't mean that they'd be any *smarter* afterwards. Honor was good and fine when a person was actually *wronged*. Rodney glanced at them, snorted, and stuffed them in his shirt pocket. "Zelenka. Congratulations."
Zelenka shrugged. "Schematics are theoretically sound. Theory and practice very different yes? Still. Will be interesting, very interesting." He gave a smile that made him look younger. "See if you are as good as you think you are."
"My over-inflated ego has a reasonable source," Rodney assured him, glancing at his tablet notebook. "Look, why don't we start this off tomorrow. You're... contracted through who?"
"House Kolya. Main House for Imperial specialists. Buy contracts to make strongest house, strongest house becomes the Imperial science team," Zelenka replied with unconcern. "I will study this tonight yes? Start with knowledge tomorrow."
"Right. Then we'll, yeah, start tomorrow. Half the fun is getting this stuff made, but if someone lets me loose in a machinists' lab, I can do pretty good for myself. I was gem qualified in mechanical engineering." He didn't particularly WANT to do things completely from scratch, but they could if they had to.
"Yes good. I can take you there. We have lab on site which is very good. They will make anything you need," Zelenka said as he packed up his notes. "Tomorrow, oh 900 yes? In lab A."
"Lab A," Rodney confirmed. The scientists were all leaving, but the imperials were all looming in the room still, like someone had forgot to remind them to, oh, *leave*. Rodney started to pack up his laptops, carefully slipping them into their cases.
Zelenka nodded and left the room, keeping his head down as he went past the Imperials.
"An impressive meeting Dr McKay," that quiet high ranking general said. "Only managed to offend three of the science team today. I am...pleased that you seem to be making progress."
"Yesterday was five, wasn't it?" Rodney snorted, gave a glance to the general. He was a big, looming sort of man, nothing like General Hammond, who honestly reminded Rodney of his mother's father, the two times he'd ever seen the man.
"So I heard, " the man moved in closer showing his general stripes and twisting his face in a smile. "There is a saying that getting a room full of geniuses to cooperate is like herding cats. I can believe it. Still, it is of great importance that you successfully build the naqadah generators. No...disharmony should be allowed to imperil this project."
"No un-planned for naqadah based explosions should imperil the project, either, but some of the scientists don't seem as concerned with our collective demise as I am." Rodney glanced at the General's stripes and markings, and his tight, military issued smile. "Now that I have an inside helper, I think the project will go smoothly, General....?"
"Kolya. General Acastus Kolya," the man said. “I believe you are correct. I look forward to the development of this project. If you present your specifications to the machine lab, they will have them done for you as soon as possible. I suggest that to be your next stop."
"Right." Rodney closed the flap of his bag, still eyeing the General. Kolya, Kolya house. Let no-one say that the Russian Empire wasn't shameless in its nepotism. "Do you mind if I ask you where that is? I'm still learning my way around."
“Lieutenant Vorshanova, show Dr McKay to the machine lab immediately," he said nodding curtly to the Imperial who had muttered about his behavior earlier.
"Yes sir." The Imperial saluted and then moved over to him. "If you will follow me Dr McKay..."
"Fine. Let me get a coat on first. Is this *outside* new location or *inside* new location? Because if it's outside I have no idea how you all haven't frozen to death. Your uniforms don't really look warm." He had his coat tucked under the desk he'd claimed, a huge comfortable thing, and he reached for it since he was going back to his shitty apartment afterwards anyway.
"It is only a few steps across the compound," the Lieutenant replied. "And I have Russian blood. This is merely bracing." He smiled at him in a way Imperials did as if he was weak and helpless.
"I'm Canadian from a mining town, but you don't see me baiting frostbite." Rodney slipped the bag off his shoulder, and pulled his coat on in a hurry. They could think he was weak all they wanted but he liked to be able to breathe.
"Perhaps not. It is part of our training. We find visitors here are always complaining of the cold," the Imperial replied, setting off at a fair pace. He still sounded patronizing though, no matter what.
And that was fine. Rodney wasn't going to throw down a challenge for petty shit like the other scientists there did, because there was something wrong with him if he couldn't take as good as he gave. He had to hurry to catch up with the man, resituating his laptops on his back as he followed him down the starkly bare hall with the echoing cement floors.
"I wonder why."
The man chuckled. "I see your disrespect is for all, not just Imperials. Your Imperial is kept busy yes?"
Very busy. Rodney couldn't actually remember the last time he *saw* John. Heard him, yes. Plenty. A voice on his radio checking in.
"Seems so. He's off doing his... thing." It was a lot like when Lorne was around, actually. There was a voice on his radio that he *assumed* would save his life, but he'd sort of liked the idea that he'd have John sitting over his shoulder in the lab. John had two of them to keep on top of, of course.
"Defending your honor," Vorshanova said with a smile. "A lot of honor to defend of course. It is of importance that these things are done correctly."
The challenges, right. Sheppard seemed like he was a strong guy, and Rodney could guess what kind of people the other scientists had for fighting their challenges. He shrugged his shoulders. "It's not my fault everyone takes offense at the tiniest things. I didn't expect here to be land of the touchy feely offended people, exactly. Not with this--" Vorshanova opened the door, and stepped outside. "Oh, fuck, that's cold."
The lieutenant laughed against, his breath immediately billowing up. "Come, you will be freezing if you do not move fast. And that would be a bad thing. Your comrade Dr Beckett would have to thaw you out..."
And there was just something *off* about the way he was talking.
Rodney wasn't sure what it was, but there was definitely something that had the hair on the back of his neck up when he stepped out into the snow to follow the lieutenant as closely as he dared. He'd get to their machinist's shop, leave the specs for the most basic parts he and Zelenka would need to start with, and then go home.
If there ever was a time he wanted his own Imperial to watch his back, it was now. He could use Sheppard there, not off with his feet up checking in by radio when he felt like it.
It wasn't far to the machine shop, but it felt like an eternity chilled to the bone. Maybe he could get some vodka, and get Carson drunk again. Stupid idiot had obviously gotten side tracked from testing for the ATA gene and was probably doing something messy and unnecessary in one of the Infirmary research area. God only knew what he was messing about with down there.
Biological weapons, probably.
Rodney pressed his arms more tightly against his body, and hurried after the guard. He'd bear through it, despite the smirking Imperial.