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Fic: Cross Multiplication, Part Three
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis, Stargate: SG-1, The Sentinel
Title: Cross Multiplication, Part Three
Author: Quasar
Rating: R
Pairing: John/Rodney, Jim/Blair
Date written: November 2006
Length: ~20,000 words (whole story)
Summary: After being returned to his own universe, John Sheppard finds that everything has changed.
Notes: This is a sequel to Cross Product, and may not make much sense unless you read that one first. However, having been written for NaNoWriMo, this story has a different, lazy, rambling style, with minimal editing. Caveat lector.
Links to Part One, Part Two
After thoroughly stuffing his face, Rodney settled in happily in the labs and looked unlikely to come out until well after midnight. John killed time by wandering around the city and chatting with people. He wondered where the control chair was that Dr. Weir had mentioned; it had to be one of the restricted areas that he hadn't been allowed to see in the other Atlantis. But he wasn't really trying to find the chair. Instead, he was trying to get a feel for how things were laid out and how the diplomats, scientists, Air Force and Marines got along with or avoided each other. He still didn't know which group he might fit in with. He didn't especially care, either, but he always liked to be aware when he was trampling over some social boundary.
John was hoping to spend some quality time that night with Rodney and the lube he'd gotten from an amiable doctor who had flirted without seeming to take him too seriously. But the long Atlantis days were wearing on him, for all that Rodney seemed to be thriving. John once again fell asleep before Rodney returned from the labs.
He slept later than he'd meant to and only woke when Rodney elbowed him and mumbled at him to do something about the beeping from his watch, propped on the bedside table. There wasn't time for breakfast before meeting Ellison, but that was all right; John didn't usually eat much in the morning, anyway.
His explorations last night had given him a rough idea of where he was headed, but he didn't know exactly. He met Teyla heading in the same direction and asked her if she could show him the way to the firing range. She considered gravely a moment before nodding and saying it was on her way. John suspected he could learn a lot about tiptoeing over social boundaries from Teyla, but she didn't seem much inclined to speak to him or even look at him. Another member of the anti-man club, maybe -- which was a shame, because he'd really liked the Teyla in the other universe.
"So, uh, I haven't seen Ronon in this universe," he said carefully. He hoped he wasn't reminding her of a recent loss or something -- the last thing he needed to do was give Teyla more reason to dislike him.
But she only cocked an eyebrow at him. "I am not familiar with any Ronon."
"Tall guy, not from Earth? Dreadlocks? Cool ray gun?"
She shook her head. "Halling, one of my fellow Athosians, is quite tall, but he carries no weapon."
"Huh. I guess maybe Ronon didn't make it to Atlantis in this version of things."
John wondered where the big man was and if his life was going better or worse than in the other dimension. He hadn't really had a chance to get to know that other Ronon, but he knew Rodney cared about him as a member of his team. And Ronon seemed to have a dry sense of humor which appealed to John. He could have used a buddy here who was even more of a misfit than he was.
Teyla led him to a sort of open arcade area on one of the piers. It had a sheltering arched roof and long, pillared walkways, but it was open to the wind from the sea. "Over there is the target range where the military people practice firing their weapons," she said. "Captain Ellison insisted that it should be out of doors."
John shrugged. "It's an easy way to get good ventilation."
"In that building --" She gestured at a domed structure that was less tall than most in Atlantis, maybe only four stories "-- are many rooms where people practice hand-to-hand and knife fighting. Every other morning, I teach the Athosian stick-fighting method to those who wish to learn it."
"That sounds cool," John said. Maybe this Teyla was approachable after all, with appropriate precautions.
"You may attend if you wish," she said coolly. "I believe you will find Captain Ellison at the end of the range, that way." She pointed.
"Great. Thanks a lot!" He smiled at her, but not too warmly. He wasn't trying to suggest anything, or even flirting with her. His reserve won him a faint smile before she left.
The firing range, when John finally found it (or rather, realized what was in front of his eyes), was a pleasant surprise. The sea breeze whipped away the gunsmoke almost before he smelled it, and some trick of the surrounding architecture muted the cracking sounds instead of echoing them. He was a little concerned at first that it would be hard to see someone approaching the target area, but gradually his eyes picked out the barriers and warning lights and other precautions. It would be a nice place to spend the morning shooting.
The shots he'd heard were coming from a couple of Marines who seemed to be in an impromptu competition. The curly-haired scientist -- Sandburg -- was standing back a short distance watching them idly. His blue-paneled jacket was zipped up against the cool morning air, but a plaid flannel shirt collar peeked out at the top.
Ellison was further back, discussing something with Bates the quartermaster. He glanced up as John approached, but didn't interrupt his conversation.
So John smiled at Sandburg and said, "We didn't get a chance to say hello yesterday. I'm John Sheppard."
The guy had an easy smile that made him look younger than he was. "Blair Sandburg."
"You're, uh, part of the science team?" John asked, waving at the blue jacket. In his experience, most of them were quick to identify themselves as "Doctor."
"Yeah, I'm an anthropologist," Sandburg said. "But I also help Jim out with the security side of things."
"Are you really an ex-cop?"
Sandburg's grin went a little twisted -- ironic or regretful or something. "Detective first class, Cascade PD."
John shook his head in wonder. "Anthropologist to detective to . . . here. That must be a hell of a story."
"Too long for today," Ellison put in behind him. "Right now I want to see how you handle these, Sheppard. You were Air Force, right?"
"Right." John sighed and applied himself to breaking down, checking, and re-assembling first a nine-millimeter, then a P-90, then a saw.
Instead of lecturing John, Ellison made him describe everything he was doing and why and how he might do it differently in other circumstances. It wasn't too onerous, but John was waiting for the moment when he'd get to use the guns instead. The Marines down the line, apparently done with their match, were watching to see how the new guy did. Bates and Sandburg were also still hovering somewhere in the background. John took a deep breath, centered himself, then lifted the P-90 and let old training take over.
It wasn't his best score, but with each weapon he got every shot in the target and almost all of them in the kill zone. He set down the nine-mil (which he'd saved for last), cocked his head, and considered the tattered target. "I'm a little rusty," he conceded with an apologetic grin at Ellison. "Haven't touched a gun in a couple of years."
One of the Marines swore.
Ellison said nothing, but turned to the counter behind them and picked up another weapon John had never seen before, an S-shaped alien thing reminiscent of a coiled snake.
"Ever used one of these?" said Ellison, handing it over.
John shook his head. He turned the thing around thoughtfully and found the right place to grip it, but he couldn't still see any obvious controls.
"Zat'nik'tel. Weapon of the Goa'uld."
John flinched and nearly dropped it. What he'd heard of the Goa'uld was not nice at all.
Ellison went on, "The SGC has a lot of them. Colonel Sheppard --" The emphasis was unmistakable "-- and his team brought nine of these through the Gate a few days ago. We're getting our people trained on them. Useful weapons." Patiently, Ellison showed John the hidden controls to let him arm and fire the weapon and explained its quirks; apparently, it could be either a stunning or a killing weapon, and also effective on some kinds of machines. "Not much use aiming it at a paper target, though. We're trying to set up something that will give us a feel for how it aims at real people and objects."
"If it's some sort of electrical charge, maybe a metal object would work," John suggested.
"It would, except half the stuff that looks like metal around here doesn't conduct electricity, and some of the stuff that looks like plastic does." Ellison sounded weary of the problem.
Sandburg put in, "We also have to make sure it isn't something that's going to retain a charge and zap the next person who touches it."
"Ouch," John said.
"Right. Okay, now these are a little safer." Ellison pointed to an array of several other alien weapons on the counter. "Wraith stun guns."
Sandburg added, "The Wraith like their prey alive, so these things don't kill, short of a freak accident like breaking your neck when you go down or something. We think the different shapes come from different hives."
"Think?" John asked. "Don't you know?"
"Some of these weapons are second-hand," Sandburg explained, "by way of the Genii. So they might just be an older model, or they might have come from a different part of the galaxy, or maybe they have a slightly different purpose."
Ellison picked up the thread of the explanation smoothly. They were obviously very used to working together, from the way they bounced conversation back and forth. "They all work pretty much the same way. In general, the bigger ones have longer range. We've seen some Wraith weapons that can take down groups of people, but we don't have any of those yet. At best, these ones can stun two people standing nearly in line with each other, but no more than that. Sometimes you might need to use more than one shot to bring down a person that's really big or drugged up --"
"Or a Wraith," Sandburg said.
"Right. Or someone further out toward the end of your range. Don't hesitate to shoot twice if you have to, with these weapons." He showed John the controls for each of the Wraith guns.
"We do have a target set up for the stun guns," Sandburg said, pointing at a weird little device off to the side of the range. It had a sort of rectangular box set upright in the center like a torso, and four arms (or two arms and two legs, maybe) sticking out from the corners. "The arm things are electrical, and the stunner disrupts them without destroying the circuit -- sort of the same way it affects human nerves. We tried a zat gun on this target, but it fried the circuits so we couldn't re-use it. So we're still looking for good zat targets."
"Problem is," Ellison went on, "we don't have a way of recharging the Wraith stunners yet. So we can't really spare a lot for target practice." He handed John one of the larger rifle-type weapons. "Just one or two shots, to get the hang of it."
John aimed the long barrel carefully and fired at the target. The four "arms" jerked satisfyingly and then hung limp. "Cool," he drawled with a grin.
Ellison pressed a button that made the target's arms stiffen again, then handed John a smaller Wraith stun pistol. This time John's shot only made the top two arms fall.
"You're using the top of the barrel to aim, but it's tapered, so you shot high," Ellison pointed out. "Common mistake. Also, remember the beam path is always straight so you don't need to adjust the angle for distance like you do for a bullet. Don't sight along the gun; just try to dead-aim the center of the barrel." He reset the target again.
John studied the weapon more closely and adjusted his grip a little, then tried again. This time all four arms spasmed and fell.
"Good," said Ellison.
"You picked that up really fast," Sandburg pointed out.
John shrugged. He didn't expect compliments and stroking from a weapons instructor, but a little admiration was always nice. Maybe he'd been a civilian too long, getting soft enough to like that sort of thing.
"That's all the ammo and charge we can afford for now." Ellison started packing the various weapons away.
"You should see if McKay can help you with that recharging thing," said John. "I bet he could rig something up for you. And he might have an idea on targets for the zat guns, too."
"What kind of scientist is he, again?" Ellison asked.
John had to think for a second. "Astrophysicist, I think. But really he's just a genius with any kind of technology. I haven't seen anything he can't do, except, um --"
"Things that require diplomacy and charm?" Sandburg suggested.
"I was going to say, things he doesn't think are important," John said mildly. But he grinned to let Sandburg know there was no offense.
Ellison was signing the weapons back over to the quartermaster's care.
"Am I done here, sir?" John asked.
Ellison shot him a sharp glance. "You don't need my permission to go."
John shrugged. "No, but I understand offending you would be a bad idea. And we did get off on the wrong foot there."
Ellison's stern expression eased to something with a little humor in it. "We're fine, Sheppard. You're cleared to sign out a weapon if you're going offworld."
Yeah, and how likely is that? John wondered. But he just nodded to Ellison in lieu of a salute and started back toward the core buildings with lunch in mind.
He was still walking along the arcade which held the firing range when footsteps jogged up behind him. "Hey, Sheppard!"
He turned to find one of the Marines who'd been watching him shoot, a young black man with an infectious grin. He gave the guy a careful smile, again wishing the expedition uniforms had some indication of name or rank. "Looks like you have me at an advantage," he said pleasantly.
"I'm Lieutenant Ford," said the Marine. "I used to be on Captain O'Neill's off-world team."
John nodded understanding. That was the primary gate team of the Atlantis expedition, analogous to SG-1 (or Colonel Sheppard's team in the other universe) and just as trouble-prone. He'd heard enough stories to have an idea of what that meant. "Used to be?" he asked.
"I'm going to be leading my own team now," said Ford proudly. "And I need a pilot -- someone with the gene. O'Neill says you're pretty good."
John blinked. Okay, apparently he would have opportunities to go off-world after all. Rodney would be jealous . . . he hesitated at that thought. "Do you need a scientist too? McKay's pretty good with Ancient technology. All kinds of technology, actually." And for all that Rodney complained incessantly, his counterpart's performance in the other universe showed that he had what it took to face up to anything. John knew Rodney would love to be on one of the gate teams, and would probably be pretty good at it, too.
Ford looked surprised. "Well, no, actually I asked Lieutenant Hailey if she'd be interested in joining. She's supposed to be some kind of science whiz, plus she's already combat trained and has Gate team experience from the SGC."
John remembered that Hailey had said something about the Air Force wanting her for her brain enough to overlook her lack of height.
Ford's brow wrinkled. "What's with you and McKay, anyway? I remember him from Antarctica before the expedition headed out, and he was a major pain in the ass. Nobody got along with him -- but you do."
John shrugged. "McKay's all bark. He's a good guy underneath. In the other universe . . ." He hesitated, not sure what to say. It didn't really prove anything, since the correspondences weren't exact, but he just had the feeling this Rodney could be as much of an asset as the other one was -- maybe even more. And he felt a sort of kinship, too; Rodney had missed his opportunity to be the expedition's head of science, just like John had missed the chance to become Colonel Sheppard. "I guess we just got to be friends," he finished lamely.
A snort off to the side made him turn his head. The other Marine -- the one Ford had had the shooting match with -- was leaning against a pillar and sneering. "Friends, right. I heard that one before." He stepped away from the pillar and loomed closer to flank John. "I also heard you had a dishonorable discharge. Wonder why that was?"
John tensed as he felt alarm start to coil in his gut. He'd gotten roughed up pretty bad at the Academy once after making a pass at the wrong guy. At the time, he'd felt lucky that word hadn't spread far enough to get him kicked out entirely -- but the beating wasn't fun, and he didn't particularly want another one now. "Does it matter?" he asked calmly. "I'm a civilian now. No law against making friends with anyone."
He glanced at Ford and saw the young lieutenant was looking uncomfortable, but making no move to stop the other guy. John felt obscurely disappointed by that. An officer -- even a junior one -- ought to be better than that. But then, maybe he was wrong in guessing the second man had lower rank.
"Matters to me," rumbled the big Marine. "We got enough fudge-packers around here already." He glanced over his shoulder. "Hey, Sarge, check it out! It's another cocksucker."
John's eyes flicked back to see Sergeant Bates, the unfriendly quartermaster, heading their way. If the Marine was right about Bates's attitude, that made two hostiles and one undecided. Not odds that John liked.
"I don't see why you should care," he went on as casually as possible, plotting escape routes in his mind. "Seems like you have bigger problems to think about in this galaxy, huh?" His best plan might be to go off the edge of the pier, less than a hundred yards away. He wondered how cold the water was.
"I don't like thinking I got packed off on this expedition with a bunch of weirdos and fags no one else wanted," the Marine growled. "We get back to Earth, my reputation's gonna be ruined."
Bates came up on the Marine's other side. He didn't say anything, but his disapproving look was directed at John, not the heckler.
"SGC already thinks you folks are heroes," John said as convincingly as he could, while trying to figure out if there was any Ancient technology nearby he could use to his advantage. "Besides, look at it this way: more women for the rest of you, right?"
Bates laughed, not pleasantly. Ford stirred and said, "He has a point there, Lanzetti."
John pressed that argument, since it seemed effective. "The gender ratio here is what, four to one? Maybe five to one? I came through the wormhole a couple days ago with seven people." It hadn't really been him, of course, but he was guessing Lanzetti wouldn't have picked up the finer points of the story. "That's two women, two guys who aren't going to be staying on Atlantis, me and McKay, and one other officer. If the last guy is straight, your dating pool is still up by one woman. But if McKay and I were straight, you'd be down by one woman, and you can't afford that. So see, I'm doing you a favor by hooking up with McKay!"
Lanzetti was staring at him with furrowed brow, as if the simple logic was beyond him. "You sayin' I can't pull a woman better than a dick-loving queer?" was his eventual response.
"Uh . . . " There were so many wrong assumptions there John didn't even know where to begin.
Lanzetti's hands were clenching into fists now; so much for calming the guy with logic. Bates still looked stony, and Ford was starting to shift nervously. "Give it up, Lanzetti," said the lieutenant. "You're not going to change the world by glaring at it."
Lanzetti transferred his glare to Ford. "I just don't see why the homos get all the good Gate team spots."
Ford laughed. "Forget him, I'll find another pilot. Come on, man, take it easy. I still have another position to fill, you know, but you need to be able to make nice with people from other cultures."
"Yeah, like the butt-fucking culture?" Lanzetti grumbled, but he wasn't looming so much and his hands weren't fisted anymore.
Ford punched the taller man in the arm. "There's some weird shit out there, man, seriously. I can tell you about this one time . . ." He led Lanzetti away, still talking.
John let a relieved breath trickle past his lips, but didn't relax quite yet. "Well, Sergeant? You got a problem with what I do in the bedroom?"
Bates glowered. "Which bedroom?"
"Huh?"
"If you and McKay are shacked up together, which room are you using? 'Cause I need to mark the other one as unoccupied."
"Oh! Uh . . ." John deflated a little. "We're in the room that was assigned to me. But we could use a larger place, if, uh, if one becomes available."
Bates eyed him like an eagle watching a rabbit. "I'll keep that in mind." Then he turned and followed Ford away.
John sagged back against a pillar, finally letting himself breathe. "Okay, that sucked," he muttered to himself. He was going to have to start compiling a mental list of people not to be caught alone with in dark hallways. He wondered if he should warn Rodney, as well. Surely the scientists would be more easygoing about such things?
"Nice job," said a voice.
John jumped. "Shit!" He needed to stop letting people sneak up on him; his reflexes were way too rusty.
"Sorry," said Ellison, not very sincerely. "Good work handling those guys," he said with jerk of the head in the direction the other three had gone.
"Yeah, seriously, man," said Sandburg, appearing behind Ellison's shoulder. "I was gonna stop them, but Jim wanted to see how you would handle it."
"Gee, thanks," John said dryly. "I nearly handled it by jumping into the drink."
"It wouldn't have gotten that serious," Ellison said.
"Well, I'm glad you're sure of that." John was starting to feel a little annoyed. Why the hell was the head of security watching the new guy handle a potentially explosive situation instead of doing something about it?
"No, Jim's right, man," Sandburg insisted. "They know if they try any gay-bashing they'll catch hell from Elizabeth and Jack -- I mean, Dr. Weir and Captain O'Neill. Not to mention Jim. Nobody here would put up with that kind of bullshit."
"Ford could have tried to defuse it earlier," John said.
Sandburg winced. "Aiden's okay, he's just not as smart as he thinks he is."
"He's also not the only one building a team," said Ellison. "Sandburg and I don't go offworld much, but we do a lot of stuff in the city and on the mainland that would go better if we have a regular team instead of grabbing whoever's available from the roster. We could use a pilot and a scientist."
"Yeah, especially if McKay's as good with the tech as you say he is," Sandburg said. "I read Ancient and I can usually figure out what their stuff is for, but I can't get it working if it's broken."
"And you both have the gene," Ellison continued. "You have the strong one, and McKay got the therapy."
Sandburg sighed. "Jim wouldn't let me get the therapy."
The corner of Ellison's mouth twitched upward. "And Blair wouldn't let me get it, either."
John looked between the two of them in surprise as Sandburg rounded on his partner. "Are you kidding, man? Do you have any idea how that retrovirus could mess up your senses? It's totally not worth --"
Ellison held up a hand to silence his friend. "Think about it," he said to John. "Talk to McKay about it. You can give me your answer later."
A little dazed by recent events -- harassment and two team offers in the space of a few minutes -- John decided to walk back to the central spire instead of taking a transporter. Rodney wasn't in their room anymore, so John wandered to the mess hall and found him shoveling down a plate of food. John sat across from him and just stared.
After a moment, Rodney looked up. "What?" He studied his plate, then the empty table in front of John. "Where's your breakfast?"
"Not hungry," John said.
"Oh, for -- here, eat this. I'll grab another later." Rodney shoved a roll at him.
The dough turned out to be bagel-like, dense and chewy. The slow chewing it required helped focus John's mind. "What would you do if you were offered a spot on a Gate team?" he asked.
Rodney gave him a sharp look. "Someone's already trying to snap up the hot new pilot, huh?"
"No, I -- well, yeah, but --"
"How many offers have you had?" Rodney asked. He didn't seemed surprised, but he wasn't particularly happy about it either.
"Two."
"Not from O'Neill, I assume," Rodney said. "His team's the best, but he doesn't need your gene or your piloting ability. Well, I guess you should look at the kind of missions each team would get, and whether you trust the team leader."
John shook his head. "No, wait, hang on -- I'm not trying to decide which one. Actually, the first offer was, uh, withdrawn. I'm trying to figure out whether or not to say yes to the second one."
Rodney blinked. "Why wouldn't you? Danger, excitement, lots of chances to be a heroic idiot -- sounds right up your alley." His tone was getting sharper by the minute.
"So, but if it was you, you'd say no, right?"
Rodney dropped his gaze unhappily to his plate and started scraping up the last fragments of food. "I'm not sure. I could do without the danger and hardship -- I like coming back to my own bed every night. But the chances for discovery, for finding new things and figuring them out before anyone else? That would be hard to pass up." He shook his head. "But no one will want me on their team, anyway, so it's a moot point."
"Rodney. The offer's for both of us."
Rodney stared.
"It's Ellison's team -- the other two would be Ellison and Sandburg -- and apparently they mostly stay on-planet. So I guess you could sleep in your own bed every night." Our own bed, John thought, but didn't correct himself.
Rodney's eyes narrowed a little. "What do they want me for, then?"
"Hey, good, there you are!" came a cheerful voice. Sandburg slid into the seat next to John. "I was looking for you guys." He grinned at Rodney. "Hi, I know we haven't officially been introduced. Dr. Blair Sandburg, anthropology."
Rodney shook his hand. "Uh, Dr. Rodney McKay, astrophysics."
John ducked his head to hide a smile at the scientist-dominance ritual.
"So, Jim and I thought -- okay, actually, I thought -- that you guys might need some more information while you're trying to make a decision."
John grinned. "Rodney was just wondering what you want us for."
Sandburg looked surprised. "Are you kidding? Do you know how many times in the last couple of years I've heard some one say 'if Dr. McKay was here, this would be fixed in two hours instead of two days?'"
Rodney's chin tilted up. "Well, naturally, uh . . ." He wavered a little. "Did someone really say that?"
"Sure! Dr. Grodin, and Dr. Zelenka before he died --"
"Who?"
"The Czech engineer?"
"Oh, yes, I heard . . . um, yes, he was quite good."
"I think even Dr. Kavanagh said something about Dr. McKay would have handled it better, and he never said anything nice about anybody!"
John felt a little weird, hearing someone talk about one of the guys whose clothes he was wearing. "And me?" he asked. "What do you need me for?"
Sandburg beamed at him. "Hey, you're Mr. Supergene! I hear the Ancient devices love you almost as much as Jack."
John blinked. "Well, I guess . . ."
"And even Jim couldn't object to your performance at the range this morning. That was poetry, oh man -- the look on Lanzetti's face!"
Rodney looked over at him. "I didn't hear about that."
John shrugged modestly. "I used to have sharpshooting qualifications with several weapons. I'm a little rusty now, but I guess I still have enough of the mojo to surprise a couple of Marines who were betting against me."
"So that's what we have to gain from associating with you guys," Sandburg said. "That and having a regular team so we don't have to schedule our exploration work around the Marines' duty roster. What about you? What do you need from us, anything you want to know?"
"Well," John drawled, at the same moment that Rodney began, "Just yesterday, we were discussing --"
They stopped and looked at each other, and Rodney waved for John to continue. John gave him a suspicious look -- since when are you this nice? -- and Rodney rolled his eyes: I can be polite if I feel like it!
Sandburg's gaze ping-ponged curiously between the two of them.
John cleared his throat, still a little wound up from the confrontation earlier. "Well, uh, before, you seemed to be -- that is, you and, uh, Captain Ellison were sort of implying -- I mean, it was like you wanted me to think . . ."
"We're together." Sandburg bobbed his head. "Sure. Everyone knows it."
Rodney gaped at John. "I could have told you that, if I'd known you wanted to know!"
"Actually," Sandburg continued, "Jim and I are one of three married couples on the expedition. The others are straight couples -- one pair married before coming out here, and one since."
John blinked rapidly. "Married?"
"Uh-huh." Sandburg grinned broadly. "We took time off work in February of oh-four to run down to San Francisco and make it official. So it's legal, even!"
"Weren't those marriages overturned later on?" John asked.
Sandburg's face fell. "Were they, really? I mean, there was talk about it, but no official action by the time we left Earth."
"Yeah, I think, um, later that fall. Election year politics." John shrugged apologetically.
"Oh, hey, you guys know how the elections went, don't you? It was too early to cast absentee ballots when we left -- I was so mad about not getting to vote. Did Hayes get re-elected?"
"Yes, thank god," said Rodney.
Sandburg turned on him. "What do you mean? The man's a total hypocrite, always pandering to his conservative base instead of doing what he knows is the right thing, morally and ecologically."
"But he's been very good to the Stargate program," Rodney pointed out. "Can you imagine what would have happened to us if the other guy had gotten in?"
"But Hayes is such a dickwad! I was hoping he'd get kicked out on his ass, for the good of the country."
"All politics is local," said John diplomatically. "I voted against Hayes, but if I'd been involved in the Stargate program, I might have chosen differently."
"If politics is local, why are we arguing about what happened two years ago in another galaxy?" Rodney said sourly.
Sandburg snickered. "Okay, you got a point, man." He turned to John appealingly. "But did they really invalidate all those marriages? That sucks!"
"They did, but the next year Massachusetts legalized gay marriage."
"For residents only," Rodney pointed out. "Of course, it's been legal in Canada for years."
"For citizens only," John parroted back.
Sandburg sighed. "Well, that kinda sucks. But I guess it doesn't really make much difference on a practical level, where we're at now. It was such a buzz, though, you know, all those gay couples lining up around the block, waiting for hours, some in tuxedos and some in T-shirts. I felt like I knew what the Summer of Love must have been like -- that's when I was born, y'know, and I've always sort of felt like I belonged back then. Of course --" He gave an ironic sideways dip of his head "-- the honeymoon didn't go any better than our other vacations. That was when the Trust got hold of us, actually." He frowned.
John leaned forward. "And they wanted you because . . . ?"
"Because of Jim's abilities, of course."
Rodney snapped his fingers. "Right, right, I remember. Ellison's supposed to be psychic or something, isn't he?"
"No man, not like that. It's all perfectly explainable with science!"
Rodney glared. "We have consistent scientific explanations for many supposedly psychic phenomena. The Ancients, as they got closer to ascension, were able to --"
"Hang on," John interrupted. "The Ancients are cool and all, but I'd rather hear about what Ellison can do. You said it's different?" He looked back to Sandburg.
"He has enhanced senses. The normal five senses that we all have, but in Jim's case they're way more sensitive. And sometimes, especially when he gets his synesthesia thing going, it almost does look like he's psychic, but really these are all perfectly natural, uh, physical phenomena."
John frowned. "So, you're saying he can just see and hear really well?"
"And smell and taste and feel, yeah. Like, for example, this morning he told me about your, um, your conversation with Aiden while were standing a couple hundred yards away. And the other day?" He turned to Rodney. "Jim could smell the naqadah in your blood, but because of that shield thing you were wearing he couldn't tell it was a low concentration from a former implantation."
Rodney looked skeptical. "Of course -- he smelled my history as a Goa'uld host. He didn't, oh, say, hear about it sometime in the past two years from someone who knew me and then use that knowledge to beef up his reputation."
Sandburg looked offended. "He wouldn't do that, man!"
"Wait a second." John frowned at Rodney. "You have no problem with psychic abilities in people who are about to be raptured up to heaven--"
"Ascension isn't the same as rapture!" Rodney objected.
John didn't stop. "-- And you yourself were possessed by an alien snake-parasite-thing, and I just got back from an alternate universe, and we're sitting here in a mythical city in another galaxy for god's sake, and you don't believe Ellison has supersmell?"
Rodney sniffed. "Well, when you put it that way . . ."
"C'mon, Rodney, just let the man finish his explanation!"
Sandburg shrugged. "Well, that's really about it. Jim's senses are enhanced, and that gives him an edge. He had a great reputation in the Cascade PD, so apparently the Trust thought he was too high-profile to kidnap. But when we took our trip to San Francisco, some idiot decided the gay thing meant that Jim's co-workers wouldn't care if the two of us never came back. So they kidnapped us."
"Why both of you?" Rodney asked, interested despite his show of disbelief.
"Oh, me, well, I help Jim cope with the senses. Sometimes all that extra input gets really overwhelming, you know, and it helps to have someone familiar around to focus on. And then there are weird side effects sometimes -- atypical drug reactions, synesthesia like I mentioned, unexpected stress responses, that sort of thing. I help with all that. I'm sort of the leading expert in the Sentinel phenomenon --"
"What's that?" John asked.
"Sentinels are people like Jim, with all five senses enhanced. As opposed to, say, perfumiers or wine-tasters who just have one or two enhanced senses. Okay, so the Trust took both of us and I guess they planned to, like, use us against each other or something." Sandburg grimaced. "They wanted to do experiments on Jim, supposedly so they could try to induce Sentinel abilities in their own people and make some kind of supersoldier. But really I think some of those guys were just sadists." Sandburg's hands, which had been gesturing animatedly for the first part of the story, curled into fists and then disappeared under the table into his lap.
"You don't have to tell us any more if it bugs you," John said. He'd seen POWs have the same trouble trying to tell their stories.
"No, it's okay. Fortunately, they only had us for a few days. The guys back in Cascade found out we were missing sooner than expected, and when they came looking for us they hooked up with another group from the SGC who were just about ready to make a raid on the Trust. Meanwhile, Jim and I were trying to make escape plans, but we hadn't figured out yet how to get through all the layers of security. Jim heard the raid starting and figured that was a good time to put our plans into action."
"And that's when you two ended up at the SGC," Rodney said, putting it together.
"Well, first we tried going back to Cascade, but there was another kidnapping attempt almost right away. So we went to Colorado to try to help the SGC deal with these jerks, and to testify if needed. But it got complicated with one thing and another and it took longer than we expected, and for a while we were almost afraid we'd have to live in a fortress the rest of our lives just to stay out of their hands. Then we heard about the Atlantis expedition, and Dr. Weir invited us both along, and well . . . here we are!"
John looked across at Rodney, who looked almost as overwhelmed as he was by the flood of words. "So . . . okay, thanks for the background. I was curious about that."
Rodney added impatiently, "Yes, but what does it have to do with us, here and now?"
"Right. Ellison's head of security, so I can see why the senses would help with that." John remembered how Ellison had arrived panting on the scene where he shot Rodney, as if he'd heard it and come running from far away. "What else?"
Sandburg considered. "Well, he has some trouble with Gate travel. Turns out it's hard for him to adjust to a new planet -- different sunlight, different gravity, different atmosphere, weird smells and plants and things. So we don't go offworld a lot. Only when there's enough time for Jim to make an adjustment." He looked at the two of them. "But there's plenty to explore on this planet! We still haven't finished checking out all of the city yet, even!"
"And that's mostly what you do?" John asked. It didn't sound like a lot of opportunities for flying, to him.
"Well, we've been trying to do some exploring twice a week, but lately it's been more like once a week. Right now we're working on the southeast pier, one building at a time. Mostly it's residential, but here and there we find labs or offices or meeting rooms . . ."
"That could be interesting," Rodney said. "You must find a lot of new technology and devices left behind by the Ancients."
"Right. Most of the places have been cleared out, but then the weirdest stuff will be left behind -- maybe forgotten, we're not sure. Sometimes it takes the scientists weeks to figure out what it is -- we're hoping you can help with that, Dr. McKay. One thing that's weird is, we haven't found any stores. No shops or groceries or even restaurants. There aren't any. So we've been trying to figure out how their economy --"
"And that's it?" John put in. "Exploring the city a couple times a week?"
"Oh, no, there's plenty of other stuff too. Jim goes out to the mainland a lot, helping the Athosians with identifying new settlement areas, figuring out which grains are edible and where to look for game or dig a well, that sort of thing." Sandburg smiled at John. "So there would be some flying for that. And we've been also working with the geologists on mapping the whole planet. We have continental-scale maps already, and some more detailed ones from the Ancient database. But you know, rivers and vegetation patterns and such have changed in the last ten thousand years."
"Why would Ellison be involved in that?" Rodney said.
Sandburg looked sheepish. "Well, I kinda volunteered him for it. I got to talking with one of the geologists and I pointed out how Jim's senses could help a lot with their project -- he can search large areas visually a lot faster than their best cameras, so he can tell them where to look for what they're interested in. And so we sort of got dragged into helping with it. But it's been going pretty slowly since it's hard to schedule Gateship time with a competent pilot." He shrugged. "So you see, you guys could help us out a lot. And I think you'd find it pretty interesting. Sometimes we do go off-world, too -- we just don't get into the high-profile first-contact stuff that Jack's team specializes in."
"Not so much danger and hardship, huh?" John drawled, looking at Rodney significantly.
Rodney met his gaze. "Sleeping in our own beds most nights."
John nodded acknowledgment and turned to Sandburg. "Sounds good to us."
Rodney added, "We'll do it. At least on a trial basis."
Sandburg blinked and looked between them. "Okay! Well . . . great! I'll tell Jim you said yes."
When Sandburg had left, John leaned back in his chair. All the talk had made him thirsty, but he didn't feel like getting into the food line. "Super senses," he mused. "Aliens that take control of people's bodies, and other aliens that suck the life out of people . . . not to mention the psychic aliens that invented interplanetary travel and built a mythical city and all that." He shook his head in wonder. "When did my life turn into a bad science fiction movie?"
Rodney rolled his eyes. "I don't know, maybe when you traveled to another galaxy?"
"Yeah, but see, I never made that choice. I was kidnapped. Or body-snatched. Or whatever." It was like he'd fallen down a rabbit hole and when he finally climbed out -- or was pulled -- he'd found the world turned upside-down.
"Well, you're here now. We just have to do our best to make this into a good science fiction story. The kind anyone wishes they could be in."
"With a happy ending?" John asked.
Rodney smiled at him a little sappily. "And maybe a love story thrown in on the side."
"Sounds good to me." John stole the last swallow of Rodney's coffee.
(Not Really) The End
Title: Cross Multiplication, Part Three
Author: Quasar
Rating: R
Pairing: John/Rodney, Jim/Blair
Date written: November 2006
Length: ~20,000 words (whole story)
Summary: After being returned to his own universe, John Sheppard finds that everything has changed.
Notes: This is a sequel to Cross Product, and may not make much sense unless you read that one first. However, having been written for NaNoWriMo, this story has a different, lazy, rambling style, with minimal editing. Caveat lector.
Links to Part One, Part Two
After thoroughly stuffing his face, Rodney settled in happily in the labs and looked unlikely to come out until well after midnight. John killed time by wandering around the city and chatting with people. He wondered where the control chair was that Dr. Weir had mentioned; it had to be one of the restricted areas that he hadn't been allowed to see in the other Atlantis. But he wasn't really trying to find the chair. Instead, he was trying to get a feel for how things were laid out and how the diplomats, scientists, Air Force and Marines got along with or avoided each other. He still didn't know which group he might fit in with. He didn't especially care, either, but he always liked to be aware when he was trampling over some social boundary.
John was hoping to spend some quality time that night with Rodney and the lube he'd gotten from an amiable doctor who had flirted without seeming to take him too seriously. But the long Atlantis days were wearing on him, for all that Rodney seemed to be thriving. John once again fell asleep before Rodney returned from the labs.
He slept later than he'd meant to and only woke when Rodney elbowed him and mumbled at him to do something about the beeping from his watch, propped on the bedside table. There wasn't time for breakfast before meeting Ellison, but that was all right; John didn't usually eat much in the morning, anyway.
His explorations last night had given him a rough idea of where he was headed, but he didn't know exactly. He met Teyla heading in the same direction and asked her if she could show him the way to the firing range. She considered gravely a moment before nodding and saying it was on her way. John suspected he could learn a lot about tiptoeing over social boundaries from Teyla, but she didn't seem much inclined to speak to him or even look at him. Another member of the anti-man club, maybe -- which was a shame, because he'd really liked the Teyla in the other universe.
"So, uh, I haven't seen Ronon in this universe," he said carefully. He hoped he wasn't reminding her of a recent loss or something -- the last thing he needed to do was give Teyla more reason to dislike him.
But she only cocked an eyebrow at him. "I am not familiar with any Ronon."
"Tall guy, not from Earth? Dreadlocks? Cool ray gun?"
She shook her head. "Halling, one of my fellow Athosians, is quite tall, but he carries no weapon."
"Huh. I guess maybe Ronon didn't make it to Atlantis in this version of things."
John wondered where the big man was and if his life was going better or worse than in the other dimension. He hadn't really had a chance to get to know that other Ronon, but he knew Rodney cared about him as a member of his team. And Ronon seemed to have a dry sense of humor which appealed to John. He could have used a buddy here who was even more of a misfit than he was.
Teyla led him to a sort of open arcade area on one of the piers. It had a sheltering arched roof and long, pillared walkways, but it was open to the wind from the sea. "Over there is the target range where the military people practice firing their weapons," she said. "Captain Ellison insisted that it should be out of doors."
John shrugged. "It's an easy way to get good ventilation."
"In that building --" She gestured at a domed structure that was less tall than most in Atlantis, maybe only four stories "-- are many rooms where people practice hand-to-hand and knife fighting. Every other morning, I teach the Athosian stick-fighting method to those who wish to learn it."
"That sounds cool," John said. Maybe this Teyla was approachable after all, with appropriate precautions.
"You may attend if you wish," she said coolly. "I believe you will find Captain Ellison at the end of the range, that way." She pointed.
"Great. Thanks a lot!" He smiled at her, but not too warmly. He wasn't trying to suggest anything, or even flirting with her. His reserve won him a faint smile before she left.
The firing range, when John finally found it (or rather, realized what was in front of his eyes), was a pleasant surprise. The sea breeze whipped away the gunsmoke almost before he smelled it, and some trick of the surrounding architecture muted the cracking sounds instead of echoing them. He was a little concerned at first that it would be hard to see someone approaching the target area, but gradually his eyes picked out the barriers and warning lights and other precautions. It would be a nice place to spend the morning shooting.
The shots he'd heard were coming from a couple of Marines who seemed to be in an impromptu competition. The curly-haired scientist -- Sandburg -- was standing back a short distance watching them idly. His blue-paneled jacket was zipped up against the cool morning air, but a plaid flannel shirt collar peeked out at the top.
Ellison was further back, discussing something with Bates the quartermaster. He glanced up as John approached, but didn't interrupt his conversation.
So John smiled at Sandburg and said, "We didn't get a chance to say hello yesterday. I'm John Sheppard."
The guy had an easy smile that made him look younger than he was. "Blair Sandburg."
"You're, uh, part of the science team?" John asked, waving at the blue jacket. In his experience, most of them were quick to identify themselves as "Doctor."
"Yeah, I'm an anthropologist," Sandburg said. "But I also help Jim out with the security side of things."
"Are you really an ex-cop?"
Sandburg's grin went a little twisted -- ironic or regretful or something. "Detective first class, Cascade PD."
John shook his head in wonder. "Anthropologist to detective to . . . here. That must be a hell of a story."
"Too long for today," Ellison put in behind him. "Right now I want to see how you handle these, Sheppard. You were Air Force, right?"
"Right." John sighed and applied himself to breaking down, checking, and re-assembling first a nine-millimeter, then a P-90, then a saw.
Instead of lecturing John, Ellison made him describe everything he was doing and why and how he might do it differently in other circumstances. It wasn't too onerous, but John was waiting for the moment when he'd get to use the guns instead. The Marines down the line, apparently done with their match, were watching to see how the new guy did. Bates and Sandburg were also still hovering somewhere in the background. John took a deep breath, centered himself, then lifted the P-90 and let old training take over.
It wasn't his best score, but with each weapon he got every shot in the target and almost all of them in the kill zone. He set down the nine-mil (which he'd saved for last), cocked his head, and considered the tattered target. "I'm a little rusty," he conceded with an apologetic grin at Ellison. "Haven't touched a gun in a couple of years."
One of the Marines swore.
Ellison said nothing, but turned to the counter behind them and picked up another weapon John had never seen before, an S-shaped alien thing reminiscent of a coiled snake.
"Ever used one of these?" said Ellison, handing it over.
John shook his head. He turned the thing around thoughtfully and found the right place to grip it, but he couldn't still see any obvious controls.
"Zat'nik'tel. Weapon of the Goa'uld."
John flinched and nearly dropped it. What he'd heard of the Goa'uld was not nice at all.
Ellison went on, "The SGC has a lot of them. Colonel Sheppard --" The emphasis was unmistakable "-- and his team brought nine of these through the Gate a few days ago. We're getting our people trained on them. Useful weapons." Patiently, Ellison showed John the hidden controls to let him arm and fire the weapon and explained its quirks; apparently, it could be either a stunning or a killing weapon, and also effective on some kinds of machines. "Not much use aiming it at a paper target, though. We're trying to set up something that will give us a feel for how it aims at real people and objects."
"If it's some sort of electrical charge, maybe a metal object would work," John suggested.
"It would, except half the stuff that looks like metal around here doesn't conduct electricity, and some of the stuff that looks like plastic does." Ellison sounded weary of the problem.
Sandburg put in, "We also have to make sure it isn't something that's going to retain a charge and zap the next person who touches it."
"Ouch," John said.
"Right. Okay, now these are a little safer." Ellison pointed to an array of several other alien weapons on the counter. "Wraith stun guns."
Sandburg added, "The Wraith like their prey alive, so these things don't kill, short of a freak accident like breaking your neck when you go down or something. We think the different shapes come from different hives."
"Think?" John asked. "Don't you know?"
"Some of these weapons are second-hand," Sandburg explained, "by way of the Genii. So they might just be an older model, or they might have come from a different part of the galaxy, or maybe they have a slightly different purpose."
Ellison picked up the thread of the explanation smoothly. They were obviously very used to working together, from the way they bounced conversation back and forth. "They all work pretty much the same way. In general, the bigger ones have longer range. We've seen some Wraith weapons that can take down groups of people, but we don't have any of those yet. At best, these ones can stun two people standing nearly in line with each other, but no more than that. Sometimes you might need to use more than one shot to bring down a person that's really big or drugged up --"
"Or a Wraith," Sandburg said.
"Right. Or someone further out toward the end of your range. Don't hesitate to shoot twice if you have to, with these weapons." He showed John the controls for each of the Wraith guns.
"We do have a target set up for the stun guns," Sandburg said, pointing at a weird little device off to the side of the range. It had a sort of rectangular box set upright in the center like a torso, and four arms (or two arms and two legs, maybe) sticking out from the corners. "The arm things are electrical, and the stunner disrupts them without destroying the circuit -- sort of the same way it affects human nerves. We tried a zat gun on this target, but it fried the circuits so we couldn't re-use it. So we're still looking for good zat targets."
"Problem is," Ellison went on, "we don't have a way of recharging the Wraith stunners yet. So we can't really spare a lot for target practice." He handed John one of the larger rifle-type weapons. "Just one or two shots, to get the hang of it."
John aimed the long barrel carefully and fired at the target. The four "arms" jerked satisfyingly and then hung limp. "Cool," he drawled with a grin.
Ellison pressed a button that made the target's arms stiffen again, then handed John a smaller Wraith stun pistol. This time John's shot only made the top two arms fall.
"You're using the top of the barrel to aim, but it's tapered, so you shot high," Ellison pointed out. "Common mistake. Also, remember the beam path is always straight so you don't need to adjust the angle for distance like you do for a bullet. Don't sight along the gun; just try to dead-aim the center of the barrel." He reset the target again.
John studied the weapon more closely and adjusted his grip a little, then tried again. This time all four arms spasmed and fell.
"Good," said Ellison.
"You picked that up really fast," Sandburg pointed out.
John shrugged. He didn't expect compliments and stroking from a weapons instructor, but a little admiration was always nice. Maybe he'd been a civilian too long, getting soft enough to like that sort of thing.
"That's all the ammo and charge we can afford for now." Ellison started packing the various weapons away.
"You should see if McKay can help you with that recharging thing," said John. "I bet he could rig something up for you. And he might have an idea on targets for the zat guns, too."
"What kind of scientist is he, again?" Ellison asked.
John had to think for a second. "Astrophysicist, I think. But really he's just a genius with any kind of technology. I haven't seen anything he can't do, except, um --"
"Things that require diplomacy and charm?" Sandburg suggested.
"I was going to say, things he doesn't think are important," John said mildly. But he grinned to let Sandburg know there was no offense.
Ellison was signing the weapons back over to the quartermaster's care.
"Am I done here, sir?" John asked.
Ellison shot him a sharp glance. "You don't need my permission to go."
John shrugged. "No, but I understand offending you would be a bad idea. And we did get off on the wrong foot there."
Ellison's stern expression eased to something with a little humor in it. "We're fine, Sheppard. You're cleared to sign out a weapon if you're going offworld."
Yeah, and how likely is that? John wondered. But he just nodded to Ellison in lieu of a salute and started back toward the core buildings with lunch in mind.
He was still walking along the arcade which held the firing range when footsteps jogged up behind him. "Hey, Sheppard!"
He turned to find one of the Marines who'd been watching him shoot, a young black man with an infectious grin. He gave the guy a careful smile, again wishing the expedition uniforms had some indication of name or rank. "Looks like you have me at an advantage," he said pleasantly.
"I'm Lieutenant Ford," said the Marine. "I used to be on Captain O'Neill's off-world team."
John nodded understanding. That was the primary gate team of the Atlantis expedition, analogous to SG-1 (or Colonel Sheppard's team in the other universe) and just as trouble-prone. He'd heard enough stories to have an idea of what that meant. "Used to be?" he asked.
"I'm going to be leading my own team now," said Ford proudly. "And I need a pilot -- someone with the gene. O'Neill says you're pretty good."
John blinked. Okay, apparently he would have opportunities to go off-world after all. Rodney would be jealous . . . he hesitated at that thought. "Do you need a scientist too? McKay's pretty good with Ancient technology. All kinds of technology, actually." And for all that Rodney complained incessantly, his counterpart's performance in the other universe showed that he had what it took to face up to anything. John knew Rodney would love to be on one of the gate teams, and would probably be pretty good at it, too.
Ford looked surprised. "Well, no, actually I asked Lieutenant Hailey if she'd be interested in joining. She's supposed to be some kind of science whiz, plus she's already combat trained and has Gate team experience from the SGC."
John remembered that Hailey had said something about the Air Force wanting her for her brain enough to overlook her lack of height.
Ford's brow wrinkled. "What's with you and McKay, anyway? I remember him from Antarctica before the expedition headed out, and he was a major pain in the ass. Nobody got along with him -- but you do."
John shrugged. "McKay's all bark. He's a good guy underneath. In the other universe . . ." He hesitated, not sure what to say. It didn't really prove anything, since the correspondences weren't exact, but he just had the feeling this Rodney could be as much of an asset as the other one was -- maybe even more. And he felt a sort of kinship, too; Rodney had missed his opportunity to be the expedition's head of science, just like John had missed the chance to become Colonel Sheppard. "I guess we just got to be friends," he finished lamely.
A snort off to the side made him turn his head. The other Marine -- the one Ford had had the shooting match with -- was leaning against a pillar and sneering. "Friends, right. I heard that one before." He stepped away from the pillar and loomed closer to flank John. "I also heard you had a dishonorable discharge. Wonder why that was?"
John tensed as he felt alarm start to coil in his gut. He'd gotten roughed up pretty bad at the Academy once after making a pass at the wrong guy. At the time, he'd felt lucky that word hadn't spread far enough to get him kicked out entirely -- but the beating wasn't fun, and he didn't particularly want another one now. "Does it matter?" he asked calmly. "I'm a civilian now. No law against making friends with anyone."
He glanced at Ford and saw the young lieutenant was looking uncomfortable, but making no move to stop the other guy. John felt obscurely disappointed by that. An officer -- even a junior one -- ought to be better than that. But then, maybe he was wrong in guessing the second man had lower rank.
"Matters to me," rumbled the big Marine. "We got enough fudge-packers around here already." He glanced over his shoulder. "Hey, Sarge, check it out! It's another cocksucker."
John's eyes flicked back to see Sergeant Bates, the unfriendly quartermaster, heading their way. If the Marine was right about Bates's attitude, that made two hostiles and one undecided. Not odds that John liked.
"I don't see why you should care," he went on as casually as possible, plotting escape routes in his mind. "Seems like you have bigger problems to think about in this galaxy, huh?" His best plan might be to go off the edge of the pier, less than a hundred yards away. He wondered how cold the water was.
"I don't like thinking I got packed off on this expedition with a bunch of weirdos and fags no one else wanted," the Marine growled. "We get back to Earth, my reputation's gonna be ruined."
Bates came up on the Marine's other side. He didn't say anything, but his disapproving look was directed at John, not the heckler.
"SGC already thinks you folks are heroes," John said as convincingly as he could, while trying to figure out if there was any Ancient technology nearby he could use to his advantage. "Besides, look at it this way: more women for the rest of you, right?"
Bates laughed, not pleasantly. Ford stirred and said, "He has a point there, Lanzetti."
John pressed that argument, since it seemed effective. "The gender ratio here is what, four to one? Maybe five to one? I came through the wormhole a couple days ago with seven people." It hadn't really been him, of course, but he was guessing Lanzetti wouldn't have picked up the finer points of the story. "That's two women, two guys who aren't going to be staying on Atlantis, me and McKay, and one other officer. If the last guy is straight, your dating pool is still up by one woman. But if McKay and I were straight, you'd be down by one woman, and you can't afford that. So see, I'm doing you a favor by hooking up with McKay!"
Lanzetti was staring at him with furrowed brow, as if the simple logic was beyond him. "You sayin' I can't pull a woman better than a dick-loving queer?" was his eventual response.
"Uh . . . " There were so many wrong assumptions there John didn't even know where to begin.
Lanzetti's hands were clenching into fists now; so much for calming the guy with logic. Bates still looked stony, and Ford was starting to shift nervously. "Give it up, Lanzetti," said the lieutenant. "You're not going to change the world by glaring at it."
Lanzetti transferred his glare to Ford. "I just don't see why the homos get all the good Gate team spots."
Ford laughed. "Forget him, I'll find another pilot. Come on, man, take it easy. I still have another position to fill, you know, but you need to be able to make nice with people from other cultures."
"Yeah, like the butt-fucking culture?" Lanzetti grumbled, but he wasn't looming so much and his hands weren't fisted anymore.
Ford punched the taller man in the arm. "There's some weird shit out there, man, seriously. I can tell you about this one time . . ." He led Lanzetti away, still talking.
John let a relieved breath trickle past his lips, but didn't relax quite yet. "Well, Sergeant? You got a problem with what I do in the bedroom?"
Bates glowered. "Which bedroom?"
"Huh?"
"If you and McKay are shacked up together, which room are you using? 'Cause I need to mark the other one as unoccupied."
"Oh! Uh . . ." John deflated a little. "We're in the room that was assigned to me. But we could use a larger place, if, uh, if one becomes available."
Bates eyed him like an eagle watching a rabbit. "I'll keep that in mind." Then he turned and followed Ford away.
John sagged back against a pillar, finally letting himself breathe. "Okay, that sucked," he muttered to himself. He was going to have to start compiling a mental list of people not to be caught alone with in dark hallways. He wondered if he should warn Rodney, as well. Surely the scientists would be more easygoing about such things?
"Nice job," said a voice.
John jumped. "Shit!" He needed to stop letting people sneak up on him; his reflexes were way too rusty.
"Sorry," said Ellison, not very sincerely. "Good work handling those guys," he said with jerk of the head in the direction the other three had gone.
"Yeah, seriously, man," said Sandburg, appearing behind Ellison's shoulder. "I was gonna stop them, but Jim wanted to see how you would handle it."
"Gee, thanks," John said dryly. "I nearly handled it by jumping into the drink."
"It wouldn't have gotten that serious," Ellison said.
"Well, I'm glad you're sure of that." John was starting to feel a little annoyed. Why the hell was the head of security watching the new guy handle a potentially explosive situation instead of doing something about it?
"No, Jim's right, man," Sandburg insisted. "They know if they try any gay-bashing they'll catch hell from Elizabeth and Jack -- I mean, Dr. Weir and Captain O'Neill. Not to mention Jim. Nobody here would put up with that kind of bullshit."
"Ford could have tried to defuse it earlier," John said.
Sandburg winced. "Aiden's okay, he's just not as smart as he thinks he is."
"He's also not the only one building a team," said Ellison. "Sandburg and I don't go offworld much, but we do a lot of stuff in the city and on the mainland that would go better if we have a regular team instead of grabbing whoever's available from the roster. We could use a pilot and a scientist."
"Yeah, especially if McKay's as good with the tech as you say he is," Sandburg said. "I read Ancient and I can usually figure out what their stuff is for, but I can't get it working if it's broken."
"And you both have the gene," Ellison continued. "You have the strong one, and McKay got the therapy."
Sandburg sighed. "Jim wouldn't let me get the therapy."
The corner of Ellison's mouth twitched upward. "And Blair wouldn't let me get it, either."
John looked between the two of them in surprise as Sandburg rounded on his partner. "Are you kidding, man? Do you have any idea how that retrovirus could mess up your senses? It's totally not worth --"
Ellison held up a hand to silence his friend. "Think about it," he said to John. "Talk to McKay about it. You can give me your answer later."
A little dazed by recent events -- harassment and two team offers in the space of a few minutes -- John decided to walk back to the central spire instead of taking a transporter. Rodney wasn't in their room anymore, so John wandered to the mess hall and found him shoveling down a plate of food. John sat across from him and just stared.
After a moment, Rodney looked up. "What?" He studied his plate, then the empty table in front of John. "Where's your breakfast?"
"Not hungry," John said.
"Oh, for -- here, eat this. I'll grab another later." Rodney shoved a roll at him.
The dough turned out to be bagel-like, dense and chewy. The slow chewing it required helped focus John's mind. "What would you do if you were offered a spot on a Gate team?" he asked.
Rodney gave him a sharp look. "Someone's already trying to snap up the hot new pilot, huh?"
"No, I -- well, yeah, but --"
"How many offers have you had?" Rodney asked. He didn't seemed surprised, but he wasn't particularly happy about it either.
"Two."
"Not from O'Neill, I assume," Rodney said. "His team's the best, but he doesn't need your gene or your piloting ability. Well, I guess you should look at the kind of missions each team would get, and whether you trust the team leader."
John shook his head. "No, wait, hang on -- I'm not trying to decide which one. Actually, the first offer was, uh, withdrawn. I'm trying to figure out whether or not to say yes to the second one."
Rodney blinked. "Why wouldn't you? Danger, excitement, lots of chances to be a heroic idiot -- sounds right up your alley." His tone was getting sharper by the minute.
"So, but if it was you, you'd say no, right?"
Rodney dropped his gaze unhappily to his plate and started scraping up the last fragments of food. "I'm not sure. I could do without the danger and hardship -- I like coming back to my own bed every night. But the chances for discovery, for finding new things and figuring them out before anyone else? That would be hard to pass up." He shook his head. "But no one will want me on their team, anyway, so it's a moot point."
"Rodney. The offer's for both of us."
Rodney stared.
"It's Ellison's team -- the other two would be Ellison and Sandburg -- and apparently they mostly stay on-planet. So I guess you could sleep in your own bed every night." Our own bed, John thought, but didn't correct himself.
Rodney's eyes narrowed a little. "What do they want me for, then?"
"Hey, good, there you are!" came a cheerful voice. Sandburg slid into the seat next to John. "I was looking for you guys." He grinned at Rodney. "Hi, I know we haven't officially been introduced. Dr. Blair Sandburg, anthropology."
Rodney shook his hand. "Uh, Dr. Rodney McKay, astrophysics."
John ducked his head to hide a smile at the scientist-dominance ritual.
"So, Jim and I thought -- okay, actually, I thought -- that you guys might need some more information while you're trying to make a decision."
John grinned. "Rodney was just wondering what you want us for."
Sandburg looked surprised. "Are you kidding? Do you know how many times in the last couple of years I've heard some one say 'if Dr. McKay was here, this would be fixed in two hours instead of two days?'"
Rodney's chin tilted up. "Well, naturally, uh . . ." He wavered a little. "Did someone really say that?"
"Sure! Dr. Grodin, and Dr. Zelenka before he died --"
"Who?"
"The Czech engineer?"
"Oh, yes, I heard . . . um, yes, he was quite good."
"I think even Dr. Kavanagh said something about Dr. McKay would have handled it better, and he never said anything nice about anybody!"
John felt a little weird, hearing someone talk about one of the guys whose clothes he was wearing. "And me?" he asked. "What do you need me for?"
Sandburg beamed at him. "Hey, you're Mr. Supergene! I hear the Ancient devices love you almost as much as Jack."
John blinked. "Well, I guess . . ."
"And even Jim couldn't object to your performance at the range this morning. That was poetry, oh man -- the look on Lanzetti's face!"
Rodney looked over at him. "I didn't hear about that."
John shrugged modestly. "I used to have sharpshooting qualifications with several weapons. I'm a little rusty now, but I guess I still have enough of the mojo to surprise a couple of Marines who were betting against me."
"So that's what we have to gain from associating with you guys," Sandburg said. "That and having a regular team so we don't have to schedule our exploration work around the Marines' duty roster. What about you? What do you need from us, anything you want to know?"
"Well," John drawled, at the same moment that Rodney began, "Just yesterday, we were discussing --"
They stopped and looked at each other, and Rodney waved for John to continue. John gave him a suspicious look -- since when are you this nice? -- and Rodney rolled his eyes: I can be polite if I feel like it!
Sandburg's gaze ping-ponged curiously between the two of them.
John cleared his throat, still a little wound up from the confrontation earlier. "Well, uh, before, you seemed to be -- that is, you and, uh, Captain Ellison were sort of implying -- I mean, it was like you wanted me to think . . ."
"We're together." Sandburg bobbed his head. "Sure. Everyone knows it."
Rodney gaped at John. "I could have told you that, if I'd known you wanted to know!"
"Actually," Sandburg continued, "Jim and I are one of three married couples on the expedition. The others are straight couples -- one pair married before coming out here, and one since."
John blinked rapidly. "Married?"
"Uh-huh." Sandburg grinned broadly. "We took time off work in February of oh-four to run down to San Francisco and make it official. So it's legal, even!"
"Weren't those marriages overturned later on?" John asked.
Sandburg's face fell. "Were they, really? I mean, there was talk about it, but no official action by the time we left Earth."
"Yeah, I think, um, later that fall. Election year politics." John shrugged apologetically.
"Oh, hey, you guys know how the elections went, don't you? It was too early to cast absentee ballots when we left -- I was so mad about not getting to vote. Did Hayes get re-elected?"
"Yes, thank god," said Rodney.
Sandburg turned on him. "What do you mean? The man's a total hypocrite, always pandering to his conservative base instead of doing what he knows is the right thing, morally and ecologically."
"But he's been very good to the Stargate program," Rodney pointed out. "Can you imagine what would have happened to us if the other guy had gotten in?"
"But Hayes is such a dickwad! I was hoping he'd get kicked out on his ass, for the good of the country."
"All politics is local," said John diplomatically. "I voted against Hayes, but if I'd been involved in the Stargate program, I might have chosen differently."
"If politics is local, why are we arguing about what happened two years ago in another galaxy?" Rodney said sourly.
Sandburg snickered. "Okay, you got a point, man." He turned to John appealingly. "But did they really invalidate all those marriages? That sucks!"
"They did, but the next year Massachusetts legalized gay marriage."
"For residents only," Rodney pointed out. "Of course, it's been legal in Canada for years."
"For citizens only," John parroted back.
Sandburg sighed. "Well, that kinda sucks. But I guess it doesn't really make much difference on a practical level, where we're at now. It was such a buzz, though, you know, all those gay couples lining up around the block, waiting for hours, some in tuxedos and some in T-shirts. I felt like I knew what the Summer of Love must have been like -- that's when I was born, y'know, and I've always sort of felt like I belonged back then. Of course --" He gave an ironic sideways dip of his head "-- the honeymoon didn't go any better than our other vacations. That was when the Trust got hold of us, actually." He frowned.
John leaned forward. "And they wanted you because . . . ?"
"Because of Jim's abilities, of course."
Rodney snapped his fingers. "Right, right, I remember. Ellison's supposed to be psychic or something, isn't he?"
"No man, not like that. It's all perfectly explainable with science!"
Rodney glared. "We have consistent scientific explanations for many supposedly psychic phenomena. The Ancients, as they got closer to ascension, were able to --"
"Hang on," John interrupted. "The Ancients are cool and all, but I'd rather hear about what Ellison can do. You said it's different?" He looked back to Sandburg.
"He has enhanced senses. The normal five senses that we all have, but in Jim's case they're way more sensitive. And sometimes, especially when he gets his synesthesia thing going, it almost does look like he's psychic, but really these are all perfectly natural, uh, physical phenomena."
John frowned. "So, you're saying he can just see and hear really well?"
"And smell and taste and feel, yeah. Like, for example, this morning he told me about your, um, your conversation with Aiden while were standing a couple hundred yards away. And the other day?" He turned to Rodney. "Jim could smell the naqadah in your blood, but because of that shield thing you were wearing he couldn't tell it was a low concentration from a former implantation."
Rodney looked skeptical. "Of course -- he smelled my history as a Goa'uld host. He didn't, oh, say, hear about it sometime in the past two years from someone who knew me and then use that knowledge to beef up his reputation."
Sandburg looked offended. "He wouldn't do that, man!"
"Wait a second." John frowned at Rodney. "You have no problem with psychic abilities in people who are about to be raptured up to heaven--"
"Ascension isn't the same as rapture!" Rodney objected.
John didn't stop. "-- And you yourself were possessed by an alien snake-parasite-thing, and I just got back from an alternate universe, and we're sitting here in a mythical city in another galaxy for god's sake, and you don't believe Ellison has supersmell?"
Rodney sniffed. "Well, when you put it that way . . ."
"C'mon, Rodney, just let the man finish his explanation!"
Sandburg shrugged. "Well, that's really about it. Jim's senses are enhanced, and that gives him an edge. He had a great reputation in the Cascade PD, so apparently the Trust thought he was too high-profile to kidnap. But when we took our trip to San Francisco, some idiot decided the gay thing meant that Jim's co-workers wouldn't care if the two of us never came back. So they kidnapped us."
"Why both of you?" Rodney asked, interested despite his show of disbelief.
"Oh, me, well, I help Jim cope with the senses. Sometimes all that extra input gets really overwhelming, you know, and it helps to have someone familiar around to focus on. And then there are weird side effects sometimes -- atypical drug reactions, synesthesia like I mentioned, unexpected stress responses, that sort of thing. I help with all that. I'm sort of the leading expert in the Sentinel phenomenon --"
"What's that?" John asked.
"Sentinels are people like Jim, with all five senses enhanced. As opposed to, say, perfumiers or wine-tasters who just have one or two enhanced senses. Okay, so the Trust took both of us and I guess they planned to, like, use us against each other or something." Sandburg grimaced. "They wanted to do experiments on Jim, supposedly so they could try to induce Sentinel abilities in their own people and make some kind of supersoldier. But really I think some of those guys were just sadists." Sandburg's hands, which had been gesturing animatedly for the first part of the story, curled into fists and then disappeared under the table into his lap.
"You don't have to tell us any more if it bugs you," John said. He'd seen POWs have the same trouble trying to tell their stories.
"No, it's okay. Fortunately, they only had us for a few days. The guys back in Cascade found out we were missing sooner than expected, and when they came looking for us they hooked up with another group from the SGC who were just about ready to make a raid on the Trust. Meanwhile, Jim and I were trying to make escape plans, but we hadn't figured out yet how to get through all the layers of security. Jim heard the raid starting and figured that was a good time to put our plans into action."
"And that's when you two ended up at the SGC," Rodney said, putting it together.
"Well, first we tried going back to Cascade, but there was another kidnapping attempt almost right away. So we went to Colorado to try to help the SGC deal with these jerks, and to testify if needed. But it got complicated with one thing and another and it took longer than we expected, and for a while we were almost afraid we'd have to live in a fortress the rest of our lives just to stay out of their hands. Then we heard about the Atlantis expedition, and Dr. Weir invited us both along, and well . . . here we are!"
John looked across at Rodney, who looked almost as overwhelmed as he was by the flood of words. "So . . . okay, thanks for the background. I was curious about that."
Rodney added impatiently, "Yes, but what does it have to do with us, here and now?"
"Right. Ellison's head of security, so I can see why the senses would help with that." John remembered how Ellison had arrived panting on the scene where he shot Rodney, as if he'd heard it and come running from far away. "What else?"
Sandburg considered. "Well, he has some trouble with Gate travel. Turns out it's hard for him to adjust to a new planet -- different sunlight, different gravity, different atmosphere, weird smells and plants and things. So we don't go offworld a lot. Only when there's enough time for Jim to make an adjustment." He looked at the two of them. "But there's plenty to explore on this planet! We still haven't finished checking out all of the city yet, even!"
"And that's mostly what you do?" John asked. It didn't sound like a lot of opportunities for flying, to him.
"Well, we've been trying to do some exploring twice a week, but lately it's been more like once a week. Right now we're working on the southeast pier, one building at a time. Mostly it's residential, but here and there we find labs or offices or meeting rooms . . ."
"That could be interesting," Rodney said. "You must find a lot of new technology and devices left behind by the Ancients."
"Right. Most of the places have been cleared out, but then the weirdest stuff will be left behind -- maybe forgotten, we're not sure. Sometimes it takes the scientists weeks to figure out what it is -- we're hoping you can help with that, Dr. McKay. One thing that's weird is, we haven't found any stores. No shops or groceries or even restaurants. There aren't any. So we've been trying to figure out how their economy --"
"And that's it?" John put in. "Exploring the city a couple times a week?"
"Oh, no, there's plenty of other stuff too. Jim goes out to the mainland a lot, helping the Athosians with identifying new settlement areas, figuring out which grains are edible and where to look for game or dig a well, that sort of thing." Sandburg smiled at John. "So there would be some flying for that. And we've been also working with the geologists on mapping the whole planet. We have continental-scale maps already, and some more detailed ones from the Ancient database. But you know, rivers and vegetation patterns and such have changed in the last ten thousand years."
"Why would Ellison be involved in that?" Rodney said.
Sandburg looked sheepish. "Well, I kinda volunteered him for it. I got to talking with one of the geologists and I pointed out how Jim's senses could help a lot with their project -- he can search large areas visually a lot faster than their best cameras, so he can tell them where to look for what they're interested in. And so we sort of got dragged into helping with it. But it's been going pretty slowly since it's hard to schedule Gateship time with a competent pilot." He shrugged. "So you see, you guys could help us out a lot. And I think you'd find it pretty interesting. Sometimes we do go off-world, too -- we just don't get into the high-profile first-contact stuff that Jack's team specializes in."
"Not so much danger and hardship, huh?" John drawled, looking at Rodney significantly.
Rodney met his gaze. "Sleeping in our own beds most nights."
John nodded acknowledgment and turned to Sandburg. "Sounds good to us."
Rodney added, "We'll do it. At least on a trial basis."
Sandburg blinked and looked between them. "Okay! Well . . . great! I'll tell Jim you said yes."
When Sandburg had left, John leaned back in his chair. All the talk had made him thirsty, but he didn't feel like getting into the food line. "Super senses," he mused. "Aliens that take control of people's bodies, and other aliens that suck the life out of people . . . not to mention the psychic aliens that invented interplanetary travel and built a mythical city and all that." He shook his head in wonder. "When did my life turn into a bad science fiction movie?"
Rodney rolled his eyes. "I don't know, maybe when you traveled to another galaxy?"
"Yeah, but see, I never made that choice. I was kidnapped. Or body-snatched. Or whatever." It was like he'd fallen down a rabbit hole and when he finally climbed out -- or was pulled -- he'd found the world turned upside-down.
"Well, you're here now. We just have to do our best to make this into a good science fiction story. The kind anyone wishes they could be in."
"With a happy ending?" John asked.
Rodney smiled at him a little sappily. "And maybe a love story thrown in on the side."
"Sounds good to me." John stole the last swallow of Rodney's coffee.
(Not Really) The End