Chapter 6
Title:Faustian Hopscotch
Author:Calamityjim
Fandoms:Supernatura/SGA
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Supernatural-Spoilers to season 5, SG-1, to season 9, and SGA, all seasons. Also Violence, swearing, pairings, sexual content, and aliens
Disclaimer:Stargate belongs to MGM, Supernatural to the CW
Distribution: Crossposted on fanfic.net
Previous
Faustian Hopscotch
Chapter 6
Drop of a Hat
For someone who had lived inside Rodney’s head, Laura Cadman knew surprisingly little about the man. She’s seen the inside of his bed room, how he acted on a date and even what he looked like naked, but she hadn’t gain a personal insight into who Rodney was.
Who he was seemed to be a vindictive bastard.
Dean’s brother Sam was standing in the middle of the puddle jumper looking for all the world like a drowned kitten as Rodney circled around him like a shark, poking and drawing cuts as he explained how various scenarios of jumper malfunction could cause different types of bodily harm.
“The most deleterious effect of having your heart explode is that you can continue to enjoy the experience after the fact. You don’t actually die until your brain runs out of oxygen and considering how good the brain is at utilizing what it can eke out, I imagine that one would learn what forever feels like. Any questions?” There was a disgruntled silence. “Now I could go on, but I suppose we actually have to teach you how to fly well enough to not crash into a tree. Any volunteers to go first?”
“I’ll go,” Laura smiled sunnily.
Rodney drew back a step, “You? What? No. You already know how to fly one of these things. Aren’t you just here to make sure no one runs with scissors?”
Laura laughed. “Relax, McKay, and think of it this way. If all goes wrong we can survive our second crash together.”
Rodney looked undecided. “Besides, McKay,” Laura wrinkled her nose in a way her friends said were cute, “I have no idea how to fly. I’m a Marine, not a pilot.
“Fine,” Rodney snapped. “You sit copilot. Rifle, Staff Sergeant Brigand-”
“Boggs.”
“-sit behind and buckled up. PADDs are under your chairs so you can follow what I do with the nav screen. And for those who care,” the disdain dripping from Rodney’s voice indicated he believed those people were in another puddle jumper, “there is a screen on energy input and output. Ronon, just don’t shoot anything. Anyone may ask any question that can be described as not ridiculous at any time unless I tell you to shut it. ”
It wasn’t surprising that Boggs asked all the questions. The man was Air Force and loved his ships. Laura had heard him go on about the X02s. What was surprising was Sam, who was right behind her, was definitely taking notes. By the intensity of the tapping sounds it was as though he had half a clue as to what Boggs and McKay were talking about. Laura was pretty sure that Sam and Dean were both janitors, though how the hell anyone landed that gig out here was a mystery between them and the SGC. What qualifications did one have to have to end up solely as janitorial? Did they invent a cleaner? Find a way to instantly dissolve gum? It was probably more than that with the way Colonel Sheppard was acting. The entire situation stank.
“Dr. McKay,” Boggs asked seriously, “does the gravitational pull of the planet impact the strain of operating the puddle jumper and if so how does the ship adjust for gravitational variance?”
Laura sighed as she watched over the main window. The dance of the tree line and the sky as Rodney swerved back and forth was a little hypnotizing. It was pretty, and a little sad to try and figure out where you could repeat the experience on Earth.
“No, planetary gravitation doesn’t have any impact on the operator, but it does affect output-”
“What’s that?” Sam cut in loudly, tapping the reading so it would highlight on the network. Laura leaned towards the main diagnostics.
“It’s a heat signature,” Rodney frowned. “Why is there a heat signature all the way out here?” The reading changed. “Proximity alert! Everyone brace yourselves!”
“Brace ourselves for what?” asked staff sergeant Boggs.
His answer was an explosion.
X_X_X_X__X__X_X_XX_X_X_X_X_
The problem with being the smartest man in two galaxies was that you understood on a level that most people never achieved.
Like now. The jumper was going (had been shot) down. In between the moments of terror Rodney’s brain was whirring away, calculating the chances of everyone’s survival (Rifle the Taller and the Meathead Marine had the highest chances if they had obeyed the command to wear the safety restraints) and the likelihood of continued survival if they did make it to the ground alive (there was a high risk he and Cadman would take injuries that would be fatal if left untreated) and if that survival even mattered (they had been shot down, which meant enemies, though in Ronon survived it changed the data).
Rodney watched every tree that passed by them (the odds of one spearing him through the windshield decreased with their descent). He could hear Cadman swearing as she held onto the jumper’s dash (increased chance of wrist injury). Rodney flung his sleeve in front of his eyes (decreased chance of blindness cause by windshield exploding on impact).
The first thing Rodney felt was a thousand stings across his face as the windshield exploded on impact (blindness averted by sleeve). Then he noticed the lurching slammed into the console, his arm taking the brunt force (broken arm in exchange for a concussion). Jumpers needed air bags. The ship twisted until it was upside down, then right side up. In the back something bounced with a crack (likely Ronon, who had been standing in the back) as the ship seemed to settle.
Rodney pulled his sleeve away with a wince. There was pain but it was unlikely his arm was broken, not that Rodney had anything to compare it to. Until the Colonel had come into his life he hadn’t had much experience with injuries at all.
Around him the puddle jumper was in pieces. The windshield was gone. Well maybe not gone so much as everywhere but where it was supposed to be. A fluffy coniferous tree cut between McKay and Cadman, completely blocking his view as to whether she was alive.
“Everyone okay?” came a breathless rasp in the back.
“Rifle, is that you?”
There was a sigh. “Yeah. It’s me.”
Part of Rodney was disappointed- not that Sam was alive but that it was Sam who was alive. He was on a ship with two Marines, an alien version of Rambo and a space janitor and he’s stuck trying to survive with the janitor? Life must have been having a cosmic laugh at his expense.
“You sound injured. Are you injured? Don’t tell me your injured.”
“What am I, chopped liver?”
“Boggs! You’re alive. Oh good. Here I thought me and janitor boy were going to have to fight our way to civilization.”
“Thanks Dr. McKay.” Sam didn’t sound very grateful.
“Why would you be a liver?”
“Ronon!” Rodney could have wept with relief. “You’re alive!” Rodney might actually survive this. He waited for a moment. “Cadman, you can chime in at any moment.” Rodney tried to peer over the tree. “Cadman?”
The spruce between them shuddered and for a moment Rodney that the explosive expert was climbing over it. Instead Ronon slid down Rodney’s side of the tree. “Come on, McKay.” He held out a massive hand.
Rodney stared at the tree, willing it to move. “McKay.” With a sigh he gave Ronon his good arm and allowed himself to be lead, Rodney McKay wasn’t one to be dragged, to the back of the jumper.
It was a mess even when you ignored the tip of the tree sticking in the way. One of the panels had opened under the force of the explosion and had launched several crystals to the floor, coating it in iridescent shards. All the packs had broken free of their bindings and were lodged in strange places. Rifle was sitting in his chair struggling to untangle himself from the puddle jumper equivalent of a seatbelt, while Boggs…
Boggs was lying on the floor on his back like a cloud-watcher, hands folded behind his head and his steely gaze focused on the ceiling.
Rodney stared at him a moment, wondering if it was an Air Force thing to be acting out in the most irrelevant way possible in any given situation, but Sheppard was fairly on task. But before he could ask Boggs’ opinion there came a knock on the back hatch.
There was no way a rescue had found them already. The odds of Atlantis having witnessed their glorious nosedive was slim to none, meaning the only way they’d know was if McKay radioed it in. Which he probably should have when he was still at the controls.
So who was knocking?
Everyone but Rodney pulled a gun.
“Open up before we blow you up,” came the ineffectual demand. Just going by the man’s voice made Rodney feel like he was being threatened by one of the chipmunks. The drunk chipmunk, whichever one that was.
“I’m going to kill them all,” muttered Ronon, going for the door release.
Rodney yanked on his hand. “Are you crazy? You don’t know how many are out there. You are going to get me killed!”
“You aren’t afraid, are you McKay?”
“Afraid? Afraid! I am way beyond afraid! Cadman is dead. We’re about to follow suit that’s to you and your hair brained ideas. Shooting isn’t always the answer.”
“You have to the count of hob to come out.”
“So what would you have us do? Surrender like cowards?
“Nek!”
“It’s not cowardice if it keeps us alive.”
“Gob”
“Bullshit McKay, and you know it. If I am going to die I will die a warrior.”
“Partu.”
“I’m not a warrior!”
“Ret.”
“We surrender!” hollered Boggs, who was still lying on his back. “What?” He asked with a touch too much innocence. “You both know it’s what Sheppard would do.” He reached over and pulled the emergency release even as he discarded his weapon.
The door opened to more men and women than even Ronon could take. One of them was laying charges around the jumper. The rest were carrying guns. Big guns. And they looked mean.
“Step out of the ship one at a time, hands above your head.” Chipmunk, it turned out, actually resembled the animal Rodney had dubbed him. He was short, thin, and nervous.
Rodney did as he was told. “This is entirely unreasonable,” he declared angrily. He was forced to place his hands behind his back where they were tied in place.
Sam followed next, then Ronon behind him.
Boggs stayed on the floor.
“Why isn’t he getting up?” whispered Rodney
“Shit,” whispered Sam. He looked oddly grim, as if he could possibly know something the genius didn’t.
Chipmunk walked into the jumper. “Get up.”
Boggs gave a half shrug. “Can’t.” Oh gawd. It dawned on Rodney. Boggs must not have been wearing his seatbelt. Being tossed around the jumper like a rag doll could cause a number of injuries and the odds of four of five of the jumper’s occupants being okay was slim to none.
Chipmunk shrugged back. “Fine.” He aimed his gun.
“I’ll carry him!” shouted Sam. “Let me carry him.”
A bang echoed in the forest.
x-x-x-x-x-x-xx-x-x-x-xx-x-
The march was made in a silence that seemed to mute the forest itself.
They were lead to a building Sam had never seen before but still looked impossibly familiar. It was nestled in a clearing, and the moss and vines growing up its sides dated it as old. Sam really didn’t want to go inside.
“There is an outpost, here? And Sheppard said his men checked the planet. Checked it my ass. I am firing that man as soon as I see him.”
“Silence, Atlantean scum!”
Rodney opened his mouth but closed it again, likely thinking of Boggs and the way his brains had splattered over the floor.
The inside shed some light on the structure. It looked a lot like Atlantis, if Atlantis was covered in an icky membrane and smelled like decomposing flesh. It didn’t take long for them to be led into a cell. They prodded Ronon in with their weapons, forcing him to the far wall while Rodney entered willingly.
Sam went to follow McKay, not wanting to make things worse when a gun was slapped across his chest, barring the way.
“Not you.” The door to the cell slammed shut.
“What the hell could you possibly want with Rifle? He’s a janitor for Pete’s sake!” Rodney sounded honest to God confused.
Ronon snarled. “Touch him and your dead!”
They were both ignored as hands, surprisingly soft given the rag tag band that had captured them, gripped him and pulled him away from his companions fading protests. As he was dragged deeper into the base, the fetid organic matter covering the walls grew thicker and grosser with each step.
He was pushed through a door. Without his arms he couldn’t find his balance so Sam crashed hard to his knees, a solid grip on the nape of his neck, holding him in place. He peeked through his bangs, watching as those who had brought him here all move throughout the room to what Sam guessed was assigned places. The formation resulted in a semi-circle facing a closed door. The level of cult permeating the atmosphere as everyone silently stared at the door was creeping Sam out.
But not near as much as the thing that emerged.
It, Sam refused to give it a gender, to humanize it, had stringy white hair that was pulled back in a ponytail. It had no eyebrows, and there were slits in the skin angling near the nose. Two thin strings of hair marked the chin. Its skin was a light green, the color a human turned only when they were overtaken by severe illness. The skin shone strangely in the light, as though it were covered in wax or maybe latex. Worst was the mouth, with teeth sticking out of it like an anglerfish.
The Wraith looked at Sam and smiled. Sam smiled back. “Tell me of your success,” it rasped.
The man who had shot Boggs bowed low. “The plan went as you said it would, Master, and we were able to capture three of the Atlantean scum. None are gravely injured and are fit for Master to do whatever he will.”
The Wraith frowned, circling around the room. “Only three?”
The man looked nervous. “The fourth was injured. I dispatched him.”
“Am I not kind to you, Gorrin? Have I not shown you a better way than you had before? I provide you with food, with shelter. It was I who rescued you from Olesia, defying the edict of my very kin so you could stand here today.
“Yet you take food from my mouth even as I stoop and scramble to help you with your vengeance. You offer me death when all I have given you is life.”
“Master, I beg forgiveness.”
“Oh Gorrin, you shall have it.” Gorrin relaxed, his hands moving to hang loosely at his sides even though the Wraith continued. “When I am provided with something to eat.”
Gorrin pointed at Sam, who was still smiling. “Is that not what he is for?”
The Wraith chuffed. “He is a great gift, but beyond the importance of a snack. You should have brought the injured man.”
“He couldn’t walk.” The Wraith drew near Gorrin.
“Then you should have carried him.” He slammed a hand into Gorrin’s chest.
Sam watch indifferently as Gorrin twisted silently under the hand, his life draining as he seemingly aged in seconds. The Wraith removed his hand and the corpse hit the floor with a thud.
No one else batted an eye.
“I hate that I needed to do that,” the Wraith heaved a sigh, “but let it be a reminder. Your survival is linked to mine.”
“Yes Master,” the room chorused.
“You are all free to leave. Start working on stage two. I will be… dealing with our guest.” He walked over to Sam, excitement pouring off of his very skin.
A middle-aged woman raised a hand. Waiting until she was acknowledged she stepped forward. “Will you require assistance with the prisoner?”
The Wraith laughed. “No Kesli. He will not give me any trouble. Isn’t that right?” He lifted Sam’s chin and was met with blank eyes. “You’re going to be no trouble at all.”
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Confusion Clear Ups
Olesia-Will be explained better next chapter.
A count to hob- With different alphabets everyone is bound to have different numbering systems.
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