Fly Free Little WIP #4 -- the Lost!Rodney Thing
So this one isn't House -- it's Stargate: Atlantis, from July of 2007. Rodney vanishes while working in a heretofore-unknown Ancient lab. 988 words, notes at the end.
"It always starts the same way," Rodney snapped.
"What always starts the same way, Rodney?"
Not that John was particularly interested in Rodney's answer -- it was just something to do. Poke Rodney. See how far he could go before Rodney's eyes narrowed and his mouth did that weird Rodney-thing where one end went up while the other went down and he got all snippy and started muttering about military idiots, of which John was surely one.
It was fun and a lot less painful than poking Ronon, so John kept in practice.
"I'm in some Ancient lab that's lain dormant for -- oh, I don't know -- maybe ten million years? with a bunch of still wet-behind-the-ears kids who still don't understand that making one wrong move -- Hey! Don't touch that! -- can get them, or, infinitely worse, me killed and you come striding in and proceed to disrupt my entire work process for some useless task that is so far beneath my abilities that a trained chimp could do it." He punctuated the last point with a finger-stab that could've drawn blood from the wounded air and turned back to the dusty console.
John stared. That had been a damn long sentence, even for Rodney.
"I don't stride," he said at last. "Do you think I stride?" He looked down at his long legs. "I don't think of myself as the striding type," he mused. "More like an amble maybe, or -- "
"Not listening," Rodney interrupted. "Busy here."
"Now if anyone was a strider, I'd say it was Ronon." John brightened. "Hey! Strider! Ronon would have fit right in in that movie!" He frowned. "Except he couldn't have been a hobbit. Way too tall."
Rodney made a sound somewhere between a groan and a long-suffering sigh. John wondered if he could make Rodney do that again.
"Maybe an Orc. But then he'd have been one of the bad guys -- "
"Dawson!" Rodney shouted. "Where are the results of the latest scan? You were supposed to have them ready five -- no, make that three -- minutes ago?"
John trailed after as Rodney maneuvered around the console and wove his way through the obstacle path of other Ancient equipment.
"I'm sorry, Dr. McKay." The unlucky Dawson, a young lab tech with the eyes of a disconsolate basset hound, set his clipboard down on the nearest flat surface and tried to look anywhere but at Rodney. "Some of the scanners keep going off-line -- it's like there's some power gaps and the energy level's fluctuating."
"Like there's some power gaps? Are there or aren't there? Colonel!"
John jumped.
"Why are you standing so close to me? More than that -- why are you here?"
"I'm just observing ... science in action, Rodney. Nothing wrong with that, is there?"
"Hmph!" Rodney snorted. "Dawkins -- "
"Dawson, sir."
"Whatever. Find out what's causing the power gaps, if indeed there are any. That should be simple enough. It's an either/or premise -- yes/no, black/white, 'x's and 'o's. Binary. Think you can do that?"
"I -- yes, Dr. McKay."
"Good."
Rodney turned away to terrorize some other hapless subordinate.
Dawson reached for the clipboard.
Rodney turned back.
"And another thing -- " he began.
John was often to wonder, much later, if it would have made any difference if Rodney hadn't turned around like that. If a startled Dawson wouldn't have dropped the clipboard. If it wouldn't have fallen directly onto the control panel.
If the blinding white pulse of an energy beam wouldn't have shot out of a heretofore undiscovered lens in a corner of the Ancient lab.
If it wouldn't have struck Rodney in the back, causing his mouth to open for just a split-second in a round "O" of surprise.
If Rodney wouldn't have disappeared before John's eyes.
But it did, and so in the end it might not have made any difference at all.
"Colonel Sheppard, I do not know what happened." Zelenka's hair was tousled as always, and he kept pushing his glasses back up his nose.
The Ancient lab was a hive of activity; it had been cordoned off, Marines stationed at the one door, scientists of all kinds going over every monitor, every panel, every keyboard. There were people sitting at Ancient control stations, standing in front of what looked like Ancient file cabinets, lying on the floor on their backs, probing into the undersides of Ancient desks.
There were people everywhere, except for one spot everyone kept making a detour around.
The spot where Rodney McKay had been standing when he'd vanished.
Everyone was giving that spot a wide berth.
"Colonel Sheppard, I think I know what happened." Zelenka pushed his glasses to the proper perch on his nose and shook his head. "But I do not believe you will like it so much."
John tried to keep the grimace of exasperation from his face. "Since when have I liked much of anything you scientists have come up with," he said. It had been a little over forty-eight hours since Rodney had vanished -- been vaporized -- disappeared off the face of ... not earth, but the ocean.
He'd hated every two thousand, eight hundred and eighty-eight minutes of it.
Zelenka frowned at him, assuming the mildly injured expression all the scientists did when the military guys started assuming things and throwing things around. They may have been the same things sometimes, but that was beside the point.
"We have deciphered enough of the guidebooks for that particular lab -- "
"What? Wait a minute -- guidebooks? What was this, some kind of tourist attraction? Disneyland Atlantis? What are you talking about, Zelenka?"
Zelenka glared at him. "Colonel. If you will give me the chance to explain." He turned away and picked up a clipboard.
Sheppard immediately lost interest. "No," he said. "Tell me what happened, and why, and let's couch it in simple terms."
************
What they would have discovered was that this lab was the gateway to an amusement park. Long since abandoned, of course, but the rides at this park don't know that and are still running. Which, as one might imagine, puts Rodney in danger. Lots and lots of danger. And the team has to go through and battle this danger in order to save Rodney. You know. The usual. :-D
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"It always starts the same way," Rodney snapped.
"What always starts the same way, Rodney?"
Not that John was particularly interested in Rodney's answer -- it was just something to do. Poke Rodney. See how far he could go before Rodney's eyes narrowed and his mouth did that weird Rodney-thing where one end went up while the other went down and he got all snippy and started muttering about military idiots, of which John was surely one.
It was fun and a lot less painful than poking Ronon, so John kept in practice.
"I'm in some Ancient lab that's lain dormant for -- oh, I don't know -- maybe ten million years? with a bunch of still wet-behind-the-ears kids who still don't understand that making one wrong move -- Hey! Don't touch that! -- can get them, or, infinitely worse, me killed and you come striding in and proceed to disrupt my entire work process for some useless task that is so far beneath my abilities that a trained chimp could do it." He punctuated the last point with a finger-stab that could've drawn blood from the wounded air and turned back to the dusty console.
John stared. That had been a damn long sentence, even for Rodney.
"I don't stride," he said at last. "Do you think I stride?" He looked down at his long legs. "I don't think of myself as the striding type," he mused. "More like an amble maybe, or -- "
"Not listening," Rodney interrupted. "Busy here."
"Now if anyone was a strider, I'd say it was Ronon." John brightened. "Hey! Strider! Ronon would have fit right in in that movie!" He frowned. "Except he couldn't have been a hobbit. Way too tall."
Rodney made a sound somewhere between a groan and a long-suffering sigh. John wondered if he could make Rodney do that again.
"Maybe an Orc. But then he'd have been one of the bad guys -- "
"Dawson!" Rodney shouted. "Where are the results of the latest scan? You were supposed to have them ready five -- no, make that three -- minutes ago?"
John trailed after as Rodney maneuvered around the console and wove his way through the obstacle path of other Ancient equipment.
"I'm sorry, Dr. McKay." The unlucky Dawson, a young lab tech with the eyes of a disconsolate basset hound, set his clipboard down on the nearest flat surface and tried to look anywhere but at Rodney. "Some of the scanners keep going off-line -- it's like there's some power gaps and the energy level's fluctuating."
"Like there's some power gaps? Are there or aren't there? Colonel!"
John jumped.
"Why are you standing so close to me? More than that -- why are you here?"
"I'm just observing ... science in action, Rodney. Nothing wrong with that, is there?"
"Hmph!" Rodney snorted. "Dawkins -- "
"Dawson, sir."
"Whatever. Find out what's causing the power gaps, if indeed there are any. That should be simple enough. It's an either/or premise -- yes/no, black/white, 'x's and 'o's. Binary. Think you can do that?"
"I -- yes, Dr. McKay."
"Good."
Rodney turned away to terrorize some other hapless subordinate.
Dawson reached for the clipboard.
Rodney turned back.
"And another thing -- " he began.
John was often to wonder, much later, if it would have made any difference if Rodney hadn't turned around like that. If a startled Dawson wouldn't have dropped the clipboard. If it wouldn't have fallen directly onto the control panel.
If the blinding white pulse of an energy beam wouldn't have shot out of a heretofore undiscovered lens in a corner of the Ancient lab.
If it wouldn't have struck Rodney in the back, causing his mouth to open for just a split-second in a round "O" of surprise.
If Rodney wouldn't have disappeared before John's eyes.
But it did, and so in the end it might not have made any difference at all.
"Colonel Sheppard, I do not know what happened." Zelenka's hair was tousled as always, and he kept pushing his glasses back up his nose.
The Ancient lab was a hive of activity; it had been cordoned off, Marines stationed at the one door, scientists of all kinds going over every monitor, every panel, every keyboard. There were people sitting at Ancient control stations, standing in front of what looked like Ancient file cabinets, lying on the floor on their backs, probing into the undersides of Ancient desks.
There were people everywhere, except for one spot everyone kept making a detour around.
The spot where Rodney McKay had been standing when he'd vanished.
Everyone was giving that spot a wide berth.
"Colonel Sheppard, I think I know what happened." Zelenka pushed his glasses to the proper perch on his nose and shook his head. "But I do not believe you will like it so much."
John tried to keep the grimace of exasperation from his face. "Since when have I liked much of anything you scientists have come up with," he said. It had been a little over forty-eight hours since Rodney had vanished -- been vaporized -- disappeared off the face of ... not earth, but the ocean.
He'd hated every two thousand, eight hundred and eighty-eight minutes of it.
Zelenka frowned at him, assuming the mildly injured expression all the scientists did when the military guys started assuming things and throwing things around. They may have been the same things sometimes, but that was beside the point.
"We have deciphered enough of the guidebooks for that particular lab -- "
"What? Wait a minute -- guidebooks? What was this, some kind of tourist attraction? Disneyland Atlantis? What are you talking about, Zelenka?"
Zelenka glared at him. "Colonel. If you will give me the chance to explain." He turned away and picked up a clipboard.
Sheppard immediately lost interest. "No," he said. "Tell me what happened, and why, and let's couch it in simple terms."
************
What they would have discovered was that this lab was the gateway to an amusement park. Long since abandoned, of course, but the rides at this park don't know that and are still running. Which, as one might imagine, puts Rodney in danger. Lots and lots of danger. And the team has to go through and battle this danger in order to save Rodney. You know. The usual. :-D
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dancers || join the dance