Five Ways They Lived Happily Ever After, in Atlantis
This work of whatever-the-hell-it-is is dedicated to the late George Alec Effinger.
(But if you claimed that it was Rebecca "Hitherby" Borgstrom who had *reminded* me of George Alec Effinger, I wouldn't disagree too loudly.)
No smut, no bad language, spoilers for Atlantis season 1.
----------------------
ONE
"I've got it!"
The shout echoed through the ancient corridors of Atlantis. Doctor McKay, the acerbic but sensitive chief scientist, looked up from his painstaking work. "What now?" he asked, acerbicly.
"The ZPM!" shouted Doctor Zelenka, his softspoken but sensitive assistant, softly.
"What *about* the ZPM?" asked McKay. He was careful to pronounce the Zed. The fires of Canada burned always in his blood.
"We have assumed that they were highest power source that the Ancients possessed. Yes? But they were not," went on Zelenka, in his soft but charming accent. "They were merely a prototype."
"I see where you are going!" McKay jumped to his feet, forgetting acerbity in his excitement. "We never searched for any *One* Point Modules!"
"My God," whispered Kavanagh, their headstrong but sensitive scientist friend. "You could be right."
"But where could these One Point Modules be?" acerbed McKay.
The three friends looked eagerly around the laboratory.
A moment passed.
"What if you're wrong?" whispered Kavanagh doubtfully. His fear spread through the room. The light seemed dimmer, and even McKay's famous acerbity was muted.
"Kavanagh, my friend," said Zelenka softly, "You must not doubt. It is at times like these, when everything seems dimmest, that the truth shines through."
"You are right," Kavanagh whispered. "Forgive me." He wiped away a secret tear, under cover of adjusting an oscilloscope.
"Always," declared McKay magnanimously. "In any case, I have solved the problem. It was right under our noses the whole time!" And with a dramatic gesture, he brought Atlantis to full power -- for the first time in ten thousand years!
After that, everything was easy.
----------------------
TWO
It was at a communal dinner that Carson Beckett, the sturdy yet sensitive doctor of Atlantis, made his momentous discovery.
"Pass the spaghetti?" he said to Doctor Weir, the firm but sensitive leader of the city. She was courageous, practical, and forthright, even though she was a woman, and the men of Atlantis cherished her.
"Certainly," offered Weir. Beckett took the platter and ladled himself a sturdy portion.
"What is this spaghetti?" asked Teyla, who was also a firm but sensitive leader of the city. She too was courageous, practical, and forthright. And a woman. She tried not to sit too close to Doctor Weir. It got confusing.
"Oh, one of our Earth dishes," said the sturdy doctor. "Here. Try some."
"Interesting," observed Teyla. "How do you -- ah -- um --"
Everyone laughed politely at the alien woman's unfamiliarity with common Earth habits like eating spaghetti. "Here," offered Weir, and demonstrated.
Teyla sniffed, and made a face. Beckett looked disappointed.
"Oh, I don't mean to insult the sturdy foods of your native land," Teyla said quickly. "But this sauce has a very pungent aroma. I've never smelled anything like it. I don't think I could eat a bite."
"Oh, that's garlic," explained Beckett. "I suppose your people aren't used to it."
Teyla looked around in forthright confusion. Many of her people sat at the lower table. These folk, the Athosians, were a primitive but sensitive tribe of hunters, who had lived for thousands of years in fear of the Wraith. Now they were eating spaghetti. Eating it eagerly! -- albeit with a charming, if pardonable, lack of decorum.
"Great Scott!" shouted Beckett.
"What is it?" asked Weir practically.
"Teyla, you're the only one who is repelled by the scent of garlic. *And* you're the only Athosian here who has traces of Wraith DNA!"
"You mean --"
"We knew that the Wraith sucked away life. But we never stopped to think *why*!"
"You mean --"
"They were vampires all along!"
"And we never noticed," sighed Weir. "Well, gentlemen. To the storerooms. Break out the garlic! Sharpen tentpegs! Scatter mustard seed at the threshold of the Stargate!" Her eyes shone courageously. At that moment, every man at the table knew he would give his life to defend her.
----------------------
THREE
The human stood, relaxed, in front of energy-shielded bars. Beyond them, the inhuman pale figure stood equally motionless.
"You gonna tell me your name?"
No such luck.
"Okay. I can call you Steve."
Ford managed to flick Sheppard a quizzical glance without moving his eyes or the aim of his weapon. "You called the first one Steve."
"I got tired of making up names. They can all be Steve. If you don't want to be Steve," -- Sheppard shifted his attention back to the Wraith -- "just ask nicely." He didn't try to sound as if he meant it.
The Wraith didn't try to look as if it cared. It shifted the joints of its jaw and neck -- that sinuous movement that always made Sheppard think of insect wings wrapped in almost-human skin. The contemptuous sneer might not have been a natural Wraith expression, but Sheppard was sure it was keeping it on deliberately.
"I got just one question, Steve. What were you doing in the power transfer conduits?"
A silence stretched; and turned sour, for everyone outside the cage. Approaching footsteps gave Sheppard an excuse to look away. "Is he talking, Major?" asked Elizabeth Weir.
"No, ma'am." Sheppard made the words a sideways accusation; it slid off the Wraith, like everything else.
"Oh, I think I can change his tune," Weir said thoughtfully. She moved towards the bars. Sheppard stepped back, giving her a curious look.
The Wraith's air of arrogant equanimity had not changed. Weir returned it. "We found your kit," she said. "And your GDO. And the projector setup on M-three-six-six."
The Wraith tilted its head. It remained silent, but... was it now listening?
"Open the cage," snapped Weir. Sheppard began moving, then stopped: are you... "*Open* it, Major. He's not a Wraith."
Everyone was staring at Weir now. She exhaled -- angry, yes, Sheppard realized as he flipped down the lever. Furious. And: "There are no Wraith."
Sheppard turned that over and got exactly nowhere with it. Ford was doing the same out loud -- "What do you *mean* there are no --" but Weir was already moving into the cage. And the alien figure was backing away. Clumsily, backing away.
Weir seemed to match its height in cold fury; her voice was nearly hoarse, and Sheppard had never heard *that*. "You kidnapped Sumner and set up a holographic horror show. You terrorized the Athosians. You sabotaged Atlantis's sensors, invented hive ships, planted bombs to fake missile strikes, and faked your own death." Weir reached up for the sneering, inhuman face. Dug in her fingers. Ripped. "*Didn't* you, *Peter?*"
Peter Grodin stared out from torn latex and makeup. He tried to match the sneer which had masked him moments ago. "And I would have gotten away with it, if --"
Weir slapped him, hard, and walked out.
----------------------
FOUR
The ghosts of the Ancients come back and tear the Wraith's souls right out of their ugly chests. The humans stand around and applaud. Problem solved.
For added fun, the ghosts of their defense satellites blow up the hive ships, powered by the ghosts of depleted ZPMs. Really, you can go as far with this as you want. I'd bring in the ghost of Sumner, and maybe Kowalsky.
PS: Obviously, I'm talking about the ghosts of *dead* Ancients. The ones who died in the Pegasus war. Not the ones who Ascended later. Those wouldn't be ghosts.
----------------------
FIVE
The edge in Rodney's voice was a vicious counterpoint to the smooth, delicate play of his fingers. "You say you're *certain* that this frequency modulation fits the Gate control transducers." The optical probe moved precisely among glowing fibers, just as if he didn't want to hurl the lot across the Gate chamber.
"Yes, Rodney." Radek did not look up from the Fourier diagrams spread around his laptop.
"And these connections won't fry themselves, thus wasting the past six hours of my valuable life. Despite an optical impedance that could bounce X-rays."
"No, Rodney." Radek's tone had slid from "patient" to "patient schoolteacher". Again.
Rodney didn't notice, or didn't care. "And you say that the frequency wave will rewrite the DNA of every Wraith in the galaxy."
"Yes, Rodney, it is very simple. You agreed with me, Rodney. You said the fluffy-pony wave was a good idea."
"That was six hours ago. My natural skepticism has reasserted itself. Starting about the third time these connections kinked. You sure you wouldn't like to take a stab at them?"
"No, Rodney, you are better at it."
"Yes, I am."
"Because it is simple engineering benchwork."
"I heard that."
"Good thing I didn't," observed John, strolling down the stairs. "This thing about ready to go?"
"Major, I *said* I'd come tell you when it was ready. Didn't I promise him, Radek?" Radek's silent gestures made pleas for sympathy -- whether to John, Rodney, or the gathered spirits of Ancients past was unclear.
John looked unconvinced. "Explain to me again how this will wipe out the Wraith."
"Ah, not wipe out." Radek's hands were now trying to frame topology lessons in midair. "It will restructure their biology based on an alternate quantum reality."
"And they'll all turn into... ponies." For sheer emotional expression, Czech gesticulation had nothing on the corner of John's eyebrow.
"Yes." Radek refused to look cornered. "Fluffy ponies."
"Pink and blue ones," Rodney interrupted. "We think. Based on Carson's genetic simulations."
"And they won't suck life any more?"
"No. Definitely not," said Radek. "They will be fluffy ponies that live on joy, song, and laughter."
John nodded judiciously. "Sounds like a plan."
Two hours later, geared up, John and his team watched the Gate. The last symbol chased itself into place, and the familiar tide of... ask Rodney later... washed out.
"That's it?" asked Elizabeth.
"That should be it," said Rodney. Now that the work was done, he was allowed to sound nervous. "The restructuring wave should have already done its thing. The Wraith stronghold on that planet is now a, a --"
"Fluffy pony meadow," came Radek's voice from the control deck. Nobody laughed.
"Welp," said John, "let's check it out." He stepped into the light.
On the other side, a pale sun gleamed over swells of short grass. And trotting lightly on that grass were...
"Ponies. See?" Now that it had worked, Rodney was allowed to pretend he'd never been nervous.
John slowly held out his hand. A blue and silver pony came over and nuzzled his fingers affectionately. He rubbed its fuzzy cheeks. Large violet eyes closed in contentment. John did not scream, collapse, or shrivel into a corpse.
"Well," said John. "I guess it worked." He didn't sound happy.
None of them looked happy.
Rodney frowned. "Lieutenant Ford. Sing something."
"What?"
"I've heard you sing. At that campfire night. Your grasp of harmonic intervals was astonishing in its absence, but you were enthusiastic about it. Sing something now."
There was silence.
"Fluffy ponies that... live on joy, song, and laughter?" John asked.
They stood there, in the middle of a galaxy ruled by fluffy ponies, and tried to remember what laughter sounded like.
----------------------
(But if you claimed that it was Rebecca "Hitherby" Borgstrom who had *reminded* me of George Alec Effinger, I wouldn't disagree too loudly.)
No smut, no bad language, spoilers for Atlantis season 1.
----------------------
ONE
"I've got it!"
The shout echoed through the ancient corridors of Atlantis. Doctor McKay, the acerbic but sensitive chief scientist, looked up from his painstaking work. "What now?" he asked, acerbicly.
"The ZPM!" shouted Doctor Zelenka, his softspoken but sensitive assistant, softly.
"What *about* the ZPM?" asked McKay. He was careful to pronounce the Zed. The fires of Canada burned always in his blood.
"We have assumed that they were highest power source that the Ancients possessed. Yes? But they were not," went on Zelenka, in his soft but charming accent. "They were merely a prototype."
"I see where you are going!" McKay jumped to his feet, forgetting acerbity in his excitement. "We never searched for any *One* Point Modules!"
"My God," whispered Kavanagh, their headstrong but sensitive scientist friend. "You could be right."
"But where could these One Point Modules be?" acerbed McKay.
The three friends looked eagerly around the laboratory.
A moment passed.
"What if you're wrong?" whispered Kavanagh doubtfully. His fear spread through the room. The light seemed dimmer, and even McKay's famous acerbity was muted.
"Kavanagh, my friend," said Zelenka softly, "You must not doubt. It is at times like these, when everything seems dimmest, that the truth shines through."
"You are right," Kavanagh whispered. "Forgive me." He wiped away a secret tear, under cover of adjusting an oscilloscope.
"Always," declared McKay magnanimously. "In any case, I have solved the problem. It was right under our noses the whole time!" And with a dramatic gesture, he brought Atlantis to full power -- for the first time in ten thousand years!
After that, everything was easy.
----------------------
TWO
It was at a communal dinner that Carson Beckett, the sturdy yet sensitive doctor of Atlantis, made his momentous discovery.
"Pass the spaghetti?" he said to Doctor Weir, the firm but sensitive leader of the city. She was courageous, practical, and forthright, even though she was a woman, and the men of Atlantis cherished her.
"Certainly," offered Weir. Beckett took the platter and ladled himself a sturdy portion.
"What is this spaghetti?" asked Teyla, who was also a firm but sensitive leader of the city. She too was courageous, practical, and forthright. And a woman. She tried not to sit too close to Doctor Weir. It got confusing.
"Oh, one of our Earth dishes," said the sturdy doctor. "Here. Try some."
"Interesting," observed Teyla. "How do you -- ah -- um --"
Everyone laughed politely at the alien woman's unfamiliarity with common Earth habits like eating spaghetti. "Here," offered Weir, and demonstrated.
Teyla sniffed, and made a face. Beckett looked disappointed.
"Oh, I don't mean to insult the sturdy foods of your native land," Teyla said quickly. "But this sauce has a very pungent aroma. I've never smelled anything like it. I don't think I could eat a bite."
"Oh, that's garlic," explained Beckett. "I suppose your people aren't used to it."
Teyla looked around in forthright confusion. Many of her people sat at the lower table. These folk, the Athosians, were a primitive but sensitive tribe of hunters, who had lived for thousands of years in fear of the Wraith. Now they were eating spaghetti. Eating it eagerly! -- albeit with a charming, if pardonable, lack of decorum.
"Great Scott!" shouted Beckett.
"What is it?" asked Weir practically.
"Teyla, you're the only one who is repelled by the scent of garlic. *And* you're the only Athosian here who has traces of Wraith DNA!"
"You mean --"
"We knew that the Wraith sucked away life. But we never stopped to think *why*!"
"You mean --"
"They were vampires all along!"
"And we never noticed," sighed Weir. "Well, gentlemen. To the storerooms. Break out the garlic! Sharpen tentpegs! Scatter mustard seed at the threshold of the Stargate!" Her eyes shone courageously. At that moment, every man at the table knew he would give his life to defend her.
----------------------
THREE
The human stood, relaxed, in front of energy-shielded bars. Beyond them, the inhuman pale figure stood equally motionless.
"You gonna tell me your name?"
No such luck.
"Okay. I can call you Steve."
Ford managed to flick Sheppard a quizzical glance without moving his eyes or the aim of his weapon. "You called the first one Steve."
"I got tired of making up names. They can all be Steve. If you don't want to be Steve," -- Sheppard shifted his attention back to the Wraith -- "just ask nicely." He didn't try to sound as if he meant it.
The Wraith didn't try to look as if it cared. It shifted the joints of its jaw and neck -- that sinuous movement that always made Sheppard think of insect wings wrapped in almost-human skin. The contemptuous sneer might not have been a natural Wraith expression, but Sheppard was sure it was keeping it on deliberately.
"I got just one question, Steve. What were you doing in the power transfer conduits?"
A silence stretched; and turned sour, for everyone outside the cage. Approaching footsteps gave Sheppard an excuse to look away. "Is he talking, Major?" asked Elizabeth Weir.
"No, ma'am." Sheppard made the words a sideways accusation; it slid off the Wraith, like everything else.
"Oh, I think I can change his tune," Weir said thoughtfully. She moved towards the bars. Sheppard stepped back, giving her a curious look.
The Wraith's air of arrogant equanimity had not changed. Weir returned it. "We found your kit," she said. "And your GDO. And the projector setup on M-three-six-six."
The Wraith tilted its head. It remained silent, but... was it now listening?
"Open the cage," snapped Weir. Sheppard began moving, then stopped: are you... "*Open* it, Major. He's not a Wraith."
Everyone was staring at Weir now. She exhaled -- angry, yes, Sheppard realized as he flipped down the lever. Furious. And: "There are no Wraith."
Sheppard turned that over and got exactly nowhere with it. Ford was doing the same out loud -- "What do you *mean* there are no --" but Weir was already moving into the cage. And the alien figure was backing away. Clumsily, backing away.
Weir seemed to match its height in cold fury; her voice was nearly hoarse, and Sheppard had never heard *that*. "You kidnapped Sumner and set up a holographic horror show. You terrorized the Athosians. You sabotaged Atlantis's sensors, invented hive ships, planted bombs to fake missile strikes, and faked your own death." Weir reached up for the sneering, inhuman face. Dug in her fingers. Ripped. "*Didn't* you, *Peter?*"
Peter Grodin stared out from torn latex and makeup. He tried to match the sneer which had masked him moments ago. "And I would have gotten away with it, if --"
Weir slapped him, hard, and walked out.
----------------------
FOUR
The ghosts of the Ancients come back and tear the Wraith's souls right out of their ugly chests. The humans stand around and applaud. Problem solved.
For added fun, the ghosts of their defense satellites blow up the hive ships, powered by the ghosts of depleted ZPMs. Really, you can go as far with this as you want. I'd bring in the ghost of Sumner, and maybe Kowalsky.
PS: Obviously, I'm talking about the ghosts of *dead* Ancients. The ones who died in the Pegasus war. Not the ones who Ascended later. Those wouldn't be ghosts.
----------------------
FIVE
The edge in Rodney's voice was a vicious counterpoint to the smooth, delicate play of his fingers. "You say you're *certain* that this frequency modulation fits the Gate control transducers." The optical probe moved precisely among glowing fibers, just as if he didn't want to hurl the lot across the Gate chamber.
"Yes, Rodney." Radek did not look up from the Fourier diagrams spread around his laptop.
"And these connections won't fry themselves, thus wasting the past six hours of my valuable life. Despite an optical impedance that could bounce X-rays."
"No, Rodney." Radek's tone had slid from "patient" to "patient schoolteacher". Again.
Rodney didn't notice, or didn't care. "And you say that the frequency wave will rewrite the DNA of every Wraith in the galaxy."
"Yes, Rodney, it is very simple. You agreed with me, Rodney. You said the fluffy-pony wave was a good idea."
"That was six hours ago. My natural skepticism has reasserted itself. Starting about the third time these connections kinked. You sure you wouldn't like to take a stab at them?"
"No, Rodney, you are better at it."
"Yes, I am."
"Because it is simple engineering benchwork."
"I heard that."
"Good thing I didn't," observed John, strolling down the stairs. "This thing about ready to go?"
"Major, I *said* I'd come tell you when it was ready. Didn't I promise him, Radek?" Radek's silent gestures made pleas for sympathy -- whether to John, Rodney, or the gathered spirits of Ancients past was unclear.
John looked unconvinced. "Explain to me again how this will wipe out the Wraith."
"Ah, not wipe out." Radek's hands were now trying to frame topology lessons in midair. "It will restructure their biology based on an alternate quantum reality."
"And they'll all turn into... ponies." For sheer emotional expression, Czech gesticulation had nothing on the corner of John's eyebrow.
"Yes." Radek refused to look cornered. "Fluffy ponies."
"Pink and blue ones," Rodney interrupted. "We think. Based on Carson's genetic simulations."
"And they won't suck life any more?"
"No. Definitely not," said Radek. "They will be fluffy ponies that live on joy, song, and laughter."
John nodded judiciously. "Sounds like a plan."
Two hours later, geared up, John and his team watched the Gate. The last symbol chased itself into place, and the familiar tide of... ask Rodney later... washed out.
"That's it?" asked Elizabeth.
"That should be it," said Rodney. Now that the work was done, he was allowed to sound nervous. "The restructuring wave should have already done its thing. The Wraith stronghold on that planet is now a, a --"
"Fluffy pony meadow," came Radek's voice from the control deck. Nobody laughed.
"Welp," said John, "let's check it out." He stepped into the light.
On the other side, a pale sun gleamed over swells of short grass. And trotting lightly on that grass were...
"Ponies. See?" Now that it had worked, Rodney was allowed to pretend he'd never been nervous.
John slowly held out his hand. A blue and silver pony came over and nuzzled his fingers affectionately. He rubbed its fuzzy cheeks. Large violet eyes closed in contentment. John did not scream, collapse, or shrivel into a corpse.
"Well," said John. "I guess it worked." He didn't sound happy.
None of them looked happy.
Rodney frowned. "Lieutenant Ford. Sing something."
"What?"
"I've heard you sing. At that campfire night. Your grasp of harmonic intervals was astonishing in its absence, but you were enthusiastic about it. Sing something now."
There was silence.
"Fluffy ponies that... live on joy, song, and laughter?" John asked.
They stood there, in the middle of a galaxy ruled by fluffy ponies, and tried to remember what laughter sounded like.
----------------------