DVD Commentary: Praxis, by miss-porcupine, Part 1
Part One
Hi, and welcome to the DVD commentary of miss-porcupine's Praxis.
I kind of knew I wanted to commen . . . tate on one of miss-porcupine's stories; how could I pass up a chance to babble incoherently about her writing style, her universe, her OCs? I picked Praxis in particular because it's in four parts, one each from the point of view of Sheppard, Lorne, Reletti, and Elizabeth, a four-part harmony of awesome.
The commentary is a bit sparse in parts, which is mostly due to my asking myself, "What can I say here?" and answering myself, "Shut up, I'm reading." Besides, there are only so many times I can use the word awesome.
Prologue
John. miss-porcupine's John is just like canon John. Except for the part where he acts like an Air Force officer who has two brain cells to rub together and an actual military background. He still has all of the reluctant-leader slightly goofy traits we've come to expect, only he's way more competent.
The email came unadorned except for a bland 'FYI' type line or two from Lorne, which meant that:
(a) Lorne wanted to make sure that John actually saw the email. He'd been CC'ed on the original and hadn't needed Lorne's forward... except maybe he did because he hadn't realized that he'd been CC'ed on the original until he'd seen his name in the forwarded headers;
(b) Lorne wanted to talk about it in person, since by this point John could read volumes into his XO's understatement;
(c) Marines were batshit insane, which wasn't news either in general or in the context of the ones in John's care, but was still a concept being reinforced here.
. . . and is one of the concepts being reinforced in this story, although John is crazier.
(a) and (b) might have direct relationships to (c). Although Lorne knew better than anyone else what sort of character the Marine Corps cultivated, so this was probably a request for guidance in shaping that insanity toward a more productive end.
"Mad Matt's at it again?" John asked, leaning against Lorne's doorway.
miss-porcupine has a great in medias res style of opening stories--not in the middle of the main action, but in the middle of the bit before that, the one that sets it up. It's like being dropped into a car that's already on the on-ramp of a freeway. "Oh, this is--okay, we're on . . . I-75. Great. Aaaaand now we're merging ohshit." Only without the ohshit, because it's always a fun ride.
Polito wasn't the sole author of the war games exercise -- there were touches that could only have come from Radner and Hanzis -- but he was the driving creative force. And that he'd gotten the other two captains to contribute was a testament to their unity of vision for what Atlantis's marines should be doing. As well as a warning sign that John better think long and hard before agreeing to it.
And probably a sign that Elizabeth won't be too excited.
"Apparently," Lorne answered, looking up and grimacing.
John took that as an invitation to enter and crossed the room to his favorite chair, picking up the Rubik's Cube as he sat. "It's been a rough couple of months," he began. "If the leathernecks want to go crazy, I'm inclined to let them. Within reason."
It's the little details like the Rubik's cube that carry over from one of miss-porcupine's stories to the next that really make all of her stories work together in a coherent whole. At this point they're practically a subset of canon--possibly the "making sense" portion that they don't quite show on TV.
The marines had lost men -- John had lost them men. They'd been sent packing back to Earth with their tails between their legs before the job was done and then yanked back to Pegasus just as soon as they'd re-acclimated. They had spent the last few months apologizing for their sudden disappearances, for their failure to be when and where they promised to be, and rebuilding trust lost -- in two galaxies. They were frustrated and aching for a fight and if John couldn't give them one, then he could at least give them something close.
John's an . . . interesting leader. He'll never be a proper bureaucrat, and really he has some terrible ideas about things like having your entire senior staff offworld at once, but he does look out for his guys. Again, this is miss-porcupine-canon since the show doesn't really pay that much attention to the marines, but I really like this aspect of his character. John's a good guy.
"It's their definition of 'reason' that I'm worried about," Lorne replied wryly. "This makes the Five Planet Hump look like a stroll in the park."
The proposal was extreme, even by crazy-ass Marine standards. A list of planets, scenarios, enemies (many), allies (few), and resources gave them possibilities of sieges, betrayals, ambushes, hostage situations, rescues, and the rare chance to emerge unscathed. It was a quick and brutal tour of all of the various ways Pegasus could kill you -- the ways Pegasus had already tried to kill them, with varying degrees of success. John didn't think anyone in Little Tripoli had actually forgotten the lessons, but he also understood, as did Lorne, why they wanted to reinforce them.
This paragraph is awesome because it sets up both "this is going to be a fun ride" and ". . . until someone loses an eye. Or gets fake dysentery."
"I think the control room scenario was really just there for wishful thinking," John said and Lorne cocked an eyebrow. "I hope."
Elizabeth got pissed off every time they practiced the Enemy In the Gate Room drill; she hated being forced into her office and kept under guard, out of danger and thus also out of the loop. (The control room engineers got cranky and pissy, too, but John didn't care about them and Rodney always ended their stream of complaints with "Would you rather die?") Elizabeth went along with it because she had no choice, but he didn't see her agreeing to an extra three go-rounds just to keep the marines amused. Six times a year was enough.
I get where Elizabeth's coming from here, because she's really the sort of person who wouldn't take kindly to being shoved safely under a desk or whatever, but really, Elizabeth: this is why they are here. Let them keep you alive.
"We could probably clear A-sector for them if they really want," Lorne mused, tapping the eraser end of his pencil on the papers on his desk. John suspected he'd printed out the entire proposal, which included Powerpoint slides of maps and graphs and photos. "I don't know how they'd get from there to the stargate without stampedes through the gate room, though."
"There's enough here otherwise," John said. "I say we kibosh the Atlantis scenarios -- we can do some elaborate city defense drill later on -- and maybe see if they can live without getting the Daedalus involved because I don't think Caldwell's forgiven us for the scavenger hunt yet ."
I am making an effort not to have links in, I swear, every other paragraph where a bit of characterization or backstory that appeared in a different miss-porcupine story is referred to, because boy howdy that'd be a lot of linking, but I will say that I really love seeing that, that cross-reference; it makes her stories work together so well as a whole. Suffice it to say that if you haven't read, oh, everything she's written in SGA, you should.
Caldwell would probably approve of the Goa'uld thing if (when) he heard about it, but John wasn't sure he wanted to take another chance with Caldwell facing most of Atlantis's marines while they were armed with Wraith stunners.
"Yeah," Lorne agreed. "And the temptation not to exact revenge may be too much for the crew."
Especially after the weapons officer got zapped with a stunner during one of the exercises.
"I won't admit it in front of the Three Stooges, but I'm impressed with the proposal," John said. "Not in the least at what they got shipped here for it."
Water cannons, experimental crowd control weapons, and a few other items that John couldn't believe the SGC had coughed up when they still wouldn't send drone weapons.
OMG, water cannons. I don't think we get to see most of these later, but just thinking about it--water cannons. And crowd control weapons! Sounds like fun! Injurious fun!
"It's like that episode of MASH with Radar and the Jeep," Lorne chuckled.
John nodded. "We should at least let them use it. Preferably not on us."
"You've got to be kidding me," Elizabeth said as soon as they sat down. "Pain rays?"
We do see the pain ray later, which: OW.
"The marines'll love it," John assured her, settling down and preparing to weather the worst of the storm. "We'll have to ration time with it, like we do with the other cool toys."
I spend a fair amount of the time that I'm reading about these marines with a faint look of horror on my face.
That didn't seem to have the placating effect John was hoping for. In fact, Elizabeth's eyebrows went up even further.
"It's been tested many times, ma'am," Lorne said in his most soothing voice. "It's safer than most everything else they have to play with in Little Tripoli and we really don't have anything else we can use for a Replicators scenario."
Elizabeth looked at Lorne skeptically, the way she did when she was sure he was covering for John but couldn't prove it.
"And it's already here," John added. Pragmatism usually got him points.
I can so hear John's dialogue here; the voice is spot-on. But it's kind of hilarious to hear it from the inside, where John thinks he's coming off as "pragmatic" rather than "enormous doofus who wants to play with pain rays."
"So are the Wraith," Elizabeth shot back. "I don't see you using them."
"Actually, on Page Eight...." John trailed off with a grin. "Seriously, Elizabeth, it'll be a useful teaching tool. You have to train as you fight and we can't safely reproduce most of the hazards the marines will face in this galaxy. This is something new, something that they can't anticipate, and it'll be effective for what we need it to be."
Elizabeth took a deep breath, but when she didn't immediately say anything, John knew he'd won that point. She may have thought that he gave the marines entirely too much rope to hang themselves, but she also knew that he would give them whatever training advantages they could get and she trusted him on that score.
"Does this mean that you won't be using the Wraith stunners again?" she finally asked.
"Um, no, ma'am," Lorne replied. "A Wraith ambush is going to be included in all three rounds of the exercise."
The plan was to run the exercise three times, each company alternately running the gauntlet, being the gauntlet, and staying back in Atlantis to protect the city and see to regular duties. The exercise would change each time, to avoid any advantages gained by repetition, but there would be constants in each iteration and the Wraith would be one of them. John was looking forward to taking the Dart they'd acquired out for another spin or three.
When I first read this, I went, "okay, three different parts of the exercise, three different sections of the story--OH CRAP THEY'RE GONNA GET ATTACKED." Thankfully, this did not happen. (This is one of the reasons I picked this story. miss-porcupine is excellent at both angst and humor, but if it's an unhappy story she does not pull any punches.)
"It says here you're making this a joint training mission?" Elizabeth tapped the Page Down key and she skimmed the screen.
"Yeah," John confirmed. "We figure this'll be a good experience for the Ipetians -- Valarn wants his people to have a little more hands-on practice and we weren't able to do the annual shindig because we were on Earth, so..."
They'd been training the Ipetian militia almost from the beginning and the marines liked working with the Ipetians, who had the necessary ethic if not the skill with technology that John didn't think any of them had really understood until it wasn't there.
Hey, Ipetians! It does actually make sense that out of all of the Pegasus peoples, one of them would be friendly.
"And the Athosians?" Elizabeth prompted.
"The Athosians are reprising their roles as bad guys, ma'am," Lorne answered. "Halling's choice. The armorers are trying to graft paintball pellets on to rubberized arrow tips for them to go hunting marines."
Hee. Although I would see the appeal for Halling to have a chance to beat up on the Atlanteans a bit in the name of training.
Elizabeth smiled slightly and John grinned in response, remembering Polito's giddy glee at the possibility of an army of Green Arrows.
"Everyone else will have guest starring roles, depending on which scenarios we're using," Lorne went on.
"So I saw," Elizabeth said. "Some of the... assignments... seem to strike a little close to home."
John looked down, pretending that he didn't know that Elizabeth was watching him. Most of them had come from his experiences, but that was both completely irrelevant and very much the point.
"That was intentional, ma'am," Lorne said, maybe a touch louder than necessary. "It's the most effective way to evaluate if we handled situations in the best possible way."
"I don't see Pheobus or Thalan -- or their analogs -- on the list," Elizabeth said questioningly.
"It was conflated with the Goa'uld and my adventures with the Ancients," Lorne answered with an even tone. "A sort of general 'compromised element of the senior command' scenario."
"We certainly have a wealth of examples to choose from," Elizabeth murmured sourly. "I'm going to assume that you have medical protocols covered, yes?"
What with almost every episode ever involving something like that, yes. Yes they do, and it would be a smart move to have some sort of training for dealing with it.
"Beckett and Safir are both involved," John confirmed. "We'll have a medical station on every planet and every platoon's got a corpsmen now, so we're not anticipating anything weirder than usual."
Aw, corpsmen! Such is the quality of writing and depth of the original characters that someone can say, in an earlier story, that they wished they had corpsmen along, and that will make me squee when they do in fact get corpsmen.
See also: boats, use of.
The worst usually involved sprains, strains, the occasional broken bone, dehydration, and a half-dozen allergic reactions. All were avoidable to some degree and successfully doing so was part of the exercise.
"Is Doctor Safir participating again?"
Yoni had usually gotten dragged into these things because they were short of medics, but now that they'd brought back a dozen corpsmen, Yoni's involvement beyond vetting the medical business was because the marines wanted him there and he wanted to do it.
"Yes, ma'am," Lorne replied cheerfully. "Capacity to be determined. But I'm sure they'll come up with something good."
Carson had offered a few suggestions, each more unflattering than the last.
Elizabeth grimaced. "I know I'm going to end up regretting this," she sighed, holding up her hand to forestall protests. "But go ahead, have fun, and make sure to leave the scientists alone."
Round One: Prey
Lorne! I like reading miss-porcupine's Lorne because he's a breath of normal fresh air; Sheppard's got all of these issues. (I was going to use the term "angst-bunny.")
Also, newsflash, Kavan Smith is cute.
Lorne stumbled through the stargate, nearly tripping on the step right in front. He balanced himself before the marine next to him could reach out to steady him and trudged down the rest of the stairs without further incident.
Eriksson, who once upon a time had been the junior lieutenant in Atlantis but now was the senior one in his company, was already ordering marines around, setting up a perimeter and security sweeps because running into the Wraith on three planets would be just their luck.
"Well, that sucked donkey balls," a sergeant said to no one in particular.
They'd been out for three days so far and had met four of the seven objectives, which put them slightly ahead of schedule despite losing half a day on the hazard known as "Ancient Database Doesn't Know Shit, Sir" and having to give up on that planet's objective. They'd also ran into the "Wraith" twice, losing a dozen marines in the first assault (Sheppard piloting a Wraith dart was as dangerous as Sheppard playing Wraith Queen on the ground) and then three in the second, a ground attack with Teyla as Wraith Queen and Lieutenant Salker's platoon as her nimble henchmen. There'd been a mass bout of dysentery (thankfully simulated) after drinking stream water that hadn't been purified by their iodine tablets, a march through snow that had produced two ankle sprains and one case of hypothermia, a couple of 30km rucks over uneven ground (the same times two, minus the hypothermia), and nearly losing a second objective because Booger (Lorne didn't think anyone actually called him Sergeant Beauregard anymore) was the only naturally ATA-positive marine left in Bravo Company and he had poor 'fine motor skills' when it came to Ancient technology while Lorne had the control but not the ability.
I . . . I don't even know where to begin. Sheppard piloting a dart has got to be as freaking scary as the real thing. I wonder where they rematerialized them?
Also, Teyla playing Wraith Queen--I have to wonder how she took that (probably with a really long shower and some meditation afterwards), but she'd be scary good at it.
How you simulate dysentery, I have no idea. And probably don't want to know. Ew.
As far as Booger goes . . . I'm probably getting a skewed view of how prevalent the ATA gene is in the general population given that John, Carson, and Jack O'Neill are all ATA (I keep forgetting that Lorne's induced like McKay), but you'd think they'd be able to pick more ATA marines to go to Atlantis. Although that would probably make things too easy.
Overall, Lorne thought that they were doing pretty well.
He said as much to Radner, who'd had to be carried through the gate after getting zapped by a Wraith stunner on the last planet.
"It's not as much of a goat rodeo as last time, sir," Radner agreed with a sour expression that had very little to do with his attempts to regain feeling and movement in his limbs. First Sergeant Wrubelski stayed nearby, not trusting Radner to sit up alone and not wanting to delegate the responsibility to anyone else. "But right now I'm still down fifteen marines and we've got twice that in walking wounded."
Even though I'm not putting it in, assume that I'm giggling every time someone says something like "goat rodeo."
Not much to say to that, so Lorne didn't, instead turning to go find Eriksson, who was standing with Osgeny and Kagan.
The security sweeps were reporting nothing, the lieutenants told him. Lorne pulled out his own Ancient PDA (rather than risk Booger blowing up his) to find no life signs and no unusual energy readings and he felt comfortable declaring the planet safe -- at least from Wraith or other hostile beings. Which in turn meant that they could settle in for a much-needed breather. Lorne ached in ways he usually associated with missions gone seriously off the rail -- bone-deep exhaustion, bruises, the twinge in his arm from where he'd been shot last year. The marines around him were mostly a decade younger and were all in better shape, but they were still looking worn down, too. They had lost most of a night running between planets the first time they'd escaped the Wraith, had been unable and unwilling to call a halt in the frozen tundra, and been woken up early by a deluge on the last safe haven. Everyone was short of sleep, short of temper, and more prone to mistakes that would cost dearly -- in time, in manpower, in safety. The platoon sergeants were more vigilant than usual as a result.
"Platoon sergeant." I have to admit that my knowledge and understanding of most military matters, including heirarchy, is for shit; I tend to treat mentions of it like the similar technobabble details that people put in McKay stories--I smile and nod and trust that it's right, and mentally file it under "detail!"
The wounded marines -- Radner hadn't been the only one zapped, plus the outstanding injuries from the marathon treks -- were all being tended to by corpsmen and their fellows, but nobody was in so bad a shape that an evac to Atlantis would be required.
Lorne made his way back to Radner, who had progressed to standing, wobbly as a new colt, under a corpsman's watchful eye. "How long do you want to stay?"
"Don't think we have much more than eight to spare, sir," Radner replied with a grimace and then a glare at Wrubelski, who was hovering nearby. "If we want to get on to M3V-4Q5 before dawn, we can't be more than ten hours here."
"Agreed," Lorne said with a nod. It was more or less what he'd decided on his own. Eight hours of rest for the group would be two shifts of four hours. "I'll take first shift, you'll get the tail end."
Radner looked to protest and Lorne cocked an eyebrow. They both knew that Radner needed the rest more immediately and that Lorne would make it an order if he had to.
"Aye aye, sir," he sighed and Lorne nodded. He left Radner to summon his lieutenants and conduct company business and went back to where he'd stowed his pack, digging out the rest of the MRE he'd started to eat... earlier. A couple of planets ago, at least. He sat down to pour water into the chemical heater because he didn't think he had enough coordination at this point to do it standing. What entree it was was almost academic (almost; he'd have pulled rank to escape the Country Captain chicken) and he chewed without regard for anything but the fact that it was warm and the wet sawdust texture made for more substantive chewing. Around him, marines were doing the same -- the injured had been seen to and the rest was wary exhaustion that four hours of prospective slumber would only dull and not cure.
The scenarios were intentionally made to be as difficult -- if not more so -- than a typical mission in the field, either for a platoon or an off-world team. And it was mishap after mishap with few breaks (except where they made them) and no warning. Lorne had seen every scenario, as had the captains who had dreamt them up, but that was no help -- which ones were chosen and how they were to be enacted (and by whom) was decided by others. With both Sheppard and himself in the field, the decisions had fallen to the company commander left in charge of the military in Atlantis. In this round, that meant Polito and Lorne was sure that that meant that they were in for one hell of a time for the four days left to them to complete their objective list.
If I am remembering my porcupine-canon correctly, Polito is the one with the classical Roman tastes.
After the lieutenants finished with Radner and the orders filtered down to grunt level, there was murmured discussion about who was sleeping first and who was too wounded to stand guard (no one; if there was any action to be had, everyone would be getting their asses up anyway). Lorne finished eating and took out his cup to draw some of the water that the marines were boiling. He made himself cocoa instead of coffee (save that for after he slept) and sipped it as he wandered around the camp, greeting marines and asking after injuries and laughing at crappy jokes. It was a subdued affair -- practice or not, they had still lost more than a dozen comrades (knowing that Sheppard was driving the Dart didn't make the sight of watching marines disappear before their eyes any less of a nauseating shock) and understood that things were going to get much worse before they got better.
The four hours passed uneventfully. First Sergeant Wrubelski signaled the changing of the guard and Lorne fell asleep as soon as he settled down against his pack.
"Hello, nurse!"
"She's a doctor, retard."
"It's from the Animaniacs! Didn't you ever watch that?"
"It's from Vaudeville, actually. It got appropriated by Animaniacs."
"Sir, were you serious when you asked us to warn you when you were being a dork in public?"
Lorne, walking a few meters behind the unintentional comedy routine, smiled as Kagan gave his marines the stink-eye. He couldn't see what they were talking about -- or rather who -- but he could take a wild guess from context and have it be confirmed by the murmuring about Doctor Clayton dressed like a serving wench. A few of the Bravo marines had been around since the initial expedition and Staff Sergeant Laganzo was reminding his squad that just because there was a hot chick in a dress didn't mean that she couldn't kick their asses.
Oh, snap.
Lorne caught Radner's gaze as they found each other before going to face whatever scenario Clayton represented. There had been civilians who had volunteered (or, as in the case of certain members of the Science Division, been volunteered) for participation in the exercises and Clayton was one of them. What scenario this could be was not really determined by the civilian participants -- Clayton could certainly manage to pull off a Sora routine and several of the other volunteers were former military and/or adventurous types.
"Here's hoping they just want to feed us," Radner muttered as they put on their best smiles and went to go greet the natives.
"Howdy and welcome," Clayton said with a big smile and a bigger sweep of her arm. "What brings you to Alabamastan?"
At which point I choke laughing.
There was a muffled explosion of mirth behind Lorne; he, too, needed a second to maintain his composure. He took a deep breath, wiped the tear of stifled amusement from his left eye with the back of his glove and started into Friendly Explorer Speech #2 (#1 being the one with 'bring us to your leader' and #3 containing 'no, really, we're just armed for our own protection'). After he got to the part about seeking allies against the Wraith and trading partners, Clayton gave him another cheerful smile and encouraged him to come and meet their headman.
"I don't mean to be rude, sir," she said, pausing to bite her lip nervously. "But I fear that so many armed men coming in to our village might cause a bit of a panic. We've never seen an army so large -- have you left no one behind to tend to your families and crops? -- and, well..."
Lorne looked behind him at the sea of combat-clad marines. He'd been looking at the same faces for four days and was used to the picture, but part of him still retained the ability to see things from an outsider's perspective and that was a different image altogether. More than five dozen large, dirty men with heavy weapons and heavier loads and, with the initial surprise of the actors gone, nary a smile in sight. It was at best a little menacing, Lorne could easily grant. But this was Pegasus -- and this, in particular, was Pegasus distilled down to its rawest parts -- and Lorne was not inclined to eschew safety completely for the sake of a trade agreement. (The agreement could very well be the objective for this planet; it was a scenario.)
I like that they included things like trade agreements in the scenarios; if you went out every time expecting to be attacked it wouldn't be much of a surprise, would it?
"I understand," he said in his smoothest placating voice. "Captain?"
Radner nodded and stepped away with a short bow to Clayton.
"Joker One, come forward," Lorne could hear him say over the radio. "Joker Two and Three, you are to stay out here and on radio. Be ready for anything. This could be all kissyface or it could be something else."
Movement and shuffling among the marines as Osgeny brought his platoon up and Eriksson and Kagan gathered their men.
"You'll excuse us if we bring some of our men with us," Lorne told Clayton. "They get nervous when we wander off on our own."
Because when you wander off on your own, you tend to get captured or Ascended or who-knows-what, Major.
A glint in Clayton's eye as she nodded and Lorne thought she understood that that was no convenient lie.
The walk to the village of Alabamastan (Lorne had no idea who'd named these places; they'd already had the pleasure of being chased out of Whoville) was maybe half a kilometer. Clayton filled the time with questions that both probed their defenses -- or, rather Lorne's, since he was the one answering -- while simultaneously setting up the scene for the rest of the visit.
Lorne wasn't worried about saying anything he shouldn't; evading and outright lying by both omission and commission came easily enough after all of these years. Lorne was more concerned that Radner and the lieutenants -- Osgeny with them and Eriksson and Kagan over the radio -- listened and learned, both to what he and Clayton were saying (and how they were saying it) as well as what neither of them were saying. Talking to locals while on deployments on Earth was nothing new to any of them, but while everyone on Earth could see the flag on your right shoulder and know where you were from, hiding the existence and abilities of Atlantis was both more challenging and more crucial here in Pegasus.
The first "villagers" they saw were Doctor Abelard with a pitchfork and Doctor Rosmanova leading a cow toward a pasture. They stopped and stared appropriately. Lorne gave his most harmless smile in return, taking comfort in the familiarity of being the star of the traveling circus.
So, at this point, are they on Ipetia? Or some other ally's planet? Where did they get the farmhouse and the cow?
Clayton led them to a small farmhouse and it was absolutely a testament to both their professionalism and the way they'd subsumed themselves into the scenario that they didn't lose it completely when they got there.
"Howdy strangers," Yoni said from the doorway, emphasizing the hairball sound at the beginning even though he usually tried to eliminate that part of his accent. "Welcome to our village. To what do we owe such a momentous occasion?"
Again, cracking the fuck up at headman!Yoni and his accent.
Clayton introduced them, repeating the salient parts of what Lorne had told her, and Yoni nodded thoughtfully. "We are always interested in trade and we most gratefully encourage anyone who dares to fight the Wraith. You have the look of serious intent about you and I am flattered that you seek us out to aid your cause."
"They have twice this many men waiting near the Ring," Clayton piped up. Lorne had been hoping that that wouldn't come up, but it was no big deal.
"They do?" Yoni mused. "All the more welcome are they. We shall send refreshment to them, if that is acceptable to you."
"Of course," Lorne said, knowing something was afoot and not being able to place what it was. "That is very generous."
If Lorne had been here with his own team, he'd only have had to nod in Ortilla's direction to make it clear that he wanted nobody off alone, nobody out of contact, and everyone on full alert. And Ortilla would have made it happen because this would have raised his hackles, too; his entire team would have been able to read his intent as well as he could read their moods. But this wasn't his team and Lorne could only hope that Radner and Wrubelski were on wavelengths near to his own. Because he knew that Yoni, for all of his feigned inattention and unfeigned irritation with the drudgery of diplomacy, understood his thoughts and instincts and that that understanding would be used against him the way Sheppard had used his knowledge of marine tactics to scoop so many men with the Dart.
"Sir, we should let the men know that hospitality is on its way," Wrubelski said to Radner in a low voice. When Lorne looked over, he could tell that his concerns were shared. "Don't want them thinking it's something not so nice."
Radner met Lorne's glance; he, too, sensed a trap. It wasn't that hard to grasp -- Yoni wasn't trying to be that subtle, instead banking on their past experiences to make them edgy and lead them into actions they wouldn't otherwise take.
"Do that please, First Sergeant," Lorne said, turning back to Yoni. "We've had some unpleasant surprises in the past, you see. It's better to be safe than sorry."
"Of course," Yoni said, smiling magnanimously as Wrubelski moved away.
Yoni led them around to the rear of farmhouse, where there was a wooden table and benches not unlike a picnic table from Earth and several bales of hay. Clayton tagged along, flirting outrageously with Osgeny, who was handling it with more politeness than actual grace. Much to the amusement of his marines.
I giggle at the flirting, too. Because you know she's just having the time of her life here.
"Please, sit," Yoni exhorted and Lorne, Radner, and Wrubelski did. Clayton looped her arm around Osgeny's elbow to drag him toward them, but he held his ground long enough to ensure that his gunny was settling the marines on hay bales and the one low bench behind the house.
"Sirs," Osgeny muttered as he sat down, wincing slightly when Clayton (and her much-more-on-display-than-usual cleavage) squeezed next to him.
"Buck up, Lieutenant," Radner told him with laughter in his eyes. "It's why you became a marine in the first place."
What followed was a chess match. From years of watching, Yoni knew Lorne's weak points of negotiating, knew what topics he tried to avoid, knew which rote answers he gave that couldn't stand up to logical parsing. And he exploited all of them within the bounds of his role of leader of a village ignorant of Atlantis. Or, at least, ignorant that Atlantis had been re-inhabited since Yoni and Clayton seemed to know all about the home of the Ancestors. (Most of it was accurate, even, and the rest was the sort of wacky exaggeration that could be expected after ten thousand years of story-telling -- or too many viewings of Xanadu in Little Tripoli.)
Alabamastan was modeled on one of those very devout worlds they came across with surprising frequency considering the Ancients had abandoned the galaxy to the Wraith ten thousand years ago. The Ipetians weren't with them on this round, but Valarn and his militia would have found kindred spirits in the frequent references and open reverence for the Ancestors and their works. It made Lorne relieved that Booger was still on the outskirts of town and he tried to tamp down his own sensitivity to Ancient tech. The last thing they wanted was to be stuck here with people who sought to either idolize or utilize these descendants of the Ancients who had stumbled through their stargate.
Yoni, of course, knew that, too. The team fussed about Lorne and especially Reletti in those potential situations, especially after they'd been kidnapped for that purpose by the Genii. That, too, was on the list of possible scenarios, but there were too many other plausible choices here -- including the fact that Alabamastan was harmless and simply 'unintentionally' making them nervous -- to wed themselves to a course of action even as Clayton waxed rhapsodic about her hopes that the sons of the Ancestors would come to defeat their ancient enemy and wouldn't it be wonderful if they were those men.
Fussing! Adorable! Also adorable: Yoni, in the same way that McKay-and-children is adorable, the "being pestered by lesser beings" way that is somehow cute. The thing is, everybody counts as "lesser being." And then, of course, there are the times when Yoni is genuinely being cute. Although that's not going to happen here.
In between questions both subtle and not about their knowledge of (and devotion to) the Ancestors, Yoni asked more practical questions -- what did they have to trade, what were they interested in trading for, how did they hope to defeat the Wraith, have they had any success so far -- that Lorne and Radner took turns answering. For someone who occasionally had to be elbowed to stay awake during these sessions, Yoni was pretty good at them and Lorne made a mental note to utilize that later on. He wasn't the only one exposed here.
While they talked, Athosian children ran around, a couple of the youngest settling themselves on and near Yoni's lap because that's what they always did when they saw Yoni. I stand corrected. Children + Yoni = always cute. A very serious Jinto, not quite old enough to be part of Halling's Merry Men, served them fruit and juice while a not-very-serious Marta took a page out of Clayton's playbook and flirted as she did the same for Osgeny's marines. Osgeny kept looking over his shoulder to make sure nothing untoward was happening, but Lorne (and everyone else) had heard Gunny Jenkins growling at the marines to pretend she was wearing a burqa and had a lot of brothers and so nothing came of Marta's overtures.
After a couple of hours of back-and-forth questions and evasions, they had a trade agreement pretty much worked out. It was a more complicated version of the usual 'starter' agreement -- the kind that was small-scale until both sides could prove they would be able to meet the terms, at which point it was extended and expanded. Yoni knew where Lorne's limits were and tried to bluster past them, but Lorne really had been doing this for longer than anyone else at the table combined and came away giving up no more than he was comfortable giving.
"Very well," Yoni said, slapping one hand on the table, the other occupied holding the sleeping girl in his lap upright. "Your tenacity speaks well of your people, Major. Let us now give thanks to the Ancestors for allowing this propitious meeting between our two worlds."
Lorne did not glare at Yoni, who hated these ceremonies with a passion.
Marta, perhaps finally convinced that her wiles would get her no attention from the marines, brought over a pitcher of what turned out ro be local wine. Lorne, as he always did, politely requested water to dilute the wine, explaining with much apology that it was against their custom and creed for soldiers to partake otherwise. (It was against regs to partake at all, but practically speaking it was more important not to offend the host.)
So, we already know that Yoni's exploiting weaknesses that he knows about ahead of time; we know that Lorne always cuts his wine on diplomatic missions; we know that Polito has a classical education.
"Of course," Yoni replied, snapping his fingers and gesturing. Jinto appeared with a fresh pitcher as Marta was carefully pouring blood-colored wine into elegant metal goblets. "I hope that you return here when you are not 'on duty' so that you may enjoy our wine in its fullness. We have had exceptional results the past few years and they only improve with age."
When the goblets were filled with water, Marta poured the rest of the wine into the water pitcher and brought it over to the marines, perhaps to try again or maybe just to annoy Jinto, who'd been waiting to do just that. After everyone was served, Yoni made a surprisingly eloquent and entirely too-long spiel to the Ancestors (Lorne's team had a whole points system for references made during these sorts of speeches and Yoni seemed determined to break all scoring records) and then they drank. The mixture was far less sweet than Lorne would have expected -- Pegasus was too often a White Zin and Muscatel kind of place -- but Yoni hated sweet drinks and had probably insisted on something else.
At this point something in the back of my brain was going, "Wait . . . ."
They finished their goblets over more benign conversation -- now that the measuring-up was done, both sides could relax a little -- and Lorne was starting to wonder when the chit that signified a met objective would be presented. It was turning out to be a pretty warm day after a pleasantly cool morning and if this was their softball challenge, he would be happy to take it and move on. Perhaps sensing his eagerness, Yoni started with the informal rituals of departure and they rose from the table.
Radner stumbled a bit as they started to walk around to the front of the farmhouse, but whether it was from the wine hitting him (Lorne could feel a very slight buzz, but nothing he'd call tipsy) or some residual effect of the stunner blast he'd taken (clumsiness lingered far after the worst effects of the shot dissipated), it was hard to tell. Lorne gave Wrubelski a questioning look, but the first sergeant shrugged back and he didn't think anything of it until he heard a whispered "sir!" behind him and turned. Osgeny was standing still and unsteady, his eyes closed and skin pale.
"You eat something you shouldn't have, lieutenant?" Lorne asked, concerned as Wrubelski called over for First Platoon's corpsman. The line between playing out the scenario and breaking character to tend to Osgeny was fine, but not as fine as it had to be with both Yoni and Clayton right there. Neither of them were looking professionally concerned, however, and Lorne would have happily let Doc (all corpsmen were Doc, which tended to offend the Ph.D-bearing scientists more than the folks in Medical) tend to the now-sitting Osgeny except... except that neither Yoni nor Clayton were looking any kind of concerned. They were looking expectant. And Lorne was starting to feel something that he knew wasn't worry.
In AD 55, Britannicus, the (probably) rightful heir to the Emperor Claudius (who had died under mysterious circumstances a year before), died after being poisoned, which is something you have to look out for when your adopted brother is Nero (possibly the most bugfuck insane of all of the Julio-Claudians, including the one who wanted to make his horse a Consul). Britannicus had employed a food taster, but it didn't help--the poison wasn't in the wine but in the water used to cool it.
. . . yes, I had to look most of that up.
"Oh, fuck," he muttered. Not this again. As the first wave of nausea hit -- strong enough to have him biting his tongue to keep from vomiting -- he reached for his radio to warn Eriksson and Kagan. But all he got was static. Osgeny's marines were around them now, rifles drawn and blinking against the dizziness.
Lorne looked at Yoni, who gave him a smile that was perfectly wolfish. "We know who you are, Lanteans."
And that was the last thing he saw before he passed out.
Hi, and welcome to the DVD commentary of miss-porcupine's Praxis.
I kind of knew I wanted to commen . . . tate on one of miss-porcupine's stories; how could I pass up a chance to babble incoherently about her writing style, her universe, her OCs? I picked Praxis in particular because it's in four parts, one each from the point of view of Sheppard, Lorne, Reletti, and Elizabeth, a four-part harmony of awesome.
The commentary is a bit sparse in parts, which is mostly due to my asking myself, "What can I say here?" and answering myself, "Shut up, I'm reading." Besides, there are only so many times I can use the word awesome.
Prologue
John. miss-porcupine's John is just like canon John. Except for the part where he acts like an Air Force officer who has two brain cells to rub together and an actual military background. He still has all of the reluctant-leader slightly goofy traits we've come to expect, only he's way more competent.
The email came unadorned except for a bland 'FYI' type line or two from Lorne, which meant that:
(a) Lorne wanted to make sure that John actually saw the email. He'd been CC'ed on the original and hadn't needed Lorne's forward... except maybe he did because he hadn't realized that he'd been CC'ed on the original until he'd seen his name in the forwarded headers;
(b) Lorne wanted to talk about it in person, since by this point John could read volumes into his XO's understatement;
(c) Marines were batshit insane, which wasn't news either in general or in the context of the ones in John's care, but was still a concept being reinforced here.
. . . and is one of the concepts being reinforced in this story, although John is crazier.
(a) and (b) might have direct relationships to (c). Although Lorne knew better than anyone else what sort of character the Marine Corps cultivated, so this was probably a request for guidance in shaping that insanity toward a more productive end.
"Mad Matt's at it again?" John asked, leaning against Lorne's doorway.
miss-porcupine has a great in medias res style of opening stories--not in the middle of the main action, but in the middle of the bit before that, the one that sets it up. It's like being dropped into a car that's already on the on-ramp of a freeway. "Oh, this is--okay, we're on . . . I-75. Great. Aaaaand now we're merging ohshit." Only without the ohshit, because it's always a fun ride.
Polito wasn't the sole author of the war games exercise -- there were touches that could only have come from Radner and Hanzis -- but he was the driving creative force. And that he'd gotten the other two captains to contribute was a testament to their unity of vision for what Atlantis's marines should be doing. As well as a warning sign that John better think long and hard before agreeing to it.
And probably a sign that Elizabeth won't be too excited.
"Apparently," Lorne answered, looking up and grimacing.
John took that as an invitation to enter and crossed the room to his favorite chair, picking up the Rubik's Cube as he sat. "It's been a rough couple of months," he began. "If the leathernecks want to go crazy, I'm inclined to let them. Within reason."
It's the little details like the Rubik's cube that carry over from one of miss-porcupine's stories to the next that really make all of her stories work together in a coherent whole. At this point they're practically a subset of canon--possibly the "making sense" portion that they don't quite show on TV.
The marines had lost men -- John had lost them men. They'd been sent packing back to Earth with their tails between their legs before the job was done and then yanked back to Pegasus just as soon as they'd re-acclimated. They had spent the last few months apologizing for their sudden disappearances, for their failure to be when and where they promised to be, and rebuilding trust lost -- in two galaxies. They were frustrated and aching for a fight and if John couldn't give them one, then he could at least give them something close.
John's an . . . interesting leader. He'll never be a proper bureaucrat, and really he has some terrible ideas about things like having your entire senior staff offworld at once, but he does look out for his guys. Again, this is miss-porcupine-canon since the show doesn't really pay that much attention to the marines, but I really like this aspect of his character. John's a good guy.
"It's their definition of 'reason' that I'm worried about," Lorne replied wryly. "This makes the Five Planet Hump look like a stroll in the park."
The proposal was extreme, even by crazy-ass Marine standards. A list of planets, scenarios, enemies (many), allies (few), and resources gave them possibilities of sieges, betrayals, ambushes, hostage situations, rescues, and the rare chance to emerge unscathed. It was a quick and brutal tour of all of the various ways Pegasus could kill you -- the ways Pegasus had already tried to kill them, with varying degrees of success. John didn't think anyone in Little Tripoli had actually forgotten the lessons, but he also understood, as did Lorne, why they wanted to reinforce them.
This paragraph is awesome because it sets up both "this is going to be a fun ride" and ". . . until someone loses an eye. Or gets fake dysentery."
"I think the control room scenario was really just there for wishful thinking," John said and Lorne cocked an eyebrow. "I hope."
Elizabeth got pissed off every time they practiced the Enemy In the Gate Room drill; she hated being forced into her office and kept under guard, out of danger and thus also out of the loop. (The control room engineers got cranky and pissy, too, but John didn't care about them and Rodney always ended their stream of complaints with "Would you rather die?") Elizabeth went along with it because she had no choice, but he didn't see her agreeing to an extra three go-rounds just to keep the marines amused. Six times a year was enough.
I get where Elizabeth's coming from here, because she's really the sort of person who wouldn't take kindly to being shoved safely under a desk or whatever, but really, Elizabeth: this is why they are here. Let them keep you alive.
"We could probably clear A-sector for them if they really want," Lorne mused, tapping the eraser end of his pencil on the papers on his desk. John suspected he'd printed out the entire proposal, which included Powerpoint slides of maps and graphs and photos. "I don't know how they'd get from there to the stargate without stampedes through the gate room, though."
"There's enough here otherwise," John said. "I say we kibosh the Atlantis scenarios -- we can do some elaborate city defense drill later on -- and maybe see if they can live without getting the Daedalus involved because I don't think Caldwell's forgiven us for the scavenger hunt yet ."
I am making an effort not to have links in, I swear, every other paragraph where a bit of characterization or backstory that appeared in a different miss-porcupine story is referred to, because boy howdy that'd be a lot of linking, but I will say that I really love seeing that, that cross-reference; it makes her stories work together so well as a whole. Suffice it to say that if you haven't read, oh, everything she's written in SGA, you should.
Caldwell would probably approve of the Goa'uld thing if (when) he heard about it, but John wasn't sure he wanted to take another chance with Caldwell facing most of Atlantis's marines while they were armed with Wraith stunners.
"Yeah," Lorne agreed. "And the temptation not to exact revenge may be too much for the crew."
Especially after the weapons officer got zapped with a stunner during one of the exercises.
"I won't admit it in front of the Three Stooges, but I'm impressed with the proposal," John said. "Not in the least at what they got shipped here for it."
Water cannons, experimental crowd control weapons, and a few other items that John couldn't believe the SGC had coughed up when they still wouldn't send drone weapons.
OMG, water cannons. I don't think we get to see most of these later, but just thinking about it--water cannons. And crowd control weapons! Sounds like fun! Injurious fun!
"It's like that episode of MASH with Radar and the Jeep," Lorne chuckled.
John nodded. "We should at least let them use it. Preferably not on us."
"You've got to be kidding me," Elizabeth said as soon as they sat down. "Pain rays?"
We do see the pain ray later, which: OW.
"The marines'll love it," John assured her, settling down and preparing to weather the worst of the storm. "We'll have to ration time with it, like we do with the other cool toys."
I spend a fair amount of the time that I'm reading about these marines with a faint look of horror on my face.
That didn't seem to have the placating effect John was hoping for. In fact, Elizabeth's eyebrows went up even further.
"It's been tested many times, ma'am," Lorne said in his most soothing voice. "It's safer than most everything else they have to play with in Little Tripoli and we really don't have anything else we can use for a Replicators scenario."
Elizabeth looked at Lorne skeptically, the way she did when she was sure he was covering for John but couldn't prove it.
"And it's already here," John added. Pragmatism usually got him points.
I can so hear John's dialogue here; the voice is spot-on. But it's kind of hilarious to hear it from the inside, where John thinks he's coming off as "pragmatic" rather than "enormous doofus who wants to play with pain rays."
"So are the Wraith," Elizabeth shot back. "I don't see you using them."
"Actually, on Page Eight...." John trailed off with a grin. "Seriously, Elizabeth, it'll be a useful teaching tool. You have to train as you fight and we can't safely reproduce most of the hazards the marines will face in this galaxy. This is something new, something that they can't anticipate, and it'll be effective for what we need it to be."
Elizabeth took a deep breath, but when she didn't immediately say anything, John knew he'd won that point. She may have thought that he gave the marines entirely too much rope to hang themselves, but she also knew that he would give them whatever training advantages they could get and she trusted him on that score.
"Does this mean that you won't be using the Wraith stunners again?" she finally asked.
"Um, no, ma'am," Lorne replied. "A Wraith ambush is going to be included in all three rounds of the exercise."
The plan was to run the exercise three times, each company alternately running the gauntlet, being the gauntlet, and staying back in Atlantis to protect the city and see to regular duties. The exercise would change each time, to avoid any advantages gained by repetition, but there would be constants in each iteration and the Wraith would be one of them. John was looking forward to taking the Dart they'd acquired out for another spin or three.
When I first read this, I went, "okay, three different parts of the exercise, three different sections of the story--OH CRAP THEY'RE GONNA GET ATTACKED." Thankfully, this did not happen. (This is one of the reasons I picked this story. miss-porcupine is excellent at both angst and humor, but if it's an unhappy story she does not pull any punches.)
"It says here you're making this a joint training mission?" Elizabeth tapped the Page Down key and she skimmed the screen.
"Yeah," John confirmed. "We figure this'll be a good experience for the Ipetians -- Valarn wants his people to have a little more hands-on practice and we weren't able to do the annual shindig because we were on Earth, so..."
They'd been training the Ipetian militia almost from the beginning and the marines liked working with the Ipetians, who had the necessary ethic if not the skill with technology that John didn't think any of them had really understood until it wasn't there.
Hey, Ipetians! It does actually make sense that out of all of the Pegasus peoples, one of them would be friendly.
"And the Athosians?" Elizabeth prompted.
"The Athosians are reprising their roles as bad guys, ma'am," Lorne answered. "Halling's choice. The armorers are trying to graft paintball pellets on to rubberized arrow tips for them to go hunting marines."
Hee. Although I would see the appeal for Halling to have a chance to beat up on the Atlanteans a bit in the name of training.
Elizabeth smiled slightly and John grinned in response, remembering Polito's giddy glee at the possibility of an army of Green Arrows.
"Everyone else will have guest starring roles, depending on which scenarios we're using," Lorne went on.
"So I saw," Elizabeth said. "Some of the... assignments... seem to strike a little close to home."
John looked down, pretending that he didn't know that Elizabeth was watching him. Most of them had come from his experiences, but that was both completely irrelevant and very much the point.
"That was intentional, ma'am," Lorne said, maybe a touch louder than necessary. "It's the most effective way to evaluate if we handled situations in the best possible way."
"I don't see Pheobus or Thalan -- or their analogs -- on the list," Elizabeth said questioningly.
"It was conflated with the Goa'uld and my adventures with the Ancients," Lorne answered with an even tone. "A sort of general 'compromised element of the senior command' scenario."
"We certainly have a wealth of examples to choose from," Elizabeth murmured sourly. "I'm going to assume that you have medical protocols covered, yes?"
What with almost every episode ever involving something like that, yes. Yes they do, and it would be a smart move to have some sort of training for dealing with it.
"Beckett and Safir are both involved," John confirmed. "We'll have a medical station on every planet and every platoon's got a corpsmen now, so we're not anticipating anything weirder than usual."
Aw, corpsmen! Such is the quality of writing and depth of the original characters that someone can say, in an earlier story, that they wished they had corpsmen along, and that will make me squee when they do in fact get corpsmen.
See also: boats, use of.
The worst usually involved sprains, strains, the occasional broken bone, dehydration, and a half-dozen allergic reactions. All were avoidable to some degree and successfully doing so was part of the exercise.
"Is Doctor Safir participating again?"
Yoni had usually gotten dragged into these things because they were short of medics, but now that they'd brought back a dozen corpsmen, Yoni's involvement beyond vetting the medical business was because the marines wanted him there and he wanted to do it.
"Yes, ma'am," Lorne replied cheerfully. "Capacity to be determined. But I'm sure they'll come up with something good."
Carson had offered a few suggestions, each more unflattering than the last.
Elizabeth grimaced. "I know I'm going to end up regretting this," she sighed, holding up her hand to forestall protests. "But go ahead, have fun, and make sure to leave the scientists alone."
Round One: Prey
Lorne! I like reading miss-porcupine's Lorne because he's a breath of normal fresh air; Sheppard's got all of these issues. (I was going to use the term "angst-bunny.")
Also, newsflash, Kavan Smith is cute.
Lorne stumbled through the stargate, nearly tripping on the step right in front. He balanced himself before the marine next to him could reach out to steady him and trudged down the rest of the stairs without further incident.
Eriksson, who once upon a time had been the junior lieutenant in Atlantis but now was the senior one in his company, was already ordering marines around, setting up a perimeter and security sweeps because running into the Wraith on three planets would be just their luck.
"Well, that sucked donkey balls," a sergeant said to no one in particular.
They'd been out for three days so far and had met four of the seven objectives, which put them slightly ahead of schedule despite losing half a day on the hazard known as "Ancient Database Doesn't Know Shit, Sir" and having to give up on that planet's objective. They'd also ran into the "Wraith" twice, losing a dozen marines in the first assault (Sheppard piloting a Wraith dart was as dangerous as Sheppard playing Wraith Queen on the ground) and then three in the second, a ground attack with Teyla as Wraith Queen and Lieutenant Salker's platoon as her nimble henchmen. There'd been a mass bout of dysentery (thankfully simulated) after drinking stream water that hadn't been purified by their iodine tablets, a march through snow that had produced two ankle sprains and one case of hypothermia, a couple of 30km rucks over uneven ground (the same times two, minus the hypothermia), and nearly losing a second objective because Booger (Lorne didn't think anyone actually called him Sergeant Beauregard anymore) was the only naturally ATA-positive marine left in Bravo Company and he had poor 'fine motor skills' when it came to Ancient technology while Lorne had the control but not the ability.
I . . . I don't even know where to begin. Sheppard piloting a dart has got to be as freaking scary as the real thing. I wonder where they rematerialized them?
Also, Teyla playing Wraith Queen--I have to wonder how she took that (probably with a really long shower and some meditation afterwards), but she'd be scary good at it.
How you simulate dysentery, I have no idea. And probably don't want to know. Ew.
As far as Booger goes . . . I'm probably getting a skewed view of how prevalent the ATA gene is in the general population given that John, Carson, and Jack O'Neill are all ATA (I keep forgetting that Lorne's induced like McKay), but you'd think they'd be able to pick more ATA marines to go to Atlantis. Although that would probably make things too easy.
Overall, Lorne thought that they were doing pretty well.
He said as much to Radner, who'd had to be carried through the gate after getting zapped by a Wraith stunner on the last planet.
"It's not as much of a goat rodeo as last time, sir," Radner agreed with a sour expression that had very little to do with his attempts to regain feeling and movement in his limbs. First Sergeant Wrubelski stayed nearby, not trusting Radner to sit up alone and not wanting to delegate the responsibility to anyone else. "But right now I'm still down fifteen marines and we've got twice that in walking wounded."
Even though I'm not putting it in, assume that I'm giggling every time someone says something like "goat rodeo."
Not much to say to that, so Lorne didn't, instead turning to go find Eriksson, who was standing with Osgeny and Kagan.
The security sweeps were reporting nothing, the lieutenants told him. Lorne pulled out his own Ancient PDA (rather than risk Booger blowing up his) to find no life signs and no unusual energy readings and he felt comfortable declaring the planet safe -- at least from Wraith or other hostile beings. Which in turn meant that they could settle in for a much-needed breather. Lorne ached in ways he usually associated with missions gone seriously off the rail -- bone-deep exhaustion, bruises, the twinge in his arm from where he'd been shot last year. The marines around him were mostly a decade younger and were all in better shape, but they were still looking worn down, too. They had lost most of a night running between planets the first time they'd escaped the Wraith, had been unable and unwilling to call a halt in the frozen tundra, and been woken up early by a deluge on the last safe haven. Everyone was short of sleep, short of temper, and more prone to mistakes that would cost dearly -- in time, in manpower, in safety. The platoon sergeants were more vigilant than usual as a result.
"Platoon sergeant." I have to admit that my knowledge and understanding of most military matters, including heirarchy, is for shit; I tend to treat mentions of it like the similar technobabble details that people put in McKay stories--I smile and nod and trust that it's right, and mentally file it under "detail!"
The wounded marines -- Radner hadn't been the only one zapped, plus the outstanding injuries from the marathon treks -- were all being tended to by corpsmen and their fellows, but nobody was in so bad a shape that an evac to Atlantis would be required.
Lorne made his way back to Radner, who had progressed to standing, wobbly as a new colt, under a corpsman's watchful eye. "How long do you want to stay?"
"Don't think we have much more than eight to spare, sir," Radner replied with a grimace and then a glare at Wrubelski, who was hovering nearby. "If we want to get on to M3V-4Q5 before dawn, we can't be more than ten hours here."
"Agreed," Lorne said with a nod. It was more or less what he'd decided on his own. Eight hours of rest for the group would be two shifts of four hours. "I'll take first shift, you'll get the tail end."
Radner looked to protest and Lorne cocked an eyebrow. They both knew that Radner needed the rest more immediately and that Lorne would make it an order if he had to.
"Aye aye, sir," he sighed and Lorne nodded. He left Radner to summon his lieutenants and conduct company business and went back to where he'd stowed his pack, digging out the rest of the MRE he'd started to eat... earlier. A couple of planets ago, at least. He sat down to pour water into the chemical heater because he didn't think he had enough coordination at this point to do it standing. What entree it was was almost academic (almost; he'd have pulled rank to escape the Country Captain chicken) and he chewed without regard for anything but the fact that it was warm and the wet sawdust texture made for more substantive chewing. Around him, marines were doing the same -- the injured had been seen to and the rest was wary exhaustion that four hours of prospective slumber would only dull and not cure.
The scenarios were intentionally made to be as difficult -- if not more so -- than a typical mission in the field, either for a platoon or an off-world team. And it was mishap after mishap with few breaks (except where they made them) and no warning. Lorne had seen every scenario, as had the captains who had dreamt them up, but that was no help -- which ones were chosen and how they were to be enacted (and by whom) was decided by others. With both Sheppard and himself in the field, the decisions had fallen to the company commander left in charge of the military in Atlantis. In this round, that meant Polito and Lorne was sure that that meant that they were in for one hell of a time for the four days left to them to complete their objective list.
If I am remembering my porcupine-canon correctly, Polito is the one with the classical Roman tastes.
After the lieutenants finished with Radner and the orders filtered down to grunt level, there was murmured discussion about who was sleeping first and who was too wounded to stand guard (no one; if there was any action to be had, everyone would be getting their asses up anyway). Lorne finished eating and took out his cup to draw some of the water that the marines were boiling. He made himself cocoa instead of coffee (save that for after he slept) and sipped it as he wandered around the camp, greeting marines and asking after injuries and laughing at crappy jokes. It was a subdued affair -- practice or not, they had still lost more than a dozen comrades (knowing that Sheppard was driving the Dart didn't make the sight of watching marines disappear before their eyes any less of a nauseating shock) and understood that things were going to get much worse before they got better.
The four hours passed uneventfully. First Sergeant Wrubelski signaled the changing of the guard and Lorne fell asleep as soon as he settled down against his pack.
"Hello, nurse!"
"She's a doctor, retard."
"It's from the Animaniacs! Didn't you ever watch that?"
"It's from Vaudeville, actually. It got appropriated by Animaniacs."
"Sir, were you serious when you asked us to warn you when you were being a dork in public?"
Lorne, walking a few meters behind the unintentional comedy routine, smiled as Kagan gave his marines the stink-eye. He couldn't see what they were talking about -- or rather who -- but he could take a wild guess from context and have it be confirmed by the murmuring about Doctor Clayton dressed like a serving wench. A few of the Bravo marines had been around since the initial expedition and Staff Sergeant Laganzo was reminding his squad that just because there was a hot chick in a dress didn't mean that she couldn't kick their asses.
Oh, snap.
Lorne caught Radner's gaze as they found each other before going to face whatever scenario Clayton represented. There had been civilians who had volunteered (or, as in the case of certain members of the Science Division, been volunteered) for participation in the exercises and Clayton was one of them. What scenario this could be was not really determined by the civilian participants -- Clayton could certainly manage to pull off a Sora routine and several of the other volunteers were former military and/or adventurous types.
"Here's hoping they just want to feed us," Radner muttered as they put on their best smiles and went to go greet the natives.
"Howdy and welcome," Clayton said with a big smile and a bigger sweep of her arm. "What brings you to Alabamastan?"
At which point I choke laughing.
There was a muffled explosion of mirth behind Lorne; he, too, needed a second to maintain his composure. He took a deep breath, wiped the tear of stifled amusement from his left eye with the back of his glove and started into Friendly Explorer Speech #2 (#1 being the one with 'bring us to your leader' and #3 containing 'no, really, we're just armed for our own protection'). After he got to the part about seeking allies against the Wraith and trading partners, Clayton gave him another cheerful smile and encouraged him to come and meet their headman.
"I don't mean to be rude, sir," she said, pausing to bite her lip nervously. "But I fear that so many armed men coming in to our village might cause a bit of a panic. We've never seen an army so large -- have you left no one behind to tend to your families and crops? -- and, well..."
Lorne looked behind him at the sea of combat-clad marines. He'd been looking at the same faces for four days and was used to the picture, but part of him still retained the ability to see things from an outsider's perspective and that was a different image altogether. More than five dozen large, dirty men with heavy weapons and heavier loads and, with the initial surprise of the actors gone, nary a smile in sight. It was at best a little menacing, Lorne could easily grant. But this was Pegasus -- and this, in particular, was Pegasus distilled down to its rawest parts -- and Lorne was not inclined to eschew safety completely for the sake of a trade agreement. (The agreement could very well be the objective for this planet; it was a scenario.)
I like that they included things like trade agreements in the scenarios; if you went out every time expecting to be attacked it wouldn't be much of a surprise, would it?
"I understand," he said in his smoothest placating voice. "Captain?"
Radner nodded and stepped away with a short bow to Clayton.
"Joker One, come forward," Lorne could hear him say over the radio. "Joker Two and Three, you are to stay out here and on radio. Be ready for anything. This could be all kissyface or it could be something else."
Movement and shuffling among the marines as Osgeny brought his platoon up and Eriksson and Kagan gathered their men.
"You'll excuse us if we bring some of our men with us," Lorne told Clayton. "They get nervous when we wander off on our own."
Because when you wander off on your own, you tend to get captured or Ascended or who-knows-what, Major.
A glint in Clayton's eye as she nodded and Lorne thought she understood that that was no convenient lie.
The walk to the village of Alabamastan (Lorne had no idea who'd named these places; they'd already had the pleasure of being chased out of Whoville) was maybe half a kilometer. Clayton filled the time with questions that both probed their defenses -- or, rather Lorne's, since he was the one answering -- while simultaneously setting up the scene for the rest of the visit.
Lorne wasn't worried about saying anything he shouldn't; evading and outright lying by both omission and commission came easily enough after all of these years. Lorne was more concerned that Radner and the lieutenants -- Osgeny with them and Eriksson and Kagan over the radio -- listened and learned, both to what he and Clayton were saying (and how they were saying it) as well as what neither of them were saying. Talking to locals while on deployments on Earth was nothing new to any of them, but while everyone on Earth could see the flag on your right shoulder and know where you were from, hiding the existence and abilities of Atlantis was both more challenging and more crucial here in Pegasus.
The first "villagers" they saw were Doctor Abelard with a pitchfork and Doctor Rosmanova leading a cow toward a pasture. They stopped and stared appropriately. Lorne gave his most harmless smile in return, taking comfort in the familiarity of being the star of the traveling circus.
So, at this point, are they on Ipetia? Or some other ally's planet? Where did they get the farmhouse and the cow?
Clayton led them to a small farmhouse and it was absolutely a testament to both their professionalism and the way they'd subsumed themselves into the scenario that they didn't lose it completely when they got there.
"Howdy strangers," Yoni said from the doorway, emphasizing the hairball sound at the beginning even though he usually tried to eliminate that part of his accent. "Welcome to our village. To what do we owe such a momentous occasion?"
Again, cracking the fuck up at headman!Yoni and his accent.
Clayton introduced them, repeating the salient parts of what Lorne had told her, and Yoni nodded thoughtfully. "We are always interested in trade and we most gratefully encourage anyone who dares to fight the Wraith. You have the look of serious intent about you and I am flattered that you seek us out to aid your cause."
"They have twice this many men waiting near the Ring," Clayton piped up. Lorne had been hoping that that wouldn't come up, but it was no big deal.
"They do?" Yoni mused. "All the more welcome are they. We shall send refreshment to them, if that is acceptable to you."
"Of course," Lorne said, knowing something was afoot and not being able to place what it was. "That is very generous."
If Lorne had been here with his own team, he'd only have had to nod in Ortilla's direction to make it clear that he wanted nobody off alone, nobody out of contact, and everyone on full alert. And Ortilla would have made it happen because this would have raised his hackles, too; his entire team would have been able to read his intent as well as he could read their moods. But this wasn't his team and Lorne could only hope that Radner and Wrubelski were on wavelengths near to his own. Because he knew that Yoni, for all of his feigned inattention and unfeigned irritation with the drudgery of diplomacy, understood his thoughts and instincts and that that understanding would be used against him the way Sheppard had used his knowledge of marine tactics to scoop so many men with the Dart.
"Sir, we should let the men know that hospitality is on its way," Wrubelski said to Radner in a low voice. When Lorne looked over, he could tell that his concerns were shared. "Don't want them thinking it's something not so nice."
Radner met Lorne's glance; he, too, sensed a trap. It wasn't that hard to grasp -- Yoni wasn't trying to be that subtle, instead banking on their past experiences to make them edgy and lead them into actions they wouldn't otherwise take.
"Do that please, First Sergeant," Lorne said, turning back to Yoni. "We've had some unpleasant surprises in the past, you see. It's better to be safe than sorry."
"Of course," Yoni said, smiling magnanimously as Wrubelski moved away.
Yoni led them around to the rear of farmhouse, where there was a wooden table and benches not unlike a picnic table from Earth and several bales of hay. Clayton tagged along, flirting outrageously with Osgeny, who was handling it with more politeness than actual grace. Much to the amusement of his marines.
I giggle at the flirting, too. Because you know she's just having the time of her life here.
"Please, sit," Yoni exhorted and Lorne, Radner, and Wrubelski did. Clayton looped her arm around Osgeny's elbow to drag him toward them, but he held his ground long enough to ensure that his gunny was settling the marines on hay bales and the one low bench behind the house.
"Sirs," Osgeny muttered as he sat down, wincing slightly when Clayton (and her much-more-on-display-than-usual cleavage) squeezed next to him.
"Buck up, Lieutenant," Radner told him with laughter in his eyes. "It's why you became a marine in the first place."
What followed was a chess match. From years of watching, Yoni knew Lorne's weak points of negotiating, knew what topics he tried to avoid, knew which rote answers he gave that couldn't stand up to logical parsing. And he exploited all of them within the bounds of his role of leader of a village ignorant of Atlantis. Or, at least, ignorant that Atlantis had been re-inhabited since Yoni and Clayton seemed to know all about the home of the Ancestors. (Most of it was accurate, even, and the rest was the sort of wacky exaggeration that could be expected after ten thousand years of story-telling -- or too many viewings of Xanadu in Little Tripoli.)
Alabamastan was modeled on one of those very devout worlds they came across with surprising frequency considering the Ancients had abandoned the galaxy to the Wraith ten thousand years ago. The Ipetians weren't with them on this round, but Valarn and his militia would have found kindred spirits in the frequent references and open reverence for the Ancestors and their works. It made Lorne relieved that Booger was still on the outskirts of town and he tried to tamp down his own sensitivity to Ancient tech. The last thing they wanted was to be stuck here with people who sought to either idolize or utilize these descendants of the Ancients who had stumbled through their stargate.
Yoni, of course, knew that, too. The team fussed about Lorne and especially Reletti in those potential situations, especially after they'd been kidnapped for that purpose by the Genii. That, too, was on the list of possible scenarios, but there were too many other plausible choices here -- including the fact that Alabamastan was harmless and simply 'unintentionally' making them nervous -- to wed themselves to a course of action even as Clayton waxed rhapsodic about her hopes that the sons of the Ancestors would come to defeat their ancient enemy and wouldn't it be wonderful if they were those men.
Fussing! Adorable! Also adorable: Yoni, in the same way that McKay-and-children is adorable, the "being pestered by lesser beings" way that is somehow cute. The thing is, everybody counts as "lesser being." And then, of course, there are the times when Yoni is genuinely being cute. Although that's not going to happen here.
In between questions both subtle and not about their knowledge of (and devotion to) the Ancestors, Yoni asked more practical questions -- what did they have to trade, what were they interested in trading for, how did they hope to defeat the Wraith, have they had any success so far -- that Lorne and Radner took turns answering. For someone who occasionally had to be elbowed to stay awake during these sessions, Yoni was pretty good at them and Lorne made a mental note to utilize that later on. He wasn't the only one exposed here.
While they talked, Athosian children ran around, a couple of the youngest settling themselves on and near Yoni's lap because that's what they always did when they saw Yoni. I stand corrected. Children + Yoni = always cute. A very serious Jinto, not quite old enough to be part of Halling's Merry Men, served them fruit and juice while a not-very-serious Marta took a page out of Clayton's playbook and flirted as she did the same for Osgeny's marines. Osgeny kept looking over his shoulder to make sure nothing untoward was happening, but Lorne (and everyone else) had heard Gunny Jenkins growling at the marines to pretend she was wearing a burqa and had a lot of brothers and so nothing came of Marta's overtures.
After a couple of hours of back-and-forth questions and evasions, they had a trade agreement pretty much worked out. It was a more complicated version of the usual 'starter' agreement -- the kind that was small-scale until both sides could prove they would be able to meet the terms, at which point it was extended and expanded. Yoni knew where Lorne's limits were and tried to bluster past them, but Lorne really had been doing this for longer than anyone else at the table combined and came away giving up no more than he was comfortable giving.
"Very well," Yoni said, slapping one hand on the table, the other occupied holding the sleeping girl in his lap upright. "Your tenacity speaks well of your people, Major. Let us now give thanks to the Ancestors for allowing this propitious meeting between our two worlds."
Lorne did not glare at Yoni, who hated these ceremonies with a passion.
Marta, perhaps finally convinced that her wiles would get her no attention from the marines, brought over a pitcher of what turned out ro be local wine. Lorne, as he always did, politely requested water to dilute the wine, explaining with much apology that it was against their custom and creed for soldiers to partake otherwise. (It was against regs to partake at all, but practically speaking it was more important not to offend the host.)
So, we already know that Yoni's exploiting weaknesses that he knows about ahead of time; we know that Lorne always cuts his wine on diplomatic missions; we know that Polito has a classical education.
"Of course," Yoni replied, snapping his fingers and gesturing. Jinto appeared with a fresh pitcher as Marta was carefully pouring blood-colored wine into elegant metal goblets. "I hope that you return here when you are not 'on duty' so that you may enjoy our wine in its fullness. We have had exceptional results the past few years and they only improve with age."
When the goblets were filled with water, Marta poured the rest of the wine into the water pitcher and brought it over to the marines, perhaps to try again or maybe just to annoy Jinto, who'd been waiting to do just that. After everyone was served, Yoni made a surprisingly eloquent and entirely too-long spiel to the Ancestors (Lorne's team had a whole points system for references made during these sorts of speeches and Yoni seemed determined to break all scoring records) and then they drank. The mixture was far less sweet than Lorne would have expected -- Pegasus was too often a White Zin and Muscatel kind of place -- but Yoni hated sweet drinks and had probably insisted on something else.
At this point something in the back of my brain was going, "Wait . . . ."
They finished their goblets over more benign conversation -- now that the measuring-up was done, both sides could relax a little -- and Lorne was starting to wonder when the chit that signified a met objective would be presented. It was turning out to be a pretty warm day after a pleasantly cool morning and if this was their softball challenge, he would be happy to take it and move on. Perhaps sensing his eagerness, Yoni started with the informal rituals of departure and they rose from the table.
Radner stumbled a bit as they started to walk around to the front of the farmhouse, but whether it was from the wine hitting him (Lorne could feel a very slight buzz, but nothing he'd call tipsy) or some residual effect of the stunner blast he'd taken (clumsiness lingered far after the worst effects of the shot dissipated), it was hard to tell. Lorne gave Wrubelski a questioning look, but the first sergeant shrugged back and he didn't think anything of it until he heard a whispered "sir!" behind him and turned. Osgeny was standing still and unsteady, his eyes closed and skin pale.
"You eat something you shouldn't have, lieutenant?" Lorne asked, concerned as Wrubelski called over for First Platoon's corpsman. The line between playing out the scenario and breaking character to tend to Osgeny was fine, but not as fine as it had to be with both Yoni and Clayton right there. Neither of them were looking professionally concerned, however, and Lorne would have happily let Doc (all corpsmen were Doc, which tended to offend the Ph.D-bearing scientists more than the folks in Medical) tend to the now-sitting Osgeny except... except that neither Yoni nor Clayton were looking any kind of concerned. They were looking expectant. And Lorne was starting to feel something that he knew wasn't worry.
In AD 55, Britannicus, the (probably) rightful heir to the Emperor Claudius (who had died under mysterious circumstances a year before), died after being poisoned, which is something you have to look out for when your adopted brother is Nero (possibly the most bugfuck insane of all of the Julio-Claudians, including the one who wanted to make his horse a Consul). Britannicus had employed a food taster, but it didn't help--the poison wasn't in the wine but in the water used to cool it.
. . . yes, I had to look most of that up.
"Oh, fuck," he muttered. Not this again. As the first wave of nausea hit -- strong enough to have him biting his tongue to keep from vomiting -- he reached for his radio to warn Eriksson and Kagan. But all he got was static. Osgeny's marines were around them now, rifles drawn and blinking against the dizziness.
Lorne looked at Yoni, who gave him a smile that was perfectly wolfish. "We know who you are, Lanteans."
And that was the last thing he saw before he passed out.