Fic: Forward Progress
Title: Forward Progress
Author: blade_girl
Rating: PG, Gen
Characters: Rodney and others
Spoilers: From The Siege through Progeny
Word count: 4,382
Summary: That is an unusual occurrence. He may be scowled at, smirked upon, laughed at, or even yelled at, but he is never just ignored.
She is not Weir.
She’s dressed like Elizabeth, right down to that red top she looks so good in (not that he’s noticed or anything), and the hair is styled the same, but this woman’s hair is a soft, light brown, and her eyes are serene. He has seen Elizabeth’s eyes amused, excited, cold, even despairing, but never serene. She has too many fears, too many burdens.
She greets him as he walks though the stargate, coming from he doesn’t remember where. “We’ve been expecting you,” she says, and it’s clear she’s meant to represent Weir, just as this place is meant to represent Atlantis. But the people milling around the gate room and occupying work stations up in the control room have faces he’s never seen, and though they are focused on tasks, they don’t speak to one another as they perform them. And no one, other than Not-Weir, even looks at him or acknowledges his arrival. That is an unusual occurrence. He is always seen and heard, by anyone remotely nearby. He may be scowled at, smirked upon, laughed at, or even yelled at, but he is never just ignored.
“Why am I here?” He wonders how he made the decision to ask that question rather than Where am I? or Who are you? or the classic What are you going to do with me?
“Because you have a choice to make, Rodney.” Her face is kind, but there’s a sadness behind the ghost of a smile she wears. Somehow, he knows that the sadness has nothing to do with him, and so he ignores it completely.
He runs her words through his head again - choice? What sort of choice? - and again looks around at Not-Atlantis and the Not-Atlanteans who populate it. It all seems vaguely familiar, right down to the sad-but-serene expression on Not-Weir’s face. And that’s when the clue bus comes to a screeching halt mere centimeters from his brain. Though there is no direct connection, somehow his able mind has seen a parallel between this situation and one that he’s read described in an old SG-1 mission report. He never forgets anything he reads.
“I know you,” he says, speaking rapidly and snapping his fingers. “You’re her. You’re that Ascension liaison-type, the one who helped Daniel Jackson.”
She smiles with a faintness that makes her look tired - or no, it’s more like world-weary, which doesn’t make sense. She’s Ascended; what’s left to worry about? Certainly not the trials and tribulations of that pesky corporeal existence she’s
left behind. He snaps fingers again, in triumph as he remembers the name. “Oma Desala.” His sense of accomplishment is short-lived. “Oh, my God, I must be dead!”
The faint smile grows minutely. He doesn’t see what’s so amusing. “Seriously, I’m dead? I’m really not coming back? What about Atlantis? They need me! What about my team? Are they all dead? How did-”
“Such concerns are behind you now,” Not-Weir tells him gently. “You must let go in order to deal with the choice now before you.” She turns and begins walking out of the gate room and up the wide stairs. Rodney follows, frantically trying to process the fact of his own death and what that means - to him, to Atlantis, to the universe.
“Yes, about that choice. I assume that we have ‘Ascension’ on one side. What’s Option B?”
“Death.”
“Right, got that, but are you saying that...” He realizes that he has no idea what the question is that he desperately needs to ask. “Look, don’t get me wrong, I’m really, really flattered and all, but what I really want, all I really want, is to go back to my life. My human life, as a corporeal being, with real arms and legs and no ability to produce light without flipping a switch.”
The smile is gone now, and Not-Weir’s voice sharpens. “I’ve already told you the choice available to you. Going back to your human existence is not an option.”
And now he feels icy tendrils of panic gripping his heart - although technically, he supposes he has no heart, because his body is apparently dead and this isn’t real in a physical sense and he’s just present as, he doesn’t know what, really... disembodied intellect, maybe? Never mind, that doesn’t matter; the point is, he has just been told that his life is over, his actual life! And excuse him if he’s just not quite ready to let go of that life yet, if he’s somewhat bothered by the prospect of not having a chance to complete his work. Not that his work would ever really be complete, mind you, but there are dozens, literally dozens, of projects that he was personally handling that were vital to the safety and security and future of Atlantis, and literally hundreds of others he was overseeing with varying degrees of involvement. And of course he’s left gigabytes of detailed notes, and of course things are documented scrupulously for just this particular eventuality, but damn it! It’s not just the work he’s already done that’s important, but the work he was going to do!
There’s also the matter of his Nobel, which had undoubtedly been in his future. The future he would have had, that is, if he weren’t now dead.
Speaking of which... “Hey, what happened? How’d I die?”
“It’s not important.”
“Um, yeah, well, beg to differ with you there. To me, it’s a source of some moderate interest.”
Not-Weir shook her head slowly, like a kung fu master lamenting the obtuseness of a formerly promising student. “You are clinging to that which is already lost to you. I’m offering you a path to enlightenment and knowledge greater than anything you’ve ever dreamed about.”
It is his impulse to scoff, because the last thing he cares about is “enlightenment,” if that is meant in any kind of spiritual sense. He doesn’t go in for that sort of nonsense. His interests lie in the realm of the intellect, of ideas; the scientific, the provable.
But his life has been one long, steady pursuit of knowledge, which is why he doesn’t scoff. She is offering him a chance to see existence through the eyes of the Ancients, to understand the universe as they did. To know what they knew (know?). She is offering him an opportunity to commune with the builders of the stargate network, the architects of Atlantis. He is the smartest man in two galaxies, and he is painfully aware that his knowledge only scrapes the surface of all there is to know.
As a human, he is dazzlingly brilliant. The thought of that brilliance enhanced by Ascension is truly mind-blowing.
And yet...
“Why?”
Not-Weir looks puzzled and he waves a hand impatiently, because she’s Ascended - she really should be able to keep up. “Why do I rate this fabulous limited-time offer? I’m assuming it’s not tendered to all departing geniuses, and I know for a fact that it’s usually restricted to people who’ve been doing their penances and chants and all that ridiculous spiritual claptrap, which clearly I haven’t been or I’d be calling it something other than ‘that ridiculous spiritual claptrap.’ So, not that I’m saying I think I’m unworthy, but again - why me?”
“Because even the great Rodney McKay has a thing or two more to learn.”
The clear voice with the familiar, clipped accent comes from behind him like an unbidden memory, twisting him a hundred and eighty degrees. The sight of him takes Rodney’s breath away, which of course is silly, since he’s not really breathing anyway. “Peter.”
Peter Grodin smiles widely, reminding Rodney of how perfect the man’s teeth were. Are. Dear God, had he looked this good in life, this perfect? How were the women on the expedition not all over this guy when he was alive? Or maybe they had been; Rodney wouldn’t necessarily have noticed.
“Hello, Rodney. It’s been a while.”
Apparently Ascension doesn’t cure one of a tendency to state the obvious. “You look good,” Rodney says, uncomfortable, because what the hell do you say to a dead guy? “For, you know, someone who was blown up.” It is not what he would have chosen to say had he thought about it first. Then again, he would never say the things that he knows he should say if he thinks about it.
Grodin just smiles and shakes his head a little. “It’s good to see you.”
“Uh, yes. Yes, you too. Really good.” But it isn’t, not really, and yet it is. It is a relief to see Peter, and it is jarring and painful. It is a jarring, painful relief, and God knows how the hell anyone is supposed to process that. “So, you... you’re Ascended now?”
Peter nods. “Oma came to me right after the explosion. I was lucky enough to get the same choice she’s offering you.”
Despite the circumstances and his disconcert at seeing Peter, Rodney’s curiosity is overwhelming. “What was it like?”
“The explosion? Not as bad as you’d think, really. There was a massive vibration as the Wraith fired upon the satellite, and then small fires and explosions on the interior, but then-”
“GOD no, not that!” Rodney shouts hoarsely, throwing his arms around his head as though to protect it from flying debris. “I meant Ascension! I was asking what it’s like to Ascend!” He feels physically ill, which is stupid and irritating, because, hello - he is disembodied. But he cannot possibly be expected to deal with imagining Peter’s final moments, to hear a description in the man’s own voice of what he saw, heard, and felt as the Wraith energy beams ripped through the satellite and destroyed it and the single life within.
Peter is staring at him with wide, dark eyes in which one can now see infinity. “I’m sorry.”
The words stab him like a sword still hot from forging. “God, just stop it, will you?” he demands harshly, turning away. He’s replayed his mental recording of Peter’s last words so often in the last year and a half that one would think they’d have lost any ability to affect him. But he guesses this demonstrates the real difference between live and Memorex.
Just as he feels a hand beginning to rest on his shoulder, he spins around, shaking it off in the process. “Why the hell did you apologize, Peter?” At Peter’s puzzled frown, Rodney makes an exasperated noise and does the hand-waving thing that helps him at least feel like he’s accomplishing better communication. “When you were stuck - on the satellite - and, and you knew it was about to be destroyed and you told me there was no time to come and get you, you said...” He cleared the throat that wasn’t really there, because the virtual voice he was using was about to crack. “The last thing you said before the, the explosion was, ‘I’m sorry.’”
And it’s a funny thing, because from the look on Peter’s face now, Rodney guesses that he has completely forgotten his own last words until reminded of them just now. A surge of indignation gushes through Rodney’s non-body. How can Peter have forgotten that which has haunted so many of Rodney’s dreams and rare quiet moments for over a year?
“I... I suppose I was apologizing because I knew the satellite wasn’t going to save Atlantis from the hive ships.”
“Which wasn’t your fault, so why apologize?”
“I couldn’t find a way to keep it working.”
“Again, not your fault. Seeing a pattern here?”
“Maybe I was apologizing for getting myself trapped with no way to leave. I didn’t think through the power rerouting fully, or I would have realized-”
“No! Three for three, Peter. That wasn’t your fault, either! You know why? Because it wasn’t you who repaired the circuitry, was it?”
“Rodney,” Peter says quietly, even kindly, the smug bastard, “it wasn’t your fault, either.”
“Well, of course it wasn’t!” God, why was he still so obtuse? Wasn’t Ascension supposed to make you smarter? “It was just something that happened. We were under a lot of pressure. There were three hive ships bear down on us. I was focused on making sure power got to the weapon. How could I have realized that I was inadvertently disabling the rear hatch?”
“You couldn’t.”
“Exactly. And in hindsight, maybe there was enough time for me to go back outside and tweak the circuits so that we could dock with the satellite and get you out-”
“There wasn’t enough time.”
“- but we couldn’t know for sure either way at the time, could we? So it was the right call, totally the right call. I mean, we certainly didn’t count on the rerouted circuit overloading and leaving the satellite a sitting duck for the remaining two hive ships.”
“None of which has any bearing on why you are here now,” Not-Weir interjected. Rodney had forgotten she was still there.
“That’s a question you still haven’t answered for me, actually,” Rodney told her. “Why I’m here, I mean.”
Not-Weir sighs. Peter folds his arms and asks with an amused smirk, “Do people generally argue this much when you offer them the opportunity to ascend to a higher plane of existence?”
“No,” she says, looking very pointedly at Rodney.
He raises a hand. “Excuse me? I think you’re forgetting about Daniel Jackson. From what I understand, he didn’t just fall at your feet and say, ‘Thank you, ma’am. May I have another?’”
“His was a... special case.”
Rodney knows it’s petty but feels slighted. Not that he’s actually questioning whether or not Jackson is “special,” because clearly the guy who managed to open the stargate for all of Earth has something going for him, but still. “I just want to know why you want me. That’s all. I don’t see why that’s such an unreasonable request.”
“I don’t understand,” Peter says. At Rodney’s eye-roll, he elaborates. “I’m sorry,” (God, will he stop that!), “I just don’t see why you of all people would be questioning this. I expected you to assume that a mind as great as yours would be preserved as a matter of course. That you’d consider Ascension to be your just due, really.”
Rodney feels his mouth (the one that doesn’t actually exist? Yeah, that’s the one) working to form the snarky answer to the question that wasn’t quite asked. Of course his mind should be preserved. Of course an intellect like his shouldn’t go to waste in the oblivion of death. What he might accomplish given the expansion of perspective and the quite possibly limitless resources afforded by Ascension is far beyond even his ability to forecast. To put it bluntly (and when doesn’t he put things that way), if any mind is worthy of preservation, his is the one.
And yet...
“Look, I’m sorry to be a killjoy about this. It’s just that a) I always thought that Ascension had something to do with spiritual cleansing or some such crap, and b) I’m not ready for my corporeal existence to be over with.”
“Face it, Rodney,” says a new voice from behind him, “you’re just worried that we’ll show you up when the playing field is level.”
He doesn’t want to turn around, because as bad as things already are, they are worse with that voice, and can’t possibly improve with the turning around.
“Oh, God, this is...” He can’t finish the whispered statement. Not-Weir and Ascended-Grodin are staring at him, so he decides that turning around can’t really make things worse. “Gaul, what the hell are you doing here?”
Brendan Gaul also looks great, but that’s not so much of a shock to Rodney, even though the last time Rodney saw the man, he’d been drained of about thirty years of his life. Gaul now looks a lot more like the young man Rodney had hired for the expedition, and less like an extra from Cocoon. It’s just the fact of his appearance, rather than its quality, that shocks him. “And the last thing I’d ever be worried about is being shown up. The only way the playing field could be made level is by giving me a partial lobotomy.”
Brendan is perched jauntily on the edge of a console, his arms folded casually in front of him, an irreverent, boyish smirk upon his face. “I think you’re underestimating the equalizing aspect of Ascension.”
“Really? Are you speaking from your vast experience of, what is it, now? A year and a half of being Ascended?”
“You’re just jealous ‘cause I made it here first.”
“Yes, yes, yes, naturally, I’m extraordinarily envious that you d...” He is about to say died a horrible death before I could do so when he remembers that Gaul didn’t actually die from the Wraith feeding. It feels like a blow to the stomach (yes, yes, not a real stomach, shut up), and he takes a step backward. It’s not a stagger, it’s not, but Brendan’s smirk changes to an expression of mild concern. It’s an unwelcome expression, and Rodney says bitingly, “So, I have to say it’s pretty lame that the only way you could manage to top me was to run whining to a higher plane of existence.”
Gaul raises his hands in a “what gives?” gesture. “You know, I’m starting to regret showing up to support you in this difficult time of adjustment.”
“Rodney,” says Peter, “why are you making this so difficult?”
“Let’s for God’s sake be clear here!” Rodney shouts, whirling and waving non-existent arms with kinetic intensity. “This isn’t a game of Risk you’re asking me to join. You’re not inviting me to vacation with you. This is a serious decision, a permanent decision, and once it’s done there’s no going back!” He pauses
and adds, rather weakly, “Well, except if I were to do something to get sent back, I guess, like Dr. Jackson. Anyway, that’s not the... The point is...”
He puts a hand to the forehead that isn’t really there for a moment, then glares at Not-Weir. “Why won’t you tell me how I died?”
“Why is that important?”
He makes an exasperated noise and throws his hands into the air. “Why wouldn’t it be important? Right, it was only the END of MY LIFE. What possible interest could it have for me? I just want to know, all right? Just tell me what the hell happened!”
“Are you saying that you can’t make the choice without knowing how you died?” asks Gaul. “Because that’s pretty illogical, Rodney.”
“I won’t be lectured by you about what’s logical! You couldn’t even... you didn’t ... just shut up, okay?” He turns back to Not-Weir. “You’re keeping something from me. You don’t want me to know how I died. What is it? Just tell me!”
She gazes at him intently for a long moment. “I’ve made a mistake. You cannot be ready for Ascension and still so burdened by corporeal concerns. I think I will have to make your choice for you.”
“Wait! No fair! You can’t make that offer and then un-offer it like that!” Rodney breathes heavily, frantic at the thought of losing the greatest opportunity of his entire existence. He needs to take the deal, needs to accept the offer, needs to just say yes, damn it! Whatever the hell happened to end his life, the most important thing to do now is to make sure that his vast cognitive abilities are not washed away by the uncaring tide of death. He needs to ensure that he continues, that he can keep learning and knowing. How he came to his death doesn’t really matter in the scheme of things.
And yet...
“I know what your problem is.” It’s a new voice, and while it’s familiar, Rodney doesn’t immediately recognize it. He doesn’t even want to know, but it’s not like he can pretend he doesn’t hear, so he turns toward the voice, which is coming from the stairs leading from the control room to the rest of the city. The owner of the voice is just stepping onto the floor from descending the staircase to the control room. He is still in uniform, just like the two dead scientists, and as he approaches, he smiles at Rodney. “You’re afraid, aren’t you, Rodney? Afraid that once you Ascend, you’ll find out that many of your conclusions were wrong.”
Rodney’s voice sounds hollow and breathless beneath its tepid scorn. “And just what would you know about that, Griffin?” It occurs to him as he says this that if Griffin is Ascended, he probably knows, well, everything about it, but he tries not to let this realization show, because that’s just wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Griffin just shrugs, smiling mildly. “Hey, it happens. History is full of examples of scientific conclusions that were later proved wrong.”
“I’m not particularly worried about my place in history,” Rodney says, knowing that isn’t particularly true. It occurs to him that these four, being all-knowing, are aware that he’s being dishonest, and that they know that he knows that they know. Therefore, there’s no real reason for them to call him on the lie. It’s a perversely liberating situation, actually.
“Yeah?” Griffin is saying. “Then what are you waitin’ for? Sign up with us and you can debunk the work of your peers. It’s like being Spanish on steroids, Ascension is.”
It hurts to look at Griffin, with his open face and casual demeanor, as though their last conversation together had been about weather or the lunch menu. Rodney wants to move away as the man comes closer, but he can’t seem to lift his disembodied feet, much as he just stood there when Griffin left the back compartment to close the door from the cockpit console.
He finds motion in the need to turn away, spinning on Not-Weir, barking at her. “Tell me how I died, damn it! What was I doing? Was I alone? Did I... Did I choose to...” He can’t finish the question.
Peter steps forward, speaking gently. “Rodney, it doesn’t matter. The choice is yours.”
Rodney steps back, avoiding contact, avoiding comfort. He starts when Brendan’s hand touches his arm, twisting away with something like a tiny whimper. (It’s not a whimper, of course, but the sound could almost be mistaken for one.) In his peripheral vision, he catches sight of Griffin coming closer, and suddenly, the claustrophobia kicks in - which is truly a source of curiosity, given his ethereal condition - and Rodney raises both hands in a “don’t touch, don’t touch” gesture, backing out of their midst. He doesn’t like being surrounded by them, can’t handle them being everywhere he looks. “I can’t... I don’t... just... stay back, okay?”
Suddenly, an alarm is sounding. He jumps at it, recognizes it as the self-destruct signal. He frowns and looks to Not-Weir for an explanation. She smiles sadly.
“It was necessary to bring you to the moment of decision.”
“You’re... you’re gonna destroy Atlantis if I don’t make a choice?”
“Of course not. This isn’t real. It’s all just a metaphor.” She waves a hand in a gesture that indicates their surroundings. “This symbolizes your corporeal existence. Destruction of this illusionary environment represents your progression to a new plane, a different kind of existence. You can let it happen, indicating your readiness to leave behind your human concerns...” She waves toward an open laptop on a console nearby, displaying a countdown, “Or you can key in your code to preserve the city, symbolizing your unwillingness to let go. In that case, you will give yourself, irrevocably, to death.”
Part of him feels like laughing, albeit hysterically, at the predicament. There’s no logical reason anyone should be able to think of for him to choose death over Ascension. He is eligible, he is wanted... he is worthy, damn it.
He just wishes he knew how he’d died.
He is tapping at the keyboard before he even realizes he’s stepped to the laptop. He hears Grodin saying his name, and Gaul yelling something about stupidity, and Griffin saying “good luck,” which is just creepy and would undoubtedly cause him more nightmares if he wasn’t on his way to his ultimate demise. He finishes typing and meets Not-Weir’s eyes. He sees in them his own disappointment, which is really not what he’d have chosen for his final sight, and closes his eyes to accept the end.
He is on the floor, on his butt, his hands behind him, holding him up. There is unimaginable pain, everywhere, really, but concentrated in his head, his forehead. The noise is deafening and he wants it to stop, and it does when the pain stops, which is when he realizes that the noise is, in part, his own screaming.
He looks up into the face of an Asuran and realizes that her hand was just inside his head. Her HAND. Inside his SKULL. He fights the urge to vomit, not only because of the hurl-worthiness of that realization, but from a kind of intellectual motion-sickness. He has just swung from one scenario to a completely different one, and it’s almost too much to process, but slowly (for him; quickly for the average human) he understands what’s happened. These people are Replicators - he’s read about this intrusive procedure in SG-1 mission files - and he has just been well and truly mind-fucked.
They wanted his abort code for Atlantis’ self-destruct sequence, and now they have it. And along the way, they... He shakes his head. Never mind. Not important.
And now Sheppard’s screaming is done; he’s apparently the last of them, and the Asurans leave and they’re all left to deal with the aftermath of what they’ve been through. He’s asked what hallucinatory scenario they used on him, and he blithely tosses out the words “torture,” “hideous,” and “intimate.” They’ll form their own conclusions, try to get him to talk about it, but they’ll assume it was sexual and not try too hard. In any case, they all need to focus on escape.
If they manage to get out of this, the least of his worries will be that stupid Ascension farce and the choice that he made, and why.
And yet...
Author: blade_girl
Rating: PG, Gen
Characters: Rodney and others
Spoilers: From The Siege through Progeny
Word count: 4,382
Summary: That is an unusual occurrence. He may be scowled at, smirked upon, laughed at, or even yelled at, but he is never just ignored.
She is not Weir.
She’s dressed like Elizabeth, right down to that red top she looks so good in (not that he’s noticed or anything), and the hair is styled the same, but this woman’s hair is a soft, light brown, and her eyes are serene. He has seen Elizabeth’s eyes amused, excited, cold, even despairing, but never serene. She has too many fears, too many burdens.
She greets him as he walks though the stargate, coming from he doesn’t remember where. “We’ve been expecting you,” she says, and it’s clear she’s meant to represent Weir, just as this place is meant to represent Atlantis. But the people milling around the gate room and occupying work stations up in the control room have faces he’s never seen, and though they are focused on tasks, they don’t speak to one another as they perform them. And no one, other than Not-Weir, even looks at him or acknowledges his arrival. That is an unusual occurrence. He is always seen and heard, by anyone remotely nearby. He may be scowled at, smirked upon, laughed at, or even yelled at, but he is never just ignored.
“Why am I here?” He wonders how he made the decision to ask that question rather than Where am I? or Who are you? or the classic What are you going to do with me?
“Because you have a choice to make, Rodney.” Her face is kind, but there’s a sadness behind the ghost of a smile she wears. Somehow, he knows that the sadness has nothing to do with him, and so he ignores it completely.
He runs her words through his head again - choice? What sort of choice? - and again looks around at Not-Atlantis and the Not-Atlanteans who populate it. It all seems vaguely familiar, right down to the sad-but-serene expression on Not-Weir’s face. And that’s when the clue bus comes to a screeching halt mere centimeters from his brain. Though there is no direct connection, somehow his able mind has seen a parallel between this situation and one that he’s read described in an old SG-1 mission report. He never forgets anything he reads.
“I know you,” he says, speaking rapidly and snapping his fingers. “You’re her. You’re that Ascension liaison-type, the one who helped Daniel Jackson.”
She smiles with a faintness that makes her look tired - or no, it’s more like world-weary, which doesn’t make sense. She’s Ascended; what’s left to worry about? Certainly not the trials and tribulations of that pesky corporeal existence she’s
left behind. He snaps fingers again, in triumph as he remembers the name. “Oma Desala.” His sense of accomplishment is short-lived. “Oh, my God, I must be dead!”
The faint smile grows minutely. He doesn’t see what’s so amusing. “Seriously, I’m dead? I’m really not coming back? What about Atlantis? They need me! What about my team? Are they all dead? How did-”
“Such concerns are behind you now,” Not-Weir tells him gently. “You must let go in order to deal with the choice now before you.” She turns and begins walking out of the gate room and up the wide stairs. Rodney follows, frantically trying to process the fact of his own death and what that means - to him, to Atlantis, to the universe.
“Yes, about that choice. I assume that we have ‘Ascension’ on one side. What’s Option B?”
“Death.”
“Right, got that, but are you saying that...” He realizes that he has no idea what the question is that he desperately needs to ask. “Look, don’t get me wrong, I’m really, really flattered and all, but what I really want, all I really want, is to go back to my life. My human life, as a corporeal being, with real arms and legs and no ability to produce light without flipping a switch.”
The smile is gone now, and Not-Weir’s voice sharpens. “I’ve already told you the choice available to you. Going back to your human existence is not an option.”
And now he feels icy tendrils of panic gripping his heart - although technically, he supposes he has no heart, because his body is apparently dead and this isn’t real in a physical sense and he’s just present as, he doesn’t know what, really... disembodied intellect, maybe? Never mind, that doesn’t matter; the point is, he has just been told that his life is over, his actual life! And excuse him if he’s just not quite ready to let go of that life yet, if he’s somewhat bothered by the prospect of not having a chance to complete his work. Not that his work would ever really be complete, mind you, but there are dozens, literally dozens, of projects that he was personally handling that were vital to the safety and security and future of Atlantis, and literally hundreds of others he was overseeing with varying degrees of involvement. And of course he’s left gigabytes of detailed notes, and of course things are documented scrupulously for just this particular eventuality, but damn it! It’s not just the work he’s already done that’s important, but the work he was going to do!
There’s also the matter of his Nobel, which had undoubtedly been in his future. The future he would have had, that is, if he weren’t now dead.
Speaking of which... “Hey, what happened? How’d I die?”
“It’s not important.”
“Um, yeah, well, beg to differ with you there. To me, it’s a source of some moderate interest.”
Not-Weir shook her head slowly, like a kung fu master lamenting the obtuseness of a formerly promising student. “You are clinging to that which is already lost to you. I’m offering you a path to enlightenment and knowledge greater than anything you’ve ever dreamed about.”
It is his impulse to scoff, because the last thing he cares about is “enlightenment,” if that is meant in any kind of spiritual sense. He doesn’t go in for that sort of nonsense. His interests lie in the realm of the intellect, of ideas; the scientific, the provable.
But his life has been one long, steady pursuit of knowledge, which is why he doesn’t scoff. She is offering him a chance to see existence through the eyes of the Ancients, to understand the universe as they did. To know what they knew (know?). She is offering him an opportunity to commune with the builders of the stargate network, the architects of Atlantis. He is the smartest man in two galaxies, and he is painfully aware that his knowledge only scrapes the surface of all there is to know.
As a human, he is dazzlingly brilliant. The thought of that brilliance enhanced by Ascension is truly mind-blowing.
And yet...
“Why?”
Not-Weir looks puzzled and he waves a hand impatiently, because she’s Ascended - she really should be able to keep up. “Why do I rate this fabulous limited-time offer? I’m assuming it’s not tendered to all departing geniuses, and I know for a fact that it’s usually restricted to people who’ve been doing their penances and chants and all that ridiculous spiritual claptrap, which clearly I haven’t been or I’d be calling it something other than ‘that ridiculous spiritual claptrap.’ So, not that I’m saying I think I’m unworthy, but again - why me?”
“Because even the great Rodney McKay has a thing or two more to learn.”
The clear voice with the familiar, clipped accent comes from behind him like an unbidden memory, twisting him a hundred and eighty degrees. The sight of him takes Rodney’s breath away, which of course is silly, since he’s not really breathing anyway. “Peter.”
Peter Grodin smiles widely, reminding Rodney of how perfect the man’s teeth were. Are. Dear God, had he looked this good in life, this perfect? How were the women on the expedition not all over this guy when he was alive? Or maybe they had been; Rodney wouldn’t necessarily have noticed.
“Hello, Rodney. It’s been a while.”
Apparently Ascension doesn’t cure one of a tendency to state the obvious. “You look good,” Rodney says, uncomfortable, because what the hell do you say to a dead guy? “For, you know, someone who was blown up.” It is not what he would have chosen to say had he thought about it first. Then again, he would never say the things that he knows he should say if he thinks about it.
Grodin just smiles and shakes his head a little. “It’s good to see you.”
“Uh, yes. Yes, you too. Really good.” But it isn’t, not really, and yet it is. It is a relief to see Peter, and it is jarring and painful. It is a jarring, painful relief, and God knows how the hell anyone is supposed to process that. “So, you... you’re Ascended now?”
Peter nods. “Oma came to me right after the explosion. I was lucky enough to get the same choice she’s offering you.”
Despite the circumstances and his disconcert at seeing Peter, Rodney’s curiosity is overwhelming. “What was it like?”
“The explosion? Not as bad as you’d think, really. There was a massive vibration as the Wraith fired upon the satellite, and then small fires and explosions on the interior, but then-”
“GOD no, not that!” Rodney shouts hoarsely, throwing his arms around his head as though to protect it from flying debris. “I meant Ascension! I was asking what it’s like to Ascend!” He feels physically ill, which is stupid and irritating, because, hello - he is disembodied. But he cannot possibly be expected to deal with imagining Peter’s final moments, to hear a description in the man’s own voice of what he saw, heard, and felt as the Wraith energy beams ripped through the satellite and destroyed it and the single life within.
Peter is staring at him with wide, dark eyes in which one can now see infinity. “I’m sorry.”
The words stab him like a sword still hot from forging. “God, just stop it, will you?” he demands harshly, turning away. He’s replayed his mental recording of Peter’s last words so often in the last year and a half that one would think they’d have lost any ability to affect him. But he guesses this demonstrates the real difference between live and Memorex.
Just as he feels a hand beginning to rest on his shoulder, he spins around, shaking it off in the process. “Why the hell did you apologize, Peter?” At Peter’s puzzled frown, Rodney makes an exasperated noise and does the hand-waving thing that helps him at least feel like he’s accomplishing better communication. “When you were stuck - on the satellite - and, and you knew it was about to be destroyed and you told me there was no time to come and get you, you said...” He cleared the throat that wasn’t really there, because the virtual voice he was using was about to crack. “The last thing you said before the, the explosion was, ‘I’m sorry.’”
And it’s a funny thing, because from the look on Peter’s face now, Rodney guesses that he has completely forgotten his own last words until reminded of them just now. A surge of indignation gushes through Rodney’s non-body. How can Peter have forgotten that which has haunted so many of Rodney’s dreams and rare quiet moments for over a year?
“I... I suppose I was apologizing because I knew the satellite wasn’t going to save Atlantis from the hive ships.”
“Which wasn’t your fault, so why apologize?”
“I couldn’t find a way to keep it working.”
“Again, not your fault. Seeing a pattern here?”
“Maybe I was apologizing for getting myself trapped with no way to leave. I didn’t think through the power rerouting fully, or I would have realized-”
“No! Three for three, Peter. That wasn’t your fault, either! You know why? Because it wasn’t you who repaired the circuitry, was it?”
“Rodney,” Peter says quietly, even kindly, the smug bastard, “it wasn’t your fault, either.”
“Well, of course it wasn’t!” God, why was he still so obtuse? Wasn’t Ascension supposed to make you smarter? “It was just something that happened. We were under a lot of pressure. There were three hive ships bear down on us. I was focused on making sure power got to the weapon. How could I have realized that I was inadvertently disabling the rear hatch?”
“You couldn’t.”
“Exactly. And in hindsight, maybe there was enough time for me to go back outside and tweak the circuits so that we could dock with the satellite and get you out-”
“There wasn’t enough time.”
“- but we couldn’t know for sure either way at the time, could we? So it was the right call, totally the right call. I mean, we certainly didn’t count on the rerouted circuit overloading and leaving the satellite a sitting duck for the remaining two hive ships.”
“None of which has any bearing on why you are here now,” Not-Weir interjected. Rodney had forgotten she was still there.
“That’s a question you still haven’t answered for me, actually,” Rodney told her. “Why I’m here, I mean.”
Not-Weir sighs. Peter folds his arms and asks with an amused smirk, “Do people generally argue this much when you offer them the opportunity to ascend to a higher plane of existence?”
“No,” she says, looking very pointedly at Rodney.
He raises a hand. “Excuse me? I think you’re forgetting about Daniel Jackson. From what I understand, he didn’t just fall at your feet and say, ‘Thank you, ma’am. May I have another?’”
“His was a... special case.”
Rodney knows it’s petty but feels slighted. Not that he’s actually questioning whether or not Jackson is “special,” because clearly the guy who managed to open the stargate for all of Earth has something going for him, but still. “I just want to know why you want me. That’s all. I don’t see why that’s such an unreasonable request.”
“I don’t understand,” Peter says. At Rodney’s eye-roll, he elaborates. “I’m sorry,” (God, will he stop that!), “I just don’t see why you of all people would be questioning this. I expected you to assume that a mind as great as yours would be preserved as a matter of course. That you’d consider Ascension to be your just due, really.”
Rodney feels his mouth (the one that doesn’t actually exist? Yeah, that’s the one) working to form the snarky answer to the question that wasn’t quite asked. Of course his mind should be preserved. Of course an intellect like his shouldn’t go to waste in the oblivion of death. What he might accomplish given the expansion of perspective and the quite possibly limitless resources afforded by Ascension is far beyond even his ability to forecast. To put it bluntly (and when doesn’t he put things that way), if any mind is worthy of preservation, his is the one.
And yet...
“Look, I’m sorry to be a killjoy about this. It’s just that a) I always thought that Ascension had something to do with spiritual cleansing or some such crap, and b) I’m not ready for my corporeal existence to be over with.”
“Face it, Rodney,” says a new voice from behind him, “you’re just worried that we’ll show you up when the playing field is level.”
He doesn’t want to turn around, because as bad as things already are, they are worse with that voice, and can’t possibly improve with the turning around.
“Oh, God, this is...” He can’t finish the whispered statement. Not-Weir and Ascended-Grodin are staring at him, so he decides that turning around can’t really make things worse. “Gaul, what the hell are you doing here?”
Brendan Gaul also looks great, but that’s not so much of a shock to Rodney, even though the last time Rodney saw the man, he’d been drained of about thirty years of his life. Gaul now looks a lot more like the young man Rodney had hired for the expedition, and less like an extra from Cocoon. It’s just the fact of his appearance, rather than its quality, that shocks him. “And the last thing I’d ever be worried about is being shown up. The only way the playing field could be made level is by giving me a partial lobotomy.”
Brendan is perched jauntily on the edge of a console, his arms folded casually in front of him, an irreverent, boyish smirk upon his face. “I think you’re underestimating the equalizing aspect of Ascension.”
“Really? Are you speaking from your vast experience of, what is it, now? A year and a half of being Ascended?”
“You’re just jealous ‘cause I made it here first.”
“Yes, yes, yes, naturally, I’m extraordinarily envious that you d...” He is about to say died a horrible death before I could do so when he remembers that Gaul didn’t actually die from the Wraith feeding. It feels like a blow to the stomach (yes, yes, not a real stomach, shut up), and he takes a step backward. It’s not a stagger, it’s not, but Brendan’s smirk changes to an expression of mild concern. It’s an unwelcome expression, and Rodney says bitingly, “So, I have to say it’s pretty lame that the only way you could manage to top me was to run whining to a higher plane of existence.”
Gaul raises his hands in a “what gives?” gesture. “You know, I’m starting to regret showing up to support you in this difficult time of adjustment.”
“Rodney,” says Peter, “why are you making this so difficult?”
“Let’s for God’s sake be clear here!” Rodney shouts, whirling and waving non-existent arms with kinetic intensity. “This isn’t a game of Risk you’re asking me to join. You’re not inviting me to vacation with you. This is a serious decision, a permanent decision, and once it’s done there’s no going back!” He pauses
and adds, rather weakly, “Well, except if I were to do something to get sent back, I guess, like Dr. Jackson. Anyway, that’s not the... The point is...”
He puts a hand to the forehead that isn’t really there for a moment, then glares at Not-Weir. “Why won’t you tell me how I died?”
“Why is that important?”
He makes an exasperated noise and throws his hands into the air. “Why wouldn’t it be important? Right, it was only the END of MY LIFE. What possible interest could it have for me? I just want to know, all right? Just tell me what the hell happened!”
“Are you saying that you can’t make the choice without knowing how you died?” asks Gaul. “Because that’s pretty illogical, Rodney.”
“I won’t be lectured by you about what’s logical! You couldn’t even... you didn’t ... just shut up, okay?” He turns back to Not-Weir. “You’re keeping something from me. You don’t want me to know how I died. What is it? Just tell me!”
She gazes at him intently for a long moment. “I’ve made a mistake. You cannot be ready for Ascension and still so burdened by corporeal concerns. I think I will have to make your choice for you.”
“Wait! No fair! You can’t make that offer and then un-offer it like that!” Rodney breathes heavily, frantic at the thought of losing the greatest opportunity of his entire existence. He needs to take the deal, needs to accept the offer, needs to just say yes, damn it! Whatever the hell happened to end his life, the most important thing to do now is to make sure that his vast cognitive abilities are not washed away by the uncaring tide of death. He needs to ensure that he continues, that he can keep learning and knowing. How he came to his death doesn’t really matter in the scheme of things.
And yet...
“I know what your problem is.” It’s a new voice, and while it’s familiar, Rodney doesn’t immediately recognize it. He doesn’t even want to know, but it’s not like he can pretend he doesn’t hear, so he turns toward the voice, which is coming from the stairs leading from the control room to the rest of the city. The owner of the voice is just stepping onto the floor from descending the staircase to the control room. He is still in uniform, just like the two dead scientists, and as he approaches, he smiles at Rodney. “You’re afraid, aren’t you, Rodney? Afraid that once you Ascend, you’ll find out that many of your conclusions were wrong.”
Rodney’s voice sounds hollow and breathless beneath its tepid scorn. “And just what would you know about that, Griffin?” It occurs to him as he says this that if Griffin is Ascended, he probably knows, well, everything about it, but he tries not to let this realization show, because that’s just wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Griffin just shrugs, smiling mildly. “Hey, it happens. History is full of examples of scientific conclusions that were later proved wrong.”
“I’m not particularly worried about my place in history,” Rodney says, knowing that isn’t particularly true. It occurs to him that these four, being all-knowing, are aware that he’s being dishonest, and that they know that he knows that they know. Therefore, there’s no real reason for them to call him on the lie. It’s a perversely liberating situation, actually.
“Yeah?” Griffin is saying. “Then what are you waitin’ for? Sign up with us and you can debunk the work of your peers. It’s like being Spanish on steroids, Ascension is.”
It hurts to look at Griffin, with his open face and casual demeanor, as though their last conversation together had been about weather or the lunch menu. Rodney wants to move away as the man comes closer, but he can’t seem to lift his disembodied feet, much as he just stood there when Griffin left the back compartment to close the door from the cockpit console.
He finds motion in the need to turn away, spinning on Not-Weir, barking at her. “Tell me how I died, damn it! What was I doing? Was I alone? Did I... Did I choose to...” He can’t finish the question.
Peter steps forward, speaking gently. “Rodney, it doesn’t matter. The choice is yours.”
Rodney steps back, avoiding contact, avoiding comfort. He starts when Brendan’s hand touches his arm, twisting away with something like a tiny whimper. (It’s not a whimper, of course, but the sound could almost be mistaken for one.) In his peripheral vision, he catches sight of Griffin coming closer, and suddenly, the claustrophobia kicks in - which is truly a source of curiosity, given his ethereal condition - and Rodney raises both hands in a “don’t touch, don’t touch” gesture, backing out of their midst. He doesn’t like being surrounded by them, can’t handle them being everywhere he looks. “I can’t... I don’t... just... stay back, okay?”
Suddenly, an alarm is sounding. He jumps at it, recognizes it as the self-destruct signal. He frowns and looks to Not-Weir for an explanation. She smiles sadly.
“It was necessary to bring you to the moment of decision.”
“You’re... you’re gonna destroy Atlantis if I don’t make a choice?”
“Of course not. This isn’t real. It’s all just a metaphor.” She waves a hand in a gesture that indicates their surroundings. “This symbolizes your corporeal existence. Destruction of this illusionary environment represents your progression to a new plane, a different kind of existence. You can let it happen, indicating your readiness to leave behind your human concerns...” She waves toward an open laptop on a console nearby, displaying a countdown, “Or you can key in your code to preserve the city, symbolizing your unwillingness to let go. In that case, you will give yourself, irrevocably, to death.”
Part of him feels like laughing, albeit hysterically, at the predicament. There’s no logical reason anyone should be able to think of for him to choose death over Ascension. He is eligible, he is wanted... he is worthy, damn it.
He just wishes he knew how he’d died.
He is tapping at the keyboard before he even realizes he’s stepped to the laptop. He hears Grodin saying his name, and Gaul yelling something about stupidity, and Griffin saying “good luck,” which is just creepy and would undoubtedly cause him more nightmares if he wasn’t on his way to his ultimate demise. He finishes typing and meets Not-Weir’s eyes. He sees in them his own disappointment, which is really not what he’d have chosen for his final sight, and closes his eyes to accept the end.
He is on the floor, on his butt, his hands behind him, holding him up. There is unimaginable pain, everywhere, really, but concentrated in his head, his forehead. The noise is deafening and he wants it to stop, and it does when the pain stops, which is when he realizes that the noise is, in part, his own screaming.
He looks up into the face of an Asuran and realizes that her hand was just inside his head. Her HAND. Inside his SKULL. He fights the urge to vomit, not only because of the hurl-worthiness of that realization, but from a kind of intellectual motion-sickness. He has just swung from one scenario to a completely different one, and it’s almost too much to process, but slowly (for him; quickly for the average human) he understands what’s happened. These people are Replicators - he’s read about this intrusive procedure in SG-1 mission files - and he has just been well and truly mind-fucked.
They wanted his abort code for Atlantis’ self-destruct sequence, and now they have it. And along the way, they... He shakes his head. Never mind. Not important.
And now Sheppard’s screaming is done; he’s apparently the last of them, and the Asurans leave and they’re all left to deal with the aftermath of what they’ve been through. He’s asked what hallucinatory scenario they used on him, and he blithely tosses out the words “torture,” “hideous,” and “intimate.” They’ll form their own conclusions, try to get him to talk about it, but they’ll assume it was sexual and not try too hard. In any case, they all need to focus on escape.
If they manage to get out of this, the least of his worries will be that stupid Ascension farce and the choice that he made, and why.
And yet...