Truth's Out There, Possibly by Aurelia Priscus [Reviews - 5]
- Text Size +
Category: General
Characters: John Sheppard, Other, Radek Zelenka, Rodney McKay
Rating: PG
Genres: Humour
Warnings: None
Series: None
Word count: 3714; Completed: Yes
Summary: Sheppard takes the scientists exploring in Atlantis and makes a startling, if a bit weird, discovery. Bickering ensues.
Author's Notes: This one-shot set in early, early S1. This sat, unfinished, on my hard drive for over a year, but in the end this silly, geeky piece of fluff was resurrected and finished for malnpudl on LiveJournal. I hope you like it.
--
Nobody was about to challenge the courage and determination of the Atlantis expedition team. It wasn't like he'd been looking, but so far Sheppard hadn't found anyone in this or, well, any other galaxy willing to question the bravery of somebody that would willingly accept a one-way ticket into the unknown—even if he figured in a few cases mounting alimony payments were more important than the promise of adventure and scientific discovery. Still, a couple of days in the Pegasus Galaxy had been enough to convince most of the team's members—scientists and military alike—to take what cushy assignments they can scrounge. It wasn't like there weren't risks to exploring a massive intergalactic alien spaceship that'd spent the past ten thousand years abandoned on the ocean floor, but at least the wraith and hostile indigenous tribes lurking out on the outer piers hadn't been a problem. Hell, the most dangerous wildlife they'd turned up had been the ten-thousand-year-old dead plants, and that was because Halling had tripped over one of the damned things a little under a week ago.
By and large, given the choice between unlocking the secrets of the lost city of Atlantis and being pelted with rotten fruit by the indigenous population of M39-043, most people would take the alternative less likely to leave them bruised, sore and smelling faintly of tomatoes.
John Sheppard was not "most people." Sure, it wasn't like he didn't know why he was there; McKay had received the ATA gene inoculation a few days before, but it helped to have an extra pair of hands around and for reasons he didn't really understand Ancient technology, well, liked him. McKay's scientific opinion seemed to be that the city had a massive schoolgirl crush on him and that he'd find it annoying and unprofessional if it wasn't so damned useful all the time. Sheppard probably would have found the whole thing funny, if he wasn't so bored out of his skull.
"Hey, McKay!" The shout echoed around the massive cavernous room. Sheppard had assumed there was some sort of order to the chaos that dominated the décor, but apparently 'stacks of miscellaneous junk' was one clever system of Ancient categorization that the scientists hadn't cracked yet. McKay commented that it all kind of reminded him of his apartment and, for some reason, nobody seemed surprised.
It'd been an impressive sight in the daylight, all natural light streaming in through arched ornamental skylights, but in the flickering, ethereal glow of the city's own lighting systems it was actually kind of creepy. Whatever you had to say about them, the Ancients had a flare for the dramatic, anyway. Even their warehouses looked like cathedrals.
Okay, messy, cluttered and possibly structurally unsound cathedrals, but, you know, churchy. Like a church basement, only with more windows and, uh, aliens. He was possibly putting too much thought into this.
He'd assumed it was a warehouse, anyway. They'd told him about the location that morning; "some kind of depot for Ancient technology," Stackhouse had called it, and McKay'd pounced like, well, McKay on him at breakfast and shoved Ford aside to make room at his table in the mess. He'd then asked, all polite, if he could have a look around. Just a few hours, nothing too excessive. In fact, he'd have to be an idiot not to agree, though from the look on the man's face Sheppard could see McKay was still making up his mind on that point.
Of course, before he could get a word in edge-wise the Czech guy with the hair had volunteered and McKay had already wandered off with what looked like a triumphant flourish. Where he could, Sheppard tried to let the Science team handle its own affairs, but by the time Peter Grodin decided to tag along he'd started to seriously wonder if these people had anything better to do with their time. Kavanagh said his feet hurt; nobody cared. It was only afterwards, when they were preparing to leave after their impromptu break for lunch a few hours later, that Sheppard realized McKay'd eaten his toast.
They were supposed to have been back in time for meatloaf. Sheppard checked his watch. "Nine hours," he said aloud, after a moment's calculation. "We've been in here for nine whole hours. How much longer are you guys going to need?"
McKay didn't bother to look up. He never did. "When we're finished here, Major, you'll be the first to know."
Sheppard slumped back onto the floor and scrubbed irritably at his hair. After nine fun-filled hours of pacing, hovering and trying to engage the others in fruitless conversation, the whole of his alternatives had whittled down to staring at an unthreatening piece of wall and not touching anything. Okay, McKay's exact words had been, "Don't touch anything, don't breathe on anything and most importantly don't think about anything. Okay? Okay. Somebody find me a chair, my back is killing me," but Sheppard got the message. Ancient technology liked him, and if its sole purpose was to single-handedly destroy all sentient matter in the universe... well, he kept his hands to himself.
... mostly.
There was a small box at his feet. It looked harmless enough, though in hindsight that probably should have been reason enough to leave it alone. It was some sort of storage unit, obviously. The design was about as boring and nondescript as the Ancients ever came. There was what looked like writing on the side, but he couldn't read it. After a couple of minutes of bored indecision, he kicked at it with his foot and the box snapped open. Curious, he pulled it over and looked inside and, sure enough, something metallic caught his eye.
Huh.
"Hey, guys..." he began carefully. "Guys, you'd better take a look at this."
"What?" McKay's disembodied voice snapped.
There was something shiny in it. Wrapped in clean white rags, the object looked to be about thirty centimeters long; metallic, cylindrical and ribbed with rubber in a way that made it look like a handle. There were a couple of buttons on one side. "I found something," he said, after a moment. "I think it's a lightsaber."
Unsurprisingly, nobody moved.
"I'm serious," Sheppard hissed. "Somebody get over here and check this out!"
The scientist he now knew to be Zelenka muttered darkly in Czech. He'd been doing it sporadically for the last ten minutes, so Sheppard took this as evidence he wasn't paying attention. McKay, on the other hand, was just ignoring him.
Finally, Grodin looked up from his diagnostic equipment. "Major, I'm sure you can appreciate that the likelihood of that being the case is, well, minimal at best. Leave the object where you found it and when one of us is free we will have a look. How does that sound?"
He'd only been here a week, but Sheppard already realized that "when one of us is free" actually translated into "sometime after the dawn of the next ice age" and, more importantly, "shut up." He rubbed his forehead. "McKay! Get your ass over here now!"
McKay's laptop glared at him. "Believe it or not, Major, that shiny thing you just found? Not high on our list of priorities right now."
"McKay!"
McKay's chair made an obnoxious screeching noise as it was dragged across the cold metallic floor. The alarming cracking noise his back made as he stretched was actually enough to get Zelenka's attention for once and, by the time he was standing over Sheppard, his arms were crossed and his expression was a variation on his traditional 'Yes, tell me more about the stupid thing you just did!' that seemed reserved for Sheppard—and Ford, Teyla, most of the Science team and, well, pretty much everyone else.
"Major Sheppard," he said with a sneer. "I congratulate you on your enthusiasm, but what you have uncovered is... a lightsaber." He hesitated. "Now this, this is very strange."
"That's what I was saying. You didn't believe me!"
"What was I supposed to think?" McKay growled back. He nudged at the box nervously with the toe of his shoe. "You don't just find lightsabers lying around the lost city of Atlantis. I mean, that's... it's insane. There's no question. It's got to be something else. I mean, it couldn't be... could it? Of course not, of course not..." He gestured for the others to have a look and, when nobody came, he turned around. "Hey, Za-, Ze-, dammit Peter! You'd better see this."
"Do you mind?" Grodin said finally. "Some of us are trying to work."
"Hey," McKay said irritably. "Who's in charge, here?"
Grodin raised an incredulous eyebrow in his direction. "Pulling rank on me? Okay, Rodney," he said, reluctantly pushing himself to his feet. "If you insist..."
Crossing to where McKay was now kneeling, he bent over the box and looked inside. His eyes widened. "Oh my."
"See?" Sheppard said, flush with vindication. He looked over at McKay. "You're the sci-fi geek. How's this thing work?"
"How would I know?" McKay grumbled, shoving Sheppard gently to one side for a better position. "I'm a Trekkie."
"Dammit, McKay!" Sheppard growled. "The one time this whole 'geek' thing could have come in handy... What good are you, anyway?"
McKay sniffed. "What, you mean other than the whole certifiable genius and resident expert on Ancient technology, the Stargate and, well, pretty much everything thing? Not much, apparently. Look." He waved his hand dismissively. "Just pick it up and see what happens."
"Certifiable is right," Sheppard muttered under his breath. He leaned forward as McKay adjusted his posture to get a better look. There was a soft thunk noise as their heads collided. "Ow," he mouthed. "You did that on purpose!"
"You think I meant to hit my head? What are you, twelve?" Okay, yes, Major," McKay said, glaring at him. "I was just sitting here, minding my own business and thought, hey, why don't I bang my head into something, just because? Excuse me for assuming your hair would cushion the blow."
"At least I have—"
"Enough!" Grodin set what was probably supposed to be a calming hand on McKay's shoulder. It served more as a restraint in practical application. "Both of you! Don't we have more important matters to be concerned with right now?"
McKay's expression had turned murderous. Sheppard nodded dumbly and tried to change the subject. He turned to Grodin. "Don't you, uh, have to be a Jedi or something to use it?"
He shook his head. "So far as I understand it," he explained patiently, "the use of lightsabers is primarily limited to the Jedi because of the level of skill required to safely handle one. While knowledge of the Force is beneficial, any lay person with the correct training ought to be able to handle a lighstaber in combat. However, because blasters are safer and more efficient, there is little incentive for them to do so."
Sheppard and McKay stared at him. "Uh," Sheppard said, after a moment. "I've got the gene—that's kind of like a Jedi, right? If I touch the thing, who's to say it won't just turn on?"
"They don't just turn on." Grodin elbowed Sheppard aside. "There are buttons to press. Give me that—"
He picked it up before the others could protest and turned the object over in his hands, obviously astonished. "This is incredible," he said. "It's perfect. The focusing crystals must be in here and, wait—a blade-length adjuster?"
His expression was one of breathless excitement, but that'd been pretty much par for the course the past few days. Screw benefit to mankind; what never made it into the final reports was that the real reason most of the people were out here was that exploring other galaxies was incredibly, awe-inspiringly cool in ways they couldn't even begin to imagine—well, except for George Lucas, apparently.
Whatever Grodin did, it must have been right because it turned on.
Sheppard blinked. "Holy shit."
"Indeed," Grodin confirmed, wide-eyed.
Finally, Zelenka leaned back in his chair and looked over at them, shaking his head. "Be careful," he said warily. "You don't know what it does. It could be dangerous."
"Of course it's dangerous," Grodin said. The blade made a satisfying whish noise as it moved through the air. "It's a lightsaber."
Zelenka slipped off his glasses and scratched between his eyes with his thumb. He looked exhausted. "Peter," he said. "It's not a lightsaber. If you were in your right minds it would be obvious to all of you that this is a piece of Ancient technology that looks like a lightsaber but more probably has an entirely different purpose."
The others stared at him.
"I suppose that makes sense," Grodin said as he reluctantly surrendered the object to Sheppard. "But this design is a near-perfect functioning replica of lightsaber technology. You would have to study the schematics to attain this level of detail."
"How do you know so much about this stuff anyway?" Sheppard asked. He gave the weapon a tentative swish and the blue blade flickered briefly before doubling in length. "Whoa. This is so cool."
"You must have accidentally realigned the crystals." Grodin watched him nervously. "Be careful with that. Because all of the weight is in the hilt, the position of the actual blade can be deceptive."
"I think I'm getting the hang of it." Sheppard cut the air a few more times before his gaze settled on one of the unused tables. It was identical to every other Ancient table in existence and he was pretty sure it wouldn't be missed, but for some reason he suspected the scientists wouldn't feel the same way. "So," he said, after a moment. "I didn't know you were into Star Wars."
"It was a fine series of films," Grodin said noncommittally. "Lucas was an innovator, unlike a lot of what passes for science fiction these days."
Sheppard couldn't help but notice the edge to Grodin's voice and the way McKay bristled in response. This was evidently a conversation they'd had before.
"I'm sorry, Peter," McKay said. "I had no idea you held such laughably bad dialogue in such high esteem, though it explains so much."
Grodin squared his shoulders at the insult. "I have one word for you, McKay," he said, advancing on the astrophysicist until he was well within the man's personal space. He pressed a finger firmly into McKay's admittedly flabby chest. "Enterprise."
"It could still get good!"
Zelenka muttered something irritably in Czech and gestured angrily at Sheppard, the others arguing unabated. "Look! Look what you have done! I will be hearing about this for weeks now."
Sheppard raised his hands defensively and the blade in his hands swept upwards, thankfully not hitting anything. "How was I supposed to know Star Trek and Star Wars fans are engaged in some kind of geek war?"
"Photon torpedoes and tractor beams," Zelenka said miserably. "It never ends. How do you not understand this?" He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands and slumped forward onto the table, groaning. "God, I need coffee."
There was a warm, pleasant voice from the open doorway. From the distinctly feminine quality, it probably wasn't Ford. "I think I can oblige you there, Dr. Zelenka."
"Dr. Weir!" Zelenka said in visible surprise. He fumbled with his glasses and muttered a soft curse as one of his fingers brushed against the lens. "We radioed in an hour ago that we'd be late—"
"I got that message, Radek." She smiled, hoisting what looked like a basket of food onto the table. "I asked Bates to escort me down here with supplies. What's going on in here?"
"Leave Roddenberry out of this!"
"Major Sheppard has found a lightsaber," Zelenka said, with a hint of bitterness. He forced open the thermos and sloshed some of the coffee into his mug. The rest hit the table, but he didn't seem to care.
Weir seemed interested. "What is it, really?"
"We don't know. Those two," Zelenka said, looking pointedly at McKay and Grodin, "keep arguing about their stupid television shows."
She smiled diplomatically because she was surprisingly good at it. "Sounds heated."
"How any man who's seen Attack of the Clones can say that with a straight face is beyond me." McKay's voice was practically dripping with condescension, as usual, and Grodin threw up his hands in frustration. "Zelenka, back me up on this."
Zelenka slammed the thermos back onto the table. The mug rattled. "No," he finally snapped. "I will do nothing of the kind."
McKay stared at him. "You liked the Ewoks?"
"What?" Zelenka said. "No, no. The Ewoks, they are stupid. That's not the point." He waved his hand. "The Prequels were awful—abysmal, even. The writing was terrible. The only saving grace of the original trilogy was that the scripts were butchered into coherency by editors that recognized George Lucas cannot write."
"Ha!" McKay's smugness was palatable, but it withered once he caught a look at the expression on Zelenka's face.
"Let me finish," Zelenka said. The growl was almost threatening.
Sheppard had figured that by the end of a mission this stressful there would be people that would crack, but he hadn't figured Jar Jar Binks would feature into the equation.
"Star Trek," Zelenka continued, "has been done to death for over a decade. The series has this preoccupation with time travel episodes. Picard, he violates the Prime Directive in practically every single episode. Rodney, reversing the polarity of something is not a cure-all for all of life's engineering problems! You of all people have to understand this!"
McKay looked nervously at Grodin. "Well, of course, but..."
"Outside, the stars twinkle—there is no atmosphere." The Czech scientist was trembling with decades of sublimated fury at this point. Sheppard took a few casual steps backwards. "I hate science fiction," Zelenka snarled, "and I think we have enough aliens and laser beams in our lives right now so please for the love of all that is holy shut up."
McKay opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.
"You made me watch Star Trek: Nemesis three times and I have had enough."
"Radek," Grodin said carefully, calmly. The man had an almost serene voice when he tried, and it seemed to work. "We thought you liked it."
"I'm tired of lying," Zelenka said, finally. He slumped forward onto the table, his head in his hands.
"We can see that, Radek," Weir said gently. Her expression was warm and compassionate and she set a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Now that we all know the truth, hopefully the others will be more—understanding of your situation. Gentlemen, do we have an agreement?"
The others mumbled half-hearted noises of assent.
Finally, Zelenka reached out to Sheppard and held out his hand. "Give it here," he said. "Bring the box as well. If there is an answer to this mystery, it is likely in there."
Sheppard obliged, and Zelenka inspected the weapon carefully as McKay and Grodin shared awkward glances. After a few moments, his expression brightened. Wordlessly, Zelenka picked up the lightsaber and Grodin's face blanched as he swept it across his wrist. "It's a medical scanner, apparently."
The machine bleeped dutifully.
McKay stared at him. "How did you—"
"It says so on the box," Zelenka said, adding what was presumably a final insult in Czech. He swung the box around and, sure enough, the blocky outlines of Ancient writing were clearly visible. "Presumably the different lengths are meant to accommodate different areas of the human body. Or alien, possibly." He frowned.
"But it was so perfect," Grodin protested weakly.
Zelenka shrugged. "It is possible he found a functioning model on earth. More likely, he just made it up. Coincidences happen."
"So what you're saying," McKay said, after a moment, "is that it's a tricorder."
Sheppard smacked him upside the head.
"Now that the mystery has been solved," Weir said patiently, "perhaps we should be heading back."
Sheppard nodded. "I'm thinking that might be a good idea. I don't know about you guys, but maybe the mysteries of the lost city of Atlantis should wait for another day."
The scientists nodded reluctantly and went about assembling their gear.
"You've got to admit," Sheppard said, after a minute of watching them work. "Those old shows could be pretty unbelievable. I mean, even apart from the blue-breasted Styrofoam women and the papier-mâché set design, who sends the captain, the first mate, and the chief medical officer out on the same away team, anyway?"
"That reminds me," Weir said smoothly. "Will Dr. Beckett be joining you off-world tomorrow?"
- Text Size +
Category: General
Characters: John Sheppard, Other, Radek Zelenka, Rodney McKay
Rating: PG
Genres: Humour
Warnings: None
Series: None
Word count: 3714; Completed: Yes
Summary: Sheppard takes the scientists exploring in Atlantis and makes a startling, if a bit weird, discovery. Bickering ensues.
Author's Notes: This one-shot set in early, early S1. This sat, unfinished, on my hard drive for over a year, but in the end this silly, geeky piece of fluff was resurrected and finished for malnpudl on LiveJournal. I hope you like it.
--
Nobody was about to challenge the courage and determination of the Atlantis expedition team. It wasn't like he'd been looking, but so far Sheppard hadn't found anyone in this or, well, any other galaxy willing to question the bravery of somebody that would willingly accept a one-way ticket into the unknown—even if he figured in a few cases mounting alimony payments were more important than the promise of adventure and scientific discovery. Still, a couple of days in the Pegasus Galaxy had been enough to convince most of the team's members—scientists and military alike—to take what cushy assignments they can scrounge. It wasn't like there weren't risks to exploring a massive intergalactic alien spaceship that'd spent the past ten thousand years abandoned on the ocean floor, but at least the wraith and hostile indigenous tribes lurking out on the outer piers hadn't been a problem. Hell, the most dangerous wildlife they'd turned up had been the ten-thousand-year-old dead plants, and that was because Halling had tripped over one of the damned things a little under a week ago.
By and large, given the choice between unlocking the secrets of the lost city of Atlantis and being pelted with rotten fruit by the indigenous population of M39-043, most people would take the alternative less likely to leave them bruised, sore and smelling faintly of tomatoes.
John Sheppard was not "most people." Sure, it wasn't like he didn't know why he was there; McKay had received the ATA gene inoculation a few days before, but it helped to have an extra pair of hands around and for reasons he didn't really understand Ancient technology, well, liked him. McKay's scientific opinion seemed to be that the city had a massive schoolgirl crush on him and that he'd find it annoying and unprofessional if it wasn't so damned useful all the time. Sheppard probably would have found the whole thing funny, if he wasn't so bored out of his skull.
"Hey, McKay!" The shout echoed around the massive cavernous room. Sheppard had assumed there was some sort of order to the chaos that dominated the décor, but apparently 'stacks of miscellaneous junk' was one clever system of Ancient categorization that the scientists hadn't cracked yet. McKay commented that it all kind of reminded him of his apartment and, for some reason, nobody seemed surprised.
It'd been an impressive sight in the daylight, all natural light streaming in through arched ornamental skylights, but in the flickering, ethereal glow of the city's own lighting systems it was actually kind of creepy. Whatever you had to say about them, the Ancients had a flare for the dramatic, anyway. Even their warehouses looked like cathedrals.
Okay, messy, cluttered and possibly structurally unsound cathedrals, but, you know, churchy. Like a church basement, only with more windows and, uh, aliens. He was possibly putting too much thought into this.
He'd assumed it was a warehouse, anyway. They'd told him about the location that morning; "some kind of depot for Ancient technology," Stackhouse had called it, and McKay'd pounced like, well, McKay on him at breakfast and shoved Ford aside to make room at his table in the mess. He'd then asked, all polite, if he could have a look around. Just a few hours, nothing too excessive. In fact, he'd have to be an idiot not to agree, though from the look on the man's face Sheppard could see McKay was still making up his mind on that point.
Of course, before he could get a word in edge-wise the Czech guy with the hair had volunteered and McKay had already wandered off with what looked like a triumphant flourish. Where he could, Sheppard tried to let the Science team handle its own affairs, but by the time Peter Grodin decided to tag along he'd started to seriously wonder if these people had anything better to do with their time. Kavanagh said his feet hurt; nobody cared. It was only afterwards, when they were preparing to leave after their impromptu break for lunch a few hours later, that Sheppard realized McKay'd eaten his toast.
They were supposed to have been back in time for meatloaf. Sheppard checked his watch. "Nine hours," he said aloud, after a moment's calculation. "We've been in here for nine whole hours. How much longer are you guys going to need?"
McKay didn't bother to look up. He never did. "When we're finished here, Major, you'll be the first to know."
Sheppard slumped back onto the floor and scrubbed irritably at his hair. After nine fun-filled hours of pacing, hovering and trying to engage the others in fruitless conversation, the whole of his alternatives had whittled down to staring at an unthreatening piece of wall and not touching anything. Okay, McKay's exact words had been, "Don't touch anything, don't breathe on anything and most importantly don't think about anything. Okay? Okay. Somebody find me a chair, my back is killing me," but Sheppard got the message. Ancient technology liked him, and if its sole purpose was to single-handedly destroy all sentient matter in the universe... well, he kept his hands to himself.
... mostly.
There was a small box at his feet. It looked harmless enough, though in hindsight that probably should have been reason enough to leave it alone. It was some sort of storage unit, obviously. The design was about as boring and nondescript as the Ancients ever came. There was what looked like writing on the side, but he couldn't read it. After a couple of minutes of bored indecision, he kicked at it with his foot and the box snapped open. Curious, he pulled it over and looked inside and, sure enough, something metallic caught his eye.
Huh.
"Hey, guys..." he began carefully. "Guys, you'd better take a look at this."
"What?" McKay's disembodied voice snapped.
There was something shiny in it. Wrapped in clean white rags, the object looked to be about thirty centimeters long; metallic, cylindrical and ribbed with rubber in a way that made it look like a handle. There were a couple of buttons on one side. "I found something," he said, after a moment. "I think it's a lightsaber."
Unsurprisingly, nobody moved.
"I'm serious," Sheppard hissed. "Somebody get over here and check this out!"
The scientist he now knew to be Zelenka muttered darkly in Czech. He'd been doing it sporadically for the last ten minutes, so Sheppard took this as evidence he wasn't paying attention. McKay, on the other hand, was just ignoring him.
Finally, Grodin looked up from his diagnostic equipment. "Major, I'm sure you can appreciate that the likelihood of that being the case is, well, minimal at best. Leave the object where you found it and when one of us is free we will have a look. How does that sound?"
He'd only been here a week, but Sheppard already realized that "when one of us is free" actually translated into "sometime after the dawn of the next ice age" and, more importantly, "shut up." He rubbed his forehead. "McKay! Get your ass over here now!"
McKay's laptop glared at him. "Believe it or not, Major, that shiny thing you just found? Not high on our list of priorities right now."
"McKay!"
McKay's chair made an obnoxious screeching noise as it was dragged across the cold metallic floor. The alarming cracking noise his back made as he stretched was actually enough to get Zelenka's attention for once and, by the time he was standing over Sheppard, his arms were crossed and his expression was a variation on his traditional 'Yes, tell me more about the stupid thing you just did!' that seemed reserved for Sheppard—and Ford, Teyla, most of the Science team and, well, pretty much everyone else.
"Major Sheppard," he said with a sneer. "I congratulate you on your enthusiasm, but what you have uncovered is... a lightsaber." He hesitated. "Now this, this is very strange."
"That's what I was saying. You didn't believe me!"
"What was I supposed to think?" McKay growled back. He nudged at the box nervously with the toe of his shoe. "You don't just find lightsabers lying around the lost city of Atlantis. I mean, that's... it's insane. There's no question. It's got to be something else. I mean, it couldn't be... could it? Of course not, of course not..." He gestured for the others to have a look and, when nobody came, he turned around. "Hey, Za-, Ze-, dammit Peter! You'd better see this."
"Do you mind?" Grodin said finally. "Some of us are trying to work."
"Hey," McKay said irritably. "Who's in charge, here?"
Grodin raised an incredulous eyebrow in his direction. "Pulling rank on me? Okay, Rodney," he said, reluctantly pushing himself to his feet. "If you insist..."
Crossing to where McKay was now kneeling, he bent over the box and looked inside. His eyes widened. "Oh my."
"See?" Sheppard said, flush with vindication. He looked over at McKay. "You're the sci-fi geek. How's this thing work?"
"How would I know?" McKay grumbled, shoving Sheppard gently to one side for a better position. "I'm a Trekkie."
"Dammit, McKay!" Sheppard growled. "The one time this whole 'geek' thing could have come in handy... What good are you, anyway?"
McKay sniffed. "What, you mean other than the whole certifiable genius and resident expert on Ancient technology, the Stargate and, well, pretty much everything thing? Not much, apparently. Look." He waved his hand dismissively. "Just pick it up and see what happens."
"Certifiable is right," Sheppard muttered under his breath. He leaned forward as McKay adjusted his posture to get a better look. There was a soft thunk noise as their heads collided. "Ow," he mouthed. "You did that on purpose!"
"You think I meant to hit my head? What are you, twelve?" Okay, yes, Major," McKay said, glaring at him. "I was just sitting here, minding my own business and thought, hey, why don't I bang my head into something, just because? Excuse me for assuming your hair would cushion the blow."
"At least I have—"
"Enough!" Grodin set what was probably supposed to be a calming hand on McKay's shoulder. It served more as a restraint in practical application. "Both of you! Don't we have more important matters to be concerned with right now?"
McKay's expression had turned murderous. Sheppard nodded dumbly and tried to change the subject. He turned to Grodin. "Don't you, uh, have to be a Jedi or something to use it?"
He shook his head. "So far as I understand it," he explained patiently, "the use of lightsabers is primarily limited to the Jedi because of the level of skill required to safely handle one. While knowledge of the Force is beneficial, any lay person with the correct training ought to be able to handle a lighstaber in combat. However, because blasters are safer and more efficient, there is little incentive for them to do so."
Sheppard and McKay stared at him. "Uh," Sheppard said, after a moment. "I've got the gene—that's kind of like a Jedi, right? If I touch the thing, who's to say it won't just turn on?"
"They don't just turn on." Grodin elbowed Sheppard aside. "There are buttons to press. Give me that—"
He picked it up before the others could protest and turned the object over in his hands, obviously astonished. "This is incredible," he said. "It's perfect. The focusing crystals must be in here and, wait—a blade-length adjuster?"
His expression was one of breathless excitement, but that'd been pretty much par for the course the past few days. Screw benefit to mankind; what never made it into the final reports was that the real reason most of the people were out here was that exploring other galaxies was incredibly, awe-inspiringly cool in ways they couldn't even begin to imagine—well, except for George Lucas, apparently.
Whatever Grodin did, it must have been right because it turned on.
Sheppard blinked. "Holy shit."
"Indeed," Grodin confirmed, wide-eyed.
Finally, Zelenka leaned back in his chair and looked over at them, shaking his head. "Be careful," he said warily. "You don't know what it does. It could be dangerous."
"Of course it's dangerous," Grodin said. The blade made a satisfying whish noise as it moved through the air. "It's a lightsaber."
Zelenka slipped off his glasses and scratched between his eyes with his thumb. He looked exhausted. "Peter," he said. "It's not a lightsaber. If you were in your right minds it would be obvious to all of you that this is a piece of Ancient technology that looks like a lightsaber but more probably has an entirely different purpose."
The others stared at him.
"I suppose that makes sense," Grodin said as he reluctantly surrendered the object to Sheppard. "But this design is a near-perfect functioning replica of lightsaber technology. You would have to study the schematics to attain this level of detail."
"How do you know so much about this stuff anyway?" Sheppard asked. He gave the weapon a tentative swish and the blue blade flickered briefly before doubling in length. "Whoa. This is so cool."
"You must have accidentally realigned the crystals." Grodin watched him nervously. "Be careful with that. Because all of the weight is in the hilt, the position of the actual blade can be deceptive."
"I think I'm getting the hang of it." Sheppard cut the air a few more times before his gaze settled on one of the unused tables. It was identical to every other Ancient table in existence and he was pretty sure it wouldn't be missed, but for some reason he suspected the scientists wouldn't feel the same way. "So," he said, after a moment. "I didn't know you were into Star Wars."
"It was a fine series of films," Grodin said noncommittally. "Lucas was an innovator, unlike a lot of what passes for science fiction these days."
Sheppard couldn't help but notice the edge to Grodin's voice and the way McKay bristled in response. This was evidently a conversation they'd had before.
"I'm sorry, Peter," McKay said. "I had no idea you held such laughably bad dialogue in such high esteem, though it explains so much."
Grodin squared his shoulders at the insult. "I have one word for you, McKay," he said, advancing on the astrophysicist until he was well within the man's personal space. He pressed a finger firmly into McKay's admittedly flabby chest. "Enterprise."
"It could still get good!"
Zelenka muttered something irritably in Czech and gestured angrily at Sheppard, the others arguing unabated. "Look! Look what you have done! I will be hearing about this for weeks now."
Sheppard raised his hands defensively and the blade in his hands swept upwards, thankfully not hitting anything. "How was I supposed to know Star Trek and Star Wars fans are engaged in some kind of geek war?"
"Photon torpedoes and tractor beams," Zelenka said miserably. "It never ends. How do you not understand this?" He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands and slumped forward onto the table, groaning. "God, I need coffee."
There was a warm, pleasant voice from the open doorway. From the distinctly feminine quality, it probably wasn't Ford. "I think I can oblige you there, Dr. Zelenka."
"Dr. Weir!" Zelenka said in visible surprise. He fumbled with his glasses and muttered a soft curse as one of his fingers brushed against the lens. "We radioed in an hour ago that we'd be late—"
"I got that message, Radek." She smiled, hoisting what looked like a basket of food onto the table. "I asked Bates to escort me down here with supplies. What's going on in here?"
"Leave Roddenberry out of this!"
"Major Sheppard has found a lightsaber," Zelenka said, with a hint of bitterness. He forced open the thermos and sloshed some of the coffee into his mug. The rest hit the table, but he didn't seem to care.
Weir seemed interested. "What is it, really?"
"We don't know. Those two," Zelenka said, looking pointedly at McKay and Grodin, "keep arguing about their stupid television shows."
She smiled diplomatically because she was surprisingly good at it. "Sounds heated."
"How any man who's seen Attack of the Clones can say that with a straight face is beyond me." McKay's voice was practically dripping with condescension, as usual, and Grodin threw up his hands in frustration. "Zelenka, back me up on this."
Zelenka slammed the thermos back onto the table. The mug rattled. "No," he finally snapped. "I will do nothing of the kind."
McKay stared at him. "You liked the Ewoks?"
"What?" Zelenka said. "No, no. The Ewoks, they are stupid. That's not the point." He waved his hand. "The Prequels were awful—abysmal, even. The writing was terrible. The only saving grace of the original trilogy was that the scripts were butchered into coherency by editors that recognized George Lucas cannot write."
"Ha!" McKay's smugness was palatable, but it withered once he caught a look at the expression on Zelenka's face.
"Let me finish," Zelenka said. The growl was almost threatening.
Sheppard had figured that by the end of a mission this stressful there would be people that would crack, but he hadn't figured Jar Jar Binks would feature into the equation.
"Star Trek," Zelenka continued, "has been done to death for over a decade. The series has this preoccupation with time travel episodes. Picard, he violates the Prime Directive in practically every single episode. Rodney, reversing the polarity of something is not a cure-all for all of life's engineering problems! You of all people have to understand this!"
McKay looked nervously at Grodin. "Well, of course, but..."
"Outside, the stars twinkle—there is no atmosphere." The Czech scientist was trembling with decades of sublimated fury at this point. Sheppard took a few casual steps backwards. "I hate science fiction," Zelenka snarled, "and I think we have enough aliens and laser beams in our lives right now so please for the love of all that is holy shut up."
McKay opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.
"You made me watch Star Trek: Nemesis three times and I have had enough."
"Radek," Grodin said carefully, calmly. The man had an almost serene voice when he tried, and it seemed to work. "We thought you liked it."
"I'm tired of lying," Zelenka said, finally. He slumped forward onto the table, his head in his hands.
"We can see that, Radek," Weir said gently. Her expression was warm and compassionate and she set a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Now that we all know the truth, hopefully the others will be more—understanding of your situation. Gentlemen, do we have an agreement?"
The others mumbled half-hearted noises of assent.
Finally, Zelenka reached out to Sheppard and held out his hand. "Give it here," he said. "Bring the box as well. If there is an answer to this mystery, it is likely in there."
Sheppard obliged, and Zelenka inspected the weapon carefully as McKay and Grodin shared awkward glances. After a few moments, his expression brightened. Wordlessly, Zelenka picked up the lightsaber and Grodin's face blanched as he swept it across his wrist. "It's a medical scanner, apparently."
The machine bleeped dutifully.
McKay stared at him. "How did you—"
"It says so on the box," Zelenka said, adding what was presumably a final insult in Czech. He swung the box around and, sure enough, the blocky outlines of Ancient writing were clearly visible. "Presumably the different lengths are meant to accommodate different areas of the human body. Or alien, possibly." He frowned.
"But it was so perfect," Grodin protested weakly.
Zelenka shrugged. "It is possible he found a functioning model on earth. More likely, he just made it up. Coincidences happen."
"So what you're saying," McKay said, after a moment, "is that it's a tricorder."
Sheppard smacked him upside the head.
"Now that the mystery has been solved," Weir said patiently, "perhaps we should be heading back."
Sheppard nodded. "I'm thinking that might be a good idea. I don't know about you guys, but maybe the mysteries of the lost city of Atlantis should wait for another day."
The scientists nodded reluctantly and went about assembling their gear.
"You've got to admit," Sheppard said, after a minute of watching them work. "Those old shows could be pretty unbelievable. I mean, even apart from the blue-breasted Styrofoam women and the papier-mâché set design, who sends the captain, the first mate, and the chief medical officer out on the same away team, anyway?"
"That reminds me," Weir said smoothly. "Will Dr. Beckett be joining you off-world tomorrow?"