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This story is completed
So, now that we've got our hands on a ZPM (and don't think Major Morales and Dr. Gall have stopped rubbing our faces in it yet, because they're never ever going to stop), Dr. Weir's got us on weekly databursts. I figured you'd want to know what was going on and everything. You know – the real news, not the official stuff in Dr. Weir's reports.
Have they let you out of the base yet? Because there's this sweet steakhouse not far from the mountain, called O'Malley's, and you seriously need to have a big raw juicy one for me, okay? And a hard lemonade. They don't bring those here and I really miss them.
Things are going well here. Annie's team went back to Planet Playhouse. You know, the one with all the kids? And you know how little girls are with long silky hair? Well, apparently, they adored Kavanagh even more than they liked you (which I still don't understand, after how you were basically a grumpy, ZPM-stealing old man). Dr. Z got photos when they returned. I've attached them. KavanaghPunzel! Haha.
Mini-McKay is good. We went checking already-visited worlds, looking for a new Beta site, and there were these T-rexes! You should've seen, Doc! It was like ‘Jurassic Park,' and I swear Gall was like the lawyer that gets eaten while sitting on the john. Only, you know, the Major shot it before he could get gobbled up. Mini-you is pretty funny and all, but he's not you, you know?
How are your allergies?
Sincerely,
Aiden Ford
Ford:
The allergies are absolutely miserable, as is everything else here. I forgot how much I hate damp, dark, enclosed spaces. I mean, do you have any idea how many tons of rock are waiting to come down on our heads at any minute now? That's not to mention the lax nature of the food labeling in the mess here, and the arthritis brought on by the cold weather.
Plus this quack, Doctor Sheep, is a complete nincompoop. She says ‘I can't give a definitive answer, you know that, Doctor,' ‘it's not as much actual aging as it is decay rates,' ‘maybe I could contact a plastic surgeon.' And who wears make-up into surgery? Let me ask you that. Voodoo, all of it. It's not like a nose job is going to change the fact that I probably only have ten to twenty years to live, though I'm sure she's had one.
And that bitch (I can't believe that in my dream-world I would even stoop so low as to asking her out on a date) won't give my cat back. I'm suing for custody. I know Copernicus misses me and just because she has really wonderful breasts that must be marvelous to paw (I hope he pops them and she dies of silicon poisoning), doesn't mean she can just up and walk off with the little guy! I raised him since he was a kitten, the ingrate.
Colonel Carter is here and she's still as brilliant and gorgeous as always. I mean, not a night goes by when I don't think . . . well, you know. We get on like . . . let's say she's gained slightly more appreciation for my genius. Which is not as much of a turn on as I thought it would be. I like my partners feisty, not pitying. And judging by the way she looks at me, I think I remind her of her father. There are many things I find attractive about younger women, but being called ‘Daddy' by anyone, anywhere, will always be wholly terrifying.
Earth really isn't all that exciting, even with doughnuts and coffee and beer. Speaking of beer . . . hard lemonade?! Ford, you are seriously the girliest straight man I have ever met. No wonder you were choking during that Genii harvest ceremony. You should thank the lord you were never sent to Russia. I did go to O'Malley's and you were right about the steak. Whatever else you might say about this planet, you can't beat the food. I, for one, am glad I never have to choke down another Tava Bean Surprise. I mean, no wonder the Genii turned out to be such bad-Bond-villain bastards, eating that stuff all the time.
Thanks for the photos of Kavanagh. I tracked down his old lab and posted them up. His ex-minions are practically dancing with glee. I've sent a photo of me eating a nice, juicy, homemade steak. Yes, I know, normally, I'm not one to gloat but . . . tender fire-roasted bovine!
The archeologists here are all shipping out to Egypt. No one will tell me what's going on, exactly, but Jackson and Carter are chomping at the bit and O'Neill looked confused. This can only be a good sign.
-McKay
P.S. Don't call Gall Mini-McKay. It'll go to his head.
Way to go Doc!
Thanks for convincing the brass to send that new ZPM they found in Egypt along with Daedalus. I swear, Mini-McKay (sorry, but he runs screaming like you, bitches like you, and even looks kinda like you) and Doctor Z are creaming their pants. I don't know what the city can do with two fully-powered ZPMs, because no one will stop racing around long enough to tell me, but I have a feeling this is going to be huge!
We got a new commander along with the first resupply, plus a bunch of new personnel. A lot of them are scientists, but we're also getting at least two more platoons of Marines. Even though the Major took care of Kolya back on Dagan, the Genii Conflict isn't letting up. I mean, they were the ones that held practically our entire population hostage. I don't see what their problem is. They're just mean.
But I'm pretty sure we can handle them, nuclear weapons or not. Colonel Everett played a major part in the campaign against both the Goa'uld and the Replicators and he won a purple heart in the first Iraq too. He's less by-the-book than Colonel Sumner was, one of those old-school guys who's all about power and glory and guts, you know? All of his Marines really look up to him.
The scientists don't, so much. Zelenka and Grodin and Mini-McKay roll their eyes a lot and won't let me in on their conversations. I think they're planning something. Though I doubt they'll be able to mess with him like you did with Major Morales. That Glow-job you gave him was awesome!
Colonel Everett and Dr. Weir get along like cats in a bag. You'd think she would have learned her lesson from Sumner, you know? But she's still trying to play all these headgames that the Colonel just ignores. He lets her have free reign over the science and diplomacy side of things though. Doesn't get involved in the bureaucracy at all, like Colonel Sumner used to.
Strangely, Teyla seems to really like him. While we were touring the Athos Base, she showed us these caves with drawings of the Wraith and the cullings. And, trust me, if Planet Castaway Wraith and your whole condition thing wasn't enough to convince me that we need to focus more on the possible Wraith threat, then the stories she told us were.
I'm sorry Colorado sucks and that some chick stole your cat. You should go somewhere cool, like Jamaica. You would make a really funny rasta man, you know that? Or somewhere where they have a lot of technology – like that atom accelerator place. Sweden.
Man, with those steaks, McKay, you're making me jealous.
Sincerely,
Aiden Ford
Ford:
Okay, first of all, I never ever want to hear you say ‘Glow-job' ever again. It was just a matter of a little modified dye stain from the biology lab and a subtle change to the base lighting. It's not my fault that he's fondled the barrels of all the guns in the armory. Or Dr. Kusanagi's ass. Still, it was a shame she had to cry about it. The ‘there is no crying in the science lab' rule is there for a reason. But, speaking of which, how is Major Head-Up-His-Ass doing anyhow?
I really hope the Czech weasel and Brendan come up with something good. Remind them that the biometric sensors are tied into the environmental control system, will you? I mean, sure they spent most of their time trying to usurp my power, but now that I'm not there, I'm willing to admit that no one deserves to have to try and work reason into the military mindset, not even those competitive little bastards.
Thinking about it, Sumner was practically a robot (no wonder he looked so much like the T1000), but at least he respected the scientists. When I told her what happened, the anthropologist on Sumner's old SGC team actually cried. Which is another reason I hate Colorado.
And, on top of that, O'Neill's been reassigned to Washington and Colonel Carter is leaving for Area 51 tomorrow. Since she's the only one that will sneak me projects to work on (and hanging around with Teal'c really isn't an option . . . you know our history), I'll have no reason to stay other than that witch-doctor with the personality of a cold stethoscope.
She says I should be recuperating and ‘dealing with my new situation', as if she could possibly comprehend what it's like to be a pound overweight, let alone look thirty years older than you feel. Perhaps a move is needed.
But not to Jamaica (I swear, Ford, where do you come up with this stuff? Were you dropped on the head a lot as a child?). I am never, ever going to grow dreadlocks on my old balding head, okay, so don't even think about it. And CERN is in Switzerland. God, Ford, good thing you're not on Earth, otherwise you might end up on that ‘stupid people I met on the street' thing Jay Leno does. Television is still the opiate of the masses of course, though it's getting even worse. CNN is all bombs and war and people dying and everything other than the SciFi channel seems to be about this France Hilton woman, who is quite possibly the single most convincing reason for the Wraith to think we're no better than cows.
You going out on missions yet?
-McKay
P.S. $10,000 isn't too much to pay for a cat, is it? I mean with the investments and the patents and the government-hush-money, I don't really have to worry about it, so why not? It's monopoly money anyway. And really, cats are clinically proven to be good companions. They're supposed to sooth the old and infirm (help arthritis too!) and it's not as though I'm capable of caring for much more. Plus, Copernicus, he's well trained and I'm used to him and though most cats really are all about the food, I believe he actually feels a great deal of attachment and affection for me. Who wouldn't?
Docmeister!
Yeah, we started on missions yesterday. Parrish (the botanist who you think is always trying to poison your brownies) and Major Morales got taken hostage on this planet with like a nuclear sun. You would have freaked out about the UV. The guy that captured them was this huge freaking mountain man, with dreadlocks and this crazy space-blaster weapon.
But Colonel Everett led our team right in there and we totally took him out. The guy took 3 bullets before he fell, but man . . . Everett is good. We didn't lose anyone. And then Parrish got all freaked out about leaving the guy on a planet with that much radiation, so we took him back with us. Beckett found some sort of Wraith transmitter thing in his back, but he took it out and disabled it. We won't know what it's for until the guy wakes up. He's in a coma now though, so I don't know when that'll be.
Annie's team all came down with this flu thing, so it looks like I'm taking Mini-McKay to repair some people's generator for a week. Plus, girls get all weird when they're sick, you know? One of the new lieutenants, Cadman, says that I should bring her flowers or something, but that's pretty cliché. Then again, Cadman's like some sort of personal matchmaking machine on a mission from God or something. You'd like her though. She's blonde and she didn't even yell at Carson for staring at her ass.
As for Major Morale, he's okay. I mean, I never had a problem with him. Though I'm pretty sure Colonel Everett doesn't really like him much either. But it's not like you can court martial a guy for having a bug up his ass, you know? Unless it's like some funky alien bug. Oh, man, you missed a total Everett vs. Bates smackdown! Bates got the smacking, of course. Everett thinks paranoia is some kind of sign of weakness in battle or something. It was hella funny, doc. You should've been there.
Oh, and now that you guys finally each have a galaxy to yourselves, do you feel like telling me what exactly the Major did for you to declare war on him?
Sincerely,
Aiden Ford
Ford:
I'm sorry, but you're going to have to ask Major Ted about the offense, because in my ‘delicate emotional state' right now, I don't think I could bear to mention it. Psychology is even more voodoo than medicine. It's not like any of these people even knows what a Wraith is. How could they possibly even claim to understand?
PTSD, they call it! PTSD, it sounds like something you catch from sitting on dirty toilet seats or that they wear designer doctor's masks for in China. Yes, I'm stressed, yes, it's post-horrible-life-stopping-trauma, but it's not survivor's guilt, or watching-people-die phobia, or phantom-limb syndrome. It's the fact that I'm old and being old sucks. It's ‘finding out you have half the time you thought to live' syndrome, and they think the best way to solve for it is to make me stop being useful with the incredibly short amount of time I have left! I mean, they want to waste this genius by making me sit and discus my feelings for hours on end, each one of which could be the moment I discover an unlimited energy source or a theory of unification or a workable model of space-time that accounts for the existence of Stargates. At least Dr. Heightmeyer was hot.
Which is why I'm moving to Hawaii tomorrow.
-McKay
P.S. Did the one rational synapse in that meathead mind of yours not fire and tell you that Wraith transmitter can only equal very, very bad? Seriously, sometimes I wonder how you've survived even this long without me.
I've attached a few of my notes on leadership for your perusal.
McKaaaaay!
His name's ‘Eduardo,' McKay, not ‘Ted.' Which I could see as being a sticking point. Get it, sticking point?
The Mountain Man woke up today. We had to move him to the Wraith holding cell after Beckett's sedatives didn't work on him. We can't let him go, because he could obviously be working with the Wraith, but we can't really keep him either. You should see how he eats. All he'll say is that we all need to get out of here now, because the Wraith are coming. He just sort of screams it over and over again.
And also, I'm a Marine, I shouldn't have to tell you that making your subordinates cry and run in terror, taking credit for every decent idea of those smart enough to take over your job, and in general being loud and greedy is not exactly leadership.
I know that you and Gall and Zelenka were always sort of at each other's throats, but you do kind of like them, don't you?
How's Hawaii? Go surfing for me, okay, Doc?
Oh, and Markham finally got promoted to Sergeant Major, regardless of your accusations of ‘fatal lack of personality.' Try to be nice about it, okay?
Sincerely,
Aiden Ford
Ford:
No, you see, you're mistaking professional tolerance for affection. Gall was the evil prince just waiting for the defenestration so he could take over the throne of his betters. Yes, I admit that we may have shared a moment or two of ‘we helped each other not to die' bonding, but really, it's human nature to bond in the face of adversity. In military parlance, together we . . . do not fall. And Zippo . . . yes, I admit, nobody makes moonshine and runs secret betting pools and blackmarket barter systems like Zippo, but that's exactly what makes him so dangerous! I swear, sleep with one eye open, because if you're not careful, it's always the short fuzzy ones that will stab you in the back!
And that's not even mentioning the rest of those ingrates. Grodin and his British ability to simultaneously kiss ass and make fun (which really is too many things happening with the same hole at the same time), Kavanagh and his complaints and his realpolitik, the little Japanese girl and her secret seduction plans.
Hawaii is horrible. I think I liked Siberia better. At least in Siberia there were tall beautiful Russian women who'd sleep with you just because their heating system broke and didn't care if you couldn't pronounce their name. And non-lethal alcoholic beverages. It's a minefield of anaphylactic shock here. It's like, if it doesn't have fruit in it, it's not edible, which is just so very wrong. Plus the tourists! Here is where horrible colors and unworthy electronic circuit boards go to die. I swear, if I have to suffer through one more fat man in a Hawaiian shirt and a fishing hat asking me to snap a photo of him and his sunburned rugrats in front of a palm tree I will kill somebody. It's like, it's not enough that they killed all the endemic plant life and filled the scenic beaches with hideous cathedrals of capitalism-gone-bad, but then they have to add all these people. Idiots, all of them, acting like they just won the Academy Award for mediocrity because they managed to scrimp and save for a vacation somewhere only slightly less false than Disneyland.
Everything is overpriced and tacky and anything not involving coconuts or hula skirts or commemorative shot glasses is impossible to get a hold of. Not that money is really an issue, but it's the principle.
And the surfers . . . don't even get me started on the surfers. I mean, they act like I have some problem because I don't want them staining the rocks in front of my house with their brains, not that there's really a lot of material there to leave much of a stain. Aren't you Americans supposed to be all about private property? And then all they have to say is ‘Dude, that's not cool, man' like the pot leaves have crawled up into their noses and sprouted somewhere in their brain cavity.
Yes, Siberia was much nicer. Hot women, work, no surfers.
The only good part about it is that my house has an elevator to the beach. Big balcony overlooking the ocean, pretty stained-glass windows. Wind comes in from the North, can't figure out if there are possible allergens yet so I'm doped up on all this prescription voodoo, but you know, business as usual. And I seriously think all this ocean air is making my arthritis act up. But, it beats boredom in an underground bunker. You'd like it, I suppose.
Give my regards to Teyla, hm? If she's finally gotten over her lesbian warrior thing and given in to my raw intellectual magnetism, then tell her, too late, that ship has sailed. Unless she'd be willing to come back here, because I'm sure she'd look fantastic in a grass skirt. She could probably do that fire-dancing thing, too. Oh, and tell her I'd buy her lots of ceremonial shot-glasses and take her on long walks down the beach (what else is it good for?).
-McKay
P.S. They didn't have any ‘you've been promoted from Sergeant to Sergeant' cards at the local Hallmark store, so you're just going to have to give my regards to Markham yourself. He has saved my life upon occasions, so I suppose I can forgive the all-around lack of personality.
Doc you Rock!
Markham says thanks for the case of beer you sent him on the Daedalus run, even if it is this weird Canadian stuff. I know the ship must've left Earth a couple weeks back, so you actually knew before we did. I always knew that beneath the paranoid bitchy exterior there lay something like an actual human being.
Man, god knows we needed the stuff after today's mission. We went to this place. I'm calling it Planet Prison Island, where there was this island, with prisoners. And it was all too good to be true at first, you know, because after the Genii and the people on Planet Virus Obsession, it's by far the most advanced we've seen.
But you know what they say about things that seem too good to be true? They're too good to be true. And we found out that the prison island was there so that when the Wraith came, they'd eat the prisoners first. Which is kinda mean, but Colonel Everett said that he wished the American penal system was that efficient and was halfway through trading an assortment of fine cheeses for one of these huge kick-ass personnel transport carriers of theirs, when we get called back to Atlantis and then our Gateship goes down and Markham takes a serious blow to the head and these prisoners go totally Escape from Alcatraz on us and make Gall try to fix the Stargate and then the Wraith show up and you would not believe their ships, doc!
I mean, I've seen the schematics from the data we got back when we worked with the Genii, but they're like this melty silvery color and really really pointy, like one of those special knifes for cutting fruit or something.
But then the new Major, the one who just came over with the Daedalus, came through with an extraction team and got us. Morales hates him, but I think he's okay. Special-Op, so he's got all these really cool tricks, but I won't bore you with all the ways you can kill a guy with your pinky!
Everett's sending me and Annie to baby-sit a bunch of scientists on this zero-energy weapon thing while he takes the new Major and the rest of the special ops guys to the Athos base to train. A week of getting bitched at and told to carry things, it'll be just like old times.
Teyla says that as much as she ‘enjoyed your company in the months of your healing', she never has and never will have even the remotest urge to date you. She also wonders ‘what is this dance with fire,' because she would like to learn it.
I'm so sorry you have to sit on a tropical beach watching surfers all day and drinking pina coladas. It really is a tragedy. I don't know how you do it.
Sincerely,
Aiden Ford
Ford:
Yes, yes, thanks so much for your vote of confidence. I'm glad that the clothed chimpanzee welcomes me to its species. Perhaps when you get leave on Earth we can groom each other.
When you say ‘zero energy weapon thing' do you mean what I think you mean? Wait, you couldn't possibly know what I would think you meant, because then you'd know how incredible a discovery this could be. If you don't send me the schematics, I promise you, I will tie my old physics textbook to my feet and jump into the ocean, risking poisonous sea cucumbers and man-eating octopi and all manners of exotic death. I don't know whose computer you can break into get to it. Probably Everett's, actually. All the scientists will have theirs additionally protected. I've attached a file detailing how you can bypass the standard network security.
Tell Teyla she doesn't know what she's missing.
-McKay
Doc,
Quick note. Mini-you and Doctor Z are going to kill each other over the Zero Weapon. I can't send you schematics. That information is classified. Got to go.
Sincerely,
Aiden Ford
Ford:
What do you mean you can't send them?! It's me we're talking about. Why would I ever leak any of this information? Do you think I'm stupid? Wait, of course you don't, but do you think I'd do that? Hack into Everett's computer. Please, I need this. It's so mind-numbingly boring here, surrounded not just by stupid people, but stupid people who aren't even in the process of working or doing something useful that might redeem their stupidity.
I'll get you something. I send you whatever you want on the next Daedalus run. I'll be nice to children! I'll patronize surfers. I can do it. Don't doubt. I've even been good recently. You might actually be proud of me. Not that I'm the deathbed conversion type or anything, but I did a sort of Christian thing today. There was this man on the side of the mountain. He'd sprained his knee snowboarding – though I'm not sure the kind of man dumb enough to go snowboarding alone on the side of a volcano with no lifts is really deserving of my not-Christian sympathy, but he looked pretty pathetic.
Well, this idiot lives up on top of this huge cliff. And I mean cliff. I practically killed my knees climbing it. But then again what do you expect from these extreme-sporting types? And there was obviously no way he was going to make it up on a bum knee, so I'm letting him stay at my house. I mean, he doesn't have anyone. It's kind of sad, really. Granted, I don't really have anyone either, but I've been out of the galaxy, and doing vitally important scientific research, and then there's the whole life-sucked thing on top of that. He was in some war, though, so I think that maybe he's permanently traumatized or something. You'd know - is it common for soldiers to come back sort of crazy?
Well, apparently I'm supposed to go sit with him out in the sun now (the idiot is seriously asking for death by melanoma).
Send me the data or reap the consequences. You know that being in a whole other galaxy is not really the obstacle to slow-but-ingenious-death that you think it is.
-McKay
Doctor, doctor,
I know this is gonna come a little late for this, but do you really think inviting random hitchhikers you met on the side of the road into your house is a good idea? Yeah, you know how to use a gun and all, but with your condition and all the classified materials I know you smuggled out of the SGC, it seems a little risky to me. Plus you still can't hit the big side of a barn.
That doesn't mean you should stop doing good deeds though. When my grandpa retired he started doing all sorts of charity. He was in our Community Theater and organized town hall meetings and stuff. Gram mostly baked a lot of cookies. They were good though. Man, what I'd do for some of her chocolate-peanut-butter chunks right out of the oven. With the Daedalus now, we have cookies and milk and all the stuff that we always used to talk about from home, but it's still not the same.
Maybe you should help at a homeless shelter or something. I mean, if there are any homeless people in Hawaii. Or you could probably do something more useful like Habitat for Humanity. I did that one summer. My church group all went down to Mexico and built a house. I was pretty bad at sawing and stuff, but you really should've seen me with the nail gun! You could probably like work on the designs or something.
Zelenka caught me trying to access the files. And now every time I type any word having to do with military, you know, doing things to the enemy that make them less alive, no matter what computer, pink bunnies start hopping across the screen singing Abba.
This is the last time I try to do you a favor, McKay. Especially because the Zero Weapon doesn't even work – no matter how hard Everett and Mini-you push. I think you may be right about Dr. Z. It doesn't pay to cross him.
Sincerely,
Aiden Ford
Ford:
Nice to know that you compare me to your grandfather, way to make the guy who's lost more than thirty years of his life feel good. And I'll have you know that I am doing a great service to the physics community while here.
I mean, obviously I can't use my real name or show my credentials or anything like that, but if I'm just a bumbling old man offering incredibly insightful advice and occasionally modifying data, what's the harm? They'll thank me when they receive my Nobel Prize.
You remember everything I ever said about Kavanagh's intelligence and the team of trained monkeys that I'd like to replace him with? Well, that, multiplied by about a hundred, is the level of incompetence these pot-addled hippies achieve. Maybe a hole in the ozone developed here while we were away and the sun is now frying people's brains. I actually wish Zelonka were here. He was almost competent.
As for the hitchhiker, nothing bad happened. Obviously. He's not bad for a man with a death wish painted on him like a bright red bullseye. Knows about Dr. Who . . . which is a lot more than I can say about your generation. I mean, if it's not on MTV it doesn't exist, right? I have a hard time believing a closet-geek like him could be anything other than mostly harmless. Plus, you know I could take out a threat. Remember that Genii guard? He was huge and I punched and I kicked and I shocked him with that exposed wiring and boom.
I may be old, but the guy is on crutches and weighs maybe 2 kilos, if that. That should make it a fair fight, right? I could take him.
Tell Zelonka to buzz off. I've sent you an idiot proof (possible even DoD worthy) program that will make the pink bunny rabbits follow him for a change. They hum the Canadian National Anthem. Good times. If you screw this up, Ford, I may have to give you a curfew, not that curfews are really any way to raise children, eh? I mean, it's all about leadership and making them so afraid of disappointing you so that they'll come back on time on their own. I'm sure Sumner would have agreed.
-McKay
Yo Doc,
About the whole observatory thing. Are you sure you should be doing that? I mean you're supposed to be doing nothing but rest and relaxation.
Hey I told Dr. Z about your ‘almost competent' comment. I think now he can die happy. He also says to tell you to "vilez ma pridel (sp?)" (Lieutenant Todorov says that means ‘lick my ass,' but you know those Russians). He also says that he's not sending the data, no matter how many times he hears the Canadian song. Seriously, McKay, I know that you never really felt like the people here respected you, but we do. We want you to get better and working yourself to death (even on a tropical beach) isn't going to do that.
Things are good here now. I'm uh, thinking about asking Annie to marry me. You know, a couple of months back, the thought would've terrified me, but you know how quickly things can change. We just needed some good crisis-free time to work things out.
Everett still doesn't know what to do with the Mountain Man, but he's beating himself bloody against the walls of his cell. Everett keeps questioning him, but he won't admit to anything about the Wraith. Dr. Weir wants us to let him go, but Everett says it's a military situation. The SGC is sending a Tok'ra interrogation device with the next databurst.
And you want to hear something really gross? I think that Everett, the new military commander, actually bagged Teyla. How disgusting is that?
All that time and I think we all just weren't her types. I mean, I already had a girlfriend, but Everett is like . . . fifty-something, and really formal, you know? I guess he has a little of that old-school military charm (which I totally need to learn). I actually think he's a little sexist, which is the last thing you'd think Teyla would go for, but I guess it just goes to show you how women are a total mystery.
Sincerely,
Aiden Ford
Ford:
First of all, it's not like I'm going to reveal anything classified. I'm Mr. Stealthy, you'll see. Of course, anyone with a genius like mine would easily adapt to new situations and new life stories without batting an eyelash. I have the wool pulled so far over their eyes that they must think they've died and gone to Scotland (with all the haggis snorting quacks). The idiots think I'm just an old kook (at least this ‘condition' is good for something, right?). And secondly, do you think I can really just sit around and do nothing? There's nothing to do here anyway. I mean there's hiking and surfing and all these stupid sports Sheppard (the hitchhiker) is determined to kill himself with. But do I look like someone who would enjoy paragliding? Not only is this a pointless exercise in frustration (and I'd rather not waste my few remaining years going insane from boredom, thank you very much) but it's an inexcusable waste of my genius. I mean, me not working in the field of astrophysics is like people deciding not to use the sun to farm.
Wait, Teyla isn't a lesbian? Well, I guess that doesn't stop a guy from fantasizing, hm? But the military commander? I find that hard to wrap my head around, considering how fantastically she got along with Sumner. But that's not to say that there's something wrong with May-December relationships, I'll have you know. I mean, I know most people are superficial apes looking for ooh-shiny, but anyone smart enough to be worth being with in the first place would realize that there's more to life than appearance. How do we know that Teyla and this Everett guy don't share some sort of deep connection? Seriously, Ford, you need to learn to be less judgmental.
I've attached a letter for Teyla, if you wouldn't mind sending it along.
-McKay
P.S. Say ‘no' to marriage. You're pussy-whipped enough as it is. Better to concentrate your efforts on toppling the Czech Insanocracy.
McKannova!
You met someone, didn't you? Didn't you? You had like a wild month of passion with some vacationing divorcee and seduced her with physics equations or something, yeah? I'm so excited for you! That's awesome.
I remember when Annie and I first got together. Man it was so amazing. You should make sure to take her out, you know? Wine and dine her. I know you can afford it. And falling in love in Hawaii! That's so cool, doc.
I have sort of decided against the marriage thing. I mean, with you gone and the team, well, how it is, I don't want to screw up the best thing I have going for me, you know? Besides, I want to wait until we can have it done in a proper church with a proper minister. Do you know that Atlantis doesn't even have a chaplain? I feel like the only person who knows more about Christ than me is Dr. Schneider, and that's only because his archeological specialty was the Crusades.
I've been talking to the new major, Major Taylor, a lot recently. He's pretty cool, though he's been a little mopey. I think his girlfriend dumped him or something. He reminds me of you sometimes - like he's sort of making fun of me at the same time as he's joking with me. He has all these really great stories about him and his buddies in Afghanistan – Special Ops stuff. And, if Everett knew half the stuff that didn't go in the official report, he'd seriously blow a cap or something.
I know they teach us that we don't leave men behind. It's like the Marine motto and everything. But sometimes I think, you know, these people wouldn't really do that for me. They're not really family. And sometimes it might not even be worth it. I mean, I didn't leave you to go help Sumner and that got him killed. But this guy, Major Taylor, it's like he believes he can do anything if he just cares enough about it. You can't help but look up to that, you know?
Yesterday, we went to this planet and caught ourselves a real, live Wraith! Actually, she's not half as scary as the guy on the Planet Castaway Wraith, and we didn't catch her so much as borrow her. There was another one too, but Major Taylor was forced to take it out. The thing is, this crazy old guy had raised her like a human. She doesn't feed and she makes cookies and stuff. Her name's Ellia, and she's a really sweet girl. The anthropologists are going crazy over her and how much of the Wraith's meanness is supposed to be cultural. And Beckett finally has live cells to test the virus he and the Planet Virus Obsession people were working on.
I think that maybe Sumner might've been right after all, that the Wraith are scary and a terrible way to go, but even without the Genii plan, they're beatable. They're like the Goa'uld, willing to use humans when humans submit, but they still need our submission in order to survive. I feel like maybe we can fight them into a corner instead of having to kill every last one. They might even be willing to negotiate, if we can find the right ones.
Good luck with your young hot thing. Teyla sends her thanks, for whatever it was you said.
Sincerely,
Aiden Ford
P.S. The day when you're Mr. Stealthy, I'll eat my hat.
Ford:
I have no idea what kind of alien crack you've been smoking. You should stop. I'm not with anyone. And, vacationing divorcees aside, if I did happen to find someone who was truly intelligent enough to recognize the brilliance beneath this withered husk of a body, then I couldn't force that person to face the fact that I could die any minute now, with no explanation. I'm not even saying that this person might be the One, as though I'd be so ridiculous to believe anything like that. Even if they happened to be up there on the Samantha Carter scale of beauty and brilliance, I wouldn't say that.
But this person (hypothetically, of course) deserves better than a cranky old ‘physicist stalker.' Not that I'm really old, and not that my genius doesn't completely make up for my physical appearance, if not in fact overcompensate for it. I mean seriously, how could you reject someone who'd disproved Stephan Hawking by the time he left high school? My theories on non-relativistic hyperspace dynamics alone should be enough to get at least a handful of leggy blondes to fall at my feet.
Naturally, I can understand why said person would want to spend most of their time in my company, but co-dependency is such an ugly thing, don't you think? The military, of all things, understands that. What if we'd been too dependent on Sumner? What if he'd been too irreplaceable? What if he'd never considered his own death a real possibility? Would I be back here now? Would we still be alive?
The point is, there are too many unknowns, Ford. And as much as yourself and others have doubted it in the past, I'm really not that much of a bastard.
-McKay
P.S. As for the Wraith, I would never negotiate with a cow, and neither would you. Try to remember that.
Doc!
You are such a dog! Or like a Don Juan or whatever old people call it. You should totally go for it. If this person actually can stand to spend most of their time with you without going crazy, I think it must be love. And love is supposed to be blind, you know? I mean, I could see you playing it up with the divorcees, but really you shouldn't have to date old people just because you look old. So what if you might die before them? As soldiers that's a risk we all take, and there are a ton of us who are willing to go for it anyhow. Because we deserve to be happy as much as everyone else.
That's the thing you never got about the military, McKay - that even when you'd call us robots and put us all in the same pigeon holes, we do what we do for a reason. We have to be interchangeable, because if we don't know that the system will outlive us then we can never take risks. And without risks there's no victory, or hope, or passion. Haven't you ever wondered what it would be like to be part of something greater than yourself? You act like you're irreplaceable, like without you here, the sun will stop shining and the Earth will stop spinning and we'll all die horrible deaths, but you should feel happy that life goes on, and if you're lucky it remembers you.
Personally, I think you're just scared that if you actually let yourself be with someone, you won't be able to bitch and feel sorry for yourself anymore.
Also, you can start using the right pronouns. I know you're gay. Making out with Mini-you in the safety shower isn't exactly subtle. Which was way gross, McKay. It's practically Narcicest. Haha. Did you get it? Incest? Narcicest?
Sincerely,
Aiden Ford
Ford:
Since when did you start trying to be the grand and powerful Oz? You're twenty-five and in the Marines and you're trying to tell me how to live my life? I have more intelligence in a single hair follicle than your entire platoon, brigade, whatever.
I know what I deserve. I know I deserve more than this, and believe me, I know that you are all living life blithely on without me, glad to be rid of my iron fisted leadership, but since when are people given what they deserve? I mean, you build a nuclear bomb in grade six and instead of a medal (not that a cheap piece of gold plastic on a string really means anything anyhow) you get an interview with the CIA. Or you ask your father for an Erector set (don't you dare laugh, I know how you Marines think) and instead you get another sweater knitted by your half-blind Aunt Lulu.
My point is: life isn't fair. All I've ever done is be brilliant and charge head long into black energy beings and lead my cowering minions away from death by their own stupidity and what do I get? I get to live the life of an old man in a tourist trap with astrophysicists with coconuts for brains.
And, no, I am not scared! I am Rodney McKay and I laugh in the face of danger. So what if sometimes it's a slightly hysterical high-pitched laugh? I can be happy. I would be happy if there weren't poisonous sea life and polyester brained tourists and hippie astrophysicists all laying siege on my sanity.
If I were never drained by the Wraith . . . well, actually, that's not true, because if I was never drained by the Wraith I'd still be on Atlantis saving the galaxy and wining my Nobel prize and seducing not-so-lesbian warrior princesses left and right. So maybe, if I knew for certain that this was only a sort of skin condition and I'll live out my years in relative peace, then I would be with this guy because, let's face it, he's hot and really not all that stupid for a man that enjoys flying metal deathtraps while people are trying to shoot them with bazookas and relying on a flimsy fiberglass board to protect himself from bone-crushing waves that crash against very hard lava rocks. Plus, he enjoys my company.
But he deserves things too, like someone who's not damaged beyond repair and can't tell him why.
-McKay
P.S. The Gall thing was a one-time, adrenaline fueled, ‘thank god we didn't die in the monster hurricane or at the hands of insane Saddam-wannabe terrorists' blowjob. If you ever bring it up again, I will make sure the dancing bunnies on your computer play Britney Spears.
Doctor McKay,
You really need to stop with the self-pity thing. It doesn't suit you.
We're pretty busy right now. One of those Wraith dart things flew over the City and the Colonel is planning a counterstrike. We're actually considering involving the Genii, because with their men and the nukes from Earth, we might be able to do it!
Sincerely,
Aiden Ford
P.S. I kinda like Britney Spears.
Ford:
Don't be stupid. I am not being self-pitying. I'm stating the obvious facts of my situation and what I have to do because of them.
As for the Genii, don't be an idiot. Even these new military heroes of yours can't pull off the simultaneous detonation of nuclear weapons onboard twenty hive ships, let alone the sixty more that might still be out there. I know the Genii think it will work, but that's because they're all megalomaniacal zombie farmers with irradiated mutant-brains, not to mention the whole galactic stupidity of betraying their most capable allies because of planetary scale Oedipal trust issues. In fact, the very fact that they think it will work should be a sign that it's all going to go to hell in an apocalyptic hand-basket.
And I'm going to stop writing now because the hitchhiker wants me to go out and get poisoned by the cheesiest five-star chefs on this over-fluffed island, and if I start in on a rant about your utter lack of good taste in music and most things that don't explode or kill people, then the poor man will likely starve to death (I swear, he's a manorexic).
-McKay
Ford:
I know with your busy schedule of polishing your gun and beating yourself up against a sand-filled bag, it's hard to find time and brain cells for conversations with rickety old teammates puttering around the tropics, but you're really starting to worry me here. My last email wasn't that insulting. Stop crying and get over it, before you give an old man a heart attack, eh?
You'd be happy to know that, even if it may not have had anything to do with your ridiculous carpe diem old soldier's tales, I did decide to go for it with the hot hitchhiker (yes, the same guy. I really should try being Christian more often, leads to all sorts of very nice sin). I mean, the guy flies a helicopter over spewing molten hot magma for a living and surfs twenty-foot waves for fun, so there's actually the good possibility that he'll die first. Not actually that comforting, but it certainly makes for less guilt. And did I mention that he's hot? Seriously hot.
Just write me, okay? I have enough gray hair as it is without worrying about you too.
-McKay
Dear Doctor McKay,
This is Annie Parker writing to you. I'm not sure you ever knew my name, but you mean a lot to Aiden and Aiden means a lot to me.
These past weeks have been frantic and we have not been able to think much of Earth and so none of us have been available to write you.
I'm not sure if Aiden mentioned the man we found with the Wraith transmitter implanted in him, but when we brought him back, we showed the Wraith that there were once again humans inhabiting the city, which is why Teyla believes we caused them to awaken.
They came in force. Fifteen ships, and with only few drone weapons and the Daedalus, we were not prepared to fight them. But the shield held and we were eventually able to submerge the city, convincing them that Atlantis had been destroyed. Thank god for that extra ZPM. The rest of the hive ships have shown no sign of waking.
Aiden was injured during our retaliation attempt, tossed hard against a wall during a raid on a slumbering cruiser. He suffered several broken ribs, internal bleeding, some spinal swelling and a skull fracture and has already been evacuated to Earth. I hope to join him there as soon as the rest of my duties here are completed.
It's only fair that you should know that, despite our success in destroying twelve hive ships while still on the ground, the Atlantis Mission is being reassessed. We have made many allies in Pegasus, and discovered much, but with the Ori threat to Earth and the estimated resources necessary to fight the Wraith, I doubt that the brass will decide to continue. There is talk of flying the City back to Earth, though that's really a question for the scientists.
Maybe, as Chief Cowen told me several weeks before the Genii betrayal, a soldier's greatest asset is also his worst enemy: the belief that he will overcome all odds. I am not sure those of us who have known only peace or victory make the best masters of war, because the Wraith turned out to be nothing like the Goa'uld, after all.
I'm sorry I could not bring you better news. I will do my best to keep you updated on Aiden's condition.
Best Wishes,
Lieutenant Annie Parker