Permafrost by Liondragon [PG][backstory]
Title: Permafrost
Author: Liondragon
Challenge: Backstory
Word Count: 4500
Summary: Rodney marched willingly into the deep freeze.
Warnings: PG for the swear jar, extensive spoilers for Stargate SG-1 and Rising, subtle spoilers for the rest of Stargate Atlantis.
Thanks to spoke and lillian13 for beta and audiencing. This has not been Canadian-, Russian-, or Chinese-picked, and I apologize if I made any mistakes. Shamelessly: I would love to see more of this, anywhere, gen or shippy. This one's gen.
Permafrost
by Liondragon
The last phone call Rodney made before being loaded onto a railcar for Siberia was to his sister Jeannie. The connection was so spotty that she didn't respond until the fifth, desperate round of "Take the cat!"
"I can't, Mer, I'm... I was going to call you, aren't you coming back? Where are you? You're going to be an uncle. We're going to have a baby!"
Rodney forgot himself, forgot about the bugs and the N.I.D. and the Stargate program. He yelled into the phone.
Ever after he would never know how much of his diatribe came through. He was stopped by Jeannie yelling back. "Meredith, I am getting married with or without you-"
"-not that I can even attend!" The interruption was likely lost in static.
"-and whether or not I finish the thesis-"
"-you're not finishing-?!" Rodney banged his head on the tiled mosaic next to the phone. His ears were ringing.
"-and whether or not Dad would roll over in his grave because I've, oh look, actually found someone who's smart and emotionally available! Goodbye."
Rodney pounded the receiver on the wall. "You're wrong!" he yelled into it.
"Is there a problem, Dr. McKay?" The extremely lovely, extremely straitlaced handler inquired from the doorway.
"Your secure line isn't that secure!" Rodney snapped. He grabbed his bags from the stone-faced guard to march, willingly, into the deep freeze.
*
Siberia wasn't the winter wonderland he'd been anticipating. It was grass, mountains, more grass, trees that looked a lot happier to be there than the houses. At least, Rodney thought, he'd never have to visit the Yukon, ever.
It was only a temporary green, summer being past its apex and on its way out. Rodney was no longer surprised by the shift. He had learned the hard way that the desert was incredibly cold at night, and that intelligent, beautiful women could write him off. In pairs.
"You're not finishing, McKay," he said to his coffee mug.
The carriage matron glared at him for disturbing the dozing guards.
Fine. I'll shut up for once. It's just a secret base, not a camping trip. He opened his least-classified notebook and began to sketch out equations, the train rattling along into the middle of nowhere.
*
Rodney didn't shut up entirely, of course; there was a whole underground base to map out and refit, dozens of techs speaking like they had bees in their mouths, and the enormous (alien) power supply with nowhere to go. Two assistants trailed after him translating all the Cyrillic into English words. Four department heads did all the paperwork for him, including forging his signature.
He learned that опасность spelled 'danger', pelmeni meant he was eating meat dumplings, and no matter what he did, caviar would be served with lemon. The rest was math on chalkboards and pointing-and-yelling.
Most of the staff understood a fair amount of English, and Rodney ceased to care that they responded by insulting him in Russian. He wasn't going to complain about this job. Setting up a continental power grid with no infrastructure and no money was still an intellectual challenge, even if it would be years before he got any credit for it. And he had to be crazy to wish for someone to insult him in English.
When the first snows came, he started to wish for it anyway.
*
Eventually he got the hang of saying "no lemon" in three more languages. At first the custodial staff took him out to drink the most - Rodney had insisted that the walls and tables were never to be cleaned in case of stray equations, which reduced their workload to floors and bathrooms - and he ended up cold and miserable and drunk before many a strange fireplace. He didn't say much on these off-base visits. Eating well and eagerly seemed a good enough icebreaker for most, and if he fixed a couple of television sets and someone's short-wave radio, all the better.
It was a relief when the engineers began to insult him in English.
Six months in, the most irascible of the lot started sitting with him at lunch. They all spoke perfect English and mostly chose not to do so in front of him. Rodney usually ignored them through his first course, and they returned the favor until he started doodling equations on the napkins. These sparked long and heated arguments, Rodney explaining the concepts over and over again despite knowing these were the least-stupid ones who were just trying to see how long he'd go.
Rodney was invited to the engineering parties after he diverted their first successful power transfer to heating. The gatherings weren't that different from his university days, except this time he was allowed to sit in the corner and glower. Excepting the humorless three-man accounting department, he was the boss.
One night, Pasha (doctorate in chemical engineering, knew how to unjam the printer) walked Rodney back to the housing blocks, through the snow, under the vague shadows of trees and mountains.
"Stop, McKay," Pasha said. He held still, eyes bright under the fur-lined hood, one mitten up.
Rodney heard them before he saw them: a pair of wolves padding through the snow, puffs of steam marking their mouths, the otherworldly glint of their pupils making Rodney's spine lock. They passed before them, not ten feet away.
"Holy shit," Rodney said. He stared at the tracks. Where the animals had been, there was darkness made grayish by the snow-light.
Pasha didn't say anything while Rodney stood there, hands jammed in his pockets, cheeks buried in the collar of his orange parka.
This is where I live, Rodney thought. Despite the chill wind, the idea was settling in his bones. With a side glance at Pasha, he shook the snow from his boots and trudged onward.
*
Rodney understood the political situation well enough. It was like a baby version of Pentagon politics. Never mind if he got called to save the world every now and then, put his feet up in Colonel Chekov's private aircraft and put his feet down in Colorado Springs. The project was going to take years. At the end of the day, he always went back. He was beginning to call it 'the lair'.
The stint wasn't too bad, really. There was a secure line to the States even if his security clearance was a smidge lower than before. There were field trips to other potential testing sites. In the lair itself he knew who was competent and who was insufferably stupid, and learned to call the names of the former.
As for a social life, there was always lunchtime.
"You are the best administrator we could possibly have," said Mila (fluid mechanics, had a private supply of pens).
Rodney nearly snorted up stew.
While he coughed, Pasha and Dmitri had the gall to agree with her. "The paperwork is atrocious, bordering on non-existent," said Dmitri.
"No bribery possible except for packaged cakes," said Pasha.
Rodney raised a finger. "You mean you only like me because I'm not a part of your dwindling Cold War establishment," he said.
Mila muttered, "It will not dwindle for much longer. You watch. The balance of power will shift again."
Pasha nodded. "You would not last long in the mafia, McKay." He added, more seriously, "You talk too much."
Rodney looked from one to the other. Dmitri was nodding sagely. "It is not like American intelligence agencies." He dipped his nose nearly to the lip of his bowl. "You notice, we are the only ones shooting our mouths off in the dining hall. Because we are too valuable. They would not get rid of us."
"Too bad for you, Dima, your wife is not so convinced of that," joked Mila, and they dropped the subject.
This is how it is, Rodney thought as he cleaned out his bowl. He wasn't as alarmed by that as he'd expected.
*
Rodney thought about getting a cat the same week he lost count of the days.
*
He woke to the sounds of a helicopter. There weren't any transports due today, so Rodney rolled out of bed, grabbed his jacket, and hoped they would stand up to a surprise inspection. They were still three weeks from having a solid plan for the Novorossiysk project, but they'd been caught unawares before.
"One goddamn emergency after another," he muttered, plodding down the corridor toward the receiving area. An assistant tried to tell him something but he waved him off. "Coffee, no, I don't care, coffee now, talk later-"
"Dr. McKay?"
Rodney nearly bumped his knee on the threshold. That was not a Russian accent. If anything, it was vaguely Canadian. Maybe a north-central American state. Try as he might, he couldn't place it. "Yes, that's me..." He rubbed sleep from his eyes and stumbled down the stairs. "Hey you, close the door, do you want to turn this into a freezer! No, not you, uh-" civilian, Rodney's mind ticked off, "-I'm sorry, do I know you?"
Her hair was peeking out of a thick knitted cap, and she brushed it out of the way before offering her hand. "Dr. Elizabeth Weir. I'm pleased to meet you."
Rodney grabbed it on reflex. She even had a good handshake. Weir, Weir... oh. "You're the head of Stargate Command!"
"Not this week, no," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Actually, I'm not supposed to be here." She glanced up at the curious faces on the balcony. "Is there a private spot where we can chat?"
Rodney thought of his tiny suite with only one place to sit. "Er, right this way." He led the way to the cafeteria. Weir and her guard trailed after him.
The double doors opened to a scattering of night-shift workers playing some board game. Rodney was opening his mouth to evict them when Dr. Weir took off her hat and smiled her way through several lines of fluent Russian. She kept smiling as they filed out, telling each of them 'thank-you'.
"Please, if you would give us a moment," she told the guard, and suddenly Rodney was alone with her.
"Coffee?" Rodney said. His assistant had disappeared somewhere. "Or tea. I think there's only tea in this lounge."
"Whatever you have is fine, thank you, Doctor."
"Rodney," he said without thinking.
They took a moment to thaw out. With a bit more caffeine, Rodney could see that her makeup was professionally polished, less garish than that of the would-be magazine models among the younger locals. "I suppose you're wondering why I'm here."
God, he was out of practice with these political types. "It crossed my mind."
She told him about the I.O.A., the Antarctica treaty negotiations, and the fine details of the battle against Anubis. Some of it Rodney knew, yet he couldn't interrupt. He recognized in her the lack of sleep as much as the suppressed energy.
"The talks are actually on recess," Dr. Weir said. "One of the senior diplomats has business in Beijing. I want to intercept her before she returns to the negotiating table, so we don't have much time." She sipped her tea, clutching the cup with both hands.
Rodney's jaw dropped as it registered. "'We'?"
Dr. Weir regarded him sharply. "I want you to head the project to study the Antarctica base. I've just gotten the preliminary estimates on just how much the Ancients left behind in such a small installation, and I need someone who can manage an international contingent."
"What... but I..." Rodney found himself speechless. He suddenly remembered that he didn't particularly like being speechless. "I can't do that!"
She tilted her head. "I can speak with your Prime Minister about releasing you to the project."
It took Rodney a second to parse that she meant the Canadian P.M. "No, no, no, I mean I don't have a lot of experience with Ancient-"
"You studied the stargate," she pressed.
"Well, yes," Rodney said.
"You've run this Russian program for almost two years, now. And you've continued to consult for the SGC."
Rodney rubbed his unshaven cheek. "I... it's been two years?"
She folded her hands on the table. "I've had access to the personnel files of everyone with that kind of security clearance, Rodney. You fit all of my criteria. I admit that it's not a done deal, yet, but the quicker we assemble our staff, the fewer political obstacles we'll encounter at that stage."
"You want me to hire people," said Rodney.
"Yes," she said.
"You want me."
"Ideally."
"Novel Ancient technology."
"And the Lost City," she said. "Possibly. If we leave within the next two hours."
Rodney opened his mouth. "I'm yours," he said. "I mean. Not like- I realize that means-"
She smiled, unabashedly smug. "Please call me Elizabeth."
*
It didn't dawn on Rodney till the military escort showed up with all his belongings in duffel bags, with Mila and Pasha on their heels. Mila's first burst of "what the hell is going on?" was answered by Elizabeth, all in Russian.
Rodney was diverted from repacking his degrees when Mila switched to rapid-fire mode - usually reserved for overloading capacitors and anyone taking her pens.
"Oh my god," Rodney broke in. "You're kidnapping me!"
Elizabeth was clearly flustered. "I didn't mean-"
"You cannot have him," Mila said point-blank. Rodney was shocked, and strangely warmed. Then she said, "Until McKay signs recommendation for me to take his job."
"Excuse me!" bristled Rodney. "What? What if Pasha wants it!"
Pasha took in Rodney's raised chin. "Have you listened at all in the past two years? I work too many hours, and my feet ache. Besides, Mila is more organized."
"I..."
Mila shot Rodney a scathing glance. "You do not want to go with Dr. Weir?"
"Well, I," Rodney babbled. One of his assistants - Vladimir? Vassily? - handed him a fresh cup of coffee.
Elizabeth seemed to see her chance. "It's probably the whole database. All the answers you had to extrapolate. All the questions you have yet to ask. If we find it, it could all be in that one place."
And with a rush, Rodney remembered his first days of being briefed about the stargate, the constellations mapped out on alien technology, the frustrating way the Ancients twisted their thinking perpendicular to the Earth-bound human norm.
He forgot he was holding his coffee cup until the assistant took it out of his hands. "Right," he said briskly. "Type up your own damn recommendation, Mila, we're leaving in an hour and a half."
"Ha!" said Mila. To Rodney's horror, she grabbed his cheeks and planted a kiss on either side. Pasha followed suit, clapping him hard on the shoulders.
Rodney shooed them away in the cleanest invective he could muster in front of his new boss. "...oh god, they'll all be down here, won't they."
"I believe it's customary in this part of Russia," said Elizabeth.
"Any excuse to drink," Rodney agreed.
Elizabeth shrugged. "Not such a bad thing in the middle of winter."
Rodney snapped his fingers. "Office. I still have, there's a lot of-"
"Don't let me get in your way," Elizabeth said inexplicably.
Rodney shook his head. "Are you kidding? Your security clearance is higher than God and General O'Neill. Uh, after you."
This too seemed to be exactly what Elizabeth wanted to hear, her whole face brightening. Rodney blinked. That would take some getting used to.
*
They lifted off into the grim mid-morning, laden with three bottles of vodka, a bag of packaged snack cakes, and a cooler of frozen meat dumplings in a Nenet-made basket that still smelled of reindeer. Thankfully Elizabeth hadn't said a word about Rodney being passed around to hug and kiss every one of his department heads. They'd seemed awfully happy to see him go, too.
Rodney was just about to vividly recall his fears of small enclosed spaces and heights when Elizabeth cupped her headset and clicked into his channel. "Are you going to miss it?"
"I don't think about missing things," said Rodney over the rotor noise, surprised into truthfulness.
"It's a beautiful country," said Elizabeth. "Of course, I've only ever visited. I had treaty negotiations in the Black Sea region some time ago, so we took time out to tour farther north. Of course, I was too exhausted to really enjoy it."
Rodney said dryly, "Oh yes, it's a lovely place. All three seconds of spring, with all its attendant pollen. At least there aren't any allergens in Antarctica." Except Ancient death-plagues, he charitably refrained from adding.
"It must be amazing at night. So many stars. Have you seen many aurora borealis here?"
He almost replied that there wasn't anything exciting about deadly solar radiation bombarding atmospheric gases. Except... that was a lie. That was exciting. "We like to sleep at night," he said lamely.
Elizabeth had a lopsided smile. It reminded Rodney of someone. "When I was a little girl, I used to read all sorts of folk-tales. The Russian ones have a lot of kidnappings. Of course, they also had a lot of rescues."
Rodney snorted. "What was the difference?"
"I imagine it was whatever they found when they got there." She nodded, once, as though the answer was self-evident, there for Rodney's approval. "I can't make you any promises, Dr. McKay, but I hear the aurora australis is very clear in Antarctica."
*
Beijing was just as miserably cold as Siberia, except with more smog and traffic. Rodney knew they shouldn't talk about any details while they were in Chinese territory. He hadn't known just how sensitive Dr. Weir's little mission was, until she had to get past a half-dozen humorless guards and officials just to get an audience with the I.O.A. representative Chen.
They were kept waiting in another uninteresting room dressed up to look ancient. Elizabeth ran out of phone calls to make, and sat so straight in the chairs that it made Rodney's back hurt. He stared at the priceless antiquities and thought about the bugs and the Chinese government and Stargate Command. "Elizabeth, I have to ask you. Why are you doing this? You're, what, a diplomat? Fast-track, isn't that right?"
Elizabeth looked like she was thinking about the bugs too. "I think what we're doing is important for humanity."
Rodney huffed. He had his passport; he had clearance. He could return to the U.S., Canada, or Russia at any time. "In case you haven't noticed, I don't know you. I didn't cut my teeth at the Pentagon and manage to stay clear of the N.I.D. by ignoring the obvious. This project is a, a glorified weapons platform. Which is admittedly right up my alley. What about you?" He stopped abruptly.
Oddly she didn't seem offended. She didn't seem particularly fazed, even; Rodney wondered what Carter had added to his personnel file. "I had a crash course in the language. Let's just say... an entire city is not a weapons platform."
With that, the doors opened, and Dr. Chen entered. She and Elizabeth exchanged some pleasantries. Elizabeth was a bit shakier with whatever Chinese was being spoken, not that Chen seemed to care.
Suddenly Chen turned her attention to Rodney. "I am afraid we cannot continue this discussion with Dr. McKay present."
Elizabeth was taken aback. Rodney gaped. "Excuse me?" he said.
"What objection do you have for his presence, if I may ask?" said Elizabeth.
"He is a security risk," Chen said promptly. "He has been working for the Russians for two years. While it has been under Colonel Chekov's watch - whom I trust as my counterpart in the I.O.A. - Dr. McKay cannot have been under constant supervision."
"Are you kidding me?" Rodney snapped. He didn't advance on her (hi, armed guards), but he might have jabbed a hand in the direction of her speciousness. "If I'm spying for anyone, it's CSIS! Quite frankly the only reason I don't answer to Ottawa is because they don't have the material support for my wide range of specialties. And! If you know so much about me, you would realize that in those two years I've been up to my ears in the crises inherent in jamming the proverbial round peg into the abyss that is the Russian energy infrastructure. Square hole, you get it! I don't mind saying that without me, there wouldn't be a viable project at all. I'm the last person the Russians would send to do their dirty work. Even Washington knows better than to do that."
Chen stood stiffly in the face of this outburst, torn between being aghast and being amused.
Elizabeth cleared her throat. She touched Rodney lightly on the elbow. "I believe it's evident that Dr. McKay is deeply involved in his highly classified work. His clearance is one level below mine, Dr. Chen. If he is suspect, then so am I."
Rodney had a brief flash of being thrown into a Chinese prison. Shutting up, now.
Chen looked from one to the other, then smiled ruefully. "I apologize for the slight. You were simply not expected." She glanced at Elizabeth.
"He's here because I'm serious about moving forward," Elizabeth said. She shot him a tacit 'I'll take it from here', and continued. "We're facing a political reality on a higher sphere than that of conflicting national interests, and having taken part in it, I have to say that it's not going to wait on us. We can't lose this window of opportunity."
Gradually Rodney's jaw unclenched. The jet lag was catching up to him. With Elizabeth seemingly on a second wind, it was easier to just sit back and let her fight it out.
*
Chen said she had to consult with her superiors, so in the end they were left to their own devices. Elizabeth confessed that she wasn't fluent enough to warn people of Rodney's allergies, so they set out to find something palatable and Western.
They ended up in the Starbucks outside the Forbidden City. It was scarily identical, except for the crowds of people who sounded as though they were chewing silk and sandpaper. After trying not to make too many wanton noises over the actual, decent coffee, Rodney apologized for the scene with Chen. "It was just incredibly preposterous when she said it. I should've let you handle it."
"No, it's all right. Actually I wanted to thank you. You backed me up, back there."
Rodney blinked. "...you're welcome?" Talk about novel experiences.
Elizabeth smiled into her chai tea. "Though in the future, perhaps I'll work out the diplomacy."
Because he was an ass. That one wasn't a new concept. They sipped their drinks until even Elizabeth seemed itchy to lose their plain-clothes watcher, or at least give him a wider berth. Somehow they ended up back in the chill, walking toward the imperial complex.
"We can make it to the second gate, at least," said Elizabeth. "It's a massive place. I've always wanted to visit the Forbidden City. Though I suspect the best parts are closed to the public."
Rodney glanced over, suddenly suspicious. "How did you get a hold of me in the first place?" There were more security checks than just the Russians'. The SGC were the ones in orbit with the alien transporters.
Chagrined, she said, "I petitioned Jack."
"Oh of course. Because what's a mutual agreement and defense contract?" Jack O'Neill, he should have known. "I suppose you know first-hand how that is - the flagship team gets all the breaks." Rodney grumbled into his coffee cup.
Elizabeth shrugged. "He said it was my call."
"Why me?" Rodney said quietly. "Not that I'm not the world's foremost expert on you-know-what, well, maybe after Carter on a bad day. But there are better candidates for this post. That," he snapped his fingers, "that one guy from South America, or that blond German woman or what's-her-face from Japan. Or Gordon, whatever, British, he's already in the program. Even that little snot - Gull? Gill? Even him."
"Because we can't go it alone this time," said Elizabeth. "Rodney, that day I sat there and pinned all our hopes on one task, one tiny group of people. They made all the difference in the world. If they had fallen short, we wouldn't be here. Next time, I don't want humanity to go wanting. And to that end, I think you're the man who can choose the team to do it."
She was talking about the defeat of Anubis. For once Rodney had been safe and sound in the lair; she had likely been holed up with the stargate, right in the middle of doomsday. He mulled it over. "We won't be able to do this without international support, can we. The guys back-" he stumbled on the word 'home', "-over there aren't going to fund us."
"Exactly. It's perfect for you," she said brightly, and he snorted. "I think this is precisely what the guys over there need to see. We need to prove to them that it's possible to cooperate over this." She was one of those, Rodney thought to himself. He didn't muster up an interruption, though, because she turned to him and said, "I'll take that part. I want you to find the best in the world, and keep them pointed in the same direction."
Rodney said half-heartedly, "If you haven't noticed, I'm not very good with people."
Ever after, Rodney would tell himself that he knew he was being handled. She was a diplomat, and while he didn't understand their methods, he recognized them, mostly. It was just that she stood there in the low winter sun, surrounded by the high walls and scurrying tourists, and kept at it, kept trying to lay claim to him. "Just do your best, Rodney," she said. "They'll come around. These are the discoveries of a lifetime."
"'Best' is what I do," Rodney said loftily. He started to pick up the pace, the plans coming together in his head: articles, checklists, manifests, everything they'd need for the deep freeze of Antarctica. Elizabeth kept up ("In the interest of not kidnapping me again, London next?" "After negotiations, yes." "Of course. Good, good."), and they walked shoulder-to-shoulder until the next great gate.
Stargate does not belong to me. Unauthorized duplication and distribution prohibited.
Author: Liondragon
Challenge: Backstory
Word Count: 4500
Summary: Rodney marched willingly into the deep freeze.
Warnings: PG for the swear jar, extensive spoilers for Stargate SG-1 and Rising, subtle spoilers for the rest of Stargate Atlantis.
Thanks to spoke and lillian13 for beta and audiencing. This has not been Canadian-, Russian-, or Chinese-picked, and I apologize if I made any mistakes. Shamelessly: I would love to see more of this, anywhere, gen or shippy. This one's gen.
Permafrost
by Liondragon
The last phone call Rodney made before being loaded onto a railcar for Siberia was to his sister Jeannie. The connection was so spotty that she didn't respond until the fifth, desperate round of "Take the cat!"
"I can't, Mer, I'm... I was going to call you, aren't you coming back? Where are you? You're going to be an uncle. We're going to have a baby!"
Rodney forgot himself, forgot about the bugs and the N.I.D. and the Stargate program. He yelled into the phone.
Ever after he would never know how much of his diatribe came through. He was stopped by Jeannie yelling back. "Meredith, I am getting married with or without you-"
"-not that I can even attend!" The interruption was likely lost in static.
"-and whether or not I finish the thesis-"
"-you're not finishing-?!" Rodney banged his head on the tiled mosaic next to the phone. His ears were ringing.
"-and whether or not Dad would roll over in his grave because I've, oh look, actually found someone who's smart and emotionally available! Goodbye."
Rodney pounded the receiver on the wall. "You're wrong!" he yelled into it.
"Is there a problem, Dr. McKay?" The extremely lovely, extremely straitlaced handler inquired from the doorway.
"Your secure line isn't that secure!" Rodney snapped. He grabbed his bags from the stone-faced guard to march, willingly, into the deep freeze.
*
Siberia wasn't the winter wonderland he'd been anticipating. It was grass, mountains, more grass, trees that looked a lot happier to be there than the houses. At least, Rodney thought, he'd never have to visit the Yukon, ever.
It was only a temporary green, summer being past its apex and on its way out. Rodney was no longer surprised by the shift. He had learned the hard way that the desert was incredibly cold at night, and that intelligent, beautiful women could write him off. In pairs.
"You're not finishing, McKay," he said to his coffee mug.
The carriage matron glared at him for disturbing the dozing guards.
Fine. I'll shut up for once. It's just a secret base, not a camping trip. He opened his least-classified notebook and began to sketch out equations, the train rattling along into the middle of nowhere.
*
Rodney didn't shut up entirely, of course; there was a whole underground base to map out and refit, dozens of techs speaking like they had bees in their mouths, and the enormous (alien) power supply with nowhere to go. Two assistants trailed after him translating all the Cyrillic into English words. Four department heads did all the paperwork for him, including forging his signature.
He learned that опасность spelled 'danger', pelmeni meant he was eating meat dumplings, and no matter what he did, caviar would be served with lemon. The rest was math on chalkboards and pointing-and-yelling.
Most of the staff understood a fair amount of English, and Rodney ceased to care that they responded by insulting him in Russian. He wasn't going to complain about this job. Setting up a continental power grid with no infrastructure and no money was still an intellectual challenge, even if it would be years before he got any credit for it. And he had to be crazy to wish for someone to insult him in English.
When the first snows came, he started to wish for it anyway.
*
Eventually he got the hang of saying "no lemon" in three more languages. At first the custodial staff took him out to drink the most - Rodney had insisted that the walls and tables were never to be cleaned in case of stray equations, which reduced their workload to floors and bathrooms - and he ended up cold and miserable and drunk before many a strange fireplace. He didn't say much on these off-base visits. Eating well and eagerly seemed a good enough icebreaker for most, and if he fixed a couple of television sets and someone's short-wave radio, all the better.
It was a relief when the engineers began to insult him in English.
Six months in, the most irascible of the lot started sitting with him at lunch. They all spoke perfect English and mostly chose not to do so in front of him. Rodney usually ignored them through his first course, and they returned the favor until he started doodling equations on the napkins. These sparked long and heated arguments, Rodney explaining the concepts over and over again despite knowing these were the least-stupid ones who were just trying to see how long he'd go.
Rodney was invited to the engineering parties after he diverted their first successful power transfer to heating. The gatherings weren't that different from his university days, except this time he was allowed to sit in the corner and glower. Excepting the humorless three-man accounting department, he was the boss.
One night, Pasha (doctorate in chemical engineering, knew how to unjam the printer) walked Rodney back to the housing blocks, through the snow, under the vague shadows of trees and mountains.
"Stop, McKay," Pasha said. He held still, eyes bright under the fur-lined hood, one mitten up.
Rodney heard them before he saw them: a pair of wolves padding through the snow, puffs of steam marking their mouths, the otherworldly glint of their pupils making Rodney's spine lock. They passed before them, not ten feet away.
"Holy shit," Rodney said. He stared at the tracks. Where the animals had been, there was darkness made grayish by the snow-light.
Pasha didn't say anything while Rodney stood there, hands jammed in his pockets, cheeks buried in the collar of his orange parka.
This is where I live, Rodney thought. Despite the chill wind, the idea was settling in his bones. With a side glance at Pasha, he shook the snow from his boots and trudged onward.
*
Rodney understood the political situation well enough. It was like a baby version of Pentagon politics. Never mind if he got called to save the world every now and then, put his feet up in Colonel Chekov's private aircraft and put his feet down in Colorado Springs. The project was going to take years. At the end of the day, he always went back. He was beginning to call it 'the lair'.
The stint wasn't too bad, really. There was a secure line to the States even if his security clearance was a smidge lower than before. There were field trips to other potential testing sites. In the lair itself he knew who was competent and who was insufferably stupid, and learned to call the names of the former.
As for a social life, there was always lunchtime.
"You are the best administrator we could possibly have," said Mila (fluid mechanics, had a private supply of pens).
Rodney nearly snorted up stew.
While he coughed, Pasha and Dmitri had the gall to agree with her. "The paperwork is atrocious, bordering on non-existent," said Dmitri.
"No bribery possible except for packaged cakes," said Pasha.
Rodney raised a finger. "You mean you only like me because I'm not a part of your dwindling Cold War establishment," he said.
Mila muttered, "It will not dwindle for much longer. You watch. The balance of power will shift again."
Pasha nodded. "You would not last long in the mafia, McKay." He added, more seriously, "You talk too much."
Rodney looked from one to the other. Dmitri was nodding sagely. "It is not like American intelligence agencies." He dipped his nose nearly to the lip of his bowl. "You notice, we are the only ones shooting our mouths off in the dining hall. Because we are too valuable. They would not get rid of us."
"Too bad for you, Dima, your wife is not so convinced of that," joked Mila, and they dropped the subject.
This is how it is, Rodney thought as he cleaned out his bowl. He wasn't as alarmed by that as he'd expected.
*
Rodney thought about getting a cat the same week he lost count of the days.
*
He woke to the sounds of a helicopter. There weren't any transports due today, so Rodney rolled out of bed, grabbed his jacket, and hoped they would stand up to a surprise inspection. They were still three weeks from having a solid plan for the Novorossiysk project, but they'd been caught unawares before.
"One goddamn emergency after another," he muttered, plodding down the corridor toward the receiving area. An assistant tried to tell him something but he waved him off. "Coffee, no, I don't care, coffee now, talk later-"
"Dr. McKay?"
Rodney nearly bumped his knee on the threshold. That was not a Russian accent. If anything, it was vaguely Canadian. Maybe a north-central American state. Try as he might, he couldn't place it. "Yes, that's me..." He rubbed sleep from his eyes and stumbled down the stairs. "Hey you, close the door, do you want to turn this into a freezer! No, not you, uh-" civilian, Rodney's mind ticked off, "-I'm sorry, do I know you?"
Her hair was peeking out of a thick knitted cap, and she brushed it out of the way before offering her hand. "Dr. Elizabeth Weir. I'm pleased to meet you."
Rodney grabbed it on reflex. She even had a good handshake. Weir, Weir... oh. "You're the head of Stargate Command!"
"Not this week, no," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Actually, I'm not supposed to be here." She glanced up at the curious faces on the balcony. "Is there a private spot where we can chat?"
Rodney thought of his tiny suite with only one place to sit. "Er, right this way." He led the way to the cafeteria. Weir and her guard trailed after him.
The double doors opened to a scattering of night-shift workers playing some board game. Rodney was opening his mouth to evict them when Dr. Weir took off her hat and smiled her way through several lines of fluent Russian. She kept smiling as they filed out, telling each of them 'thank-you'.
"Please, if you would give us a moment," she told the guard, and suddenly Rodney was alone with her.
"Coffee?" Rodney said. His assistant had disappeared somewhere. "Or tea. I think there's only tea in this lounge."
"Whatever you have is fine, thank you, Doctor."
"Rodney," he said without thinking.
They took a moment to thaw out. With a bit more caffeine, Rodney could see that her makeup was professionally polished, less garish than that of the would-be magazine models among the younger locals. "I suppose you're wondering why I'm here."
God, he was out of practice with these political types. "It crossed my mind."
She told him about the I.O.A., the Antarctica treaty negotiations, and the fine details of the battle against Anubis. Some of it Rodney knew, yet he couldn't interrupt. He recognized in her the lack of sleep as much as the suppressed energy.
"The talks are actually on recess," Dr. Weir said. "One of the senior diplomats has business in Beijing. I want to intercept her before she returns to the negotiating table, so we don't have much time." She sipped her tea, clutching the cup with both hands.
Rodney's jaw dropped as it registered. "'We'?"
Dr. Weir regarded him sharply. "I want you to head the project to study the Antarctica base. I've just gotten the preliminary estimates on just how much the Ancients left behind in such a small installation, and I need someone who can manage an international contingent."
"What... but I..." Rodney found himself speechless. He suddenly remembered that he didn't particularly like being speechless. "I can't do that!"
She tilted her head. "I can speak with your Prime Minister about releasing you to the project."
It took Rodney a second to parse that she meant the Canadian P.M. "No, no, no, I mean I don't have a lot of experience with Ancient-"
"You studied the stargate," she pressed.
"Well, yes," Rodney said.
"You've run this Russian program for almost two years, now. And you've continued to consult for the SGC."
Rodney rubbed his unshaven cheek. "I... it's been two years?"
She folded her hands on the table. "I've had access to the personnel files of everyone with that kind of security clearance, Rodney. You fit all of my criteria. I admit that it's not a done deal, yet, but the quicker we assemble our staff, the fewer political obstacles we'll encounter at that stage."
"You want me to hire people," said Rodney.
"Yes," she said.
"You want me."
"Ideally."
"Novel Ancient technology."
"And the Lost City," she said. "Possibly. If we leave within the next two hours."
Rodney opened his mouth. "I'm yours," he said. "I mean. Not like- I realize that means-"
She smiled, unabashedly smug. "Please call me Elizabeth."
*
It didn't dawn on Rodney till the military escort showed up with all his belongings in duffel bags, with Mila and Pasha on their heels. Mila's first burst of "what the hell is going on?" was answered by Elizabeth, all in Russian.
Rodney was diverted from repacking his degrees when Mila switched to rapid-fire mode - usually reserved for overloading capacitors and anyone taking her pens.
"Oh my god," Rodney broke in. "You're kidnapping me!"
Elizabeth was clearly flustered. "I didn't mean-"
"You cannot have him," Mila said point-blank. Rodney was shocked, and strangely warmed. Then she said, "Until McKay signs recommendation for me to take his job."
"Excuse me!" bristled Rodney. "What? What if Pasha wants it!"
Pasha took in Rodney's raised chin. "Have you listened at all in the past two years? I work too many hours, and my feet ache. Besides, Mila is more organized."
"I..."
Mila shot Rodney a scathing glance. "You do not want to go with Dr. Weir?"
"Well, I," Rodney babbled. One of his assistants - Vladimir? Vassily? - handed him a fresh cup of coffee.
Elizabeth seemed to see her chance. "It's probably the whole database. All the answers you had to extrapolate. All the questions you have yet to ask. If we find it, it could all be in that one place."
And with a rush, Rodney remembered his first days of being briefed about the stargate, the constellations mapped out on alien technology, the frustrating way the Ancients twisted their thinking perpendicular to the Earth-bound human norm.
He forgot he was holding his coffee cup until the assistant took it out of his hands. "Right," he said briskly. "Type up your own damn recommendation, Mila, we're leaving in an hour and a half."
"Ha!" said Mila. To Rodney's horror, she grabbed his cheeks and planted a kiss on either side. Pasha followed suit, clapping him hard on the shoulders.
Rodney shooed them away in the cleanest invective he could muster in front of his new boss. "...oh god, they'll all be down here, won't they."
"I believe it's customary in this part of Russia," said Elizabeth.
"Any excuse to drink," Rodney agreed.
Elizabeth shrugged. "Not such a bad thing in the middle of winter."
Rodney snapped his fingers. "Office. I still have, there's a lot of-"
"Don't let me get in your way," Elizabeth said inexplicably.
Rodney shook his head. "Are you kidding? Your security clearance is higher than God and General O'Neill. Uh, after you."
This too seemed to be exactly what Elizabeth wanted to hear, her whole face brightening. Rodney blinked. That would take some getting used to.
*
They lifted off into the grim mid-morning, laden with three bottles of vodka, a bag of packaged snack cakes, and a cooler of frozen meat dumplings in a Nenet-made basket that still smelled of reindeer. Thankfully Elizabeth hadn't said a word about Rodney being passed around to hug and kiss every one of his department heads. They'd seemed awfully happy to see him go, too.
Rodney was just about to vividly recall his fears of small enclosed spaces and heights when Elizabeth cupped her headset and clicked into his channel. "Are you going to miss it?"
"I don't think about missing things," said Rodney over the rotor noise, surprised into truthfulness.
"It's a beautiful country," said Elizabeth. "Of course, I've only ever visited. I had treaty negotiations in the Black Sea region some time ago, so we took time out to tour farther north. Of course, I was too exhausted to really enjoy it."
Rodney said dryly, "Oh yes, it's a lovely place. All three seconds of spring, with all its attendant pollen. At least there aren't any allergens in Antarctica." Except Ancient death-plagues, he charitably refrained from adding.
"It must be amazing at night. So many stars. Have you seen many aurora borealis here?"
He almost replied that there wasn't anything exciting about deadly solar radiation bombarding atmospheric gases. Except... that was a lie. That was exciting. "We like to sleep at night," he said lamely.
Elizabeth had a lopsided smile. It reminded Rodney of someone. "When I was a little girl, I used to read all sorts of folk-tales. The Russian ones have a lot of kidnappings. Of course, they also had a lot of rescues."
Rodney snorted. "What was the difference?"
"I imagine it was whatever they found when they got there." She nodded, once, as though the answer was self-evident, there for Rodney's approval. "I can't make you any promises, Dr. McKay, but I hear the aurora australis is very clear in Antarctica."
*
Beijing was just as miserably cold as Siberia, except with more smog and traffic. Rodney knew they shouldn't talk about any details while they were in Chinese territory. He hadn't known just how sensitive Dr. Weir's little mission was, until she had to get past a half-dozen humorless guards and officials just to get an audience with the I.O.A. representative Chen.
They were kept waiting in another uninteresting room dressed up to look ancient. Elizabeth ran out of phone calls to make, and sat so straight in the chairs that it made Rodney's back hurt. He stared at the priceless antiquities and thought about the bugs and the Chinese government and Stargate Command. "Elizabeth, I have to ask you. Why are you doing this? You're, what, a diplomat? Fast-track, isn't that right?"
Elizabeth looked like she was thinking about the bugs too. "I think what we're doing is important for humanity."
Rodney huffed. He had his passport; he had clearance. He could return to the U.S., Canada, or Russia at any time. "In case you haven't noticed, I don't know you. I didn't cut my teeth at the Pentagon and manage to stay clear of the N.I.D. by ignoring the obvious. This project is a, a glorified weapons platform. Which is admittedly right up my alley. What about you?" He stopped abruptly.
Oddly she didn't seem offended. She didn't seem particularly fazed, even; Rodney wondered what Carter had added to his personnel file. "I had a crash course in the language. Let's just say... an entire city is not a weapons platform."
With that, the doors opened, and Dr. Chen entered. She and Elizabeth exchanged some pleasantries. Elizabeth was a bit shakier with whatever Chinese was being spoken, not that Chen seemed to care.
Suddenly Chen turned her attention to Rodney. "I am afraid we cannot continue this discussion with Dr. McKay present."
Elizabeth was taken aback. Rodney gaped. "Excuse me?" he said.
"What objection do you have for his presence, if I may ask?" said Elizabeth.
"He is a security risk," Chen said promptly. "He has been working for the Russians for two years. While it has been under Colonel Chekov's watch - whom I trust as my counterpart in the I.O.A. - Dr. McKay cannot have been under constant supervision."
"Are you kidding me?" Rodney snapped. He didn't advance on her (hi, armed guards), but he might have jabbed a hand in the direction of her speciousness. "If I'm spying for anyone, it's CSIS! Quite frankly the only reason I don't answer to Ottawa is because they don't have the material support for my wide range of specialties. And! If you know so much about me, you would realize that in those two years I've been up to my ears in the crises inherent in jamming the proverbial round peg into the abyss that is the Russian energy infrastructure. Square hole, you get it! I don't mind saying that without me, there wouldn't be a viable project at all. I'm the last person the Russians would send to do their dirty work. Even Washington knows better than to do that."
Chen stood stiffly in the face of this outburst, torn between being aghast and being amused.
Elizabeth cleared her throat. She touched Rodney lightly on the elbow. "I believe it's evident that Dr. McKay is deeply involved in his highly classified work. His clearance is one level below mine, Dr. Chen. If he is suspect, then so am I."
Rodney had a brief flash of being thrown into a Chinese prison. Shutting up, now.
Chen looked from one to the other, then smiled ruefully. "I apologize for the slight. You were simply not expected." She glanced at Elizabeth.
"He's here because I'm serious about moving forward," Elizabeth said. She shot him a tacit 'I'll take it from here', and continued. "We're facing a political reality on a higher sphere than that of conflicting national interests, and having taken part in it, I have to say that it's not going to wait on us. We can't lose this window of opportunity."
Gradually Rodney's jaw unclenched. The jet lag was catching up to him. With Elizabeth seemingly on a second wind, it was easier to just sit back and let her fight it out.
*
Chen said she had to consult with her superiors, so in the end they were left to their own devices. Elizabeth confessed that she wasn't fluent enough to warn people of Rodney's allergies, so they set out to find something palatable and Western.
They ended up in the Starbucks outside the Forbidden City. It was scarily identical, except for the crowds of people who sounded as though they were chewing silk and sandpaper. After trying not to make too many wanton noises over the actual, decent coffee, Rodney apologized for the scene with Chen. "It was just incredibly preposterous when she said it. I should've let you handle it."
"No, it's all right. Actually I wanted to thank you. You backed me up, back there."
Rodney blinked. "...you're welcome?" Talk about novel experiences.
Elizabeth smiled into her chai tea. "Though in the future, perhaps I'll work out the diplomacy."
Because he was an ass. That one wasn't a new concept. They sipped their drinks until even Elizabeth seemed itchy to lose their plain-clothes watcher, or at least give him a wider berth. Somehow they ended up back in the chill, walking toward the imperial complex.
"We can make it to the second gate, at least," said Elizabeth. "It's a massive place. I've always wanted to visit the Forbidden City. Though I suspect the best parts are closed to the public."
Rodney glanced over, suddenly suspicious. "How did you get a hold of me in the first place?" There were more security checks than just the Russians'. The SGC were the ones in orbit with the alien transporters.
Chagrined, she said, "I petitioned Jack."
"Oh of course. Because what's a mutual agreement and defense contract?" Jack O'Neill, he should have known. "I suppose you know first-hand how that is - the flagship team gets all the breaks." Rodney grumbled into his coffee cup.
Elizabeth shrugged. "He said it was my call."
"Why me?" Rodney said quietly. "Not that I'm not the world's foremost expert on you-know-what, well, maybe after Carter on a bad day. But there are better candidates for this post. That," he snapped his fingers, "that one guy from South America, or that blond German woman or what's-her-face from Japan. Or Gordon, whatever, British, he's already in the program. Even that little snot - Gull? Gill? Even him."
"Because we can't go it alone this time," said Elizabeth. "Rodney, that day I sat there and pinned all our hopes on one task, one tiny group of people. They made all the difference in the world. If they had fallen short, we wouldn't be here. Next time, I don't want humanity to go wanting. And to that end, I think you're the man who can choose the team to do it."
She was talking about the defeat of Anubis. For once Rodney had been safe and sound in the lair; she had likely been holed up with the stargate, right in the middle of doomsday. He mulled it over. "We won't be able to do this without international support, can we. The guys back-" he stumbled on the word 'home', "-over there aren't going to fund us."
"Exactly. It's perfect for you," she said brightly, and he snorted. "I think this is precisely what the guys over there need to see. We need to prove to them that it's possible to cooperate over this." She was one of those, Rodney thought to himself. He didn't muster up an interruption, though, because she turned to him and said, "I'll take that part. I want you to find the best in the world, and keep them pointed in the same direction."
Rodney said half-heartedly, "If you haven't noticed, I'm not very good with people."
Ever after, Rodney would tell himself that he knew he was being handled. She was a diplomat, and while he didn't understand their methods, he recognized them, mostly. It was just that she stood there in the low winter sun, surrounded by the high walls and scurrying tourists, and kept at it, kept trying to lay claim to him. "Just do your best, Rodney," she said. "They'll come around. These are the discoveries of a lifetime."
"'Best' is what I do," Rodney said loftily. He started to pick up the pace, the plans coming together in his head: articles, checklists, manifests, everything they'd need for the deep freeze of Antarctica. Elizabeth kept up ("In the interest of not kidnapping me again, London next?" "After negotiations, yes." "Of course. Good, good."), and they walked shoulder-to-shoulder until the next great gate.
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