Fic: Diplomacy, Role Reversal challenge
Title: Diplomacy
Author: beatgeek
Word count: 1700
Summary: Dr. Rodney McKay, the Pegasus Galaxy's most culturally sensitive negotiator. Or maybe not.
The Exarch put his wineglass down and leaned across the table. There was the hint of a frown on his face. "What," he said, "is a 'Neanderthal'?"
A Neanderthal, thought Rodney, is something that would have more class than you do. "It's the name of a people where I come from."
"You said that I am like one? What are these people like?"
Extinct. Because they were dysfunctional illiterates who couldn't comprehend the wheel, or fire, or women who could string more than two words together. "They were a people, uh, whose customs were much like yours. Are."
Actually they were not. The Neanderthals most likely did not meet in huge rooms with stained-glass windows and interiors festooned with opulent rugs and thick velvet draperies. The Neanderthals probably did not dress in elaborately embroidered shirts and surcoats, or wear elaborate hairstyles, or thick ropes of jewels, or hold long, multi-course banquets for visiting and unwilling diplomats.
And the Neanderthals, for all their failings, hadn't had an avoidance of women that amounted to a near-phobia. If the Exarch and his cronies had indeed been Neanderthals, Teyla could have been handling the negotiations and Rodney could have been out doing something important. "Important" was his job, not "making endless inane small talk and barely forcing a feigned interest in your ridiculous excuse for a society which is actually nothing really like Neanderthals at all".
But the Exarch nodded at Rodney's words, the last-minute change in the verb tense having apparently slid by him. Around the table the other members of the Exarch's council, all male, nodded on cue. Rodney was reminded of a wall of souvenir bobblehead dolls all swinging at once, except that a wall of bobblehead dolls would have a presented much higher collective IQ than the people he was facing now. He shifted uneasily on his elaborately carved chair and said. "Yes. Well, about that trade agreement--"
"Wait," said the Exarch and he and the others fell silent. The door to the room opened to admit a woman bringing more wine. The men watched her sternly until she had left, and not until the door had closed behind her did the Exarch raise his hand. "You may speak, now that the female is gone."
Yes, now that the girl germs were out of the room. It was definitely Teyla who should have been dealing with these people, not Rodney. Teyla could tolerate stupidity.
Rodney couldn't. He looked at the Exarch with heartfelt loathing. "It's going to be a condition of our trade agreement," he said, "that you stop with this--" He took a deep breath and started again. "The Neanderthals are a people who fell behind the times as regards to, insofar as...gender related policies. That is to say...Look, we do not..."
"The food is arrived," said the Exarch said suddenly, motioning to the door, and all felll silent. Three women entered the room with platters piled high with the vile, elaborately sauced dishes that passed for cuisine on this planet. The women put down the food, without comment, and left. Once they were gone the men started yapping loudly to each other as they helped themselves to food and wine, and more food, and more wine, and more yapping, like a flock of particularly stupid and unusually loud seagulls at a dumpster. Rodney and the trade agreement were totally forgotten.
Rodney wondered what would happen if he upended the largest of the platters directly over the Exarch's head. Sheppard would be down in the market, just the one time Rodney did need someone to threaten to punch holes in things with a very large gun. If only Sheppard were here or, say...Sam. Yes. Sam with a P90 and that look on her face that said someone was going to catch it... He indulged in pleasant, increasingly elaborate revenge fantasies while he waited for the men to stop stuffing their faces and get on with it.
By the time the Exarch finally pushed his plate away, Rodney had decided to over again, from the beginning, with very small words. "Our trade agreements," he said, "are based on a mutual respect between our peoples. All of our peoples." Blank looks on all sides. "Our female people as well," he elaborated.
The Exarch's forehead wrinkled. "You speak to females?"
"Yes, we speak to females. And females speak to us. Men. I mean, 'us' here is made up of both females and males, and..."
"Males and females speaking," said the Exarch. "This thing is heresy."
"It's the way things are done in our land."
The tension in the air was so sudden, and marked, that even Rodney could feel it. The men had fallen mostly silent, glancing nervously at their leader, waiting for his reaction. The Exarch placed both hands on the table and gave Rodney a long, hard look.
Then he started to laugh.
"Men and women, talking together!" He laughed harder and wiped his eyes. "Both involved in trade agreements! You speak as if such a thing were not only possible, but even desirable!"
As if a switch were pulled, the other men started to laugh. No, good god, they were giggling. *Giggling*. Rodney stared. He was in a room surrounded by insane gynophobic giggling madmen.
Oh my God, thought Rodney, that's it.
"You're crazy," he said. "You're all crazy. How can you sit here in your clubhouse with your No Girls Allowed sign or whatever the hell and tell me that *I'm* the insane one?"
The men started to laugh even harder.
"Oh, yes, very funny. You think that's hysterical." He was standing up and he didn't really remember when that happened, but whatever. "Well, guess what. We don't trade with crazy people, we don't deal with bigots, and we don't negotiate with morons. Whenever you crawl out of your misogynistic hole into your version of the twentieth century, or hell the nineteenth, the goddamn Dark Ages, call us and we'll talk. But until you stop acting like your women are a separate species--"
He was speaking into a dead silence. The laughter had stopped, as if a switch had been thrown, and the men were staring silently past him to the door. He turned and saw one of the serving women had entered again.
"Dr. McKay," she said. She held the door open and gestured for him to follow.
Rodney spared one final venomous glance around the room, at the velvets, at the draperies, at the silent Exarch, at the inert faces of his cohorts, said, "Neanderthals," one more time, and followed the serving woman out.
Well, he thought, so much for ever making peace with this planet.
He followed the woman away from the elaborate men's building to the smaller, plainer compound where the women stayed. Teyla stood in the courtyard, talking cheerfully to an elderly woman, and Rodney's stomach tied itself in knots. Hi Teyla, nice day isn't it and oh, by the way, I just blew our trade agreement, and have you done something with your hair? Why couldn't the men have been reasonable and talked to the person who should have done the talking, despite her chromosone arrangement? Why hadn't Rodney insisted on going to the market and let Sheppard handle this? Hell, why hadn't he let Ronon handle it? Ronon could have exchanged grunts with the Exarch in his own language and come to an better agreement than Rodney could have, but noooo...
Teyla bowed a gracious farewell to the woman she was talking to before turning to Rodney. "How was your meal?"
"Insufferable. And probably not really...successful." He couldn't meet her eyes. "I, uh...I'm not exactly, well I wasn't exactly this time, much of a diplomat."
"I am sure you did fine." She took his elbow and guided him away. "I have been talking to the women."
"Forget talking. Give them a bag of C4 and an instruction manual. The idiocy around here is so deep you'd need hip waders. When you said this world was sexually segregated you didn't say it was run by mental six year olds afraid of getting cooties. I--"
"The Council wishes to let you know they are very grateful to you for keeping the men occupied. The agreement will go as planned."
"What agreement? They're more concerned with keeping the girls out of their fort than anything else, up to and including the Wraith."
"Yes," said Teyla. "The women have historically arranged it that way."
"What?"
"Their culture is indeed as stratified as you observed, but it is the women who are in charge. The men are socialized to keep apart in their own territory."
Rodney gaped. "But the Exarch? What about him? What about, about the food, and the wine, and the speeches, and..."
"You did a fine job, Rodney. By showing that we care about the opinions of the harem as well as that of the women, we are helping to open up their social structure."
"The HAREM."
"Did you have too much to drink? You look somewhat red. In any case, the progressive elements in the government wish to break down this artificial separation and they feel establishing regular contact with Atlantis will aid in this. I felt that you were an obvious choice to remain here and talk to the harem."
"That is the second time you have said 'harem', and...wait, what do you mean 'obvious choice'?"
"They greatly like you. Apparently you made quite a good impression."
"I am not," Rodney said, "any kind of obvious choice for anything like that, thank you, I know some women, that is to say I have spoken to-- I am not-- "
"Come, we need to meet Colonel Sheppard and Ronon in the market. We should be fine going there as a mixed-gender party; just remember to walk three steps behind me at all times, and do not speak to any women. Including me," she said, cutting off anything he might have been about to say, though he wasn't sure if there had been.
Rodney stood frozen for a few seconds, watching her retreating back. A few of the women stared at him curiously. From across the courtyard he could hear the men's voices raised in laughter once again.
"Neanderthals," he finally said, under his breath, and set off after Teyla. He kept two and a half steps behind her instead of three, just to make his point, though what his point was he was no longer sure of.
Author: beatgeek
Word count: 1700
Summary: Dr. Rodney McKay, the Pegasus Galaxy's most culturally sensitive negotiator. Or maybe not.
The Exarch put his wineglass down and leaned across the table. There was the hint of a frown on his face. "What," he said, "is a 'Neanderthal'?"
A Neanderthal, thought Rodney, is something that would have more class than you do. "It's the name of a people where I come from."
"You said that I am like one? What are these people like?"
Extinct. Because they were dysfunctional illiterates who couldn't comprehend the wheel, or fire, or women who could string more than two words together. "They were a people, uh, whose customs were much like yours. Are."
Actually they were not. The Neanderthals most likely did not meet in huge rooms with stained-glass windows and interiors festooned with opulent rugs and thick velvet draperies. The Neanderthals probably did not dress in elaborately embroidered shirts and surcoats, or wear elaborate hairstyles, or thick ropes of jewels, or hold long, multi-course banquets for visiting and unwilling diplomats.
And the Neanderthals, for all their failings, hadn't had an avoidance of women that amounted to a near-phobia. If the Exarch and his cronies had indeed been Neanderthals, Teyla could have been handling the negotiations and Rodney could have been out doing something important. "Important" was his job, not "making endless inane small talk and barely forcing a feigned interest in your ridiculous excuse for a society which is actually nothing really like Neanderthals at all".
But the Exarch nodded at Rodney's words, the last-minute change in the verb tense having apparently slid by him. Around the table the other members of the Exarch's council, all male, nodded on cue. Rodney was reminded of a wall of souvenir bobblehead dolls all swinging at once, except that a wall of bobblehead dolls would have a presented much higher collective IQ than the people he was facing now. He shifted uneasily on his elaborately carved chair and said. "Yes. Well, about that trade agreement--"
"Wait," said the Exarch and he and the others fell silent. The door to the room opened to admit a woman bringing more wine. The men watched her sternly until she had left, and not until the door had closed behind her did the Exarch raise his hand. "You may speak, now that the female is gone."
Yes, now that the girl germs were out of the room. It was definitely Teyla who should have been dealing with these people, not Rodney. Teyla could tolerate stupidity.
Rodney couldn't. He looked at the Exarch with heartfelt loathing. "It's going to be a condition of our trade agreement," he said, "that you stop with this--" He took a deep breath and started again. "The Neanderthals are a people who fell behind the times as regards to, insofar as...gender related policies. That is to say...Look, we do not..."
"The food is arrived," said the Exarch said suddenly, motioning to the door, and all felll silent. Three women entered the room with platters piled high with the vile, elaborately sauced dishes that passed for cuisine on this planet. The women put down the food, without comment, and left. Once they were gone the men started yapping loudly to each other as they helped themselves to food and wine, and more food, and more wine, and more yapping, like a flock of particularly stupid and unusually loud seagulls at a dumpster. Rodney and the trade agreement were totally forgotten.
Rodney wondered what would happen if he upended the largest of the platters directly over the Exarch's head. Sheppard would be down in the market, just the one time Rodney did need someone to threaten to punch holes in things with a very large gun. If only Sheppard were here or, say...Sam. Yes. Sam with a P90 and that look on her face that said someone was going to catch it... He indulged in pleasant, increasingly elaborate revenge fantasies while he waited for the men to stop stuffing their faces and get on with it.
By the time the Exarch finally pushed his plate away, Rodney had decided to over again, from the beginning, with very small words. "Our trade agreements," he said, "are based on a mutual respect between our peoples. All of our peoples." Blank looks on all sides. "Our female people as well," he elaborated.
The Exarch's forehead wrinkled. "You speak to females?"
"Yes, we speak to females. And females speak to us. Men. I mean, 'us' here is made up of both females and males, and..."
"Males and females speaking," said the Exarch. "This thing is heresy."
"It's the way things are done in our land."
The tension in the air was so sudden, and marked, that even Rodney could feel it. The men had fallen mostly silent, glancing nervously at their leader, waiting for his reaction. The Exarch placed both hands on the table and gave Rodney a long, hard look.
Then he started to laugh.
"Men and women, talking together!" He laughed harder and wiped his eyes. "Both involved in trade agreements! You speak as if such a thing were not only possible, but even desirable!"
As if a switch were pulled, the other men started to laugh. No, good god, they were giggling. *Giggling*. Rodney stared. He was in a room surrounded by insane gynophobic giggling madmen.
Oh my God, thought Rodney, that's it.
"You're crazy," he said. "You're all crazy. How can you sit here in your clubhouse with your No Girls Allowed sign or whatever the hell and tell me that *I'm* the insane one?"
The men started to laugh even harder.
"Oh, yes, very funny. You think that's hysterical." He was standing up and he didn't really remember when that happened, but whatever. "Well, guess what. We don't trade with crazy people, we don't deal with bigots, and we don't negotiate with morons. Whenever you crawl out of your misogynistic hole into your version of the twentieth century, or hell the nineteenth, the goddamn Dark Ages, call us and we'll talk. But until you stop acting like your women are a separate species--"
He was speaking into a dead silence. The laughter had stopped, as if a switch had been thrown, and the men were staring silently past him to the door. He turned and saw one of the serving women had entered again.
"Dr. McKay," she said. She held the door open and gestured for him to follow.
Rodney spared one final venomous glance around the room, at the velvets, at the draperies, at the silent Exarch, at the inert faces of his cohorts, said, "Neanderthals," one more time, and followed the serving woman out.
Well, he thought, so much for ever making peace with this planet.
He followed the woman away from the elaborate men's building to the smaller, plainer compound where the women stayed. Teyla stood in the courtyard, talking cheerfully to an elderly woman, and Rodney's stomach tied itself in knots. Hi Teyla, nice day isn't it and oh, by the way, I just blew our trade agreement, and have you done something with your hair? Why couldn't the men have been reasonable and talked to the person who should have done the talking, despite her chromosone arrangement? Why hadn't Rodney insisted on going to the market and let Sheppard handle this? Hell, why hadn't he let Ronon handle it? Ronon could have exchanged grunts with the Exarch in his own language and come to an better agreement than Rodney could have, but noooo...
Teyla bowed a gracious farewell to the woman she was talking to before turning to Rodney. "How was your meal?"
"Insufferable. And probably not really...successful." He couldn't meet her eyes. "I, uh...I'm not exactly, well I wasn't exactly this time, much of a diplomat."
"I am sure you did fine." She took his elbow and guided him away. "I have been talking to the women."
"Forget talking. Give them a bag of C4 and an instruction manual. The idiocy around here is so deep you'd need hip waders. When you said this world was sexually segregated you didn't say it was run by mental six year olds afraid of getting cooties. I--"
"The Council wishes to let you know they are very grateful to you for keeping the men occupied. The agreement will go as planned."
"What agreement? They're more concerned with keeping the girls out of their fort than anything else, up to and including the Wraith."
"Yes," said Teyla. "The women have historically arranged it that way."
"What?"
"Their culture is indeed as stratified as you observed, but it is the women who are in charge. The men are socialized to keep apart in their own territory."
Rodney gaped. "But the Exarch? What about him? What about, about the food, and the wine, and the speeches, and..."
"You did a fine job, Rodney. By showing that we care about the opinions of the harem as well as that of the women, we are helping to open up their social structure."
"The HAREM."
"Did you have too much to drink? You look somewhat red. In any case, the progressive elements in the government wish to break down this artificial separation and they feel establishing regular contact with Atlantis will aid in this. I felt that you were an obvious choice to remain here and talk to the harem."
"That is the second time you have said 'harem', and...wait, what do you mean 'obvious choice'?"
"They greatly like you. Apparently you made quite a good impression."
"I am not," Rodney said, "any kind of obvious choice for anything like that, thank you, I know some women, that is to say I have spoken to-- I am not-- "
"Come, we need to meet Colonel Sheppard and Ronon in the market. We should be fine going there as a mixed-gender party; just remember to walk three steps behind me at all times, and do not speak to any women. Including me," she said, cutting off anything he might have been about to say, though he wasn't sure if there had been.
Rodney stood frozen for a few seconds, watching her retreating back. A few of the women stared at him curiously. From across the courtyard he could hear the men's voices raised in laughter once again.
"Neanderthals," he finally said, under his breath, and set off after Teyla. He kept two and a half steps behind her instead of three, just to make his point, though what his point was he was no longer sure of.