Diploma 3/25
"I realize you have no desire to play lab rat, Dr. McKay."
The hologram glared at him again, those tech-fake eyes making Radek want to challenge him, tell him what he thought of prima donnas even when they could conquer everyone on the dance floor.
That was right, yes? The metaphor.
"Lab rat?" McKay demanded. "If no one goes first, how are we supposed to know anything?"
It wasn't the response Radek expected. But then, McKay was never what he was supposed to be. It was his one constant.
"I only mean -"
"Were you coached, or something?" McKay's image demanded now. "I'm not here to talk to some mouthpiece. Do you understand the way the surgery works, or not?"
"It is not technically surgery -" Radek cautiously approached.
"Never mind," McKay snapped. "Get me someone else here, someone who isn't trying to train a good doggie and actually understands what a neural inhibitor -"
"I am not trying to train doggie! I am trying to get you to Atlantis!"
Holo-McKay scowled at him.
"I am trying to get you to where you need to be, yes? I am trying to get Great and Powerful McKay to place where he can make discoveries. I am trying to save lives of people who are there. People who are dying from Wraith. People who need massive brain even with massive ego!"
"I take it that means you're going," McKay sneered, but Radek could tell, finally, he was getting through to the man.
"Yes, I am going, but I was talking about you. You must go to Atlantis, and this procedure will allow it."
"Because, in all the ways that matter, I won't be a Guide."
"No, not until procedure wears off." Radek watched McKay think about that.
"Six months," the man said at last.
"Yes, or a little less. At which time, you undergo same treatment again."
"Or I can find out that the procedure is permanent, and I'll never be a Guide again."
"Yes."
McKay was looking in his direction, but even with those holo-eyes Radek could tell the man wasn't seeing him.
What would it be like, he wondered for about the hundredth time, to be someone like McKay? Or Jennisen, the female Guide he'd met in England about three weeks before she shot herself? Or Lelechenko, the Guide who walked into the lake clutching his prized Kishu Ken after leaving his millions to the Humane Society?
How was McKay in his late thirties without being insane yet? Or was he insane and brilliant enough to hide it?
"Do you think there's any real chance of it?" McKay asked in the smallest voice Radek had ever heard from the man. "Never being a Guide again? Not...being that way anymore?"
Radek hesitated, then threw what he'd been told to say in the proverbial toilet.
"Yes. I think...there is high chance. I think perhaps this is the way the Ancients reduced their Guides when Sentinels started ascending."
McKay nodded slightly, then firmly. A change seemed to come over him, his back straightening, his shoulders firming up.
"Tell them I'm in," the hologram said. Then the transmission cut off.
***
Dr. Elizabeth Weir, civilian Commander of Atlantis, looked at her military commander with almost overwhelming satisfaction, though not a trace of it showed on her face or in her body language. It wouldn't do to strut around like the governor in some old western preening over having the baddest Sentinel in the territory at her beck and call. Sentinels hadn't been the property of the state for over a century now, and John Sheppard wouldn't appreciate the slightest hint of a proprietary attitude.
"So, he's coming?" John asked. His face and body gave nothing more away than her own did. But while she sat straight in her chair with her hands folded on her desk, his long and wiry frame managed a sitting slouch that threatened to spill out of her office.
"Yes," Weir told him, watching him nod.
It didn't matter, really, and she did try to convey that with her smile. John's connection to Teyla Emmagan was strong and solid, a fantastic Sentinel/Guide pair that had saved Atlantis a half-dozen times. Considering they had found her on their very first Pegasus mission, their bond was an unexpected gift, to be sure. But no one would be foolish enough to deny its effectiveness. McKay's Guide status was basically a non-issue and would stay that way whether the procedure worked 100% or not.
"Good," John said around a grape lollipop he'd no doubt gotten off Carson. "I've talked with Major Lorne about the new requirements for all ATA carriers."
"Good, we need those people to be able to fly if they can, regardless of specialty."
John nodded, used to the way she had to repeat the obvious now. It wasn't her favorite quality about herself, but she'd learned to live with it. It was actually quite valuable in negotiations, stating what everyone already knew in different ways two, three, four, ten times until what had initially sounded like propaganda became its own sort of truth.
At least this time she meant it. They needed anyone and everyone who could fly a 'jumper to be able to get in the cockpit and fly. It didn't matter how well.
A thought occurred to her.
"McKay responded to the ATA gene therapy," she told John. "He'll need lessons."
"Stackhouse has gotten good at those," John said. "He does a thing with colored labels a monkey can follow."
"A monkey with the ATA gene," Elizabeth mused.
"We're all monkeys with the ATA gene," John muttered.
"What?" That wasn't the sort of comment she expected from her military commander.
But, of course, John shrugged it off, just like he shrugged everything off. "Just a joke."
He stood then and rolled his shoulders.
"Time for a round or two with my other half," John announced. "We done?"
She nodded. She had about twenty emails from Earth to deal with. McKay was coming to Atlantis, John and Teyla were good, Ronon was settling in to life on the city despite her concerns, and Dr. Hewston's research in the Nanotech Lab had finally yielded some insight into the Ancient's method of matter streaming.
All was well. And as Sheppard left, she noted yet again that her friend's gait, so stilted and constrained when she first had met him, was now loose and easy. It was so good that he had found his Guide. Good for him, for the city, for the mission.
No longer under a Sentinel's gaze, Elizabeth shook herself. She was getting proprietary again.
***
Freed from Weir's office, Sheppard did a sensory sweep of the control room, looking over at Chuck - one of his "grounding stations" -- with a nod. The man nodded back with his permanently friendly look. After that, it was easy to feel the city around him again while his feet took him into the transporter and then down a corridor to the gym where he'd find Ronon and Teyla: the two hundred-plus people smelling and sounding like they usually did when the Wraith weren't approaching and Daedalus wasn't on its way with the latest round of care packages.
While personally John suspected Zelenka was going to be more useful, it was good they'd gotten McKay, though the idea of a Guide's being "turned off" with brain surgery made his gut ache. He doubted the other Guides in the city would be comfortable around the guy - though, from what he'd heard from O'Neill, no one was comfortable around McKay.
What would it be like? John wondered before he could help himself. He couldn't help but hurt for a Guide stuck in his house for ten years because he hadn't found someone to bound with.
Literally, he couldn't help but hurt. Sheppard knew his genetics as well as any Sentinel. A Guide in bond-denial was going to set off every Sentinel in Atlantis, no matter what procedure he was going to go under.
He thought maybe he should set up a meeting, let all the Sentinels and Guides talk about it openly before McKay arrived. Get it all out and make plans. But that felt like doing some sort of Pride thing, and he wasn't going there.
He heard the whacking of sticks the instant the gym doors slid open. The two people who kept him functional were currently circling each other like lions facing off over catnip-encrusted steak. They'd been at it a while, too, judging by the sweat glistening like oil on their skin in the filtered light of the windows.
Neither fighter acknowledged his entrance, and after a few minutes to appreciate the sleek lines Teyla showed off so well in that slit skirt as well as her killer swing, Sheppard moved over to a mat and kicked off his shoes.
He wondered briefly if his team sparred so often to maintain some sort of Guide balance, or if always living in the shadow of the Wraith drove them to take every chance they could get to hone themselves. Either way, Sheppard knew how lucky he was to have them at his side, and for just a second, he let himself feel really good about that.
All right, John. Get a grip.
After a few deep breaths and long stretches, he settled into lotus and cleared his mind.
Who knew? Maybe today he'd get another glimpse of his sprit guide.
***
Part Four is Here
The hologram glared at him again, those tech-fake eyes making Radek want to challenge him, tell him what he thought of prima donnas even when they could conquer everyone on the dance floor.
That was right, yes? The metaphor.
"Lab rat?" McKay demanded. "If no one goes first, how are we supposed to know anything?"
It wasn't the response Radek expected. But then, McKay was never what he was supposed to be. It was his one constant.
"I only mean -"
"Were you coached, or something?" McKay's image demanded now. "I'm not here to talk to some mouthpiece. Do you understand the way the surgery works, or not?"
"It is not technically surgery -" Radek cautiously approached.
"Never mind," McKay snapped. "Get me someone else here, someone who isn't trying to train a good doggie and actually understands what a neural inhibitor -"
"I am not trying to train doggie! I am trying to get you to Atlantis!"
Holo-McKay scowled at him.
"I am trying to get you to where you need to be, yes? I am trying to get Great and Powerful McKay to place where he can make discoveries. I am trying to save lives of people who are there. People who are dying from Wraith. People who need massive brain even with massive ego!"
"I take it that means you're going," McKay sneered, but Radek could tell, finally, he was getting through to the man.
"Yes, I am going, but I was talking about you. You must go to Atlantis, and this procedure will allow it."
"Because, in all the ways that matter, I won't be a Guide."
"No, not until procedure wears off." Radek watched McKay think about that.
"Six months," the man said at last.
"Yes, or a little less. At which time, you undergo same treatment again."
"Or I can find out that the procedure is permanent, and I'll never be a Guide again."
"Yes."
McKay was looking in his direction, but even with those holo-eyes Radek could tell the man wasn't seeing him.
What would it be like, he wondered for about the hundredth time, to be someone like McKay? Or Jennisen, the female Guide he'd met in England about three weeks before she shot herself? Or Lelechenko, the Guide who walked into the lake clutching his prized Kishu Ken after leaving his millions to the Humane Society?
How was McKay in his late thirties without being insane yet? Or was he insane and brilliant enough to hide it?
"Do you think there's any real chance of it?" McKay asked in the smallest voice Radek had ever heard from the man. "Never being a Guide again? Not...being that way anymore?"
Radek hesitated, then threw what he'd been told to say in the proverbial toilet.
"Yes. I think...there is high chance. I think perhaps this is the way the Ancients reduced their Guides when Sentinels started ascending."
McKay nodded slightly, then firmly. A change seemed to come over him, his back straightening, his shoulders firming up.
"Tell them I'm in," the hologram said. Then the transmission cut off.
***
Dr. Elizabeth Weir, civilian Commander of Atlantis, looked at her military commander with almost overwhelming satisfaction, though not a trace of it showed on her face or in her body language. It wouldn't do to strut around like the governor in some old western preening over having the baddest Sentinel in the territory at her beck and call. Sentinels hadn't been the property of the state for over a century now, and John Sheppard wouldn't appreciate the slightest hint of a proprietary attitude.
"So, he's coming?" John asked. His face and body gave nothing more away than her own did. But while she sat straight in her chair with her hands folded on her desk, his long and wiry frame managed a sitting slouch that threatened to spill out of her office.
"Yes," Weir told him, watching him nod.
It didn't matter, really, and she did try to convey that with her smile. John's connection to Teyla Emmagan was strong and solid, a fantastic Sentinel/Guide pair that had saved Atlantis a half-dozen times. Considering they had found her on their very first Pegasus mission, their bond was an unexpected gift, to be sure. But no one would be foolish enough to deny its effectiveness. McKay's Guide status was basically a non-issue and would stay that way whether the procedure worked 100% or not.
"Good," John said around a grape lollipop he'd no doubt gotten off Carson. "I've talked with Major Lorne about the new requirements for all ATA carriers."
"Good, we need those people to be able to fly if they can, regardless of specialty."
John nodded, used to the way she had to repeat the obvious now. It wasn't her favorite quality about herself, but she'd learned to live with it. It was actually quite valuable in negotiations, stating what everyone already knew in different ways two, three, four, ten times until what had initially sounded like propaganda became its own sort of truth.
At least this time she meant it. They needed anyone and everyone who could fly a 'jumper to be able to get in the cockpit and fly. It didn't matter how well.
A thought occurred to her.
"McKay responded to the ATA gene therapy," she told John. "He'll need lessons."
"Stackhouse has gotten good at those," John said. "He does a thing with colored labels a monkey can follow."
"A monkey with the ATA gene," Elizabeth mused.
"We're all monkeys with the ATA gene," John muttered.
"What?" That wasn't the sort of comment she expected from her military commander.
But, of course, John shrugged it off, just like he shrugged everything off. "Just a joke."
He stood then and rolled his shoulders.
"Time for a round or two with my other half," John announced. "We done?"
She nodded. She had about twenty emails from Earth to deal with. McKay was coming to Atlantis, John and Teyla were good, Ronon was settling in to life on the city despite her concerns, and Dr. Hewston's research in the Nanotech Lab had finally yielded some insight into the Ancient's method of matter streaming.
All was well. And as Sheppard left, she noted yet again that her friend's gait, so stilted and constrained when she first had met him, was now loose and easy. It was so good that he had found his Guide. Good for him, for the city, for the mission.
No longer under a Sentinel's gaze, Elizabeth shook herself. She was getting proprietary again.
***
Freed from Weir's office, Sheppard did a sensory sweep of the control room, looking over at Chuck - one of his "grounding stations" -- with a nod. The man nodded back with his permanently friendly look. After that, it was easy to feel the city around him again while his feet took him into the transporter and then down a corridor to the gym where he'd find Ronon and Teyla: the two hundred-plus people smelling and sounding like they usually did when the Wraith weren't approaching and Daedalus wasn't on its way with the latest round of care packages.
While personally John suspected Zelenka was going to be more useful, it was good they'd gotten McKay, though the idea of a Guide's being "turned off" with brain surgery made his gut ache. He doubted the other Guides in the city would be comfortable around the guy - though, from what he'd heard from O'Neill, no one was comfortable around McKay.
What would it be like? John wondered before he could help himself. He couldn't help but hurt for a Guide stuck in his house for ten years because he hadn't found someone to bound with.
Literally, he couldn't help but hurt. Sheppard knew his genetics as well as any Sentinel. A Guide in bond-denial was going to set off every Sentinel in Atlantis, no matter what procedure he was going to go under.
He thought maybe he should set up a meeting, let all the Sentinels and Guides talk about it openly before McKay arrived. Get it all out and make plans. But that felt like doing some sort of Pride thing, and he wasn't going there.
He heard the whacking of sticks the instant the gym doors slid open. The two people who kept him functional were currently circling each other like lions facing off over catnip-encrusted steak. They'd been at it a while, too, judging by the sweat glistening like oil on their skin in the filtered light of the windows.
Neither fighter acknowledged his entrance, and after a few minutes to appreciate the sleek lines Teyla showed off so well in that slit skirt as well as her killer swing, Sheppard moved over to a mat and kicked off his shoes.
He wondered briefly if his team sparred so often to maintain some sort of Guide balance, or if always living in the shadow of the Wraith drove them to take every chance they could get to hone themselves. Either way, Sheppard knew how lucky he was to have them at his side, and for just a second, he let himself feel really good about that.
All right, John. Get a grip.
After a few deep breaths and long stretches, he settled into lotus and cleared his mind.
Who knew? Maybe today he'd get another glimpse of his sprit guide.
***
Part Four is Here