SGA fic: An Insane New, Improved Computer (Earthside Remix)
Title: An Insane New, Improved Computer (Earthside Remix)
Remix Author: pentapus
Original story/author: Playing Poker With An Insane New, Improved Computer by cinaed
Characters/Pairings/etc: Rodney McKay, Radek Zelenka, and a John Sheppard cameo. Set during the Return. Gen, but with some Rodney/Radek if you squint, a lot.
A/N: For gateverse_remix. Thanks to ileliberte for the beta.
Radek,
I can understand why you opted to sever your affiliation with the program. Don’t worry, you aren’t missing anything. The labs here have a bafflingly picturesque feel, as though I’m trapped in an unfinished Myst sequel, but the research is surprisingly insubstantial for their size.
I’d say that at least I finally have colleagues who recognize my abilities, but I suspect that the gushing compliments conceal their complete incomprehension of the most basic concepts to pass my lips. They simply don’t speak the language, and as always in such situations, greater volume and reduced speed help very little. Next up: exaggerated hand motions. If that doesn’t work, I’ll be forced take up hiking as an escape mechanism. Then I suppose the SGC will regret it, once I’ve died of skin cancer in the desert.
It’s probably illegal for me to tell you all of this. What’s the official Area 51 cover story these days? I could have been researching renewable energy all this time and never known it. Carter told me they didn’t offer you a position. It’s no wonder the jumper project isn’t going anywhere.
R.M.
“Oh, Radek,” Novákóva said fondly, with a hand pressed to her chest. She had a stack of stapled lab reports bundled poorly in a purple folder shoved under her arm. “Next semester you’ll have students of your own, and I will remember this moment.”
Radek himself had nothing to carry, and it left him awkward with no place to put his hands. He was used to carrying a laptop or one of the silvery ancient palm pilots or--on bad days after the arrival of new personnel--a fire extinguisher. Inside his small office, his desktop computer methodically crunched through a small simulation in two hour chunks, unclassified, unlikely to be ground-breaking on any planet--except for maybe the Genii--and without the help of a brilliant, city-wide A.I.
“What can I say, I am a reckless man,” he said. Novákóva smiled.
The office door in front of them opened, and a tall, roundish man peered out. “You’re ready to go,” he said, surprised. “I’ve invited a few of the graduate students, if that’s all right.”
“Of course,” Novákóva said, idly flipping through her papers. The toe of her black shoes click-clacked against the floor impatiently. Janecek ducked back inside.
“Ah.” Radek shifted, tugging at his shirt collar, uncomfortable in the unusual heat. “Um.”
Novákóva eyed him. “No? Don’t tell me you have been here, what, a month, and already you’ve begun--feuds? Failed love affairs?”
“No, no,” Radek said, “it’s only--the American, Brewer. She has asked me to supervise her.”
“She has no advisor?”
“Ah, no, she--”
Janecek shuffled out of the office, sorting through a full key ring, a light zip-up raincoat hanging optimistically over his arm. He looked up, frowning. Untidy bangs hung across his forehead, exposing the bald spot high on his head. “The American girl? Oh, Bartos is retiring.”
“Yes,” Radek said, gratefully.
“So tell her yes so we can go to lunch,” Novákóva said.
Janecek started laughing softly.
Novákóva looked back and forth between them, scrunching up her small face. “Another no? Then tell her, so we can go to lunch.”
“Ah,” Radek said. “Well.” A breeze blew in from a window at the end of the hall, and he could smell the snack stand on the corner, in the middle of the muted sounds of the Masaryk campus in the summer time. Janecek coughed into his fist with great hilarity.
“Alright, alright, somebody--somebody will explain,” Novákóva said, hands up.
“It’s possible that,” Radek said. “That I may have--”
“He doesn’t want to say no,” Janecek said, “so--”
“She is a very forceful young woman,” Radek protested.
“An admirable quality,” Janecek said. “I enjoy listening to your conversations.”
“So I may have--” Radek said, to Novákóva. “Possibly, I may have downplayed my ability to speak, ah, English. Which, I admit, I have some difficulty with, occasionally--”
“But not quite like this,” Janecek said and burst into a guffaw. Radek took off his glasses and began to clean them unnecessarily. Novákóva watched all of this with a blank expression on her face.
“Ah,” she said.
Radek,
The temperature here hit 107° F before noon yesterday. Luckily (a side benefit of generating your own power) the a/c in the lab is exquisite. So aside from the needlessly long security procedures at the front gate--hello! Most talented individual in their employ for over a decade! More letting me in, less melting in the Nevada heat!--I may survive July. On the other hand, the SGC, having mistaken me for some kind of astrophysical horse whisperer, has gifted me with a set of new recruits.
One of the theorists spent all day trying to explain to me why wormholes were a scientific impossibility. He had charts and a laser pointer. Heatstroke begins to look attractive.
R.M.
The problem with Alison Brewer, Ph.D. candidate in physics, was not her intelligence or her work or even her personality, but that Radek could not figure out exactly which branch of the U.S. government had sent her here to check on him. In his head the options went something like: SGC irritating, NID bad. He might resent the SGC--for tearing him away from Atlantis, for tearing Rodney, and Elizabeth and Carson away, and especially for tearing John Sheppard away, who was Atlantis’ favorite and who Radek suspected had never felt comfortable on his home planet--but somehow he trusted them; and if Alison Brewer reported to them, perhaps he could feel a reluctant sort of kinship with her.
If she worked for the NID, well, that would be in every way more terrifying, and Radek was trying not to think about it.
He couldn’t even comfort himself with his good behavior. He had been receiving--emails, of a questionable nature, protected by an encryption Samantha Carter probably couldn’t break because Rodney was talkative, not stupid. They revealed nothing in the way of threats to national security--besides the occasional implied link between area 51 and alien technology--but Radek doubted the American government would appreciate Rodney’s consideration.
Radek,
The SGC still won’t give me the jumper project. It has to be Sheppard. He’s only got one incredibly advanced alien spaceship girlfriend left in this galaxy, and he knows he couldn’t take the long distance.
R.M.
Radek knew that Janecek always took his students to the same small café for lunch because he preferred their pastries, and because it was close, only a few blocks away, on the corner with a striped overhang. The heat had chased everyone away from the outdoor seating, and they found Janecek’s graduate students sitting inside with two more professors and the local musician Radek had heard was trying to date Novákóva.
In the middle of the group, an older man looked up, pushing down his reading glasses. His eyes settled on Radek and lit up. “Dr. Zelenka!” he said. “Hello! I hear you will supervise Alison when I retire.”
“Oh, look,” Novákóva said, too cheerfully and elbowed Radek in the ribs, “it’s Dr. Bartos.”
Next to the old professor, a skinny brunette with a boy’s cut and a Bowie t-shirt bit her lip and looked almost apologetic.
“You are all juvenile ignoramuses with the hearts of jackals,” Radek muttered, forgetting that this was Brno, not Atlantis, and almost everyone around him spoke Czech.
“Ha!” Janecek said, muscling his way through the crowd to an empty seat. “Oh, that was a good one. Would you like a kolache?”
Radek,
Not that I would know how good or bad Lt. Colonel Sheppard may be at long distance relationships since I am not in a long distance relationship with him. Which was, I think, self explanatory. Are you ignoring me? I get enough of that with Elizabeth. You know, she won’t even talk to Carson?
R.M.
In the month he had been at Masaryk, Radek received one unencrypted email from Rodney McKay. He nearly had a heart attack in the middle of his office when he received it. Attached, Radek found an article for peer review so far behind their current research that he broke into laughter before he realized it was meant for unclassified publication. Janecek, who was using Radek’s fax machine, turned around and said, interested, “You’re not watching more of this YouTube, are you?”
“What?” Radek said, “Ah, no.”
Janecek bent over the fax machine, scratching at his bald spot. “Too bad. I watched all of the new Lost there yesterday. It’s like I don’t even need--what the hell are they--one of those dishes on the house.” He sipped his coffee, and did not look up. “They never work anyway.”
“Yes,” Radek said blankly, staring at the blurry text of Rodney’s email, and he had to lean his head against his hands until the dizziness passed. Beneath the soles of his shoes, the Earth remained enormous and still and utterly permanent.
Radek,
The SGC won’t share any information about Woolsey’s negotiations. Sheppard and Carson are both at the mountain but don’t know anymore than I do. Ok, actually, less, since they can’t seem to hack into even the less secure databases. I can’t get anything higher. At least Carter sent me a mildly revealing memo when she caught me. In other words, so far harassment has been our most effective weapon.
You know, it’s interesting, anytime the SGC needs to contact me, Carter seems to volunteer. There’s something there. I’m not imagining it.
R.M.
“I just wanted to thank you for agreeing to supervise my research,” Brewer said in English, running her fingers back and forth along the edge of a printout. Her shirt bore a battered silk screen of the millennium falcon and smelled faintly of cigar smoke.
“Yes,” Radek said, face in his hands at his desk, trying desperately to sound like a moron. “Yes--what, how say--is good.”
“So, uh, did you see--Bartos sent you the information about my project? I could upload it to your computer for you. Do you need me to put the files on--on the computer?” She pointed elaborately at Radek’s desktop, miming either the use of a usb memory device or a stab wound.
“No,” Radek said, peering from between his fingers. “I have. Good.”
Brewer hung about in the doorway awkwardly. Radek watched in fascination as the spiky tips of her short, fluffy hair moved in the breeze from the open windows. Perhaps she was with the SGC. Her biceps were enormous. Footsteps approached, and Janecek suddenly shoved his head through the doorway. Brewer didn’t jump.
“Zelenka,” Janecek said, “How’s your English?”
“Horrendous, you overgrown fragrant toad,” Radek snapped.
“Hahaha!” Janecek said. In English, to Brewer, he said: “Hello, good morning! Do you need something?” He waved a hand between himself and Radek. “Think of me as your interpreter.”
“Um,” Brewer said. “I--my laptop, the power cord is busted. I was wondering--could I check my email on his computer, do you think?”
“The computer lab is closed?” Janecek said.
“For lunch?” Brewer said. “I’ll only need it for a few minutes.” Radek lifted his head, feeling a chill.
“Oh, well--” Janecek said.
“Yes,” Radek said in thickly accented English, standing. “Yes, okay. Here. I go. ”
“Thanks,” Brewer said, brightening. “Oh, but you don’t have to--”
“I go,” Radek said again, wincing--perhaps he was laying it on too thick. Swinging his bag up over his shoulder, he stalked out towards his lab.
“Radek,” Janecek called after him.
“I’ll be in the lab,” Radek waved a hand over his shoulder. “It’s no problem.” He slammed a hand into the bar handle on the stairwell door.
Janecek said, “No, actually, I meant--you left the computer locked--uh, Radek!”
“Dr. Zelenka!” Brewer said.
Radek pointed at his ear apologetically, and disappeared up the stairwell.
Radek, check your laptop.
R.M.
In the middle of the first year, Radek had been walking along the residence corridor with the stained glass windows that opened east, headed towards Rodney’s room. Atlantis was moored in the middle of a strong ocean current that originated at the planet’s equator, and the wind from this direction was always warmer. Radek stopped a moment to breathe it in before turning, looking for Rodney.
He ran into John Sheppard instead, dressed in jeans and a wrinkled button down. The man was standing in the doorway to his quarters holding an unplugged lamp and looking distracted.
“Oh, hey, Dr. Zelenka,” he said, staring past Radek.
“Yes, hello,” Radek said.
Sheppard shifted, lifting the lamp in his hand like he’d forgotten it was there. “Have you seen Rodney?”
“I thought perhaps he was in quarters,” Radek said. “It is late enough to be early, if you know what I mean.”
“Sure,” Sheppard said, grimacing and glancing back into his room. Radek half-expected to catch a compromising glimpse of a coworker in tangled sheets, maybe ruby red toe nails for an artistic touch, but the room was tidy, the bed neatly made. Suddenly, Sheppard turned to him, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, “Ok, look--I think my lamps are talking to me.”
Radek stared at him. “Ah, is that why you have unplugged it?”
“No, this is Lorne’s. I needed eight because--well.” Sheppard waved a hand in front of his face.
“Because your lamps are speaking to you in base two?” Radek asked hesitantly. He thought about the radio in his ear. Surely it was Rodney’s responsibility if his team leader went crazy. Radek was not emergency adventure guy, he was keep things running guy.
Sheppard brightened, gesturing with the lamp towards Radek’s face. The cord trailed behind him on the floor. “Yes, exactly! Except the ASCII’s not quite right.” He slumped a little. “I think it’s Ancient.”
“Ancient ASCII,” repeated Radek.
“Uh, yes,” Sheppard said.
“Huh,” Radek said. “You know--”
“Yeah?”
“It is possible you are not crazy. Show me lamps.”
Three hours later, half the science department was squashed into Sheppard’s quarters, discovering Atlantis’ A.I. In a week or two they would coax the city into using their Terran interfaces to communicate, but for now she spoke in blinking binary through the collection of desk lamps arranged on Sheppard’s woven Athosian rug.
“God,” Rodney said, later that night, sitting with his work spread out across Sheppard’s bed--Radek had seen the Major crashed out on a couch in an alcove a few corridors down--“I mean, I was--it was a joke, I didn’t mean the city was actually flirting with him.”
Radek shook a lamp at him, grinning with his whole face. “You are just jealous.”
Blink blink, Atlantis said, in a friendly way.
Radek,
Ok, snap, snap, eyes front and center. You transferred some of your files from the expedition laptop, right? You its entirely possible you may not have noticed
run this
yes, ok, very illegal, shut up, it’s not like you can ever really leave the SG program
____
atlantis.exe | 131 MB | download
Radek had long come to terms with his inability to introduce himself to strangers, and so it was unsurprising that none of his neighbors knew who he was. Before Atlantis, he would never have bothered regretting it. Now it struck him as another discontinuity between the present and working with Rodney McKay. In his shadow, Radek had become the personable one, the sudden funnel for all embarrassed or hesitant queries not worth risking the fury of the volcano.
Radek let himself into the small apartment, grateful for the isolation after a day haunted by the possibilities of an .exe file from Rodney McKay. He would prefer to avoid the kind of pleasant small talk that he found difficult even with people he knew and liked.
Atlantis.exe--very general, no specifics, completely baffling as to it’s purpose and contents. It was unlike Rodney to explain, but Radek had lost his security clearance when he left the mountain. In his head, Americans in Technicolor green BDUs were breaking through his office door in surround sound, escorting him to a future spent in isolation in the cold, concrete care of the SGC.
He left his bag in a crumpled pile against the counter, and walked around to each window, jerking the curtains shut. Only Rodney would do this to him without even considering the consequences, and Radek snarled to himself as he threw the deadbolt. His heart beat double-time as he opened his laptop on the desk, and in the reflection of the dark screen, he saw that he was smiling. “Idiot!” he told himself.
The email itself was hidden behind passwords and windows carefully not user friendly, but in the end it was sitting there, in his inbox, a set of pixels difficult to find threatening. He kept jumping at glimpses of silly things in the corner of his eye--the curve of the couch arm, a gray windbreaker hanging by the door--half-turned around before he realized what he was expecting, some part of his mind convinced that Rodney must be here with him. When in the last three years had he felt this anticipation and now been able to turn his head and see Rodney’s animated figure beside him, vibrating with the same joy?
Radek forced himself around, hunching over the keyboard and stabbing at the keyboard with two fingers. He had no audience, but the blush spread across his face anyway. “You irrational balding ape,” he insisted, “senile, angry, horrible funny-shaped man.”
The file opened, and Radek frowned as a standard install wizard popped up on his screen, suggesting a file directory of “c:\Atlantis” for the installation. Distrustfully he agreed, pushing down disappointment, and there--there! Blossoming across his screen--the dark, futuristic blues and silvers of the Atlantis operating interfaces.
Possibly, Radek let out a little shriek, pumping a fist at the ceiling.
The sleek boxes broke apart into two columns as whatever Rodney had given him began conducting a search function through his files. He watched for a little, but the program seemed determined to make a thorough inventory. Radek sighed, and padded across the carpeting to retrieve a chilled beer from his kitchenette.
Over the next hour Rodney’s program assembled a list of two dozen files in the right hand column. All of them, Radek noticed, were files he was allowed to transfer from his expedition laptop when he left the expedition. The search finished, and a new screen appeared: Extraction/Compilation: 7%... 12%... 19%...
Radek watched the percentage rise and this time he couldn’t make himself leave his seat. It seemed to take hours before the numbers reached 100% and suddenly the window blinked out, leaving his blank desktop and a new file: Atlantis2.exe.
This program was more trouble than the first, and Radek could hear the laptop protest as the program ate up its processing power and demanded more, more, but Radek had stopped listening because by now he had seen and recognized the program’s introductory window.
It was the default menu of Atlantis’ A.I. Blue on black and shimmering awkwardly on the LCD screen of his earth computer, ancients letters picking out the structure of a database infamous for its counterintuitive structure, subtitled in English and there--a flicker, and this was truly the Atlantis A.I. because it seemed to shake itself off and took a look around. Suddenly the English subtitles had been replaced with Czech.
Radek had to take his glasses off to wipe his eyes. Something in his chest was knotting up, and he was suddenly desperately glad that Rodney was not there because he was struck with a rush of gratitude so strong he did not know what humiliating thing he might have done.
You oaf,
you have been emailing me from a government address
RZ
Alright fine. Point.
R.M.
“Where is Brewer?” Radek said, barging into Novákóva’s office. “Oh--uh--I’m sorry--”
Novákóva’s local musician was covering her face in embarrassment. She wore a fitted button down shirt in tiny pink stripes that made her appear to be made entirely out of curves. She was also sitting on Novákóva’s desk where Novákóva’s keyboard would normally be.
“She’s not in your lab?” Novákóva said, red-faced, subtly removing her hand from the musician’s knee.
“I have no lab!” Radek snapped. “It’s an empty room. It is so empty, perhaps I will become a theorist!”
“Try making an appointment,” Novákóva suggested. “I have coffee with my students every week or so, at the, oh, the one by the theater where they like to go.”
“Káva Děkuji,” Radek said automatically. “No, that is not what I--sorry, I--goodbye,” and he closed the door behind him.
Radek,
You have a conference call at 9:00 pm CST tomorrow. Now, would you please check your fucking laptop.
R.M.
____
confidentialityagrmnt.pdf | 42 KB | download
Radek found her in one of the shared graduate offices on the top floor, running simulations and playing table football with the two other international students.
“You, you, get out,” Radek said in English, pointing. He remembered with great irony that in Atlantis he had been the nice one.
“Dr. Zelenka,” Brewer said, eyebrows raised.
Radek stared at her, fingers drumming on the plastic case of the laptop he was carrying. “Which, uh, which one are you?”
“What?” Brewer said.
“Which do you work for? Someone told you, yes, here, work for this man, yes? No, no, do not be idiot.”
She eyed the open door, and--possibly suicidally--Radek pushed it shut. Brewer sat back, crossing her arms stubbornly across her chest. She watched him for a long moment, conflicted.
“I’m a captain in the USAF, stationed at Ansbach,” she said finally. “I’m under orders from--” she eyed him, “--from Norad.” She added, “I actually am trying to get a graduate degree.”
“That is, uh, good luck,” Radek said awkwardly, sitting down and opening the laptop.
Brewer stared at him, back rigid. Radek caught himself staring at the muscles in her forearms again in admiration. The breeze from the open window did little to ease the stuffy heat in the room. Czech summers were usually mild, and few of the university buildings had central air.
“Okay,” Brewer said. “Was there are reason you contacted me?”
“Ah, I must sign the confidentiality agreement a second time, and I require a witness with the appropriate security clearance in time for conference call tomorrow.”
“That’s irregular,” Brewer said, for the first time looking worried.
“It is from McKay,” Radek sighed. “You have heard of McKay?”
“Oh,” Brewer said.
There was an awkward silence.
“I’ll need some kind of confirmation--” Brewer started.
“Perhaps you could somehow prove that you are not, how would say, bad guy--” Radek started.
They stared at each other, and then Brewer put a hand over her eyes and started laughing.
9:00. Just make sure you’re home
R.M.
“Er, hello,” Rodney said, standing in the doorway, the edges of his hair red against the warm light of the hall behind him. He fiddled a little with the handle of his small rolling carry-on, and lifted his chin.
Radek stared at him.
“Well, I sort of, um,” Rodney said. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, eyes wide. “I have hotel reservations, I can--”
“You shivering blob of inconsiderate stupidity,” Radek said in Czech.
Rodney’s face went a little soft and pink, and he bounced up on his toes. “Well, or I could stay,” he said, pleased, and Radek realized the insult hadn’t come out quite as irritated as he’d intended.
There was an awkward moment when Rodney came inside. He kept stopping mid-step in the middle of the entrance, acting like the bag was giving him trouble, and then stopping to stare down at Radek.
“It is broken?” Radek said finally, impatient.
Rodney looked away, embarrassed and open. “What, uh, no,” he said, yanking the bag over the doorjamb. Radek realized that this had been some kind of emotional, manly hugging opportunity and he had missed his cue. Radek stared after him, wondering what kind of buddy movies Rodney had been watching since he returned to earth.
Rodney stopped in the middle of the room, puffing out his chest a little and looking stoic. “Nice place,” he said. He ruined it by twirling his hand in a lopsided circle and adding, “Uh, the--draperies,” before looking at Radek to see if he’d had an effect.
“Yes,” Radek said dryly. “I have been here month and half, the furniture is rented and most everything is gray. I am very proud, like a father of a son.”
“I’m trying to make small talk, here, Radek,” Rodney snapped.
“You are very bad at it!”
“Like I don’t know that!”
“Then I do not see why you try, unless you mean to sell tickets and have a hit comedy show.”
Rodney glared back at him, blinking furiously. His arms crossed over his chest were much larger than Brewer’s. Many jokes on Atlantis had centered around Rodney’s position on the away team and his assumed lack of athleticism. Radek had never understood the implied punch line, since Rodney was about as scrawny as an oak tree.
“I’m here,” Rodney said, his chin coming back up, “as a favor.”
“A favor,” Radek said. “To me?”
“You have the confidentiality agreement--”
“I have signed it.”
“No, no,” Rodney waved his hands, “you can’t just sign it, you need a witness with the appropriate security clearance--”
“Yes, I know.”
“Well,” Rodney said, puffing out his chest, standing as though on display.
“Oh,” Radek said.
“There, so, shall we get to it--”
“But I have already done so.”
Rodney stared at him. “You need someone to physically--”
“Ah, yes, I know. I did. The SGC assigned an officer to watch me. They knew about your emails, but not the content, and she was able to--she witnessed.”
Rodney sat down on the couch. “Oh. So, you would not be--you won’t be needing--ah. Well.” He began fiddle with the baggage tag on his bag. “I suppose this is why most of the general public considers flying a quarter of the way around the world on little notice to be, ah, rash.”
“You did not ask the Daedalus to beam you here?” Radek asked, surprised.
“Oh, yes.” Rodney rolled his eyes, and pitched his voice lower, though he was apparently imitating himself: “Hello, Radek, I flew a quarter of the way around the world--well, actually it took inside of twenty minutes, but it’s the thought that counts right?” In his normal voice, he added, “Besides, Colonel Carter is holding some kind of grudge against me for breaking into the SGC network too many times in the last week.”
He trailed off, staring at the rough paint on Radek’s bare walls. It struck Radek suddenly that he was really there, irritating and improbable.
“Your work is going well?” Radek asked stiffly.
Rodney rolled his eyes. “Please, did you read any of my emails?”
“Rodney,” Radek said slowly. He took off his glasses and held them in his hand, studying the small metal joints. He thought of the laptop in the other room and of the A.I., welcoming him even here in Brno, which was not alien at all. “I, ah, thank you.” He looked up. “For giving me Atlantis, here.”
Rodney smiled, lips pressed together so it wouldn’t burst into a grin, his leg jittering against the floor. “I did, didn’t I? I really did. I even impress myself.”
“For a blundering oaf, you are occasionally astonishing,” Radek said in Czech.
Rodney added, head tilting in a shrug, “Ok, to be honest, as soon as the A.I. realized it wasn’t in the city, and that I was, well, me, it locked down my computer and wouldn’t interact, and since it’s always liked you better, in a fickle way based entirely too much on whether or not I might have cheated at poker one time--”
“Ha!” Radek said. “For that, I will make you sleep on the couch.”
**
When McKay and the rest of command staff hijacked a jumper to stage the upper management rescue of Atlantis, Radek ended up in isolation at the Ansbach air base for two days of questioning, but he didn’t really mind. Brewer showed up as part of his escort in dress blues and a stiff backed posture. She also brought him a bag of apricot kolaches. Radek offered to share.
*
Notes: I chose this story to remix because I loved the dialogue and the character voices. The premise (Rodney bullshitting his way into Radek's shower) could have been too cute, but it came out hilarious and in character--ok, and also cute. Also, it mentioned an Atlantis A.I., which sounded fun. For the remix, I decided to write the same scene but under different circumstances--in this case on Earth, during "The Return, Part I" (which you might say makes it also partially a remix of Land of a Thousand Words, another of cinaed's stories.) The result was a little more unrecognizeable than I'd intended, but hopefully it's enjoyable anyway.
Remix Author: pentapus
Original story/author: Playing Poker With An Insane New, Improved Computer by cinaed
Characters/Pairings/etc: Rodney McKay, Radek Zelenka, and a John Sheppard cameo. Set during the Return. Gen, but with some Rodney/Radek if you squint, a lot.
A/N: For gateverse_remix. Thanks to ileliberte for the beta.
Radek,
I can understand why you opted to sever your affiliation with the program. Don’t worry, you aren’t missing anything. The labs here have a bafflingly picturesque feel, as though I’m trapped in an unfinished Myst sequel, but the research is surprisingly insubstantial for their size.
I’d say that at least I finally have colleagues who recognize my abilities, but I suspect that the gushing compliments conceal their complete incomprehension of the most basic concepts to pass my lips. They simply don’t speak the language, and as always in such situations, greater volume and reduced speed help very little. Next up: exaggerated hand motions. If that doesn’t work, I’ll be forced take up hiking as an escape mechanism. Then I suppose the SGC will regret it, once I’ve died of skin cancer in the desert.
It’s probably illegal for me to tell you all of this. What’s the official Area 51 cover story these days? I could have been researching renewable energy all this time and never known it. Carter told me they didn’t offer you a position. It’s no wonder the jumper project isn’t going anywhere.
R.M.
“Oh, Radek,” Novákóva said fondly, with a hand pressed to her chest. She had a stack of stapled lab reports bundled poorly in a purple folder shoved under her arm. “Next semester you’ll have students of your own, and I will remember this moment.”
Radek himself had nothing to carry, and it left him awkward with no place to put his hands. He was used to carrying a laptop or one of the silvery ancient palm pilots or--on bad days after the arrival of new personnel--a fire extinguisher. Inside his small office, his desktop computer methodically crunched through a small simulation in two hour chunks, unclassified, unlikely to be ground-breaking on any planet--except for maybe the Genii--and without the help of a brilliant, city-wide A.I.
“What can I say, I am a reckless man,” he said. Novákóva smiled.
The office door in front of them opened, and a tall, roundish man peered out. “You’re ready to go,” he said, surprised. “I’ve invited a few of the graduate students, if that’s all right.”
“Of course,” Novákóva said, idly flipping through her papers. The toe of her black shoes click-clacked against the floor impatiently. Janecek ducked back inside.
“Ah.” Radek shifted, tugging at his shirt collar, uncomfortable in the unusual heat. “Um.”
Novákóva eyed him. “No? Don’t tell me you have been here, what, a month, and already you’ve begun--feuds? Failed love affairs?”
“No, no,” Radek said, “it’s only--the American, Brewer. She has asked me to supervise her.”
“She has no advisor?”
“Ah, no, she--”
Janecek shuffled out of the office, sorting through a full key ring, a light zip-up raincoat hanging optimistically over his arm. He looked up, frowning. Untidy bangs hung across his forehead, exposing the bald spot high on his head. “The American girl? Oh, Bartos is retiring.”
“Yes,” Radek said, gratefully.
“So tell her yes so we can go to lunch,” Novákóva said.
Janecek started laughing softly.
Novákóva looked back and forth between them, scrunching up her small face. “Another no? Then tell her, so we can go to lunch.”
“Ah,” Radek said. “Well.” A breeze blew in from a window at the end of the hall, and he could smell the snack stand on the corner, in the middle of the muted sounds of the Masaryk campus in the summer time. Janecek coughed into his fist with great hilarity.
“Alright, alright, somebody--somebody will explain,” Novákóva said, hands up.
“It’s possible that,” Radek said. “That I may have--”
“He doesn’t want to say no,” Janecek said, “so--”
“She is a very forceful young woman,” Radek protested.
“An admirable quality,” Janecek said. “I enjoy listening to your conversations.”
“So I may have--” Radek said, to Novákóva. “Possibly, I may have downplayed my ability to speak, ah, English. Which, I admit, I have some difficulty with, occasionally--”
“But not quite like this,” Janecek said and burst into a guffaw. Radek took off his glasses and began to clean them unnecessarily. Novákóva watched all of this with a blank expression on her face.
“Ah,” she said.
Radek,
The temperature here hit 107° F before noon yesterday. Luckily (a side benefit of generating your own power) the a/c in the lab is exquisite. So aside from the needlessly long security procedures at the front gate--hello! Most talented individual in their employ for over a decade! More letting me in, less melting in the Nevada heat!--I may survive July. On the other hand, the SGC, having mistaken me for some kind of astrophysical horse whisperer, has gifted me with a set of new recruits.
One of the theorists spent all day trying to explain to me why wormholes were a scientific impossibility. He had charts and a laser pointer. Heatstroke begins to look attractive.
R.M.
The problem with Alison Brewer, Ph.D. candidate in physics, was not her intelligence or her work or even her personality, but that Radek could not figure out exactly which branch of the U.S. government had sent her here to check on him. In his head the options went something like: SGC irritating, NID bad. He might resent the SGC--for tearing him away from Atlantis, for tearing Rodney, and Elizabeth and Carson away, and especially for tearing John Sheppard away, who was Atlantis’ favorite and who Radek suspected had never felt comfortable on his home planet--but somehow he trusted them; and if Alison Brewer reported to them, perhaps he could feel a reluctant sort of kinship with her.
If she worked for the NID, well, that would be in every way more terrifying, and Radek was trying not to think about it.
He couldn’t even comfort himself with his good behavior. He had been receiving--emails, of a questionable nature, protected by an encryption Samantha Carter probably couldn’t break because Rodney was talkative, not stupid. They revealed nothing in the way of threats to national security--besides the occasional implied link between area 51 and alien technology--but Radek doubted the American government would appreciate Rodney’s consideration.
Radek,
The SGC still won’t give me the jumper project. It has to be Sheppard. He’s only got one incredibly advanced alien spaceship girlfriend left in this galaxy, and he knows he couldn’t take the long distance.
R.M.
Radek knew that Janecek always took his students to the same small café for lunch because he preferred their pastries, and because it was close, only a few blocks away, on the corner with a striped overhang. The heat had chased everyone away from the outdoor seating, and they found Janecek’s graduate students sitting inside with two more professors and the local musician Radek had heard was trying to date Novákóva.
In the middle of the group, an older man looked up, pushing down his reading glasses. His eyes settled on Radek and lit up. “Dr. Zelenka!” he said. “Hello! I hear you will supervise Alison when I retire.”
“Oh, look,” Novákóva said, too cheerfully and elbowed Radek in the ribs, “it’s Dr. Bartos.”
Next to the old professor, a skinny brunette with a boy’s cut and a Bowie t-shirt bit her lip and looked almost apologetic.
“You are all juvenile ignoramuses with the hearts of jackals,” Radek muttered, forgetting that this was Brno, not Atlantis, and almost everyone around him spoke Czech.
“Ha!” Janecek said, muscling his way through the crowd to an empty seat. “Oh, that was a good one. Would you like a kolache?”
Radek,
Not that I would know how good or bad Lt. Colonel Sheppard may be at long distance relationships since I am not in a long distance relationship with him. Which was, I think, self explanatory. Are you ignoring me? I get enough of that with Elizabeth. You know, she won’t even talk to Carson?
R.M.
In the month he had been at Masaryk, Radek received one unencrypted email from Rodney McKay. He nearly had a heart attack in the middle of his office when he received it. Attached, Radek found an article for peer review so far behind their current research that he broke into laughter before he realized it was meant for unclassified publication. Janecek, who was using Radek’s fax machine, turned around and said, interested, “You’re not watching more of this YouTube, are you?”
“What?” Radek said, “Ah, no.”
Janecek bent over the fax machine, scratching at his bald spot. “Too bad. I watched all of the new Lost there yesterday. It’s like I don’t even need--what the hell are they--one of those dishes on the house.” He sipped his coffee, and did not look up. “They never work anyway.”
“Yes,” Radek said blankly, staring at the blurry text of Rodney’s email, and he had to lean his head against his hands until the dizziness passed. Beneath the soles of his shoes, the Earth remained enormous and still and utterly permanent.
Radek,
The SGC won’t share any information about Woolsey’s negotiations. Sheppard and Carson are both at the mountain but don’t know anymore than I do. Ok, actually, less, since they can’t seem to hack into even the less secure databases. I can’t get anything higher. At least Carter sent me a mildly revealing memo when she caught me. In other words, so far harassment has been our most effective weapon.
You know, it’s interesting, anytime the SGC needs to contact me, Carter seems to volunteer. There’s something there. I’m not imagining it.
R.M.
“I just wanted to thank you for agreeing to supervise my research,” Brewer said in English, running her fingers back and forth along the edge of a printout. Her shirt bore a battered silk screen of the millennium falcon and smelled faintly of cigar smoke.
“Yes,” Radek said, face in his hands at his desk, trying desperately to sound like a moron. “Yes--what, how say--is good.”
“So, uh, did you see--Bartos sent you the information about my project? I could upload it to your computer for you. Do you need me to put the files on--on the computer?” She pointed elaborately at Radek’s desktop, miming either the use of a usb memory device or a stab wound.
“No,” Radek said, peering from between his fingers. “I have. Good.”
Brewer hung about in the doorway awkwardly. Radek watched in fascination as the spiky tips of her short, fluffy hair moved in the breeze from the open windows. Perhaps she was with the SGC. Her biceps were enormous. Footsteps approached, and Janecek suddenly shoved his head through the doorway. Brewer didn’t jump.
“Zelenka,” Janecek said, “How’s your English?”
“Horrendous, you overgrown fragrant toad,” Radek snapped.
“Hahaha!” Janecek said. In English, to Brewer, he said: “Hello, good morning! Do you need something?” He waved a hand between himself and Radek. “Think of me as your interpreter.”
“Um,” Brewer said. “I--my laptop, the power cord is busted. I was wondering--could I check my email on his computer, do you think?”
“The computer lab is closed?” Janecek said.
“For lunch?” Brewer said. “I’ll only need it for a few minutes.” Radek lifted his head, feeling a chill.
“Oh, well--” Janecek said.
“Yes,” Radek said in thickly accented English, standing. “Yes, okay. Here. I go. ”
“Thanks,” Brewer said, brightening. “Oh, but you don’t have to--”
“I go,” Radek said again, wincing--perhaps he was laying it on too thick. Swinging his bag up over his shoulder, he stalked out towards his lab.
“Radek,” Janecek called after him.
“I’ll be in the lab,” Radek waved a hand over his shoulder. “It’s no problem.” He slammed a hand into the bar handle on the stairwell door.
Janecek said, “No, actually, I meant--you left the computer locked--uh, Radek!”
“Dr. Zelenka!” Brewer said.
Radek pointed at his ear apologetically, and disappeared up the stairwell.
Radek, check your laptop.
R.M.
In the middle of the first year, Radek had been walking along the residence corridor with the stained glass windows that opened east, headed towards Rodney’s room. Atlantis was moored in the middle of a strong ocean current that originated at the planet’s equator, and the wind from this direction was always warmer. Radek stopped a moment to breathe it in before turning, looking for Rodney.
He ran into John Sheppard instead, dressed in jeans and a wrinkled button down. The man was standing in the doorway to his quarters holding an unplugged lamp and looking distracted.
“Oh, hey, Dr. Zelenka,” he said, staring past Radek.
“Yes, hello,” Radek said.
Sheppard shifted, lifting the lamp in his hand like he’d forgotten it was there. “Have you seen Rodney?”
“I thought perhaps he was in quarters,” Radek said. “It is late enough to be early, if you know what I mean.”
“Sure,” Sheppard said, grimacing and glancing back into his room. Radek half-expected to catch a compromising glimpse of a coworker in tangled sheets, maybe ruby red toe nails for an artistic touch, but the room was tidy, the bed neatly made. Suddenly, Sheppard turned to him, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, “Ok, look--I think my lamps are talking to me.”
Radek stared at him. “Ah, is that why you have unplugged it?”
“No, this is Lorne’s. I needed eight because--well.” Sheppard waved a hand in front of his face.
“Because your lamps are speaking to you in base two?” Radek asked hesitantly. He thought about the radio in his ear. Surely it was Rodney’s responsibility if his team leader went crazy. Radek was not emergency adventure guy, he was keep things running guy.
Sheppard brightened, gesturing with the lamp towards Radek’s face. The cord trailed behind him on the floor. “Yes, exactly! Except the ASCII’s not quite right.” He slumped a little. “I think it’s Ancient.”
“Ancient ASCII,” repeated Radek.
“Uh, yes,” Sheppard said.
“Huh,” Radek said. “You know--”
“Yeah?”
“It is possible you are not crazy. Show me lamps.”
Three hours later, half the science department was squashed into Sheppard’s quarters, discovering Atlantis’ A.I. In a week or two they would coax the city into using their Terran interfaces to communicate, but for now she spoke in blinking binary through the collection of desk lamps arranged on Sheppard’s woven Athosian rug.
“God,” Rodney said, later that night, sitting with his work spread out across Sheppard’s bed--Radek had seen the Major crashed out on a couch in an alcove a few corridors down--“I mean, I was--it was a joke, I didn’t mean the city was actually flirting with him.”
Radek shook a lamp at him, grinning with his whole face. “You are just jealous.”
Blink blink, Atlantis said, in a friendly way.
Radek,
Ok, snap, snap, eyes front and center. You transferred some of your files from the expedition laptop, right? You its entirely possible you may not have noticed
run this
yes, ok, very illegal, shut up, it’s not like you can ever really leave the SG program
____
atlantis.exe | 131 MB | download
Radek had long come to terms with his inability to introduce himself to strangers, and so it was unsurprising that none of his neighbors knew who he was. Before Atlantis, he would never have bothered regretting it. Now it struck him as another discontinuity between the present and working with Rodney McKay. In his shadow, Radek had become the personable one, the sudden funnel for all embarrassed or hesitant queries not worth risking the fury of the volcano.
Radek let himself into the small apartment, grateful for the isolation after a day haunted by the possibilities of an .exe file from Rodney McKay. He would prefer to avoid the kind of pleasant small talk that he found difficult even with people he knew and liked.
Atlantis.exe--very general, no specifics, completely baffling as to it’s purpose and contents. It was unlike Rodney to explain, but Radek had lost his security clearance when he left the mountain. In his head, Americans in Technicolor green BDUs were breaking through his office door in surround sound, escorting him to a future spent in isolation in the cold, concrete care of the SGC.
He left his bag in a crumpled pile against the counter, and walked around to each window, jerking the curtains shut. Only Rodney would do this to him without even considering the consequences, and Radek snarled to himself as he threw the deadbolt. His heart beat double-time as he opened his laptop on the desk, and in the reflection of the dark screen, he saw that he was smiling. “Idiot!” he told himself.
The email itself was hidden behind passwords and windows carefully not user friendly, but in the end it was sitting there, in his inbox, a set of pixels difficult to find threatening. He kept jumping at glimpses of silly things in the corner of his eye--the curve of the couch arm, a gray windbreaker hanging by the door--half-turned around before he realized what he was expecting, some part of his mind convinced that Rodney must be here with him. When in the last three years had he felt this anticipation and now been able to turn his head and see Rodney’s animated figure beside him, vibrating with the same joy?
Radek forced himself around, hunching over the keyboard and stabbing at the keyboard with two fingers. He had no audience, but the blush spread across his face anyway. “You irrational balding ape,” he insisted, “senile, angry, horrible funny-shaped man.”
The file opened, and Radek frowned as a standard install wizard popped up on his screen, suggesting a file directory of “c:\Atlantis” for the installation. Distrustfully he agreed, pushing down disappointment, and there--there! Blossoming across his screen--the dark, futuristic blues and silvers of the Atlantis operating interfaces.
Possibly, Radek let out a little shriek, pumping a fist at the ceiling.
The sleek boxes broke apart into two columns as whatever Rodney had given him began conducting a search function through his files. He watched for a little, but the program seemed determined to make a thorough inventory. Radek sighed, and padded across the carpeting to retrieve a chilled beer from his kitchenette.
Over the next hour Rodney’s program assembled a list of two dozen files in the right hand column. All of them, Radek noticed, were files he was allowed to transfer from his expedition laptop when he left the expedition. The search finished, and a new screen appeared: Extraction/Compilation: 7%... 12%... 19%...
Radek watched the percentage rise and this time he couldn’t make himself leave his seat. It seemed to take hours before the numbers reached 100% and suddenly the window blinked out, leaving his blank desktop and a new file: Atlantis2.exe.
This program was more trouble than the first, and Radek could hear the laptop protest as the program ate up its processing power and demanded more, more, but Radek had stopped listening because by now he had seen and recognized the program’s introductory window.
It was the default menu of Atlantis’ A.I. Blue on black and shimmering awkwardly on the LCD screen of his earth computer, ancients letters picking out the structure of a database infamous for its counterintuitive structure, subtitled in English and there--a flicker, and this was truly the Atlantis A.I. because it seemed to shake itself off and took a look around. Suddenly the English subtitles had been replaced with Czech.
Radek had to take his glasses off to wipe his eyes. Something in his chest was knotting up, and he was suddenly desperately glad that Rodney was not there because he was struck with a rush of gratitude so strong he did not know what humiliating thing he might have done.
You oaf,
you have been emailing me from a government address
RZ
Alright fine. Point.
R.M.
“Where is Brewer?” Radek said, barging into Novákóva’s office. “Oh--uh--I’m sorry--”
Novákóva’s local musician was covering her face in embarrassment. She wore a fitted button down shirt in tiny pink stripes that made her appear to be made entirely out of curves. She was also sitting on Novákóva’s desk where Novákóva’s keyboard would normally be.
“She’s not in your lab?” Novákóva said, red-faced, subtly removing her hand from the musician’s knee.
“I have no lab!” Radek snapped. “It’s an empty room. It is so empty, perhaps I will become a theorist!”
“Try making an appointment,” Novákóva suggested. “I have coffee with my students every week or so, at the, oh, the one by the theater where they like to go.”
“Káva Děkuji,” Radek said automatically. “No, that is not what I--sorry, I--goodbye,” and he closed the door behind him.
Radek,
You have a conference call at 9:00 pm CST tomorrow. Now, would you please check your fucking laptop.
R.M.
____
confidentialityagrmnt.pdf | 42 KB | download
Radek found her in one of the shared graduate offices on the top floor, running simulations and playing table football with the two other international students.
“You, you, get out,” Radek said in English, pointing. He remembered with great irony that in Atlantis he had been the nice one.
“Dr. Zelenka,” Brewer said, eyebrows raised.
Radek stared at her, fingers drumming on the plastic case of the laptop he was carrying. “Which, uh, which one are you?”
“What?” Brewer said.
“Which do you work for? Someone told you, yes, here, work for this man, yes? No, no, do not be idiot.”
She eyed the open door, and--possibly suicidally--Radek pushed it shut. Brewer sat back, crossing her arms stubbornly across her chest. She watched him for a long moment, conflicted.
“I’m a captain in the USAF, stationed at Ansbach,” she said finally. “I’m under orders from--” she eyed him, “--from Norad.” She added, “I actually am trying to get a graduate degree.”
“That is, uh, good luck,” Radek said awkwardly, sitting down and opening the laptop.
Brewer stared at him, back rigid. Radek caught himself staring at the muscles in her forearms again in admiration. The breeze from the open window did little to ease the stuffy heat in the room. Czech summers were usually mild, and few of the university buildings had central air.
“Okay,” Brewer said. “Was there are reason you contacted me?”
“Ah, I must sign the confidentiality agreement a second time, and I require a witness with the appropriate security clearance in time for conference call tomorrow.”
“That’s irregular,” Brewer said, for the first time looking worried.
“It is from McKay,” Radek sighed. “You have heard of McKay?”
“Oh,” Brewer said.
There was an awkward silence.
“I’ll need some kind of confirmation--” Brewer started.
“Perhaps you could somehow prove that you are not, how would say, bad guy--” Radek started.
They stared at each other, and then Brewer put a hand over her eyes and started laughing.
9:00. Just make sure you’re home
R.M.
“Er, hello,” Rodney said, standing in the doorway, the edges of his hair red against the warm light of the hall behind him. He fiddled a little with the handle of his small rolling carry-on, and lifted his chin.
Radek stared at him.
“Well, I sort of, um,” Rodney said. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, eyes wide. “I have hotel reservations, I can--”
“You shivering blob of inconsiderate stupidity,” Radek said in Czech.
Rodney’s face went a little soft and pink, and he bounced up on his toes. “Well, or I could stay,” he said, pleased, and Radek realized the insult hadn’t come out quite as irritated as he’d intended.
There was an awkward moment when Rodney came inside. He kept stopping mid-step in the middle of the entrance, acting like the bag was giving him trouble, and then stopping to stare down at Radek.
“It is broken?” Radek said finally, impatient.
Rodney looked away, embarrassed and open. “What, uh, no,” he said, yanking the bag over the doorjamb. Radek realized that this had been some kind of emotional, manly hugging opportunity and he had missed his cue. Radek stared after him, wondering what kind of buddy movies Rodney had been watching since he returned to earth.
Rodney stopped in the middle of the room, puffing out his chest a little and looking stoic. “Nice place,” he said. He ruined it by twirling his hand in a lopsided circle and adding, “Uh, the--draperies,” before looking at Radek to see if he’d had an effect.
“Yes,” Radek said dryly. “I have been here month and half, the furniture is rented and most everything is gray. I am very proud, like a father of a son.”
“I’m trying to make small talk, here, Radek,” Rodney snapped.
“You are very bad at it!”
“Like I don’t know that!”
“Then I do not see why you try, unless you mean to sell tickets and have a hit comedy show.”
Rodney glared back at him, blinking furiously. His arms crossed over his chest were much larger than Brewer’s. Many jokes on Atlantis had centered around Rodney’s position on the away team and his assumed lack of athleticism. Radek had never understood the implied punch line, since Rodney was about as scrawny as an oak tree.
“I’m here,” Rodney said, his chin coming back up, “as a favor.”
“A favor,” Radek said. “To me?”
“You have the confidentiality agreement--”
“I have signed it.”
“No, no,” Rodney waved his hands, “you can’t just sign it, you need a witness with the appropriate security clearance--”
“Yes, I know.”
“Well,” Rodney said, puffing out his chest, standing as though on display.
“Oh,” Radek said.
“There, so, shall we get to it--”
“But I have already done so.”
Rodney stared at him. “You need someone to physically--”
“Ah, yes, I know. I did. The SGC assigned an officer to watch me. They knew about your emails, but not the content, and she was able to--she witnessed.”
Rodney sat down on the couch. “Oh. So, you would not be--you won’t be needing--ah. Well.” He began fiddle with the baggage tag on his bag. “I suppose this is why most of the general public considers flying a quarter of the way around the world on little notice to be, ah, rash.”
“You did not ask the Daedalus to beam you here?” Radek asked, surprised.
“Oh, yes.” Rodney rolled his eyes, and pitched his voice lower, though he was apparently imitating himself: “Hello, Radek, I flew a quarter of the way around the world--well, actually it took inside of twenty minutes, but it’s the thought that counts right?” In his normal voice, he added, “Besides, Colonel Carter is holding some kind of grudge against me for breaking into the SGC network too many times in the last week.”
He trailed off, staring at the rough paint on Radek’s bare walls. It struck Radek suddenly that he was really there, irritating and improbable.
“Your work is going well?” Radek asked stiffly.
Rodney rolled his eyes. “Please, did you read any of my emails?”
“Rodney,” Radek said slowly. He took off his glasses and held them in his hand, studying the small metal joints. He thought of the laptop in the other room and of the A.I., welcoming him even here in Brno, which was not alien at all. “I, ah, thank you.” He looked up. “For giving me Atlantis, here.”
Rodney smiled, lips pressed together so it wouldn’t burst into a grin, his leg jittering against the floor. “I did, didn’t I? I really did. I even impress myself.”
“For a blundering oaf, you are occasionally astonishing,” Radek said in Czech.
Rodney added, head tilting in a shrug, “Ok, to be honest, as soon as the A.I. realized it wasn’t in the city, and that I was, well, me, it locked down my computer and wouldn’t interact, and since it’s always liked you better, in a fickle way based entirely too much on whether or not I might have cheated at poker one time--”
“Ha!” Radek said. “For that, I will make you sleep on the couch.”
**
When McKay and the rest of command staff hijacked a jumper to stage the upper management rescue of Atlantis, Radek ended up in isolation at the Ansbach air base for two days of questioning, but he didn’t really mind. Brewer showed up as part of his escort in dress blues and a stiff backed posture. She also brought him a bag of apricot kolaches. Radek offered to share.
*
Notes: I chose this story to remix because I loved the dialogue and the character voices. The premise (Rodney bullshitting his way into Radek's shower) could have been too cute, but it came out hilarious and in character--ok, and also cute. Also, it mentioned an Atlantis A.I., which sounded fun. For the remix, I decided to write the same scene but under different circumstances--in this case on Earth, during "The Return, Part I" (which you might say makes it also partially a remix of Land of a Thousand Words, another of cinaed's stories.) The result was a little more unrecognizeable than I'd intended, but hopefully it's enjoyable anyway.