Two People Talking... Jack O'Neill (Stargate SG-1) and Orac (Blakes 7) (gen, 736 words)
Another in the Two People Talking meme here :), where astrogirl2, who is invariably evil, suggested SG1's snarky colonel and B7's even snarkier, and definitely obnoxious, 'supercomputer'.
And for some reason, I didn't think they'd be best buddies...
"F'cryin' out loud..." Colonel O'Neill glared at the SGC's newest 'ally'... who might not have been able to glare back, but managed to sparkle in a definitely glaring way. "Give me just one reason why I shouldn't shoot you."
"As a matter of fact, I can." The voice, coming from the plexiglass box full of electronics that gave the SGC's scientists orgasms, merely gave him toothache. This didn't endear it (yes, it, no matter what the geek squad said) to him. "In fact, I can give you seventeen thousand, three hundred and fifty two reasons."
"One good reason. And," because O'Neill hadn't worked with superbrains for years for nothing, "I get to define good."
"That is not a logical -"
"Logic my ass."
There was a sullen hum. "Is that an instruction? Because if it is, I do not see the -"
"Can it."
"Is that an instruction!? You really must be more specific in your -"
"Specifically. Shut. Up." He ran a hand through hair that was now going to go gray twice as fast, he just knew it. "Or not. What the hell did you mean by 'I can predict the future', anyway?"
"A simple statement of fact, and one of my lesser abilities. As I explained -"
"Yeah yeah, I heard ya the first time." Oh god had he - and everyone else - ever heard the self-aggrandising brain-in-a-box... "But let me tell you, Orac the Oracle -"
"That is neither my correct name nor a particularly clever witticism."
"Let me tell you, as a prediction, yours rather sucked."
"I am not familiar with that colloquialism,
"Well whatd'ya know, the New All-Knowing doesn't know everything. Your prediction was crap. Garbage. Worth fuck-all. Not exactly a surprise, even."
"Your people asked for a prediction, I gave one to them."
"Hey, anyone could've predicted it, and damn near everyone on the base has!"
"I fail to see the problem, O'Neill. You have said yourself, the future event is not an uncommon past one -"
"Yeah, crap fortune-teller you are."
"Doctor Daniel Jackson -"
"- Will die. Newsflash, Orac - not exactly shocked here. Pissed, yes. Ready to shoot someone - or something - hell, yeah. So tell us something we don't know, details like, oh I dunno - when, where, and who the fuck I have to shoot to prevent it."
"Which is exactly why you cannot have the details, as that would invalidate the prediction."
"'Nother news flash, you overdone adding machine, we want to fucking invalidate it! Just because Daniel manages more funerals per year than birthdays doesn't mean anyone needs to be put through it again - including Daniel! - so -"
"It is needed, the prediction has been made. In any case," with a definite, if tinny, electronic sniff, "you will notice I did not predict he would stay dead."
"Shocker."
"- So again I fail to see the problem."
"The problem is that Daniel might not stay dead, but you will if this P-90 goes off in your direction."
There was a pause, a faint, considering hum. "That would solve nothing, and your own superior officers have forbidden you to -"
O'Neill lifted the gun. "If you're so bright - for a machine - you'd know another good prediction is that I'll disobey orders whenever possible."
The hum got louder, and slightly frayed, as if with electronic... nerves.
"Or sometimes whenever impossible."
The hum got definitely louder, and definitely edgy.
"Or even -"
"I am examining the possibilities, kindly wait!"
"Sure." He counted to ten. "Time's up, so -"
"I do not make predictions for amusement, and do not see that invalidation -"
Jack aimed.
"- However, I merely suggest that Doctor Jackson be refused permission to visit the planet you call POX-666, or Purgatorio 4."
"Thank you." O'Neill smiled thinly. "See how easy it was?" His smile widened at the fizzing sound not unlike a mechanical cat spitting. "Just keep this in mind, okay? I can make predictions too.
"Daniel dies over my.... no, over your dead body. Case. Whatever."
He turned and left, whistling in a way calculated to aggravate even an artificial temper.
The brain in a box sparkled in clear aggravation for a few minutes, then spoke in a tiny, snide, audible-at-a-range-of-three-inches voice. "Another prediction... Doctor Jackson will not be the only one who dies.... and I did not say it would be on that planet..."
***