Fic: Poyekhali (1/2)
Author: mdime02
Wordcount:11,763
Rating: R (for violence and occasional bad language)
Pairing(s): McKay/Sheppard (mostly implied)
Summary: AU. A world where the USSR survives, the Soviets control the stargate, and Rodney still gets sent to Siberia.
Warning(s) highlight to read: non-major character deaths
Notes: The title translates as "Let's go!" (pronounced po-YEK-hali), which is the word spoken by Yuri Gagarin as he blasted off (fifty years ago!) and became the first man in space. This piece was both very exciting and very difficult for me, and I ended up writing it in directions I didn't expect...I found it much harder to incorporate all of the details of the artwork into the fic than I originally thought, and I ended up not incorporating the Russian words and details I imagined I would. I hope the artist enjoys the fic, because I found the artwork very inspiring (and beautifully done), and I hope you enjoy it as well.
Companion piece to Tell me, Comrade, What Would you Give for the Sky?
Poyekhali
The room was rather too warm, almost stifling. Rodney could hear the heavy, even tread of footsteps coming down the long hallway, parquet floors creaking with each step; there were two, maybe three of them. They paused just outside the door, conversing in low tones muffled by distance - probably giving the guards instructions.
He shifted in his chair, uncomfortable.
He heard the door open behind him and took a deep, steadying breath. They were in a tiny, stuffy office in a building serving the Soviet bureaucracy and probably drowning in paperwork, not a KGB torture chamber. Probably.
Rodney watched as a short, middle-aged man seated himself carefully at the desk in front of him, shuffling through a few papers before opening a manila folder. The man folded his hands, resting them on the desk and leaning forward. “So. Comrade McKay. It seems that we have a very serious problem.”
Rodney waited for him to say more, to give some indication of this ‘problem’, but the seconds ticked by in silence, the as-yet unidentified man staring at Rodney and Rodney staring at the wall above the man’s left ear. There was another presence behind him, out of sight; Rodney twitched, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.
“I see.”
Again, Rodney waited for something: an explanation, a question, hell, even an accusation, but still there was nothing. Normally, he’d be ranting by now, criticizing his treatment and expounding on the idiocy of those around him, making himself loud and obnoxious and impossible to ignore, bludgeoning his opposition into submission and, quite possibly, tears.
Then again, normally didn’t really apply.
They’d been worried about this. The Americans. For once, Rodney actually wished they’d shown a little bit more paranoia.
Perhaps then, Rodney wouldn’t be sitting here in a nameless office in a nameless building, about to be sent to the gulag for hard labor if he was lucky, or executed for crimes against the USSR if he wasn’t.
*****
two months earlier…
“I don’t like it,” Colonel O’Neill said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. “We’ve had to fight for every little scrap of information from those Commies, even when we were helping them save the goddamn planet, and suddenly it’s all about exchanging ideas and fostering cooperation between -”
General Hammond sighed. “Your objection is noted, Colonel. Again. But the fact of the matter is, the Soviet government is in control of the stargate, and as long as that’s the case, the President wants relations between our two programs to improve.”
“And what’s to stop this from being a one-sided exchange?” Rodney asked. Several other scientists at the table voiced their agreement.
“If I may, sir?” Sam asked. At the General’s nod, she clicked over to the next slide on her presentation. “The first conference is proposed to be in London, with mainly Soviet presenters - papers, panels, Q&A. They’ve already given us a list of likely topics, which you can see here.”
The noise level in the room increased dramatically.
“Obviously,” she said with a grin, “we’re very interested; this would be a big leap for our program. After that, if all goes well, they want to have a Moscow conference four months later - giving us time to work through everything from London.”
“To counter it or add to it?” Dr. Jackson put in.
“Both, actually. Their representative indicated that this could open the door to working much more cooperatively, rather than independently developing the same technology.”
“But why now?” O’Neill asked sourly. “What are they getting out of this deal?”
“Well now,” General Hammond said, “that’s where things get a little more interesting. Their people would like us to believe that it’s about knowledge and sharing resources, and at least in part it is. The USSR would never admit to it, but we’ve known for some time that the cost of the Soviet stargate program is getting prohibitively expensive and we recently received intelligence that they were considering letting the United States play a more active role in operations.”
The Colonel perked up, asking, “Regular gate teams?”
Rodney huffed. “In exchange for our brains.”
“Essentially, yes. The more information they start sharing, the deeper into the program we’ll get. The more invested - intellectually and financially.”
“Which is still a good deal,” Carter added.
“If that were all it was, yes,” Hammond said, motioning to Major Sheppard, who’d remained quiet through the whole briefing. “Unfortunately, I’ve just been made aware of something more than a little troubling. Major?”
“Sir,” he acknowledged before turning towards the majority seated around the conference table, drumming his fingers on the top for a few moments. “They’ve discovered the gene.”
His words dropped like a bomb. The Soviets may have had control of the gate, the Earth’s only spaceship utilizing non-Earth tech, most of the artifacts and technology, and a two-decade head start, but they hadn’t known about the ATA gene. As far as they knew, the Soviets hadn’t realized a gene was needed to operate Ancient tech at all, assuming that the few recovered artifacts were drained or defective - especially given that only some technology was gene-locked.
It had been the Americans’ trump card, and one freely given to their scientists during a thaw in relations once the Soviet scientists had deemed the objects a harmless concession. The Soviets had always been more interested in Goa’uld technology, anyway.
It had allowed the American stargate program to develop and expand much more than the USSR realized. That, combined with leaks of information obtained from spies and dissidents, and the Americans weren’t nearly as far behind as the Soviets supposed.
Colonel O’Neill was the first to recover, any earlier pretense of relaxation and good humor gone. “How sure are we?”
“I can feel it,” Sheppard said.
“Fuck,” the Colonel replied, feelingly. “Sorry, sir,” he added, nodding to Hammond.
The General waved him off.
John had the strongest expression of the gene they’d ever come across. His ability to control and manipulate the Ancient technology had been instant and instinctual, much better even than Colonel O’Neill. Together they’d realized that there was a hidden base deep under the Antarctic ice, and after it had been secured without the Soviets’ knowledge the Major had become even more valuable to the program. Once he sat in the control chair, the technology no longer just responded to him, it called to him. It was as if the chair had opened something up inside John so that he could feel the objects, unlocking their secrets with a thought.
“They recently found a piece of tech that pairs with one of ours - it’s harmless, some sort of educational tool with a neat holographic display. It’s meant to connect with others like it for interactive learning. The part that we’ve got never worked when they had it, but when they brought the companion piece through…”
“It activated,” Daniel said. “Because ours had been initialized?
“And because the soldier holding it had the gene - a weak expression of it, but enough. I turned both parts off as soon as Dr. Simpson realized they were networking, but they must have tried to reactivate it and realized it only worked for that one person…they’ve activated several other devices since then.”
General Hammond cleared his throat. “As you can see, this changes everything. That was three days ago, and this proposal for the conferences and personnel exchanges came yesterday.”
Sam looked troubled. “Do they realize we’ve been holding out on them?”
“It’s hard to tell, but from what we’ve heard it doesn’t seem that way. We’d heard rumor of this conference idea earlier - the Soviets have probably just bumped up the timetable a bit.”
“Well, sir,” O’Neill said, “I’m going to renew my objection to having any part of this. Who knows what they might be up to.”
Rodney cleared his throat. “But we need to find out. Right? Not agreeing would be suspicious at best, for one thing.”
“And for another?” O’Neill asked, knowing that with McKay, there was always something else.
“For another, we don’t know what they’re up to.”
The Colonel glared, but Rodney glared right back, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Right.”
“Here’s the thing,” John said. “They’re not going to share any of this at the conference. We kept it a secret, and you can bet they plan to do the same. We need to get someone in who can find out how much they know - about the ATA gene, about us, and about their future plans.”
Sam brightened. “If its cooperation they want, we can certainly do that. Everyone was interested in exchanging some personnel…Rodney, you’ve gotten along pretty well with Dr. Zelenka, right?”
“Zelempa? That second-rate hack? He might shine brighter than those other dim light bulbs, but that idiot wouldn’t know his -”
“That’s a yes, General,” Sam interrupted. “Dr. Zelenka is sure to present a paper in London. We’ll have McKay get into an argument with him…”
“Not a problem,” Rodney grumbled.
“…throw out a few enticing ideas…”
“So he can steal them.” Rodney scowled at John when he was kicked under the table, slumping in his chair.
“…and get himself invited to help work on the new theory.”
“That I - wait, what?” Rodney jerked upright, horrified. “Hold your horses there, blondie, when did I become the sacrificial lamb in this crazy scenario of yours?”
“Zelenka’s about the only scientist on their side that I can picture taking the idea of cooperation to heart; give him a new theory to play with and you’ll be impossible to resist. You know how worked up the two of you get when you’re together.”
“Because he’s -” Rodney’s arms flailed as he searched for a word that could sufficiently encompass what he felt about the other scientist, but first Sam and then John raised an eyebrow at him and he suddenly deflated, anger dissipating. “You’re right. The rest of them are ego-centric jerks desperate for recognition.”
Ignoring the snort from O’Neill, he continued, “But I’m not exactly James Bond material, here. What do you expect me to do once I’m there?”
“Don’t worry, Rodney,” John said. “We’ll figure everything out. You’ll be fine.”
*****
Phase one of their plan had gone off without a hitch. Rodney had been horribly distracted by all the new information, nearly vibrating off of his seat during a presentation on the advancements in hyperdrive technology - not to mention all of the shiny new tech being displayed - but he found it all too easy to challenge Dr. Zelenka’s theory regarding power consumption and conservation in the stargate, faking a few flashes of brilliance mixed with arrogant condescension which would require weeks of equations and debate to hammer out into a new, workable understanding.
While he wasn’t exactly excited about the idea of reworking the work he’d already done with Sam a few months back, the trap had been successfully laid. The government representative and Colonel O’Neill acted suitably reluctant to allow him out of their sights, let alone to the Soviet research complex to work with Dr. Zelenka for the next month or more. Calls were made, an agreement was eventually reached, and then he was off -taken by plane and train and truck to the middle of the vast nowhere known as Siberia, to a military complex in a small town that wouldn’t appear on any map, one of many secret cities scattered throughout the Soviet Union.
The facility was underground, much like the Americans’ complex at Cheyenne Mountain. He hadn’t been told that the stargate was located here, but considering the size of the military and scientific presence it seemed obvious that it was. Normally oblivious to most things not science-related, Rodney made an effort to pay attention the details: quickly learning his way around the labyrinthine base while acting as if he did not; remembering faces and names and schedules; concealing how much Russian he understood; and figuring out where he was most likely to find the records and information he was looking for.
Phase two, actually finding said information and passing it along covertly to Sheppard during their scheduled twice-weekly monitored video conferences, was meeting with significantly less success. While he was at the point where he could convince his minders to wait outside the lab when he was working on equations at the whiteboard, Rodney was never alone in a room with a computer.
Zelenka didn’t watch him too closely while they worked, concerned more with the science than thoughts of espionage, but they weren’t the only scientists in the lab and Rodney could never guarantee he’d have much more than a few unmonitored seconds at the laptop at any given time. And none of the scientists - not even the ones he had had contact with before - would discuss any of their projects with him without specific authorization…not even casually, over lunch.
He was frustrated and it showed, his temper growing shorter as he spun his wheels on the gene front and the team of scientists working on the power equations with Radek and himself bumbled around in circles contributing nothing, despite Rodney’s having pointed the way with everything but a giant flashing arrow.
By the time they erased the equations that Rodney had spent the past week pretending to labor over, calling them “inaccurate” and muttering to themselves about his undisciplined mind, Rodney’s had it. He’s fed up with it, with them. He’s done.
The explosion that followed might only have been verbal, but it was epic, and the part of Rodney’s mind not consumed by utter rage imagined that John would be suitably impressed and half wished he could record this knock-down, drag-out scientific screaming match conducted in at least three languages and a plethora of rude gestures for posterity.
When Radek and Sasha had to hold Oleg back from attacking Rodney, he stormed out, trailed by his two personal guards, still muttering curses and flailing his hands. They’re at least twelve levels underground and there is no direct route to the surface, so by the time he hit the actual exit he’d mostly run out of steam. The first step outside stole Rodney’s breath, frigid night air reminding him that he hadn’t been outside in nearly nine days and that, fuck, yes, he’s in Siberia in February. Rodney took a few steps away from the building and his minders, pulling his coat more tightly around him and burrowing in deep. The air was like glass, so sharp he could feel it as it settled in his lungs and forced him to take slow, shallow breaths.
He looked up at the stars, the Milky Way, shivering as the moisture from his breath froze on the scarf around his face. Rodney could hear the crunch of boots on snow behind him, Thing 1 and Thing 2 waiting impatiently for their ward to come to his senses and go back inside.
He missed John.
It was still another two days until his next scheduled call, and he didn’t know how much more he could take. He was used to his so-called peers not being able to keep up with him - that was nothing new - but they’d never taken that to mean that he was the slow one, that just because he had a thought they’d never considered didn’t mean that he was automatically wrong.
If this was how the Soviets had been running their stargate program, it was no wonder the American-led program was catching up quickly. He was beginning to seriously wonder if they even knew the expression ‘thinking outside the box.’
And now this stupid incident might have jeopardized his mission.
He’d have to go back in with his tail between his legs and apologize to Radek; he, at least, hadn’t really deserved Rodney’s anger. It was late now, but perhaps tomorrow he could explain where he had been going with those equations, let him catch Rodney’s idea and run with it on his own…
Rodney sighed, turning back towards the building. It hadn’t been so bad, working more closely with Zelenka; their previous working relationship had been limited to a few panicked, last-minute, end-of-the-world saves and writing snarky comments in the margins of one another’s papers. Radek was no big fan of the Soviets, he could tell, but he loved the science and the thrill of discovery.
If Rodney were a more subtle man, with a poker face like O’Neill or an all-around smooth operator like Sheppard, he’d probably have sounded the other man out by now, tried to convince him to flee the USSR and join the American stargate program instead. But he couldn’t be sure of Radek’s loyalties - or their lack - and being Czechoslovakian rather than Russian probably meant that the Soviets already had a file on the man as thick as that idiot Oleg’s head, detailing every move he’d ever made and every person he’d ever talked to.
Rodney’s thoughts of Radek’s theoretical defection skidded to a stop. A file. Because if there was anyone who loved paperwork more than the Americans, it was the Soviets. They documented everything - recorded it and filed it away, probably never to be seen again, classified Top Secret and brought to light only if they needed to revise history to make themselves look better.
Rodney hadn’t been able to access the computer files, no. But the physical files…
This was very much not a paperless base. And he knew right where to start looking.
Clapping his hands together at least in part to warm them, Rodney hurried back inside. He planted a scowl on his face, glaring at everyone he passed in the halls and hoping that word of his earlier screaming match with his team had spread in the way that all of the best gossip always seemed to - instantly.
He burst into the lab, erased everything that they had written in place of Rodney’s equation with short, vicious strokes, and replaced it with his own work again, brushing past a gobsmacked Oleg when he stormed back out. As he made his way up three levels and down several corridors, it became clear that no one wanted to be near Rodney so he used that to his advantage, walking quickly to the small lab on level 8 and making a show of slamming every door along the way.
Once in the lab he slammed that door, too, shedding his outerwear and tossing it on the closest table. A few seconds later he could see the shadow of his guards appearing outside the door. Apparently they weren’t willing to test Rodney’s temper either, because neither one even popped his head inside.
He moved closer, listening as they radioed in their new position and were told to just let Comrade McKay work alone until his curfew.
Almost two hours…perfect. If that was all it took to be allowed to work in peace, he might just have to throw a temper tantrum more often.
Rodney quickly scribbled some work on the whiteboards in the room in case anyone thought to check, then walked across the room to the filing cabinets.
He made quick work of the locks, but after briefly scanning the folder tabs he could see that there was nothing of interest. Next he moved to the small adjoining office, mostly finding notes and research on the staff weapons used by Jaffa - interesting, but not what he was after.
There was one more room he could access from here, but that door required a higher level access card then the one which Rodney had been allowed. Grinning to himself, Rodney pulled out the card he had lifted just before coming here: Oleg Andreevich Petrov, it declared. Colonel O’Neill had always encouraged the base Marines to teach the scientists to fight dirty, and the Marines had obliged. After a few lessons from Lieutenant Ford last year, the science team had spent the next week pickpocketing everyone and everything in sight before the General had put his foot down.
He swiped the card, watching gleefully as the lights switched from red to green. With one last glance at the empty lab behind him, Rodney slipped into the next room.
Pay dirt.
Rodney could see a few objects that were clearly Ancient in origin, as well as several tablets and computers. Much as he’d love to do this the easy way, he didn’t have time to try to break the passwords and encryption on the computers and find the information he needed.
He took a quick look at the artifacts, one in particular catching his eye. It looked rather like a Game Boy, with a small display that lit when Rodney picked it up; it must have remained initialized. He could see lines on a grid and a few flashing dots - one by the lower left-hand corner and two others further away. It only took a moment for Rodney to realize its purpose. He tested his theory by walking with the detector in hand, watching at the single dot moved when he did. Now that was a handy piece of technology…Sheppard would love it.
Putting it back for now, Rodney rifled through the papers left on tables, then through the desk. There were several cardboard file boxes stacked on the floor…transferred by order of Colonel Sokolov, the paper taped to the box top read. It was stamped the day John said the Soviets first activated the Ancient artifact.
This was it. It had to be.
Rodney pulled the lid off the first box and started skimming through the reports, slowed down by his imperfect language skills. Descriptions of the Ancient artifacts in their inventory, theories about their purpose, reports on the artifacts given to the American program…knowing he only had about twenty minutes left, Rodney flipped past several folders before finding one labeled ‘Ancient genetics.’ Glancing at the next few labels, he pulled them all, intending to look at them more closely, when something fell out of one of the folders to the floor.
Stooping to pick it up, Rodney cursed. It was a photograph of the joint space mission five years ago, a high point in US-Soviet relations. It was during the celebration of the mission’s success that the American government was first told about the existence of the stargate.
Four astronauts and four cosmonauts stood together, beaming, looking only slightly ridiculous in their bulky spacesuits as the American President shook hands with the General Secretary of the Soviet Union, the facilities at Baikonur in the background.
Two faces had been circled in red ink, an indecipherable scribble beside them: it was Major Sheppard and Captain Lorne, both gene bearers.
How did they know?
Rodney set aside the folders he’d been holding, flipping though the other files in the box quickly until he found John’s. Sitting at the lab table, he scanned the documents for important information, skipping past the records of the Major’s schooling and early career in the Air Force. He was distracted when he came across his own name in what looked like a psychological report; something about their ‘mutual sympathies’? So even the Soviets were speculating about their love life, it seemed. Well, speculating, and trying to find ways to use that against them. Dismissing that for now, Rodney paused again when he hit medical records, cursing the fact that he didn’t know much medical jargon in English, let alone Russian.
One section was obviously added recently, saying something about re…testing? checking?...the DNA, and crap, the Soviets must have kept blood and samples from all of the astronauts who participated in the mission.
So their scientists had discovered that the reason the Ancient gizmo lit up for one person and not for anyone else was genetic. Once they found the gene, they must have tested everyone connected to the program; hell, probably everyone in the military. Then some genius must have realized they had the samples from the American astronauts, and…huh.
Rodney found the word they were using to indicate the gene and then pulled the folder with that tab out of his other stack. Most of it was gibberish, but he looked for information about testing until he found…well. Huh, again.
Only three people so far, in all of their testing, and one of them was the soldier who’d initially activated the tech. Then they tested the four American samples, and found that half were gene-positive. No wonder the Soviets were interested in cooperation - they wanted to know if the gene was more common, probably also if it was stronger. John had said the soldier’s gene was weak, they must have realized they needed a stronger expression of the gene to properly use the Ancient technology. They were probably looking to create a gene therapy just like the Americans were, wanting to keep the other program out of the loop entirely; if there was a gate team stationed here, some scientists, too, the Soviets would be able to take any samples they needed under the pretense of the medical exams. And John would surely be one of them.
Rodney flipped the page. ATLANTIDA? was scrawled across the top, but he didn’t know the word. It was definitely a noun so it wasn’t Atlantic and Atlanta was just Atlanta, but maybe a different place name? Rodney checked the file box and, sure enough, there was a file labeled that way.
He glanced at his watch, then pulled the folder. Ten minutes, which meant he only had about five. Okay, so the Soviet program had come across references to a lost city about twelve years ago and began searching for it; they found an address with eight chevrons, which meant the city was in the galaxy Pegas…the Pegasus galaxy; a crew was gathered and prepared, then sent through the gate.
They never heard from them again.
Someone had recently attached a new report: none of the expedition members had the ATA gene. So the Soviets, in their excitement, had sent their personnel to an Ancient city where they now knew that no one could operate Ancient technology.
There was so much more, but time was running short. Rodney quickly pulled together all of the papers he’d scattered, putting away the folders and slipping back out of the room. All was quiet in his lab, so Rodney picked up his marker and began idly scribbling on the board, thoughts racing.
He needed to get back in there, certainly. Things were much more complicated than even the Americans had guessed, and Rodney hadn’t yet found anything concrete about the Soviets’ plans. He’d have to drop Oleg’s keycard in a corridor on his way back to his room - it would be deactivated soon, anyway - and pick up another just before he came back here.
“Comrade McKay?”
Rodney jumped, startled. “Oh, yes. Time to go, is it?”
“We must take you back to your room, now.”
“Yes, okay.” Rodney wrote ‘Don’t erase’ in large all-caps in both Russian and English, saying, “Make sure no one touches this. I want to work on it tomorrow.”
*****
It was two days before Rodney was able to get back to the lab, forced to explain where he had been headed with the equations that caused the argument and then work through them with the other scientists when they still insisted that he was on the wrong track.
Eventually, Rodney had pleaded with Radek that he needed some time to work alone or else history was likely to repeat itself. Radek must have seen something in Rodney’s eyes because he agreed readily, shooing him off and telling him that he could stay there the rest of the evening.
Though he felt badly about it, this time the card he swiped was Radek’s. Following the same pattern as the last time, Rodney filled a whiteboard with equations before heading over to the security locked door.
Two steps into the room, Rodney realized that he wasn’t alone. He dropped to the ground, crawling behind a lab table and hoping that the other occupants were too engrossed in their conversation to have noticed him.
“…move forward?” One voice asked.
“Yes, sir. All is ready to proceed.” Another answered.
Rodney spotted the detector on the adjoining table; calculating his level of risk, he decided to follow Sheppard’s lead and just go for it. The detector lit up in his hands, showing five dots in the room besides his own.
He missed what was said next, but the second voice replied in the affirmative.
“Very well,” voice one said. “You may return to your post.”
Rodney could hear footsteps, then the door; he peered around the edge of the table, trying to get a look at who was in the room. He could see two men, but their backs were turned.
“He does not suspect?” The first voice asked.
The other man, who hadn’t spoken yet, laughed. “He thinks that he is serving his dear Mother Russia, protecting the Soviet state. He is eager. And foolish.”
Rodney looked down at the detector. Startled, he fumbled it, narrowly keeping it from hitting the floor. There were still four other lifesigns in the room, practically right on top of each other, but he had only seen two people. Risking another look, Rodney glanced from the detector to the men in front of him and back again, baffled.
Why was he reading extra lifesigns when clearly none were there?
Two more lifesigns were approaching from the corridor, so Rodney quickly, carefully put the detector back on the table and prepared to make his move. In the commotion of the newcomers’ entrance, Rodney slipped back to the lab, hoping that no one had seen him.
Heart pounding, Rodney took a deep breath and tried to make sense of what he had seen and heard. God, but he wished for a friendly face to talk to - at this point, even Daniel Jackson would do. He was alone out here, and incredibly ill-equipped, and he should have insisted that Sam be the undercover scientist spy instead of him.
He sat on one of the stools, staring at the whiteboard but not seeing it, until he heard raised voices outside his door.
The door slammed open, four uniformed men Rodney didn’t recognize brushing past his own pissed-off looking minders.
“Comrade McKay,” one of them barked. “You are ordered to come with us. Immediately.”
The four of them surrounded him, escorting him quickly from the room. To his surprise, Rodney found that he was not being led to the base commander’s office as he had assumed, but rather was taken to the surface.
No one said a word to him, not even in response to his questions and demands to know where he was going. As he was bundled into a waiting car and driven away from the base, Rodney cursed, knowing that whatever was coming next, it wouldn’t be good.
Continued in part 2.
Wordcount:11,763
Rating: R (for violence and occasional bad language)
Pairing(s): McKay/Sheppard (mostly implied)
Summary: AU. A world where the USSR survives, the Soviets control the stargate, and Rodney still gets sent to Siberia.
Warning(s) highlight to read: non-major character deaths
Notes: The title translates as "Let's go!" (pronounced po-YEK-hali), which is the word spoken by Yuri Gagarin as he blasted off (fifty years ago!) and became the first man in space. This piece was both very exciting and very difficult for me, and I ended up writing it in directions I didn't expect...I found it much harder to incorporate all of the details of the artwork into the fic than I originally thought, and I ended up not incorporating the Russian words and details I imagined I would. I hope the artist enjoys the fic, because I found the artwork very inspiring (and beautifully done), and I hope you enjoy it as well.
Companion piece to Tell me, Comrade, What Would you Give for the Sky?
Poyekhali
The room was rather too warm, almost stifling. Rodney could hear the heavy, even tread of footsteps coming down the long hallway, parquet floors creaking with each step; there were two, maybe three of them. They paused just outside the door, conversing in low tones muffled by distance - probably giving the guards instructions.
He shifted in his chair, uncomfortable.
He heard the door open behind him and took a deep, steadying breath. They were in a tiny, stuffy office in a building serving the Soviet bureaucracy and probably drowning in paperwork, not a KGB torture chamber. Probably.
Rodney watched as a short, middle-aged man seated himself carefully at the desk in front of him, shuffling through a few papers before opening a manila folder. The man folded his hands, resting them on the desk and leaning forward. “So. Comrade McKay. It seems that we have a very serious problem.”
Rodney waited for him to say more, to give some indication of this ‘problem’, but the seconds ticked by in silence, the as-yet unidentified man staring at Rodney and Rodney staring at the wall above the man’s left ear. There was another presence behind him, out of sight; Rodney twitched, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.
“I see.”
Again, Rodney waited for something: an explanation, a question, hell, even an accusation, but still there was nothing. Normally, he’d be ranting by now, criticizing his treatment and expounding on the idiocy of those around him, making himself loud and obnoxious and impossible to ignore, bludgeoning his opposition into submission and, quite possibly, tears.
Then again, normally didn’t really apply.
They’d been worried about this. The Americans. For once, Rodney actually wished they’d shown a little bit more paranoia.
Perhaps then, Rodney wouldn’t be sitting here in a nameless office in a nameless building, about to be sent to the gulag for hard labor if he was lucky, or executed for crimes against the USSR if he wasn’t.
*****
two months earlier…
“I don’t like it,” Colonel O’Neill said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. “We’ve had to fight for every little scrap of information from those Commies, even when we were helping them save the goddamn planet, and suddenly it’s all about exchanging ideas and fostering cooperation between -”
General Hammond sighed. “Your objection is noted, Colonel. Again. But the fact of the matter is, the Soviet government is in control of the stargate, and as long as that’s the case, the President wants relations between our two programs to improve.”
“And what’s to stop this from being a one-sided exchange?” Rodney asked. Several other scientists at the table voiced their agreement.
“If I may, sir?” Sam asked. At the General’s nod, she clicked over to the next slide on her presentation. “The first conference is proposed to be in London, with mainly Soviet presenters - papers, panels, Q&A. They’ve already given us a list of likely topics, which you can see here.”
The noise level in the room increased dramatically.
“Obviously,” she said with a grin, “we’re very interested; this would be a big leap for our program. After that, if all goes well, they want to have a Moscow conference four months later - giving us time to work through everything from London.”
“To counter it or add to it?” Dr. Jackson put in.
“Both, actually. Their representative indicated that this could open the door to working much more cooperatively, rather than independently developing the same technology.”
“But why now?” O’Neill asked sourly. “What are they getting out of this deal?”
“Well now,” General Hammond said, “that’s where things get a little more interesting. Their people would like us to believe that it’s about knowledge and sharing resources, and at least in part it is. The USSR would never admit to it, but we’ve known for some time that the cost of the Soviet stargate program is getting prohibitively expensive and we recently received intelligence that they were considering letting the United States play a more active role in operations.”
The Colonel perked up, asking, “Regular gate teams?”
Rodney huffed. “In exchange for our brains.”
“Essentially, yes. The more information they start sharing, the deeper into the program we’ll get. The more invested - intellectually and financially.”
“Which is still a good deal,” Carter added.
“If that were all it was, yes,” Hammond said, motioning to Major Sheppard, who’d remained quiet through the whole briefing. “Unfortunately, I’ve just been made aware of something more than a little troubling. Major?”
“Sir,” he acknowledged before turning towards the majority seated around the conference table, drumming his fingers on the top for a few moments. “They’ve discovered the gene.”
His words dropped like a bomb. The Soviets may have had control of the gate, the Earth’s only spaceship utilizing non-Earth tech, most of the artifacts and technology, and a two-decade head start, but they hadn’t known about the ATA gene. As far as they knew, the Soviets hadn’t realized a gene was needed to operate Ancient tech at all, assuming that the few recovered artifacts were drained or defective - especially given that only some technology was gene-locked.
It had been the Americans’ trump card, and one freely given to their scientists during a thaw in relations once the Soviet scientists had deemed the objects a harmless concession. The Soviets had always been more interested in Goa’uld technology, anyway.
It had allowed the American stargate program to develop and expand much more than the USSR realized. That, combined with leaks of information obtained from spies and dissidents, and the Americans weren’t nearly as far behind as the Soviets supposed.
Colonel O’Neill was the first to recover, any earlier pretense of relaxation and good humor gone. “How sure are we?”
“I can feel it,” Sheppard said.
“Fuck,” the Colonel replied, feelingly. “Sorry, sir,” he added, nodding to Hammond.
The General waved him off.
John had the strongest expression of the gene they’d ever come across. His ability to control and manipulate the Ancient technology had been instant and instinctual, much better even than Colonel O’Neill. Together they’d realized that there was a hidden base deep under the Antarctic ice, and after it had been secured without the Soviets’ knowledge the Major had become even more valuable to the program. Once he sat in the control chair, the technology no longer just responded to him, it called to him. It was as if the chair had opened something up inside John so that he could feel the objects, unlocking their secrets with a thought.
“They recently found a piece of tech that pairs with one of ours - it’s harmless, some sort of educational tool with a neat holographic display. It’s meant to connect with others like it for interactive learning. The part that we’ve got never worked when they had it, but when they brought the companion piece through…”
“It activated,” Daniel said. “Because ours had been initialized?
“And because the soldier holding it had the gene - a weak expression of it, but enough. I turned both parts off as soon as Dr. Simpson realized they were networking, but they must have tried to reactivate it and realized it only worked for that one person…they’ve activated several other devices since then.”
General Hammond cleared his throat. “As you can see, this changes everything. That was three days ago, and this proposal for the conferences and personnel exchanges came yesterday.”
Sam looked troubled. “Do they realize we’ve been holding out on them?”
“It’s hard to tell, but from what we’ve heard it doesn’t seem that way. We’d heard rumor of this conference idea earlier - the Soviets have probably just bumped up the timetable a bit.”
“Well, sir,” O’Neill said, “I’m going to renew my objection to having any part of this. Who knows what they might be up to.”
Rodney cleared his throat. “But we need to find out. Right? Not agreeing would be suspicious at best, for one thing.”
“And for another?” O’Neill asked, knowing that with McKay, there was always something else.
“For another, we don’t know what they’re up to.”
The Colonel glared, but Rodney glared right back, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Right.”
“Here’s the thing,” John said. “They’re not going to share any of this at the conference. We kept it a secret, and you can bet they plan to do the same. We need to get someone in who can find out how much they know - about the ATA gene, about us, and about their future plans.”
Sam brightened. “If its cooperation they want, we can certainly do that. Everyone was interested in exchanging some personnel…Rodney, you’ve gotten along pretty well with Dr. Zelenka, right?”
“Zelempa? That second-rate hack? He might shine brighter than those other dim light bulbs, but that idiot wouldn’t know his -”
“That’s a yes, General,” Sam interrupted. “Dr. Zelenka is sure to present a paper in London. We’ll have McKay get into an argument with him…”
“Not a problem,” Rodney grumbled.
“…throw out a few enticing ideas…”
“So he can steal them.” Rodney scowled at John when he was kicked under the table, slumping in his chair.
“…and get himself invited to help work on the new theory.”
“That I - wait, what?” Rodney jerked upright, horrified. “Hold your horses there, blondie, when did I become the sacrificial lamb in this crazy scenario of yours?”
“Zelenka’s about the only scientist on their side that I can picture taking the idea of cooperation to heart; give him a new theory to play with and you’ll be impossible to resist. You know how worked up the two of you get when you’re together.”
“Because he’s -” Rodney’s arms flailed as he searched for a word that could sufficiently encompass what he felt about the other scientist, but first Sam and then John raised an eyebrow at him and he suddenly deflated, anger dissipating. “You’re right. The rest of them are ego-centric jerks desperate for recognition.”
Ignoring the snort from O’Neill, he continued, “But I’m not exactly James Bond material, here. What do you expect me to do once I’m there?”
“Don’t worry, Rodney,” John said. “We’ll figure everything out. You’ll be fine.”
*****
Phase one of their plan had gone off without a hitch. Rodney had been horribly distracted by all the new information, nearly vibrating off of his seat during a presentation on the advancements in hyperdrive technology - not to mention all of the shiny new tech being displayed - but he found it all too easy to challenge Dr. Zelenka’s theory regarding power consumption and conservation in the stargate, faking a few flashes of brilliance mixed with arrogant condescension which would require weeks of equations and debate to hammer out into a new, workable understanding.
While he wasn’t exactly excited about the idea of reworking the work he’d already done with Sam a few months back, the trap had been successfully laid. The government representative and Colonel O’Neill acted suitably reluctant to allow him out of their sights, let alone to the Soviet research complex to work with Dr. Zelenka for the next month or more. Calls were made, an agreement was eventually reached, and then he was off -taken by plane and train and truck to the middle of the vast nowhere known as Siberia, to a military complex in a small town that wouldn’t appear on any map, one of many secret cities scattered throughout the Soviet Union.
The facility was underground, much like the Americans’ complex at Cheyenne Mountain. He hadn’t been told that the stargate was located here, but considering the size of the military and scientific presence it seemed obvious that it was. Normally oblivious to most things not science-related, Rodney made an effort to pay attention the details: quickly learning his way around the labyrinthine base while acting as if he did not; remembering faces and names and schedules; concealing how much Russian he understood; and figuring out where he was most likely to find the records and information he was looking for.
Phase two, actually finding said information and passing it along covertly to Sheppard during their scheduled twice-weekly monitored video conferences, was meeting with significantly less success. While he was at the point where he could convince his minders to wait outside the lab when he was working on equations at the whiteboard, Rodney was never alone in a room with a computer.
Zelenka didn’t watch him too closely while they worked, concerned more with the science than thoughts of espionage, but they weren’t the only scientists in the lab and Rodney could never guarantee he’d have much more than a few unmonitored seconds at the laptop at any given time. And none of the scientists - not even the ones he had had contact with before - would discuss any of their projects with him without specific authorization…not even casually, over lunch.
He was frustrated and it showed, his temper growing shorter as he spun his wheels on the gene front and the team of scientists working on the power equations with Radek and himself bumbled around in circles contributing nothing, despite Rodney’s having pointed the way with everything but a giant flashing arrow.
By the time they erased the equations that Rodney had spent the past week pretending to labor over, calling them “inaccurate” and muttering to themselves about his undisciplined mind, Rodney’s had it. He’s fed up with it, with them. He’s done.
The explosion that followed might only have been verbal, but it was epic, and the part of Rodney’s mind not consumed by utter rage imagined that John would be suitably impressed and half wished he could record this knock-down, drag-out scientific screaming match conducted in at least three languages and a plethora of rude gestures for posterity.
When Radek and Sasha had to hold Oleg back from attacking Rodney, he stormed out, trailed by his two personal guards, still muttering curses and flailing his hands. They’re at least twelve levels underground and there is no direct route to the surface, so by the time he hit the actual exit he’d mostly run out of steam. The first step outside stole Rodney’s breath, frigid night air reminding him that he hadn’t been outside in nearly nine days and that, fuck, yes, he’s in Siberia in February. Rodney took a few steps away from the building and his minders, pulling his coat more tightly around him and burrowing in deep. The air was like glass, so sharp he could feel it as it settled in his lungs and forced him to take slow, shallow breaths.
He looked up at the stars, the Milky Way, shivering as the moisture from his breath froze on the scarf around his face. Rodney could hear the crunch of boots on snow behind him, Thing 1 and Thing 2 waiting impatiently for their ward to come to his senses and go back inside.
He missed John.
It was still another two days until his next scheduled call, and he didn’t know how much more he could take. He was used to his so-called peers not being able to keep up with him - that was nothing new - but they’d never taken that to mean that he was the slow one, that just because he had a thought they’d never considered didn’t mean that he was automatically wrong.
If this was how the Soviets had been running their stargate program, it was no wonder the American-led program was catching up quickly. He was beginning to seriously wonder if they even knew the expression ‘thinking outside the box.’
And now this stupid incident might have jeopardized his mission.
He’d have to go back in with his tail between his legs and apologize to Radek; he, at least, hadn’t really deserved Rodney’s anger. It was late now, but perhaps tomorrow he could explain where he had been going with those equations, let him catch Rodney’s idea and run with it on his own…
Rodney sighed, turning back towards the building. It hadn’t been so bad, working more closely with Zelenka; their previous working relationship had been limited to a few panicked, last-minute, end-of-the-world saves and writing snarky comments in the margins of one another’s papers. Radek was no big fan of the Soviets, he could tell, but he loved the science and the thrill of discovery.
If Rodney were a more subtle man, with a poker face like O’Neill or an all-around smooth operator like Sheppard, he’d probably have sounded the other man out by now, tried to convince him to flee the USSR and join the American stargate program instead. But he couldn’t be sure of Radek’s loyalties - or their lack - and being Czechoslovakian rather than Russian probably meant that the Soviets already had a file on the man as thick as that idiot Oleg’s head, detailing every move he’d ever made and every person he’d ever talked to.
Rodney’s thoughts of Radek’s theoretical defection skidded to a stop. A file. Because if there was anyone who loved paperwork more than the Americans, it was the Soviets. They documented everything - recorded it and filed it away, probably never to be seen again, classified Top Secret and brought to light only if they needed to revise history to make themselves look better.
Rodney hadn’t been able to access the computer files, no. But the physical files…
This was very much not a paperless base. And he knew right where to start looking.
Clapping his hands together at least in part to warm them, Rodney hurried back inside. He planted a scowl on his face, glaring at everyone he passed in the halls and hoping that word of his earlier screaming match with his team had spread in the way that all of the best gossip always seemed to - instantly.
He burst into the lab, erased everything that they had written in place of Rodney’s equation with short, vicious strokes, and replaced it with his own work again, brushing past a gobsmacked Oleg when he stormed back out. As he made his way up three levels and down several corridors, it became clear that no one wanted to be near Rodney so he used that to his advantage, walking quickly to the small lab on level 8 and making a show of slamming every door along the way.
Once in the lab he slammed that door, too, shedding his outerwear and tossing it on the closest table. A few seconds later he could see the shadow of his guards appearing outside the door. Apparently they weren’t willing to test Rodney’s temper either, because neither one even popped his head inside.
He moved closer, listening as they radioed in their new position and were told to just let Comrade McKay work alone until his curfew.
Almost two hours…perfect. If that was all it took to be allowed to work in peace, he might just have to throw a temper tantrum more often.
Rodney quickly scribbled some work on the whiteboards in the room in case anyone thought to check, then walked across the room to the filing cabinets.
He made quick work of the locks, but after briefly scanning the folder tabs he could see that there was nothing of interest. Next he moved to the small adjoining office, mostly finding notes and research on the staff weapons used by Jaffa - interesting, but not what he was after.
There was one more room he could access from here, but that door required a higher level access card then the one which Rodney had been allowed. Grinning to himself, Rodney pulled out the card he had lifted just before coming here: Oleg Andreevich Petrov, it declared. Colonel O’Neill had always encouraged the base Marines to teach the scientists to fight dirty, and the Marines had obliged. After a few lessons from Lieutenant Ford last year, the science team had spent the next week pickpocketing everyone and everything in sight before the General had put his foot down.
He swiped the card, watching gleefully as the lights switched from red to green. With one last glance at the empty lab behind him, Rodney slipped into the next room.
Pay dirt.
Rodney could see a few objects that were clearly Ancient in origin, as well as several tablets and computers. Much as he’d love to do this the easy way, he didn’t have time to try to break the passwords and encryption on the computers and find the information he needed.
He took a quick look at the artifacts, one in particular catching his eye. It looked rather like a Game Boy, with a small display that lit when Rodney picked it up; it must have remained initialized. He could see lines on a grid and a few flashing dots - one by the lower left-hand corner and two others further away. It only took a moment for Rodney to realize its purpose. He tested his theory by walking with the detector in hand, watching at the single dot moved when he did. Now that was a handy piece of technology…Sheppard would love it.
Putting it back for now, Rodney rifled through the papers left on tables, then through the desk. There were several cardboard file boxes stacked on the floor…transferred by order of Colonel Sokolov, the paper taped to the box top read. It was stamped the day John said the Soviets first activated the Ancient artifact.
This was it. It had to be.
Rodney pulled the lid off the first box and started skimming through the reports, slowed down by his imperfect language skills. Descriptions of the Ancient artifacts in their inventory, theories about their purpose, reports on the artifacts given to the American program…knowing he only had about twenty minutes left, Rodney flipped past several folders before finding one labeled ‘Ancient genetics.’ Glancing at the next few labels, he pulled them all, intending to look at them more closely, when something fell out of one of the folders to the floor.
Stooping to pick it up, Rodney cursed. It was a photograph of the joint space mission five years ago, a high point in US-Soviet relations. It was during the celebration of the mission’s success that the American government was first told about the existence of the stargate.
Four astronauts and four cosmonauts stood together, beaming, looking only slightly ridiculous in their bulky spacesuits as the American President shook hands with the General Secretary of the Soviet Union, the facilities at Baikonur in the background.
Two faces had been circled in red ink, an indecipherable scribble beside them: it was Major Sheppard and Captain Lorne, both gene bearers.
How did they know?
Rodney set aside the folders he’d been holding, flipping though the other files in the box quickly until he found John’s. Sitting at the lab table, he scanned the documents for important information, skipping past the records of the Major’s schooling and early career in the Air Force. He was distracted when he came across his own name in what looked like a psychological report; something about their ‘mutual sympathies’? So even the Soviets were speculating about their love life, it seemed. Well, speculating, and trying to find ways to use that against them. Dismissing that for now, Rodney paused again when he hit medical records, cursing the fact that he didn’t know much medical jargon in English, let alone Russian.
One section was obviously added recently, saying something about re…testing? checking?...the DNA, and crap, the Soviets must have kept blood and samples from all of the astronauts who participated in the mission.
So their scientists had discovered that the reason the Ancient gizmo lit up for one person and not for anyone else was genetic. Once they found the gene, they must have tested everyone connected to the program; hell, probably everyone in the military. Then some genius must have realized they had the samples from the American astronauts, and…huh.
Rodney found the word they were using to indicate the gene and then pulled the folder with that tab out of his other stack. Most of it was gibberish, but he looked for information about testing until he found…well. Huh, again.
Only three people so far, in all of their testing, and one of them was the soldier who’d initially activated the tech. Then they tested the four American samples, and found that half were gene-positive. No wonder the Soviets were interested in cooperation - they wanted to know if the gene was more common, probably also if it was stronger. John had said the soldier’s gene was weak, they must have realized they needed a stronger expression of the gene to properly use the Ancient technology. They were probably looking to create a gene therapy just like the Americans were, wanting to keep the other program out of the loop entirely; if there was a gate team stationed here, some scientists, too, the Soviets would be able to take any samples they needed under the pretense of the medical exams. And John would surely be one of them.
Rodney flipped the page. ATLANTIDA? was scrawled across the top, but he didn’t know the word. It was definitely a noun so it wasn’t Atlantic and Atlanta was just Atlanta, but maybe a different place name? Rodney checked the file box and, sure enough, there was a file labeled that way.
He glanced at his watch, then pulled the folder. Ten minutes, which meant he only had about five. Okay, so the Soviet program had come across references to a lost city about twelve years ago and began searching for it; they found an address with eight chevrons, which meant the city was in the galaxy Pegas…the Pegasus galaxy; a crew was gathered and prepared, then sent through the gate.
They never heard from them again.
Someone had recently attached a new report: none of the expedition members had the ATA gene. So the Soviets, in their excitement, had sent their personnel to an Ancient city where they now knew that no one could operate Ancient technology.
There was so much more, but time was running short. Rodney quickly pulled together all of the papers he’d scattered, putting away the folders and slipping back out of the room. All was quiet in his lab, so Rodney picked up his marker and began idly scribbling on the board, thoughts racing.
He needed to get back in there, certainly. Things were much more complicated than even the Americans had guessed, and Rodney hadn’t yet found anything concrete about the Soviets’ plans. He’d have to drop Oleg’s keycard in a corridor on his way back to his room - it would be deactivated soon, anyway - and pick up another just before he came back here.
“Comrade McKay?”
Rodney jumped, startled. “Oh, yes. Time to go, is it?”
“We must take you back to your room, now.”
“Yes, okay.” Rodney wrote ‘Don’t erase’ in large all-caps in both Russian and English, saying, “Make sure no one touches this. I want to work on it tomorrow.”
*****
It was two days before Rodney was able to get back to the lab, forced to explain where he had been headed with the equations that caused the argument and then work through them with the other scientists when they still insisted that he was on the wrong track.
Eventually, Rodney had pleaded with Radek that he needed some time to work alone or else history was likely to repeat itself. Radek must have seen something in Rodney’s eyes because he agreed readily, shooing him off and telling him that he could stay there the rest of the evening.
Though he felt badly about it, this time the card he swiped was Radek’s. Following the same pattern as the last time, Rodney filled a whiteboard with equations before heading over to the security locked door.
Two steps into the room, Rodney realized that he wasn’t alone. He dropped to the ground, crawling behind a lab table and hoping that the other occupants were too engrossed in their conversation to have noticed him.
“…move forward?” One voice asked.
“Yes, sir. All is ready to proceed.” Another answered.
Rodney spotted the detector on the adjoining table; calculating his level of risk, he decided to follow Sheppard’s lead and just go for it. The detector lit up in his hands, showing five dots in the room besides his own.
He missed what was said next, but the second voice replied in the affirmative.
“Very well,” voice one said. “You may return to your post.”
Rodney could hear footsteps, then the door; he peered around the edge of the table, trying to get a look at who was in the room. He could see two men, but their backs were turned.
“He does not suspect?” The first voice asked.
The other man, who hadn’t spoken yet, laughed. “He thinks that he is serving his dear Mother Russia, protecting the Soviet state. He is eager. And foolish.”
Rodney looked down at the detector. Startled, he fumbled it, narrowly keeping it from hitting the floor. There were still four other lifesigns in the room, practically right on top of each other, but he had only seen two people. Risking another look, Rodney glanced from the detector to the men in front of him and back again, baffled.
Why was he reading extra lifesigns when clearly none were there?
Two more lifesigns were approaching from the corridor, so Rodney quickly, carefully put the detector back on the table and prepared to make his move. In the commotion of the newcomers’ entrance, Rodney slipped back to the lab, hoping that no one had seen him.
Heart pounding, Rodney took a deep breath and tried to make sense of what he had seen and heard. God, but he wished for a friendly face to talk to - at this point, even Daniel Jackson would do. He was alone out here, and incredibly ill-equipped, and he should have insisted that Sam be the undercover scientist spy instead of him.
He sat on one of the stools, staring at the whiteboard but not seeing it, until he heard raised voices outside his door.
The door slammed open, four uniformed men Rodney didn’t recognize brushing past his own pissed-off looking minders.
“Comrade McKay,” one of them barked. “You are ordered to come with us. Immediately.”
The four of them surrounded him, escorting him quickly from the room. To his surprise, Rodney found that he was not being led to the base commander’s office as he had assumed, but rather was taken to the surface.
No one said a word to him, not even in response to his questions and demands to know where he was going. As he was bundled into a waiting car and driven away from the base, Rodney cursed, knowing that whatever was coming next, it wouldn’t be good.
Continued in part 2.