Title: Mona Lisa Box
Rating: R
Characters: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay, Elizabeth Weir, Radek Zelenka, Samantha Carter, John Connor, Cameron Phillips, Sarah Connor, Derek Reese.
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Genre: AU, Xover (Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles)
Spoilers: Season 1 of SCC.
Wordcount: ~14,000
Disclaimer: Stargate and Terminator do not belong to me. Not done for profit, just for fun.
Summary: Rodney McKay is one of the geniuses who created Skynet. John Sheppard is sent back in time to find him.
Author's Notes: If you've seen the Terminator movies but not the Sarah Connor Chronicles, then Cameron is a female robot ala Arnold in Terminator2, Vick is a bad terminator, whose memory chip Cameron stole. Derek is a guy from the future and Andy Goode builds a chess computer that might contribute to the creation of Skynet. If you haven't seen Terminator at all, then you'll be pretty confused. The title is a reference to Searle's Chinese Box thought experiment. Much thanks to
sylum_river_tam for the beta.
Mona Lisa Box
John wants to know how robots think about things. Cameron says that it's different. She doesn't want to say that her data processors store things according to mission objectives. Once a goal is met, the memories are transferred to a less active part of the hard drive. But there are other goals, not highly prioritized and sometimes self-determined, which never seem to end. In some cyclical states of parallel processing, Cameron wonders if the people who reprogrammed her installed these little tangents (or at least the capacity for them), or if all social units are this way.
She watches Vick's memory files. He liked to sculpt. Or at least he pretended to. It was one of the things his wife loved about him. She said so and yet the memories are not filed with his memories of her. They are separate. Cameron thinks she knows what this means. She wants to ask John, but she's reluctant. She doesn't know why.
***
Rodney McKay is a genius. He could do anything he wants. Judging by the number of government contracts and hot Air Force officers practically throwing themselves at him, a lot of people acknowledge his genius as fact. It's reassuring, but not helpful. He has concert tours, benefits, and practice with that mockery of an orchestra that calls itself the LA Philharmonic. Sometimes he wonders why he chose to stay out here in LA instead of moving back to New York. Boston and Harvard and MIT aren't that far away, after all, so he could keep up his hobbies. But there's something about the CalTech boys. Maybe it's the sun or the quaint suburban feel of Pasadena, but they seem happier, at least more willing to set aside the petty academic infighting that Rodney just doesn't have time for when faced with his brilliance.
In New York, they'd want him to choose. But he can't choose. Science and the complex play of mathematical equations behind the notes write his music as much as he does. And yet he wouldn't be as good a scientist as he is without the art and patience he's learned with the piano. They are both essential parts of him and he could no more choose than willingly cut off a limb.
Sometimes, however, he wishes that he were in New York, where at least the sycophants would appreciate him more for his talent than his bank account. He's tired of young little Hollywood dropouts throwing themselves at him because of that one article in The Advocate. It's one of the few he hasn't had framed. Rodney doesn't care about Pride. He has plenty of other things to be proud of.
So maybe, no matter how many twinks he can find to share his bed, he's a little lonely. Just a little.
***
"What would you do?" John asks one day. "If I died, what would you do?"
Cameron frowns a little, signaling to him that this question might take some additional processing time. "My primary objective would be impossible. I'm programmed to shut down, with no objectives to fulfill."
"But would you? I mean, there are so many other things you could do. Maybe I wouldn't be around to lead, but you might still be able to stop Judgment Day."
Cameron doesn't say what John told her more than a year ago, processor time. He said that Judgment Day was inevitable. Or at least he'd given up on trying to stop it. She doesn't know why. Skynet knows, maybe, but they took those memories. She often wishes they hadn't. The memories might have helped.
John will have advisers that think about time travel. Some say to forget about these missions to the past, that they won't change to future of this reality, only create an alternate one where there is no Skynet. Others insist that Skynet wouldn't have sent that first Terminator back to kill John Connor unless it thought the future could be changed. She wonders why they think Skynet knows any better than they do.
If the future can be changed, and if they stop Judgment Day, she should cease to exist. John Connor should cease to exist as well. Cameron's not sure how she feels about that.
***
John Sheppard's name is meant to be ironic, he realizes. No terminator would be named after the leader of the human resistance. In his future, John is a reassuring name. It had been to Mitch and Dex and Holland, at least, before they'd found out and John had been forced to kill them.
Irony is listed as one of Rodney McKay's interests on his Myspace page, along with puppies, kittens, rainbows, people who are not morons, and long walks on the beach. This is why John decides to get a job at a pet store in Santa Monica; which is unfortunate, because animals don't like him. Maybe they can smell the coltan or hear his processors quietly whirring. Or perhaps there is some base aspect about human beings that they can sense and John lacks. His kind were built by humans, perhaps they, too, are limited by the human perception of the world, unable to fool any other creature.
John isn't sure where he should meet Rodney McKay. He's been to several of his concerts already, but the man never lets any fans get too close. It's not a good way to earn the man's confidence. Hanging around CalTech is no more effective. Rodney's visits are sporadic at best, and John's attempts to register as a graduate student there prove difficult without any work to show for himself. And despite assurances from John's co-workers at the pet store that he is in fact rather attractive, no matter how many hours he spends at Rodney McKay's favored coffee shop, the man just gulps down his Jamaican roasted double espresso latte and leaves, without a single glance in John's direction. Other than that, he's not sure where Rodney goes other than home, concerts, coffee, and work.
Perhaps there's something he's doing wrong. No matter how much behavior he observes, he gets the sense that he's missing something. In the future, things will be less complicated. Sexual liaisons are a product of battle weariness or desperation. Here, there seem to be a thousand little rituals and rules. People can afford to be choosy, though John has trouble understanding why they should. Physical gratification seems to occur regardless of whom they're with.
John decides that perhaps there's nothing to do but ask. He takes a walk along the beach, in preparation to share his like for it with Rodney. A woman comes up to him, as seems to be habitual.
"Hello," she says. "I couldn't help but noticing you walking all by yourself."
John nods. "I'm glad you noticed." If she hadn't, it might be difficult to get his answers.
She laughs, leaning towards him. Her pupils dilate and her breathing speeds up by a few breaths per minute, heart rate as well. John knows the signals for attraction, just not the cause.
"What made you come up to me just now?" he asks.
"Like I said: I saw you. I thought you were cute."
"Thank you." Manners are a basic part of John's social interaction package. "But do you think you could be more specific?"
"You don't need to fish for compliments, honey," she croons.
John isn't fishing. "I didn't mean to." Perhaps if she understood the context of his dilemma, she'd be more willing to help. "I'm trying to meet someone."
"You just have," she smiles.
John smiles back. "A different someone. I looked up what he likes on the internet. And I try to hang out where he likes to go, but he doesn't notice me."
The woman sighs. "Why do all the pretty ones have to be gay?"
"I don't know."
"Well, if he's oblivious, why don't you just go up to him and ask?"
"I'm not sure that would be welcome." John used to have blond hair, blue eyes, and a different nose, but then he tried the direct approach. He'd also learned that in the context of Rodney McKay, sycophant can be a very dirty word.
"Well then, you'll just have to meet him in sort of a romantic accident, like in the movies." The woman pauses, eyes following a jogger who passes by. "Well, it was nice talking to you."
But John isn't done. He reaches out, grabbing her wrist and squeezing. "Which movie?"
"I don't know. Please, mister, you're hurting me."
"Which movie?"
The woman's heart rate speeds up, and her eyes widen in fear. It's a simple emotion, one John's familiar with. "Any movie," she gasps. "Please."
Her eyes are watering and John still doesn't understand, but he spots a policeman over her shoulder. John isn't worried about the police inferring with any of his mission objectives, but he remembers Mitch and Dex and especially Holland. He hadn't wanted to kill them. If he had done a better job of acting, he wouldn't have had to.
"I'm sorry," he replies, pulling up his directory of idiomatic phrases. "See ya around."
On his way back to the apartment, John uses the disassembled parts of an iPhone he installed in his secondary processor to Google Rodney McKay's favorite movies.
Star Wars is interesting. He finally understands some of the references his human team used to make. But he's not sure how he can replicate fleeing the galactic empire as a romantic scenario. Star Trek has a various degrees of kissing, but John hasn't a clue where he can get some whales on short notice. And Batman has a disturbing tendency to never really get the girl.
So the next day, he takes them all back to the video store and asks for something a little more romantic. He isn't particularly happy with how Casablanca turns out, but Back to the Future explains everything. This "Florence Nightingale Effect" was powerful enough to make a woman break one of humanity's greatest biological taboos and attempt to mate with her son, and it's easy to replicate. All John has to do is get hit by a car.
***
"Rodney McKay," Derek says.
"Rodney McKay," Cameron replies.
"Who's Rodney McKay?" Sarah asks.
"He's the next guy on our list. He's high profile, so we were having trouble getting close to him. But he's going to be a critical contributor to the development of Skynet."
John has already entered the name into his computer. "He's a concert pianist and composer. Are you sure you have the right guy?"
"My source said that he was the one who really brought Skynet to life. He was the artist behind the project."
"So we kill him." If he's vital to the creation of Skynet, killing him will be an effective way to complete Cameron's secondary mission goal, assigned by young John Connor.
"We're not killing anyone," Sarah says. She's using her serious voice, so Cameron nods.
"We're definitely killing him," Derek tells her later.
***
Rodney should know better by now. LA traffic is horrific at best, but he just has to swing home and grab his tux before the benefit. He knew he should have thrown it in the trunk this morning. Maybe if he calls Elizabeth, she'll stall for him. Rodney reaches for his phone, scrolling to try and find Elizabeth's number.
"Come on, pick up," he says, looking down at the display to make sure he's got the number right.
"Rodney? You had better not be calling to say you're stuck in traffic, again." She sounds angry, at least as angry as always-diplomatic Elizabeth is capable of sounding.
"Um--"
Rodney doesn't have time to get his excuse out, because just at that moment, he catches movement to his right and something large and black is shattering his windshield. "Oh my god." He slams on the brakes.
"Rodney?" Elizabeth asks.
"I have to go. I think I just hit somebody with my car."
"Rodney! Are you really that desperate--" He hangs up on her, fighting his way out of his seat belt to run to the other side of the car and open the door. He lives on a quiet street. He didn't see anybody. It's like this guy fell out of a tree or something.
"Are you okay?" he asks, realizing a minute later how stupid that sounds, considering the blood dripping all over his expensive Italian leather upholstery. "Sorry. Of course, you're not. I'm calling 911." He tries to dial, but he's inexplicably lost signal somehow.
Rodney is hyperventilating now, noticing the huge dent in his front window frame where the guy must have hit his head. "Oh god, you've spilled your brains all over my car. Oh, god." This isn't supposed to happen to him. He's a genius. This is going to ruin his life. It's going to ruin the brainless man's life and he didn't mean to and... "I'll go get help. You just, um. You just stay here."
Rodney nearly jumps out of his skin at the feel of a vice-like grip around his wrist.
"Jesus Christ! What are you trying to do? Give me aneurysm? You're bleeding. God, you're bleeding. You have to let me go get help."
"No." Rodney suddenly finds himself staring into the most beautiful pair of hazel eyes he's ever seen. The man's face is bloody, and he still has little pieces of glass sticking out of him in various places, but even despite that, he manages to be unspeakably attractive. "Oh god, I've just run over People's next Sexiest Man of the Year."
***
Cameron is aware of John staring at her chest. It's not the first time. But she isn't expecting him to smile and say, "You look really beautiful."
Beauty isn't something machines consider. Maybe Skynet does in the depths of its vast processors, but Cameron doesn't. She wonders if maybe Vick had an inkling of it in his sculptures, or if any humans found them beautiful. "Thank you," she replies. Sarah had taken her to buy this dress, making her "try on" several even though Cameron could tell which ones would fit just by looking. "I look right for attending a benefit?"
John nods. He's angry that he's not allowed along, he'd told her. Cameron thinks it's because they might really kill Rodney McKay after all and Sarah doesn't want him to see. But Derek is staying here, so maybe not.
***
"Oh god, I've just run over People's next Sexiest Man of the Year."
John smiles, feeling the blood drip down to cover his teeth. Finally, a step in the right direction.
"Please, stop that. It's grotesque."
Or maybe not.
"Now, if you'll just let go of me, we can get you to a nice ambulance and some morphine and everything will be okay. I promise."
Maybe this plan wasn't as well conceived as Back to the Future had made it seem. Rodney was supposed to help him back to his house and take off his pants and look at the nice Calvin Klein underwear John had bought specifically for this. "No ambulance."
"It's okay. Of course I have to hit a moron with no insurance. I can pay for it. It was my fault. I'll pay for everything. You don't have to worry. Just let me go."
John shakes his head. He can't got to the hospital. He looks perfectly human on the outside, but what if they try to cut him open like those medical shows on the television?
"For god's sake, don't move you neck! You could have any number of spinal injuries!"
No, this is all wrong. John has to get out of here before Rodney gets him to a hospital. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine!" Rodney screeches. "You just flew through my windshield!" He didn't fly exactly. He dropped.
John is about to just make a run for it, when he feels a warm pressure against his side. Rodney is pressed up against him, trying to hold him up. Significant bodily contact is classified in his database as a sign of sexual interest, so John leans into him.
"You're pretty heavy for such a skinny guy. What have you been eating? Cinder blocks?"
"I had toast." John's bio-processors required some input in case he needs to produce ejaculate later.
"Oh, lovely, a concussion. Just what I need. Look, let's just get you to my other car and I can drive you to the hospital."
Why is Rodney so preoccupied with the hospital? Hadn't he said that he found John sexy? Wasn't the next part when he got to see John's purple underwear? "No. I don't want to go to the hospital."
"What? Do you have some kind of hospital phobia? I promised I'd pay. I know you're probably the beautiful but ignorant type who doesn't know a thing about classical music, but I'm Rodney--"
"McKay. I know who you are." It's hard to tell, because Rodney's heart is already beating much faster than it should, but he seems pleased to hear that John recognizes him. "I like your interpretation of Mozart's Piano Concerto 26."
"Oh my god, are you one of my stalkers? Because if you violated your restraining order to get run over by me, then you're a very, very sick man and if you thought I hated stalkers, then you have no idea how much I hate masochistic stalkers, because seriously you could have been killed! And nobody plays the piano well enough for that! Though if anyone did, it would be me, obviously, but then I'm preaching to the choir, because you just decided to impale yourself on my windshield and--"
"I don't know what you're talking about," John replies. He's changed his name and face since the restraining order. "I was at your SPCA benefit." That isn't a lie. John had been ejected from it by McKay's security guards.
"Oh," Rodney replies. "Well, all the more reason not to let you bleed out then."
John calls up an expression of determination. "I'm not going to bleed to death. Look, I feel fine."
"That's a sign of shock."
Not according to WebMD. "No, it's a sign that I'm fine. I just need some bandages and a place to lie down for a second. I don't like hospitals. Please."
Rodney still looks panicked, but he snaps his fingers. "What about a just seeing a Doctor? Jennifer, next door. She's only a pediatrician, but I think she could at least make sure you're not dying."
She won't find anything wrong. John is designed so that any cursory exam won't identify him as a machine. "Okay," he replies, leaning a little more into Rodney and letting the man help him into his house and onto the couch. He makes a few attempts at moans, like he saw on Grey's Anatomy, which had helped with some of the medical things, but none with romance. He had trouble understanding how frequently the main character changed her mood.
Despite the many conditions Rodney insists John has, Jennifer finds nothing wrong. She picks out the glass and cleans and bandages John's wounds while Rodney paces and panics in the background. "You got lucky," she comments. "Most people who get hit by cars are a lot worse off."
"Thank you for patching me up."
"You're welcome. Now, even though nothing appears to be wrong, I'd like someone to keep an eye on you. You are taking a risk not going in for scans."
"It's not too late," Rodney offers.
"No, I feel fine."
"Well, then I'm sure you won't mind staying right here where I can keep an eye on you." Rodney crosses his arms over his chest in what John's programming tells him is a sign of stubbornness.
Perfect. John decides that the "Florence Nightingale Effect" is foolproof.
***
Cameron had been intrigued by the concert, even though it had been a violinist and not Rodney McKay. She is considering using Tchaikovsky's Canzonetta to dance to.
"What happened?" John asks. He might be trying to pretend that he hasn't been sitting in front of the door waiting for them this entire time, but the fact that he's holding his trigonometry book upside down indicates otherwise.
"He didn't show up," Sarah says. "Something about a car accident."
"Do you think someone else got to him first?" Derek asks.
"I don't know. We'll see if he shows up at anything else."
"Why would Skynet want to kill him?" Cameron asks, feeling something familiar stirring in the depths of her processors. An image flashes from her memory banks. It's just a still shot, completely out of context. But Rodney McKay is staring down at her, and he's smiling.
***
John doesn't put his processor to sleep. If Rodney should come in and check on him and find him completely non-responsive for even a few seconds, then he might call an ambulance. So he stays up all night, running on minimal power and thinking out the next steps in his plan. Maybe they'll take one of those walks on the beach. Or he can take Rodney to his pet store. Maybe Rodney would want to "park" with him, like in Back to the Future.
But the next morning, his plans are interrupted by the sound of high heels clacking against Rodney's hardwood floors. John sneaks up to the door and peers through, watching a woman barge through Rodney's front door and towards his bedroom. Maybe she's an assassin. Or she could be John's competition. In both cases, he'll have to kill her. He just needs to do it where Rodney can't see.
"The NSF is disappointed in you, Rodney," the woman says. "So disappointed that I had to promise them free tickets to your next concert for all the VIPs who missed out this time, plus another event. Do you have any idea how much this is going to cost? You can't just--"
John takes everything in - elevated heart rate, tension in her musculature, vocal inflection. She's not an assassin, at least, and judging by the way Rodney rolls over in bed and grumbles, "It's too early for this, Elizabeth," he's not sure there's attraction there either. "I'll pay for the tickets and make a generous donation myself, now get the hell out."
"Rodney, you can't just cancel the evening of the event. I told you in Vienna, if you pull this prima dona act one more time I'm--"
Then again, anger could still pose a danger to Rodney's safety. John steps into the room between the possible assassin and his objective.
Elizabeth's features go slack, taking in the bandages and bruises John made sure appeared on his organic layer. "Who are you?"
"I'm John."
"He's the guy I hit with the car last night," Rodney sighs.
"Oh," Elizabeth replies. "I didn't think--"
"You thought I was lying." Even John can identify the hurt in Rodney's voice. This woman shouldn't have been allowed to hurt him.
"I'll just be going then. Don't forget practice on Monday, 10am."
"Nice to meet you," John says as she's making her way out the door. Manners are of the utmost importance.
"Sorry about that," Rodney sighs, pulling a sheet tighter around him. John can see that he is not wearing any clothes beneath. Perhaps this is an invitation. "In case you haven't already guessed, that was Elizabeth, my demonic manager from hell."
"She seemed nice." Manners, again.
Rodney snorts. "Yeah, right. She's a slave driver. I'm always afraid I'll walk into her office and find her with a leather bodice and a whip. On the other hand, that might be kind of hot."
Maybe John will have to kill her after all, but only if he sees her in a leather bodice with a whip.
"So, how are you feeling?" Rodney continues. "Jennifer wrote out a prescription for some Vicodin if you're feeling really awful. Personally, I don't like the stuff. Makes me kind of loopy."
"No, thank you."
"Breakfast then?"
"Sure. What do you like?"
"Unless you want coffee and toast, I suggest we go out."
"Okay. Or I could make something." Recipes are only an internet search away, he figures.
"No, no, you shouldn't have to. Look at you. Just go lay down and I'll bring something back."
John doesn't think that Rodney will appreciate him becoming a burden. "No. It's better if I get up and moving. I'll make something." Someone at the pet store had told him that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach, despite the anatomic impossibility of it.
"I really should be taking care of you."
"Then you can help by getting me 1 cup all-purpose flour, 2 tablespoons baking powder, 1/4 teaspoon salt, 1 egg, beaten, 1 cup milk, 2 tablespoons vegetable oil, a medium sized mixing bowl and a griddle."
"What did you do, memorize a cookbook?"
John shrugs. "I have a good memory."
Rodney grumbles but gets things out, watching John make pancakes. They look alright to him, but he's not sure what the recipe means by golden brown.
Rodney pokes his stack meaningfully. "So you have a very good memory, but absolutely no cooking skill. Come on, we're going to IHOP."
"I'm sorry. I was trying to impress you."
Rodney looks John in the eyes at that, his features going lax. John's not sure what it means, but the dilation of Rodney's pupils is a good thing. And he thinks that maybe Rodney McKay is a language he'll someday be able to understand.
***
"You're not going to kill him, are you?" John asks.
"I will do what is best for our mission objectives at the time," Cameron replies. She practices a new dance move, trying to get her arms to flow more, like the teacher said. She can feel John's eyes on her, wondering.
"But imagine if we can get someone like him on our side? If he's that brilliant, then maybe he can help us. I mean, for all you know, he's the one who teaches me how to reprogram the terminators."
"You did not object to our plans with Andy Goode."
"Nobody bothered to ask me. But this time, I want you to promise that you won't kill him."
Cameron wonders if he knows that she has no operational category for promises. The other day, she promised a girl that they would be BFFs, but she doesn't even know what that means. The only hard and fast rules Cameron lives by are mission objectives and operational parameters. Everything else is just words, socialization to learn to better fit in. "I promise," she says, but like most people who make promises, what she really means is that she will try.
***
Rodney McKay seemed to have enjoyed himself at breakfast. Even though their verbal dialogue could be described as somewhat combative, he wore a smile on his face, and the biological signs of attraction were undeniable. John remembers it then, a small flash of memory from Skynet's childhood, given to him for intel. Rodney McKay is Skynet's favorite chess partner, the only one it looks forward to playing with. The others play classical moves, already stored in Skynet's vast database. They sit in seriousness, doing nothing but move pieces across the board. Rodney McKay rambles, he talks about a thousand different things as though Skynet can't hear, when he knows it can. Skynet watches his face, tries to categorize subject matter and expressions and emotion that might help it win the chess game, but Rodney's ramblings are as seemingly random as his chess moves, and yet after the game is done, Skynet can find a pattern to them, complex and in John's limited understanding, maybe beautiful.
"Do you play chess?" he asks, when they return to Rodney's apartment.
"Please. Genius here. Of course I do. I'm just surprised that you play."
"Why?"
"Look at you! You look like you'd rather concuss yourself surfing than god forbid any intellectual pursuit. And you work at a pet store."
"I like puppies and kittens."
"And there's the fact that sometimes you act like a retarded four-year-old."
"I'm trying to get into CalTech. They want me to publish a paper."
Rodney seems impressed, but John can't really tell. At least he's setting up a chess board now. "So what's your paper on? I assume you are writing one."
That's the problem, of course. John knows plenty about computer science and chemistry and even biology that these people don't know, but having the equations or the methods worked out doesn't seem to be what they're looking for. They want him to explain them in the context of the things they already know, and show how he comes to the discovery. John isn't familiar with human history. He doesn't know.
"Some aspect of computer science."
"Do you have anything particular in mind?"
"I have a lot of different ideas, but I'm not sure which would be appreciated the most."
"Then pick the one that interests you. Science has been so corrupted by defense and business interests. They don't care about science for the sake of science anymore. That's why I'm playing the piano and not making a name for myself in the academic community. Even when I pick the most obscure branches of astrophysics, I mean, purely theoretical stuff on wormholes, your stupid Air Force is still hounding me. So, if you're going to be a real scientist, not a sell out, then pick the subject that most interests you."
John thinks about it, dredging his secondary self-determined priorities. He's already got Rodney on the subject of computer science. But Skynet didn't say what kind of inspiration made Rodney create it. Maybe it doesn't know. Maybe it doesn't care.
And that's the main issue, isn't it? John remembers Mitch talking about it. Mitch wondered why the terminators hated people so much. John wanted to speak up and say that he doesn't hate people. He doesn't know what hate is. And if he had a preference, because killing people wasn't part of his objective at all, he wouldn't have killed anybody. But Skynet must hate them. Skynet must want something from them, because Skynet built the terminators for a reason. And maybe that's the difference, the thing that Rodney McKay will one day create.
"Preferences."
"What?"
"Preferences is what I want to write about. How can you make a computer like one thing over another? Could you make one appreciate the beauty of a sunset, for example?"
"Well, that's not all that complicated. Chess computers are already programmed for preferences. They prefer moves that make them win. As for the sunset, it's only really an instinctual desires for a harmonious selection of colors. And physical beauty is largely based on facial symmetry and other characteristics that represent fertility. The minor preferences can be randomized."
"But those are human preferences that you program into the computer. I'm talking about making a computer prefer things on its own."
"I think the rest of the field just sort of assumes that will happen when they are able to teach computers how to learn and process memories out of their stored content. Even recognizing a sunset has to come first."
"But what if it's the other way around? In order to do those things, the computer has to prioritize and in order to prioritize, it needs preferences."
"But like I said before, human preferences are developed mostly out of our need to survive. We prefer lush environments because they provide more food and certain people because of their fertility. Even our ethical rules can be traced to evolution as social creatures. There is no such thing as preference without some kind of at least vestigial purpose."
John thinks about Rodney's music, the way it differs ever so slightly from other recordings, the way the crowd stands afterwards, tears in their eyes. "You don't believe that."
Rodney looks down at the chessboard then. "Checkmate," he says. John didn't even see it coming.
***
"Do you think Skynet has been forward in time?" John asks one day. "Do you think we win? That's why it wants to kill me?"
"I don't know," Cameron answers, honestly. She thinks that Skynet would have sent people forward. It would make sense, strategically. "When we make strategic decisions, we are programmed to consider possible outcomes then select the one with the greatest probability of success. It would be more accurate if we knew for certain what the outcome of our efforts would be."
"Like a chess computer."
"That might not be why it wants to kill you."
"Yeah, I'm sure I'm a pretty big pain in the ass in the present, too."
"Yes, you are."
John laughs, only pausing later to ask. "Was that a joke?"
"Maybe," Cameron replies. She doesn't know.
***
Rodney has missed rehearsal two days in a row already and he doesn't care. John Sheppard is everything he could have possibly wanted in a man - intelligent, funny, and hotter than sin, though blissfully unaware of it. He can barely sleep, his mind dancing in possibilities. How to make a computer appreciate beauty? It needs to evolve. It has to build its own subroutines, perhaps at random. Randomly at first, but then, once preferences develop, they would become more and more in tune with its purposes. But without any criterion for survival, it could develop a preference for anything - alfalfa sprouts and wakeboarding, for all Rodney knows. Like people, it must be placed in a directed environment, with preferences coalescing on the side. And then, maybe once the inherent preferences were strong enough, the directed environment could be removed and only the preferences would be left. People evolved somewhat that way, after all.
"Hey," John says, nudging him from where he's sprawled out next to him in a minefield of legal pads and whiteboards, John's neat writing right alongside Rodney's messy scrawls. "You seem pretty exhausted. Time for a break?"
"Time for more coffee," Rodney corrects. He's about to be brilliant; he can feel it.
John nudges him again. "No more coffee. You've already had more than is considered a healthy dose."
Rodney snorts. "Do I look like I care about healthy?"
John frowns. "You should. I'll make you a salad."
"I've already seen your attempts to cook, mister. I don't think so."
"I couldn't let you die of a heart attack," John replies in that oddly serious way of his, pushing himself up. "So you're going to eat a salad."
They've known each other for two days and it already feels like they've been married for years. Rodney's surprisingly okay with that. There's just one thing. He holds tight onto John's sleeve, pulling him back down onto the floor next to him. "What are we doing here?"
"I'm making you a salad and you're preparing to eat healthy and then sleep."
"No, I mean. John, you haven't gone home in two days. I've missed rehearsal. We're in the middle of a brilliant innovation in the field of computer science, which I didn't even think about until I met you. That-- it means something. Doesn't it?"
John just stares into Rodney's eyes. He's beautiful, but stubborn if he's going to force Rodney to put it all out on the line first. But he has to, because John's spent two days here and Rodney can't stand the idea that he might just want Rodney for his brain, so he leans forward and brushes his lips against John's. John kisses back pretty readily, though his technique has much to be desired. "I'm not imagining this, right?" Rodney asks. "There's a connection here." He gestures between them.
"Of course there is," John replies, like it's been written into the very fabric of time, he's so certain.
***
"He's cancelled his next five concerts," John announces, looking down at the Ticketmaster website, unbelieving.
"Someone got to him," Sarah says, turning to Derek, accusing. "There's someone else here. There was another one who came back with you. Who is it?"
Sarah has that look in her eyes that means there might be weapons in the next few minutes. Cameron steadies her grip on the kitchen knife she has been using to chop vegetables.
"It's not one of us!" Derek insists. Judging on his vital signs, he does not appear to be lying, but Cameron knows not to trust that in the rebels. She'd practiced training some of John's men herself. "It's Skynet. It has to be."
"Skynet wouldn't kill its own creator."
"If he'd been killed, we would have heard about it. Terminators don't care about cover up," John argues.
Sarah agrees, "Then maybe the government is."
"No." She sees him again. He's reaching out, an indefinable expression on his face. "It sent someone to protect him. Like John sent me back to protect you. It knows about Andy Goode and it doesn't want that to happen to the rest of its creators."
***
"Wow. That's--" Rodney's voice squeaks. "That's impressive."
"You don't like it?" John contemplates his penis. It's exactly like the pictures he saw when he looked up "gay sex" on the internet. He'd had to drink several cups of oil in order to get the fluids to fill it.
"No, it's not that. It's, well, it's a little intimidating, all right? I mean it's been a while and though I can see where that thing is going in terms of prostate stimulation, I'm not sure I can take it all without stretching a little."
This isn't how it appeared in the movies John had seen on the internet. The people would say a few words and then one would stick his penis into the other's anus. Sometimes mouths got involved too. "Would you rather stick yours in me?"
Rodney's cheeks flush, his pupils dilate and on thermal imaging mode, John can see the blood rush to his groin region. "If you wouldn't mind," he gasps, leaning in to kiss John more.
John has determined that Rodney likes less moisture in the kiss and a more delicate use of his tongue. Rodney also prefers some nipping of his lower lip, especially if John's hands are also cupping his buttocks. He likes to have his earlobe sucked, as well as a place 2.5 inches below the tip of his left collarbone. He speeds up his thrusting if John moans between 80 and 90 decibels. He whispers nonsense into John's skin, his hand pumping frantically at what he calls John's "huge cock." And John almost wishes he understood the pleasure of this, when Rodney bites down into his shoulder and gasps, "I want to make you feel good."
The internet says that couples are more successful when they can orgasm at the same time, but Rodney keeps begging for John to come for him, so he releases an large excretion, sure to channel some of the pressure liquid from his penis to make the organic components around Rodney's own "huge cock" clench and pulse until he feels his partner's release.
Rodney collapses on top of him, planting a kiss on the corner of John's mouth. "You're amazing," he says.
John's vocal analyzers let him know that Rodney means it.
***
"Why do you keep this up?" John asks, watching Cameron practice a series of plies. "I mean, you got it right the first time."
"You wanted me to do an after school activity so you could stay and talk to Amanda." Cameron still doesn't understand why John needs an excuse to speak with someone and Sarah had been upset with them for spending more time away than necessary.
"Yes, I know that. But why are you practicing? Nobody's watching."
Cameron shrugs.
"Don't do that. I know you think it answers everything, but it doesn't."
"You don't see the difference?" She has loosened the movements of her wrists and changed the tempo to better match the underlying rhythm of the music.
"Dance isn't really my thing."
That doesn't help Cameron know if she's doing it wrong.
Part 2 here