inkscribe

not dreaming of the fjords

2010-06-12T14:41:18Z

No, not dead yet. Not even resting or dreaming of the fjords. I'm more-or-less off-planet for the time being--no word yet on when I'll be back. *sighs*

However, heard this piece a few months back on CBC. Had to take evasive measures so as to avoid messy collision due to attempting to operate a motor vehicle whilst simultaneously ROTFLMAO. Just ran across it again in this fabulously slashy and beautifully edited fanvid so I thought I should share. (Was actually searching for something else entirely--can anyone out there remember the soda pop commercial involving a girl, a car, and a couple of guys at a rural gas station on a ridiculously hot day? It was ridiculously indecent but I can't recall even the brand that it was for).

(Yes yes yes, for those who still have me on their f-list, I have not forgotten what happens next in Puzzling Evidence nor that it needs to be finished ... I just remain unable to steal time to commit any of it to pixels. Please continue to bear with me!)

burning question that has nothing to do with fandom

2009-02-20T02:53:12Z

*points at subject line*

Seriously, this has been weighing on my mind for days now. Off the top of my head I don't know anyone in RL who might have an answer, so I'm going to cast it to the mighty powers of the f-list, which yes, I know I don't do often (ever?) but seriously this question is driving me nuts.

Question:
If the universe was created in some sort of single-point-ish type of big-bang-ish type explosion of energy, how can stuff like the Hubble Deep Field photograph show us galaxies colliding? Doesn't that mean they're spinning from different vectors? Or bouncing off something that changes their trajectories?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fgg2tpUVbXQ <--- cool video about the image (image depicted at 2:22) with other contextual information on large numbers.

Note: Apologies in advance for probably completely erroneous usage of math-like terms to ask the above question. I'm happy to be corrected if anyone is so inclined. :-)

Anyone?

synchronistic WTF?

2009-02-01T06:41:11Z

SoooooOOooooo ... I've been gone much of the week dealing with a dying person (lately a late, aka "dead", person) and the dead person's OTT hysterical descendants before they start WWIII among one another.

I arrive home to peruse LJ only to see a writers' block prompt on what to do with one's body after its dead.

*facepalm*

art: Missing actor on intergalactic secret mission, Chuck, G, by inkscribe

2009-01-04T04:26:06Z

Artwork for the story Missing actor on intergalactic secret mission.

Chuck screencap found at colonel_taisa's LJ. Pic of kid found in hairstyling book (sorry, no idea who he really is but even my inklings looked at the pic and said, "Hey, that looks just like Chuck!" and thus the story was born).

ETA: I had to tweak Chuck quite a bit to bring him out clearer in the foreground the way I wanted. For the tech-geeks out there, this was a simple matter of multiple layers and layer masks, changing the colour balance of the midtones and highlights, then blending the layers at various opacities until they made 'sense' visually they way I wanted.

Then I put the boy in, using a digital snapshot of the book photo, cropped slightly from the original with contrast tweaked slightly. I added a 'signature' done by his fictional publicist ;-) and a white border. PhotoShop for all, including typesetting. /eta

facepalm I can't believe I'm posting this ... Love Boat: SGA

2009-01-03T06:23:24Z

For many reasons, the inklets and I were perusing clips of ancient culture (aka "surfing YouTube for 70s and 80s TV show themes) and saw the opening to The Love Boat. Of course, any good explanation for the young 'uns has to connect back to things they already know, right?

So here's Love Boat: SGA. *facepalm* I'm sooooo ashamed.

The Love Boat, as cast by some of our friends in SGA:

Captain Stubbing - Elizabeth Weir, nodding and smiling or even looking concerned at the appropriate times, occasionally doling out fatherly advice. Probably capable of actually captaining his ship through choppy waters but we don't get nearly enough opportunities to see his part of those times as canon is always distracted by the other characters. He is fond of his crew, even when they exasperate him.

Doc - At first I'd said Carson or even Jennifer (particularly the latter with the whole potential serial-relationship thingie in the last two seasons) but I'm revising that to Rodney, because Doc's the guy who saves lives when lives are on the line.

Gopher - So so obviously Radek that I'm not going to bother explaining. *g*

Issac - Teyla, because he's a bartender and bartenders are supposed to be great at listening to other people and helping them help themselves to solve their own problems. In his own way, he's a diplomat.

[Clarification/note: which leads me to wonder, is this a "function" that gets assigned to roles 'granted' to people of colour all the time or simply a coincidence? I share a lot (many? all?) of the frustrations SGA fans have noted about the composition of canon characters, particularly given the "international" aspects of the expedition and the RL-aspects of filming in Vancouver which has a wonderful diversity of people, culture, etc.]

Vicki - I'll be damned if I can remember anything about her other than some general vague sense of 1970s-appropriate teenaged angst and probably some batted eyelashes. Would it be fair to assign this to Carson, at least the S1 Hoff-Carson? *batts woobie eyelashes as a test-run*

Julie - John, because she has to ensure the guests have fun with different activities. John's the gal planning pierside golf, scoping potential surfing sites, and pushing guys off balconies (okay, so that one was in conjunction with Doc).

These are all the characters I've seen credited, and I had to watch a ridiculous number of YouTube editions to get that [in this case, ridiculous=anything >1].

Additions, deletions, corrections?

oh, wow ... thank you! :-D

2008-12-30T02:48:10Z

Okay, so I fail completely by not even having a suitable icon for the following (my sole icon image of the person in question having been changed to a heavily-woobified image for one of my fics).

THANK YOU, GARNETEVE!

I just received a signed photograph of Kavan Smith as Major Lorne ... one where he's looking freaked out and about to shoot in S404 (Doppleganger).

Mmmmmmm ... yes. Lovely. Absolutely lovely. *wipes drool from plastic photo sleeve*

Thank you for such a neat gift!

vid: Wizard! You shall not pass!

2008-11-13T06:25:54Z

A friend pointed me to this show for a completely different clip (which was also amusing) but this one? This one I adore!

*giggles*

Visions of Paradise

2008-10-25T17:41:03Z

Not likely to be able to do anything with this anytime soon, but someone recc'd this vid to me and I really like it. Plot-bunnyish, imo. ;-)

CRTC shennanigans

2008-10-17T15:51:03Z

Sorry, no time to dig up the coding to format this all pretty and everything, so this is a drive-by public service announcement.

http://www.digitalhome.ca/content/view/2972/280/

The CRTC is looking at how to regulate what we poor Canadians choose to view over the Internet and other mobile devices. Joy oh joy.

(For the non-Canadians on my f-list, the Canadian Radio-television Communications Commission holds a lot of power here regarding what gets broadcast on our televisions and on our radio stations. It also is the final arbiter of what is or isn't Canadian, a mysterious label applied by mechanisms that none of us are entirely certain about, given that it seems a Canadian artist's works are declared not CanCon (Canadian Content) by merely being on holiday out of the country, while others who haven't lived here in years are somehow still counted as being Canadian. Okay, sure, I'm exaggerating a bit ... but only a bit. And yeah, Canadian broadcasters (radio or TV) are required by law to carry a certain percentage of Canadian content on their stations. This isn't necessarily a terrible thing, it's just very, very, very confusing as the CRTC's mechanisms, as I indicated, seem to be quite mysterious and ... mysterious. *g*)

DVD commentary for Logopetria by lavvyan

2008-10-05T01:44:32Z

Title: Logopetria
Author: lavvyan
DVD Commentator: inkscribe

~~~

I believe I read this story the first day or so it came out, and adored it. I love words and their nuances, and I love figuring things out from languages I don’t technically know how to read/speak.

For other reasons I’ll explain in-comment, this story also hits me hard in other ways ...

Logopetria

When John got the call, he thought it was a joke. The classic fanon opener, of course, because anything can happen in the Pegasus Galaxy, right? I love this as an opening line because it leads us to think this might be a happy tale, when it so isn’t. Yes, we know from the original story warnings that it isn’t a happy story, but right from the get-go we’re thrown off-balance by a line that in other fics so often is an invitation to crackfic. An elaborate prank which, granted, wasn't really Rodney's style, especially not with medical conditions, but there was a first time for everything, right? He held on to that hope all the way down to the infirmary, took refuge in it a perfect phrase – ‘took refuge in it’ – that’s precisely what people do when faced with world-altering health crises even as he listened to Keller's nervous attempts at explaining the curiously shaped… things… on the side table. Took Rodney's silence and Ronon's bemusement and Carter's confusion and Teyla's worry I love that they’re all here, for better or for worse – Rodney isn’t stuck in the infirmary alone and afraid and refused to acknowledge them, his mind stuck in a constant replay of, joke, a joke, it's all a joke. Watched Rodney's face grow red and redder until finally the man just snapped and opened his mouth to spit out his frustration and anger.

It wasn't a joke.

John watched in horrified fascination as Rodney literally choked on his words, strangely-shaped objects spilling from his mouth in utter silence except for his coughing and ragged breath. The first thing was something green and slimy-looking that landed on the floor with a wet splat and what sounded like an indistinct mumble. I have read original fiction that followed this line, an original darkfic mirror of a classic faery tale whose name escapes me at the moment because honestly, North America really gets the watered-down versions ... and don’t even get me started on Big Mouse’s attempts to take public domain tales and turn them into their exclusive property on the dubious basis that they made one version into a film. *eyeroll* But I digress ... bottom line? The original-darkfic story was likewise fab, even though it took a different twist entirely. (Aha ... I found the original faery tale after all! Diamonds and Toads ) Something roughly the shape of a sea urchin and apparently made out of wood followed, then a red uneven plastic ball, and a distorted, spiky lump of charred metal. They clattered to the floor in a cacophony of whispers, each uttering its secret over and over until it lay still. The red ball wobbled across the floor until it bounced off Ronon's boot with a faintly murmured, "incompetence," in Rodney's voice Awww! A fantastic word, ‘incompetence’. It shows us not only the depth of Rodney’s anger, but also his contempt for medical sciences. The word also reminds us how often Rodney’s competence and creativity saves the day. Then there was no sound except for the blips and beeps of the infirmary and Rodney's wheezing breath.

"Okay." John bit on his bottom lip and rested his hands on his hips, looking for words as he tore his gaze from the ones that lay on the floor. I know John’s pose here is entirely canon, but I still dislike it. ;-) "We'll figure this out."

Rodney threw him a disgusted look and crossed his arms. 'You better,' that look said.

~~~

They didn't figure it out. ( ! ) The medical department ran every test they could think of – blood tests, x-rays, PET scans, MRIs, EEGs, throat biopsies, though Rodney himself drew the line at a lumbar puncture I absolutely love how the punchy short sentence that starts this paragraph is contrasted by the lengthy list of tests that still fail to diagnose the problem *meep* immediately thereafter with a few choice objects – and Zelenka had everyone searching for the Ancient device that might have caused what Teyla called a very peculiar sickness. To no avail.

"Dr. McKay's language processing occurs in the proper hemisphere of the brain, it's perfectly normal," Keller said. "There's a great deal of anomalous activity in the sylvian fissure closest to the visual cortex, but how the verbal impulses get turned into physical objects…" She shrugged helplessly.

"There have been no energy spikes," Zelenka said as serious as this story is, I adore that like canon, it falls back on seeking ‘energy spikes’ as part of standard analytic procedure , "nothing to indicate that anything was activated. We ran a series of tests on every new artefact that we know has been touched over the last week, but to find the one that did this…" He spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. Zelenka being wordless is a beautiful parallel to the story’s core problem.

"There's almost nothing in the database on this," Carter said, "apart from one passing reference to a sickness the Ancients called 'logopetria' that seems to fit Rodney's symptoms, but as for the cure…" She shook her head.

Huge black thing, gross smelly lump, grass-green nail, wobbly red ball, coin-like thing, Rodney said, and then he pressed his lips together and said nothing at all. The words here are so ... so tactile it makes me ache. In a good way! :-) Each object is something I can see, hear, and touch ... possibly even taste or smell.

'How do you not choke?' John wanted to ask, and, 'Does your throat hurt?' and, 'How are you coping, buddy?' But he didn't. These questions are perfect – they’re what John should ask, but doesn’t. Far too many people stand on ceremony when faced with bizarre diseases and don’t learn what they should learn, what they need to learn. Drives me crazy. *cough cough* Instead, he picked up the odd shapes and materials and added them to his growing collection, trying to find out what Rodney had said. I love that John takes the words someplace private to try to decrypt them! The logopetria sickness seemed to have no prepositions or verbs, copulas despite excessive exposure to grammatical matters, until this story I had never run across the term ’copula’ before. Learning cool new things from fiction is cool or pronouns, otherwise John had no doubt that his collection would be a lot more extensive. He lined up the words in the order they'd fallen from Rodney's lips and tapped them with the little mineralogist's hammer he'd stolen from the geologists not borrowed but stolen, as if he is cracking the code in secret even from his colleagues. "None," "realisation," "life," "incompetence," "destroy," they said in Rodney's whisper-voice, making no sense at all, and John closed his eyes and clenched his fingers around the hammer and vowed again that the linguists could ask until their heads blew off. They wouldn't get this. Even if Carter stopped being on his side, they wouldn't get this. He wouldn't let them, because Rodney's words were his. Mmmmm, yes. Possessing the words of others, particularly those we love, is so crucial. While we have intangibles such as our mother’s love to share with our grandchildren, it’s our mother’s sayings that are concrete, tangible pieces to hand on to the next generation. John might not know that he loves Rodney, but keeping his words as precious secrets tells us clearly that he does He didn't even know why he felt that way, but he'd have time to figure it out. As soon as they'd fixed this, he'd take the time. I suspect many of those who are unafflicted hold on to this belief, that there will be time ‘later’ to do whatever remains undone now. I suspect this is also what feeds into the pain and loss when the time never actually appears.

In the meantime, Rodney was talking less and less. Of course, he'd been trying to stop talking altogether right from the beginning, but he wouldn't have been Rodney if words hadn't kept slipping out. Only now the slipping out part was quite literal. Ewwwww! John had no idea how Rodney knew awww! that he'd... acquired the infirmary words for reasons he hadn't really gotten himself. The point was, somehow Rodney knew, and for some reason, at the end of each day, he'd hand John the collection of words he'd not-said that day; probably for safekeeping from the linguists, John supposed. And John would take them, playing them in different orders to try and figure out what Rodney might have said that day before carefully stowing them away in the cardboard box he'd liberated from the kitchen, like treasures.

Not only did Rodney hand over less and less of his quirky word-objects each day, he also stopped using his datapad – hastily refitted with a voice module – whenever someone talked to him. There were no more hastily scribbled notes, no more frantic typing, no emotionless, mechanical voice reciting invectives to the science team. Rodney's own search for a solution to the whole mess became grim and grimmer until he finally just threw his datapad against the wall, red-faced and panting and blinking furiously as he stared at the electronic mess. This moment is incredibly ... profound ... for me. I’ve been there. I’ve been so ill and on such strong medications that my mind wasn’t capable of forming complex statements or thoughts. I have no idea if people with Alzheimers are self-aware of their changing cognitive abilities, but in my situation, I was very aware of it, and the loss was overwhelming.

John had no idea what to do, so he dragged Rodney off to the shooting range and made him kill paper targets, both of them silent. John was always silent around Rodney these days. He had no idea if Rodney was grateful for that or if he thought it was stupid, if he'd noticed at all. It’s interesting that John is silent around Rodney here out of respect or commiseration, not merely reflecting back what he doesn’t hear. Again, I so often see people respond to a changed life by awkward conversation or shutting down, as though the ill person is somehow different inside now, too. I suppose I can only speak for myself, but honestly, I’d still like to hear the jokes, read (or have read to me) the dirty stories, experience the gentle caresses, etc. Just because the brain-body isn’t working to specification is no reason to behave as though the person inside is now suddenly bereft of what makes them “them”.

When Rodney had emptied several clips and his hands had stopped shaking heh, I wish I’d had that option sometimes *grin*, he lowered the M9 and stared at the last shredded target for several long moments before he let out a sigh. John was still standing behind his shoulder, itching to reach out and hug Rodney but not sure if the contact would be welcome, so he stayed where he was. It had always been easy to reach out to Rodney, to give him a slap on the back or a pat on the arm, but now... exactly! that’s exactly what I mean! John should be reaching out, just like he had in the past. I’m annoyed that John doesn’t reach out now, but the hesitation makes the story that much more realistic.

He'd be the first to admit he was bad at this. As are so many, unfortunately.

Eventually, Rodney took a deep breath and held a hand under his mouth. A single word plopped into his palm, and he wiped it on his shirt before handing it to John. Then he just walked away, tossing the empty gun to the sergeant on duty on his way out.

John looked at the object in his hand. It was of a cheerful blue, slightly fluffy though seemingly made of wood, and reminded him vaguely of a toy horse in its shape. His heart pounding, John tapped his fingernail against it. "Forfeit," it whispered to him. Is it a whisper because he only wants John to hear, or because he can’t bear to admit giving up?

I give up. Awwww!

John closed his eyes and held on. He wanted to yell at someone. At Rodney, maybe, for leaving them behind. He wanted Rodney to yell back. He wanted to take the last two weeks and undo them, somehow, to go back to rolling his eyes at the constant verbal barrage Rodney had so often subjected him to. This rings true: the person who is well and whole is impotent, unable to do anything to change the way things are. Only he wouldn't roll his eyes, not anymore. He'd listen. I promise, he thought inanely, I'd listen, I promise. Except that wouldn't make any difference at all, would it?

Nothing John could do would make any difference.

Two days later, Rodney went back to Earth. John wished him luck. Everything else he wanted to say – 'Stay, don't leave, I want you here,' – stuck in his throat like he were the one who was sick. Rodney shook his hand, his eyes red-rimmed and resigned another perfect word, ‘resigned’. Those who remain well around us use words like ‘brave’, etc., yet we who are unwell don’t really have a choice. You resign yourself to your life as it is or go insane wishing it were different. Rodney’s smart enough to avoid the latter, no matter how painful the former , and if John had known how to hug him, he would have.

He would have done so many things if he'd known how to do them.

~~~

The package arrived on the Apollo a few weeks after Rodney had left. It was a small thing, bearing only his name, but John's hand shook a little as he accepted it, because he would have recognised that handwriting anywhere.

He carried the package to his quarters, absently informing Carter that he'd take the rest of the day off. It was way past lunch already, so it wasn't like he'd be missed if he went off duty a few hours earlier. He put the package on his desk and simply stared at it for a while. Then he opened it.

Inside the package, wrapped in newspaper – and this was so Rodney, being all about content and not about presentation heh heh heh ... honestly, I’d do the same. Though these days all I can find most of the time is toilet paper or spare napkins from a fast-food restaurant. I wouldn’t even think about the secondary message I might be giving by using either of them to wrap my words. *facepalm* – was a perfectly round stone, about the size of those tinkling Chinese balls you were supposed to roll in your hand. It felt cool and smooth in John's palm when he picked it up, like polished marble. At first glance, it merely looked black, but there was a dark hazel but of course it would be hazel pattern running through it, making it change its colour with every movement of the ball, like a tiger's-eye. It was easily one of the most beautiful things John had ever seen.

Nervous and intrigued – because it was a word, wasn't it? Rodney had sent him a word – John rummaged through the drawers, finally pulling out the small mineralogist's hammer he hadn't touched since Rodney had left. The cardboard box was collecting dust under his bed, and he'd stopped asking Zelenka and Carter and Keller if they'd found anything yet. But now Rodney had sent him a word, and it had to be an important one. Rodney didn't just send things because they were pretty. I love the anticipation that builds here, continued in the next statement by John’s need for a ‘fortifying breath’ before tapping the word.

John took a fortifying breath, picked up the little mineralogist's hammer and tapped it lightly against the marble.

And then he did it again and closed his eyes, gripping the hammer so hard that his fingers hurt as he listened to the faint word that was echoing through the room.

"John."

I love that Rodney might have spent much time thinking about how to form his words with clarity. Throughout his ordeal, the words we’ve seen encompass things both concrete and conceptual, yet he has managed to produce a word that says not only the arbitrary ‘John’ but incorporates some of the concrete elements of John-ness: hazel eyes, black clothes. Sturdy and playful like a spherical marble, cool and smooth on the exterior but with glimpses of something hidden within.

We never see whether Rodney recovers, and we don’t need to.

For me, the story suggests that Rodney doesn’t want to remain isolated from at least one person, and the one person he wants to remain connected to is John. I’d like to think that John responds to this, that he leaves Atlantis to reunite with Rodney, and that he’s there (quiet or otherwise) for Rodney.

In my experience (both in my own situation and that of acquaintances), this type of connection is one I’ve seen fail too often. A person coping with a lengthy illness is often isolated by virtue of their illness, yet the people around them begin to resent being close to the ill person or are not able to cope with seeing their loved one’s frailty and mortality up-close-and-in-person over and over again.

Rodney’s initial choice to isolate himself is painful and I love that lavvyan had him do so – though we see the story through John’s eyes, we are watching Rodney establish control over something that is largely uncontrollable. I also love that John shows outward respect for Rodney’s choice, even though he has deep inner regret, pain, and loss.

~~~
Post-commentary commentator notes: I wrote 99.99 per cent of this commentary the same day I signed up for this year’s event, but as the commentary included reference to a number of personally overwhelming events, I decided to allow the piece to sit a few days before publishing.

I feel conflicted over this commentary, because while I adore the story for all the reasons outlined above, the very fact that the specific reasons this story resonates so strongly for me are only outlined suggests to me that for other readers, my comments may be far too vague to be of interest or value. Indeed, at this moment? I’m feeling as though this commentary is too wanky to post ... yet I shall face my own fears and post it regardless. ;-)

Thank you to lavvyan for granting permission to work with her stories.

David Hewlett is my twin! No, really!

2008-09-13T16:08:48Z

Unsurprisingly, David Hewlett gets a lot of attention within the SGA fandom. Let's face it, the person's real-life geekery, his charm and willingness to engage with his fans, and all those other many and sundry bits help folks who've never met the guy (which includes me) consider him to be pretty darned cool.

And then, apparently, he's actually smart. And he's just like me, really. Okay, so my wife isn't British-ish and my kids are a bit older but really ...

... David Hewlett is my twin. Why do I disclose this now? Why not so much earlier, when we already share the jazz hands, the expressive face, and the passion for Doctor Who?

Why, because he drives an Echo, of course! A fabulous, amazing, incredibly-affordable-for-fuel-even-with-these-stupid-prices Toyota Echo!

See? An Echo!

Scroll down through the very hawt *ahem* pics of David Nykl decked out in what appears to be classic MEC-chic. Yummmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Okay, so mine’s white but they’re fabulous in any colour ... except ‘gold’. Why Toyota thought ‘gold’ should have this greenish tint to it, I don’t know, ~~but the thought of driving around in a fabulous car coloured like something~~ ... *oops*

The boys also clean up very well. Apparently, unlike me, they also know how to tie a tie. ~~Or they tie them for each other as part of more formal activities engaged in by their alter-egos in the very special Atlantis eps no one has seen televised due to CRTC rules about that sort of thing.~~ The tragic thing is, we know the producers are capable of making them, as this movie clearly shows. If TPTB are really seeking a younger, hipper audience, then why not give us ALL the scenes? C'mon, you know you wanna!

Thanks to shaddyr for participating in the save SGA rally and posting her pics for the rest of us to see and enjoy!

SGA 507--dies of epic fail

2008-09-07T08:12:49Z

I think SGA 507, Whispers broke my brain. And really? Not in the good way. I think I might even have to use the phrase "epic fail" for this one.

Note: Spoilers for various and sundry unnamed episodes across all seasons follow as well. I'm not bothering to dig up episode names or seasons so please read at your own risk ... potentially random episode mentions ahead!

The good?
I like Carson as a character and it was nice seeing him again. *waves* Also, the new gate team? Fabulous. Even if they didn't all make it to the end of the episode still readable on a life signs detector, they had good dynamics and came across as actual people. Not necessarily people I'd like, but people I'd believe. Performance-wise, I liked everyone in the episode. But great performances can really only make up for so much bad content.

I also enjoyed the X-Files feel to the episode: not just the shadows and spooky lighting, but the bits of fog early on were nice touches for 'plot' foreshadowing.

The bad and the ugly? In no particular order and completely from memory because I can't see wasting another hour to watch this episode ... ever ... again.

Gratuitous Rodney scenes: Okay, seriously ... I first noticed this in the followup ep with the mega-volcano refugees (you know, the one where Michael had apparently turned the refugees' entire village into bug kibble?), and it was lame then and is lame now. Having Rodney give us this overly detailed backstory in two sentences is bad storytelling and just lame. Did I mention lame? Not to mention insulting.

Yes yes yes, I realise you have to edit your footage to fit it all in within the alloted runtime but honestly, Shakespeare might be able to get away with having the Chorus provide exposition between acts; SGA doesn't. I love Rodney, but tacking him in like this comes across as even more contrived than shoe-horning an actor into Atlantis from a cancelled series in the same franchise. Oh, right ... my bad. I forgot that for TPTB, this sort of approach to character and story is canon.

John is an idiot, part 1: I'm sorry but I honestly don't buy for a moment that John wouldn't be aware of an all-female gate team under his command. Sure, I can see that he might somehow have missed this little bit of trivia had they all been mere footsoldiers, so to speak, but John is supposedly the guy on base who is in charge of these sorts of things. Even in fanon, where Lorne apparently does all the real paperwork, we see some attempt to have John at least be given the executive summary of Important Things Commander-Types Need To Know.

John is an idiot, part 2: We've seen John (and Rodney, and others, for that matter) do this over and over again but when will anyone from the Milky Way galaxy actually begin to listen to the locals? Hey, I'm not in the military but even I've heard of 'intel' ... you know, that nifty stuff that includes useful information that local people would know that you probably don't.

For those of you who've managed to avoid or miss the episode, here's a reasonable facsimile of the dialogue with the Pointless Local Guy:

PLG: No one lives in this village anymore. They all disappeared under mysterious and disturbing circumstances. I live in a different village a little ways away.
John: What happened to the villagers?
PLG: *points to mysterious and disturbing circumstances*
John: *makes scowly-concentration face*
PLG: It's getting dark. It's not safe to stay here at night! Beware!
John: *realises it's getting dark so asks the rest of the team to come to empty village to stay the night*
PLG: *flees*

John is an idiot, part 3: More reasonable facsimile of episode dialogue!

Setting: Nighttime. Interior room of village where inhabitants have all disappeared under mysterious and disturbing circumstances.
John: *hefts pack and indicates two military personnel* Well, we're going over to visit at the other village a little ways away.
Others: Okeydokey.
John: *waves bye-bye and leaves*
Others: *remain completely unconcerned about foreshadowed and forewarned Terrible Dangers*

Military leaders are idiots: Apparently, wandering around in circumstances worthy of the average horror film is a darned great time to 'split up to cover more ground'. This is straight out of Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey, where the two young men in question go to Hell. Bill, if I recall correctly, notes that they are in their own personal Hell, so they decide to split up to make things easier. Uh, right.

Gratuitous Michael plot devices: Michael's one of those characters I absolutely love yet find him tossed in as a mad genius of convenience. It makes me want to weep – his potential is fabulous: rejected by his own species due to interference from humans who likewise reject what they've created. We could have amazing depth and plot arcs related to that. Instead, we had a brief foray into Ante-Natal Alien Messiah Kidnapping and the far-overused Creator of Bug-Eyed Monsters.

We are to believe that Michael managed to run numerous laboratories on different worlds for genetic experiments that involved massive, hidden infrastructure, persistent stalking and capturing of Innocent Villagers, and vast quantities of technology (not to mention their never-remarked-upon power sources for this technology which is apparently in 'sleep' mode most of the time – jiggle the mouse and it's all online and ready to be deciphered and gasped over in horror).

But wait ... there's more! In this episode, we are to believe that Michael will spend part of his time developing corporate branding strategies and doing interior design – what else can explain the stylised Iratus bug 'logos' on the doors leading to other stasis chamber rooms? Anyone wanna bet that if we see Michael again, he'll be wearing spandex and sporting a cape?

Carson is an idiot: I've adored Carson since season one, even with his dubious grasp of scientific and medical ethics. He comes across as sweet and caring. Either that, or as a drug-addicted genocidal maniac. Whatever. Either way, he's been fun. This Carson, though, is one I wanted to smack upside the head several times throughout the episode. If we accept canon that this Carson is actually a clone of the real Carson, I suppose we can chalk his behaviour up to not being quite ... himself.

John and Carson are skanky horndogs: Okay, assuming that for some reason the military commander of the Atlantis base doesn't know he's got all-female gate teams, doing the whole hand-bonking thing with your clone-guy buddy is just wrong wrong wrong. Nevermind that there's the whole chain-of-command issue that comes to mind (and the inherent abuse-of-power issue that goes with it) but guys, this is supposed to a mission, not a beer commercial.

Here's the distinction:

Mission: A crack gate-team has discovered an abandoned lab that points to evidence of Michael's activities. Joined by their commander and a geneticist intimately familiar with the former Wraith's methods, they investigate.

Beer commercial: Four chicks, two guys. Medical-grade lubricant. What happens in an Abandoned Village stays in an Abandoned Village.

See?

Recycling: Not only did Doctor Who score in the male-male onscreen kissage well in advance of SGA, but also it did far better with using gas masks as a creepy prop. Also, in Doctor Who, the gas masks actually fit into the plot for a distinct reason. Here, the reason given was ... well ... *shakes head*

In summary: I know, I know ... most of these problems have showed up in episodes here and there since at least season two, so none are really a surprise surprise as much as simply annoying. Still, would it be too much to ask that the last-ever handful of SGA episodes aim for something better than something from a badfic writing contest? I've discovered I can live with the lack of canon continuity with backstories, characterisation, etc., but is it really too much to ask that the basic premise of a given story make sense?

US presidential race plot (novel) inspiration

2008-08-30T02:57:09Z

Please, please ...

... someone write this novel!

No matter where you stand on American politics, I think you've got to admit it's great fodder for stories so unbelievable they must be true!

So let's say this apparent unknown woman from Alaska and that other guy win the race (hey, I'm Canadian, forgive me if I don't really want to spend grey matter on trying to remember their names at the moment [*ahem – pushes inner!Rodney aside to get back to the story here*]) ... and then something tragic happens to the President and she takes over.

Only ... only ... she's actually a MOLE from the supposedly-defunct USSR, which has been using the 'conflict' with Georgia as a smokescreen for their fifth-column activities in Alaska, ensuring their choice is set up perfectly to take over the Entire Free World As We Knew It when the time is right.

Wouldn't this make a great Tom Clancy? Or Clive Cussler? John Ringo? Bueller? Bueller?

*grin*

DVD Commentaries

2008-08-03T01:43:31Z

Welcome to the
index for
DVD Commentaries by
inkscribe

Title: Logopetria
Author: lavvyan
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Year commented: 2008
Complete commentary

Title: Bell Curve, or, Ladies Night at the Boom Boom Room
Author: rageprufrock
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Year commented: 2007
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Title: Pods
Author: mice1900
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Year commented: 2007
Part 1 | Part 2

Fic: Fireworks, NC-17, Beckett/McKay by inkscribe

2008-07-01T03:57:21Z

Title: Fireworks
Author: inkscribe
Pairings: Beckett/McKay

Story summary: Carson takes Rodney on a holiday.

Rating: NC-17
Words: ~400
Spoilers: none

Locations: beckett_mckay, bottom_rodney, icaw, malesofatlantis, notmcshep, carsonsmut, rodneysmut,sgaauwtptbdfu, my LJ, other backup journals
Feedback: yes, please!

Author's Note: Dedicated to nickespix, with much love. Happy Canada Day!

Fireworks

Even when they checked in at the hotel, Rodney still hadn’t recognised the significance. Only late that evening, after hours spent poking around dusty coulees and the amazing museum, did Rodney finally guess what Carson was up to.

“Wait a minute,” he’d said, as darkness finally began to crawl across the sky. “We’re here for Canada Day?”

“Aye,” Carson replied.

Rodney turned around and around, taking a step here and there, unable to decide where to go. Finally, he stood, his back to the balcony overlooking the canyon, his face to Carson.

“For fireworks?” he asked, his voice strangled.

“Aye,” Carson repeated with a wide grin on his face, waggling his eyebrows.

And later, as the firework display was in full force, Carson took Rodney, on the balcony. He held his lover firmly, pushing in without hesitation from behind, at first slow and steady, then faster, an ever-speeding rhythm that soon found its own pace.

He’d prepared Rodney thoroughly before they stepped outside, and the privacy afforded by the balcony gave them not only a place to have risqué, out-of-doors sex, but also a bird’s-eye-view of the fireworks across the canyon. Exactly as Rodney had dreamed, exactly as he had described once to Carson, so many years back.

Carson could no longer fuck his husband like a rabid weasel in heat at every opportunity, but he could love him long and slow, their gentle rhythm unquestionably equal parts love and desire. Carson spoke loving and lusty words in husky tones into Rodney’s ear, causing him to shiver and shudder beyond anything Carson’s touch could ever accomplish on its own. Rodney whimpered and wriggled against Carson, filled fully and firmly by his cock.

As the cacophony of the display crashed and boomed to its conclusion, Carson bit down against Rodney’s shoulder, muffling his cry of joy at his own orgasm, filling his husband with heat that would linger long past when Carson would have to slide out, soft and spent.

Rodney turned then, at the very moment that Carson’s wet cock slipped from his body. His eyes were shining bright, tears glistening in the corners. He pressed a kiss to Carson’s mouth, moving from chaste to soft invitation to sloppy dirtiness, before pulling away for a moment to speak.

“Thank you,” Rodney said, beaming with happiness.

“Aye, luv,” Carson smiled back. “Happy Canada Day.”

Fic: Puzzling Evidence (Part XXXVI), NC-17, Lorne/Zelenka by inkscribe

2008-06-23T04:53:41Z

Title: Puzzling Evidence (Part XXXVI)
Author: inkscribe
Pairings: Lorne/Zelenka
Kink: mild D/s, bondage, spanking
Warnings: Possibly on the schmoopy side. Sorry! Or, erm ... not (sorry). *g*
Promises: No pre-Sunday canon characters are permanently harmed in the making of this fic. EVER.
Angst-o-meter: nano–angst (very low)

Rating: NC-17
Words: ~3,300 (this part)
Spoilers: none (this part)
Locations: atlantiskink, malesofatlantis, welovezelenka, slashing_lorne, sgaauwtptbdfu, notmcshep, my LJ
Feedback: yes, please!

Summary: What we see is not always what it seems.
Chapter Summary: Reunion.

New to this WIP? Check out the Puzzling Evidence chapter index! Please remember to read the header block of each chapter for related spoiler alerts, warnings, and notes.

Author's Notes: Yes yes yes ... the scene, the scene that has sat awaiting for plot integration for more than a year! A year! More than a year! Egads! *apologies for excessive exclamations ... it’s one of those days*

Puzzling Evidence really was just this short little story when it came into my head, yet somehow it has managed to take a lot more words than I anticipated to tell it. As always, I very much appreciate the feedback, the readers – new and old – and the cheerleading. This is still the longest single story I’ve written in any genre, and I still remain rather amazed by it.

I’ve recently re-collated the chapter contents and learned that as of the end of this chapter (36), the story is at approximately 99,000 words! Those first few heady weeks of writing and publishing a chapter daily is an experience I’ll treasure forever, though of course all these months down the road that selfsame memory can be a bit disheartening – I have a sneaky suspicion that even if I had the time, I wouldn’t have the mental energy to pull these final chapters together as quickly as those first few.

In other news: this chapter has absolutely nothing to do with the S4 episode of the same name.

Thank you to my beta mice1900 for his persistent pokes to get this one written, and incredible patience awaiting same for beta. Thank you also to my gay-sex beta darkmuadib, who I’m sure is grateful that other very capable SGA writers have been able to give him something to keep occupied with whilst awaiting new instalments. :-) As happens from time to time, post-beta tweakage was required, which has not been re-beta’d. In the hopes of having this chapter published before 2010, I trust you will all forgive me any errors that have slipped past us.

Another special thanks is also due. As mentioned already, there are excessive exclamation marks in this author’s note. Without the timely suggestions of sgatlantislight, there would have been excessive longing in the following chapter. Thank you!

Also ... erm ... no, the story isn’t quite done yet. Still a few key things to wrap up, lol!

I should also mention that Puzzling Evidence is an AU (see Promises, above).

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise is not mine; please don’t sue, we’ll both regret it in the morning.

Radek had to force himself to ignore Marc and Carson. He would catch himself staring at them, motionless and unaware for God-knows how long. Whenever he came to himself, he was painfully aware of Rodney’s kindness toward him, the lack of insults a stark contrast to the man Radek normally worked alongside.

As the hours passed, Radek slowly regained his focus. They couldn’t afford to miss the solution by inattentiveness, and there were so many things to try, so many ways to reroute the crystals. Ancient technology was incredibly rugged by any Earth standard, but crystals of unimaginable age couldn’t be replaced if they were careless, and irreplaceable parts could also mean that Carson and Marc would – ne, he wasn’t going to think like that. They would succeed. They would rescue the men before it was too late. We must succeed!

Radek worked at Rodney’s side, following the other man’s lead as naturally and as effortlessly as usual, the only change being the absence of their normal bickering. Not the only thing different, Radek mused, realising Rodney’s energy was not quite as focused on the machinery as he’d originally thought. The other scientist stole more than one glances toward the trapped men, glances that Radek recognised only too easily once he noticed them.

Somehow, Radek managed to avoid catching his breath at the moment he understood. Rodney is interested in Carson! He wondered how long his colleague had felt that way toward the doctor. Radek couldn’t remember seeing hints of it in the past, but then, his own crises had been overwhelming him for too long now. How many other things had escaped his notice while his world fell apart?

He frowned slightly, wondering also about Colonel Sheppard. Radek did not typically spend time speculating on the personal lives of others, but since the colonel and Rodney spent so much time together, Radek supposed it wouldn’t be completely out of line for Rodney and the colonel to be involved. Except that there was never a hint, Radek chastised himself, realising that he’d always assumed his colleague to be straight. Yet now that Radek was looking, he was certain Rodney was giving off clear signals – clear gay signals – of interest toward Carson.

Radek smiled to himself. It would be good for Rodney to have someone, if only Carson felt the same.

oOo

Carson stood, dumbfounded, as Rodney kissed him hard on the mouth, his head held tightly between Rodney’s hands, his body pushed back until they connected with the wall behind them. Only moments before the shield had suddenly turned opaque, flickered briefly between opaque and grey static, then disappeared again. At that moment, sound crashed in on Carson and Marc – evidence that Rodney and Radek must have changed something significant, because until then the trapped men had been unable to hear anything from beyond the invisible barrier that kept them prisoner.

Without warning, Rodney had stood and strode to the wall, grasping Carson firmly and heaving him bodily upright before pushing him against the wall and beginning to kiss him.

Carson tried to wrap his mind around it, around the fact that this was Rodney and there was kissing and there was no Cadman or Katie – only Rodney and Rodney’s mouth and Rodney’s hands and Rodney’s body and it was all pressed hard against him, exploring him, teasing him, feeling him – wanting him.

He felt suddenly faint. He had to be imagining this. Rodney and Radek were on the other side of the shield, working to free them. Marc and he hadn’t had food or drink in more hours than Carson wanted to contemplate. He was dreaming now, asleep. Dreaming the impossible, his subconscious playing a cruel scene in his mind.

He heard sounds take on sharper resolution, heard Radek’s voice mingling with Marc’s, heard the exclamations of the gathered villagers. Heard Keras shout for a youngster to fetch Pelius, heard the babble of excited voices, relieved voices. His knees buckled slightly, and he felt Rodney’s body against his own, warm and ... and real.

Rodney drew back from him, worried eyes frantically searching his own, the man speaking a mile a minute now that his mouth no longer exploring his. He tried to lick at his lips, his mouth still dry despite the lingering wetness that most certainly wasn’t Carson’s own. The taste of Rodney was there, as real as the warmth of his body.

Carson shook his head, trying to clear it, trying to understand. Not a dream!

“Oh god, are you okay? You’re not, are you? Oh god – this can’t be happening! You have to be all right! We worked as fast as we could! You have to be all right, you –”

Carson couldn’t imagine why Rodney had just kissed him. It was one thing for Carson to daydream from time to time, quite another to be released from prison and literally into the waiting arms of that selfsame dream. Still – this was Rodney. Not a dream, not a hunger- or thirst-induced delusion. Rodney in all his blustery glory, all frantic hands and anxious words.

“Rodney –” Carson tried to interrupt.

“We were as fast as possible, I swear,” Rodney babbled, his eyes locked on Carson’s.

“Rodney –” Carson tried again, bracing himself as he attempted to slide his body into a more upright position against the wall.

“I mean, this can’t have been for nothing, can’t have been too late! Oh my god, it can’t –”

“Rodney!” Carson managed to shout, noticing only peripherally that his voice was echoed by Marc. Rodney stopped his stream of words, still panicked, still searching Carson’s eyes frantically, as though Carson might have the secrets of the universe written there to be deciphered.

“Water,” Carson croaked.

“What?” Rodney blinked, completely failing to understand him.

“Dehydrated,” Carson managed to say before Rodney launched into another babbling stream.

“Oh, god – of course, water! Of course you’re dehydrated. Water, yes, we’ve got water for you and food and mmmph –” Rodney said as Carson stoppered the man’s wet mouth with his tongue. At the moment, Carson didn’t care that his own mouth was so dry that it was doubtless foul – he wanted Rodney, and he wanted water. Not necessarily in that order.

“May we have some?” Carson asked, breathy against Rodney’s ear. He could feel himself begining to slump again, this time forward into Rodney’s body, the strain of the last couple days showing itself clearly through dehydration, fatigue, and muscles too long inactive.

Rodney, though, was still somewhere else in his mind. “Water? Yes, yes, yes, of course,” he said absently, not really looking away from Carson as he spoke. “Radek, I need water for Carson and –” he broke off. Carson watched Rodney’s eyes widen in panicked fear as he refocused on Carson. “Did you just kiss me?” he gasped.

Carson felt a canteen press into his hand, heard a quiet chuckle from Radek as the man moved back to attend to Marc, the soldier’s voice joining his lover’s in soft amusement somewhere behind Rodney’s bulk. Carson took the canteen and sipped carefully. He was insanely thirsty, long past the point where he could push aside the need for fluids. He felt the water trickle down his throat and fought to restrain from making himself ill from drinking too quickly. He closed his eyes and sipped again, paused, then sipped again, savouring the simple joy of water, the exquisite taste of something so fundamental to life. He took another sip. He opened his eyes to Rodney’s, big and round and bright, Rodney’s pupils tight points, despite the relative gloom of the enclosure. Stress, Carson thought automatically, then focused again on Rodney’s question.

“Aye,” he answered. Rodney blinked.

“What?”

“Aye,” he repeated, holding Rodney’s gaze. “I kissed you.”

Rodney looked confused. “Why?”

Carson stared at him for a moment, then took another sip from the canteen. Only Rodney! he thought with fond exasperation. He refrained from rolling his eyes at Rodney. The scientist was still pressed hard against him, practically nose-to-nose, his cock firm as it pushed against Carson’s thigh.

“You kissed me,” he finally answered.

Rodney’s eyes took on a glazed appearance for a moment and his eyes flicked back and forth as he reviewed the past few minutes in his mind. He looked again at Carson, now focused, now aware, now in the moment. “Erm,” he said in a quiet voice. “And that’s okay with you?”

Carson took another sip from the canteen, swirled the water through his mouth, then swallowed. He licked at his dry, chapped lips, then took another sip. He turned his face back to Rodney’s, aware that the man had not moved – not his body, not his eyes. He still had the panicked look of a deer caught in the headlights. This had to be the most surreal rescue Carson had faced since they arrived in the Pegasus Galaxy, a benchmark that was hard indeed to match.

Carson didn’t bother to answer. He pushed himself forward, slid his own groin across Rodney’s, and kissed him again, hard. His body was too dehydrated for his own cock to match Rodney’s rigidity, but he was confident his enthusiasm would speak just as loudly. He needed fluids, rest, and food – and then he’d need to take Rodney up on his silent promise.

oOo

Keras ushered the last of the villagers away from the interior of the ruined control room. He had spent the last several hours watching the situation, unwilling to leave their guests in their time of need yet unable to offer any practical help. He ordered food and water to be fetched, then insisted both scientists partake, despite their attempts to refuse.

Although Keras was just over half the age of the other men, he had his own authority. His leadership was quieter than that of Doctor McKay and less energetic than that of Doctor Zelenka, but it was one that remained strong among his people even to this day. Keras wasn’t afraid of imposing his will on the elder men; he knew what to do. He met their protests with gentle reminders that Carson and Marc would not be rescued any faster by hungry or thirsty saviours. On the contrary, being hungry and thirsty would only be a distraction, and distractions would make the rescue harder, not easier. As he’d expected, both men had then eaten.

Sleep was another matter, although Doctor McKay insisted the other sleep when it became apparent to everyone that Doctor Zelenka was not able to think clearly for all his worry and fatigue. Upon awakening, the rumpled scientist had appeared shockingly old, the dark smudges under his eyes only emphasising the man’s great age compared to Keras’ people.

Keras had watched Major Lorne and Doctor Beckett, too. He wasn’t surprised by the yearning evident in Lorne’s eyes every time he looked at his lover working frantically to free them, but he was surprised to see similar longing on the doctor’s face, directed toward the other scientist. It didn’t take Keras long to realise the desire was mutual, though each man’s feelings were clearly not known by the other.

He watched McKay more closely after that. He didn’t know the man well – other Lanteans such as Beckett and even Zelenka had visited far more often since that first unexpected visit. He knew that others spoke of McKay as being bristly and harsh, but Keras knew all too well that the same man had given freely precious treats to their younger villagers, a gift beyond imagining when at the time, McKay had had no way to replenish his supplies from his homeworld. Recalling that first visit, Keras also remembered how different McKay was from Sheppard – McKay’s intensity did not shut him away from his emotions, whereas Sheppard almost always appeared relaxed, but was in fact more like a bowstring, taut and ready for action.

Doctor Zelenka, during his first visit, had endured more than enjoyed. Another man wrapped in layers of pain and misery, Keras realised. Much like Sheppard. Keras had been given a taste of some of Zelenka’s dark secrets – he wondered whether someday, Sheppard might entrust Keras’ people with his. So many secrets. He sighed softly to himself. Being older was harder than he could ever have guessed.

Returning his attention to Beckett and McKay, Keras wondered how long it would take the two men to confess their secrets to each other. They shared a thirst not for water, but for love – for companionship – yet if Keras understood correctly, some among the Lanteans would not approve, though apparently the only true concern was for people like Marc, like Sheppard. Soldiers wearing the flag with the stars and stripes.

How different they are from us, Keras mused. How different they are from one another.

The sun crawled across the sky, casting longer and longer shadows as another day drew to a close. In the amber light of mid-evening, the shield finally flickered and collapsed, and a collective whoop of joy rang through the control room as every villager shouted their happiness.

Keras was completely unprepared for McKay’s actions, though. He stood, nearly gap-mouthed like a youngster stumbling in upon his parents, watching as McKay strode to the wall and took Doctor Beckett’s mouth in a hungry kiss. Keras felt his cheeks flush, the his childhood memory bringing embarrassment and fond warmth. He stepped quietly and deliberately outside, allowing the men their privacy, a smile spreading on his face.

He knew his people would talk – to discover not one but two such relationships among the Lanteans was yet another morsel of difference to examine and digest. They teach us so much, he thought. Even when they do not realise it. He stood outside the control room, waiting for Pelius’ arrival. She had accepted Marc and Radek’s relationship without fuss, her personal disappointment at ‘losing’ Marc fleeting. Keras would expect no less of her now that they had more guests to attend to – bodies to feed and shelter, minds to rest, and hearts to heal.

oOo

Carson couldn’t help it – even in the black interior of the guesthouse, he couldn’t help staring at Rodney. After the surprising and passionate rescue by the scientist, their situation had literally taken a turn for the anticlimatic.

In the darkness, he rolled his eyes at himself and stifled a groan. Ach, there’s no cause for such terrible puns now, he chastised himself.

Twilight had been creeping in and darkness ready to fall. Carson knew the villagers were quite right that it was safest for all to be back in the safety of the tree-perched village. Carson and Marc’s unexpected confinement had resulted in many more villagers than usual being needed to guard against predators while the two scientists had worked to free them. Back at the village, almost everyone could rest easy, the normal allotment of sentries would be sufficient for everyone’s safety. Carson winced a little at the memory of his own thoughtless comments, suggesting it was time for the children to be off for a good sleep, only to see a couple of those same ‘children’ huff at him indignantly as they took up their bows and quivers before going to their posts. I really should know better. I’ve visited here oft times enough in the past.

Still, Carson couldn’t deny that the last few days had revealed surprises and truths he could never have guessed on his own. He was certain it would be days more – hell, even weeks – before all the implications of their time on Kidkill sank in.

He blinked at Rodney’s sleeping form. Rodney! Right there, in front of him, splayed awkwardly in exhausted sleep, one leg draped across Carson’s. In the darkness, Carson could just make out Rodney’s shape, just make out the slow rise and fall of his chest. Rodney shifted slightly, snuffling lightly in the back of his throat.

Carson smiled. Rodney kissed me! His smile broke into a grin. And I kissed him back! He sighed at the memory, then grinned sheepishly. And then we had to make our way back to the village, with exhaustion of epic magnitude, no matter how horny we might have been in our own minds. Exhaustion warred with desire, and exhaustion won. Neither of them were 20 anymore. Besides, it’s not like you’re an exhibitionist, he said to himself. Bad enough that there were sly looks and furtive giggles from the villagers as they returned; even had he been capable of getting anything up just then, he couldn’t imagine doing anything so private with Marc and Radek sleeping on just the other side of the same room.

God knew Carson had his kinks, but public sex wasn’t one of them. Not even semi-public. It had been difficult enough to witness the moments he’d been privy to between Marc and Radek; he didn’t want to think how difficult it would have been to face either man the next day had Rodney and he been well enough to consummate their newfound relationship like rodents in springtime.

Relationship? Carson wondered. Is that so? His brow furrowed slightly, then smoothed out as Rodney shifted again, snuggling back into Carson’s warmth. He reached his arm across Rodney’s body, tucking the man securely against him, his arm firm around Rodney’s belly. Aye, that’s what it is. For all that this part was – would be – new, they’d been friends since Antarctica, and waiting a few more hours or even days wasn’t going to change that. Not at all.

oOo

Marc remained still and silent in the darkness, listening to his lover breathe, absorbing the warmth of Radek’s skin through his palm. He wasn’t surprised that both scientists practically collapsed into an exhausted heap after their return – Marc and Carson had lacked only for water and food, not sleep. He was surprised at the way Doctor McKay had greeted Carson, though Carson’s reaction had been priceless: the doctor had been just as surprised, but obviously pleased.

Too bad we’re too damn tired to do anything about it, he thought wryly. He was fairly certain that any decent chickflick would have had the protagonists getting sweaty and very laid just about now – curling up in a room with three other sweaty, smelly, most decidedly chaste men wasn’t part of the script. Marc’s mind provided the image well enough: from epic kiss to epic thank-God-we’re-alive fuck, he could imagine the way the movie version would have been written. Well, the late-night movie version. Too bad we’re so old and tired we’ll have to stick with Prime Time.

He chuckled softly.

“Marc?”

The voice was quiet in the night. Marc wasn’t surprised the other man was still awake, not after everything that had happened.

“Carson? Everything okay?”

“Oh, aye,” Carson said, his whisper full of thick vowels. “And you?”

“Just thinking,” Marc replied.

“Aye, me too.”

Silence hung between them, warm and comfortable in the darkness. Marc and Carson had already talked a lifetime’s worth during their confinement; they didn’t need words to stay friends.

“We’re the luckiest men alive,” Carson breathed finally.

Marc grinned. “You can say that again, doc.”

End Part XXXVI

Chuck Radek

2008-04-22T02:11:48Z

Sure, I have things I’m supposed to be doing. Or, you know, sleep. But the power of ‘meh’ and google forced me to search this, and ZOMG I actually found someone named

Chuck Radek, drummer for The Regulators.

Here’s Chuck Radek and a wav sound sample.

Fic: Epic Bot!Fic, G, Beckett/McKay by inkscribe

2008-04-13T22:26:33Z

Title: (in other circumstances this would be) Epic Bot!Fic
Author: inkscribe
Pairings: Beckett/McKay

Rating: G
Words: ~1600
Spoilers: none

Locations: carsonsmut, icaw, malesofatlantis, notmcshep, rodneysmut, sgaauwtptbdfu, my LJ
Feedback: yes, please!

Summary: A short take on the epic romance between two bots.

Author's Notes: So of course, when one is far too busy is always the exact moment one sees something that spawns evil crackfic.

For those who read McShep, I will give a nod of inspiration toward the lovely and far more serious stories Gravity by rheanna27 and OK Computer by cesperanza ... both of these have clearly left computers and AIs on my brain.

For the ridiculous parts terminology, I’ll toss credit toward the old masters of SF, Ray Bradbury in particular. Offhand I don’t think any of the words I used are outright copies of anything coined by him, but there may be a passing resemblance.

ETA: Woah ... I just discovered that tardis80 had designed a highly apropos icon. Well, okay, the bots in this story are both bots but this is just sooooo similar to what I had in mind, LOL! Check out the doodle post here. /ETA

This is completely unbeta-ed, so any mistakes are absolutely entirely completely all my own with only myself to blame.

This story is dedicated to nickespix, who will soon receive a hardcopy version via snailmail. The hardcopy is what causes the circumstances of this epic to be un-epicable ... the other bit of inspiration that hit me was a rather amusing greeting card featuring a couple of robots. Hopefully I can squeeze the darned thing into the space available for mailing!

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise is not mine; please don’t sue, we’ll both regret it in the morning.

(in other circumstances this would be) Epic Bot!Fic

Rodney!bot’s servo-motor-assisted core processing unit was figuratively broken. He knew this meant ‘sad’. His creator had discarded him, left him to be swept out with the rest of the spare parts and scrap metal, melted back to slag and recycled elsewhere.

Given his luck, he was pretty certain his molecular components would end up as a chair in a botany lab, or worse yet, a plant pot in a botany lab.

He shuddered a little at the image processing through his robobot-brain.

The terrible injustice of it all was that Rodney!bot knew he could keep up with the newest model, knew he could outperform calculations of outrageous magnitude and error-check his results with astonishing accuracy. But Rodney!bot was built to be solid and sturdy where the new model was all flash and shine, and apparently even among genius robotic inventors, style still counted over substance.

Unwanted and unnoticed, Rodney!bot crept away from the only home he had ever known, maybe a little bit more than figuratively heartbroken.

[]

Carson!bot sifted through the junk piled before him, the only overt indication of his profound dejection was the intermittent flickering of the tiny red light on his communication antenna. He sorted the junk into bins labelled by their contents: plastics in one, scrap metal in another, old circuitboards in another. Miscellaneous bits and pieces got chucked in yet another bin, pieces usually requiring more processing before being able to be sold off for profit on the mass therein.

Every so often Carson!bot had to stifle a rumble of sadness as he came across a discarded bot, one that with a little oil and fuel might be good for years yet had its owner simply chosen to keep it. Often they were torn and battered from neglect, and usually key servo-components or robobot-brain linkages were either missing or so severely damaged that even a talented surgibuildibot like Carson!bot would have been hard pressed to repair, even if he’d had access to the marvels of a bot factory like the one he was created within, or the repair shed of the human hospital where he had once performed life-saving human medical procedures.

He was lucky to still have a job himself, he knew. Especially when he saw a Keller!bot come through the scrap heap – if they were replacing her model already, how much longer could a solid, old-fashioned medical bot like him possibly hang on to the little bit of mechanical dignity he had left? How long before someone noticed he was older and scrappier than the scrap, and tossed him on the heap?

Carson!bot resolved to keep his head down and stick to work. That’s when he heard it, a sound so small in the noise of the scrapheap that he thought he was imagining things at first. He stopped completely, making no movements, listening with all his might. Then he heard it again and knew he wasn’t experiencing robotic wish fulfilment. Something was in there. Something still operational!

Frantically, he started to sort through the scrap, pushing aside pieces large and small, hunting for the sound, now clearly audible as a faint ‘beep beep’ of a communication antenna. Finally, he discovered it ... a battered bot, gears grinding as it tried to gain purchase against the jumbled pile surrounding it, ‘beeps’ for help nearly inaudible from robobot-hysteria.

Carson!bot had to stop for a moment, fascinated at the speed the struggling bot tried and rejected solutions to extricate himself. The bot’s beeps shot into ultra-high frequency wavelengths for a picosecond, then ceased entirely.

“Well, nuts,” the bot cursed, and Carson!bot would have blushed to his servo-motor-assisted core processing unit at the bot’s language had the function been available.

Carson!bot cleared his channel and sent out a reassuring ‘beep’. The other bot froze immediately. Rust-encrusted joints squealed in protest as the bot turned its head toward Carson!bot, giving him an appraising stare.

“Well don’t just stand there, you moron,” the damaged bot said suddenly. “Get me out of this junk!”

Shocked again – this time shocked because he hadn’t already extricated the bot from its scrap-part prison – Carson!bot sprang into action. He extended his clamps and got a good grip on the other bot, then lifted it bodily from the wreckage.

“Hey,” the other bot squawked. “Be careful! I have a very delicate bot-back, you know! I might never recover from all this careless handling!”

Carson!bot placed the other bot gently on the scrap room floor. He felt strangely reluctant to open his clamps. He shrugged mentally: no doubt he simply missed the contact he’d once had with so many humans and robots, back when he’d been a bot of importance. A bot of value. He shifted back, suddenly realising he was about to spring a leak from mechanical melancholy leading to emotional instability.

“You look like you could use a good oiling, lad,” Carson!bot said, trying to be helpful.

The other robot eyed him suspiciously. “Are you coming on to me?”

Carson!bot felt his surface temperature heat – it was insufficient to count as a true blush but, “Oh no, no no no,” he stammered in response. “I dinnae mean anything by that! It’s just,” he waved a flexible robotbot-arm toward the other bot, “you seem a bit worse for the wear. I’ve got some shop oil here. It might help your bot-back, not to mention the rust.”

“Oh,” the other bot said, looking chagrined. He looked at himself with a bot-critical eye before turning toward Carson!bot again. “My self-diagnostic indicates you’re quite right. I am rusty.”

The bot’s light blinked erratically for a moment as he obviously tried to process that data. It was an awkward, uncomfortable moment.

“I’m Carson!bot,” Carson!bot said, breaking the moment by extending a clamp toward the other.

“I’m Rodney!bot,” the other bot replied, meeting Carson!bot’s clamp with his own. They docked perfectly.

[]

Rodney!bot had tried desperately to keep from showing his growing interest in Carson!bot. Rodney!bot had always worked alone; he’d never had the chance to appreciate being close to others of his own kind. Even wandering the streets, skulking through back alleys and trying to avoid rainstorms had kept him away from other bots.

He had considered doing something bot-actularly obscene like trade off some data in exchange for a little fuel or a little oil, but he hadn’t quite been able to bring himself to do it. Tired and moving a little stiffly from building rust, he had turned the wrong corner at the wrong time of night and bang got swept up by an automated streetsweeper.

He hadn’t really expected to retain connectivity. He’d been on the streets long enough to see the steel-crunching capability of those brutes up close.

But here he was, his bot-body under the capable clamps of Carson!bot, oil added here, oil added there. A fuelbar slipped into his energy processor.

He was well-oiled now, but with the growing heat he sensed across his surface, Rodney!bot definitely had some friction happening somewhere. An external sensor noted that Carson!bot had a similar ... problem.

Rodney!bot considered the possibilities. He considered a number of possibilities that required exponents to express them in digits. He looked at Carson!bot. He appreciated the sturdy bot-body and the stocky bot-legs and the strong bot-arms.

Rodney!bot concluded that he was in bot-love.

Carson!bot, at that very moment, looked into Rodney!bot’s primary visual sensors. Wireless, site-to-site packet data transfer confirmed the conclusion was mutual.

[]

Epilogue:
Carson!bot was satisfied – no, pleased – to learn that their clamps weren’t the only parts they had that docked perfectly. Nuts and bolts held the same thread, and they were both happy to discover each had always preferred the same oils.

They sifted and sorted and saved from the scrap they worked on, day in and day out. Rodney!bot started making something special and secret off in a dark and dusty corner, partitioning his very robobot-brain processes from Carson!bot so as not to spoil the surprise.

Carson!bot not only loved Rodney!bot, he admired him, too. Admired that he was stubborn and rebellious and more than a bit of a genius. A genius in more ways than one, especially with that trick with the extra oil and the socket wrench, Carson!bot mused to himself.

So Carson!bot wasn’t particularly surprised when Rodney!bot dragged him to the back corner, punched a series of buttons on strange machine he’d cobbled together, and said, “Let’s go! We’ve got a galaxy to explore, and we’re not getting any younger hanging around this scrap heap.”

Carson!bot stood with Rodney!bot, their clamps firmly docked together, and waited for the blue splash of Rodney!bot’s wormhole stabiliser to solidify and settle. Rodney!bot transferred some warm and oily data through their shared ports, then blinked and beeped his antenna in excitement. “One small step for bots, one giant step for bot-kind!” he shouted, and together they stepped out of the room and into the galaxy.

The End

Amazon (bookseller) makes POD-power grab

2008-04-09T01:18:21Z

Many of you probably know this already, but just in case you missed it, Amazon is doing some pretty shady things in the world of POD printing.

Amazon (bookseller) makes POD-power grab ...

Those of you already using POD-technology publishers are probably aware of Amazon’s recent demands that publishers use their own in-house printer, one that is apparently already well-known for producing poor-quality books.

The tale is long and twisty and most certainly not settled (as of this post).

article that broke the story (March 27, 2008)

Amazon BookSurge Information Clearinghouse (site that collects posts on this issue, updated regularly)

I won’t even pretend to have slogged through all these posts but the upshot is lower profits for authors, limited or no quality-control for the final product, and potentially very unhappy readers, not to mention already very unhappy writers.

Copyright infinity and Big Mouse

2008-04-06T03:46:31Z

Awhile back, someone I know who occasionally drops by here was surprised that I’m not a huge fan of Big Mouse. I ran across this lovely little piece on intellectual property that explains things rather well, IMNSHO. ;-) Enjoy!

PS: I’ve watched a dozen or so of these and they’re all great.

Typecasting!

2008-03-29T05:46:23Z

This is too damn funny for words.

What's in a name? Surely a rose by any other name would smell as sweet?

2008-03-21T22:32:02Z

Oh, the poor bastard, erm ...

I came across a news item today about a rather tragic situation in Thailand – a woman who murdered her con-man husband. According to the news item, things worked out for her about as best as it could, so yay. :-)

The part that hit me as being rather ... difficult ... in today’s world was her lawyer, in particular, the poor guy’s name. Pongsaporn Peejadee.

It must be utter hell any time he attempts to send someone an email – I bet more than 95 per cent of his emails would automatically be marked as spam.

Fic: When the Time Comes, PG, Beckett/McKay by inkscribe

2008-03-02T07:41:41Z

Title: When the Time Comes
Author: inkscribe
Pairings: Beckett/McKay
Rating: PG
Words: ~1,600
Warnings: ANGST ahoy!
Spoilers: S4-Kindred 1, 2
Locations: beckett_mckay, malesofatlantis, notmcshep, sgaauwtptbdfu, my LJ, other backup journals
Feedback: yes, please!

Author's Note: Unbeta-d. Plot bunny that bumped its head into me before bedtime, so here you go.

When the Time Comes

Rodney always knew he was a selfish bastard. He had every reason to be – he put himself on the line for everything from defending his dissertation to saving the city for the nth time – he was owed a little slack from time to time. He could be harsh. He was arrogant. Again, though – not arrogant without reason. He wasn’t wrong often. Not so much.

He’d suffered more than most from the Curse of Knowledge: he knew too much, could put together too many things too quickly. The Genii saw it in him, and they’d wanted him more than once for that very reason. Others, too – a village here, a pre-industrial revolution-style city there – they all wanted a piece of him, a piece of someone who could put two and two together and get answers in bases 2 through 10, respectively.

When the time came to storm one of Michael’s strongholds, the last thing Rodney ever expected to discover was Carson – a prisoner – alive and whole. He’d taken Carson’s body back, he’d taken the casket personally to deliver Scotland’s unknown hero back to his family. Everyone on the Atlantis expedition fucked up spectacularly at one point or another, but everyone who survived more than six months also accomplished things beyond their wildest dreams. As an ATA gene holder, Carson might not have appreciated the profound consequences of his discovery on how to activate it in people like Rodney, but Rodney knew damn well that Earth had been saved from certain death on more than one occasion because of his own – or his team’s – artificial ability to manipulate ATA-activated technology. That secret might remain forever classified, but Rodney knew how much Carson had done to save all of them – even Earth, even his beloved Scotland. Rodney had wept with Carson’s family, attended the service. Hoped against all logic and reason that Carson really was in a better place, just as the priest had said.

And then they’d found him, alive. Rodney was jittery and anxious as Doctor Keller went through the options, ruling out one possibility after another. Rodney observed Carson from above, watched as his friend was sampled and tested every which way possible. He even offered his own theories to John and Ronon as the minutes and hours ticked by.

In any other life than the one they had in the Pegasus Galaxy, Rodney’s head would have hurt from the conflicting possibilities. But he’d already met one of his alternate selves; he’d already survived the death of one of his other alternates. Carson – this Carson – could be any one of a dozen possibilities, and none of them any less the man Rodney loved and buried back home in the peat-laden earth of Scotland.

Frowning slightly in the half-light of the lab, Rodney made careful adjustments to the machine before him. He allowed no one down here to assist him, no one to keep watch. The most delicate adjustments had to be made at irregular intervals, and Rodney would not – could not – ask anyone else to do it for him.

Rodney was a selfish bastard. Everyone on Atlantis would agree with that assessment, but only the newly-arrived might actually believe it as the insult it seemed. Rodney was a selfish bastard because the Lantean expedition was selfish – while in truth no one person was ever truly irreplaceable, a handful of members would be damn difficult to replace with anyone else. McKay, Zelenka, Kusanagi – they each did amazing things. That each of these scientists accomplished the equivalence of what five specialists could – if they worked together – in their own right was the true miracle of the expedition. Sheppard, too – he was a surprise. Against all his superiors’ expectations, Atlantis had demanded more of him than anyone in the military, and unexpected talents rose to the surface to meet those demands. Then there were the others, people whom someone more poetic than Rodney might describe as ‘gifts’. Emmagan, Dex, even Radim. People they would never have met had they not come to this galaxy, people from whom they had learned so much, had shared so many terrors, had survived so many near-disasters.

Rodney didn’t kid himself about the value of any of them. He knew full well that without Emmagan’s willingness to help them, the expedition may well have died in those first few days. Rodney smiled to himself in the gloom. At least she understands, he thought, his face caught in a wry half-smile. It was a smile many had seen, but few really knew. Teyla Emmagan did, though. She knew that smile held more bitterness and regret than joy.

The first time, she’d come to Rodney’s quarters, and stood silently with him, her forehead pressed against his. When she looked up into his tear-reddened eyes, she had spoken clearly and carefully. “You must find the joy again, Rodney,” she had said.

Rodney did. Even now he worked on those final adjustments, the last stages of his project now coming to fruition. He was a smart man, one who could and did learn whatever he needed to survive. He read Genii technical manuals fluently, and after working closely with Todd, could even manage some of the Wraiths’ novellas, the dry wit and ironic humour a constant surprise. Had he not suspected Todd would eat him for the insult, he might have compared the main Hive of one story to a group of Ferengi traders.

Rodney had to find the joy. He learned whatever he needed to do to survive. Almost a year after burying his best friend, he rediscovered the man alive, imprisoned. Discovering what Michael had done to him, that this Carson wasn’t the same Carson under the ground back on Earth, but a copy, complete with memories – it was painful, but at the same time, it was a gift. Rodney had Carson – he had him back.

When the time came to put Carson into stasis, it nearly broke Rodney’s heart. The night before, they had clung together, wrapped in sweat-soaked sheets, tasting and exploring everything and everywhere. He almost hadn’t been able to meet Carson’s eyes as he watched his best friend and lover step into the Ancient machine that might stave off death long enough for a cure to be found. For Carson, the time would pass unnoticed, no different than undergoing major surgery and reawakening a day later as though moments had passed. For Rodney, the time had passed agonisingly slow.

Releasing Carson from the stasis field filled Rodney with hope, only to tear him apart again – yes, they’d found a cure, more or less, but it was too late for Carson. The clone’s cells were too far gone, breaking down irrevocably no matter what interventions the Lanteans tried.

Rodney remembered with shame how he’d screamed at Keller to get away, to stay back, once Carson’s heart flatlined for the final time. He had bullied and berated everyone until they left him, alone and weeping over Carson’s still-warm corpse.

His memories fragmented after that. He only knew he had an irresistible pull to fix it, make it better. Carson had been back once, he could be back again. They had the cure now, they had the technology. What matter if Keller couldn’t – or even wouldn’t – make clones. Rodney was a smart man. If he had to learn voodoo to bring Carson back again, he could do it. He’d do whatever it took.

He’d taken Carson’s body back to stasis, holding it there where no one could touch him while he tore through files and notes Michael had abandoned at one facility or another. He bullied teams into gating offworld to reverse-engineer tanks, to decrypt the hybridised technology Michael had cobbled together. He set up his own Frankenstein’s laboratory. Yeah, I’ve heard all the jokes, he thought. He didn’t know whether to be ill or amused – the jokes weren’t far wrong.

He’d learned how to grow cell cultures, clone them into buds of potential life. He’d learned how to plant them in a tank, grow them from an amorphous blob into a human – into Carson.

Carson was ready now, sleeping the dreamtime of the tank, drifting in the greenish-blue of the viscous cloning fluid. In minutes, Rodney would act as scientist, doctor, and midwife, decanting Carson and bringing him back to life, bringing him back to Rodney.

When the time came, he’d press the syringe to Carson’s still-wet flesh, awakening him to adulthood and all his memories up to his last remaining thoughts, thoughts Rodney had managed to include from each successive copy, a significant improvement on Michael’s original research. Rodney would swallow thickly and try to ignore the look of bitter sadness that would flicker through Carson’s eyes before they were replaced with compassion. Rodney still didn’t know which was worse: seeing the look of loss or love.

He was a selfish bastard, and losing Carson was no longer an option for Rodney. When the time came, as it inevitably did, Rodney took care of disposing the body himself. He couldn’t bear Ronon’s pain, he couldn’t bear the sidewise looks from John. Only Teyla offered her gentle smiles of understanding, of unconditional love. All Lantea had long ago learned not to question Rodney on this one matter: when it came right down to it, they were selfish bastards, too.

When the time comes, whether it would be next to Carson Mark VII or Mark XXXI, Rodney knows he won’t die alone. It is all he has left to hold onto.

iTunes Officially Sucketh

2008-02-25T04:55:27Z

I need to rant. I really do.

So yeah, I use my iPod for audiobooks, most particularly SGA audiobooks.

Would it be so $%#$#! difficult for iTunes to make database fields that made sense? I mean, sheesh.

I freely admit I don’t know a whole lot about music and the jargon and nuances thereof. But since I can’t change any fields on the stupid iTunes interface (and don’t even GET me started on the fairly low usability aspects of this damn interface in the first place), would it be so hard for the default fields to autofill from a file in some sort of logical manner?

It seems logical to me that the author of an audiobook would be the ‘composer’, the reader of an audiobook would be the ‘artist’ (of the spoken book), and the cover artist would be the ‘album artist’. Every audiobook I’ve imported has these all mixed around one way or another. On top of that, my iPod (Touch) only shows one line of info about the audiobook (in addition to coverart), so I either combine the reader/author info into one field or I have to choose between the author OR the reader.

Frankly, I like to know both ... sometimes it isn’t the story so much as the reader I want to hear, sometimes vice-versa. I know, I know – freakishly OCD on my part but really, this annoys the hell out of me.

And I’m not sure which idiot programmer thought it was a brilliant idea to copy every last damned bit of stuff into hidden ‘music’ folders – this is not typical behaviour for a Mac application and frankly, I’m damn pissed off that it took me this long to figure out where my hard drive space was mysteriously disappearing to.

Until iTunes, I considered myself a pretty capable multi-platform computer user. Now? I consider myself a pretty capable multi-platform user who loathes iTunes, but likes the iPod too much to give it up.

*sighs*

Fic: Joule of Denial, Mckay, G, by inkscribe [F**cking Freezing challenge]

2008-02-20T01:08:25Z

Title: Joule of Denial
Author: inkscribe
Characters: Beckett, McKay (no pairings)
Rating: G
Words: ~690
Spoilers: none
Challenge: F**cking Freezing! at sga_flashfic

Summary: The final thoughts of the smartest man in two galaxies. (Note: not a death fic.)

Author's Note: Excessive abuse of physics. Relied heavily on Wiki, starting with hypothermia and making interesting discoveries from there. More than a few phrases are borrowed verbatim from Wiki because, erm ... well, (ahem) ... non-science graduate. No electrons were deliberately harmed in the making of this story, but undoubtedly the science itself is more than a little bruised. Thank you to mjlee for frictionless speed-beta.

Joule of Denial

Homeostasis, Rodney thought, the ability of a gay male to remain apparently unaged. Usually the result of excessive use of Oil of Delay or the judicious application of Ancient technology.

His teeth chattered, the tat-tat-tat vibration interfering with what he’d meant to think: that the human body, like that of other warm-blooded creatures, maintains a near-constant core temperature through biologic homeostasis.

Yes yes yes, Rodney thought, the words swirling through his mind like creamer in cold coffee, white and sluggish. That’s what I meant. He knew he’d get it right, if he just kept working at it.

Work. Yes. Work – the relationship between mechanical work, electricity, and heat. Just what Rodney needed. He tried to snap his fingers to punctuate the accuracy of his thoughts, but they were too sluggish, and besides, they were busy clinging to this railing. Insufficient friction. He needed friction, needed to use his energy to produce heat. Joules. The amount of energy a quiet person produces every hundredth of a second.

Quiet? Rodney thought, attempting to snort. I’m the antithesis of quiet! I must be producing a hundred-hundredths times the joules of a quiet person!

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he suspected his math made absolutely no sense.

He willed himself to take another step, failing to slip and fall into the icy sea below. Good, good, good, he chanted silently. Good vibrations. A few bars of the classic surfing song floated through his mind, along with the image of a snowsuit-clad man riding the waves. Vibrations. Mechanical work. Energy transferred by a force. Measured in joules.

He was moving slowly. Far too slowly. Potential energy remained, simmering as intermolecular forces, yet merely rest mass energy, unactualised, unremarkable. No kinetic energy, no extra energy resulting from his motion. Molecular translation, rotation, and vibration hardly detectable.

A harsh croak escaped his chest as he connected the dots, the laughter unstoppable despite the searing pain of the freezing air. Temperature minus two hundred and seventy three point one five degrees Celsius. Not that cold yet – no, not yet – but plunging, drawing him down its absolute embrace. Minimum energy – where particles neither emit nor absorb energy. Zero-point energy.

What Rodney really needed right now was either a portable heater connected to a fully charged ZedPM or a Planck he could walk and get it all over with. Or better yet, a Toynbee Convector, a quick jump back a half-hour-ish so he could avoid doing the damnably stupid and end up stuck out here, alone.

Unobserved, Rodney was no longer certain he existed.

Inside, a tiny voice mocked, “Denial, denial, denial!”

Angry, Rodney snorted back. Of course I’ll deny it! I’ll go to to my death never accepting it for a moment, proving to himself without equivocation that it was possible to skip over both bargaining and depression and just embrace acceptance, despite all protestations to the contrary.

One tiny slip and it would all be over. He clung to the icy railing, slivers of airborne ice flaying his skin.

His radio was useless: turn on, tune in, and drop out. Static warred with the crash of spray against the pier below, and he heard nothing. The last joules gone, latent potentials untapped – his last sensory memory was his frozen fingers losing the ability to grasp, then falling, falling. I am so, so fucked.

Silence.

Beep. Blip. Beep. Blip. Beep. Blip.

Rodney blinked his eyes open, surrounded by warmth, light, and sound. A heart monitor kept steady time that matched his own. People spoke. People spoke to him.

“Hey, Rodney,” soothed Carson’s voice, words carried on a gentle smile. “Welcome back.”

Rodney decided he really couldn’t hear Schroedinger calling, “Here, kitty kitty kitty” after all.

end, Joule of Denial