khriskin: (scifi)
TITLE: For Want*
FANDOM: Stargate Atlantis
LENGTH/RATING: 512 words, PG-13
SUMMARY: "Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable." -- Sydney Smith. Written for [ profile] sga_flashfic's Men and Machines challenge.

Men weren't meant for this; the constant grind of war that wore on minds and joints and bones brittle from too long in space. Planet by planet, system by system, eaten away by time and entropy as much as Wraith. So it seemed natural to look elsewhere, to enhance, adapt, evolve to overcome such petty limitations. Because the war wouldn't wait, and there was so much more at stake than mere humanity...

When Atlantis found him, brunt and broken from the fall, they almost let him die through simple ignorance. For all their borrowed technology, they still hadn't learned the fallacy of flesh. He felt them crawling through the wreckage, and even shuttered as his senses were, death would have been gentler than their reaction to a mind half-crystallized and engines that leaked bloody oil.

He'd known long before the final plummet, that this would be his last fight. The math of endless war demanded conservation above all else, what remained of his corroded silver shell was fit for salvage, nothing more. So it had been, and so it would always be, a simple equation of life and death. If his squad returned, he'd offer up that final contribution, a quiet end to centuries of service.

But even in the ebb of battle, remnants of hiveships racing across the sky in fiery arcs, the crawlers threw themselves into his resurrection. He tried to stop them from wasting time on dwindling probabilities and was treated to a stream of rambling condescension in languages he didn't understand. So he let them work, at worst they'd only hurry the inevitable, at best they'd buy him a few hours.

When the rest of his squad arrived days later, slicing into the atmosphere with subsonic booms and electric chatter, he was mended well enough to limp back into the air. Startled, the flock scattered, still clumsy in the unaccustomed gravity. A flurried conversation followed, streams of computations to force an unexpected dataset into compliance; slowly warping impossible into improbable into reality. That crawlers could have done such work was just new data, absorbed into the common knowledge without hesitation. That they had wasted time and energy on the impossible... paired off in calculation with insanity.

When the numbers fit, they returned to probe and prod his battered shell, sensors scouring Atlantean patchwork for any flaws. It held, as he'd known it would, and finally satisfied, they pulled him back into the grid, flooding his circuitry with the power and cell transfusions he'd need for true repairs.

As he healed, they circled; the same fluid dance they'd done on a thousand other worlds, almost a ritual after centuries of repetition. Mending, repairing, rebuilding for the next battle, scavenging the dead, because out in the black the war was still waiting. It would always be waiting. A flock of silver ships/birds/fish/men, they circled, looking down on what they used to be.

And it would have been enough... only this time their past looked up, and knew them for what they were. And for the first time, he was ashamed.

*- The French-men haue a military prouerbe, The losse of a nayle, the losse of an army. The want of a nayle looseth the shooe, the losse of shooe troubles the horse, the horse indangereth the rider, the rider breaking his ranke molests the company, so farre as to hazard the whole Army. [1629 T. Adams Works 714]

Author's Note: The theme which I have wrought badly, was supposed to have been the trade-off between humanity and victory. The point being that the solider-ships had gone too far, willing to abandon companions simply because the probabilities were too low. John would obviously go through hell and back to make sure no one is left behind, and Atlanteans thrive on doing the impossible. When faced with that, the ship couldn't help but see how far they'd fallen.


"STARGATE ATLANTIS", "STARGATE SG1" and other related entities are owned, (TM) and © by MGM TELEVISION and DOUBLE SECRET PRODUCTION in association with GEKKO FILMS and THE SCIFI CHANNEL. All rights reserved. No copyright infringement is intended nor implied.

Technorati tags: | | | | |
khriskin: (Silly Muse)
TITLE: Pegasus Logic for Beginners
FANDOM: Stargate Atlantis
LENGTH/RATING: 259 words, PG-13
SUMMARY: How to stay sane in the Pegasus Galaxy (aka Duck Test). Written for [ profile] sga_flashfic Men and Machines challenge.

Now we ain't stupid, no matter what you've heard; Marines got more brains than most front-line grunts, we just use it for common sense is all. We know just how powerful he is (on the same fuzzy level with how big’s a trillion), but most times he looks like Chuck, and walks like Chuck, and darned if he don't sound like Chuck (even through the mess of silver and wire), so we tend to forget.

Of course times like now are a little harder to overlook. Only so much a mind can manage to hold onto, and seeing him there, melded into the control room wall like he'd sprung up full-grown from Atlantis herself, snarling and lashing out at orbital Wraith we can't even see... well, that's just a mite too slippery a thing for most folks.

So we leave him be, those times, and smile and nod when he starts talking in those theoretical mathmagics over chow, and look just to the left when those silver sparks chase each other ‘cross his hair. Hell, even Carson takes him fishing now and then, and if anyone knows the gritty bits of what’s going on, it’s him. But us? We’ve been here long enough to know the score. Because, you see, if you just stop starin’ like some earthborn rookie that ain’t never seen something on the far side of Clarke’s Law before, and squint... You’ll see plain as day, he's still just Chuck.

Now quit staring and finish yer grub; you science-types got worse to worry about than him.


"STARGATE ATLANTIS", "STARGATE SG1" and other related entities are owned, (TM) and © by MGM TELEVISION and DOUBLE SECRET PRODUCTION in association with GEKKO FILMS and THE SCIFI CHANNEL. All rights reserved. No copyright infringement is intended nor implied.

Technorati tags: | | | | |
khriskin: (Stargate)
TITLE: Protego*
FANDOM: Stargate Atlantis
LENGTH/RATING: 100 words, PG
SUMMARY: * To Protect. Written for [ profile] sga_flashfic's Men and Machines challenge.

They were humans encased in stone carapaces, scuttling safely through planetary radiation, protected by layers of living metal. Friendly, harmless... yet Carson couldn't tell, not quite, if sentience came from flesh or stone.

Unfazed, Atlantis bartered over glowing mosses and cave-grown foodstuffs. Deftly weaving xenogeologists’ requests for ores among mundane necessities; oranges for not-iron, not-tin for chocolate.

And when, months later, Atlantis seemed a little brighter, a little faster, they brushed it off on genes and learning curves. Consumed with repairing, restoring their city to her former glory, they pushed on.

And when the fine silver dust stopped washing off...


"STARGATE ATLANTIS", "STARGATE SG1" and other related entities are owned, (TM) and © by MGM TELEVISION and DOUBLE SECRET PRODUCTION in association with GEKKO FILMS and THE SCIFI CHANNEL. All rights reserved. No copyright infringement is intended nor implied.

Technorati tags: | | | | |
khriskin: (Hushed and White With Snow)
TITLE: Silver and Lightning and Foam
FANDOM: Stargate Atlantis
AU: Hushed and White With Snow
LENGTH/RATING: 697 words, PG-13
SHIPS/WARNINGS: Deathfic-ish* (Click star for full warnings)
SUMMARY: There's a ghost who walks the edge of the sea / In silver and lightning and foam / Singing songs of a future that never will be / In a voice that reminds you of home...*. Written for [ profile] sga_flashfic's Men and Machines challenge.
NOTE: Prequel of sorts to the main 'Hushed and White With Snow' fic.

Atlantis was aware, but not awake, drifting through the centuries in quiet dreaming. Listening to the voices of her sister-cities as they faded into the echoes of distant surf. The years rolled on and the sea grew silent, until finally, she was alone.

But not alone, not quite. There was another mind inside her, trapped in deeper dreaming still. Flesh mind, meat mind, focused on the scrabble-scrabble-scrabble of staying alive. Janus had told her --in those last frantic days before the exodus, when he'd first coaxed Atlantis into being-- that this sleeping mind would be her guide. That the ghosts wandering Elizabeth's dreams, memories of people yet to be, would become Atlantis's children.

So the city wove her own dreaming around Elizabeth, through her, soaking in the scraps of dreams and nightmares. Stargates, ZPMs, death, these things she knew already, but there, deeper still, were things she didn't recognize. And all of it made sense, and none of it made sense, and she knew she'd wait centuries for answers.

She hated waiting.


Light! Lightsoundnoisepeople!! They were here! They'd found her! Trapped in the tomblike room by their chaotic arrival, cut-off from everything she was, from everything she could have been. She'd waited that last dark year alone, so alone, but now she was free! Atlantis threw herself out of the darkness in a blinding flash of joy and symphonic revelry, diving to embrace the nearest mind. Her children had come and she was free!

And in those nanoseconds as man melded with machine, she watched neurons crumble to ash. Electric fires racing from cell to cell, destroying faster than she could repair. Because her children were the same, but they weren't quite the same, and in another timeline, in another world, what would have worked... didn't.

"Nononono!" She flung herself out again, keening in horror. Even before the body had begun it's final convulsions, she was spinning in erratic circles above them; a pulsing will-o-wisp of grief.

"Don't shoot! Don't--"

Meat was slower, so much slower, and by they time they reacted, she'd already apologized a hundred thousand times, but it wasn't enough.

"--man down, man down--"
"--Oh for the love of- stop shooting!"
"--no pulse, I've got no pulse--"
"--this is GT8 requesting medical evac--"

She knew, as true as one plus one was two, that she could leave before they could stop her, but she knew just as true that they would never trust her again if she did.

"--Medical do you copy?'
"Rodney what's going on?"

So she waited, those long agonizing stretches between meat thought and meat action, for them to choose.

"Get out of the way!"
"Stop shooting--"
"--medical team en route, repeat GT8 fall back, medical team en route--"
"--it's Atlantis, we found Atlantis--"


"--say again Rodney?"
"--GT8 fall back, repeat GT8 fall back--"
"--stop shooting you morons!"
"I'm not leaving!"
"--let go!--"
"--I'm not in danger! Stop shoo-- oh, about time--"
"--GT8, report."
"Cadman's down, no vitals, Rodney refuses to let go of the console, and the light is circling the ceiling singing, um, opera*... I think."
"I think."
"--medical team eta 3 minutes--"
"Can I please get back to saving the city now?"
"Let him go Yuri--"
"With pleasure."
"I want status reports every five, and next time knock him out if he won't leave."

And they went back, just like that, to the scrabble-scrabble-scrabble of meat, leaving her to hover above, beyond, alone and not alone. She helped, where she could, and mended, where she could, and tried so hard to become what she was meant to be. Drifting on the edges of belonging, in a quiet echo of her dreams.

There were other times, much later times, when she reached out again, but it was never the same. Never Elizabeth again. These were her children, and they would never be her children, and Atlantis mourned.

And then one day, John came home.


* Yes, there is a death in this fic, but it's only implied, and she gets better in following fics (sort of). Back to top

* The Edge of the Sea, Stargate Filk by yours truly. ^_^ Which brings up the fact that I have nine thousand incarnations of Atlantis, none of which have the same personality. Odd. o_O;;

* Candide's Lament from Candide an operetta biased on Voltaire's satire.


"STARGATE ATLANTIS", "STARGATE SG1" and other related entities are owned, (TM) and © by MGM TELEVISION and DOUBLE SECRET PRODUCTION in association with GEKKO FILMS and THE SCIFI CHANNEL. All rights reserved. No copyright infringement is intended nor implied.

Technorati tags: | | | | |
khriskin: (Rodney snark)
TITLE: Or Cake
FANDOM: Stargate Atlantis
LENGTH/RATING: 439 words, PG
SUMMARY: Sometimes it's all about appearances. Written for [ profile] sga_flashfic's Cake or Death challenge.

"I don't think that's going to work," Ronon was leaning against the cell's far wall, arms crossed and wearing the thoughtful frown that normally signaled impeding doom for whatever was confounding him. Which at the moment was one increasingly frantic, claustrophobic astrophysicist.

"Cake or death, it wasn't that hard." Rodney tried to angle his arm through the bars to reach the wrought iron lock, much to the guards' amusement. "All you had to do was say 'cake' and we'd be out of here, but no, you had to pick 'none of the above'; which I would like to point out was not a choice, and now we're stuck who knows how many miles underground."

Ronon shrugged, "They wouldn't say what kind of cake."

"What does it matter what kind of cake?" Rodney poked the keyhole with a stick he'd found in the cell, trying to wedge it into the lock. "It's not like they wanted me to eat it. It could have been lemon with lemon icing and lemon sprinkles and it wouldn't have mattered!"

"It still could have been poisoned."

"Then what would be the point of offering us the choice in the first place?" Rodney cursed as the stick broke, glaring at the guards who were chattering away in their native language and grinning at him.

"They might have meant 'slow death by poisoning' or 'fast death by axe'."

"So the choices are death or death?" Rodney had retreated into the corner to glare at the guards. "What kind of planet is this?"

"You defiled the Eye of Uelan, what did you expect?"

"It was just a toaster!"

"Next time keep that to yourself." John waved to the guards as he and his royal escort entered the mini-prison, and they reluctantly left their posts to unlock the cell. "Although it did make the insanity defense a lot easier to--"

"You pled insanity?!" Rodney pushed on the cell door impatiently, "I am not now, nor was I ever--"

"Good choice." Ronan pushed off of the wall, grinning at the guards, who scattered as soon as the door was unlocked. "We leaving?"

"No, we're staying around to see what other mind-numbingly stupid ways these idiots can think to offer us death, death, or more death." Rodney pushed past him to storm back up the tunnels to the surface. "Of course we're leaving!"

"Good. I'm hungry."

At which point the royal magistrate of the Southern Kingdom of the planet soon to be referred to in mission reports as 'Rodney Potter and the Deathly Petit Fours' decided that he had made the right decision after all. These people were nuts.


"STARGATE ATLANTIS", "STARGATE SG1" and other related entities are owned, (TM) and © by MGM TELEVISION and DOUBLE SECRET PRODUCTION in association with GEKKO FILMS and THE SCIFI CHANNEL. All rights reserved. No copyright infringement is intended nor implied.

Technorati tags: | | | | |

August 2017

67891011 12


RSS Atom

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 26th, 2017 02:22 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios