Commentfic Response: Strike
Jan. 2nd, 2015 10:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sgatazmyThis is an earlier version of a fic I was writing that is now just commentfic for my strike prompt.
John allowed relief to flood over him as he passed from one gate to home. That relief quickly subsided as he took into account the lack of his waiting team, the lack of Woolsey to welcome him back, and the lack of personnel in general on the floor. A small skeleton crew remained, so at least he wasn’t alone, but clearly something wasn’t right.
He scanned the room again, but found no other clues. A door swooshed open and Teyla appeared. Despite her smile, worry creased her brow. “John,” she said, bowing her head in greeting. “I trust you are well?”
“I’m good. No bad guys, no traps, and no surprises. Everything went as planned.”
“They are this way,” Teyla said, reading his unasked questions and guiding him away. She led him toward the messhall where Ronon stood guarding the entrance.
"Hey," Ronon greeted. He rocked on his feet slightly. His left fist clenched and unclenched.
"What's going on?"
"In there," Ronon motioned, stepping aside for them to enter.
John wasn't sure what he expected to see. Pegasus, after all, had a way of throwing unique curve balls so John knew anything could happen. He braced himself for outbreaks, mutations, alien incursions, awry tech, and anything else his experience taught him could have Teyla and Ronon so unsettled. What he got, however, was a room full of scientists lounging about (some actually on lawn chairs) sipping tropical drinks, playing Ping-Pong, and otherwise acting as though they were on vacation.
Despite the festive atmosphere, John sensed a deep uneasiness throughout the room. He focused on what he couldn't see. For one, he was the only military man in the room (save Ronon who didn't answer to the US Air Force).
Every eye followed him as he moved cautiously toward the center of the room where Rodney lounged, his face covered by a towel. Someone had tucked him in with an infirmary blanket. The encrusted wax on his left ear testified to his lack of cleanliness. His disheveled uniform smelled from days of use. He snored lightly.
John leaned down and flicked near his ear, startling the scientist.
Rodney waved his arms to remove the disturbance, the towed dropping to reveal two wrinkled, raccoon eyes. "You're back."
"Obviously." John took one last glance around before focusing on Rodney. "What's going on?"
"This?” he asked, waving his arms around the room as though nothing was out of the ordinary.
“Yes, this. What is going on?”
“Oh. Uh. Our codes are compiling."
There were a few chortles around the room. Even the game of Ping-Pong had stopped as everyone focused on Atlantis’s leaders.
"Your codes are compiling?"
Rodney looked at the ground, the wall, Teyla, and then back to the ground. Not once did he meet John’s eyes. "Hey, sometimes codes can take a very long time to compile. I can't help it if I can't get any work done until they’re finished."
"It's been three days," Teyla whispered softly behind John. "I suspect it will take quite a while longer. Would you not agree, Rodney?"
"I suspect at least a week. Maybe more."
"McKay."
“Yes?”
“Tell me what’s going on. Now.”
"If you'd let me by," Woolsey called from the entrance, "Perhaps I can explain it best."
John whirled around to find Woolsey peeking from behind Ronon's shoulders. Ronon showed no sign of moving but now he held both fists firmly clenched.
"It's okay," Rodney called. "Let him through."
"Thank you," Woolsey answered, straightening his uniform as if to retain some dignity. "Need I remind you that I'm not the enemy here."
"That depends," Rodney answered.
"Depends on what?"
"Are the guest quarters cold?"
"What?" Sheppard asked, but clearly Woolsey understood because he shook his head in reply.
"As a matter of fact, I may have visited the guest quarters this afternoon and found them to be a pleasant temperature," Woolsey explained. “Major Lorne agrees.”
Tensions immediately eased, except for John's. "Will everyone please stop speaking code and tell me what the hell is going on?"
"Oh. Right. We have some guests." Rodney's last word was spoken with such contempt that John couldn't help but take a step back. This time Rodney did meet John’s eyes, as if trying to communicate silently everything that had brought him to such anger.
"Our guests have proven a challenge, John," Teyla said. "As you know, much of the IOA has been replaced by new members whom I fear are less wise than the last group."
“Go on.”
Woolsey answered, "The new IOA members are concerned that Atlantis personnel seem to often make the wrong choice. Their words, not mine. At any rate they've created an advisory board to now live on Atlantis. They’ve--"
"Ruined everything!" Rodney cut-in. "Two days ago they called me in for a meet and greet and to get my expert opinion. What they actually wanted was for me to throw my personnel under the bus by writing a report on who’s messed up, how, and why I feel they should be fired.”
“I take it you didn’t write that report?” John asked.
“Please, Colonel, you know me better."
“So what happened next?”
“They told me I could write the report or be placed under probation. I told them if they had half a brain between the three of them they’d know exactly why that was a bad idea. They responded by saying I was under review for possible termination!”
"Actually, they already informed me I was to terminate your employment," Woolsey said. "Not that I've managed to find the paperwork. I'll have to wait until the computers start working again."
"They also want to be able to override any command decision on a whim, even in the middle of a crisis," Rodney explained, his fists clenched tightly.
"They hell they do," John answered, finding himself just as angry. "And nobody is firing anyone."
"Thank you!" Rodney exclaimed as John continued.
"You’re welcome. So this is what? A strike?"
"As you know, Colonel," Woolsey said, "Atlantis personnel sign a contract and are restricted from collective bargaining as part of that contract. Dr. McKay informs me that he and his colleagues are simply waiting for their codes to compile."
"We did look at guest quarters," Zelenka said, coming to McKay's side with a Ping-Pong paddle in his hand and a rainbow band around his head. "They complain it is too cold; we say not-so-cold. They complain again. We check working computers. Temp reads normal. Several soldiers check and say temperature normal. Now Woolsey agrees."
"I fear our guests may be suffering from some virus," Teyla suggested. "Perhaps we should place them in an isolation room?"
"It's possible the city's quarantine protocols have somehow been undermined," Rodney offered.
"I'm guessing if I went into their rooms I should bring a coat?" John asked.
"We have no idea what you're talking about," Rodney answered even while nodding his head in confirmation. As though everyone weren’t watching he then silently mouthed ‘bring gloves’.
John pulled at Rodney's arm, taking him aside. The stares followed until they passed by Ronon.
"I hope you have an end game for this, Rodney. I'm not breaking in a new scientist for my team and I'm sure as hell not answering to people who would even consider firing you."
"Nor should you. And of course I have an end game.”
“Good. Let’s hear it.”
“Freeze them out and generally make their lives miserable until they leave.”
“So this,” he asked, gesturing back toward the wayward scientists, “is your end game?”
“That and not getting any work done.”
"Seeing as they just fired you, I’m not so certain they care.”
John allowed relief to flood over him as he passed from one gate to home. That relief quickly subsided as he took into account the lack of his waiting team, the lack of Woolsey to welcome him back, and the lack of personnel in general on the floor. A small skeleton crew remained, so at least he wasn’t alone, but clearly something wasn’t right.
He scanned the room again, but found no other clues. A door swooshed open and Teyla appeared. Despite her smile, worry creased her brow. “John,” she said, bowing her head in greeting. “I trust you are well?”
“I’m good. No bad guys, no traps, and no surprises. Everything went as planned.”
“They are this way,” Teyla said, reading his unasked questions and guiding him away. She led him toward the messhall where Ronon stood guarding the entrance.
"Hey," Ronon greeted. He rocked on his feet slightly. His left fist clenched and unclenched.
"What's going on?"
"In there," Ronon motioned, stepping aside for them to enter.
John wasn't sure what he expected to see. Pegasus, after all, had a way of throwing unique curve balls so John knew anything could happen. He braced himself for outbreaks, mutations, alien incursions, awry tech, and anything else his experience taught him could have Teyla and Ronon so unsettled. What he got, however, was a room full of scientists lounging about (some actually on lawn chairs) sipping tropical drinks, playing Ping-Pong, and otherwise acting as though they were on vacation.
Despite the festive atmosphere, John sensed a deep uneasiness throughout the room. He focused on what he couldn't see. For one, he was the only military man in the room (save Ronon who didn't answer to the US Air Force).
Every eye followed him as he moved cautiously toward the center of the room where Rodney lounged, his face covered by a towel. Someone had tucked him in with an infirmary blanket. The encrusted wax on his left ear testified to his lack of cleanliness. His disheveled uniform smelled from days of use. He snored lightly.
John leaned down and flicked near his ear, startling the scientist.
Rodney waved his arms to remove the disturbance, the towed dropping to reveal two wrinkled, raccoon eyes. "You're back."
"Obviously." John took one last glance around before focusing on Rodney. "What's going on?"
"This?” he asked, waving his arms around the room as though nothing was out of the ordinary.
“Yes, this. What is going on?”
“Oh. Uh. Our codes are compiling."
There were a few chortles around the room. Even the game of Ping-Pong had stopped as everyone focused on Atlantis’s leaders.
"Your codes are compiling?"
Rodney looked at the ground, the wall, Teyla, and then back to the ground. Not once did he meet John’s eyes. "Hey, sometimes codes can take a very long time to compile. I can't help it if I can't get any work done until they’re finished."
"It's been three days," Teyla whispered softly behind John. "I suspect it will take quite a while longer. Would you not agree, Rodney?"
"I suspect at least a week. Maybe more."
"McKay."
“Yes?”
“Tell me what’s going on. Now.”
"If you'd let me by," Woolsey called from the entrance, "Perhaps I can explain it best."
John whirled around to find Woolsey peeking from behind Ronon's shoulders. Ronon showed no sign of moving but now he held both fists firmly clenched.
"It's okay," Rodney called. "Let him through."
"Thank you," Woolsey answered, straightening his uniform as if to retain some dignity. "Need I remind you that I'm not the enemy here."
"That depends," Rodney answered.
"Depends on what?"
"Are the guest quarters cold?"
"What?" Sheppard asked, but clearly Woolsey understood because he shook his head in reply.
"As a matter of fact, I may have visited the guest quarters this afternoon and found them to be a pleasant temperature," Woolsey explained. “Major Lorne agrees.”
Tensions immediately eased, except for John's. "Will everyone please stop speaking code and tell me what the hell is going on?"
"Oh. Right. We have some guests." Rodney's last word was spoken with such contempt that John couldn't help but take a step back. This time Rodney did meet John’s eyes, as if trying to communicate silently everything that had brought him to such anger.
"Our guests have proven a challenge, John," Teyla said. "As you know, much of the IOA has been replaced by new members whom I fear are less wise than the last group."
“Go on.”
Woolsey answered, "The new IOA members are concerned that Atlantis personnel seem to often make the wrong choice. Their words, not mine. At any rate they've created an advisory board to now live on Atlantis. They’ve--"
"Ruined everything!" Rodney cut-in. "Two days ago they called me in for a meet and greet and to get my expert opinion. What they actually wanted was for me to throw my personnel under the bus by writing a report on who’s messed up, how, and why I feel they should be fired.”
“I take it you didn’t write that report?” John asked.
“Please, Colonel, you know me better."
“So what happened next?”
“They told me I could write the report or be placed under probation. I told them if they had half a brain between the three of them they’d know exactly why that was a bad idea. They responded by saying I was under review for possible termination!”
"Actually, they already informed me I was to terminate your employment," Woolsey said. "Not that I've managed to find the paperwork. I'll have to wait until the computers start working again."
"They also want to be able to override any command decision on a whim, even in the middle of a crisis," Rodney explained, his fists clenched tightly.
"They hell they do," John answered, finding himself just as angry. "And nobody is firing anyone."
"Thank you!" Rodney exclaimed as John continued.
"You’re welcome. So this is what? A strike?"
"As you know, Colonel," Woolsey said, "Atlantis personnel sign a contract and are restricted from collective bargaining as part of that contract. Dr. McKay informs me that he and his colleagues are simply waiting for their codes to compile."
"We did look at guest quarters," Zelenka said, coming to McKay's side with a Ping-Pong paddle in his hand and a rainbow band around his head. "They complain it is too cold; we say not-so-cold. They complain again. We check working computers. Temp reads normal. Several soldiers check and say temperature normal. Now Woolsey agrees."
"I fear our guests may be suffering from some virus," Teyla suggested. "Perhaps we should place them in an isolation room?"
"It's possible the city's quarantine protocols have somehow been undermined," Rodney offered.
"I'm guessing if I went into their rooms I should bring a coat?" John asked.
"We have no idea what you're talking about," Rodney answered even while nodding his head in confirmation. As though everyone weren’t watching he then silently mouthed ‘bring gloves’.
John pulled at Rodney's arm, taking him aside. The stares followed until they passed by Ronon.
"I hope you have an end game for this, Rodney. I'm not breaking in a new scientist for my team and I'm sure as hell not answering to people who would even consider firing you."
"Nor should you. And of course I have an end game.”
“Good. Let’s hear it.”
“Freeze them out and generally make their lives miserable until they leave.”
“So this,” he asked, gesturing back toward the wayward scientists, “is your end game?”
“That and not getting any work done.”
"Seeing as they just fired you, I’m not so certain they care.”
"I admit the plan isn't refined yet, but give it a few more days of freezing temperatures, isolation, and inaction. These idiots won't last more than a week."
