Raven Prince and Steel Bard – pt 2 – GreywolftheWanderer

Reading Time:
8 Minutes

Their newest, more or less human light switch guy was very easy on the eyes, in Rodney McKay’s well-considered opinion. And he truly didn’t give a crap about what race or races someone was – if they were intelligent they counted as human, for all intents and purposes. That just seemed painfully fucking obvious, but you’d be surprised how many idiots there were running around loose out in the wild, just flapping their gums without ever putting their brains in gear.

Now it was true that he’d never interacted with an AI that was actually independently intelligent, but he hadn’t ruled out meeting one eventually – he just didn’t expect it would be anything built by the modern human tech bros, because at this point they were so laughably off base with their theories of how intelligence worked that it was completely fucking ridiculous. Data sorting does not equal original thought. He did have a couple of shady million-dollar bets overseas against the current AI market trends, and expected to make a nice chunk of change whenever the most recent bubble finally burst, as bubbles always did in the end.

He didn’t share that opinion with many, other than Radek and Miko. Sam had just laughed when he mentioned the idea, which was about what he’d expected. But he and the other two were doing pretty well playing assorted prediction markets, whenever discreet-enough chances presented themselves, and they kept the bulk of their funds well hidden from all of their respective governments. The SGC did pay their science staff well, at least, which went a long way to mitigate the aggravation their bureaucrats created wherever they went. But then again, just look at the long list of scientists and support staff that had died since the beginning of the Stargate Program. They earned every dime of that pay, usually the hard way.

As for the conventional Wall Street “market wisdom,” well, if other fools wanted to waste their money, that wasn’t Rodney’s problem.

Besides, in a world that included fae, dwarrow, djinni, hobbits, gnomes, Goa’uld, the Asgard, the Unas, the Nox, and all manner of other magical and non-magical intelligent races all over the known galaxies, why the hell spend so much time and money trying to duplicate intelligence, when they could be doing something useful like trying to build a more efficient spaceship, a better hyperdrive – or finally figure out how to build, or recharge, a ZPM? It made no damn sense to him at all. Maybe they just wanted a chattel slave that they would never be forced to free? Or they were making way too much money off things as they were, to have any interest in actually improving humanity’s lot? Whatever it was, Rodney would much rather not work to build something designed to be smarter than he was, thank you – if that was even possible in the first place. The potential problems with that idea were more than a little sobering.

Even so, he couldn’t help wondering about the Ancient outpost’s builders, and the computer systems he and the others were currently working with, trying to decipher – just how smart were they? At modern humanity’s technological level, it might take years to properly answer that question, much less all the new questions they kept thinking of, just about every day. And at the rate they were progressing right now, it probably would.

Hopefully, Sheppard – John – would be able to speed their progress up. Rodney had already confirmed that the Gate address the man had found for them this morning did show up elsewhere in the system as being a valid address. Whether it was actually the right one was not yet apparent. The Ancients had left their database pretty badly scrambled, deliberately or otherwise. But it was still progress, however minuscule, and he would happily take it.

He stared down again at the chess board, not really seeing it. Fuck, he definitely wasn’t concentrating well tonight, at all. His brain was all over the damn place – and it didn’t help any that he hadn’t gotten laid in weeks, just too damn busy and distracted, flying back and forth between the Outpost, McMurdo, Colorado Springs, you name it.

In addition to all of the shit that was keeping him so distracted, not only was Major Sheppard very decorative, with his long, lean build, that whole angular Fae facial structure, and intriguingly multi-coloured eyes, he apparently had some pretty damned high-level experience playing chess, to boot. He’d already won their first game of the evening, and now he was proving very hard to defeat on the rematch, as well, dammit anyway.

Rodney was not at all accustomed to losing at chess; it had been several years since it last happened. He was determined to win this game at least, but somehow, the man kept coming up with unorthodox, but perfectly legal moves to escape even his best-laid traps and stratagems. All while keeping up a constant flow of snark and geek-culture references right back at him. It was infuriating.

It was also the most fun he’d had in weeks. Despite getting to play with the Ancient outpost on the regular, this was an very entertaining change of pace. Sheppard didn’t work directly for Rodney, and felt no obligation to kiss his ass, so they could really get into their snark warfare, while knowing none of it was meant personally. And no silly histrionics, unlike those from certain other people working at the Ancient outpost – thinking of you here, Carson! – to spoil the fun. It was great.

It was also nice to have company he wasn’t the boss of, who was willing to argue the finer points of superhero comics and the relative merits of the various Doctors, however inexplicable the man’s stated preferences might be. Rodney flapped a disdainful hand at him. “You do realize, you’re absolutely wrong about whether Batman or Daredevil is superior!”

John just smirked, and moved his knight. “Uh-huh, whatever you say, Doc. Oh, hey, whaddaya know – checkmate.”

“What? Wait a minute, how…?” Rodney glared down at the chessboard, disgusted to find that it was indeed checkmate, and not in his favour, either. Fuck, twice, in one night? Now that just was not okay at all – but the more he thought about it, the more he realized he hadn’t been anywhere near the top of his game at all, this entire evening.

Well, fuck me.

Yeah, he definitely needed sleep, as checking his watch only proved beyond doubt. It was going on 37 hours and counting since he last went to bed, much less actually slept. Well, hell.

“Ya snooze, ya lose, man, you know that.” The other man chuckled, not acting anywhere as snotty as Rodney had expected of him, to be honest. So, at least there was that.

Even so, he started packing up the chess pieces again, and Sheppard cheerfully helped him do it. Then he shrugged, grinning ruefully. “Shit. Well played, though. I’ll be up for a rematch once I get some actual sleep, if you’re interested. It’s just been one helluva week.”

“You’re telling me. Not a lot of folks down here like to play chess at all, much less play well, so this was great. There’s not a lot to read here that isn’t textbooks or totally out-of-date magazines, either, and we don’t really have the internet, although we do have email, kinda sorta. Tell you what, I’ll check back with you tomorrow, we can see what our schedules are like. I never know whether I’ll be flying on any given day, much less where, but so far I’m still listed as being out here for at least a couple days yet.” He leaned on the back of the chair and grinned. “Hey, maybe we can meet somewhere a little more private next time.”

Rodney returned the smirk, though not the other man’s truly dorky eyebrow-waggle. “I like the sound of that. Talk to you tomorrow, Major.” He grabbed the chess set and what was left of the Cheetos, then pried himself stiffly out of the beat-up desk chair he’d been slouched in. He really did need to get some sleep, before he just face-planted in situ. The last time he’d done that, it had taken days to get the crick out of his neck, and he already had enough back trouble on the damned regular.

—–///—–

John couldn’t help grinning, once he was back in his own bunk. As a mage who was also an officer and a pilot, black mark or no, he at least didn’t have to share his quarters with other random personnel, so he was able to put up and maintain wards and shielding that made sleeping peacefully a lot easier. No spell could keep all his nightmares at bay, unfortunately – but the wards definitely helped.

Afghanistan had really sucked, even before that last unsanctioned mission that had gotten him dumped down here on the Big Ice. When he hadn’t been flying special ops, he’d flown medevacs from all over the damn place, and he’d seen shit he didn’t think he’d ever be able to forget.

The key wasn’t forgetting that stuff, it was finding a way to process and accept it, best you could. His last therapist had helped him do a lot of that, but he’d be working on that the rest of his life, most likely.

Still, he’d promised Holland that he’d survive, no matter what, and it was a promise he fully intended to keep.

He moved through his bedtime routine on automatic pilot, as he considered McKay, who was far and away the most interesting person he’d met since arriving here almost a year ago. The fact that John was at least half-Fae didn’t seem to bother the other man, and neither did it seem to get him jacked up or turned on. That right there was a nice change. He’d never found the attention of Faerie-groupies tempting in in any way at all. It was kind of gross, actually, to feel that kind of perverse attraction from people with whom he himself had nothing, or less than nothing, in common. It made his skin crawl, if he was honest about it. They didn’t see anything of John himself, just the ears and the olive skin – and that was all they cared about. Creepy as fuck.

He shuddered, and pushed the whole idea right out of his mind. He’d had one hell of a day, and he’d nearly died today, and Lady Magic alone knew what kind of crazy shit would be coming his way tomorrow. It was time to calm down and get himself centered, so he could sleep and recharge for whatever the next day had in store. So, he smudged himself and his quarters with the sage and sweetgrass he always carried in his kit, then stretched and loosened his muscles, before curling up under his blankets in readiness for sleep. And thankfully, tonight he was able to doze off without too much effort. As soon as he finished relaxing, he fell asleep rapidly, as he’d taught himself to do all those years ago.

—–///—–