How Many Astrophysicists...

How Many Astrophysicists...

How Many Astrophysicists...

I really should have been paying attention, John told himself as he sat on a cracked Ancient console, gun on his lap, watching the foot-high water lap at the soles of his boots. His predicament was all the more disturbing when he took the time to reason out just how far away from the control tower he really was--it had taken three transporters and a hell of a lot of steps to get down to this place, whatever 'this place' was. The hologram that had appeared in the chamber leading to this one had been extremely unhelpful, elevating the whole 'obscure Ancient' routine to the level of fine art. It also hadn't helped that the thing had been flaky, flickering in and out of view like a dying light bulb. It had been this thought, this inane and utterly mundane thought that had distracted him--not like the droning monotone of the stuttering image hadn't been bad enough.

No, it wasn't a Wraith Super-Queen or a Replicator nanovirus that was going to take down John Sheppard--it was boredom. Boredom and a short attention span. God, what were the odds? John shut his eyes, tamping down the part of his brain that was busily calculating the size of the leak based on the current water volume and time elapsed. He tried to focus on the few words and phrases from the Ancient projection that might have stuck in his mind, but all he could remember was wondering how long it would take for Rodney to fix it. That had turned into, 'How many astrophysicists does it take to change an Ancient hologram device?' and it was all downhill from there. He reached up and tapped his radio for the fifteenth time.

"Sheppard to McKay, please respond." Silence.

It figured that the only bit he was sure he could recall correctly was something about shielding and communications. Well, okay, that wasn't true--he'd belatedly remembered the part where the Ancient had blandly said the words 'doorway,' 'escape,' and 'severe penalty' in the same tone as those stupid countdowns on TV--all 'twenty seconds until self-destruct' and 'auto-self-destruct aborted' with no emotion whatsoever. He was used to Rodney's approach to certain death--when in doubt, assume the worst in the most vocal and flaily way possible. At this point in his life, John was so used to overreaction that this calm warning had resulted in utter disbelief and a stun blast from the door he had been trying to hotwire with his hands when thinking 'Open!' hadn't worked. At least the lights worked--well, half of them--leaving columns of dim glow that ended up looking less comforting than creepy, reminding him that he was almost certainly below the waterline.

John rubbed at his left hand, wondering if the feeling would return just in time to feel the full glory of being submerged in ridiculously cold water. He guessed it could have been worse--if he had been standing directly in front of the console, his whole body would be paralyzed, numb, and probably underwater by now. He shivered. The room was definitely getting colder, and it was a good thing his boots were waterproof, since the slowly rising water was now licking around his heels. John tapped his earpiece again.

"McKay, now would be a really good time to be able to hear me." More silence.

When Rodney had started waving his hands and walking off by himself, John had told himself that someone should stay behind in case something went wrong--so he'd waved Ronon and Teyla ahead, had told them he'd be fine. Instead of staying back to watch their six, however, he'd managed to locked up in some Ancient unheated jacuzzi. What was it with the Ancients and death traps? John refused to feel grateful that there was some semblance of a warning sign blocking this one, because for one thing, it had done a crappy job, and for another... well, he probably would have come in here no matter what the hologram had said. So much for exploring the bowels of the city as a team-building exercise. John wondered if he could use this situation to persuade Elizabeth to cut back on her mandatory 'no Gate travel' days--should he manage to get rescued, of course.

Sighing, John traced the light from his P-90 around the seams of the room again, trying to illuminate the parts of the room the weak interior lights couldn't reach, and ignoring the protest in his backside as his movements threatened the integrity of his balance. Wait--there.

The circle of light had caught the end of a symbol he hadn't seen before. His eyes widened as he traced the line of images. This wasn't Ancient, it was pictographic--and one of the symbols looked suspiciously like the outline of a--

God. A puddlejumper. John was so surprised, he tried to get up on his knees on the console to get a better look and ended up nearly falling off, dousing his left leg to the knee in the freezing water when his hand didn't work the way it was supposed to. The cold shocked his system, the adrenaline pumping his blood faster to make up for the sudden temperature change, and he swept his light more slowly through the room, looking for more symbols.