Just the Facts, Ma'am
Sep. 2nd, 2006 09:01 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
crazymadi.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
sga_flashfic Title: Just the Facts, Ma’am
Author: Madi -![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
crazymadi
Genre: Humor (in theory, anyway)
Characters: Rodney
Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Disclaimers: I don’t own Rodney, SGA or even the original story, but I sure like borrowing them and stuff.
Author’s Note: I want to thankblade_girl
She allowed me the use of her original mission report, All Systems Go , encouraged me to write a fic, made me watch SGA in the first place. Ok, yeah, so pretty much I let blade do my thinking for me. She’s all good at that.
Warning: If your friend says to keep your fork out of the toaster, do not say “You aren’t the boss of me,” and do it any way.
Summary “Reports should be succinct and understandable.”
IV. C. 1.014.3 Mission Reports
Discoveries of scientific or technical nature shall be reported in a format that includes:
a. The nature of the discovery.
b. The current application of the discovery.
c. The feasibility of obtaining or replicating the discovery.
d. The possible application/s of the discovery.
Reports should be succinct and understandable. Illustrations, when applicable, should be included in an addendum. - SGC Officers’ Manual
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rodney McKay sat in his chair, swerving from side to side as he read, and then reread, the email from Dr. Weir. All it contained was one subsection of the Officers’ Manual, the one dealing with mission reports, specifically the one dealing with scientific and technical discoveries, specifically those scientific and technical discoveries that were discovered by him. That last part, the part that specified him, wasn’t actually in the Manual, of course, but the implication was clearly outlined for him. In fact, it was outlined in yellow.
“Reports should be succinct and understandable,” he read out loud. “I am succinct.” Rodney was talking to the computer screen just as if it had been the one to complain. “It’s not like I ramble on, you know. It takes a lot of words to get the complex concepts I deal with into type.” He raised his eyebrows and shook his head slightly. “I am the very essence of succinctness, and really, is it my fault that when I write a perfect acceptable, and, might I add, succinct report, that there is nobody of sufficient intelligence to understand it?”
He pulled up the report form. “Let’s see what we can do with this, shall we?” He stretched and wiggled his fingers before laying them on the keyboard. “Remember, Rodney, short, little words for the scientifically/technically challenged.”
We landed on PRX-403 at precisely 13:09 Atlantis time. Readings showed that the air was within 95% of Earth Norm, so we departed the Jumper. There seemed to be some sort of malfunction in the Jumper’s readings, however, because, although the air was breathable, barely, there was a strange and unidentified odor in the air.
“God, the stench.” Rodney stopped typing and viciously rubbed at his nose, which had begun to itch and run, just at the memory of the odor. “How to describe.....”
The smell was exactly that of a decaying elephant that had died of a contagion of puss-filled blisters that had all burst at the time of death, mixed, surprisingly, with my grandmother’s Irish Stew, which, come to think of it may have been made of decaying elephants.
Rodney reread his description, then pressed the backspace button until it had all disappeared.
The odor was unpleasant.
The indigenous population was not there to greet us, so we followed Teyla Emmagen for approximately 1.45 miles to the village. There were greetings and presents of jewelry that smelled slightly worse than the atmosphere, after which there were lengthy negotiations. This people had little to offer in terms of technological or scientific advances, so I have nothing further to report on the negotiations. I do think that some discretion should be displayed by team leaders when choosing which members of a team are necessary on a mission. My particular knowledge and education was totally wasted on this mission, and I would have been of far more use on Atlantis helping Zelenka with his attempts to get that machine running.
Rodney sat back, considering whether or not he should delete that last. Nope. It stayed. It was not only succinct and understandable, it was correct and wise. He could have avoided this whole thing if Sheppard had just used some of the sense that must have rubbed off from him since they’ve worked together. But, no.... he just had to have the whole team.... he just... Okay, this was not getting the report done. Rodney looked at the clock. One thirty? “Come on, Rodney, let’s get this over with and then you can sleep. Maybe you won’t even dream of... Right, report.”
After negotiations, we were expected to participate in a ritual which included a dance, one I picked up quite quickly, followed by a large feast. Since these were foods we had traded for, I felt it was my duty to eat some of everything presented, both as a show of respect and to ensure their quality.
For the first time since sitting down at the computer, Rodney’s face broke into a grin. “The feast was great, I have to say that.” It really was. All the food was surprisingly delicious, if completely unrecognizable, and it not only was acceptable to eat his fill, it was expected. It was at that point that he had suggested to John that this particular planet be called Hog Heaven. The orange stringy stuff was especially good, and, if you squinted a little, you could pretend it was spaghetti. He had challenged Ronon to an eat off... first to consume an entire bowl won, well, something good, and the big guy almost pulled it off, but he wimped out at the last minute. It would have been a victory worth savoring (so to speak) if hadn’t been for the boy puking. And then the girl puking. And then a whole family of pukers. He really should have known it was too good to be true. If he was actually sitting and enjoying a great dinner, then it just would have to be poisoned in the name of some stupid poisoned feast god.
It was explained that this meal was not reflective of the community’s normal standards.
When Ronon joined the party pukers it was obviously time to go. Rodney considered briefly whether it was worth doing some sort of study, maybe with Beckett, about whether or not it was Ronon’s particular heritage, or simply his size that caused him to be such a prolific puker. It certainly would be interesting trying to reproduce the results, as long as he could stay out of range, and down wind. That man had trajectory.
The meal, and our diplomatic duty, completed, we returned to the jumper, and prepared to leave. There was, however, a glitch that needed to be taken care of before we could take off.
Vomit all over every control, does seem to get in the way. Apparently the Ancients hadn’t planned for that contingency.
Even once we were in the air, it was discovered that Colonel Sheppard needed to take care of a problem away from the controls. I, of course, was able to step in and, despite some pressing needs of my own, ably manned the jumper back to the bay.
Rodney looked over that last, and reluctantly took out the words “despite some pressing needs of my own”. He put it back in, then took it out, once more. Finally he replaced the words with, “showing great intestinal fortitude,”. Despite chuckling at his own wit, he deleted that phrase as well, and then let that final statement stand.
We arrived on Atlantis at 19:38, and prepared to debark.
Stalled, was more like it, trying to figure out how to get back to our quarters with even a shred of dignity..
It was at this time that we discovered a heretofore unknown Jumper capability. Jumpers are, in fact, self cleaning. It is recommended that we explore the nature of this function so that it can be used in a purposeful manner in the future.
Just in case we ever return a Jumper full of shit and vomit and it doesn’t come on automatically.
Rodney filled in the necessary to’s and for’s, then sat back and reread the document. He sighed, and let his finger hang over the send button. Slowly, and with all the dramatic affect of the President about to push the big, red button that would send rockets flying, he brought his finger down..... and hit the delete button.
He could do better.
Author: Madi -
crazymadi Genre: Humor (in theory, anyway)
Characters: Rodney
Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Disclaimers: I don’t own Rodney, SGA or even the original story, but I sure like borrowing them and stuff.
Author’s Note: I want to thank
blade_girl She allowed me the use of her original mission report, All Systems Go , encouraged me to write a fic, made me watch SGA in the first place. Ok, yeah, so pretty much I let blade do my thinking for me. She’s all good at that.
Warning: If your friend says to keep your fork out of the toaster, do not say “You aren’t the boss of me,” and do it any way.
Summary “Reports should be succinct and understandable.”
IV. C. 1.014.3 Mission Reports
Discoveries of scientific or technical nature shall be reported in a format that includes:
a. The nature of the discovery.
b. The current application of the discovery.
c. The feasibility of obtaining or replicating the discovery.
d. The possible application/s of the discovery.
Reports should be succinct and understandable. Illustrations, when applicable, should be included in an addendum. - SGC Officers’ Manual
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rodney McKay sat in his chair, swerving from side to side as he read, and then reread, the email from Dr. Weir. All it contained was one subsection of the Officers’ Manual, the one dealing with mission reports, specifically the one dealing with scientific and technical discoveries, specifically those scientific and technical discoveries that were discovered by him. That last part, the part that specified him, wasn’t actually in the Manual, of course, but the implication was clearly outlined for him. In fact, it was outlined in yellow.
“Reports should be succinct and understandable,” he read out loud. “I am succinct.” Rodney was talking to the computer screen just as if it had been the one to complain. “It’s not like I ramble on, you know. It takes a lot of words to get the complex concepts I deal with into type.” He raised his eyebrows and shook his head slightly. “I am the very essence of succinctness, and really, is it my fault that when I write a perfect acceptable, and, might I add, succinct report, that there is nobody of sufficient intelligence to understand it?”
He pulled up the report form. “Let’s see what we can do with this, shall we?” He stretched and wiggled his fingers before laying them on the keyboard. “Remember, Rodney, short, little words for the scientifically/technically challenged.”
We landed on PRX-403 at precisely 13:09 Atlantis time. Readings showed that the air was within 95% of Earth Norm, so we departed the Jumper. There seemed to be some sort of malfunction in the Jumper’s readings, however, because, although the air was breathable, barely, there was a strange and unidentified odor in the air.
“God, the stench.” Rodney stopped typing and viciously rubbed at his nose, which had begun to itch and run, just at the memory of the odor. “How to describe.....”
The smell was exactly that of a decaying elephant that had died of a contagion of puss-filled blisters that had all burst at the time of death, mixed, surprisingly, with my grandmother’s Irish Stew, which, come to think of it may have been made of decaying elephants.
Rodney reread his description, then pressed the backspace button until it had all disappeared.
The odor was unpleasant.
The indigenous population was not there to greet us, so we followed Teyla Emmagen for approximately 1.45 miles to the village. There were greetings and presents of jewelry that smelled slightly worse than the atmosphere, after which there were lengthy negotiations. This people had little to offer in terms of technological or scientific advances, so I have nothing further to report on the negotiations. I do think that some discretion should be displayed by team leaders when choosing which members of a team are necessary on a mission. My particular knowledge and education was totally wasted on this mission, and I would have been of far more use on Atlantis helping Zelenka with his attempts to get that machine running.
Rodney sat back, considering whether or not he should delete that last. Nope. It stayed. It was not only succinct and understandable, it was correct and wise. He could have avoided this whole thing if Sheppard had just used some of the sense that must have rubbed off from him since they’ve worked together. But, no.... he just had to have the whole team.... he just... Okay, this was not getting the report done. Rodney looked at the clock. One thirty? “Come on, Rodney, let’s get this over with and then you can sleep. Maybe you won’t even dream of... Right, report.”
After negotiations, we were expected to participate in a ritual which included a dance, one I picked up quite quickly, followed by a large feast. Since these were foods we had traded for, I felt it was my duty to eat some of everything presented, both as a show of respect and to ensure their quality.
For the first time since sitting down at the computer, Rodney’s face broke into a grin. “The feast was great, I have to say that.” It really was. All the food was surprisingly delicious, if completely unrecognizable, and it not only was acceptable to eat his fill, it was expected. It was at that point that he had suggested to John that this particular planet be called Hog Heaven. The orange stringy stuff was especially good, and, if you squinted a little, you could pretend it was spaghetti. He had challenged Ronon to an eat off... first to consume an entire bowl won, well, something good, and the big guy almost pulled it off, but he wimped out at the last minute. It would have been a victory worth savoring (so to speak) if hadn’t been for the boy puking. And then the girl puking. And then a whole family of pukers. He really should have known it was too good to be true. If he was actually sitting and enjoying a great dinner, then it just would have to be poisoned in the name of some stupid poisoned feast god.
It was explained that this meal was not reflective of the community’s normal standards.
When Ronon joined the party pukers it was obviously time to go. Rodney considered briefly whether it was worth doing some sort of study, maybe with Beckett, about whether or not it was Ronon’s particular heritage, or simply his size that caused him to be such a prolific puker. It certainly would be interesting trying to reproduce the results, as long as he could stay out of range, and down wind. That man had trajectory.
The meal, and our diplomatic duty, completed, we returned to the jumper, and prepared to leave. There was, however, a glitch that needed to be taken care of before we could take off.
Vomit all over every control, does seem to get in the way. Apparently the Ancients hadn’t planned for that contingency.
Even once we were in the air, it was discovered that Colonel Sheppard needed to take care of a problem away from the controls. I, of course, was able to step in and, despite some pressing needs of my own, ably manned the jumper back to the bay.
Rodney looked over that last, and reluctantly took out the words “despite some pressing needs of my own”. He put it back in, then took it out, once more. Finally he replaced the words with, “showing great intestinal fortitude,”. Despite chuckling at his own wit, he deleted that phrase as well, and then let that final statement stand.
We arrived on Atlantis at 19:38, and prepared to debark.
Stalled, was more like it, trying to figure out how to get back to our quarters with even a shred of dignity..
It was at this time that we discovered a heretofore unknown Jumper capability. Jumpers are, in fact, self cleaning. It is recommended that we explore the nature of this function so that it can be used in a purposeful manner in the future.
Just in case we ever return a Jumper full of shit and vomit and it doesn’t come on automatically.
Rodney filled in the necessary to’s and for’s, then sat back and reread the document. He sighed, and let his finger hang over the send button. Slowly, and with all the dramatic affect of the President about to push the big, red button that would send rockets flying, he brought his finger down..... and hit the delete button.
He could do better.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-02 02:19 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-02 02:31 pm (UTC)