Superstitions, by Loligo [Halloween Challenge]

[loligo.livejournal.com]

Title: Superstitions
Author: Loligo
Rating: G
Spoilers: First half of Season 3. Set somewhere between Common Ground and The Return, pt. 1.
Notes: Thanks to cofax7 for beta!
Summary: "What makes you think that stupid Earth superstitions should have anything to do with battling aliens in a distant galaxy?"


"Have you tried garlic?" asked Dr. Schmidt, the new biologist.

"Erm, d'you mean to assist the recovery of the survivors?" Carson asked. "It's... an interesting idea, but I don't think that blood lipid balance is the greatest problem facing Wraith feeding victims."

"No, Carson," Rodney said, glaring at Schmidt. "She's making a tasteless joke about the Wraith's resemblance to vampires. Listen, Scientist Barbie: the expedition briefing might have made the Wraith sound mock-worthy, what with the Legolas hair and Goth fashions and all, but if you'd ever seen one in person, if you'd ever watched one feed, you wouldn't be laughing."

"I'm not joking. I think it's an avenue worth pursuing. After all, holy water worked on that iratus bug," she said, hacking away at the largest of the assorted roasted tubers on her plate, and either she had a tasteless and deadpan sense of humor, or she was serious, and therefore bugfuck nuts. She looked up. "Salt," she said, like he and Carson were slow on the uptake. "Genuine old-fashioned holy water always has salt in it. Probably has as much or more to do with its reputed properties as the blessing does. Sometimes it's steeped with various herbs, too -- vervain, basil, rose petals. Might be worth checking out whether their active compounds have any effect on those Wraith tissue cultures you've got, but I wouldn't expect anything too dramatic: if they were surefire killers, they'd be an essential part of the recipe, not optional." Her monologue done, she tucked back in to the blue plate special.

Rodney started scanning the room for Heightmeyer. Life in Atlantis had brought on its share of psychotic breaks, but it usually took something more dramatic than just a few weeks' travel on the Daedalus and a couple helpings of Athosian nouvelle cuisine. And what a pity, frothing lunacy in one so young and cute.

"Ah. So you're recommending I requisition some garlic from the quartermaster, chop it up, and test it on my cultures?" Hopefully Carson, ever the gentleman, was just humoring Schmidt, not taking this seriously.

"Well, garlic actually works a bit differently. It's just an apotropaic, a repellent. It doesn't cause actual tissue damage. Or, you know, so the legends say. Hey, who was that guy I read about in your reports -- Ronon? The one the Wraith didn't want to feed on? You should do a tissue analysis on him, see if he naturally produces any compounds resembling allicin, or any organosulfurs, really. Let me ask you this: does he smell odd?"

Come to think of it, Ronon did possess a certain characteristic and redolent funk. Not unpleasant, though. Kind of musky. Spicy, maybe. Rodney had always assumed it came from all those badly cured alien animal hides, but then there was the time that --. His pleasant and very private reminiscence was interrupted by the realization that Carson and Schmidt were both staring at him, and Carson was unquestionably smirking. "What makes you think that stupid Earth superstitions should have anything to do with battling aliens in a distant galaxy?" Rodney sputtered.

She gave him a "surrounded by morons" look that Rodney himself would have been proud of and twirled her hand in a circle, indicating the room around them. "... he said, in the mess hall of the Lost City of Atlantis," Rodney finished weakly.

"So you're thinking that our vampire legends might have been inspired by the Atlantis survivors telling tales about the Wraith, then?" Carson said.

"That, or that Earth vampires are actually in some way related to the Wraith. Some anti-Wraith research project gone awry, maybe. Now that I know about the Ancient refugees and their questionable science, things just make so much more sense."

"What? What things make more sense?" Rodney demanded.

"Oh, just... things. And stuff," she said. "The Pegasus galaxy is lucky in one respect: at least there's no evidence that the Wraith reproduce by directly turning humans into Wraiths."

"Oh, aye," Carson said. "For all that those teeth look awfully nasty, we've never seen or heard that they bite anyone with 'em."

"That's werewolves, dumbass." Rodney was glad to finally have something substantive to contribute to this increasingly bizarre conversation; part of being a know-it-all is that you actually have to know it all. "Any kid who's ever seen a horror movie knows that it's lycanthropy that's transmitted by bites. To become a vampire, you have to drink a vampire's blood."

"Exactly. And unless we suddenly start sprouting weird orifices on our palms, I don't see how any human could feed on life energy from a Wraith."

Oh. Oh. The science briefing packets hadn't been updated yet with the gate teams' most recent adventures. Rodney could see the penny drop when Carson's eyes went wide. Superstition, mere superstition, he told himself as he looked around the room for Sheppard, who turned out to be sitting just a few tables away with Teyla.

"What?" the biologist asked, looking over her shoulder, obviously mystified as to what Rodney and Carson were staring at.

As Rodney watched, Sheppard's gaze dropped to Teyla's chest, and the hungry, appreciative look in his eye took on a brand-new sinister meaning.

"What? What did I say?"

Mere superstition....

It had to be.