Stargate Atlantis: Darts

Logistics

Back in the lab, the venue having been decided, certain practicalities had to be considered.

"So, how do we tell who's won?" asked Sheppard.

"How do we confirm that I've won?" rephrased Rodney.  "I have some ideas about that."  He moved towards the whiteboard, picked up a marker and began to draw and lecture. "At first I thought I could place a microscopic particle of radioactive naquadah on the tip of each dart and configure a tracking device to monitor their positions, but the problem with that is that I'd need two different isotopes to distinguish between your inferior darts and my superior design and I don't have enough available at the moment, decay rates and so on, and then I'm not convinced I can refine the tracker's resolution enough to pick up microscopic samples at the distance my darts, at least, will travel."

John played along and tried to look scholarly.  Rodney took a deep breath and continued.

"So then I thought instead of radioactive isotopes I could paint the tip of each dart with a sample of liquid naquadah, and when the dart makes an impact, there'd be a small explosion - I could definitely use the tracker to pinpoint that!  And we could..."

"Hold it right there!" John stopped him with a raised hand. "You're talking about sending explosive darts down to the lower city?!  Why not just invite the wraith here while your at it?"

"Oh, don't over-react," Rodney said dismissively, "When I say 'paint' I don't mean with a can and a roller, I mean a microscopic sample utilising my genius techniques and when I say 'explosion' I mean, like a micro-explosion, a little fizz, just enough to detect. Not your kind of C4-soldier-boy explosion."

"Oh, well, that's OK then," John said, pacified, "Just don't throw in the word 'explosion' like that."

It was agreed that each contestant would make three darts and they would send them alternately, using the tracker to mark their final landing site.

"Is this really going to work, McKay?" Sheppard wondered. "The air would have to be really still."

"You really haven't been out, today, have you?" Rodney said.  "The ocean's like a millpond. The air's so still we'll probably be able to hear the music from the beach party the archeology and linguistics geeks have going on down on the east pier."

"Beach party?" asked John, a hurt expression crossing his face. "Why wasn't I invited?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. He and the Colonel had actually been invited, but he'd been too excited about his project to pass the message on.

"Hello?" he said, covering his tracks, "Archeology and linguistics geeks? All they'll be doing is arguing in ancient Hawaiian dialects about the cultural significance of... of leis or...  luaus or something! Boring! This is much more fun!"

"Oh. OK then."

**********************************

There was a lull in the proceedings in the gateroom.  From her office, Sam had heard the marines being dismissed until the next consignment gated in at thirteen hundred hours.

Sam looked up from her laptop and stretched. Maybe it was time for her to take a break. She could drop in on the archeo-linguistics guys down on the east pier. They were having a proper Hawaiian luau, complete with grass skirts and some kind of spit-roast Pegasus-pig. It sounded like great fun!

An airman appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray loaded with salad and several pots of blue jell-o. Sam also just caught a glimpse of a couple of swiftly moving shapes flitting through the balcony door behind the control room, the door sliding closed behind them.

"Ma'am, Colonel Sheppard and Dr McKay thought you might like some lunch."

"Thank you, Airman Collins," said Sam, smiling.

The airman put down the tray and hurried off.

Sam wasn't taken in. Not for a single microsecond.  Having been a member of SG-1 for ten years had given her a well-honed instinct for mischief.  She could always tell, even when the signals were subtle and this was anything but subtle.

Sam could have catalogued the signs of SG-1 up to a prank as follows: with O'Neill, whether Colonel or General, the signal was just a very slight twitch of his thin lips. With Teal'c, obviously, one had to closely observe the precise angle of his right eyebrow in relation to the left.  Daniel was transparent.  His rare, but endearingly goofy grin would begin to spread irrepressibly across his face, whereupon he'd clap a hand over his mouth, make choking noises and then usually run away. Hopeless.  Cam was given away by an unrealistically stoney expression, Vala by an impossibly wide-eyed aura of innocence. 

Sam sighed. She hoped Sheppard and McKay weren't up to anything actually dangerous. She would turn a blind eye - they deserved to let off some steam. It was the exact nature of their chosen safety valve that worried her slightly.

Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, she started on the blue jell-o. It would make a nice appetizer, and then she would indulge in some barbecue. And maybe a grass skirt.