Rodney McKay groaned and tried to contract himself into an even tighter ball. It made no difference. Any body warmth he might have possessed in some distant past had leached out of him an eternity ago. All that was left was another eternity of wet, windblown misery. On the upside, come break of day tomorrow that would be the least of his worries.
"For once in my life, I can see absolutely no point in talking, so if you don't mind, leave me the hell alone. I'm busy." The reply was barely intelligible through the rattle of his teeth. Which didn't really matter, of course, because that brat Ikaros was squatting inside Rodney's head and no doubt snooped on every piddling thought.
I'd never stoop to snooping. Especially on piddling thoughts. We still need to talk
"What's there to talk about? We'll be dead tomorrow. Both of us. End of discussion."
For a while-perhaps half the first day, perhaps even all of it-Rodney had held out hope that something would happen. If for no other reason, then because the kind of demise in store for him seemed to be too ignominious for words. Terminal velocity in just under five seconds, and by the time he reached the bottom of the gorge his body would have picked up enough speed to all but liquefy on impact.
Hope hadn't lasted. Propelled by the relentless cold and rain and hunger, the notion of Colonel Sheppard riding to the rescue at the penultimate nanosecond-the man's timing tended to be unnerving, to say the least-had slipped further and further into the realm of wishful thinking.
Today, all Rodney asked for was that it'd be over soon and that he'd pass out before he hit the ground.
Did anybody ever tell you that this relentless optimism of yours is downright infectious?
"All the time. I'm famous for my bright and positive outlook, especially in desperate situations. Go away!"
Rodney pulled himself closer to the bars and stared down into the late afternoon light that thickened like pea soup above the square. Another exciting day on the market was coming to a close, but he was delighted to see that he was still able to draw a respectable audience. They gathered along the edge of the abyss, necks craned to a degree that would make any chiropractor cringe in dismay, their faces turned up into the rain. He was as certain as he could be that their mouths were hanging open. What the hell did they expect? That he would start waving at them? Or turn somersaults for their entertainment?
Even at night, when the crowd down on the market was invisible, if it was still there-though, if the rain didn't disperse them, he doubted darkness would-there was no shortage of thrill seekers. Any number of guards visited the parapet, and just above him was an opening carved into what looked like solid rock but had to be part of the fortress. Behind it, an endless procession of faces rolled past, jeering and mocking. The thought that those jeers would be the last thing he heard-apart perhaps from the air screeching past him as he fell-was profoundly depressing.
Oh please! Break out the violins! Who said the situation was hopeless?
One thing you had to say for Ikaros; he had a sense of humor. Rodney almost laughed. The only thing stopping him was the thought that his audience might derive the idea that he'd gone nuts. No, wait! He was the guy who couldn't quit talking to himself, because he'd engaged in a Vulcan mind meld with a ten thousand year old standup comedian. Of course they thought he was nuts.
In other words, it didn't matter.
Except, the moment had passed and the laughter must have been washed into the ravine by the rain.
I ask again: who said it was hopeless?
"You're so right. I'm going to break out my Superman cape and fly off into the sunset."
You're mixing archetypes. It's nearly as bad as mixing metaphors. I could help you.
"Now you're telling me?"
I'm not sure it'll work.
"You know, I wish you'd said that before switching on Charybdis."
Why would I? With Charybdis I was sure it would work.
Rodney groaned and decided it didn't bear answering. Besides, something new was happening below, something he couldn't recall seeing in all his time here. A sliver of light stole across the market, tinting the pavement in pink and golden hues. The rain had stopped for once, and the clouds had broken just enough to admit a shaft of evening sunlight that could have been painted by Durer or Caspar David Friedrich. Below, the crowd turned, almost simultaneously, a move devised by some largerthan-life choreographer, and raised their faces toward the sun. Like a faint echo at first, a sound that might or might not exist, a chant rose. As more and more voices joined it became more solid, more real.
He couldn't make out the words, but it didn't matter. He didn't care. Like his fan club on the market square below, he closed his eyes, turned his face into the sun, relishing the brightness and the color and the illusion of warmth that it brought.
You realize that this merely confirms their superstitious notions?
"What?" He wished Ikaros would keep quiet and just let him savor those few moments. The rain would resume soon enough.
Oh, don't tell me you missed the fact that they believe this deluge is some kind of divine retribution for your heresy. Now, at the eve of your excuse me, our- execution the sun comes out for the first time in months. Obviously they take it as a sign the things will look up once we're dead.
"Thannks for reminding me," Rodney snapped. "For a moment there I almost enjoyed what's probably the last pleasant thing to happen in my life. Good job you nipped that in the bud."
As I mentioned earlier, I may be able to help.
"Don't tell me. You're going to knit a hot air balloon?"
You're hilarious.
Coupled with a distinct sense of sulking. For an ineffably glorious three seconds, Rodney thought he might have managed to shut the kid up. But no.
I may be able to make us both ascend. Charybdis has indicated that it would allow us to do that.
Okay. Two disturbing concepts right there. Not for the first time Rodney wished he could stare the kid down at least. He supposed that imagining the act might do the trick, but for now he settled for prioritizing. "Charybdis has done what?"
I joined with Charybdis, remember? I know what it wants, because I'm part of it. So are you, seeing as you decided to muscle in on the act. Ifyou were a little less self-absorbed here, you'd sense it too.
"Yes, silly me, preoccupied with my impending demise. Go figure!" It lacked conviction, and Rodney knew it. The notion of Charybdis's awareness-if that's what it was-infesting his mind alongside Ikaros was more than he cared to contemplate.
Charybdis isn't a killer It just wants the same thing as you
"Oh really? And again: oh really? Just to cover both counts here."
and me. It wants to survive. Getting rid of us permanently would ensure its survival, and I think it may actually have engineered this entire situation.
"You must be so proud of your brainchild!"
In a way, yes.
The little jerk possessed the cheek to actually feel proud. With Rodney McKay's personal emotional repertoire, limited as that might be… though pride admittedly came easy…
I didn't expect this to happen. Obviously. I'd also be grateful if you'd actually let me finish a thought. As I was saying, Charybdis wants to survive. Our going back hypothetically speaking-and preventing me from bringing Charybdis online would kill it. Hence its determination to take you out of the picture. Your amnesia may have been a first attempt.
"Practice makes perfect," said Rodney.
No, it makes sense. Whether you believe it or not, Charybdis was not designed to kill anybody except Wraith, of course, and those only in a roundabout way and it would prefer a solution that enables all three of us to survive.
"And how does ascension-" Realizing the answer, Rodney cut himself off. "We wouldn't be allowed to interfere."
Exactly.