RATING: PG
SEASON: Probably Season 3.
MAJOR CHARACTERS: Weir and McKay
DISCLAIMERS: The characters, Atlantis, etc, all belong to Sony, MGM, Gecko, Showtime, the Sci-Fi Channel. 
SUMMARY: Weir is negotiating for an unknown item.  She's brought McKay along for backup
FEEDBACK: Yes please! comments and suggestions are greatly appreciated.
SPOILERS: None that I can think of
NOTE:  I'm writing a series of short stories, each featuring McKay and one of the others.  If you want to check out the other stories, please see Stupid Stuff (Ronon as Action Hero); Weird Kid (Teyla among the Athosians); Strange Doings (Beckett offering medical assistance) and Odd Hours (Zelenka fixing things in Atlantis).  This one is Weir - the negotiator
NOTE:  A few months ago, Tipper issued a challenge to write a story based.  I started this one, but let it sit for awhile when I lost interest.  Figured I'd pick it up again and see if I could finish it.  Here's my attempt
DATE: May 17, 2007, updated October 7, 2007

Peculiar Things
By NotTasha... yeah, that's peculiar

PART 1: PRELIMINARY NEGOTIATIONS

The room was too warm, dominated by a squatty fireplace and a table of dark wood.  The big piece of furniture filled the room, yet stood on legs almost too delicate to keep it up. The fireplace simmered, nothing but coals remaining.  Uncomfortable chairs lazed about -- twenty-or-so of them, loosely surrounding the table.

The walls were draped in fabrics.  Here and there a decorative sconce emerged from among the tapestries, displaying empty vases, smooth faced statues, peculiar artifacts, or guttering candles.  Along the ceiling, narrow windows let in narrow light, creating rectangles on the walls.  The poor illumination seemed to soak into the sooty, grimy ornaments, penetrating the dust of a thousand years.

It was the room of high ceremony, of great thinking.  The people of Somer used the space for all their most important negotiations – and by the look of things, few such talks had occurred over the centuries.

The place was like a bell jar, meant to preserve a moment in time – stifling.

Newton Beverley, the High Minister of Somer, sat on one side of the table, his hands laced over his stomach as he leaned into his high-backed chair.  His waistcoat stretched tightly over his paunch, puckering the fit.  One fat thumb idly stroked an especially worn button.  His jacket hung open unattractively.

He was speaking still, droning on about the rich history of the Somer people, its rulers and its beautifully planned future.  He spent an inordinate amount of time on his own rich heritage -- son of Lowell, grandson of Lawrence, great grandchild of Lynn – uncles and aunts and other annoyances.  He would have gone on and on, but McKay, by that time, had had enough.

“Great!  Fine!  Nice to know,” McKay spat out, pressing his hands against the table.  “But honestly, I don’t …”

“Minister Beverly,” Elizabeth cut off the scientist.  She leaned forward as she placed a hand over one of Rodney’s fists.  She kept her voice even.  “We are delighted to hear of your ancestry and of the history of your people, but perhaps we might begin the negotiation?”  And she smiled warmly.

Newton looked at her through hooded eyes and uttered a drawn out, “Well.”  His tongue clicked disappointedly and he went on, “I see that civility is not important among your people.”

McKay sputtered a moment, saying, “Oh, I think we’ve been more than civil.  You haven’t heard us going on and on, have you?   Do you honestly want to know what my father did for a living?  Or how ‘bout my Aunt – the one who had the taxidermy hobby?  Stuffed squirrels and weasels.  She put them into amusing positions -- sitting at a picnic table eating lunch, jazzercising, riding a bike, that sort of thing.  I think one of Elizabeth’s great-great-grandfathers was a gunfighter in some flea-bitten town.  Does that matter to you?”

Weir’s smile remained pleasant, her eyes meeting Beverley’s unimpressed gaze, letting him know that all was well – that they were friends – that a ranting McKay meant nothing.  She pressed down on the scientist’s hand, hoping he received the message – Shut up!

In all honestly, she would have rather completed the talks without the Candian.  He was hardly the right candidate for careful negotiations, but she’d needed his expertise.

“Minister Beverly,” Elizabeth said sweetly.  “We are happy to hear everything about your people and we welcome the opportunity to learn more.”

McKay groaned.  She squeezed his hand a little tighter.

“Of course,” Beverly responded.

And here, Elizabeth’s expression changed slightly, from one of open warmth, to something a little more knowing.  Her eyes narrowed slightly, allowing a little humor to reach them, as if they were sharing a secret.  “But we’re all aware of the reason we are here.  Perhaps we could discuss the issue at hand before we return continue with…”  She paused a moment, wanting to chose the right words from his endless recitations.

“The entire history of the people of this planet,” McKay cut in.  “Including their long drawn out imbroglio over tava bean growing rights, the intermarrying escapades of their higher-ups and the lineage of the fishing families of Swampyland?”

“Swampscott,” Weir told him, looking toward Beverly with an expression that seemed to say, ‘Forgive him.  He’s just that way.’

Beverly didn’t look impressed, and inwardly, Weir sighed, wishing she’d brought one of the other scientists.

“Fine, whatever.”  Rodney let his hand be held down by Weir, because he had another one that was free to point and flail about.  “But I know… and she knows… and even YOU know… we don’t care.  We came here to discuss the Ancient device.”

Beverly slid back a little in his chair.

McKay went on, “You declared its existence, but have hidden it from us so that you could have this little negotiation session.  Fine.  That’s fine.  I understand that you’re playing a game, but all you’ve done so far is natter on about things that nobody cares about.”

Weir squeezed his hand tight enough to elicit a little cry of pain out of the scientist, and he finally jerked the appendage out of her grip, his gaze full of surprise.  He looked betrayed.

“It’s not right,” Rodney squeaked to her.

“I’ll have you know,” Minister Beverly exclaimed, “That my family’s rich history is intertwined with the subject at hand, and your knowledge of the history is essential.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Rodney declared obnoxiously.

“We are impressed with the history of your family,” Weir tried to soothe.

Rodney rolled his eyes and muttered, “If you just allow me to SEE the device, I’m sure I would be able to glean a lot more out of it than from hearing about how your Uncle Dawes and Aunt Shirley had some sort of fort that pointed the way to a cottage on the hill.”  He grimaced, wondering if he’d gotten that particular story correct.  “I mean, enough already!  Let’s move on!”

Beverly straightened, and started to stand, his face strained and red.

“Dr. McKay is … blunt,” Weir explained.  “But perhaps he is correct.  It is time to move the discussion on to a new topic – the device.”

Beverly turned toward Weir, his expression unimpressed.  “Yes,” he said slowly as he seated himself again.  “The device.”

Weir sat forward a little, showing interest.  “Yes,” she repeated, “The device.”

Lorne’s team had heard of the object shortly after they’d made contact with the Somers, a people whose technology seemed set somewhere in the 18th century.  The major’s team had contacted the locals, hearing they were in the middle of a tava bean blight and were in danger of losing their latest crop.

If the crop were to fail, people would starve.  Their fishing industry wouldn’t be enough to sustain them.

They’d met with a group of farmers near the bridge of Cam to ascertain the extent of their problem.  When Parrish brought out a scanner to diagnose the infestation, the farmers came to attention, excited.  They’d seen something similar before.

A device, a peculiar thing, in possession of the Minister.  Resembling the scanner, the item could easily be held in the hand.  It was decorated with strange symbols, with a ‘dark, blank square’ dominating the upper half.  There was a strange disk and some lozenge shaped things below the square that could be depressed into the device.  They’d seen the Minister do so – without witnessing any effect.

Everyone knew of its existence.  It had been displayed for generations in the Minister’s residence.  Beverly had taken to carrying it with him, exhibiting it as a token of office.

It appeared to be nearly the same as the scanner, the farmers of Cam declared.  And, if it was like the scanner, then the Minister didn’t know how to use the device.

The Somers needed tava beans.  Perhaps – perhaps the Minister would be willing to trade – the device for the beans.

The Somer were people who understood the use of a good bargaining tool.

Lorne had expressed his interest in such a trade, and someone sent a kid to deliver the message, asking for further information on the gadget.  Shortly afterward, the boy had returned with a response, written on parchment.  The Minister, curious as to the use of the device and needing to feed his people, had transcribed some of the symbols.

He would meet with the strangers when they provided him with a translation.  Unable to make heads or tails of the note, the major had returned the paper to Atlantis for Weir to examine.

The translation had been perplexing.  The words were anything from “Power Transformation Tool” to “Belongs to Saugus the Great” depending on how the poorly drawn symbols were interpreted.  Either way, Weir wanted to see the thing.

She’d approached McKay with the information, knowing that he would be able to activate the technology – and understand it.

His brow had furrowed at her translation.  “Power Transformation?” he’d grumbled.  “What’s that supposed to mean?  There’s no record of ‘Saugus the Great’ in the Ancient database.  That device could be anything.”

“Yes,” Weir had returned.  “Anything.”  She’d put emphasis on the word, letting it imply exactly what it meant.

Rodney considered this, rolling the idea of ‘anything’ about in his massive brain, and then agreed to go with her.

She didn’t tell him that another possible translation was “Saugus the Great is a Tool.”  She knew the Ancients would have used the slang as they did, but Rodney didn’t need to know.

So, after Rodney agreed to behave, they were ready to negotiate for the Power Transformer / Saugus the Tool’s thingamajig.  The meeting started off nicely enough.

But, after two hours of non-stop oral history, the only thing Weir wanted was to get away from Minister Beverly and the weight of a thousand years in that room.  It was hot.  The air was stale – the furniture uncomfortable.  She wanted out.  She’d do just about anything…

“What would you give?” Beverly asked thickly.  “To view it.”

Weir raised her head at this comment.

“Give?” McKay squawked.

“Certainly you don’t expect me to show it to you for nothing,” Beverly said smoothly.

Looking annoyed as hell, McKay commented, “What?  Before we even see it, you want something out of us?”

Again, Weir spoke up, saying softly, “Of course, you will be receiving something for your troubles.”  Beverly smiled widely at those words.  “We understand that your people need tava bean and some other necessities.  We know that a disease has devastated your crops.  We may be able to remedying the problem.  We are ready to offer our help, but we would like to know what we’re bargaining for before we can negotiate for it.”

McKay just scowled across the table, folding his now freed arms over his chest.

Above them, a candle hissed and dribbled wax onto the table.

Beverly pursed his fleshy lips once or twice, and then reached into his jacket’s deep pocket and pulling out the hand-sized device.

Immediately, McKay sat forward, resting his arms on the table, ready to dive forward to retrieve the device at any moment.  Weir sat back a little, to give the Minister room and allowing him to feel as if he had all the freedom in the world.

Protectively, Beverly held the item close to his chest, his hands obscuring the thing as much as possible.  “What would you give?” he asked again.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding,” McKay groused.  He extended one arm and snapped his fingers savagely.  “Just let me see it.”

The Minister clutched the thing closer.  “Not until we have begun the negotiation.”

Again, Weir smiled, her eyes meeting Beverly’s little round eyes, and she let her expression remain welcoming.  “We’d be happy to begin negotiations if we were allowed to fully see…”

“… and access!” McKay put in quickly, raising a finger to augment his interjection.

At the proclamation, Beverly cupped the device closer to his chest, pressing it to his jacket so that it disappeared further from sight.

The room seemed hopelessly still and the heat of the dying fire settled unpleasantly around them.

With a nod toward McKay, Weir spoke quietly, her gaze not drifting from the pinkish eyes of the Minister,  “At this point, we would be happy to simply see the device … at close range.”  A quick glance to McKay and she added, “And, if you do not wish us to touch it, we will agree not to, for now.”

Beverly’s expression remained impervious.   “A tuft of tava,” Newton declared.

“What the…” McKay started.

“Agreed,” Elizabeth affirmed, and then informed Rodney, “It equals about a ‘bushel’, I believe, in our system of weights and measurements.”

McKay made a disgruntled grunt.  Beverly raised his head so that he looked down his nose at Weir.  The man had big nostrils, she noted.  A bead of sweat ran down his forehead, following a crease in his skin as it ran its way to his chin.

“Agreed,” Beverly finally voiced, and slowly, like a cat unspooling from a sunny nook, pulled the device from his chest.  The sweat broke free from his face, landing on the heavy cloth of his sleeve.

He held out the device in the palm of his hand.  With a snort of disgust, McKay leaned over the table to get a good look at it.  The frail-looking table shuddered, and Weir wondered if the Canadian might break it.  

“It’s too dark in here,” Rodney muttered.  “I mean, even with all the candles, you can’t see a thing.  And why did you light a fire in here anyway?  It’s not as if we need the heat – and it’s not helping to illuminate the situation any.  It's too hot in here.  Does anyone else think it's too hot?  Anyone want to crack a window?  No?”

Weir, with a sigh, leaned forward.  It wasn’t as if McKay was wrong about the atmosphere of the room, but Beverly appeared to be ignoring McKay at the moment.

The device was as described – designed to fit in the palm of the hand, with a disk and a few buttons on the front and some sort of display.  As Weir fought to make out the Ancient symbols, McKay tipped his head this way and that, trying to figure out the buttons and looking for any other clue regarding what the thing might be for.

“Saugus’ Great Works,” Weir translated now that she was able to see the symbols for herself.  The words made Beverly swell with pride.  McKay harrumphed.

After several long moments, Newton appeared to have had enough, and snatched the thing back.  “You’ve seen it,” he declared, daubing his forehead with the cuff of his jacket. “Now, what is it worth to you?  We will decide on a fee for examining it further.”

McKay, still leaning heavily on the table, glared at the man. The table squeaked under his weight.  “Oh,” he stated. “You can’t expect me to have gleaned much from that.  Come on!  We can’t even see it clearly.”

“Clear enough to translate the characters,” Beverly responded.  “You were able to see that it is a creation of the Ancestors.  Your people are capable of using such things.   It must be worth a great deal to you.”

"Who knows!" McKay exclaimed.  “And to your people, it’s worthless, so why are you holding it back from us?”

“It is an important symbol of the Minister’s office,” Beverly declared.

McKay’s mouth quirked into a smug line.  “According to the intel we’ve received – it isn’t.  It’s just something that sat on the shelf for years until you decided it would be a good thing to carry around with you when you went out to check on your peons.”

“Rodney,” Weir said sharply.  “We must be conscious of their customs and…”

“He’s just a show off,” McKay responded.  “It’s his way of letting his people know that he has more cool stuff than they do.”

“This is not so!” Beverly exclaimed hotly.  “And I will not be spoken to in this manner in my own offices!”

“Minister Beverly,” Weir cut in.  “We are sorry for any offense.”  She gave McKay a fixed glare.  “Please, let us discuss this matter.  If we could activate the device…”

“I need to receive something in exchange,” Beverly countered.

“You have no idea what this might be for,” McKay declared.  “For all we know, this might be the key to destroying the Wraith, this might be what saves every one of us.  Who knows, it might even cure whatever's happening to your crops, and yet you insist on getting paid just to let us hold it in our hands?”

“Yes, it may be valuable.  Which is why we must receive recompense for you to access it,” Beverly continued.  He turned from McKay as if the man meant nothing to him and attached his attention on Weir.  “We will decide on a fee.  If you are capable of activating the device, then we shall continue the negotiation.”

“What?” McKay sputtered.  “First, we pay you to look at it.  Then, you want us to pay again just to hold it?  And THEN you let us know how much it’s going to cost us to keep it?”

Beverly gave McKay a sidelong glance.  “It makes no sense for us to arrive at a price before we truly know what it does.  It might take several rounds before we decide on a firm price.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding!”  McKay turned to Weir.  “Elizabeth, this is ridiculous.  He has no idea what…”

“Gentlemen,” Weir stated firmly, yet calmly.  “I’m certain that we can arrive at an acceptable solution.”  She hid the grimace that fought to escape as she felt one hell of a headache coming on.

It was going to be a whopper.

PART 2: ONGOING NEGOTIATIONS

Weir paused a moment, allowing an appearance of calmness to come over her.  She put her mind elsewhere – away from the room with its dust and decay – away from Minister Beverly with his lips that looked like fat worms and his fingers like sausages.

She clasped her hands in front of her as she spoke.  "What would you suggest to be fair payment for temporary access to the device, Minister Beverly?"

Beverly pursed his lips again, working them a moment.  They looked like maggots writhing.  “I would like to have the scanning device like the one used by Major Lorne.”

“Gah!" McKay gasped.  "You can’t have one!”

Weir held up a hand to quiet the scientist.  “We may be willing to offer a similar scanning device for use, but we can’t offer one unless we know that this device,” she nodded at the peculiar thing in Newton’s hand, “is worthy of such an exchange.”

“Elizabeth, wait!” McKay tried to interject.  “How can he even suggest…”

“Dr. McKay has a such tool with him,” Weir continued.  “You may inspect his scanner as he examines the device in your hand.”

“My scanner?” McKay yelped.  “Why does it have to be mine?  Couldn’t it be someone else’s?  I mean, I have mine configured exactly the way I want it, and there’s no telling what he might do to it.”

“Rodney,” Weir’s voice was low, letting him know that there was no room for argument.  She returned her attention to Newton.  “In trade for allowing us to examine your device, you may examine one of ours.  Tit-for-tat,” she tried.  When she saw Beverly confused look, she explained, “You may examine our device as we examine yours, and both will be returned to their owners when the examination is complete.”

“In an as-is status!” McKay included.

Beverly looked uncertain and then finally dipped his head in consent.

With an unhappy expression, McKay opened his pack and withdrew his scanner.  He held it across the table as he extended his other arm, his hand open and ready.

The trade off was made quickly, and both men withdrew their coveted exchange.

The device illuminated immediately in McKay’s hand, and his expression lit up as well.  “Oh,” he muttered delightedly.  And then, “Hmm.”

“It doesn’t work,” Beverly grumbled from across the table.  He held up the dim scanner, his pinkish face growing red.  “Is this a game to you?”

“Wish it was,” McKay muttered.  “I knew I never should have given away that Gameboy.”

With a disgruntled sigh, Weir stated, “Rodney, turn it on for him.”

“Oh… yeah…” McKay’s voice dipped.  He was obviously displeased as he reached out and touched the scanner in Beverly’s sweaty hands.  “There,” he muttered as it came to life. “Don’t mess with it too much, okay?”

When Weir glanced to him, McKay mouthed, ‘Keep an eye on him!’ as he went back to fussing about with the Somer's device.  It bleeped and blatted, and McKay’s expression showed his impatience.

On the other hand, Beverly seemed enraptured by the colorful display on the scanner.  He tried pushing a few buttons and somehow brought up the lifesign screen.  Watching the little dots mill about seemed enough to capture his attention, until he raised his eyes.

The scanner, although wonderful, was settled on the table at Beverly leaned forward in anticipation.  He eagerly watched McKay manipulate the device of his Ancestors.  Weir smiled knowingly as Beverly asked, “What does it do?”

“Hang on, hang on, hang on,” McKay demanded.

And so they hung on -- Weir patiently and Beverly nervously wringing his hands.

The sun had changed slightly, Weir realized.  The narrow squares of light cast by the windows were creeping slowly down the walls.  With any luck, they might have light eventually.

If nothing else, it brightened the room, making her feel a little less ‘crushed’ by its weight.

She watched as McKay manipulated the thing, and Beverly hovered, pressing his bulk to the table that uttered unhappy groans and squeals.

“Wait, here… hmmm,” McKay muttered.  “Accessing the menu now. Seems to be… some sort of a record-keeping device.  I think…yes!  The text is all in Ancient.  That’s good.  Hmmm, titles not very helpful though.  Its memory is nearly full,” he exclaimed, grinning widely.  “Look at this!  The database is packed.  There’s no telling the extent of…”

Weir coughed, trying to cut off McKay before he said too much, but Beverly moved forward, reaching for the device.  “Enough!” he demanded.

“I almost have it…” McKay went on.

Beverly shoved the scanner back at him and put a hand on the recorder.  “Enough!  You have seen it.  You have activated it.  You have discovered its use.  Now we negotiate.”

Rodney made to keep hold of the database, but Weir gave him a look, her voice stern as she stated, “Give it to him, Rodney.”

With an unpleasant expression, Rodney let go of the device.  The screen shut off as he did so – there was no telling if the reaction was because he’d released his gene-enhanced connection or if he’d mentally shut it down.  Either way, Weir was pleased.

Beverly snatched the device back, clutching it greedily as he stared at the dim screen.  He groaned unhappily, and then his gazed flicked toward the scanner, but it had disappeared into McKay’s pack -- after a quick wipe across the scientist's jacket sleeve.

“How much?” Beverly demanded.  “How much are you willing to give me?”

“There’s no way we can negotiate with so little to go on,” McKay snapped.  “Come on, I was barely able to access the menu and determine that data was stored.  I have no idea what sort of information is contained there.  Of course it could be some very good stuff recorded there and…”

“Rodney,” Weir stated, cutting him off as she turned back to the minister.  “I believe we have enough to open negotiations, but Dr. McKay will require further access to the information to determine exactly what we’re willing to give up in order to obtain it.”

“I will consider that,” Beverly stated.  “We will begin negotiations.  Once I am satisfied that you have offered a fair price in good faith, you will be allowed to access the device again, to see if the device proves to be more valuable than our preliminary decisions.”

“This is ridiculous!” McKay proclaimed.  “He’s treating valuable information like a prize in a game show.”

Beverly turned from McKay, giving all his attention to Weir.  “We shall now discuss the matter,” he stated.

They bargained and bartered.  Beverly made suggestions and Weir either countered or nodded.  The Somers needed tava beans immediately to stave off their impending disaster.  They needed a means of stopping the blight, to save future crops.  Weir offered help in dribs and drabs, letting Beverly think he’d worked hard for every submission.

Beverly wanted technology, continually pointing toward McKay’s pack, wanting to see more of what was held within it.  Rodney moved the pack behind his chair and out of sight.  Weir continued to offer help for their people, letting the requests for technology fall to the side until Beverly forgot about the requests and focused on the machinations of how the strangers would distribute the goods and how the crops might be saved.

Finally, when it looked like a deal was reached, Beverly paused. “Very well,” he said.  “I am pleased with our initial negotiation.”  Fingers laced over his waistcoat again.  “But I will not let the device go until I know exactly what it will do.”

McKay grumbled.  “He wants his cake and eat it too,” he muttered.

Beverly continued to give his attention only to Weir.  “You understand my reluctance on parting with the relic,” he stated.  “How would I be regarded if I gave up something of incredible value for a few hundred tufts of tava?”

“If you choose Door Number 3, you get Door Number 3,” McKay grumbled.  “You don’t get to peek behind it before Monty opens the curtain.”

Beverly’s expression changed to one of befuddlement, but even through the unfamiliar terms, he caught the tone of disparagement.  “I am not a fool,” he continued, his voice low.  “I understand that the device may prove to be of little use and thus we began to decide its price before we divined its exact purpose.  But you will pay the proper price for this important artifact.  We will continue negotiations after its true use has been determined.”

"So," McKay responded.  "You want us to pay you if it turns out to be a lemon."  He grimaced at the term.  "But if it's a diamond in the rough, you get even more?"

Beverly smiled, showing off his little worn-down teeth.  “I don't understand you, but you will pay, at the very least, the amount we have just agreed to.  Now, it is time to determine if you will owe us anything extra.  Perhaps we can discuss adding one of those... scanners,” he said, flicking his hand toward McKay's pack.


PART 3: FINALIZING NEGOTIATIONS

“Elizabeth,” McKay cried, sounding like a child being chastised.

Elizabeth met Beverly’s harsh expression with a pleasant mask.  The man might think he was a strategic negotiator, but so far she’d offered nothing more than they’d already planned to ‘give’ to these people to help them through their crisis.

The negotiations – in spite of the atmosphere of the room – were well in their favor.  If Beverly needed more crops to feed his people, they were more than glad to provide what was needed.

Still, she’d like to have a little more information from McKay before they continued talks.  A moment or two in private might be enough to answer some questions.  And, in any case, getting out of the confines of the room for a few moments would be a welcome relief.  The walls seemed to creep in on her the longer she remained.

She now understood how some people could be claustrophobic.

“We would like to adjourn momentarily,” Weir stated as she began to stand.  “A short break before we return to the negotiating table.”  And she threw McKay a meaningful look.

Rodney just scowled at Beverly, his distrust and dislike obvious for anyone to see.

Beverly wasn’t impressed.  Thickly, he declared, “No.  To break the negotiations now would destroy everything we gained.”  And he glanced between the two, adding, “And a break would give you a chance to deceive me.”  He pointed a blunt finger at the device as he stood.  “You will access the device now, with me watching.  You will tell me exactly what you find.  And once that is verified, we will complete negotiations and determine a final price.”

McKay grumbled, “This is utterly ridiculous.  How much does he expect to wring out of us?”

Weir settled back in her seat.  "Very well,” she said softly.  “Minister Beverly, we will come to a final price after we determine the machine’s purpose, but the final price will be agreeable to both parties.”  She spoke the last words a little harshly.

Beverly sucked his teeth.  “Agreed,” he determined.

Beverly waddled his way around the table and held out the device to McKay, who snatched it away quickly.

In a moment, Rodney had activated the device again and was working his way through the menu.  “There’s hundreds of files here,” McKay muttered.  “Perhaps thousands! Ha!”  Eagerly, he parsed through the information, smiling widely.

The room was growing lighter, becoming less oppressive as sunlight reached toward the table.  The ugly little fire seemed to have finally died out as McKay manipulated the device.  Beverly, Weir realized as she stood so near the man, was a man familiar with sweating.

Neither Weir nor Beverly spoke, both of them leaning closer to McKay.  Rodney, when he realized this, moved closer to Elizabeth and he continued his work.  

His big smile slowly fell.  “That’s strange,” he commented.  “Is that right?  Hmmm.  Okay.  Let me try this one.”  And he activated something on the device.

The gadget squealed and moaned, and a dreary discord was emitted.  The sound continued – with an unsteady beat – notes rising and falling in an ugly mess.  With a grunt, McKay stopped the noise.  "Huh," he mumbled, and accessed another file.

A similar sort racket started – the sort of tune that made Weir’s nose curl up as she grimaced.  It was the most unpleasant bit of music she’d heard in a long time – not since a boyfriend had tried to sing some Barry Manilow to her – changing the song “Mandy” to “Elizabeth”.  She cringed at that memory.

The horrific music went on and on.  McKay glared at the screen.  Beverly stepped back.  Elizabeth shrunk away.  The cacophony continued.

“Rodney,” Weir called softly, and repeated louder as he seemed transfixed by the unnerving and dreadful melody.  “Rodney, what is it?”

“Music,” Rodney snapped in return.  “Horrible, horrible music!”  With a grimace, he managed to stop the dirge.  "That's repulsive!" he cried.  "To think that someone could have done that to... innocent instruments!"

They all exhaled in relief when the noise stopped, and McKay returned to paging through the menu.  “I’ve heard a lot of atrocious music in my time, but this has to be the vilest ever recorded.  And this thing is full of the stuff.  Unbelievable!”  He shook the device for emphasis.  “It’s packed with only audio files."

"Audio?" Beverly repeated.  "It's nothing but music?"

"If you can call it that," Rodney whined.  With a look of astonished disgruntlement, the scientist pronounced, “Oh God, it’s an Ancient iPod!  One that belonged to a total ass.”

Beverly’s expression fell and his hands dropped to his side.  “It’s nothing more than a music repository,” he muttered unhappily.

Weir sighed as she watched McKay fiddle with the menus.  She leaned closer to read along with him.  The names of files seemed to attest to McKay’s claims as she silently translated the Ancient symbols.  The words ‘melody’, and ‘tune’ came up often.  One file seemed to be titled, ‘I Write the Ancient Songs’.

“This is crap.  It’s utter, useless crap,” McKay grumbled, and accessed another file.  It started with a thrumming sound that vibrated in her ears.  Coming up over that sound was the screech of fingernails on a chalkboard, augmented by the most discordant series of notes she could ever recall hearing.  It sounded like someone hitting cats with bamboo wind chimes.

Perhaps, Weir thought, Saugus the Great really was a tool, and this was just his way of demonstrating it – filling up a database with music that was prone to cause seizures.

McKay let it run for a while.  Beverly patted his forehead, seeming in obvious discomfort.

Weir, feeling a little ill, finally demanded, “Turn it off!”

“Rodney!” she cried when he didn’t comply.  Then she looked at the scientist, giving him the skunk eye.

But McKay didn’t seem to hear.  He had that strange, intense expression that she’d seen before.  His eyes darted – looking sharp as a hawk’s.  His face was taut.  She could almost see the wheels spinning as his mind worked.

The sunlight had finally reached them, rectangles of light dipping down to the table.  Beverly's perspiration drenched skin shone, and he daubed even harder with his jacket sleeves.  The man looked thoroughly uncomfortable.

Elizabeth smiled as Rodney squinted against the glare, but his expression didn't change.

Weir replaced the smile with a weary frown.  “As you can see, Minister Beverly,” she stated softly, “it has proven to be useless.”

“Useless,” Beverly repeated softly, all smugness gone from his expression.  He looked utterly defeated.

Rodney seemed to jolt out of a dream, and turned off the noise.  “Yeah,” he muttered, not looking up.  “Can’t say this is any good to anyone.  Come on, who would want to listen to that?  Okay, I guess one person wanted to hear it, right? That Saugus guy who recorded all this stuff must have liked it.  But he’s dead now, probably, well, undoubtedly, so who wants any of this now?  I mean, it’s just music right? Bad music -- really disgusting music.  Nothing more.  So…”

“Rodney,” Weir warned, her voice sharp. 

McKay, surprisingly, shut up.

To Beverly she stated, “We are willing to stick to the deal we struck before Dr. McKay accessed the file.”

Beverly’s bleak expression lifted a little. “For the tava beans!  In the amount agreed to,” he confirmed hopefully.

“No scanner though,” McKay muttered under his breath, remembering some of the terms Beverly had attempted.

Newton looked uncertain.  “And you will freely give us the items we discussed?  Even for something that’s worth so little?”

Rodney opened his mouth to speak, but Weir cut him off.  “I am interested in learning more about the Ancients – including their choice of music.”  She shrugged.  “It’s of little use other than as a curiosity.”

The minister didn't look ready to trust them.

With a smile, Weir told him, “We will not let your people starve in any case.  We are able to provide you with tava beans and help with stopping the disease.  We would gladly do so, as an act of friendship.  You may give us this device as a small ‘thank you’ for helping you in this situation.”

“But no scanner!” Rodney repeated, wanting to make sure Beverly understood.

Beverly pursed his lips again, and then nodded slowly.  “It is agreed,” he muttered, his eyes downcast.

The ceremonial ‘goodbyes’ were uttered next, with McKay ducking out of the ‘kissing’ part of the ritual.  Weir did her best, steeling herself as she continued her role as negotiator.

Beverly seemed to linger a little too long in the embrace.  His lips really were rather like worms, Weir decided, as she moved away from him – as quickly as she could.

Finally, Weir and McKay stepped out of the stifling room with the signed declarations in hand, which determined exactly how much tava bean would be delivered and when the the help be offered, and when the device would be offered up as a token of thanks.

It was good to breathe the fresh air, to stand in the light of the evening.

Little was said as Weir and McKay quickly moved through the streets.  Elizabeth kept her eye on McKay, wondering.

It was only once they were well outside the city and nearly to the gate that she finally gave in.  “Okay,” she started, “What is it?”

“What?” McKay responded.  “What is what?”

“The device?” Weir responded.  “What is it that made you so excited?”

“Excited?” McKay echoed, looking annoyed that she’d been able to see through him so easily, but the irritation quickly fell away as he held out the device.  “Listen,” he commanded and turned it on again.

The same discordant music played, and Weir wrinkled her brow, feeling her headache returning.

“You hear it?” McKay asked excitedly.

“I hear a lot of noise,” Weir responded.  “None of it nice.”

“Yes, but listen… listen…” He held out one finger, waggling it about like a conductor following the incomprehensible tune.  “There… and there…”

Elizabeth paused in her walking to give Rodney an unhappy look.  “I can’t hear anything in that,” she responded.  “It doesn’t even sound like music.”

“Exactly!” McKay responded, his finger suddenly pointing at her.

“It’s just a mess of noise.”

The finger dropped and McKay looked disappointed.  “Listen,” he tried again. “Certain combinations of sounds keep repeating.  Do you hear that?  There it is again.”

Elizabeth shrugged.  “I suppose that’s common in music?” she tried lamely.

McKay groaned, closing his eyes as if let down.  “It’s not music.  This is nothing like music.  The repetition doesn’t have the mathematical perfection you’d expect in any sort of melody.  But it does mimic something… there it is again!” He looked at her as the awful squawking of sounds continued from the device.

Again, frustration clouded his face as Elizabeth failed to understand what he’d heard.

“It’s like ‘the’ or ‘of’ or ‘you’ or ‘and’ or… ‘or’,” he tried, his face screwing up in a hopeful expression.  “It keeps repeating.  It must be a common word.”

“It’s a language?” Weir finally comprehended.  She reached out for the device.  The database continued to squabble and squall as Rodney let her take it – the awful music seeming to change its tune as she realized its secret.

She smiled, finally hearing what McKay had discerned earlier. Yes… yes… it was obvious to her now.  Certain sounds repeated, not with the regularity of music, but rather the persistence of a language.

“Probably a code,” McKay told her.  “In fact, if someone went to the trouble to create a cipher for Ancient, the content of these messages might prove very interesting once everything’s transcribed.  Why would someone code it unless it’s important.  It could be anything.”

“Anything,” Elizabeth repeated, with a smile.

“Yeah, anything.”  McKay smiled at that word.  “We should hand it over to one of our linguistic specialists.”  McKay raised his gaze to meet hers, waiting.  He looked damned smug.

Weir kept her attention on the recorder.  “I’d like a crack at it,” she stated, frowning a little even as she said it because she wasn’t looking forward to listening to the discord for hours.

McKay nodded as they walked.  “I can rig up a computer program if you want.  I’m sure it could translate the sounds into a written form, something more… manageable,” he offered as they completed their walk to the Gate.  He started dialing when they reached the DHD.

“Thanks,” Weir stated.  “That’d be a big help.”  The bad music continued and she poked a few buttons, trying to turn it off, smiling a little when she realized that the device continued to function even when it was out of the hands of an ATA carrier.

A peculiar thing -- Rodney wasn’t so bad at negotiations, Weir decided.  Sure, he was an ass and could have derailed the entire proceedings at any moment, but they’d left the discussions with exactly what they’d come for – offering exactly what they’d already determined to give.

If McKay hadn’t been with her, they might never have been able to figure out the significance of the music.

The address completed and the wormhole engaged.  McKay activated his IDC.

With a disgusted grimace, McKay reached out for the music player.  Taking it from Weir, he quickly shut down the racket, then handed the it back to her.  “No telling what sort of peculiar things we’ll find once we figure out the code,” he told her, tapping it slightly.  “There could be any number of surprises.”

“Yes,” Weir responded, smiling still.  “No telling.”  And they stepped into the event horizon.

THE END

Here is the poem that was used to spark this idea.  It doesn’t really fit anymore, but at least it got me started.

We Are Standing Facing Each Other - by Margaret Atwood

We are standing facing each other
in an eighteenth century room
with fragile tables and mirrors
in carved frames; the curtains,
red brocade, are drawn

the doors are shut, you aren't talking,
the chandeliers aren't talking, the carpets
also remain silent.
You stay closed, your skin
is buttoned firmly around you,
your mouth is a tin decoration,
you are in the worst possible taste.

You are as fake as the marble trim
around the fireplace, there is nothing
I wouldn't do to be away
from here.   I do nothing

because the light changes, the tables
and mirrors radiate from around you,
you step backwards away from me
the length of the room

holding cupped in your hands
behind your back
                          an offering
a gold word      a signal

I need more than
air, blood, it would open
everything
which you won't let me see.

Hope you enjoyed the story. comments and suggestions
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