Pi. Pi.

My password, did I always have it saved here? In my room.

Pi starts with a three. John, where are you? John?

(Video camera activates to show Rodney sitting in front of it, smiling. Time stamp on right corner reads Day 06 - 21:16)

KELLER: All set?

McKAY (speaking normally): Remind me to register a complaint with whosever idea this was!

KELLER: Uh, it was yours, actually.

McKAY: Oh, ho-ho! (He smiles and gestures.) Well, complaint duly registered!

KELLER: It was a good idea to keep a record of what's happening to you and how fast, but if you'd rather not ...

McKAY: No, it's fine, it's fine. Start with my name, right?

KELLER: Right.

McKAY: Hey, I remembered something! Yay!

(Jennifer laughs. Rodney looks into the camera.)

McKAY: My name is Doctor Rodney McKay. I am head of the Department of Science ... something ... in Atlantis in the, um ... (He wracks his brain for several seconds, then chuckles ruefully before lowering his head and shaking it in exasperation.) Oh, for God's sake. (He lifts his head and looks at Jennifer, his smile gone.) In the Pegasus galaxy.

KELLER: OK, not bad. Keep going.

McKAY: Jennifer, there's -- there's -- something I wanted to, um ... you know, while I remember, while I still can; something I wanted to say before ...

KELLER: Go ahead.

(camera freeze-frames on Rodney's face and cuts out.)

Got it. Got him.

Earthside within throwing distance of civilization. Please direct all gift packages or children's artwork to Rodney McKay C/O SGC in Colorado.

VoicePost
240K 1:23

(static of microphone rubbing against something, heavy panting)
Zelenka: No, Rodney, you do not fit-- Oh, let me do--
McKay: I think I've done this before! Just move your hips down a little, there we go, I should be able to--
Zelenka: Rodney, ow-- I know you are needing, but really must I be-- be punished here? -- Not like that! That hurts!
McKay: Almost-- (heavy exhale, audible rubbing of fabric)

(mic disconnects)
-- automatically translated by Atlantis Voice Identification Software

VoicePost
557K 3:07

(radio crackling, rustling of fabric. Voices are heard, audible but not immediate)
Unfamiliar voice: ... detonate from a safe distance?
Sheppard's drawl: Well, just flip-- click.
Unfamiliar voice: This way.
(rustling and clinking of metal. High beam noise, radio cuts out, another beam noise.)
Sheppard: Ronon.
Ronon: Sheppard. It's about time.
Sheppard: What's... going on, buddy?
Distorted voice: We were beginning to wonder if you'd ever show up.
(scuffle of feet, rattle of guns)
Same strange voice: You're at a disadvantage. You can attempt to escape but you'll have to sacrifice your friend's life to do so.
Sheppard: Ronon, get out of the way.
Ronon: I can't do that.
Sheppard: Ronon. Step aside.
(another rattle)
Unfamiliar voice: His life wouldn't be the only one forfeited.
Teyla: (tensely) Teyr.
Unfamiliar voice (Teyr?): Lower your weapons
(soft shuffle, metal silencing)
Teyr: Take them away.
Sheppard: Ronon. What's happening here.
(Fist hitting face)
John: Uff--
Teyla: Ronon!
(sound of heavy footsteps)
Rodney: (immediate into microphone, desperately) What are you-- leave that--
(static burst as something hits the microphone, silence)

-- automatically translated by Atlantis Voice Identification Software


( OOC explanation )

So this is belated, since I'm prioritizing, but I have to take time to make sure that everyone knows that the science department doesn't have a lot to do with rape. Excluding the anthropologists, they love rape. But what I'm saying is, this publicizing is an unusual circumstance.

The scientist in question, see, I can be discreet and not name names, too, is-- you know, a moron. She's probably not totally incapable of limiting her physical cues of attraction, and obviously I'm not endorsing rape in any form here, but it's obviously also very difficult to tell. To a certain extent. I mean, obviously there are some very underestimated tools at our disposal here that make the situation different than it ordinarily would be. I mean, obviously she has friends here. To speak to. Who will be spoken to.

Of course, it's just, There's always that animalistic undertone to scientific discovery. And people do things that they regret later, so of course it's not unheard of. It's just never involved the marines. And I mean, of course it wasn't screamed about- Actually, there are several syndromes that cause similar accusations. Back during the earlier years of our exploration, I had the dubious honour of being confronted with sexual harassment, alongside Elizabeth, Carson, and Dr. Heightmeyer. Usually some biologist would figure that a member of the native population looked too fondly at her. It doesn't have to be the end of the civilized world.

Having Woolsey here changes the procedure. Elizabeth was a very capable, very admirable woman who appreciated discretion's part in sustaining our exploration. Had everyone known, there would have been a panic. People would start fastening pillows to their butts for protection. The gossip mill, which believe me, is already a vital organ here, would have nearly self-combusted in its passion. And now we, I, have to deal with that circumstance because one woman decided she couldn't leave well enough alone and solve her problems like a scientist. Now there's going to be some big paper in a red cover on some desk in the Pentagon. Great. Now we're going to have rapist statistics. My team will be distracted from its work over some accusation and self-evaluation and-- and other such time wasting pseudo-scientific voodoo.

This scientist's decision to avoid approaching me with the subject will probably prove to be a disadvantage for her. It's isolation tactics, all the marines hate her and what are we supposed to do with a woman who's convinced she'd been raped? She certainly can't work! We could have undertaken all sorts of petty revenge, we could have called up life signs detectors or at least helped her sleep at night with an admirable cocktail of drugs. As it stands, I feel isolated from the proceedings, and-- Well! If they don't want the help of those most qualified to offer it, fine!

It's much more important to find Ronon than comfort a hysterical woman, anyway. And as soon as we get him back, I will probably have to solve this, problem too.

When you're as smart as I am, it's difficult to keep friends. Namely, because all the idiots around you have no sense of self-preservation. Case in point.

Sometimes when Sheppard does things that no sentient being should ever consider, it makes me nervous very angry. There are times when explosions aren't the answer. Lots of times, even. And sometimes one life against another life is-- well--

I had this very good friend who I thought i had lost forever to a very similar cause. And let me tell you, death by explosion is not the sort of thing you want to explain to someone's parent. Or to yourself. I think that people need proof to grieve because otherwise, what do you have? Sheppard is kind enough to leave himself stranded in a hospital bed, but Carson-- You know what? Let's just keep talking about how stupid Sheppard is.

It's difficult to keep friends on Atlantis, but it's also difficult to lose them. I'm not sure what to think about this yet.

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When I began this journal, I told myself I would not write anything here that couldn't be read by someone.  It seems counterintuitive, if I wanted to convince myself that I have anything that even vaguely resembles privacy, I wouldn't do it in an arena protected only by a password (albeit a difficult one) and populated with inane questions about font colour and memes.  Of course I'm writing to be read.  I am vain,  I've been limited by censorship, but if I want to symbolically represent the pained tears of my soul on an online forum, I can.  My line of work has never said I can't have feelings, just that they can't get in the way of what I do.

I was going to ask an inane, one line question.  What did you want to be when you grew up?  There, answer that, feel free to skirt around my capacity for emotion and please don't remind me that I'm too wordy for your liking.  Also, don't take it necessarily as an indication of my interest. 

A woman I used to know would have a great deal to say about that question.  Now that she's gone and I have no one to discuss this with, I can say that.  She was well-intentioned enough,  and now she's dead.  This seems to be a theme with women.  Mortality may be a constant, but I think I take it for granted that my closest friends are male and impossible to kill (despite the best efforts of the majority, even.)  I don't know if any weepy also-women are going to have anything to say about me being callus, I was just thinking about that and her today.  She would probably nod and incline her head and inspire me to talk about just what the piano meant to me, or how I first discovered the appearance of rotation of the stars, around earth.  Childhood is formative.  I have a niece,  actually.  She changes every time I see her, although the prolongued absences must have something to do with it.

I can't remember if I wanted this job when I was a kid.  Not in the precise terms, sure.  And even now, I don't have this delusion of grandeur that so many military personel inhabit.  When I was a kid, I went through the various stages of wanting to be a planetary body, wanting to study planetary bodies, realizing that there was nothing interesting about the planets and delving headfirst into math that ninty nine percent of the world can't even imagine existing.  I wanted to be brilliant, but that was really always a given.

The thing I like about online updates is that, unlike theories, they don't require a logical endpoint.  I'm going to stop now before I embarrass myself.