Welcome, readers! I'd like to thank you all for taking a chance at Technical Difficulties! Straight to business, shall we? This is what I refer to as a "pilot chapter". It's a test chapter that will determine the future of this story. I want to see how this story is taken by you, the readers.
So please, for this chapter, I am not just looking for favorites and/or followers, but reviews! I need to know how this story is taken to, so if you like this and would like to see it as a real story, please review it and let me know! I want to know the likes, the dislikes, the prizes and the criticisms, want-to-see – everything!
In the other prospect, I will probably leave it as a one-shot.
Disclaimer: I only own Lana – everything else goes to the creators of Stargate: Atlantis.
She was not a very demanding person – really, she wasn't! Sand storm on her graduating day: fine. Non-stop rain and fog, the air stale and frigid, during her four month internship in England: alright. But this? No; her employment agent hadn't said anything about this! She had arrived at the office bright and early, as instructed, sat two and a half hours in an empty waiting room only to have three representatives from some faceless corporation come in with a stack of papers to sign, the size of Mt. Everest and "politely", as they had put it, asking her to come with them – with guns in their waistbands, mind you. Blindfolded in the back of a standard, military-issued military van was not what she had envisioned doing over the weekend. At last it was warm weather, with the sun shining brightly in the sky, the wind a warm, southern breeze – this was the perfect day to visit the beach.
Instead, the young woman sat, like a high-risk criminal, in the back of a black, windowless van between two strange men. It was unnerving to say the least. When her agent called her, telling her to meet for an interview, she certainly never expected to be led into a black van with a black strip of fabric over her eyes and instructed to keep quiet. Once her panic attack passed – the men assuring her that this is most certainly not a kidnapping – they took the time to explain that they work for a company that very rarely arranged job interviews. People are normally recruited – typically from the front lines – by people high up the military chain of rank, rather than personally searched, selected, and later invited out of the hundreds of candidates. This was a privilege – at least according to her 'escorts' – which very few got. As it were, she felt anything but privileged; this better be one hell of a job opportunity!
Agitated, she let out a long, exasperated sigh, throwing her head back as she tapped her index finger rapidly against her knee in anxiety and frustration. The barrel of a bun tapped her knuckles. "The destination is classified, ma'am; don't try it," was her one and only warning – strict and harsh. Internally grunting, she cursed under her breath at her not very subtle attempt at peeking underneath the strip of black cotton covering her eyes. Discrete, yes; subtle, on the other hand… no, she was certainly not too skilled in that area. So, choosing to remain on the man's good side, she gave up her clearly useless attempts at guessing her final point of destination.
Still, she was angry: they'd taken her iPod, her bag of nachos which she had bought at the vending machine, and her cell phone, when it rang out shrill in the otherwise silent car. It had been her ex-boyfriend, judging by the ring tone, so at least they saved her from having to answer. Strangely enough, he didn't call again. If she had to guess, her assumption would have been that they took the battery out. All her means of entertainment were taken from her, and she was left with nothing but her thoughts and the smell of her delicious nachos in the front seat. She was bored and she was hungry.
"Uh… can you guys give me my nachos back?" she questioned, her tone full of the irritation she was feeling. "You cheated me out of my seven o' clock interview, and I don't eat dinner. I'm not, you know, hungry or anything." Her voice dripped with sarcasm, a low hiss coming from between her teeth when her stomach growled in agreement. To herself, she vowed to introduce her agent's ass to her foot the next time the two met. This was a cruel and deceiving way of punishing an innocent person. Thankfully though, just then, she felt the large car pulling to a final stop – at last; after three hours of sitting in place, her butt was hurting. Someone – she guessed the man who snatched her breakfast form her in the first place – stuffed her crunchy bag of chips in her hand and she instantly pressed it to her nose, smelling the spicy, cheese-covered triangles through the package, 'mmm'-ing as she did so – oh the goodness of this wonderful junk food had her entrapped in its cheesiness!
Carefully, her 'escorts' led her out of the car; she stuck both hands in front of her, moving slowly as she felt the road with her feet in distrust. They guided her, still blind to the world, towards what she could only guess was some army force building, thanks to the sound of the defiant rumbling of military trucks; judging by the smell of it, it was all a way away from any civilization. The faint sound of bird calls over the several working engines were audible from the distance and the freshening sent of trees was ever alluring and refreshing in contrast to the harsh city air the woman was used to. However all of that soon faded and was replaced by the stale air of artificial ventilation and the echo of long, flat corridors – this she could only identify as a maze, given the amount of turns she was taken through before coming to a final stop.
There was the screeching of an opening metal door sounded a handful of steps before the red-head found herself in a seat – this time a metal one – once again. She cringed, the hard surface abusing her already hurt backside further and moment later the blindfold was snatched off her face. An angry hand instantly flew to her eyes in attempt to shield them from the bright fluorescent lights, stinging her sensitive eyes; she hissed angrily. Three hours in pitch darkness worked its toll on her as her eyes tried to adjust to the sudden change in lighting.
"Svetlana Overlander?" a young man's voice greeted her and she reluctantly lowered her hand, blinking rapidly as her sight came back to her. In front of her were a man and a woman, both of roughly the same age. The woman – approximately in her latter thirties – with chestnut hair, the natural waves coming down only to her shoulders, wore a uniform the young woman couldn't place the origin of: a grayish brown shade, somewhat a camouflage, with two mahogany right triangles on either side of the sipper, which had been left down. She couldn't say the woman was of any beauty, but she didn't look half bad. The man next to her had a very boyish face, the childlike roundness still present, however rough with age and experience. His eye, though young, held great knowledge behind those silly, big, round glasses. Dressed in a military uniform, much like with his female companion, left unzipped made him look more so like a nerd which she was sure he had been in school.
"This had better be on fucking hell of an interview," she muttered under her breath, too low for anyone else to hear. She wasn't going to take it silently if she was dragged out to God knows where, only to be left with nothing and forced to hitch a ride back home. Both the man and the woman gave her a warm smile as her escorts left, shutting the metal door behind them. Once again her mane was said in acknowledgement and greeting, this time by the woman across from her. She broke out of her daze slowly, blinking a few times and shaking her head.
"Uh… oh, yeah, sorry; I was a bit blinded there for a moment." She gave a small laugh, looking down at her hands on her lap before nodding in confirmation, then, once again, added a small "sorry". She shook her head lightly, clearing her thoughts and bringing herself to focus on the two people sitting patiently across from her. "Yes; and it's just Lana," she corrected, giving a smile of her own in return. "It's good to meet you…?"
"Doctor Elizabeth Weir," the woman introduced herself, nodding politely at her. The man next to her introduced himself in turn, as Dr. Daniel Jackson. The name rang of familiarity. Lana straightened up, clasping her hands together in front of her on the table. Her mind once again very much aware that strange or not, this was, in fact, an interview. As it were, she was never one for interviews. In her mind's eye, interviews were nothing but a way to make one uncomfortable with their skills, not matter how good they are. That and the fact that she was a woman – it seldom helped her case. A considerably attractive woman, yes, but male prejudice had always pushed her back. To men, a woman can never be good enough, no matter how many times she proves herself. She had spent years proving her capabilities and her achievements but even now, a decade later, she was still doubted, her motives and abilities questioned.
At least until now, that is. They were the ones to seek her out and offer her a job, granted that she passes this interview. This was definitely a pleasing thought for the young ginger. "I would say it's nice to meet you, ma'am, but I'm not really sure where we are, or the exact purposes I was brought here with." She made sure to hold her tongue, refraining from adding "and I question your methods of hiring," under her breath. "What was it, again, that you called me here for?" she enquired, her brows creasing with curiosity. She was no stranger to military protocol – she knew well about secrecy and how important it was to keep military activity under wraps. But it didn't make the experience of her journey here any more pleasant.
"I have to apologize for the way we were introduced. Believe me, I wish we had met under different circumstances. Sadly, this is the way I met most of my future coworkers." She gave a small, amused smile before schooling her features once more. "This is a military compound, as you may have guessed by now; therefore you must understand – given your area of expertise – how they treat their security levels." Military compound, yet her interviewer is a doctor, Lana mused to herself, listening on to what Dr. Weir had to say. "As of this moment I can be very brief about what exactly it is that we want from you but know this: I have been selecting people for this expedition for months now and when it came to technicians, you were amongst the first ones on the list."
Lana looked between the two doctors, confused. She was in no way complaining for the spontaneous job offer, but why would they ask her, an outsider, to take a job? "I'm… sorry," she said, frowning a little. "Please don't get me wrong, but does the military not have its abundance of experts in my field of expertise? I understand the army is not very trusting about outsiders and bringing them in to a base like this so why…?" She didn't have to finish the thought as it was answered at once.
"Yes, that's true; but I'm not the army," Dr. Weir smiled. "Now from what I understand from your file, you attended the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, focusing on Computer Science." Lana nodded in affirmation, schooling her features to calm and collected, appearing as professional as possible to hide the nervousness hidden underneath the trained mask of confidence. She'd learned long ago that anything less than confidence was frowned down upon. "Yes, ma'am. I went to MIT directly out of high school and got a Master's Degree in Computer Science, as well as computer engineering and programming. I was on multiple scholarships at the time of my attending the institute, and started an internship in Washington, DC."
"That's right; and it says hear you were a recruit?" Dr. Weir stated, looking up at Svetlana for elaboration, which she immediately received: "Yes: my internship took place at the Pentagon. Once I got into MIT, they noticed me, and I served a one-year internship course. After completing my studies, they recruited me as a systems analyst and developer. After two years I started on my own project, which caught the interest of the CIA, who recruited me later on – also as a system analyst. My job description centered on the security of the information – i.e. any and all forms information theft (I was on a lookout for hackers). I was also given all resources necessary as well as provided with a team to further expand on it as well as start developing the project I had begun working on."
"And this project was… what? I believe it had something to do with global defense; am I right?"
"Yes, ma'am." Lana gave a nod and proceeded in explaining the nature of her project. "I began with an online chess game program; it was designed to predict the opposing player's moves and anticipate any later action as well as devise several plans of action for itself to win the game. I took the simple game system and began working on expending it beyond just chess. The core programming remained the same but the objective was changed and the system was advanced. My plan was to make it a global digital defense network, created for the purposed of global military defenses. It's a tactical and defensive program, capable of predicting possible threats and giving solutions, long before those threats come up so we can deal with them before they become a problem.
"Because Skynet worked out so well," Dr. Jackson intercepted with an air of humor. The young woman gave a short laugh, turning her gaze to her lap before looking back up.
"The idea wasn't bad, Dr. Jackson; Cyberdyne Systems would have been a success had the programmer taken in the fact that it is in the computer's nature to learn. A chess game's sole purpose is to learn its opponent and devise against them. Once it saw the humans as the danger, it did the one thing it knew how to do: defend. I developed the already existing idea and product to a point where that "survival instinct" is nonexistent – we need the computer ensure our survival, not its own, important as that may be; such behavior is a flaw in the system which can lead to a very much 'Terminator' scenario.
"My goal is not to have it defend itself – or us, for that matter – as it is to warn us of potential threats and provide evasive as well as defensive strategies. With the access to the largest database on the planet, it can devise and interpret the different solutions to the various problems. The AI can be built as spyware but that will, of course, need further development. That and it wasn't the original plan for it. I used the basic elements of a simple computer game, and created a hybrid of that, along with the already existing basic software used by the FBI, CIA, NSA, and DIA to track down targets, find specific information on the Net, and calculate multiple strategies for any given problem, no matter how unsolvable. Its goal is to find future problems before they become problems so we can solve them before they arise," Lana explained in an even, monotone voice, regardless of the existent she was feeling over this. Working on the project for over three years, it had become her pride and joy.
"I see; thank you," Dr. Weir told her, smiling a little at the younger woman. "Why was the project cut?"
"It wasn't cut, per say," Lana hurried to clarify. "It's on temporary hold. Unfortunately, the technology I have in mind for this project is not quite sophisticated enough as of this moment. This idea has been in the working for three years, and only six months ago, the development had begun. Sadly, out modern technology – even with the resources money has provided me with – is simply not enough. I can write a system sophisticated enough on my own time, but it will take the time I do not have and the resources I am not granted. My team consists of some of the brightest, most loyal people I have ever met but even they are not trained enough for this. I'm afraid the project will have to be put on hold, waiting for its time to shine once technology is ready for it. For several months I have been pushing to be granted more time and resources for it but as far as it goes, this is my personal project and I am responsible for it and whatever expenses it takes up. At this point in time, not only are we not advanced enough for this vision to come to be, but I also can't quite afford it – yet."
"Oh, I understand," Dr. Weir said with a curt nod. "Thank you. And I understand you had another project in the making?" Svetlana shook her head, no.
"It's not a project yet – rather… an idea, for the lack of a better term. In fact, "idea" is also too strong a word. Most like… a vision, which had come from my current project. As you said, Dr. Jackson," she said, gesturing to the man in front of her politely, "Skynet was a fine – however much fictional it may have been – example of such powerful technology growing too sophisticated and taking measures in defending itself. As per control measures, I was seeing a neural interface. I understand this idea has already been explored and proved a bit beyond our field of capability but I don't believe it is really that impossible. Mindreading computer is not as complicated to develop, granted the calculations are accurate and we have the equipment necessary. There isn't even a blueprint idea yet, but I was hoping that by the time I start further development on my project, I will be able to start figuring out where exactly I am going to take it. Much like with my project, I was hoping to take already existing material and meld it together, as well as add my own through hybrid engineering."
Dr. Weir nodded in understanding, flipping through the folder in front of her. "Your file is quite impressive; you finished high school at sixteen, went to MIT for four year and had a job established in the Pentagon as a system analyst by the time you were twenty. At twenty two you were recruited by the CIS, and started a project which, by the sound of it, will grow to rival anything we have today. I have to say I see a lot of potential in that. I had one of my people look into your research and he's… intrigued, shall we say – which is the closest, I believe, he has ever come to impressed with someone else's work. Tell me this: with the right equipment and technological development, would you be able to write, design, and develop a neural interface program for, say, a military jet?"
Lana gave a single nod before going into the explanation of what such a program would require. "We are still years behind on the needed advancements, but the potential of such technology is… unlimited. Theoretically, manual labor can be pushed into history entirely. Given the right materials, yes; I believe I would. But it would take years in the least. Such calculations would have to be very precise, and there are a lot of potential dangers with such technology as it would require high concentration on the exact command. But it's very much possible."
"This is the exact reason you were recommended, Ms. Overlander. In your file, it says you believe that everything comes down to computers. Why is that?"
"Well, doesn't it? In essence, we are computers. The human brain is, by far, the most sophisticated supercomputer on the planet. It processes trillion of bits of data every second, taking care of every single aspect of our very existence and constantly works to come up with ideas – improvements not only to it, but to everything around us. If it can do all it does, then what's to say everything else can't? The human mind, in my mind's eye, is what perfection is and in our struggle to reach this perfection, we turn to the only substitute to it we can come up with: a computer. Everythin we make is the product of the most incomparable computer to have ever existed and I think that that is exactly what we need to strive for. If we put our mind to it, tomorrow we can develop technologies far beyond our only imagination today. The potential is unlimited, and the knowledge is the greatest prize; wouldn't you say?"
"I sure would," Dr. Jackson said with a small nod. "Tell me: what do you think of this?" Pulling a brown file folder from an envelope in front of him, carefully handing it directly to Lana, who took it without hesitation, a hundred questions spinning through her mind at ten mile per second. What was this? A psychological test? By God she hated those. Or was it a formula – a software programming outline to test her knowledge. She decided she'd never find out unless she actually opened the folder and looked inside – Lana came to this conclusion once she realized she was staring at the thick, coffee-colored paper for a while, motionless.
Hesitantly, she opened it, her eyes instantly finding a language she knew all too well, and loved beyond anything else. A small smile crossed her lips as her eyes read the nonsense scattered among the page in random numbers and Greek letters, creating a story of their own. Her smile soon dropped, along with her jaw as she scanned over the pages she flipped through slowly, tentatively. Physics she was friends with; for that she was grateful. History, Geography, Physical Education – and really anything that dealt with politics or physical exercise – and she had never belonged in the same sentence; she was at home amongst number and the Greek alphabet.
"This… can't be right," she murmured, hardly loud enough to be heard as she flipped on of the paged back and forth, inspecting its contents. "There must be some sort of mistake; this… what is this? These… these are blueprints of a light speed engine. I'm no mechanic, but I know the impossible when I see it. This… this is lightyears – forgive the pun – ahead of anything we've even come close to building, in terms of spaceflight. This is for a computer simulation of a… light speed engine. How'd you-?"
Elizabeth Weir made a soft humming sound as she said "impressive," to the young techy, taking the file folder from her. Lana's hand lingered on the folder longer than necessary, following it back to its owner in the hunger to study it further. "Can you build a computer simulation of this?"
"Yes, of course. An engine is, in essence, computer operated so I can probably even build the control panel. Who wrote this? It's amazing! I never thought about it, but if we had the knowledge to build it, it can and will work. System maintenance would require a lot of training, but if we can build something like this, I believe by then a computer would be able to do everything without any human intervention! This is… incredible!"
"Yes, it definitely is," Dr. Weir agreed with a small nod. "Your insight on this is quite impressive as well for someone who…" she flipped through the file once more, tilting her head as she read, "'can't name more that a door, when it comes to mobile machinery'." Lana bit he lip in embarrassment, surprised that her lack of knowledge of cars was in that folder along with everything else. Not the best impression on her possible future boss. "I've studies your working history and noted one thing in common with everyone you have ever worked for: you don't take no for an answer."
"Uh, actually," Lana corrects, lifting a finger to correct the older woman, "I see "no" as more of a challenge then a refusal," she explained.
"So you aren't good at taking orders." The assumption is understandable; anyone would jump to that conclusion. But it is not an accurate one and Lana was quick in correcting it. "I am good at taking orders," the young woman countered, stressing 'am' to make a point of her replay. "Except for that "no" is never the answer. There is always more you can do; I'm simply the one willing to do it, not the one mindlessly going with whatever it is she is told." Her two companions exchange a knowing look.
"I see," the elder woman gave her a small, confirming nod and continued to look at the file in her hands. "And I take it that, as far as what you'd told us, you work alone or in a small group?"
"Naturally, my job description includes a lot of time spent alone or in a small group, working quietly. But group work is not an issue. I'm just as comfortable with people as I am alone," is the ginger's reply – although twisting the truth a little. Working with people was just fine, but solitude and silence at a workplace was always preferable. As much as other people may see what she did not, she was always the one to answer when the work of one – or lack thereof – affected the entire team. She didn't want to lose her job thanks to the one person not responsible enough to complete a single task.
"And your solitary project: how did your superiors respond?"
"They were hesitant at first, calling it too farfetched. But once I had shown them what I am capable of, and that this project is in my abilities, they contacted the people who needed to clear it. There was some argue over whether or not it was worth the money spent. When it showed its potential and I showed my capability, I was given the recourses necessary for the development of this project. I was allowed to select my own team, as long as the project didn't get in the way of their work." The now forgotten bag of nachos crunched loudly in the otherwise silent room when Lana went to cross her legs. Jumping at the sudden should, she gave a small whimper of surprise and looked down at the package; looking back up at her interviewer, she gave an apologetic look, which was returned with a dismissive shake of the woman's head.
"I was cheated out of breakfast; sorry," Lana said quietly, giving a sheepish look as she clarified as to why she had brought the crunchy snack along with her. A simple "It's alright," was her answer.
As the interview progressed, the questions grew fewer and the warnings grew frequent. Not strict, personal warnings so much as military protocol clarification in a rather hard manner. "Ms. Overlander, the people I work with can be described as perfectionists; in a long stretch, sure, but they like it very much when things are done right, done fast, and done their way. As you know, I cannot disclose anything to you, save from the vague comments I have dropped during out conversation. There are many things that need clarifying and whether you take this job or not isn't just up to me, but up to you as well. The job I'm offering you is… far from here, for the lack of a better word and should we hire you, it will all be explained further. But your participation is not mandatory. As I said: I have a list. There are people before you, and there are people after you." She got up, straightening her coat. "Please follow me," were the only instructions Lana got. Not needing to be told twice, she followed, getting up and going after the woman, out the door.
The bleak, beige hallway sent an unpleasant feel of enclosure down her spine as she stepped out of the brightly lit room and into the chilled corridor, noting the two guards on either side of the door. When her previous companions were nowhere in sight, she felt very much relieved. The unpleasant vibe she got from them was not one she preferred feeling. As the woman lead her carefully, slowly through the corridor, Dr. Weir's feet making their way someplace on their own, having learned the path long ago, she spoke. "Ms. Overlander, you have been recommended – several times over, for that matter, and form various powerful people in the military forces – for several reasons, one of which being your open-mindedness and ability to "think outside the box" when it came to technological development and intercalation of said technology into out defense systems and the everyday life of the general public. Your development of the AI you are working on is very impressive work, especially someone as young as yourself.
"This is a very important skill to master in the area I'd like you to work in. It also helps that you have the military training that most staff require here. The area you will be working on is… different from your typical system security checks and technological study and advancements," the doctor allowed, emphasizing 'different' as much as she could, without giving anything away. Underneath her feet, Lana felt the ground humming slightly – like a router, it was barely present, the vibrations only felt by those who know the feeling and how to look for it. Her brows creased for a brief moment, hoping Dr. Weir didn't see her in her peripheral vision.
"If it were up to the people I work with," she said bluntly, not easing the fact one bit, "they wouldn't hire anyone outside the need-to-know circle of trusted military personnel." She stopped and turned to the recruit sharply, causing the young girl to walk right past her, catching herself several steps to late. "Thankfully, it isn't. The program is run by a doctor, not a General therefore it is up to me to decide who to take. I need a fresh eye on things, one not trained to think of nothing but defense and weaponry – the eye of a civilian, sharing my dream to explore, rather than militarize. I need people like you." The redhead felt herself swell with selfish pride that her skills were finally being appreciated – by a woman, no less, meaning that there is still hope for the world.
"Still, I have to warn you that everything we do here stays strictly here. They didn't want me to bring you here and disclose any sort of information to you and in that aspect they have control over me. I may be the organizer of this project, but I answer these people. They trust me to make the right choices about the people I hire and this being the… beyond classified facility-"
Lana raised her hand quickly, politely bringing the woman's attention to her and what she had to say, her forearm pressed to her bicep as she smiled knowingly. She had dealt with this all her life; she knew all about secrecy and protocol – her father is a First Lieutenant, after all. "Dr. Weir, I understand the fact that I am an evident security risk – an extra component in an already complete system unit. They fear I can compromise the system. Don't worry, ma'am: whatever you don't want me to see, I don't," she assured, covering her eyes with her raised hand. The doctor turned her head to the side a fraction, frowning. "I was sworn to secrecy before I was brought here." She made a zipping motion over her lips, sealing them into silence as she remembered the stack of paper that was dumped before her, along with a black pen. All Lana knew for certain at this point in time was that she wouldn't be writing much in the near future. In fact, as they say that it takes thirty times to make a habit, she wouldn't be writing anything other than Svetlana Jane Overlander for a long time.
It was like a tight-pressed spring being loosened. The doctor's shoulders visibly eased, coming down in a concealed sigh of relief when she saw that her matter of concern was understood. Elizabeth nodded and proceeded to a nearly door in the hallway, reaching out a hand as though to say "this way, please". Lana followed in step with her, letting her lead her into the room. The first thing that got her attention was not the man in the room, who looked suspiciously familiar, but the fact that, sadly, the room was identical to the one she was in prior to now – right down to the rapidly flickering fluorescent light: too fast to see the flickering, but slow enough to create a rather dizzying sensation. So identical, in fact, that for a long moment, she stopped to wonder if they made a circle and came back to the same room, the man inside changing places with someone other.
Entering the room hesitantly, Sveta – as her mother had preferred calling her, contrary to the suffix nickname her father chose to use – looked around, noting not much of interest but the rather plump man, also in his thirties, standing in the middle of the room, looking deeply engrossed in thought, a strain of struggle creasing his forehead into lines. Unlike the other two people she had been properly introduced to, the man was in very much casual wear: a sky-blue T-shirt with a high neckline and what looked to her to be a cross between sweatpants and jeans. Even slouching, leaning on one hand on the uniform metal table in the center of the room, he still stood nineteen centimeters taller than her – although as of late, it seemed every single person she met was taller than her. She wouldn't conceder herself short, but her meter-sixty was rather sad compared to even the other members of her family.
Lana looked at him for a few seconds, squinting as she tried to figure out the cause of that nagging gut feeling of familiarity. "Ms. Overlander, please let me introduce you to Dr. Rodney McKay; he is the head of our technological department – and the head of several other departments." That's where she knew him from! Of course he would be here; after all, Dr. Weir did say they were looking for the best and brightest. And there were few people to match him when it came to that aspect. A bright smile crossed her features at the familiar face – however much a stranger he really was.
She reached an eager hand out for him to shake as he looked up. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. McKay." Her voice radiated admiration as she spoke to the man in front of her, smiling widely. "I'd been to every one of your seminars; your work is truly inspiring. Your theories about hybrid engines drives are amazing," she beamed, finally getting the chance to meet one of her idols. She couldn't believe she actually met him in person! She'd been to every seminar, read every book and dissertation front to back, highlighting, underlining and folding every sentence and page she deemed important – which really was every sentence. She had all of his recordings on her iPod and laptop, but unfortunately for her – and very much fortunately for the poor man – she never once had the chance to speak with him. Her greatest dream over the recent years was to introduce her theories to him – however much she was sure they had occurred to him long ago. But as much as she tried, she never got the chance to see him in private – generally to litter him with an avalanche of questions she had been storing up for seven years.
"Oh, well… what else can you expect from someone as smart as me, hm?" he asked, no one in particular really, lifting his chin slightly to the left in selfish pride. His voice was slightly sing-song; a tingle of arrogance mixed in with the air of accomplishment filled his tone.
Dr. Weir smiled in amusement at the new recruit's enthusiasm in meeting McKay. She highly doubted the excitement would remain in place after two weeks of working with the man. He may have been a genius in his own right, but this man could be insufferable when he became arrogant. Refraining from shaking her head, she returned them both to the task at hand. But before she could, Lana spoke up, turning to face her. "Dr. Weir, this project you were talking about… will I have to opportunity to expand further on my project and theories while working here?" The woman gave her a nod.
"You will have much more than that: I think you'll find it very insightful and a valid experience in your research and provide you with opportunities so unmatched, there are… almost out of this world," she said with a knowing smile, exchanging a glance with Dr. McKay. Refraining from laughing at her pun, she once again schooled her expression. The two knew something - she didn't, and Lana knew it. But whatever it was, she didn't care much for it. If she can bring her dream to life and not only expend, but get the chance to built her AI, as well as develop any applications coming with it – such as the neural control interface – she wouldn't pass the chance. She could nearly feel the waves of opportunity and chance to learn more about what she does than she had ever hopped in that single sentence. This was her chance to do what she knew she loved still in the womb, and she can create something her own, proving that she is not a stupid woman that so many had labelled her on sight.
She wanted this – she knew it at once. She wanted to work with the best and brightest; she wanted to learn all she can, and she could feel her thirst quench with the opened possibility of all this. The lust and hunger for the exploration of the unknown and discovery of the new was an unmistakable, red-hot flame in her eyes, burning brightly as a dying star.
"Dr. Weir, if you are willing to take me on… I would be honored to work here, with your team." Seeing the confidence with which she stood, tall and proud for her small complexion, Elizabeth smiled. She definitely needed people like that: just as knowledge-hungry and eager to learn all that can be learned as she, loving their job with all their heart. Rising her head in authority, Dr. Weir clasped her hand to hers, shaking it in approval.
This was one of the best parts about her job: seeing the beautiful young minds of these beautiful, brilliant people open up to the possibilities that science, as well as this facility, had to offer. Each and every person she has spoken to was gifted in their own way, their mind so eager for this newfound knowledge and opportunity she was offering them. The light in the eyes of the woman standing in front of her was possibly the greatest prize in all of this. "You have a one month probation period to prove yourself capable of the task assigned to you," Dr. Weir announced officially – she took pride in her job; at times like these more than ever. "Svetlana Overlander… welcome aboard."