This is just a simple oneshot I wrote out of the blue. My first SGA fic so I hope it's alright.

This was supposed to be a Ronon and Rodney adventure story, but it ended up as more of just a Rodney adventure story. Poor Rodney, lol.

Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate Atlantis or the characters in it, neither do I own Terminator, Jaws, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, Hockey, or Pinky and the Brain.

Warning: Like, one or two swears, but one of them is the dreaded eff word, so just watch out for that. And there's one scene that may or may not be graphic (as in bodily harm, but it's no more graphic than the show is so suck it up.

Enjoy!

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He was standing there, staring death in the face, and all he could think was 'god, I really hate my job right now'.

It didn't take a genius to realize that being caught hanging the four year old child of a large, amazonian woman up-side down in his white knuckled grip, was basically a funeral waiting to happen. He supposed he could have tried to sputter an explanation, told her that it really wasn't what it looked like—though only god and Rodney knew what else it could be—or even tried to run away, but he'd just had a rough enough day as it is, and if he was going down, he might as well do it with style.

So, it was with a sad kind of flair that he tipped the child right side up, shoved him to one side, and dove to the other, allowing the large female—who had been charging with the intent to tackle—to barrel past him like an out of control jumper, screeching in hysterical rage. It took her a moment to orient herself, and he used this distraction to tap his ear piece.

"Ronon, please tell me you have managed to get everything ready without breaking or otherwise maiming anything, because I am on the receiving end of mama bear, and she looks ready to turn me into porridge." He snapped into the radio, grabbing the kid and ducking in to a street that sat at a forty five degree angle from the last one.

There was a disgruntled growl from the other end before Ronon replied "It's ready McKay."

There was a barked shout from behind him, and he glanced back to see that mama bear had recruited papa bear, and oh god that must mean he was Goldilocks which really wouldn't help his state of mind. He had a soft spot for blonds sure, but he'd always suspected he looked pretty bad in a dress, and besides, curls weren't really his thing.

He was cut off by some friends of the family (probably the wood cutter, or the big bad wolf, or whatever else was in that stupid story) and he was forced to scuttle down another side street, this one branching off at an angle so gradual, it was nearly parallel (And of course he had to start thinking in angles and shapes, because it had been a while since he'd eaten, and he was getting stressed, which is why this plan needed to work sooner rather than later).

Ronon came back on the radio again, this time with a bit of urgency in his voice. "Pick up the pace McKay, they've started trying to get in. Doors kind of flimsy, I won't be able to hold position for long."

Rodney cursed and scooped the kid up so that he wouldn't have to drag him. The kid didn't make any sounds, which was normal, because the kid was really a small complicated robot, and this is probably the part where you get confused, and we have to rewind back to the beginning.

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Like most missions it had started out on a moderately lovely planet (Yvera), with moderately warm weather, and moderately intelligent natives with moderately sophisticated technology. All of which did jack shit for Rodney so he usually just used staring at his scanner as an excuse to not associate with anyone. Ronon too had looked suitably bored, but was at least alert enough to occasionally finger his blaster and glare menacingly at anyone who tried to look vaguely suspicious. John and Telya did their leader-y and diplomatic-y things, looking interested at appropriate intervals.

It wasn't until they had reached the city that at least McKay had gotten interested. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of short, squat, stone houses sat huddled close to each other, forming a large circle of a city that was pierced by winding mazes of roads and alleyways. Clotheslines hung from window to window, large stone fences separated the higher and lower classes, and the paved roads were made with what could only be described as 'cobblestone'. There were few trees, and it made him feel a bit like he'd been transported into a weird remake of Disney's Aladdin/Charles Dickens. He expected baggy pants and bell hop hats, and bonnets, but what he got was cold eyes and white crisp uniforms, mingling with dirty faces and shuffling bundles of rags. The People of this world were all exceptionally tall and mean looking, and one large woman in particular gave him the fish eye as he walked past.

This city and it inhabitants made Ronon look medium sized, and in turn Rodney felt tiny, walking behind Teyla who looked downright petite and yet somehow sturdy in the midst of it all. He nearly rubbernecked as he tried to study the architecture, which was stout and reliable, but lacked imagination, not to mention room. His engineer eye spotting the similarities to building styles in Venice, but on a much smaller scale, with more of an orange tone like the desert, and without all the water.

They were led to the main building, which rose as an imposing cathedral in the dead center of the city, and Rodney couldn't help but notice that it looked like something you would find in the Vatican. Once inside they were treated to a small pool to refresh themselves in (and indeed, the temperature had risen the further into the city they went, so it was quite refreshing, even though it was probably germ infested what with all the people who use it on a daily basis), and some water pitchers were brought out for them to drink from, large elaborate works of glass that Rodney found himself almost afraid to touch, but Ronon used with gusto, spilling little rivers down his beard as he chugged. John followed suit, and Teyla sipped delicately from hers with a small smile. Rodney sighed a little, but picked his up, muttering about bacteria and chemicals over the rim as he smelled it suspiciously. It seemed death free, but he drank modestly, which is to say, he took a swallow, then spent the rest of his time studying the patterns on the side.

Their procession returned, promising snacks and more suitable beverages, and Rodney perked up, because he could really use a sandwich right now.

They were taken through rooms, and hallways, and finally led to a round courtyard, with a long rectangular table in the center, and six chairs situated around it. Sepia tapestries hung from the walls accompanied by torch sconces, giving this place a feudal feel, and Rodney wondered how many different styles of culture this place would provide before he just classified it as a 'cultural rainbow' and left it at that.

Their guide gestured for them to sit, waving a large tan hand at the table. He smiled saltily at them (And Rodney really wanted to know where this guy had learned how to smile saltily), and a dozen or so servants scrambled to pull out the four chairs on the long sides of the table. Telya and Ronon sat on one side, facing the door they had come in, and John and Rodney sat on the other side, Rodney complaining about how wooden chairs were not good for his back, and was there any planet out there that could make a decent cushion instead?

The others ignored him, as per usual.

It took a while for their hosts to show up (when Rodney opened his mouth to ask what the hell had taken them so long, John had stomped hard on one of his feet, causing him to squawk and glare self righteously at the back the colonel's spiky head as he watched the two head honchos parade their way to their seats), and when they settled themselves in, all jade jewelery and elaborately embroidered hats, they called for dinner to be served.

Rodney didn't have any immediate reason to be suspicious, but as the various chefs paraded in, holding aloft various fruit dishes that looked suspiciously citrus-y, he couldn't help but feel an itch somewhere deep within his vast mind that said "Get out now while you still can". However, when he caught a whiff of something that looked and smelled a lot like lasagna, his stomach rebelled with a whole hearted "Fuck that, I'm hungry!" and his hands joined in the rally by scooping up a spork-like utensil and aiming for the communal plate they had going on.

His spork had barely made it to the noodles when Ronon grabbed his hand.

His first reaction was to hiss like a startled cat, eyes darting up to glare at the Satedan. It fell short however, when he saw Ronon take his own spork and sniff cautiously, then do the same to Rodney's, crossing all sorts of personal space boundaries and making Rodney feel generally uncomfortable. He squirmed, because how could you not squirm when someone was smelling your cutlery and great, now everyone was staring, and they probably thought the two of them were lovers or something, which was wrong on so many levels.

But their hosts weren't thinking that, in fact, they seemed rather green watching him do this, and when Ronon leveled them with a glare and said "These are poisoned." Rodney suddenly felt sympathy for them, because he was now feeling rather ill himself, and it's very easy to pity someone when Ronon's looking at them like they'd make a good entrée.

John and Telya paused with their own food halfway towards their mouth, and looked suspiciously at their sporks. Clever, Rodney thought, to poison the utensil and not the food, because the food could be sampled, and it wouldn't give away the fact that you were about to die horribly.

But the nobles, or whatever they were called in this society, Rodney hadn't been paying attention, shook their heads and flailed their hands wildly in negative gestures. No, they said, not poisoned, drugged. Apparently they did not wish to harm, just to capture, and god Rodney was getting too used to this, because he wasn't very alarmed.

"Let me guess." he commented with a roll of his eyes "You need help with some strange new technology, and obviously you've realized the massive size of my genius, and decided to ask for help/force my cooperation."

"No." they said "We need the big one and his gun."

Rodney deflated abruptly and frowned at them.

John decided to cut in then with; "Well you could have just asked.".

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The Yverans, they found out, were facing an epidemic.

Rodney's initial panic(I drank their water! Colonel, do I look flushed? I feel flushed!) was calmed when they explained that the epidemic they faced, was one of robots.

Huh.

Apparently one of the many merchants that traveled to their world every year via the gate had carried with them jars of what he called 'invisible robots', and had promised that with these magic creatures you could recreate the image of anyone you wanted, along with their personalities. Loved ones taken by the wraith, the dopplegangers of people you've always wanted to talk to but never had the courage, etc, etc. Many had bought the jars, because the idea was appealing, and they were cheap, and real glass jars were harder to come by each day. Just leave the jar open at night, the merchant had told you, and think about the person you wanted to recreate until you fell asleep. The replicas weren't exactly the same, but it was still nice to have one.

John's eyebrows tightened, because these things sounded suspiciously like replicators, and Rodney was trying not to hyperventilate at the memory of having a hand shoved into his head up to the knuckles.

These robots had beet sweet novelties at first, but after a while people found themselves with more than one, various copies of the same person or different ones filling their house and lives with their close but imperfect recreation of a personality, and it was driving them mad. Very few people remained with only one, and they soon found out that there were more difficulties to come.

They didn't have to worry about feeding them, they were robots after all, who did not require sustenance, but it did not take them long to take up too much space, and their nice bustling city, was now a virtual downtown Tokyo. But without all the blinky lights (which was ironic because, hello, robots). Also, they had begun developing glitches, becoming suddenly violent, and actually causing bodily harm to their citizens. The merchant had never shown up again, so they had no way to get rid of the things other than by force, and they were generally a peaceful people so they had to get outside help.

They obviously didn't possess tact either, because seriously, ask next time.

But the Yverans had made a plan, and damned if they weren't the kind of people who stuck to their plans no matter what. So they said "Kill all of the robots, or we will take your friends."

Ronon growled, but Rodney rolled his eyes.

"Please, if you want to get rid of them for good, you can't just try to exterminate them, that would probably turn into a bad remake of Terminator and I've filled my bad remake quota for this year thank you very much." he said, inflecting just enough snottiness into his tone to get their attention. Ronon snorted (he'd seen that movie. Not as good as jaws, because robots don't have guts that splatter or ooze, and were too much like, ha, replicators) but nodded.

"I'll need McKay." he said, and they agreed readily, because apparently they worshipped the ground he walked on.

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So it took Rodney about ten minutes on his tablet and scanner to find out that, no, they were not replicators, though they were indeed similar and constructed in the same manner, and basically served the same purpose. Rodney figured that they were a separate batch made in some off world facility, produced without any specific programming, and lacking any of the evil incentives of the other replicators (luckily, they could also not communicate with their malevolent big brothers). They had probably taken to extracting information and images from peoples minds, using that to mold them to the whim of who they perceived as their owner. But of course, there was that whole pesky problem of replicating too much, attacking people without warning, and generally just taking up space. He also discovered that he could shut them all down by finding the first one formed and creating an extremely complicated program than would affect all of them at once.

"Of course" they said. And they handed him the name and address of the first replicator ever made on this planet. But as they left to solve the problem, leaving John and Teyla to eat the lasagna with new drugless sporks, they were informed that, oops, the public had not been informed of this intervention, and some people might react badly to their loved-ones-returned-from-the-dead suddenly falling into a pile of metal filings.

Which is where we found our intrepid (okay, more like exhausted on Rodney's part) heroes at the beginning of this story. Three hours, and one very bad chase later.

And Rodney was going to ask for a BIG raise when he got back to Atlantis.

He dodged down another alleyway, but came up short at a dead end. He cut back, and zigzagged through the various arched openings in the walls that decorated the front of one of the richer houses. Eventually the people chasing him dimmed back down to just the mother, and he wondered when he'd gotten athletic enough to sprint through the streets of a strange planet, and only be wheezing hard enough to send his lungs out his nose.

Or maybe it was the adrenalin his body pumped into him whenever the giant behind him bellowed retribution.

He was once again caught in a dead end, but this time the woman was coming up behind him, and as he turned to face her he could swear he saw steam shooting out of her nostrils. She thundered towards him with all the forgiving grace of a locomotive, and he decided that maybe now was the time to implement those defensive techniques Ronon had been forcing on him.

So he tucked the kid against him, steadied himself, and tried to gather up any amount of courage he could muster. If he got this wrong (which had a high probability) she would clothesline him, and probably break his neck right then and there. But if he did nothing he would be reduced to paste on the wall, and right now a broken neck seemed like a more dignified (not to mention painless) way to go.

So he gritted his teeth, and when she got close enough, crouched down and launched himself at her kneecaps.

It was a thing of beauty. He felt her hit his left shoulder, and he unraveled one of the arms holding the replicator to grab her ankle and pushed upwards as he moved forward. He didn't have to put much effort into it, and her momentum carried her over him in a spectacular headlong dive, face first into the wall.

There was the disturbing sound of teeth skidding and cracking on stone, and the ugly crunch of her nose breaking, then a dull thud, and silence.

Rodney stood up with a groan as his already abused back protested, and danced nervously on the spot for a moment, before checking her pulse, making sure her airway was clear, putting her into the recovery position,and hightailing out of there as fast as he could.

Ronon would be proud.

He finally made it to the place where Ronon was holed up, the place where all the glass jars of replicator nanites were being held, and tapped his radio again. "Open the door, I want to get this over with as soon as possible." he barked, striding through the replicator bodies to get to the entrance. Turns out Ronon had been able to hold his assailants off, once he realized that they were all robots, and he could kill them without feeling guilty, or getting yelled at by Sheppard.

The door creaked open, and Ronon poked his head out, grinning at Rodney like the cat that ate the canary. "Oh I suppose this was all fun and games for you, wasn't it?" he complained, trying to fold his arms and failing because he was still holding that damn kid.

Ronon just grinned wider. "Yep." he said smugly, and Rodney decided not to comment.

He sat the kid on one of the tables, where is stared at him placidly through blunt eyelashes. Whoever this kid was pretending to be, he wasn't pretty, with a misshapen head, and big pouty lips which would be cute on any other kid, but were just was to big on him, especially with his beady close-set eyes, and a nose that was probably conspiring with Kolya's snout to take over the universe, like Pinky and The Brain.

He sat with his tablet next to the kid, and jabbed agitatedly at the keyboard until Ronon handed him a power bar. After than he was a bit less grumpy, and finally, with a relieved sigh he applied the new program, and with his ATA boosted genes thought 'OFF' really hard at it until it fell over sideways, dissolving into silvery sand on it's way down. The other ones all over the city were doing the same thing, and from now on, the only grief they would give the Yverans was of the broomstick and dustpan variety.

Ronon gave Rodney a manly clap on the back, and when he managed not to face plant into the tabletop, they headed back towards the head building.

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When they got there the two of them were bombarded by appreciation and praise, the two Nobles apologizing profusely, and telling John and Teyla that they were free to go. Rodney glared at them, because they looked well fed, and relaxed, and they had not just taken down Wonder Woman's big sister with some twisted version of a hockey tackle. His shoulder still throbbed, and he really wanted to sit down again, but not until they were back in Atlantis, and being tucked away safely in Atlantis' infirmary.

They were just about to leave when one of the servants came in carrying two large baskets covered with white cloth. They were declared as gifts and handed to the two heroes of the day, to honor their new friends (and Teyla had somehow managed to slip in a trade agreement somewhere, which dimmed his resentment for her a bit, because she'd actually been working). Rodney smiled a bit and thought that maybe the day would end nicely. But then the cloth was removed, and he found himself holding a bundle of football shaped green fruits that could only be limes.

He was standing there, staring death in the face, and all he could think was 'god, I really hate my job right now'.

~FINIS.