Tin Man
Sam Carter
introspection
1of1
You are a woman of science—of physics, of botany, of chemistry, of biology, of geology, of cosmology, and of astrophysics, especially.
You are a renaissance woman. You can MacGyver a solution better than Angus himself, and in less time, too. You can spend hours on supercomputers running simulations before even selecting the proper materials. You can hold your own in debates on subjects beyond what your degrees are in, though, admittedly, there are areas you willingly, eagerly, cede the title of Expert Witness to those you work with.
You never found robotics interesting before. You never built remote controlled vehicles or showed the slightest interest in the robot battles some of your engineering friends competed in. You can work the controls for the MALP better than anyone on your team, though Teal'c is a fast learner. You're the only one on the team that can fly the UAV without crashing it into the first solid object on the other side of the 'Gate—something both Daniel and the Colonel managed the times they got their hands on the controls before she got to the Control Room; after that General Hammond all-but ordered you to be there before anyone else on your team because UAV's ain't cheap and the Stargate Program is expensive enough as it is. You understand the principles behind basic robotics and remote controlled devices.
You know what type of wiring you'll need and the right size soldering pen you'll need for the delicate work inside the 'guts' of the thing. You know what materials will hold up best in what environments. You know how to proportion overall size to the size of the base to the size of the wheels, or whether tank-style propulsion is preferable. You can calculate the maximum amount of weight a device can haul, and can eyeball the optimum levels of gear and instinctively know how to balance a load on the FRED without resorting to trial and error.
You know, even on Earth, the technology exists to make human-form robots. You know that theme parks and movies and TV shows use animatronics and have been for years, and that the technology behind them is getting more and more advanced. You know that things most people couldn't dream of are being done with computers, and are both thrilled by and terrified of the day when computers that think and act of their own accord become reality and not something out of science fiction.
You also know what you see with your eyes. You believe in empirical evidence, and it doesn't get much more empirical than the standing, walking, talking, laughing, joking, intimate-birth-mark-location revealing copy of yourself standing over you as you awaken on P3X-989.
You know that comparing histories with your doppelganger reveals that, yes, indeed, she—it?—has all the same memories you do up to the point where you passed out—were knocked out—earlier out in the dilapidated warehouse factory SG-1 'Gated into. You know that she can finish your sentences for you, which you think might be because she thinks the way you do. You don't know what to think about the fact that, clearly, she thinks the way you do; Descartes' maxim, I think, therefore I am rings through your head, remnants of a Freshman Philosophy course—or maybe it was Psychology; you took both, though neither appealed to you beyond the way certain questions posed in those courses made you think about things a little differently than you had before.
You know that Daniel is enthralled by this whole thing. You know that the Colonel is pissed off and probably trying to find a way to move into stages of denial already. You know Teal'c doesn't understand what it all means, because the Jaffa don't have things like robots and replicants and clones.
You know that Harlan did this to you. You know that, on a theoretical level, what he—Hubble, you suppose, but Harlan, too—has accomplished is incredible. You also know that your double, all your doubles, are huge security risks, both to the SGC and to Earth. You know that you never would have agreed, had Harlan given you the option, though you would have seriously considered it, if only to find out how the process worked, because you're insanely curious and naturally initially incredulous to the stranger aspects of what your life has become since you first stepped foot through the Stargate.
You know that you should be furious, that you should feel violated, like the Colonel. You know that you shouldn't be amazed and awed and a little turned on by the brilliance of the science of what has been done to you and your friends. You know that you shouldn't be debating the reasons why it shouldn't have worked in the first place with the proof that it clearly did work. You know that you should be more worried about what robotic copies of yourself and Daniel and the Colonel and an unfinished second copy of Teal'c without the confusing influence of Junior mean and how you're going to be able to justify not sending a nuke through the 'Gate as soon as you return to the SGC because the security risk these robots run is mind-bogglingly terrifying. You know that you shouldn't be joining in with the Daniels and their debate on essence and spirit and soul and how any of that relates to your robotic counterparts, that you shouldn't be explaining why this is so wondrous and thrilling to Teal'c, that you shouldn't be explaining why—you think, at least—the Colonel is reacting in the manner that he is.
You know a lot of things.
You knew coming in to this job that it would require you to stretch your mind beyond what you were usually comfortable with. You soon learned that you enjoyed stretching your mind to new dimensions by the discoveries you and your team and the other teams like yours were making on every trip through the Stargate. You knew that it would be a challenge, and that you were one-hundred percent up for it.
You just wish you knew what was coming next.
You like to be prepared, after all.
Fin
