The Puppet Master
Chapter Two - Blue Jello
Blue jello.
He'd seen it served up at Stargate Command, although in the short time he'd spent there, Sheppard hadn't risked life and limb to try it.
It wasn't natural, he decided. Not that jello was, but there was something particularly vivid about this shade of blue. Reminded him of nuclear waste, and the nastier experiments in his high school science lessons.
Standing at the end of the long table set up in the mess hall, with his tray of cold meat sandwiches and potato-like accompaniment, Sheppard eyed the jar
cautiously, afraid its contents might come to life.
It was one of the few Earth made deserts that had been brought through the gate. The small quantity of fresh fruit had been eaten within the first week, and the dried, reconstituted ice cream the week after that. On a few happy instances, the cooks decided to use local ingredients to bake a cake, but the result had a mixed success rate.
So now only jello remained. And they had run out of the red, then the green, and finally the yellow - which nobody really liked, but it was at least it bore a passing resemblance to fruit - and now there was only the blue. One last jar of quivering gelatin bound by a thick, plastic beaker.
Sheppard hovered, indecisive.
A hand reached past him and grabbed the beaker. "Not going to eat that?"
He turned, with a "Hey!" but Ford only grinned at him.
"What happened to ranks, Lieutenant?"
"Sorry sir," Aiden shrugged, carelessly. "If you want it -"
"No." He waved a hand, deciding it was better safe than sorry. "It's all yours." Then he picked up his tray and moved away from the line, Ford on his heels.
McKay sat on a table at the far end of the room, beneath the window. His plate held the half eaten remains of a non-specific meat casserole, dubbed "dog food" by the youngest of the ranks, though in truth the meal was fairly tasty, providing no questions were asked as to where the cooks had found the meat. McKay held a spoon of the substance in one hand and was studying it with great interest, barely looking up when Sheppard and Ford dropped onto the bench opposite.
"What is it this week?" Sheppard asked, picking up his own sandwich. "A hair? A poisonous bug?"
To his disappointment, McKay didn't rise. "It tastes different."
Ford studied his own plate of stew. "Different how?" he asked, suspiciously.
"Not sure."
"Good different? Bad different?"
"Try some."
Ford glanced at Sheppard, who shrugged. He'd exchanged various tricks and gags with McKay over the past few months, but his jokes were subtle and he'd never known the scientist to play a prank on Aiden.
"Looks safe," he offered.
"Hmm." Aiden forked some of the meat and glared at it suspiciously for a moment, then popped it into his mouth. After several apprehensive chews his expression relaxed, and he swallowed. "Tastes the same to me."
"Oh."
Sheppard glanced at McKay. "Are you okay, Rodney? You seem a little... off."
The scientist lifted his head to stare at Sheppard for a second, then blinked. "Off? I'm fine. I think they've been using too much salt. They never know when to stop."
He relaxed a little. "Last week it was that they never used any at all."
"And this week they're using too much." McKay dropped his spoon onto the plate. "It tastes funny."
Ford was busily clearing his own away, barely pausing to chew. "Maybe it was your batch."
"Mm." The scientist yawned widely, blowing a waft of hot, meat-scented air into Sheppard's face.
"McKay!" He pulled a face. "I'm eating."
"Can't help it," McKay excused, scowling. "I barely slept. A couple of selfish morons spent most of the night stood in the corridor talking, right outside my room."
"Catch a couple of hours now," Sheppard advised. "There's nothing waiting in your lab, right?"
He received a glare in return, McKay pushing back from the table in a sharp, jerky movement. "Right," he snapped. "It's not like there's a stack of reports on my desk that I have to read, or a backlog of artifacts still unlabelled. After all, we've explored the entire city, back of my hand, right? I've got more staff than I know what to do with and they're all freakin' geniuses, not like they need hand holding every step of the way –"
"Woah!" Sheppard raised his hands in protest. "McKay –"
"No, you're right." The scientist towered over them, glowering. "I'll just take a nap, shall I? I'm sure no one will even notice I'm gone." And then he turned on his heel, and stormed out of the cafeteria. Various pairs of eyes watched him leave, then turned back to their lunch.
"What the hell was all that about?" Sheppard wondered.
Ford shrugged, scraping his plate clean with the side of his fork. "Maybe he's still pissed after yesterday."
Sheppard frowned, thinking back to the planet Aiden had dubbed: 'Fustondia.' McKay had spent most of the mission with his face pulled into a grimace and with his fingers pinching his nose. Ford had eagerly volunteered to cover the Stargate despite the unlikelihood of anyone else venturing onto the planet, and after half an hour spent rummaging through the ruins of a building with the whining McKay, Sheppard had longed to join them. It was only after being threatened with a sharp, short shove into the nearest lava pit that McKay had finally clammed up.
It was possible, given his lack of sleep, that the scientist had decided to hold a grudge.
Sheppard sighed, watching Aiden grab McKay's plate and dig into the congealing stew. "I'll drop by his lab later," he decided. "He can't flounce all day."
Ford raised his eyebrows. "Flounce?"
"Eat your stew, Lieutenant."
