Journal of the Genius's Daughter
Stargate Atlantis
By Teenangel
Summary: The words of a certain scientist's daughter about her life on Atlantis.
Note: This is assuming they're never able to contact Earth. Don't expect a concrete plot or explanations; this is a journal so the character wouldn't assume she'd have to put in the duh stuff. Being that I am not a doctor or a medical persons or a mechanic some things may be incorrect, forgive me.
I only mention the year once, unless it changes.
Disclaimer: Me poor college student using time poorly, me broke ug. Don't sue me, waste of time.
August 22nd 19:05
I had a momentous moment today. I have become my father. Zelenka affirmed it. I've never had a spit with him before, but this day sure made up for it. We screamed at each other like squawking birds (specifically those ugly kind on the plant with a volcano). (Which gave the signal for everyone to vacate). I'm surprised my ears didn't bleed. Over such a simple thing as a homemade ZPM. He claimed my calculations were off, that I couldn't hold the energy in a controlled space, that I wasn't thinking outside of the box, that I was thinking like 'Rodney'.
He called me arrogant. And after fifteen minutes, about the time his face went red and his hair began to act like medusa's snakes (I like mythology), he blew up, threw my Computer pad at me and stormed off, knocking a bunch of things off my desk on his way out.
Damn him.
Kar gave me a nasty look when he came in an hour later. The other techs still hadn't returned and I was finishing the touches on my masterpiece. I was all set to test it, smugly confident that'd I'd be laughing in Z's face by dinner time. And then I'd be laughing at his face on Earth by tomorrow.
Kar brushed past me. He tried to be pushy, but he's just too scrawny to be any threat. He watched me like a hungry hawk for awhile, until his anger turned into worry and he was looking at me with great welling puppy eyes. (God he is so good at that). He finally just grabbed my calculations.
"They're wrong," he immediately stated.
Wrong. Wrong is such a damn strong word. Can't they be misguided calculations or almost-right calculations? But no, they were wrong with no room for a slant smile to gain me some mild support. In fact, not only were they accordingly wrong, but what I was doing was impossible.
The bottom line: I was going to hurt myself if I tried it.
"If I say go ahead and kill yourself?"
"You wouldn't say that," I said, "you'd say 'Go ahead and kill us' because you won't leave 'til I stop and I won't stop 'til I succeed. Besides," I shrugged, "I've died before."
"If I say go ahead and kill your mother's heart?"
The computer pad clattered to the floor and I stood starring at his owl eyes, trying to envision my death from another point of view. I knew immediately he wasn't really talking about my mother's feelings. He was pleading far too much and far too hard. He honestly was broken by the prospect of my demise.
I picked the pad back up and glared at the numbers and squiggles as if they'd jump around and fix themselves. There was an inconsistency, but I was putting it off as the universe's glitch, a minor significant difference. I looked at my scrap-yard creation. Blue lights blinked on it with anticipation. Light blue lights like Beckett's. The eyes of a ghost. Someone's got to keep him grounded, least the dream take him away.
"Earth cake probably sucks anygate," I muttered, handing the pad to him and wandering off to find something with chocolate.
Note, I never admitted to being one hundred percent wrong. It'll work. It just needs tweaking, lots of tweaking, and more arguments with Kar and Z to get it right.