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 27 21:34

Urg. I need a nap. Shemp says I snore. (We had to share a tent while on the mainland). I do not snore! I swear. Whatever he heard was a figment of his imagination or maybe his father was being really loud in the next tent over.

I'm really not in a mood to rant. I've been up for at least a day, but seeing as I still haven't sent in this damn journal entry (and you seem to be very insistent) I'm sitting here at this damn computer that's hurting my poor, droopy eyes.

Thanks a lot.

Describe Atlantis from purely your point of view.

Huh?

I think I'm going to have to look at this from others' points of view before I can separate what is uniquely mine. After all, my point of view is a complex mix of genetics, generation, intelligence, and memories, much of which can be shared with others.

Shemp, son of a military officer and an Athosian warrior, part of the first wave, not too bright, and only remembers when something blew up. Atlantis is a huge playground to him and every mission is like a game. He's playing a game with his life. He's making up strategies for living and fighting as if they were the same thing. To him this city is only as good as its firepower, its shields, and its military. In his point of view Atlantis is a place to stand firmly, but it is only a place in time, for he is all too eager to venture off to other worlds. If given a chance, if shown a place of stronger integrity, he would not think twice.

Kira, ditto, ditto, full of common and uncommon sense, and remembers the beauty in every moment of life. Atlantis is a home to her, but she has a country spirit and goes to the mainland often. In her view Atlantis is a graceful queen standing against the wraith, but it is too impersonal. She can touch it, see it, but she can not reach her soul out to it. It has a permanence that frightens her. It does not change like the harvest cycle. It does not need human contact to survive. It is only a city.

Kar (we can shorten this here), Kar sees the city as circuits, crystals, and software.

Beckett, son of an Athosian poet and a Scottish doctor, filled with profound truths of the inner-universe and memories he constantly dwells in, ensuring their survival. To him, Atlantis is the vessel of trivial existence. Material things are no use to him; they can't fill the loss in his soul. The floors and walls might as well crumble, for he would not notice. But, in the part of him that is somewhat attentive, Atlantis must be a glorious and inspirational place—if only in the morning light.

I suppose that leaves us with me. How is the image of Atlantis distorted through my ice blue eyes? Does my arrogant flair even acknowledge its existence? Do I think I'm better than the builders of Atlantis? Do I think of myself as a controller of the city? That it is a machine to be mastered?

No.

I'm afraid to disappoint.

I am, honestly, quite humbled here. I can not envision it anywhere in my grasp, because Atlantis is her own self. She is the carrier of all the life that has breathed within her. She knew Ancients as people, as inhabitants. She knew silence for thousands of years. And now she knows us. I cannot help but imagine that she can breath. For all the circuits and crystals, for all the massive amounts of information she contains, there is something to be learned from merely feeling the city, standing in front of the gate or off on the balcony, closing ones eyes and spreading ones essence outwards into her metal and glass body.

I can't explain it. Perhaps Atlantis and I have a certain understanding with each other. I know her like the back of my hand. I know the secret places where Beckett hides. I know the crooked places where none but the children can fit. I know of places where the walls are the doors and they never open the same way twice. I even know of places where it is always dark, where the walls are cracked and the water seeps in.

This city is our keeper, but it can also swallow us whole. It deserves our respect.

As opposed to putting dents in it…I hope it eats Shemp.