Disclaimer: None of Stargate: SG-1, Atlantis, or the characters in those shows belong to me. And I'm not making any money off this either.
AN: Welcome to my new story! My main character is definitely original (and so are a few others), but my goal is to avoid Mary Sue-ness as much as possible in the aspects of "perfect" characters or mysterious traits or back-stories. Danielle (named for one of my h.s. friends, btw) is just a very convenient vehicle for blatantly sticking what I learned about during summer research into an Atlantis fic. So consider yourself warned. And anyway, I just love to play in the sandbox with my own toys. Rated T just to cover any coarse language that pops up, otherwise I imagine this story will stay pretty tame in the violence/romance arenas.
Professor Amel called me into his office late in the afternoon. The jangle of the phone had roused me from my stupor. I summoned myself to relative alertness as I rounded the corner and entered his office.
As usual, the Prof was multi-tasking at a madcap pace. His printer clunked along, code was running across two of his three computer screens, some foreign solar conference video played on the third, and I could discern what sounded like a continuously dialing modem in the background. I raised my bleary eyes and coughed to get his attention.
"Ah, hello, Danielle," he said, glancing up from a stack of journal articles to be refereed, "Please have a seat."
I slumped into one of the plastic chairs across from his desk. Prof. Amel shuffled the papers aside and turned his attention to me.
"Ah, Danielle, do you recall that I have an adjunct appointment with the Air Force research group?" he asked.
I recalled something of the sort, so I nodded.
"Ah, good. It appears there is an interesting eclipsing event to occur soon. They would, ah, very much like me to join them with our new coronagraph. Unfortunately, my child is due very soon, and I don't wish to be far from my wife. Ah, that I was hoping you would be willing to go in my place and run the instrument?" he trailed off questioningly.
Where was the next eclipse? I raked my brain but couldn't remember. Prof. Amel looked at me hopefully, waiting for an answer. Of course I was just a grad student...I wasn't expected to have any life. I could drop anything to help my advisor.
Still perplexed, I gave a firm, "Sure, I'd love to."
Prof. Amel smiled.
"Ah, splendid. They really need to get you on a plane this evening. Could you run home and pack for, ah, a week or so and meet me back here to help crate the instrument?"
I must have agreed because the next good memory I had was sitting on the sticky metro bus in the gross, warmed afternoon air, watching to make sure I didn't miss my stop. I remember this part because as I trotted from the bus stop to my apartment complex it dawned on me that I had no idea what clime or weather to pack for. Prof. Amel hadn't told me. My apartment didn't have internet access (cheap-ass landlord) so I couldn't look up the eclipse. I whipped out my cell as I entered my apartment and tried calling the Prof. No luck. He was probably already looking for packing materials.
Standing in front of my closet, I pondered what to pack. For all I knew I could be going to the tropics, or a high-altitude observatory. My lip was starting to hurt from my bites of concentration. Okay, I would pack for both extremes. Hell, if it was cold enough I could just layer it all on.
My duffel filled up quickly. Topping it off with my toothbrush and the latest Susanna Clarke book, I yanked the zipper shut and bounded down the stairs back to the bus stop. As I feared, rush hour had started and two buses roared past before one stopped and I managed to squeeze on amid IPod-blaring tweens and disgruntled, low-level, white-collar paper pushers.
The Prof was already waiting for me when I got off.
"I took the liberty of packing your, ah, laptop," he handed me the carrying case," I also called you a cab to the airport. Ah, is covered by the research group, as is your plane ticket." The ticket exchanged hands and the cab pulled up as if by cue. "The device I have sent ahead. You will need to re, ah, semble it. Also, I have had not time to write up the observing procedure." Prof. Amel clung to the car door after I climbed in. "I will fax it to my colleagues and they will have it for you when they pick you up. Have, ah, good time." He slammed the door closed and the taxi lurched into traffic.
Now, I admit, I've ridden in very few taxis, but this was like being shoved into a TV-movie. The vinyl seriously had nail marks from my death grip as we slalomed and sped to the airport. This was fortunate, because once there I had to accomplish more eye-rolling feats as I ran through security on my way to...
Colorado Springs, wtf!?