A/N: Thank you, Diddly Dum, for telling me that I was dosing Harry with 'structures of language that cannot further be divided' rather than hospital-grade pain medication. Spell-check is nice and all, but it just doesn't catch stuff like that.

Also, quick update. I've changed the character list (I can unfortunately only put four into the list that appears with the summary) due to a significant shift in my plans for Harry's time in Atlantis. Said shift actually happened quite a while ago, but I didn't realize that I needed to change my characters until a very nice Guest left a delectably long and thoughtful review. Thank you to said Guest, by the way.

Anyway, back to the story!

Harry sneezed loudly, and then quickly recast the warming charm over his head, hands, and feet. Sure, his robe stayed warm, even in the Antarctic outpost that had been established in the aftermath of the battle with the Goa'uld, but unfortunately he hadn't thought to sew in runes that would extend that bubble of warmth over his head and extremities, and even his best warming charm only lasted for about 14 hours. He'd have to put in more complicated temperature runes next time, he supposed idly to himself before continuing on to his destination: Elizabeth Weir's office.

The good Doctor had become something of a fixture at the Antarctic outpost ever since her reassignment from command of the SGC. Originally, Harry had been under the impression that she was only there to help smooth over international relations between the frankly alarming number of jurisdictions that were being claimed in the area. Apparently, the Russian government had even tried to kick up a fuss about a Stargate that had been excavated nearby a few years earlier, one which had been destroyed several months earlier. Dr. Weir, however, had simply done her research, discovered the fact that the U.S. government was paying a sizeable amount of rent to the Russian government for use of the Stargate the SGC currently used, and used that information as a compelling reason for the Russians to back down. It's a bad idea to upset the government who consistently pays you large sums of money, after all.

But that wasn't why Harry was heading to a meeting with Dr. Weir. In all likelihood, politics would find their way into the meeting at some point, but Harry had the distinct impression that, unlike a majority of the Russians, Dr. Weir actually enjoyed having a wizard wandering around the place.

Harry found Dr. Weir's door open, as usual.

"Ah, Harry! Come in, I've been meaning to talk to you," Weir greeted him.

"What a coincidence," he said with a smile, "I came here for that exact same reason."

Weir returned his smile. "I'm glad that we're on the same page. Now if only I could be so lucky with all of our other foreign 'guests.'"

Harry raised an eyebrow at the emphasis. "Are the Russians really still trying to stake their claim on this place? The location was quite clearly universally undesirable before a Stargate was discovered here."

Weir let out a weary sigh. "No, they've withdrawn that claim. Still, I rather doubt they'd take kindly to being called 'guests' to their face. On paper it's true, but you know what they say…"

"That I do, Doctor," Harry said, "that I do. But that's not what I came here to talk about."

"No, you came here to tell me your side of the story," Weir said knowingly, "And I'm quite glad you did. I've just gotten done listening to a certain general ranting about you and your research requests."

"What?" Harry asked. "Do you mean O'Neill? I think he's always a bit irritable, to be honest. It doesn't help that he's still used to being a man of action, and he's not really used to sitting in the big chair quite yet." Dr. Weir raised her eyebrows, but didn't say anything. "No," Harry said, "I'm actually here to request official permission to study the circuits surrounding this outpost's potentia socket. I don't necessarily need to remove the potentia from the socket to study the inner workings of the circuitry, but I feel that I should run the request by all the important people around here before I go poking around."

Weir's lips quirked skyward. "So, you do want permission to study the power source of Earth's most valuable Alteran weapon."

Harry frowned. "That's what O'Neill was complaining about, isn't it?"

Weir nodded. "Yes. It was. He was rather vehement in his assertion that jurisdiction over the weapon remains firmly under military control."

"Did he at least mention that I mostly just want to study it so that I can help manufacture more potentia for us to use? The thing won't last forever, after all, and I'm fairly certain that you'll need my help constructing more. A potentia's inner workings are too much like magic for someone uninitiated in the ebb and flow of magic to make much headway without my help."

Dr. Weir quirked her head thoughtfully. "He did mention that, yes, though it sounded more like he was worried that you might keep some for yourself instead of sharing them with us."

Harry smiled pleasantly. "I gave the SGC full access to the Alteran database, did I not? What reason would he have to suspect that I might treat him unfairly?"

"You'd have to ask him that, I think," Weir said carefully, "but I get the feeling you can understand our concern. According to Samantha Carter, even the partially-drained potentia we recovered from the other abandoned outpost has the power to destroy our whole planet many times over."

Harry laughed out loud at that. "Yes, Doctor Weir. It does. But so does your Stargate, and you've kept that around, haven't you? From what I hear, there was even an incident where the SGC's Stargate nearly vaporized your whole planet. One could argue that I would be downright irresponsible to give you any potentia."

Weir considered that for several long seconds before replying. "You haven't made any attempt to confiscate the potentia that powers the outpost's weapon."

Harry grinned. Pointed comments like that were why he truly enjoyed verbally sparring with Doctor Weir. "No, I haven't. In fact, if someone did try to argue that humanity isn't ready and all that brouhaha, I'd be the first to say they were wrong. Not only has the SGC performed admirably in the time I've been watching, the simple fact that the SGC still exists is evidence that you are, in fact, ready. It would be irresponsible of me not to stick around and make sure that nothing I've done leads to your downfall, of course, but I've seen no evidence that something like that would happen."

"So if you discovered a means to manufacture potentia, you would share them with us?" Weir asked.

Harry nodded. "I would. I probably wouldn't even keep any for myself. It's not worth the trust I would lose, and I don't really have a use for the universe's biggest battery at the moment."

Weir's reply was lost, however, as Harry was suddenly distracted by a mental signal from his wards. Someone was trying to get into his quarters without permission.

"—objections from me. I'll discuss the matter further with General—"

"Yes, thank you Doctor," Harry interrupted her, "but I'm afraid a matter of some importance has just come up. Someone is trying to break the wards protecting my quarters without permission. If I may, I'd like to apprehend the individual before they realize their efforts are futile."

Weir's eyes widened dramatically. "Well...yes, of course, by all means. But…would you like an escort?"

Harry considered the question. Whoever the intruder was, they'd only just started their work,. He could afford to wait. "Yes, that would be much appreciated. It's difficult to be too cautious, after all."

Smiling warmly, Weir picked up the phone on her desk. The warmth of her expression quickly fell behind a mask of professionalism as she ordered a squad of marines to her office to escort Harry. They arrived promptly, and after clarifying the details of the situation, Harry led the marines along the most direct route from Weir's office to his quarters.

As they walked, Harry wondered idly who he might find toying around with his wards this time. No one currently on the base had his permission to attempt to deconstruct his wards, although depending on the disposition of the current curious individual that could change soon. Despite the presence of the marines, Harry wasn't really expecting trouble. Most likely, the Antarctic base had someone like Sam hanging around and poking their nose into places where it didn't quite belong. And really, Harry couldn't condemn that sort of behavior too harshly; he was guilty of it himself all the time.

As he and the marines rounded the final corner, Harry was unsurprised to see an unremarkable-looking man fiddling with a tablet computer and a tripod with a probing device of some sort on the top. The Canadian flag patch on the man's shoulder was less common than the American flag was, but still not surprising. What did surprise Harry was how cobbled-together the probing device looked. Had this man built his own ward-breaker? Even Sam was just getting started with that.

By the time they reached the door to Harry's quarters, the fiddling man had clearly noticed Harry and the marines, and especially the guns in the Marines' hands. "I-I-I was just taking a l-look around, I swear!" the man stuttered, "I…please don't turn my uniform pink?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Not a fan of pink, I see? Well, I can accommodate that." And with a simple wave and flick of his hand, Harry conjured a dunce cap on the man's head. A further swirl assured that the cap wouldn't come off for a day, at least. "Unfortunately, my good man, I can't simply let people mess around with my things whenever they want. If you were just a little better at wardbreaking you would have tripped the active defenses, and then I would be the only person on the base who could revive you."

The man, who had been batting at the dunce cap in an attempt to remove it, quickly froze at Harry's words. "R-really?"

"Yes, really." Harry crossed his arms. "Now, I assume you know who I am. You appear to be quite a smart, well-informed individual, if a bit unwise. But I don't yet have the pleasure of knowing just who you are."

The man glanced behind Harry at the marines, then took Harry's pointed observation for the veiled question that it was. "Uh-of course…I'm Rodney. McKay. Rodney McKay." Rodney McKay very awkwardly held his hand out to shake.

Deciding to cut the guy a break, Harry uncrossed his arms, walked over to the man, and shook his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Rodney McKay." Harry dropped the man's hand. "Now, would you care to explain why you thought breaking and entering made a fun pastime?"

Rodney McKay examined his shoes very carefully. "I…heard about what happened…at the SGC. I figured that…if I was careful…maybe I could do a bit of work without you noticing. Just enough to…well, anyway. I mean, what was the worst that could happen? People pick on me all the time, a pink uniform would have been nothing."

Harry tilted his head, considering that. "And is a dunce cap similarly 'nothing' to you?"

McKay's shoulders drooped. "Yea-well…no." The nervous man appeared to consider saying more before deciding better of it.

I see, Harry thought to himself. "Well then, there are no further problems here." He turned to the marines and said, "You can go. Tell Dr. Weir that it was a simple misunderstanding and that Rodney McKay has seen the error of his ways. He won't be messing with my things without permission again."

The marines clearly doubted Harry's words, but they turned to leave nonetheless. Soon, Only McKay, Harry, and McKay's tripod remained in the hallway outside of Harry's quarters.

"So," Harry said casually, "how does it work?"

McKay looked at him as though he'd grown a third head. "What?"

"Your little ward probe here, how does it work? I've seen my fair share of wardbreaking techniques, but I've never seen anything like your device here. Is it handmade?"

McKay's expression rapidly moved from shock to disbelief before settling on confused pride. "Well…it is handmade. I…I helped work out the circuitry the SGC uses to interface with the Stargate, and I based the design off of that. I heard a rumor that you think your magic and ancient technology are pretty much the same thing, and so I…went from there."

"Really…?" Harry asked. The possibilities were honestly intriguing. Harry himself had tried and failed many times to build a technological ward probe, or any mechanical device that used technology to interact with magic, and had always failed. But this man, hundreds of years his junior, had already succeeded at the same task.

Harry leaned forward eagerly. "Tell me more, and I'll grant you unlimited permission to mess with my wards, any time you want and for any reason you want."

"Any…reason?"

Harry nodded. "Including pranking."

If Harry hadn't been the son of a marauder, the grin that crossed Rodney McKay's face in that moment would have terrified him. Quite suddenly, Rodney seemed to shed his shyness and started eagerly telling Harry everything he knew about his efforts to interface with Alteran circuitry. Harry grinned to himself. Rodney might have been a little rough around the edges, but Harry suspected that the two men of science would get along quite well.

Several weeks later, Harry was working with Dr. Gall on the potentia socket when he heard Rodney's irritated voice from the hallway.

"Come on, Carson, just try it!"

A man with a thick Scottish accent replied, "Rodney, I've tried this already. I don't think it's a good idea."

Harry looked over at Dr. Gall, who had a knowing look on his face. "I've got this," the scientist said, "you go handle Rodney." Harry grinned. No seemed to understand how it had happened, but Harry had become the unofficial 'McKay deterrent' on the Antarctic base ever since Rodney had tried to break his wards. Harry suspected it had something to do with the fact that Rodney's dunce cap had lasted long enough for everyone to hear about it, and everyone on the base knew that Harry was responsible.

As Rodney and…Carson, apparently, entered the room, Harry stood up. "Rodney, you aren't badgering the ATA gene-holders again, are you?"

"Of course not!" Rodney said, at the same time as Carson said, "Yes. He is."

Harry quirked an eyebrow at Rodney. The man let out a defeated sigh. "All right, maybe a little bit, but come on Harry, they're the best tool we've got for interfacing with Alteran systems! Even your magic is a bit fiddly, but the ATA gene is what the Alteran systems are looking for!"

Harry let out a sigh of his own. Even though he could use his magic to interface with the Alteran systems in unprecedented ways, he apparently lacked the exact genetic key the systems looked for in an operator. "While that might be true, Rodney, you still shouldn't hassle the ATA gene-holders. It's not their fault they can operate the technology any more than it's your fault that you can't."

"Thank you!" Carson exclaimed suddenly, "that's what I've been trying to tell Rodney for the last 10 minutes. I'm a medical doctor, not an engineer!"

Harry shifted his attention to the Scotsman. "Carson, wasn't it?" Carson nodded. "Well Carson, you might not be an engineer, but try to look at it from an engineer's standpoint. We've got a machine here that only operates for certain, apparently randomly selected individuals, and you're one of those people. Now, you might feel a bit out of place here as a medical doctor, and even as a Scotsman, but don't worry about that. The whole point of this place is to bring various peoples closer together. All we want is a little help from you figuring out how the chair responds to proper users as opposed to my…magical tinkering."

Carson looked nervously at the control chair. "But…I'm not good with stuff like this. I break things like this."

"This outpost has survived for millions of years," Rodney said in an exasperated tone, "it can definitely survive you."

Carson looked at Harry, then at the chair, then at Rodney. Then, coming to a decision, he moved to sit in the chair. As the Scotsman sat in the chair, however, nothing happened.

"Well that's odd," Harry said, "it activated right away for O'Neill."

"I told you I'm the wrong person for this," Carson said.

Harry chuckled. "Don't your genetics suggest otherwise, Carson?"

"Oh, don't remind me," Carson said, his Scottish accent thickening, "I'm the one who discovered the bloody gene."

Harry raised his eyebrows at that. "Really? That's a pretty impressive accomplishment. But I think you're getting distracted. With neural interfaces like this one, focus is important. Try to focus on…well, let's start with the chair for now."

Carson took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and shifted back in the chair. And then, quite suddenly, the blue lights came on in the chair and around the room. Dr. Gall started furiously tapping at his tablet, no doubt studying the active power draw from the potentia, and the other scientists around the room who had been watching the drama unfold suddenly turned to their instruments, taking notes on what was happening.

Then the drone one of the scientists had been studying suddenly activated and flew around the room. "Take cover!" Harry shouted, diving to the floor himself. He didn't bother casting a shield; he knew full well that an active drone would go through any shield he cast like a hot knife through butter. Before long the drone stopped flying around the room and went out the door, heading up the icy shaft to the outside world. Harry grimaced, getting to his feet slowly. This probably wouldn't end well.

…

"All inbound craft, we have a rogue drone that could seek a target on its own. Land immediately and shut down your engines; this is not a drill. I repeat-"

"It's too late, hang on!" Major Sheppard interrupted, quickly shutting off the radio to avoid distractions. The…drone? It looked more like a missile, but it was closing on their position rapidly. Sheppard pulled the helicopter closer to the thing's flight path, knowing that his only change to dodge it would be at the very last second. Sure enough, a quick turn right before impact confused the thing's targeting and it flew right past the helicopter. Sheppard glanced down at the radar to see where this…drone was heading off to next, and nearly swore. It was coming back around for another pass. Must have been some kind of heat-seaker.

"Bank right!" General O'Neill said over the cockpit coms. Sheppard ignored him and banked sharply to the left instead, narrowly avoiding the heat-seaker for a second time. "I said right!" the General said, louder this time.

"Getting to that, sir," Sheppard said distractedly, banking sharply to the right this time. This thing was persistent, but at least he could out-fly it.

…

Harry snapped his wand out and cast a quick diagnostic charm on Carson. Sure enough, his mind was under just as much stress as O'Neill's had been, and he wasn't handling it well.

"I told you I wasn't the right person for this job," the poor man said, his Scottish accent thickening even further with the added stress.

Harry needed to calm him down, quickly, but he wasn't sure how the chair would react to a calming charm. He'd have to do this the old-fashioned way. "That's all right, Carson. Now I need you to listen to me, all right?" Carson nodded nervously. "Right, you're under considerable stress from the chair's systems right now, but I need you to relax. Take a deep breath, think soothing thoughts, and try to think peaceful thoughts." Carson squeezed his eyes shut, clearly focusing too hard to calm down. "Carson, relax. The system probably launched the drone in response to your distress. All you need to do to shut it down is to breathe, relax, and think peaceful thoughts." Theoretically, anyway. But the last thing Carson needed to hear while he was connected to a neural interface was uncertainty.

…

Just as Sheppard was pulling out of a dive he hoped would lead the damn thing chasing them into the ground, he saw the 'drone's' blip on the radar disappear. That had actually worked? Deciding not to question it, Sheppard quickly landed the helicopter. He didn't really need the General's order to shut it down. If the thing was a heat-seeker, that would be the only way to keep it off of them. Hopefully his last trick had finished it, but he wasn't willing to bet on it at this point. The thing had been too small to be any kind of drone he'd ever heard of, but not really agile enough to be a sophisticated tracking missile.

"Sir," Sheppard asked quietly, "what the hell was that?"

The general held up a quieting finger, but all he said was, "Wait for it."

Well that wasn't ominous at all. As the seconds stretched into a minute, however, Sheppard grew impatient. "What are we waiting for, sir?"

General O'Neill glanced at Sheppard. "That stunt of yours shouldn't have stopped it. They must have shut it down at the base."

Clearly, this was way over Sheppard's pay grade. Turning the radio back on, Sheppard said, "Antarctic Outpost, this is Hawk zero-three. The…drone appears to have been neutralized. General O'Neill and myself are unharmed. Do we have clearance to resume our previous flight path? Over."

After a brief pause, the response came. "Hawk zero-three, this is Antarctic Outpost. We're glad to hear you're safe. You have clearance to proceed with your previous flight path. Over and out."

"Hawk zero-three, acknowledged. Over and out."

As he started the helicopter back up, Sheppard could help but comment, "That was different."

General O'Neill, however, was nonplussed. "For me," he said, "not so much."

…

Harry beamed at Carson. "See, you didn't break it."

The Scotsman stood up hastily, the chair falling dark behind him. "Don't say that, you'll jinx it! I already set off a bloody missile; I don't want to think about what else I could do."

"Don't worry, Dr. Beckett," a soothing voice said from behind Harry. Turning, the wizard saw Dr. Weir standing in the doorway. How long she'd been there, Harry couldn't tell. "Lieutenant Ford tells me that no one was hurt. The drone apparently went after an approaching craft, but the pilot was able to land safely, and they're back in the air now."

Carson looked incredibly glad to hear that. "Well that's a relief. All I felt was this sort of…power, like I've never felt before. And it was like a light, dancing across the sky…if this fellow here," he pointed at Harry, "hadn't calmed me down I'm not sure how I would have stopped it."

Harry smiled. "Just doing my best to help out, mate."

"Your efforts are appreciated as always, Harry," Dr. Weir said. "I don't care what the military brass says; it's good to have you here when things like this happen. I don't know that anyone else on the planet is more qualified to handle this than you."

"Please, Doctor, you're making me blush. I'm just doing my part to get the Atlantis Expedition on its feet."

"Yeah," Rodney added, "you can't wait to get your hands on all that ancient Atlantean technology."

"Yes, well," Harry said, "you're…not wrong about that."

"Whatever your reasons were, Harry," Carson interjected, "thank you so much for helping me shut down that drone. I don't what I'd do with myself if I'd gotten someone hurt."

"Well, don't worry about it," Harry said, clapping Carson on the shoulder, "you didn't hurt anyone, and that's what matters. I doubt the drone you activated was even operating at peak efficiency. It was probably just following automated defense protocols based on your stress. All you needed to do was keep a cool head."

Carson stared at the command chair doubtfully. "If it's all the same to you, I think I'll just avoid sitting in that chair in the future. I hope you got your readings, because I don't really want to mess with that thing until we're sure I can't hurt anyone with it."

Well, Harry supposed, that's fair enough. He is a medical doctor, after all.

…

Sheppard looked around the tiny outpost, trying to process what General O'Neill had just told him. An ancient, alien drone weapon was in Antarctica, apparently having been left there long before the ice sheets had formed. And this outpost was part of an international effort to study the weapon after it had been used in a battle that had decided the fate of the entire planet only a few months ago. This was definitely above his pay grade. Why the hell had the general told him any of this at all?

"Rodney, after what just happened, I think we should tone back the tests on the chair for today," someone said, distracting Sheppard from his thoughts. Following the voice, Sheppard saw two men standing next to a weird-looking chair, surrounded by weird-looking technology and several scientists who were pointedly keeping busy. One of the men was wearing a long, black robe, and the other was in a more traditional parka.

"Just because one candidate couldn't control the chair properly, that doesn't mean we should stop testing all the candidates," the man in the parka argued.

Sheppard had heard enough. "You were the ones!"

The men turned to him, surprised. "Well," the man in the robe said, "I don't know who you are, but Rodney is probably the one you should be mad at." He gestured helpfully to the man in the parka.

"Harry!" Rodney objected, "I am not the problem here! I—"

"Rodney." Harry interrupted, "Stop. You were the one who hassled Carson until he sat in the chair; you share some of the blame for what happened after he sat in the chair. So do I, for that matter." The robed man then turned to Sheppard. "Speaking of responsibility, what were you about to blame Rodney for?"

Sheppard glanced at the chair they were arguing about. Did this thing have control over the drone that had nearly shot his helicopter down? "It sounds like you two were both responsible for nearly getting me shot out of the sky while I was flying in General O'Neill!"

Both men paled slightly. "Wait," Harry said, "that was your helicopter? And you were carrying General O'Neill?"

"Yes."

"Oh, we are so screwed," Rodney whined.

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's not that bad, Rodney, no one got hurt. At worst, O'Neill will be a little touchy when he finds out." Pausing, the robed man looked Sheppard directly in the eyes. "I am sorry you were nearly shot down, by the way. This stuff is so far beyond us that it almost seems to have a mind of its own. Hell, knowing the Alterans I suspect they had probably cracked artificial intelligence long before you were even mastering fire. Anyway, if there's anything I can do to make it up to you, just let me know."

"Sure," Sheppard said, "…but what's an Alteran?"

Several Months Later

Major Sheppard looked up at the Stargate, still not sure he believed what was happening. If he hadn't seen legitimate, highly-classified documentation about basic Stargate operations, he would probably have been half-convinced that Harry was playing some kind of highly elaborate prank on him. But no, it seemed that not only were several major world leaders in on the secrets of the Stargate, he was about to be one of the first people to go to a whole 'nother galaxy, too.

And the Colonel in charge of the security detail didn't like him, just as an added bonus.

Suddenly, the Stargate began to spin.

Then, an alarm began to sound. "Unscheduled offworld activation!" someone shouted over the P.A. system. That didn't sound good.

"Everyone, clear the debarkation area, we have an unscheduled wormhole incoming, along with potential hostiles." General O'Neill said over the loudspeaker. Suddenly, the crowded gate room turned into ordered chaos as everyone rushed to get out of the way.

"Marines, take defensive positions around the gate!" Colonel Sumner shouted, and Sheppard moved to join them. He wasn't a marine, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to get out of the room in time for it to matter. "Safeties off, men," Sumner ordered, "we are the first line of defense of the planet right now, no matter what you were five minutes ago."

But, you know, no pressure or anything, Sheppard thought as he flicked off his safety. Several concentric slats of metal slid into the Stargate's aperture, completely blocking it. The iris, Sheppard remembered that was called. Theoretically they meant that nothing could get through an incoming Stargate without approval. Light flared against the wall behind the Stargate, and there was a great woosh as the wormhole activated. Sheppard felt a bead of sweat run down his face.

Nothing happened for several, long minutes. Sheppard knew the marines around him were just as restless as he was, but he hadn't heard anything hit the iris. What the hell was going on?

"Marines, stand ready, but hold your fire. We're opening the iris; it appears that a friendly wants to come through," General O'Neill's voice came over the loudspeaker again.

Sure enough, the iris opened, revealing the rippling blue wormhole behind it. Shepparad glanced around. At least the civilians had all left the room, and the doors were safely closed.

And then, with barely a ripple from the gate, a large, silver craft flew into the gate room, stopping just short of hitting the far wall. And then it…hung there, hovering on thin air. Almost as an afterthought, the Stargate closed behind it. Sheppard glanced up at the control room. What the hell was going on?

A/N: Any guesses? 7 internet cookies to anyone who gets the right answer in a review!

So, it hasn't been quite as long a wait this time. Unfortunately, I'm afraid to report that this time gap is likely going to be much more normal, with the possibility that chapters will come out faster on special occasions. Real life has just been one huge hassle lately, and while I've wrestled it into a manageable position I doubt it's going to get easier any time soon. You all are wonderful readers though, so you have my solemn oath that I'll make efforts to keep a more regular schedule. When I can. XD

And before you tell me that Harry should totally have the ATA gene for whatever arbitrary reason, keep in mind that Harry's from a completely different universe. There's no reason for him to have the exact gene that the ancient Alterans and Lanteans used to gene-lock their technology. Just the fact that his magic resembles Alteran circuitry is a pretty big coincidence. Having the perfect genes to operate it would be a bit much, in my opinion.

Best of wishes,

~feauxen

P.S. I fixed the bit where Hammond was still at the SGC despite getting reassigned during the drama surrounding the battle with Anubis. I can't believe no one noticed that.