Chapter Text
An office on the planet K’rinta, in the Pegasus Galaxy…
“You will find everything in order,” the official said, handing over a large soft-cover book. “This is the standard mkataba we make with off-world traders. Before any monetary transactions can be made, it must be sealed by the authority figures on your world and filed with my office.”
Shepherd took the large document from the bored-looking office manager, an olive-complexioned, overweight fellow whose nameplate read “Mr. Muuza-Trade Master”. He and his team had come to finalize a formal relationship between Atlantis and the K’rintan government. If something could be bought, it was generally found at the K’rintan capital city, and Atlantis always needed supplies.
“A treaty or trade agreement, we call it,” Shepherd said, thumbing through the document. “Makes sense, I suppose. You want to make sure your dealers and customers are legitimate in every sense of the word.” He frowned. “Rodney, can you read this? I don’t recognize the script.”
McKay took the book from him and started flipping through it. He frowned. “It looks vaguely familiar, but I don’t think I can interpret it properly. We should take this back to Atlantis; the computers there can probably sort it out.”
Mr. Muuza sighed. “I was afraid of that. The only thing that never changes around here is legalese.” He opened his desk and started fishing around inside the drawer. “I doubt your computers will be much help. Formal contracts such as these are printed in an outdated script that requires precise training to interpret. It’s one of the things we lower officials would like to change, but we keep running into resistance from the elders. They say that sticking to formal speech, even if just for legal matters, safeguards our culture.” He pulled a pad of paper out of his desk and scribbled something on a page. “You need a wasomaji: something that can read and interpret the language for you.”
“Oh, that’s ok,” said Shepherd. “McKay here will have it figured out in no time when we get home. He’s really good at deciphering scientific and legal gibberish. It’s one of the reasons I keep him around.”
Teyla and Ronan exchanged a smile, while Rodney just glared at Col. Shepherd. The office manager, however, started.
“I’m sorry…whom did you say?” He finally blurted out nervously.
Shepherd stared at the man, curious about his sudden anxiety. “Rodney McKay,” he explained with a jerk of his thumb towards the slighter scientist, who still stood behind him trying to read the impossible document, “this guy.”
The manager paled. “You actually brought a M’chwai with you to initiate trade negotiations? Why? Were you expecting trouble?”
“He’s just part of the team, Mr. Muuza,” an increasingly perplexed Shepherd answered. “We all have our strong points here. Yours is trade and understanding your planet’s legalese. Ronan and I are security, Teyla brings cultural knowledge, and McKay is…”
“There’s no need to go into details,” Muuza exclaimed, holding up his hands. “I quite understand! Don’t worry about finding a reader; I’ll bring one to your waiting room within the hour, free of charge! In the meantime,” he scrambled for his intercom, “please enjoy some refreshments.”
********SGA**********
An hour later the team enjoyed a large tray of local fruits and cheeses in a very comfortable room. Shepherd looked around at the members of his team. Ronan caught his eye and shrugged, while Teyla gazed thoughtfully out the window at the crowd below. Sgt. Peretti and the rest of the military escort either stood nervously about or stared at the crowds through their binoculars. Rodney nibbled on a piece of cheese while continuing to stare at the treaty. So far, he had only been able to deduce that it was a corrupted form of Ancient. Shepherd sidled up to Ronan and Teyla for a chat.
“Is it just me, or did the Trade Master weird out at the mention of Rodney’s name?” he murmured.
Teyla glanced over to the table where Rodney hunched over the treaty. “He did indeed seem out of sorts. Rodney blew up a solar system some time ago; perhaps some word of that leaked out? It would explain Mr. Muuza’s discomfiture at his presence.”
“That could be it,” admitted Ronan. “Maybe he has a reputation in this galaxy that we don’t know about.”
“Whatever is going on, our host went from bored bureaucrat to ass-kissing maitre’d’ the minute he heard the word ‘McCay’. For once, having Rodney around might be a really good thing,” murmured Shepherd.
“You know I can hear you, right?” Rodney snapped. He was tired and cranky, and hated being talked about behind his back. He really hated it when people didn’t try to keep him from knowing they were talking about him behind his back! “And for your information, I haven’t blown up anything in the past year, so lay off,” he snarled.
“Somebody hasn’t had his coffee,” Sgt. Peretti noted wryly. He poured a large mug of the K’rintan coffee, added their thick cream, and handed the concoction to McKay. “How’s the translating going, Doc?”
“It isn’t,” sighed Rodney. “The script looks like Ancient, but doesn’t read like Ancient. It’s almost like it’s written in gibberish. I wish Jackson were here; he’d have a field day with this.” He took a long draught of the hot liquid Peretti had poured for him and sighed in relief. “Ohhhh, yeah, that hits the spot! The first thing I’m gonna buy is ten pounds of this!” He jabbed a finger at the cup for emphasis.
A chime sounded at the door, and the Marine guarding it punched the com button. “Atlantis delegation,” he announced. “Who is it?”
TBC