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As the jumper crosses the event horizon, klaxons blare throughout the city and a force field hazes into view around the ship, forcing it to land in front of the gate.
"Atlantis, this is Sheppard. What's going on?" John radios from the jumper.
Weir taps her headset. "Sorry, Colonel, but the computer says you picked a contaminant; there's a biological the size of a watermelon registering on the rear of the puddlejumper. I've got a team on their way down." She hears John sigh heavily and Rodney starting what promises to be a massive rant. "The field leaves enough room around the jumper that if you want-"
Rodney breaks in with, "A watermelon? What the hell? Did we pick up a space tick or something?"
A solid thunk comes from behind the craft, followed by an improbably impish sounding, "Owwww." Elizabeth tosses an incredulous look at Chuck and asks, "Who was that?" before they both race for the Gateroom floor.
One of the Marines standing guard with guns drawn asks over radio, "Did the space tick just say Oww?"
"Oh, hello," says the same voice as the crowd nears.
The stunned silence lasts until Chuck busts out laughing, followed quickly by the Marines (who are soon laughing so hard they can't keep their P90s quite as steady as they ought). Elizabeth intones, "Well, I'll be damned."
"What? What? What is it?" Rodney and John both demand over the radio, voices tumbling over each other.
"I think it's safe to come out now, gentlemen," she says, watching the small creature test the force field with his prominent proboscis and utter Goodness or Golly each time he's repelled. She waggles her fingers in welcome while adding, "Come meet our guest."
"Guest?" Rodney yelps over the radio, though it's quickly drowned out by the sound of the back hatch lowering. "Don't go out there, Sheppard. You'll get space lice or something!" Naturally, his warning goes unheeded. John strides out as soon as he can, stopping short at sighting the being. Rodney appears in the doorway behind John, respirator mask (obviously filched from the jumper's medical kit) pressed against his face.
John points helplessly, mouth gaping, before cocking his head to one side; words seem to fail him. The creature returns the gesture, pointing back up at John. Rodney, still unable to see the intruder, asks, "We didn't pick up a miniature Q, from The Next Generation, did we?" Once again, his conversational foray is ignored.
Reaching for his vocabulary, John can just utter, "Y- Y- You..."
The alien interrupts. "Your- Your hair. It makes you look just like Billie Boy. Or, it would if you were an orange tabby with a hairball fetish." He waddles around to face Rodney and stage whispers, "He doesn't have a hairball fetish, does he?"
Rodney stares for what feels like a lifetime before responding, snarking mostly by autopilot. "Umm, I don't think so. Then again, he doesn't have a habit of licking himself, so I don't think he's predisposed to hairballs." He adds with a wicked smile, "Or, at least -- he doesn't lick himself around me."
John dope-slaps Rodney and turns back to their visitor. "You're Opus," he says grudgingly, as if he can't quite believe what he's being forced to say.
"At your service," Opus replies as he gives John and Rodney a courtly bow, tips his straw "Bill & Opus 1984" hat, and straightens his bowtie in quick succession. "And you are..."
"And you can talk," John adds, turning to Rodney – as if he's likely to have a reasonable explanation.
"Indubitably!" Opus says, beaming at them. He pulls a device from behind his tie (a close examination would reveal the label TECHNOBABBLER® in bright orange letters), explaining, "This little baby works wonders. But," he adds with a hint of sadness, "I can't fly, which is why I hitched a ride on your thingamabob here."
The force field drops just as Zelenka and a science team run into the Gateroom. The scientists freeze at the cartoon penguin waddling around the room greeting the members of the security detail, before adding their shouts of laughter to the ruckus.
John, still pointing at the spot where Opus had been minutes before, looks dazedly at Rodney. "He can talk."
Opus steps back to John and Rodney. "He's more like Bill than I thought - he's kinda stupid." Rodney's obvious delight at the insult results in another (harder) dope-slap to the back of his head. Opus pats John's hand and advises, "Snorting kitty litter isn't good for you, you know." He makes a brief bow to Rodney before inquiring, "Excuse me, kind sir, but might you have some herring that I could partake of? That ride took a lot out of me."
"Yeah, about that. How exactly did you manage...," Rodney trails off, gesturing between Opus and the puddlejumper.
The penguin gives Rodney a look. "Duh. I'm a penguin." After a long look at their uncomprehending faces, he adds, "I can hold my breath a long time."
Rodney considers the explanation briefly before shrugging. They've encountered far stranger oddities in the Pegasus galaxy.
"So, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company, Opus?" Elizabeth asks, taking firm grasp of all the diplomat techniques she's ever learned (not one of which mentioned talking Sphenisciformes). "You do know where you are?"
"Atlantis, of course," comes the confident reply. "I was on Lantea, visiting Lantean Opus. He's been lonely since you guys left," Opus reports with a touch of reproach. "I was visiting with him when your ship showed up. He's prolly gonna be mad, though. I left without saying goodbye."
"There are more of you?!" Rodney demands.
"Oh, yeah!" After a moment in which he seems to be trying to count on his flippers, he asserts, "There are currently twenty-three scattered across the universe." Ticking them off on his now-visible (and anatomically very incorrect) cartoon fingers, he says, "There's Satedan Opus, Manerian Opus, Earth Opus, Lantean Opus..."
"One for every inhabited planet?" John asks.
"Every hospitable herring-bearing planet," Opus responds, beaming up at John. "We don't get visitors all that often. And I don't have a home planet anymore." With a tearful expression, he adds, "We ran out of herring on my world, which was the other reason I was hanging out with Lantean Opus. You don't need to tell him that part," he adds in a confidential tone.
"Well, you're in luck," Elizabeth says. "We have dozens of varieties of herring on this planet. You're welcome to however many you like."
Opus' eyes widen dramatically. (He has quite serviceable puppy-dog eyes, considering he's a penguin.) "You mean it?" he asks hopefully. When Weir nods reassuringly he presses, "Can my friends come, too?"
Elizabeth looks at her senior staff as they silently consider the request. "Twenty-three?" she asks. "Sure. Why not?" Throwing her arms up, she declares, "The more the merrier!"
Opus clasps his hands in glee before tugging out his TECHNOBABBLER® and tapping a series of keys. "They're on their way," he says, as a dial-in starts almost immediately. "Now about those herrings..."
() () () () ()
Forty-eight hours later, Atlantis is nearly awash with indistinguishable copies of the critter who'd surfed through the gate using the puddlejumper as his long board. John and Rodney stroll toward the mess, dodging the cartoon mammals running (for certain values of run) from one side of Atlantis to the other, preferring to travel overland rather than swim. (When they'd asked one why, he retorted, "Seriously? Have you been in the water here? It's freezing!") The only one John can pick out of the crowd with any certainty is their Opus. He's been granted permission to stay in the city as long as he wants - providing his guests didn't overrun the place too often - or until the planet runs out of herring, which, by Rodney's calculation, will take several hundred thousand years at the current rate of consumption. (Opus scolded him when his first calculations neglected to take canned herring into consideration.)
"Hello, boys," one of the throng calls as it pushes between the pair.
"Hello, umm..." John looks at Rodney, who somehow manages to recognize each individual penguin, "...Lantean Opus?"
"Wrong," Rodney responds, pointing after the waddling creature. "That's Satedan Opus."
Soon two more penguins rush past. John doesn't even try to guess, so Rodney somewhat smugly informs his that those were, "Maneran Opus and Asuras Opus."
There's a commotion in a room just ahead. A penguin and the new Irish xenobiologist race into the hall, the doctor closing in with hands outstretched for grabbing. "Having fun, Dr. Fee?" Rodney grins at the flustered scientist, who glares daggers at him even as she demands her equipment back from the miscreant bird. As she almost trips, John warns, "Careful there, Estee."
The penguin drops a flipper-load of tongue depressors but doesn't stop fleeing down the hall. John gives Rodney an inquisitive eyebrow while asking, "And that one?"
"That one's ours," Rodney says, grinning. "That's the Stargate Atlantis Opus."