Radek glanced over at her, then down at the single beautiful primer in his hands. “Yes. From a pigeon.”
They were sitting side-by-side in the lab, at their work benches, taking a coffee break.
“You brought that from home with you?” She was always sweet and polite, and most people found her rather unreadable beneath her mask of good manners, but after almost a year working beside her, first in Antarctica, now three months in Atlantis, Radek knew her skepticism when he heard it.
“I used to raise racing pigeons,” he said. “This was from one of my favorite birds.”
Radek twirled the feather absently, watching the play of the light across its vanes, careful not to grip the hollow calamus too tightly. “It was mostly a hobby. Homing pigeons can be useful, though. Carrier pigeons, too.”
“You must have loved them a lot,” Miko said finally, her expression softening.
“They were good birds. They listened to me. Trusted me. And I cared for them. Also, I thought that if we were able to find some kind of cloning technology, I could have some here — after the zoologists and ecologists sign off, of course.” Radek tucked the feather back into its protective sleeve, and then put the sleeve back into the little shoebox that had carried his allotment of personal items he was allowed to bring to Atlantis.
Miko nodded. “That would be nice. Pets would be nice. I worked too much to have a cat, back home, but I always wanted one. I went to cat cafes instead.”
“Tell me more about this…cat cafe,” Radek said, and sipped his coffee.
Miko described what sounded like an ordinary cafe, only the interior was full of cat beds and cat towers and baskets of cat toys, and in addition to an array of tasty pastries and beverages, customers could purchase snacks to give to the cats, and they could hold and pet the cats as much as the cats would allow them. All the comfort of a pet, none of the work.
“They have dog cafes too,” Miko said. “And they have kid cafes, where kids can play while their parents kind of…take a break.”
“My sister needed a kid cafe near her house, for her two children.” Radek sighed and shook his head.
He hadn’t been on Atlantis long enough to miss the brats — yet.
Then Miko reached into one of the lower drawers of her workbench and drew out her little shoebox. It wasn’t an actual shoebox, though it was the size of one, was instead some kind of metal, probably reinforced, because that was how engineers thought, and keeping something precious in the lab was a risk — not that living in an ancient alien city was any less of a risk in general, like with the transporters that vanished things, and the animate shadow that had nearly killed Ford and Rodney.
Miko undid the latch on the box and lifted the lid. She drew out a piece of red fabric brightly pattered with purple butterflies and pink peonies. She gathered it up in her hands and did something complicated with it — and then held it out.
Radek blinked at it. “Is that — is that a mouse?”
“Yes!” Miko made it wiggle and squeak. “My grandmother taught me how to do origami when I was a very young. I also have origami paper, because I thought — maybe we could trade pretty models, or pretty paper in general? Offworld. But a piece of cloth can be used over and over again, even after the paper is gone.”
She showed Radek how to make a hat, and a boat, and a candle, and a butterfly, hearts and flowers and birds and a jumping frog.
“You’re very good,” Radek said.
“I learned to entertain myself at first, and now I am better at it to entertain my nieces,” Miko admitted, tucking the cloth back into the box. “I can tell a whole story, you know? The fox puts on a hat and rides a boat and meets a frog, that sort of thing.”
“I bet Jinto and Wex and the other children would love a story like that,” Radek said. “Perhaps Teyla can help you find a piece of Athosian cloth.”
“And tell me if Athos has any animals like ours,” Miko said.
“True.”
They resumed drinking their coffee in companionable silence.
The next time Radek found some pretty fabric, he’d make sure Miko got a square of it.
Until then, he’d work hard and hope for a way to get word back to Earth, at least one last time.
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timeasmymeasure
Fill: Radek Zelenka + Miko Kusanagi
Date: 2024-01-04 10:27 pm (UTC)Radek glanced over at her, then down at the single beautiful primer in his hands. “Yes. From a pigeon.”
They were sitting side-by-side in the lab, at their work benches, taking a coffee break.
“You brought that from home with you?” She was always sweet and polite, and most people found her rather unreadable beneath her mask of good manners, but after almost a year working beside her, first in Antarctica, now three months in Atlantis, Radek knew her skepticism when he heard it.
“I used to raise racing pigeons,” he said. “This was from one of my favorite birds.”
“I didn’t know that,” Miko said. “Racing pigeons sound — interesting.”
Radek twirled the feather absently, watching the play of the light across its vanes, careful not to grip the hollow calamus too tightly. “It was mostly a hobby. Homing pigeons can be useful, though. Carrier pigeons, too.”
“You must have loved them a lot,” Miko said finally, her expression softening.
“They were good birds. They listened to me. Trusted me. And I cared for them. Also, I thought that if we were able to find some kind of cloning technology, I could have some here — after the zoologists and ecologists sign off, of course.” Radek tucked the feather back into its protective sleeve, and then put the sleeve back into the little shoebox that had carried his allotment of personal items he was allowed to bring to Atlantis.
Miko nodded. “That would be nice. Pets would be nice. I worked too much to have a cat, back home, but I always wanted one. I went to cat cafes instead.”
“Tell me more about this…cat cafe,” Radek said, and sipped his coffee.
Miko described what sounded like an ordinary cafe, only the interior was full of cat beds and cat towers and baskets of cat toys, and in addition to an array of tasty pastries and beverages, customers could purchase snacks to give to the cats, and they could hold and pet the cats as much as the cats would allow them. All the comfort of a pet, none of the work.
“They have dog cafes too,” Miko said. “And they have kid cafes, where kids can play while their parents kind of…take a break.”
“My sister needed a kid cafe near her house, for her two children.” Radek sighed and shook his head.
He hadn’t been on Atlantis long enough to miss the brats — yet.
Then Miko reached into one of the lower drawers of her workbench and drew out her little shoebox. It wasn’t an actual shoebox, though it was the size of one, was instead some kind of metal, probably reinforced, because that was how engineers thought, and keeping something precious in the lab was a risk — not that living in an ancient alien city was any less of a risk in general, like with the transporters that vanished things, and the animate shadow that had nearly killed Ford and Rodney.
Miko undid the latch on the box and lifted the lid. She drew out a piece of red fabric brightly pattered with purple butterflies and pink peonies. She gathered it up in her hands and did something complicated with it — and then held it out.
Radek blinked at it. “Is that — is that a mouse?”
“Yes!” Miko made it wiggle and squeak. “My grandmother taught me how to do origami when I was a very young. I also have origami paper, because I thought — maybe we could trade pretty models, or pretty paper in general? Offworld. But a piece of cloth can be used over and over again, even after the paper is gone.”
She showed Radek how to make a hat, and a boat, and a candle, and a butterfly, hearts and flowers and birds and a jumping frog.
“You’re very good,” Radek said.
“I learned to entertain myself at first, and now I am better at it to entertain my nieces,” Miko admitted, tucking the cloth back into the box. “I can tell a whole story, you know? The fox puts on a hat and rides a boat and meets a frog, that sort of thing.”
“I bet Jinto and Wex and the other children would love a story like that,” Radek said. “Perhaps Teyla can help you find a piece of Athosian cloth.”
“And tell me if Athos has any animals like ours,” Miko said.
“True.”
They resumed drinking their coffee in companionable silence.
The next time Radek found some pretty fabric, he’d make sure Miko got a square of it.
Until then, he’d work hard and hope for a way to get word back to Earth, at least one last time.