Chapter Text
"Somewhere, Travis Weinstock is smiling and he doesn't know why."
"Huh?" Sheppard looked over from where he'd dropped the giant duffel bag full of equipment he'd carried from the stargate. He thought it might've actually contained lead boxes. Lead boxes full of rocks. Heavy rocks.
"Travis Weinstock," Lorne explained as he put down his own burden next to Sheppard's, "was the president of the chess club, the science club, and the star of the math team. And he swore every time he got picked last in gym class or got rejected by one of the cheerleaders that he'd have his revenge. One day, he'd be laughing last. I think that this may be that day."
Maguire's team had discovered what looked to be some sort of Ancient waystation on a routine exploration of a planet and, two weeks' worth of follow-up visits later, the scientists had been turned loose. All of them had packed what seemed to be twice their weight in equipment and, of course, weren't expected to actually carry any of it. The stargate was too close to a town to allow use of a puddlejumper to deliver things to the site, so the Marines had turned a pair of MALPs into slow-moving ferries for the kilometer-plus stretch of dirt road running from the town to the far edge of the waystation. It was still a couple hundred yards from that point to the building, though, and Sheppard was part of the crew carrying the loads from the MALPs.
"Look at us," Lorne went on, waving his arm expansively at the growing piles of equipment being hovered over by fussing engineers. "We were once prom kings and quarterbacks and home run heroes. And now we're cammy-covered pack mules for the pocket protector set."
Sheppard laughed as he stretched his back.
"Were you a quarterback, Maguire?" he asked as they passed the lieutenant by the door. Maguire was crouched down next to a motorized trolley, securing the bungee cord that kept its contents in place. He stood up. Taller and broader than Sheppard, he made Lorne look tiny by comparison.
"I was a right winger, sir," Maguire said, his South Boston accent making casualties of his consonants. "I was going to be the next Cam Neely."
"What happened?" Lorne asked as they moved outside, sunglasses dropping on to noses.
"I graduated," Maguire said as he pulled out his boonie cap. Bald and fair, he never went anywhere without it. "In January I was standing in the slot on the power play and in July I was standing in mud at TBS."
Sheppard looked around. Maguire's three squads were stationed at the stargate, along the MALP route, and here at the outpost. There hadn't been any reports of danger and the locals didn't seem to care, especially after the Athosians started tagging along so that they could trade goods, and all was quiet. "Shoulda come to the Air Force, Maguire."
"I'd never have respected myself in the morning, sir," Maguire replied with a lopsided grin. He saluted and then went off.