Futura Memoratia

Chapter 4 dissensio (dissent)

“It’s Freedman,” she said, feeling her face flush and a little heat seep into her voice.

“Hm?” he murmured distractedly.

“My name is Freedman, Dr. McKay,” she said, perhaps louder than she intended.

McKay’s eyes finally came to rest on her, seemingly for the first time.  He inspected her appraisingly, not distracted for the moment.  “Yes?” he demanded.

Emily sighed and refrained from reminding him that her face was at the top of her body, not under her blue uniform shirt.  “I’m returning Walters.”

“Yes, I heard that,” he said flatly, his attention returning to the computer screen.

“A team, then?  A programmer?”

McKay rolled his eyes.  “We’re busy.  It’s hard to spare anyone.”

She was going to have to be firmer.  She tried to control her voice so she wouldn’t sound angry.  “Dr. McKay, we would all benefit from better translation in our work.”

“I already wrote perfectly adequate translation software.”  He waved his hand dismissively, starting to turn away.

She blocked him and strove to appeal to him intellectually, “Yes.  It’s serviceable.  It’s adequate for rough translations, but completely misses the nuances of the Ancient language.  Surely you can see that this could create serious problems in dangerous situations when accuracy is imperative.  What I want to create is very sophisticated and will solve that problem.  I’m talking about preventing accidents here, Dr. McKay.  I’m talking about bringing the database to life—making it useful for everyone—not just for the few people, like me, who can actually read it properly.”  

He was starting to walk away but she planted herself in front of him, consciously thwarting him, her voice growing louder, though she continued to try to rein in her tone, “I’m certain you will see the value in that once you give me an opportunity to show you.  If you could take a moment to come down to my lab, I can quickly show you what we have so far.  And if you could give me a small team to work with for a few hours a day, I can start releasing some of the artifacts to your lab for testing and experimentation.”

“Yes, well, that would be good, wouldn’t it?”  He shot her a sarcastic glare.  “I wasn’t very happy when Weir made me set those aside.  I mean, you aren’t really a scientist, are you?”

“Excuse me?”  She was shocked that he would say such a thing.

“Come on, Dr. Freedman.  You studied art, architecture, history, languages, right?  You’re just a glorified linguist who likes to dig up dusty, old, primitive stuff.  Hm?  Ancient Egypt is hardly applicable here.  You don’t have anything of value to contribute.”  He was gesturing dismissively again.

Oh, he had gone too far.  She felt her voice rising, her anger becoming clearly evident, but she felt powerless to back down.  She rounded on him.  “Dr. McKay—are you saying you get to decide whose doctorate is valid and whose isn’t?  Because I’d like to be certain you’ve seen my full list of credentials before you throw the last thirteen years of my life away!  I may not have a doctorate in physics, but I have studied the hard sciences and math as well as rigorous curricula in archeology.  I’ve been working with a team of scientists at the SGC for five years, doing just what I’m supposed to be doing here.  When I accepted this position, it was with the understanding that I’d be continuing my work.  I am one of the foremost authorities on Ancient dialects—the only authority on the Lantean dialect, I might add.  I am, in fact, the person who deciphered the secrets of inverted letters in the Ancient language.  I do have something of value to contribute here.”