Rodney gazed pensively off into space. "Evil comes in all forms," he said. "Life-sucking hands, unlocked bunkers, and other forms not so subtle. And to go back to the hands for a minute... Trauma. Hands have often caused me trauma."

"Rodney," Heightmeyer said cautiously, "has anyone ever told you about your tendency to talk into the camera? Even when there isn't one?"

Rodney glanced towards the fourth wall. "Do you want the list alphabetically or chronologically?" he asked, reaching for his palm pilot. "Because--wait, what were we talking about? Oh, yes, my hand trauma. Or, not my hand trauma..."

"Rodney."

"I was exploring the lower depths of the city. Lower depths, you wouldn't think that was quite so metaphorical as well as literal, but there it was--there he was. There...they were."

There was a long pause. A prolonged pause. A pregnant pause...the pause went to college...the pause got married, reproduced, and died of old age. "There who were, Rodney?" Heightmayer finally prompted.

"I'm a live and let live kind of guy. But that's where I draw the line, with the living. It's a very firm line. Some people can get away with recreational necrophilia. 'Lite' necrophilia, if you will. 'Lite', it's not even a word, it was invented to sell cream cheese and American beer."

"I'm beginning to think--"

"Well, that's a relief, because I was beginning to wonder when you would. This isn't something I can get through with my brain broken. And it is. Badly."

"--you're avoiding the real issue here." Heightmeyer frowned. "You came to me voluntarily, Rodney. This time. For the first time ever."

"Can we speak in hypotheticals?"

Heightmeyer nodded--even more cautiously. "Hypothetically, you were in the lower depths of the city..."

"Oh no, not me. A friend of mine...let's call him...Rod...ell...happened to stumble across something rather...indescribable. What would you tell him?"

"I would tell...Rodell...to describe it." She held up a hand, cutting Rodney off before he had a chance to even start in on the etymology of indescribable. "I would tell him to at least try."

Rodney cleared his throat. His fingers tapped a distressed rhythm on his knee.

Heightmeyer obviously tried to put two and two together and came up with seven. "Does this have anything to do with that redhead Genii girl?" No, not even seven. The capital of Lithuania, that's how far off she was.

Rodney was already shaking his head. "What? Who? No, no, we're ignoring her, it's part of our negotiation tactics with the Genii, Elizabeth told me so."

Heightmeyer regrouped strategically, "So Rodell was exploring."

"Yes, yes. When I say the word 'suspension chamber'--although technically that's two words, but it's all rhetorical--"

"And hypothetical."

"Exactly. No basis in reality. You think--you think, medical ethics. You think, doctor-patient confidentiality. You think... rigor mortis."

"This is all well and good, but your fifty minutes is almost up."

"Oh, come, it's not like you're charging me an hourly rate here. Wait, you're not charging me an hourly rate, are you? Fetishizing."

Heightmeyer blinked. "What?"

"Fetishizing. It's when you remove the object from the person--or--whatever--and it still retains a...a sexual, er, component."

"I'm aware of the concept, Rodney."

"It's perfectly healthy, right?"

"To a certain extent. If Rodell was...experimenting...?"

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, not...not him, not Rodell. It was...Cartett. No, that's too obvious. It was... Beckson. Hypothetically speaking."

"So this...Cartett Beckson was doing...what exactly...to...what exactly?"

"Er..."

"Rodney. What exactly?"

"It was Cartett...in the suspension chamber...with the disembodied Wraith hand. Or...Wraith hands." Rodney flailed in despair. "I think he's starting a collection."

Heightmeyer, all professional aplomb aside, was taking on a distinctly greenish hue. Much like the aforementioned Wraith arm. "Hypothetically speaking...this is a metaphor, isn't it? Please, Rodney, tell me it's still a metaphor."

"Bet they didn't teach you that in medical school either, eh, doc? They don't teach you much, I'm not surprised this missed the curriculum."

"So what--exactly--can I do for you?"

"I believe the proper voodoo term is a brainwash--or a memory..." Rodney gestured vaguely but emphatically, "eraser thingy?"

"An. Eraser. Thingy."

"Oh, come on, you mean you haven't found one yet?"

Heightmeyer cradled her head in her hands. "I'd love to be able to reach into my pocket and pull out a very convenient bit of Ancient technology," she said. "Believe me. Really. But--"

"Like this one?" Rodney asked, pulling out a very convenient bit of Ancient technology. "I've already preconfigured it, it's just point and click, but the failsafes won't let me self-administer."

"But--Rodney--"

"I promise," Rodney said, "I'll do you afterwards."

"You do realize the ethical boundaries this crosses...and we're not dealing with the problem, Rodney, or the issue at ha--at stake. Carson--"

"I never said it was Carson, I did not say that!"

"Well, he's not...hurting anyone--"

"With a Wraith hand, Heightmeyer. With a disembodied--it, it still moves on its own--and, there's a hole in its palm..."

Heightmeyer snatched the convenient bit of Ancient technology out of his hands, pointed, and shot. "Do me," she said.

Rodney's eyes took a moment to focus, and then he panicked. "Oh my God, are you coming on to me? This always happens--"

"You promised!"

Rodney scrambled out of his seat. "Anything I say while in a blacked out state doesn't count! You all signed the forms. Now. I have very important things to do. Very important things, down in the lower levels."

Heightmeyer called after him, "Just remember, it's a metaphor!"

But it was too late.

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September 24, 2005