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More than anything else, Sheppard is bored on Earth. He's sure there are exciting planets out there in the Milky Way, but most of the places he's visited have been either uninhabited or uninhabitable. Even when he's not out on a mission, Colarado Springs is no Atlantis, and if there's part of the base he's never seen, it's because he's not allowed in it.

He'd seriously consider trying to get in there if it wasn't for the whole Court Martial thing.

Rodney's not much given to sending mail, but Sheppard has to guess that Area 52 is as boring as the SGC, because there's a parcel waiting on his desk first thing Tuesday morning. Stuck on the back, over one of the joins in the brown paper is a sticker saying Gravity is a myth, the Earth sucks, and Sheppard manages half a smile as he tears it off.

Aw man. He's been pestering Rodney for one of these for years. He knew it wasn't impossible, although judging from the blobby welding along the bottom, it wasn't that easy either. It's probably not a good plan to play with it in his office, but he lets himself flick the switch briefly, and seriously even the noise is right, a gentle thrumming that makes Sheppard feel ten again, when he was going to be as good a pilot as Luke Skywalker and maybe save the galaxy now and again. Funny how things work out.

Grinning, Sheppard has a moment's dilemma before deciding to put the lightsaber away rather than hanging it from his belt. Not because it might get him in trouble, but because he has a feeling if General O'Neill sees it, Rodney's going to have to start taking orders. It's only as he picks up the box to drop it in the trash that he notices the note in the bottom.

Mine's red. See you in three weeks. Prepare to meet your doom.