Mathématique: Chapter 24

There was no escaping the fact Young’s bones were bolted together.

Chapter warnings: Stressors of all kinds. Grief. Physical injuries. Mental health challenges. Pain.

Text iteration: Midnight.

Additional notes: None.

Chapter 24

Standing on the six inches of soaked dirt and wet sod that covered the Odyssey’s transporter pad, Young pulled in a slow breath. As his adrenaline left him, pain took its place. He shifted his weight, relying on his good leg.

Pain wouldn’t kill him. That was the shit thing about pain.

After the howling wind on the planet, the still, bright air of a starship was unsettling.

He scanned the eight people getting their bearings on their transplanted hunk of nature, looking for the unnatural freeze of a body in extremis.

The only thing that caught his gaze was the contrast between forest floor and the spotless deck plates; the line of transported vegetation beneath their boots was already seeping mud and water.

He clenched his jaw, he clenched his left hand, and rode out the waves of agony pulsing from his back and down his leg. That sprint over uneven ground was gonna exact a toll.

There was no escaping the fact his bones were bolted together.

Young had, maybe, placed too much stock in the integrity of those bolts. There was nothing to prevent his body from failing around its internal supports. He wasn’t sure whether it was the pain or the disappointment that was hitting harder.

A great head of Icarus he’d make.

His first day of command he’d taken himself out of commission on a friendly planet and lost the project’s most important scientific resource.

Ever since he’d spoken with Jackson, this whole thing had turned more personal than professional. The archeologist had yanked his priorities around. Or, maybe, Jackson’d just thrown his mystical light onto what Young’s priorities truly were.

When it came right down to it, Young wasn’t interested in Rush because the man was a scientific resource, he was interested in a scientific resource because that resource was Rush. His naïvely sarcastic neighbor who drove like a maniac, made a mean quiche, looked great in a half-undone dress shirt, and who had no idea what kind of moral abyss the Lucian Alliance had constructed out there in the power vacuum left by the Goa’uld.

Young knew.

He knew it ethically. He knew it intellectually. He knew it instinctively. He knew it viscerally. He knew it practically. He knew it in his bones, in his nerves, in the muscles that tensed with reaction over metal plates and metal screws.

But that was the point.

That’d always been the point—to stand between the threat and the threatened. To stand between people and the things that come for them. It was an instinct that’d turned into his profession, carved up his personal life, shaped its contours. It had brought him into the path of the Lucian Alliance and broken his back.

Now, in this shadowed aftertime of what’d probably been the peak of his career in the field, he had Nick Rush in his sights. It’d probably happened when Jackson had dumped the math professor on his couch. Because as much as Young valued order, hierarchy, loyalty, falling in line—he had a soft spot for mold breakers. For people like Jackson and Sheppard and Telford and Tamara Johansen: striking out in the direction of their beliefs and dragging the deadweight of bureaucracy behind them.

He hated seeing people like that take the hits that were meant for people like him. The hits that shattered spines and minds. The hits that came from exploring the galaxy on a network of invisible roads.

God, let them be phase shifted. Let them be stored, unaware, in a buffer. Let them have no problems that exceeded the scope of what they’d already known and suffered.

“How do you want to do this?” David whispers from his memory, backlit against the red light of air thick with ash. “The hard way, or the hard way?”

“Everyone have all their parts?” McKay called, his laptop against his chest.

Young gritted his teeth and tried to harden his determination into a splint against the pain.

McKay spun on his heel, repeating Young’s initial scan of the room. The scientist paused to watch Vala unzip her jacket and fan out her wet hair.

“All set, charmer.” Vala gave him a sly and dangerous smile. “Thanks for your concern.”

“Did you call me ‘charmer’?” McKay asked.

Vala winked.

“Everett.” Mitchell caught his eye. “You good?” 

“Yeah.” Young’s voice cracked. He swallowed. “I’m good.”

Mitchell’s expression flickered through recognition, then settled on hard-edged empathy. “Oh yeah,” the other man said. “You look good. Real good.” He broke formation, approaching Young.

As if this were all the teams had been waiting for, the two concentric circles cracked apart and people shifted, running their hands over their shoulders, twisting for visual confirmation that no slice of their body had been left behind.

“I know how it goes,” Mitchell said, full of quiet sympathy, his words pitched for Young alone, “so I’m not even gonna ask.” He pulled Young’s arm over his shoulder. “Except for the part where I say: how bad is it?”

“It’s a setback,” Young admitted through gritted teeth.

“That tells me nothin’.”

“I’m okay.” Young bit down on the inside of his cheek to prevent any change in his expression. When he was sure he could control his voice he said, “McKay. Jackson. Go find your people. Do your thing.”

“Our ‘people’?” McKay huffed. “Our ‘thing’?”

Jackson shot Young an inscrutable look from beneath knitted eyebrows.

“The science people. The science thing. Save the day. Mitchell and I need to report to Emerson.”

“For your information. linguists are not scientists. And, for science? The thing we need right now is the Hell-DHD, which is currently on the Antediluvian Planet beneath a storm system of biblical proportions. In case you’ve—”

“Less talking, more day-saving,” Mitchell said sternly.

“Exactly,” Young seconded.

“I’ll be on the ‘phone’ with Perry,” McKay said, making air quotes. “Bring a physicist next time, why don’t you?” Halfway to the door of the room he paused and looked back toward the center of the floorspace. “John, if you’re here, I’d stick with me, not Team Machismo.” He gave Young and Mitchell a dark look.

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Mitchell, added, “Uh, speaking from experience, I’d second that opinion.” He looked around, self-conscious about talking to empty air. “Bein’ phase shifted sucks. So much.”

“You are particularly unsuited to such a condition,” Teal’c agreed.

“Eh,” Jackson said bracingly, “it’s not so bad.”

“Except for the part where you can’t eat or drink anything.” Mitchell tensed beneath Young’s arm with a non-verbal indication he was about to start for the door.

“Well that wasn’t very tactful.” Vala frowned at Mitchell, then turned to the empty center of the room. “Don’t worry gorgeous, we’ll have you back in time to make dinner.”

“I wouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.” Jackson eyed Vala.

“Figures,” McKay muttered. “Sheppard is ‘gorgeous’ and I’m ‘charmer’?”

“Who said anything about ‘Sheppard’?” Vala asked, copying McKay’s earlier air quotes.

McKay shot Vala a perplexed look.

“Don’t worry guys,” Mitchell said, speaking loudly, his gaze shifting between the center of the room and the door. “We got this. No problem. We’ve always re-shifted people before they die of dehydration. Am I right? Of course I’m right.”

“Wellllll,” Jackson began.

“Jackson,“ Mitchell snapped. “C’mon, man.”

“Every time we definitely knew people had been shifted, we were able to shift them back. In this case, however, we’re not sure they’re—”

“Don’t say it,” Mitchell shouted, helping Young limp to the door. “If you guys are here, you’re gonna be fine. Carter can phase-shift like a champ.”

“Here, darling.” Vala reached into her pocket and pulled out a small book. She handed it to Jackson. “You’ll want chapter four.”

Jackson shot her an incredulous look, flipped to the page in question, and began to read aloud. “Chapter Four: Praxis in Practice: Respect, Optimism, and the Presumption of Good Will in Life-Threatening Scenarios. UGH.” He glared at Vala. “Practice in Praxis?”

“Witty,” Mitchell said dryly. “Bet you’re proud of that one.”

“It’s not witty!” Jackson protested. “It’s redundant.”

Young concentrated on breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, nice and slow, as he adjusted to the rhythm of Mitchell’s gait.

“You’re the guy?” Greer moved in on Young’s other side without order or invitation. “The guy who writes all these field manuals that Colonel Telford’s always quoting—”

“No,” Jackson snarled. “I’m not that guy. I can’t stand that guy. And Telford knows that.”

“Got it,” Greer said, like he could disassemble preconceptions just as well as any rifle.

“Oh dear,” Vala stage whispered to the room. “I seem to’ve hit a nerve.”

Young clenched his jaw as Greer took more of his weight. Walking was easier with help from both sides.

“Bridge or infirmary?” Mitchell asked.

“Bridge,” Young said.

“Don’t be stupid,” Mitchell countered. “There was a right answer, and that wasn’t it. I was testing you.”

“I’m not being stupid,” Young growled.

“You sure?” Mitchell asked. “Because you seem pretty stupid to me right now.”

“Nothing’s broken. I’ll be fine. I need to brief Emerson.”

Mitchell rolled his eyes. “You owe me so much beer if you re-broke your back.”

“How does that make sense?”

“So. Much. Beer.”

“This needs to be contained,” Young growled.

“So I’ll contain it,” Mitchell replied. “You can pull rank on me, and I know you jumped a security clearance level a few hours ago, but unless you’re a secret speed reader, I’m betting our knowledge regarding what the heck’s goin’ on is about on par.”

“Tell Emerson we need to keep him off the Odyssey,” Young said, resigned. “Unless there’s no other choice. No one so much as mentions his name on this ship. Keep the team from the planet together and isolated from the regular crew with the exception of Jackson and McKay. If the LA were to become aware—”

“Yeah,” Mitchell said grimly. “I know.” Mitchell angled his head and caught Greer’s eye. “Sergeant, stick with Colonel Young. Make sure he gets to the infirmary.”

“Yes sir,” Greer replied.

Young and Greer peeled off from the team and headed down a brightly lit hallway. Their soaked boots squeaked on the floor.

“There’s a lot of speculation about the LA,” Greer said softly. “Half the guys who came up through the armed services internal track and were waiting for assignment—well, they got axed, sir. A week ago. People are saying it’s because security’s tightening up. And that’s related to the the LA.”

“It is,” Young confirmed.

“I’ve heard a second front might open up. That we might go after the LA. Declare war.”

Young didn’t answer, just rode out the dread crawling down his spine to feed the pain in his back.

“You think it’s true?” Greer asked. “You think we can stand against the LA and the Ori at the same time?”

“We’ll take it as it comes,” Young said.

“Yes sir.”

The chain of command was no place for real opinions. 

A few hours later, after bloodwork, a physical, and a set of x-rays, Young spoke with Emerson in the Odyssey’s infirmary. The captain dropped by to let him know that Mitchell was briefing Landry via subspace, McKay had ruled out the presence of any phase-shifted entities on the ship, and Jackson was cross-referencing the design of the modified DHD in the available Ancient databases. The rest of the team was holed up in a conference room, tracking tropospheric scans. 

After the update, Emerson left, and Young was left to await the final verdict on his back from the Odyssey’s Chief Medical Officer.

He sat on a gurney, holding himself as still as possible. The infirmary wasn’t large, but its internal geometries gave the place an open feel. The main floor space consisted of a clean, white room. Every surface gleamed. Empty isolation areas were partitioned by transparent glass, while occupied spaces were concealed by misted panes that could be chemically clarified with the push of a button.

A door opened at the far end of the room and Dr. van Densen crossed the floor. She was dressed in a white coat over gray scrubs, and her tennis shoes were silent on the immaculate floor. She came to a stop in front of him. In one hand she held an X-ray, dark and unreadable.

“I’ll need a name,” was the first thing she said.

“Excuse me?”

“Who cleared you.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Young replied.

“Who. Cleared. You.” van Densen repeated her question.

“No one cleared me,” Young said. “I’m authorized for light duty. An unexpected emergency occurred in friendly territory and I’m the ranking officer for the project involved.”

van Densen turned away, paced two steps, and jammed the film she was holding beneath a clip on the wall. She hit a switch, and the panel behind it lit up.

Young winced at the bright white of metal plates and screws that stood out against ghosted bone.

“Someone’s shown you this, correct?” van Densen asked.

“Yeah,” Young said, the word hard.

“I only ask,” she said dryly, “because your behavior indicates otherwise.”

Young shifted his weight, winced, and wished he were talking to Carolyn Lam.

“This,” she pointed to a block of white in the image on the wall, “is the three inch plate in your femur. And the four screws that hold it in place.” She tapped them individually.

“I get it,” Young said.

“This,” she continued, “is the line where you fractured your sacrum, and the plate that stabilized the break. You were lucky it was so lateral.”

“I know,” Young said. “They told me.”

“This,” she continued, “is where you fractured your spine. L5, L4, and L3.”  Her hand moved upward through what was left of his vertebrae. “This is the plate that stabilizes your spinal column. And the screws.” She tapped them.

“I know,” he growled. “Did I re-break anything?”

“No.” The word was clipped, as though he’d skirted something he’d deserved.

“Great,” he said.

“You were lucky.”

“I get it.”

She looked at him over the top of her glasses. She could have been Emily’s sister, with her honey-blonde hair, her guarded expression full of disapproval. “Do you?”

“Yeah.”

“Your back hasn’t yet healed. With shear force or blunt trauma, your bones will re-break along previous fracture planes, pulling away from the screws.”

“Okay,” he said.

“Do you know what your vertebrae are for?”

He was concerned she might wait for an answer, but fortunately, she plowed ahead. “They protect your spinal cord and the string of nerves that innervate your legs. Re-break them, and you run the risk of shatter. Even a single floating bone fragment could paralyze you, colonel.”

“Yup.” He fixed his gaze fixed on the reflection of the lights on the far wall, taking his dressing down like the punch it was.

“You barely survived this.” The light glinted off her glasses, her earrings, the finish of her nails. “When they found you in that tel’tak you were suffering from spinal shock. You were comatose. Multiple surgeons were consulted,” she said, looking back at the film, transilluminated against the wall. “Vascular. Orthopedics. Neuro.”

“You read my file. Congratulations.”

“I’m a doctor. I read charts. Reading charts is half my life and more than half my job. But—I was there.”

He raised his eyebrows.

She regarded him solemnly. “And you were here. Do you remember?”

“I thought it was Brightman. On Earth.”

“You weren’t stable enough to be moved. Brightman transported up here. She and I worked together.” van Densen looked back at the x-ray.

“Right.” Young couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Colonel.” van Densen still didn’t look at him. “This was one of the diciest repair jobs she and I have ever done. You should be out of the field. For good. You’ll never meet the criteria for a return to active duty.”

“Bullshit,” Young said.

“If you have to fight,” van Densen said, “find another way to do it.”

“With all due respect,” Young growled, “I’ll be looking for a second opinion.”

“Feel free.” van Densen’s tone was clipped.

“Is that all?”

“Yes,” van Densen said, “other than a prescription painkiller and a formal reprimand.”

“What!?”

“Circumvention of medical orders by a misapplication of chain of command.” van Densen opened a cabinet and pull out a packet of sealed tablets.

“I’m cleared for light duty,” Young protested.

“An offworld mission in a life-threatening storm doesn’t count as light duty. Nothing through a stargate counts as light duty. And, as you’re your own ranking officer—” van Densen trailed off. She offered him the painkillers.

“General Landry agreed with my assessment.” He swiped them from her grip.

“Looks like you were both wrong,” van Densen said. “Are you suggesting I file a formal reprimand against the general?”

“Yeah.” Young gingerly got to his feet. “See how that works out for you.”

“You’re not going back down there,” van Densen said.

“The hell I’m not,” Young replied. “I’m the head of a classified, high-profile project. Things are going to shit right now, in case you haven’t noticed, so you can take your chief-of-surgery bullshit and shove it.”

van Densen adjusted her glasses and smoothed the back of one finger over her impeccable blonde hair and gave him the hint of a smile.

Ugh. Surgeons.

Wordlessly she turned, walked to a sink recessed against the wall and filled a cup of water. “If you’re going back planetside,” she said, “Take one now. Then two every four to six hours once you find your missing people. No drinking once you’re back on terra firma.”

Young stared at her, taken aback by her cool decision reversal. 

She handed him the water. “Don’t look at me like that. No running. And yes, colonel, I’ve noticed things ‘going to shit.’ No exertion. No trauma. No falls. Or so help me, that reprimand will go in your file.”

He snapped a pill out of its plastic enclosure.

“If you had so much as the thinnest hairline fracture, if you had any focal weakness—“

“I get it, tough guy.” He swallowed the pill without ceremony.

“This,” she pointed at the x-ray with her little finger, “is a blend of luck and skill. Don’t destroy it.”

He gave her the hint of a smile. “No crimes against art. Got it.”

She raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“We’re done here, right?” He slid off the exam table.

With a pointed look, she went to the wall, opened a cabinet, removed a standard-issue metal cane, eyed Young’s build appraisingly, pulled a wrench out of her pocket, loosened a bolt, adjusted the length, tightened it back up, and handed it to him.

Young sighed and took the thing.

“Now we’re done,” she said.

They returned to the planet under the cover of nightfall once the worst of the storm had passed. Young blinked rainwater out of his eyes, waiting for his vision to adjust to the absence of fluorescent dayglow lighting. Around him, flashlights clicked on and streamers of illumination cut the dark, the directed beams scattering as they reflected off a gentle curtain of rain.

“JOHN!!!!” McKay shouted into the dark, his waterproof laptop clutched to his chest.

Young winced at the volume of his voice. Beside him, Greer tensed.

“Cool it,” Mitchell said, one hand on Greer’s shoulder. “Not so loud, McKay.”

“It’s a friendly planet,” McKay whisper-hissed. “The Odyssey didn’t pick up any humanoid life signs.”

“Then there is no reason to shout,” Teal’c said quietly.

The wind gusted through wet leaves. They fanned out, moving toward the DHD, which glowed faintly in the clearing around the gate. Young limped forward, leaning into his sturdy metal cane, every step sending a blunted bolt of pain from his back to his heel. Mitchell fell in next to him, hovering close, watching his gait.

Jackson eyed the DHD. “It’s not as bright,” he said.

“Doesn’t mean anything,” McKay replied.

“Vala,” Jackson said, a hand extended. “Wait—”

Vala, out of line, breaking rank, darted in front of McKay. She weaved past Atienza and ducked in front of Reaves, who was on point. The lights from their flashlights followed her.

“Vala,” Mitchell called. “Y’don’t just—dang it.” His hand closed lightly around Young’s elbow, a wordless “stay here,” and then he was gone, tearing after Vala, following McKay, who followed Atienza, who followed Reaves.

Beside the DHD, caught irregularly in the beams of the team’s flashlights, Vala dropped to her knees. bending over something. Her dark hair glittering with rain. The rest of the team fanned around her, weapons up, stances ready, eyes sweeping the trees. McKay dived through the forming line to crouch next to Vala.

Jackson hung back and fell in next to Young, taking Mitchell’s place. The archeologist met Young’s eye, his expression worried.

With the Odyssey picking up no life signs—

Young braced himself, his mind a dull roar of dread without coherent thought. They couldn’t’ve lost Sheppard, the highest ranking member of their Pegasus forces, the guy who’d kept the Wraith at bay; they couldn’t’ve lost Rush, the civilian heart of a program so secret Young still didn’t know what the hell it was about.

“Move,” McKay shouted, bursting back out of the loose collection of people, his focus on the alien DHD. “Move. MOVE.”

“Back off.” Mitchell motioned at Reaves and Atienza. “McKay, if you can’t dial this thing in one shot we’ll call for transport.”

“They’re alive,” Jackson breathed. He grasped Young’s elbow, pulling him forward, parting the wall of Sheppard’s original team as he elbowed through.

“They are alive,” Teal’c said, making way for Jackson.

Thank god.

The wave of relief was nauseating.

“Yup,” Mitchell confirmed, from where he was kneeling, two fingers pressed against Sheppard’s neck. “Unconscious, cold as hell, drenched, probably hypothermic to the point that they aren’t registering on the Odyssey’s sensors, but definitely alive.” He blew out a shaky breath. “We gotta get ‘em home though.”

Young caned through wet grass to see Rush and Sheppard sprawled at the base of the DHD. They were face down, their hands locked together, as if they’d collapsed with something in a death grip.

Young pulled out his radio. “Odyssey, this is Young. We’re requesting a med evac for two people. Ideally through the gate, pending establishment of contact with the SGC.”

“Confirmed,” Emerson’s voice came back. “Stand by for our trauma team. ETA less than three minutes.”

“How’s the gate coming?” Young asked McKay.

“It’s coming,” the scientist replied. “I think I can switch protocols back to the default by the time the Odyssey Med Team boards the Lantean Dream Team.”

“Everett.” Jackson’s voice was low and carried a note of command. The archeologist elbowed Vala aside as he crouched beside Rush’s and Sheppard’s locked hands. “Don’t,” he said, giving her a warning look, “don’t touch anything.”

Young, in too much pain to kneel on slippery grass, posted himself at the archeologist’s shoulder.

Vala pouted ostentatiously, rubbing her arm. Young suspected her little show concealed real hurt.

Jackson wasn’t paying attention. He was prying back Sheppard’s fingers.

“Teal’c.” Mitchell swept his flashlight over Sheppard. “Can’t see shit with these black fatigues. Give me a hand here?”

“No one,” Jackson said, “touches ANYTHING.”

“You’re touching something I see.” Vala said, all wounded dignity.

“We gotta check these guys for injuries,” Mitchell snapped.

“Not before—” Jackson, having made it through the clamped double grips, stopped.

An irregular stone glinted in Rush’s palm, dead center of the intersecting beams of half a dozen flashlights.

“What is that,” Mitchell asked.

“No one touch it.” Jackson’s fingers hovering above the stone.

“Someone has to touch it.” Vala reached for the palm-sized stone.

Jackson smacked the back of her hand.

“Ow,” Vala hissed.

Jackson hesitated, then using his jacket cuff, he scooped up the crystal without touching it with his skin.

“You think that thing’s dangerous?” Young asked.

“Maybe.” Jackson scrambled to his feet. “But this is Icarus Project property, for sure.”

Young unzipped a jacket pocket, and Jackson slid the stone into it.

“Now can we make sure no one’s bleeding out?” Mitchell asked aggrieved.

“Oh,” Jackson wiped rainwater-damp hands on his wet pants. “Sure. Civilization-ending threats have been neutralized by Colonel Young’s pocket.”

Vala sidled up to Young. “You seem to do an awful lot of running around and escaping from perilous situations for a man on medical leave,” she observed.

“I blame Jackson,” Young said.

Jackson bodily moved Vala away from Young, and positioned himself between them. “It’s Daniel, actually,” he said.

Vala leaned around the archeologist and stage-whispered, “Blaming Daniel is my favorite.”

“Turns out it’s everyone’s favorite,” Jackson stage-whispered right back.

A flash of light in the clearing heralded the arrival of the medics from the Odyssey. Young, Daniel and Vala backed up to let the teams and McKay do their work. Mitchell joined them, then Teal’c and Greer, Reaves and Atienza.

The gentle night rain faded to a drizzle.

They waited before the gate in the starless dark.