Mathématique: Chapter 64

“The ring should be taken to Mordor,” Teal’c intoned.

Chapter warnings: Stressors of all kinds. Grief. Physical injuries. Mental health challenges. Panic attacks. Mentions of torture. Depression.

Text iteration: Midnight.

Additional notes: None.

Chapter 64

“You okay?” Sheppard asked as the door to the observation deck swished shut behind them. “You’re hiding it pretty well, but you look a little rattled.”

Young stopped in the hallway. He leaned against his cane, not quite ready to head to the briefing, reluctant to leave his neighbor with McKay. “I am rattled,” he confessed. “More than a little. I—didn’t do a great job down there in that alley.”

“He’s here, isn’t he?” Sheppard asked gently.

“Yeah.” The word was weighed down with all the galactic-scale problems trying to crush the height out of Young’s spine. “More credit goes to him than me on that one. I pulled myself together a little more once I got him on the ship—but god damn is he tough to take like this.”

“Yeah,” Sheppard agreed, “he’s a little different without his memories.”

“A ‘little’?” The words burst out before Young could stop them, raw and challenging.

Sheppard shrugged, unfazed. “You’re not the only one having a tough time. He’s spinning McKay out. Hard. Gonna have to do some damage control there, later.” He glanced over his shoulder at the closed door to the observation deck.

“Not you, though.” Young studied Sheppard, his eyebrows up, realizing the truth of his words as he said them. “He’s not spinning you out. I don’t understand. He’s so different.”

“You know him better,” Sheppard said, contemplative and exhausted in the harsh fluorescent light. “But—ah. Everett. He and I—we died. On Altera. Like, a bunch of times. It was horrible. It was long.” Sheppard stared down the corridor without seeing it. “I coached him through a fight to the death against his own conception of himself. A lotta walls came down. On both our parts. They had to. That guy in there—” Sheppard gestured casually over his shoulder with his thumb, “—doesn’t seem like a stranger to me. He just doesn’t.”

“I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse,” Young said.

“I hear that.”

“And I feel like I need to be about six places at once,” Young confessed, thinking of the briefing, of Rush, of Ginn, of Greer and James, of Mitchell, of Jackson.

“Sounds right.”

They looked at one another in the bright light of the corridor.

“How much do you trust McKay?” Young asked.

“With my life,” Sheppard replied, his expression serious. “With other people’s lives. With the universe. With everything.”

“Wow,” Young said mildly. “Okay then.”

“Oh come on.” Sheppard rolled his eyes. “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy? Life, the universe and everything?”

“Sure.”

“I forgot Cheyenne Mountain isn’t full of nerds.”

“You been there lately?” Young asked dryly.

“Okay, but not real nerds though.” Sheppard patted Young’s shoulder in mock sympathy.

Young didn’t say anything.

Sheppard’s expression turned serious. 

“Someone went down,” Young said. “Heard it over the open channel, but couldn’t tell who.”

“It was Vala.” The words were matter-of-fact, landing like the most straightforward punch Shep could throw.

“Damn it.” Young looked down the long stretch of empty corridor, trying not to think of Vala, of everything she’d made it through, trying not to think of Jackson, because, god, this was the last thing the man needed. How much could one person take? And why did it have to keep coming? “Tell me she’s alive.”

“She’s alive,” Sheppard confirmed, short and sharp and waiting for Young’s next question.

“How bad?”

“Bad,” Shep admitted, with a grimace that reopened his split lip. “She took a round to the thigh, but Cam called it in quick and they got her into surgery. The round knicked her artery, but van Densen and a full trauma team were standing by. She’s got a good shot.”

Young motioned at Sheppard’s lip. “That thing’s never gonna heal.”

“Yep.” Sheppard pressed the sleeve of his dress shirt to his face. 

“Anyone tell Jackson yet?”

Sheppard pulled his sleeve away from his mouth, studying the small spot of blood on the cuff of his white dress shirt. “Not that I know of. Jackson’s not in great shape. Cam wants to see which way Vala’s situation turns before they either, uh, tell him or break it to him.”

“Not sure Teal’c and Carter’ll go for that,” Young said.

“Maybe not. C’mon. Let’s walk.”

“I hate leaving him here.” Young started in the direction of the main conference room, a level below the bridge. “I really hate it.”

“I know. But I was serious about McKay,” Sheppard said. “He’s capable. He’s brilliant. And he’s carrying enough signal-scramblers to fritz a fleet.”

Young nodded. 

“So, before Rush was abducted—what was goin’ on with him?”

“Uh,” Young said, “a whole lot of shit, Shep. You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“He was unlocking the nine-chevron address, right? And he’s almost there? That’s the Cliffs Notes version of why the LA wants him?”

“Pretty much.” 

“But what is this nine-chevron addressed supposed to do? Where’s it supposed to go? Do you know? And does the SGC consider this a front-burner problem or a back-burner problem?”

“Why do you ask?” Young heard the dread in his own voice.

An amnestic, personable Nick Rush with two fingers on the pulse of the quantum multiverse was gonna hit Stargate Command like a cosmic dare. Young could practically hear Harriman penciling Unnamed Committee #4 into Landry’s schedule.

“Your face looks like you know something about it,” Shep said dryly. “Which is good, because this classified briefing we’re about to step into, believe it or not, is about whether we turn Rush loose on cypher nine.”

“No.” Young stopped in the middle of the deserted corridor and pulled Shep to a stop as well. “No. Working on that thing got him so deep so fast that the post-Altera effects of whatever you two went through were bad enough to almost kill him. No way. And there are other problems. Worse problems—”

“Worse problems?” Sheppard echoed.

“Yeah.” Young rubbed his jaw. “A lot worse.”

“At one point, Jackson wanted him on Atlantis,” Sheppard said. “Wrote to ask me to request him. Back in May.”

“Did you request him?” Young asked.

“Yeah. Of course. I love combinatorics and he’s a cryptographer. Atlantis has all kinds of locked doors. Thought he might come in handy.”

“What happened?”

“Telford denied the request.”

“Telford isn’t here anymore.” Young shot Sheppard a meaningful look.

“You think I should try again? The case is stronger now.” He tapped the cortical suppressant at his temple with two fingers. “Rush and I have an identical problem.”

“It might work,” Young said. “Worth a shot. We gotta get him out of Cheyenne Mountain. I doubt he’ll do well with the low-key house arrest the SGC will force on him. Plus, there are ethical problems with dialing the nine-chevron address, and I’d like him as far away from those as possible.”

“Ethical problems?” Sheppard asked. “What kind of ethical problems?”

“I can’t say—but without ethics committee oversight, Rush shouldn’t be asked to work on the cypher set. I can threaten to drag the IOA into things. Especially given he has no personal memory and can’t effectively advocate for himself.”

“When’d you get so political?” Sheppard started again for the briefing room.

“Right around the time Daniel Jackson helped me move into my apartment,” Young replied.

“So I’m gonna request him?” Sheppard dropped his voice. “Human civilization won’t fall to the Ori if I do? Because that was the earful I got from Telford in May. He called via the Gate Bridge to tell me I was endangering the Milky Way by listening to Jackson.”

“If an eleventh-hour save needs to happen,” Young said, “I am worried my neighbor’s on the short list of people who might be asked to step up. But I’m hoping we’ve got more time before midnight than that.”

“Me too,” Sheppard said as they reached the closed door to the briefing room.

They paused. Neither of them hit the door controls.

Sheppard met Young’s eyes. “Anything else I should know?”

“Only about a thousand things,” Young whispered.

“Pegasus is full of Wraith.” The words were neutral, but there was a pain behind John Sheppard’s eyes that made them hit like a confession. As though he, somehow, was responsible for the state of the Pegasus Galaxy. Maybe he thought he was. Hell, maybe he actually was. 

But Young had more than a little bit of a soft spot for people who opened doors better left shut.

“We all got problems,” he said.

Sheppard smiled ruefully. “Is your counter-insurgency team really dedicated to counter-insurgency?” he asked, refocusing. “Or is it a fancy name for the Nick Rush Security Detail?”

“Pretty sure it’s the latter.” Young gave him a wry tilt of the head. “At least so far.”

“You guys wanna come along?”

“To Atlantis?” Young lifted his eyebrows. “Don’t think I’m cleared for anything but light duty.”

“Lotta desks on Atlantis.” Sheppard smiled faintly, then hit the door controls.

They were the last to arrive. Mitchell, Carter, Teal’c, and Landry were seated at the table. SG-1 looked as roughed-up as Sheppard did. Carter had a Zat-blast burn along her neck, only partially hidden by her royal blue collar. She must have taken a hit at close range. Mitchell had a black eye. Teal’c’s suit was torn, and a bandage was wrapped around his left biceps. An irregular bloodstain laced its way through the gauze.

“Well?” Landry rumbled, his eyes on Sheppard.

“We got him.” Sheppard clapped Young on the shoulder. “Took Everett—” Shep glanced at his phone, “—ninety minutes to talk the man down. But we achieved our primary and secondary mission directives, meaning he’s here and by his own choice.”

“Thank god.” Carter propped her elbows against the table and pressed her fingertips into her temples.

Teal’c nodded.

“Excellent work, colonel.” Landry gave Young a small nod.

“Ninety minutes?” Mitchell eyed Young. “What’d you have to do, buy him dinner?”

“More or less.” Young leaned into his cane. “But yeah. He’s on board. McKay’s taking him to get checked out by Lam.”

“Well done,” Landry said, “all of you.”

Sheppard dropped into the empty chair next to Cam. Young lowered himself into the seat next to Teal’c. “Any updates on Jackson and Vala?” he asked, catching Landry’s eye.

“Last I heard Vala was still in surgery,” Landry said. “Jackson—” he trailed off. 

Carter’s attention snapped to Landry so hard it was like the man had landed a fishhook in her cheek. 

Beside Young, Teal’c tensed.

“What about Jackson?” Mitchell asked, stone cold neutral.

“Dr. Lam has moved Dr. Jackson to an isolation suite. She’s—less certain the virus he’s been infected with is of terrestrial origin.”

Young felt a sinking sensation in his chest.

Sheppard glanced laterally at him, looking to Young’s face for cues and not liking what he saw there.

“Oh no,” Carter breathed.

“How is that possible!?” Mitchell was half out of his chair. “He’s been on world for weeks now. There shouldn’t—”

“He hasn’t been himself since Vagonbrei.” Carter’s voice was soft, but it cut through Mitchell’s volume like a knife. “So tired.”

“Vagonbrei?” Young demanded.

“Sam, that was months ago. We’ve all been tired.” Mitchell turned to Young. “Vagonbrei was a planet where we were looking for a weapon to defeat the Ori but instead we found a shitty parasite that almost killed us all.”

Sheppard snorted. “I hear that.”

“Do we have any idea what kind of virus it is, if it’s not terrestrial?” Mitchell demanded of Landry. “Has Dr. Lam run any kind of genetic analysis on it? That parsimony stuff that can determine evolutionary relationships? Is it Ori? Is it—something else?” Mitchell’s gaze flicked to Young.

Landry raised his eyebrows at Mitchell, but all he said was, “She’s working on exactly that, colonel. She hopes to have results by tomorrow.”

Young propped his elbow against the arm of his chair and let his forehead drop into his hand.

Jackson, he thought, his mind full of dread, what the hell did you do? We need you, damn it.

But it was possible, very possible, that all along, it had been Jackson who’d needed them. All of them. In ways he couldn’t speak. For things he couldn’t name. Young’s throat ached with it.

“Teal’c,” he said softly, beneath the ongoing commentary from Carter and Mitchell.

Teal’c looked at him. In the Jaffa’s expression, Young saw the same suspicion he himself felt. The other man nodded at him. One time. Young tried to put every question he had on his face.

“We will speak later,” Teal’c said.

Young nodded.

“We’ll address Dr. Jackson’s situation as soon as additional data becomes available,” Landry said. “At the moment, we need to make some immediate decisions regarding the nine chevron address. Colonel Carter, would you mind giving the group a summary of the progress so far?”

Carter nodded, her red-rimmed eyes the only sign of how upset she felt. “Dr. Rush has personally solved seven of the nine cyphers. The eighth he rendered for Dr. Perry, and she solved it. The cyphers exist within the gate network, so, as he solved them, he turned them over to me. Sometimes individually, sometimes in small batches. I coded an algorithm that allowed his solutions to run through our dialing program. Using that algorithm, we can get individual chevrons to lock. There are still obstacles to dialing. Problem one—he hasn’t solved the ninth. Neither has anyone else. Problem two—once we get all nine to individually lock, there’s the matter of figuring out in what sequence they should be queried. Based on the speed of my dialing program, we can brute force permutations over a matter of hours to weeks, depending on how lucky we get, but that brute-forcing will need to be done from a planet with an adequate power source, since the only way we’ll know we’ve hit on the right sequence is via the creation of a wormhole. Problem three—the crystal Rush brought back from Altera is probably a second factor, and no one knows how it might be incorporated into the dialing sequence. And then, finally, problem four—powering wormhole creation will require a huge amount of energy, specifically it’ll require dialing from a planet with massive naquadria deposits.”

“Question.” Sheppard leaned back in his chair. “About that crystal—why do you think it’s a second factor?”

“Mostly because Dr. Rush thought it was a second factor.” Carter lifted her eyebrows.

“Huh,” Sheppard said. “Okay.”

“You sound skeptical.” Carter looked at him invitingly.

“Welllllllll,” Sheppard said, “it makes sense to me he’d think that. It’s very cryptographer-y of him. They love that stuff. And he might not be wrong.”

“But you think he’s wrong?” Carter’s mouth quirked with the hint of a smile.

“I didn’t say that.”

“It was implied,” Carter said, drawing him out.

“You think Rush is wrong about a math thing?” Young asked. “Really?”

“Spit it out, colonel,” Landry growled at Sheppard.

Sheppard shot Landry an unimpressed look, then focused on Carter. “If that thing is a second factor and it’s necessary for dialing, then the Ancients created a functional race to the finish. First person to get to Altera gets the chance to dial. Seems risky—as anyone who can unlock the full potential of a DHD may or may not be capable of unlocking the rest of the cyphers—and restrictive, meaning that everyone, everywhere, for all time gets one shot at whatever’s beyond chevron nine? I don’t buy it. I bet you can dial without it.”

“So what’s the crystal for?” Carter asked.

Sheppard shrugged.

“Uh, if true, this isn’t great news,” Mitchell said. “Sounds like the LA are gaining ground when it comes to decoding chevrons.”

Landry motioned for Mitchell to continue. 

“We captured two of their operatives at Au Coeur,” Mitchell said. “We haven’t gotten much out of them yet, but we know Telford’s heavily involved in unlocking the nine-chevron address on the LA side. Even their rank-and-file are aware that unlocking the cypher set is the goal.”

“All houses?” Young asked grimly. “Or just Sixth?”

“Sixth, Fourth, and Second.” Mitchell looked at Young. “At least. And there’s more. It’s common knowledge that half the chevrons have been decoded.”

“What?” Carter snapped. “Half? How is that possible? The scientific capabilities of the LA—”

“Dale. Volker.” Mitchell’s expression was closed. “The astrophysicist they abducted during the summer foothold.”

Carter shook her head, her brow furrowed. “No offense to Dale Volker—incredibly nice guy; very competent astrophysicist—but cryptography isn’t his area. I don’t see how he could possibly have made that much progress. On his own. No textbooks. No internet. I wasn’t even aware the LA were capable of computationally interfacing with the gate network in a way that would allow them to query the cyphers. They’re hosted on crystalline arrays. In that situation—with those resources, I doubt even Nick Rush would be able to do it.”

Young, remembering his neighbor climbing down a New York City fire escape with John Sheppard’s sidearm in his belt and the wind in his hair, wasn’t so sure about that.

“Nick Rush dialed Atlantis from a Boston Public Library.” Sheppard smirked, thinking along the same lines.

“Right.” Carter glared at him. “Because someone diagrammed how to do it.”

Sheppard grinned and raised his hands. “Shit,” he muttered, pressing his bloodied shirt cuff to his face as his split lip opened.

“Volker has the gene,” Young pointed out. “At least one of them. That’s why the LA took him in the first place.”

“The gene doesn’t make you a closet cryptography genius,” Carter said, the words slowing as she looked at Sheppard. Her brow furrowed, as though she were reassessing her opinion on the fly.

“No,” Young agreed. He looked Landry dead in the eyes. “The gene alone probably wouldn’t do that.”

Landry sighed, looking down at his hands.

The room was silent.

Young thought of Jackson, behind glass, sick as hell with something no one could identify.

“What?” Carter looked between Landry and Young. “What is it?”

“There’s a device,” Landry admitted, meeting Carter’s eyes. “Built by Anubis, that allows someone with Lantean genes to get a boost on the road to ascension.”

Young looked at Landry, his surprise at the general's open admission written on his face. 

Landry met Young’s eyes with a rueful expression. “Telford’s almost certainly disseminated this information within the LA. It’s not clear to me what the utility is of keeping it off the record now.”

“A boost?” Carter asked, refocusing the room. “What does that mean? A ‘boost’.”

“We don’t know,” Landry said. “But, supposedly, only via this device can one truly unlock whatever lies beyond the nine-chevron address. Certain physiological benchmarks need to be met. This device can help someone who carries a Lantean gene meet those benchmarks.”

“Oh yeah? According to whom?” Sheppard asked.

Landry shot Sheppard a sharp look. 

“According to whom?” Sheppard’s tone was dark. “Where’d this information come from?”

“Anubis,” Landry replied.

Sheppard’s expression was incredulous. “You’re taking the word of a Goa’uld on Ancient tech? Because, with all due respect, that seems really stupid.”

Not hard to see why Shep wasn’t all that popular with the top brass.

“That’s what Jackson thought,” Young jumped in before Sheppard could get destroyed for insubordination. “And he’s probably not wrong. The point is—a device exists. It may give someone a leg up on the road to ascension. The Lucian Alliance knows about it, and there’s a good chance they’ve already used it on Dale Volker. He might have a real shot at unlocking the gate now. Not sure he’ll take it, though.”

“Meaning?” Landry growled.

“Dale Volker played as much a role in getting us Rush as anyone here tonight,” Young said. “Maybe more. He pulled Rush out of the firefight and protected him while waiting for the Air Force to break through LA lines.”

“Aw crap,” Sheppard breathed. “The blond guy. That was him, wasn’t it.”

“The guy you stunned,” Young said sympathetically. “Yeah.”

Sheppard made a pained sound and shut his eyes.

“That hurts,” Mitchell said, his expression grim.

“We could’ve grabbed him,” Sheppard breathed. “Why didn’t he say anything?”

“Not your fault,” Carter said hollowly. “We should’ve thought about him going into this, shown the team his picture—”

“For what it’s worth,” Young said, “Rush tried to talk him into an escape attempt. Volker turned him down. Didn’t seem to think getting out was a viable option.”

“The extraction of Dale Volker has become one of our highest priorities,” Landry said. “An additional two SG teams have been put on the project. Our undercover operatives have already been apprised, especially those embedded with the Second, Fourth, and Sixth Houses. But ultimately, the Lucian Alliance may beat us to the nine chevron address. Unless we ask Rush to resume his work. Immediately.”

The room was quiet.

“Don’t you guys have some Unnamed Committee specifically tasked with the ethics of dealing with Nick Rush?” Mitchell asked pointedly. “One that Jackson’s on? I say we table this until Jackson’s back on his feet.”

“This device,” Carter said slowly. “The one built by Anubis—” She broke off, looking at Landry. “There weren’t ever plans to—”

Landry’s expression was set, but he angled his head, inviting her to continue.

“There were,” Carter said, the words a quiet revelation. “There were plans to use it. That’s what Daniel’s been so upset about? That’s why members of the general public with the Lantean genes have been recruited by Stargate Command? Has anyone used it? Has it already happened?”

“No,” Landry said. “Dr. Jackson argued against it from day one.”

Young’s thoughts were racing, trying to decide where and when to make his move, what Jackson would say or think if he were here—trying to balance the safety and autonomy and sanity of his neighbor against the rising threat of the Ori, trying to do the most good for the most people in the shortest span of time.

Sheppard glanced at Young, his expression uncertain.

“Telford wanted it used on Rush,” Young said bluntly. “Jackson didn’t. He didn’t want it used at all. That was the real split between them.”

“Use it on Rush?” After a subtle eye roll, Sheppard fixed his gaze on Landry. “Don’t use it on the supergenius unlocking your chevrons for you. Call me, maybe.”

“Jackson didn’t want it used on anyone,” Young growled.

“I agree,” Carter said vehemently. “This was something built by Anubis. Anubis! Sure, he knew a lot about ascension. He was also completely evil. Profoundly twisted.”

“We don’t need to recreate the ethical debates of the past several months,” Landry growled. “No one is suggesting using this on anyone at the moment. The question is whether we ask Rush to work on chevron nine. That’s it.”

“Yeah, but the second he solves it, we’re hard up against your ethical debate,” Mitchell pointed out.

“He solves it, and we have more options. We don’t have to use it. But if we’re in a tight spot—” Landry trailed off and swept the room with his gaze.

“Is this not the argument used by Denethor, son of Ecthelion and Steward of Gondor, in the cinematic epic Lord of the Rings?” Teal’c asked, into the silence.

The whole room stared at him.

“The ring should be taken to Mordor,” Teal’c intoned. 

“Uh, to be clear,” Mitchell said, clearing his throat, “by ‘taken to Mordor,’ you mean Anubis’s Evil Lab should be destroyed so no one can use it?”

“Yes,” Teal’c said.

“That was a really good metaphor,” Mitchell said, impressed.

“All my metaphors are good,” Teal’c replied. “And the works of Anubis should not be allowed to persist on this plane.”

“I’m with Teal’c on this one,” Young said.

“I’ll take it under advisement,” Landry said, hanging onto his patience by his fingernails, “but the lab is currently in LA hands, and our forces are spread pretty damn thin. The question right now is do we ask Nick Rush to crack cypher nine? Even if the device is off the table, ethically, forever, it might be nice to know where that address goes. Especially if we have an Ancient control crystal that could supersede the genetic experiments of a parasitic false god.”

“I doubt Anubis’s device is ‘needed’ for anything beyond the nine chevron address,” Sheppard said. “It sure as hell might be ‘needed’ if you have a snake in your spine, but we’ve done fine in Atlantis with genes alone. Chevron nine isn’t your biggest Rush-related problem.”

“Please,” Landry said, his dry gravel voice grinding on the word. “Enlighten us, colonel.”

“Whether he's working chevron nine or not, you’ll have to keep him under house arrest to provide him enough security to protect him from the LA. I don’t know he’s gonna tolerate that. We had to work extremely hard and take multiple risks to build the little credibility we have with him.”

“If the IOA gets involved, it could turn messy.” Young kept his voice mild.

Landry shot Young a knock-it-off look. “And what do you suggest?” he growled at Sheppard.

“Maybe he comes to Atlantis,” Sheppard said casually.

“He’s a Planetary Asset,” Landry shot back.

“And I would argue Atlantis is safer for him.” Sheppard leaned back in his chair. “He’s not gonna get abducted. He’s not gonna bolt. If he stays in the city, which he will, he’s not gonna turn into a Wraith Snack.”

Landry was silent. He seemed to be considering Sheppard’s proposal.

Young waited a beat, then said, “The best chance we have of restoring his memories is getting those cortical suppressors off his head. The Atlantis team is best equipped to help with that. And, until he does get his memories back? He shouldn’t be asked to shoulder significant risk. He doesn’t have the context to understand what we’re asking of him. For the same reason, I’d argue he shouldn’t be asked to work on the ninth cypher. Last time he made a serious attempt at it he ended up in the infirmary hallucinating symphonic works in the key of D minor. He doesn’t know that. You can’t ask him to do it again in the absence of context.”

“Maybe I can’t,” Landry admitted, “but the decision of whether he works the cypher may come from the very top. Could he work on it from Atlantis, if that was the—request?”

“Of course he could,” Sheppard said. “Didn’t he code representations of the cyphers into Astria Porta? It’s a popular game on Atlantis. Send the expansion pack back with us. Rush and his intern can spend their days playing Astria Porta and attack the problem that way. Rodney and I will help out when we’re off shift. Anything we find can be sent back to Carter. Same day. Same hour, once the Gate Bridge is up.”

Young kept his expression neutral. He’d rather keep Rush away from the cyphers altogether, but he wasn’t sure how realistic a goal that was. Working on it via a game seemed—less risky somehow than working on it locked in his apartment, writing on walls. And once Rush was on Atlantis—well, it would be Shep and McKay who were making reports back. Neither of them would be forcing Rush into anything.

“It makes sense.” Sheppard pressed his point. “Plus, our CMO, Dr. Keller, is triple boarded in internal medicine, neurology, and neurosurgery. She’s gotta be the best person to tackle this.” He flicked the device at his temple with a fingernail.

“It’s startin’ to seem crazy not to send him,” Mitchell said.

Sheppard opened his hands with a lazy theatricality and looked at Landry.

Landry sighed. “He’s going with a security detail and your personal assurance to me that he will not step so much as a toe into the field.”

“Yes sir,” Sheppard said.

“Security detail?” Young asked.

“We’ll have to change the name of your team.” Landry gave Young a wry look. “I’m thinking SG-68. Dedicated to—” he paused. “Mathematical exploration. Light field duty only. Try to teach the LA defector something about the chain of command, while you’re at it? You ship out when the Gate Bridge is secured.”

Mitchell gave a low whistle, catching Young’s eye.

Sheppard grinned, reopening his split lip.

Landry stood. “We’ll meet again tomorrow at 0900, planetside. Dr. Lam expects to have a report on Dr. Jackson’s condition by then.” The general nodded, picked up his small stack of files, and left the room.

Sheppard, too, got to his feet.

He was the only one.

Sheppard stopped halfway out of his chair. “Are we not—” he trailed off.

“Shep,” Mitchell said, almost apologetically, “maybe—maybe you go find McKay, give him a heads up on what he needs to know?”

“While you guys do what?” Sheppard straightened.

“We gotta talk Chel’mek,” Mitchell said. “It’s a Jaffa thing.”

Young nodded at Sheppard. “Keep an eye on Rush. I’ll meet up with you in a few.”

Sheppard nodded and left the room.

Carter eyed Mitchell skeptically. “Chel’mek? We need to talk about—”

“Shh!” Mitchell gave Carter an icy stare.

She stopped, astonished.

Teal’c shifted in his seat, unimpressed.

“We need to talk about Chel’mek,” Mitchell repeated. “Everett’s got some things to say about it.”

Carter turned to Young her expressions wary.

Teal’c raised an eyebrow.

God damn but did the stakes feel high.

Young cleared his throat. “I was explaining to Mitchell,” he said, trying like hell to force a casual note into this tone, “about how you’d never suspect Chel’mek included Doritos. Because you can’t see them. But they’re there. All the time. And they could be any kind of Doritos. Good Doritos. Bad Doritos. Neutral Doritos. You don’t think about them when you’re eating it.”

Carter and Teal’c stared at him, flummoxed.

“And we have a friend,” Mitchell said, overplaying things a little bit, “a good friend? Who used to work for Doritos? But then got fired?”

“Fired by Doritos,” Carter repeated, not getting it.

“You know the guy I’m talkin’ about,” Mitchell said. “Picks a fight with, uh, every corporate culture he sees?”

Teal’c looked meaningfully at Carter. “Our friend who does not like hierarchies.”

“Ah,” Carter said. “Yup. Okay. I—remember.”

“I’ve been talking to him lately,” Young said casually. “Turns out, his run at Doritos bothers him more than he lets on. Especially to those closest to him,” he nodded subtly at Carter and Teal’c. “But he’s got an axe to grind when it comes to Doritos. He may have a plan he hasn’t shared with anyone.”

The room was quiet. 

Carter visibly paled.

“I believe that to be quite likely,” Teal’c said into the silence.

“Any idea on what this plan might be?” Carter whispered.

“No details. But I’m guessing the guy is either putting it into practice or has attracted enough attention he’s been targeted by the company.”

No one said anything. Carter and Teal’c looked grave.

Young struggled to find a way to bring more detail to bear. It had been a long day.

“So—you’re saying he could have eaten too many Doritos and made himself sick,” Mitchell began, “as some sorta plot to gain a moral or technical or legal advantage over the company, versus—” he trailed off, looking at Young.

“Versus,” Young picked up the thread, “a faction from Doritos might be trying to poison him. Hard to tell which without asking him directly, which he’s not gonna like.”

Carter shut her eyes, her expression pained.

Teal’c cleared his throat, looking first at Young, then at Carter. “There is more to Chel’mek than Doritos,” he pointed out gently. “And our friend is very gifted in the art of blending ingredients. I believe that determining more about his current condition will be the best way to help him. It may narrow down likely scenarios.”

Carter nodded, opening those red-rimmed eyes. “I can help with that.”

“I would also say,” Young said cautiously, “that I don’t think we should ever mention Doritos to our friend. He seems to think the company is watching him. Twenty-four seven.”

“They could be watching all of us,” Carter pointed out.

“They could be,” Young agreed.

“In which case, everything seems pointless,” Carter whispered.

“Colonel Carter,” Teal’c said. “We must have some chance of success—if only because our friend has carried so many secrets for so long. The company we oppose is powerful, to be sure. But their influence is not endless. Their resources, though vast, have limits. Is this not what our friend has always said? As long as we have known him?”

Carter nodded, her lips pressed together.

“The battle has been long,” Teal’c continued, “and in recent months, it feels like it has begun again, anew. And yet, every morning now, the sun rises on a Chulak free of the yoke of the Goa’uld.”

“And that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Mitchell said quietly.

Before heading back to the infirmary to meet up with Shep, Rush, and McKay, Young stopped by the Odyssey’s mess, and managed to talk the kitchen staff into handing over four brownies and a pack of matches.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it’d been one hell of a day.

His team, fresh from an NID debrief that the senior staff had (so far) escaped, set themselves up in one of the conference rooms on the lower deck, near the F-302 bays. Like everyone else, they had their civilian clothes on, and, from the looks of things when Young walked in, it seemed James and Greer were teaching Ginn to play—

“Texas hold ‘em?” Young asked.

James and Greer came to their feet and saluted. Ginn followed suit a half-beat behind.

“At ease.” Young set his box of brownies on the table. “And you guys can cool it with the saluting. Shep tells me you three did great down there.”

“Thank you, sir.” James’s hair was sculpted into an updo Emily would’ve envied. “Did we achieve our mission objective?”

Young nodded. “Dr. Rush is aboard the Odyssey.”

Ginn and Greer looked relieved.

"Glad to hear it," James said.

“Also,” Ginn looked at him earnestly, “we all survived.”

“Yup,” Young smiled. “Good work.”

“We heard, sir,” Greer said, amused, but trying to hide it, “that if we survived, there’d be cake.” He looked at the box on the table.

“It’s a little last minute.” Young smiled faintly. “More like brownies.”

“Close enough,” Greer said. 

“But when does it get set on fire?” Ginn looked skeptically at the cardboard box the kitchen staff had set him up with.

“Not quite yet.” Young eased himself into the unoccupied seat at the four person table. “You three okay?”

They followed his lead and sat.

He got a “Yes sir,” from Greer and James, and a nod from Ginn.

“Before we do cake,” Young said, “there’s something I want to run by you. As of about thirty minutes ago, General Landry switched up our team designation and assignment.”

“Again?” James asked, brows lifting.

“Again,” Young confirmed. “These are times that call for flexibility. And, to be honest, I cobbled this team together to cut through red tape.”

“A cause I can always get behind,” Greer said.

“But—will we stay together?” Ginn asked, glancing at James and Greer.

“That’s the plan,” Young said. “We just got redesignated SG-68.”

Greer gave a low whistle, eyeing James.

“We’re—we’re an SG team now?” James let her poker face crack enough for some real excitement to shine through. She flashed a quick grin at Greer, then looked at Young. “We’re going through the gate?”

Young nodded.

“Is this good?” Ginn asked. “Is this better than counterinsurgency?”

“Way better.” Greer confirmed. “Colonel Carter’s on an SG team. Your job just got a whole lot more like her job.”

“Really?” Ginn breathed, like someone had given her a pony, or a space ship, or a sun, or whatever little LA girls dreamed of. “I could do science? Not just provide information related to the Alliance?”

“It’s looking likely,” Young said, “but don’t get your hopes too high. Our first assignment will be providing security for our local Planetary Asset. AKA Nick Rush.”

He tried not to grin at their disappointment. He mostly succeeded.

“So we’re gonna be local for a while?” James asked, riding neutral hard.

“Nope.” Young lost the battle with his grin. “We’re gonna be shipping out to Atlantis, as soon as the Gate Bridge is back up.”

Greer gave a whoop, leaned back in his seat, and punched the air. James grinned. Ginn looked at him, her eyes shining. “Atlantis?” she breathed.

Young nodded.

“Atlantis,” Greer repeated, grinning at James. “Can you believe it?? Matt Scott is gonna be SO. JEALOUS.”

James laughed, wild and delighted. She and Greer high-fived one another.

“Sorry, sir,” Greer said.

Young shrugged. “Glad you’re excited. But we’re not gonna be squaring up against the Wraith. We’re gonna be on Rush detail.”

“Nick Rush finds trouble like you wouldn’t believe,” Greer said, full of glee. “Seen it first hand. I’m not worried about getting bored.”

Young sighed. “You’re probably right, sergeant. I’m guessing he’ll be a handful.”

“When do we go?” Ginn asked.

“We’ve got a week and some change before we leave. Someone from the IOA will arrange for meetings with all of you in the next few days. There are a lot of regs about what can be brought to Atlantis. Not sure how long we’ll be posted there, but it could be a while.”

His team nodded, still grinning.

Young flipped open the box and handed out brownies on napkins. He pulled the matches out of his pocket and stuck a few of them into the top of Ginn’s brownie.

He struck a match, thinking, for some reason, of Vala, who, he was sure, would have been carrying candles in that giant bag of hers.

Young lit the matches in Ginn’s brownie, while Ginn watched with a bemused expression that turned even more puzzled as Young, Greer, and James spontaneously broke into song. The familiar tune started out strong, but rapidly lost momentum as the three of them realized that the matches in the brownie were burning a little faster and more robustly than expected.

“Blow them out!” Greer dropped out of the singing and motioned at Ginn.

It occurred to Young that they should have explained this whole thing to her ahead of time. But, it was too late now, and, as usual, the kid caught on quick, managing to blow the matches out without lighting anything on fire. She flinched, startled as they clapped for her, but James smiled, reaching out to touch her shoulder. She nodded at Ginn.

“Good job,” James said over Greer’s aggressive applause.

“It wasn’t hard,” Ginn informed her, still perplexed.

“As birthday candles go,” Greer said, laughing, “that was about as rough as it gets.”

Young watched them, trying to absorb some of their exuberance, trying to let their optimism seep into him. Maybe things could still turn out all right. Rush was back. They were on their way to Atlantis. That had been Jackson’s goal for months now. Shep and McKay and their CMO would be running point on solving the Altera problem. 

As for Jackson and Vala—well, Young had a week to come up with a plan.

Something would come together. It had to.