Mathématique: Chapter 80

Sure hadn’t taken long for everything to go sideways.

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

Text iteration: Midnight.

Additional notes: Carving a little more build into the world. 

Chapter 80

Sure hadn’t taken long for everything to go sideways.

Young put his back against a silver panel with inlaid amethyst and got his bearings.

It was tough; his brain was hell-bent on showing him the instant replay of Rush and Shep causing twenty seconds of energetic havoc in the Lantean embarkation room before collapsing at the base of the gate.

Those idiots.

They’d make, maybe, the most inspired and shortest-lived military/science axis in the history of the SGC. They’d go on a mission together over Young’s dead body. Shep was full-on nuts in a reasonable-looking uniform, and Nick Rush was an enabler in the grand tradition of dynamite.

Damn it.

He didn’t like being separated from his neighbor.

SG-68 and Eli milled around the triage bay, at loose ends and full of too much adrenaline to avoid making a nuisance of themselves. Keller’s staff wove around them with annoyed glances and whispers that implied Young’s team wouldn’t be allowed to stay for long.

They needed molding into a shape that would mesh with civilian command.

Because Atlantis was a civilian command; it was obvious from the jump. Young hadn’t heard so much as a whisper from Sheppard’s XO. Woolsey and Keller had called the shots from the moment Shep and Rush had hit the deck. No one had requested any military backup. No one had seen the need.

That was one way to run things, he supposed.

They’d taken Rush and Sheppard to the infirmary, which occupied multiple levels inside the city’s central spire. SG-68 had been held at the door as “non-essential.”

Young’s instinct was to throw his weight around. Carve a piece of turf.

But he had no idea what his turf looked like, other than the ground under his neighbor’s feet.

“Sergeant,” Young said. “Lieutenant. Backs to the wall. I’m gonna get the lay of the land. You two stay here. If you get invited in, post up next to Rush’s bed and stay out of the way.” He caught Ginn’s eye. “Find Keller. Introduce yourself as the civilian scientist from SG-68. Ask if you can shadow her while she works on the field adjustments for Rush’s technoswag. If she says yes, learn what you can.”

Ginn nodded. She scanned the room, tucked her hair behind her ears, and smoothed her face into a mask of calm purpose that looked Sam Carter-inspired. With an authoritative stride, she moved into the sea-grotto depths of the infirmary. In her charcoal jacket and blue stripes, no one stopped her.

“I could—” Eli began, his eyes following Ginn.

“You’re with me,” Young said.

“Why?” Eli asked.

“Because we want Keller to like us,” Young growled.

The intern scowled. “Hey!”

“You wanna help your boss?” Young asked. “Stop fighting The Man long enough to map the terrain.” With that, he made for the infirmary doors. As he approached, colored glass slid away to reveal a hall of silvery naquadah and amber stone. Water ran silently at the bases of the walls beneath delicate grating.

Eli scurried after him. “Every authority figure is The Man until proven otherwise.”

“Good luck with that.” Young picked a direction and walked, leaning heavily into his cane. Not even an hour into his new post and already his back ached.

If Nick Rush planned to turn passing out into a personal hobby, and it sure seemed like he did, Young would need to double down on his physical therapy.

“Do you have any idea where we’re going?” Eli asked.

“We’re gonna find the guy in charge,” Young said. “Hopefully that’s where Jackson’ll be.”

“Okaaaaaay…do you know where that guy is? Because if this city is anything like the Floating City of Promethea, then one wrong turn can take you to a whole different area. Via, like, macro-level quantum tunneling?”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is I’m not sure wandering around a Magical City of Magicalness with no guide is the best idea?”

Young stopped and turned to consider the kid in his unzipped expedition jacket. Eli scowled determinedly, as though daring him to start a fight.

Irritation and sympathy warred for control of Young’s mouth. After the day he’d had, irritation won. “Zip your jacket.”

“No.” Eli’s eyes sparked. “I don’t work for you. YOU are NOT my boss. I work for Nick Rush. And I’m not gonna get myself lost on some unsecured Promethean Pier with NO RADIO all because you wanted to find someone to YELL AT. I’m not here for the Air Force, okay? I’m not here for Intergalactic Wars, I’m not here for J’Shep’s Cutie Math Martyr Routine, I’m not lining up to fight literal soul-sucking monsters, I don’t trust Uncle Sam or the US of A, or you. I’m here to look out for America’s Most Vanished Cryptographer. That’s what I was hired for, and that’s what I’m doing.”

Young held the kid’s gaze and fought down a smile.

“Ugh,” Eli huffed. “Don’t smile at me like that. C’mon. That was a great speech.”

“It was.” Young looked down the empty hallway, stretching away on either side. “You and me are gonna do better as a team.”

Eli narrowed his eyes.

“We gotta get access to your boss,” Young said. “Then, we gotta figure out what’s going on with his brain so we can fix it. We gotta get his cortical suppressors off so he can get his memories back. Whatever’s going on involves Ancient tech on a high level. Agreed?”

“Yes,” Eli said cautiously.

“We need more than an angry intern with computer chops. You see that, right? To hit all those objectives, we need to integrate into operations here. That means people need to like us.”

Eli perked up. “A social engineering hack?”

“I’d prefer you didn’t call it that,” Young said. “But, uh, sure.”

“Play by the rules to subvert the rules.” Eli grinned.

“Again, I’m not wild about the phrasing.”

“Tactical charm?” Eli tried.

Young internalized his sigh. “Sure.”

“I can do that,” Eli said. “Also, in the game, the Control Room is this way.” He turned and started in the opposite direction.

Young followed.

They found Jackson, Vala, and Woolsey standing over McKay’s shoulder on the horseshoe balcony overlooking the gate. As soon as she saw Young, Vala sidled over, leaning into her own cane.

“How we doin’?” Young asked in an undertone.

“Welllllll,” Vala drew out the word. “There’s been a complication. Seems flyboy was carrying a control crystal, and—”

“Did you know about this?” McKay snarled over his shoulder at Young. He took a breath, composed himself, and resumed with, “Or was this some idiotic last-minute MILKY WAY GARBAGE THAT—”

“Inside voice,” Jackson suggested with a delivery angelic enough to flip the bar and end up in asshole territory.

“Dr. McKay,” Woolsey began, “we will certainly be having words with our Milky Way counterparts—”

“STRONG WORDS.”

“Strong words,” Woolsey echoed, “but rather than attempting to place blame, might I suggest that a better use of your time might be—”

McKay, incensed, ignored Woolsey and fixated on Young. “Sheppard came back here with an ALTERAN CRYSTAL ON HIS PERSON. Which, I am ASSUMING he didn’t tell ME about because I would have pitched THIS FIT on EARTH and PREVENTED IT.”

“I didn’t know.” Young projected as much calm as he could muster. “I’m guessing Landry wanted the crystal offworld for the same reason he wanted Rush offworld. Better security. Farther from the Lucian Alliance.”

McKay’s glare toned itself down. “We’ve got labs activating everywhere. We’ve got equipment turning itself on. Dangerous equipment. We’ve got city-wide systems lighting up that we deliberately drain power from. We’ve got new circuitry in play, all of it tied to the control chair. We have a missing crystal—”

“Technically not missing,” said a Czech scientist with flyaway hair and wire-rimmed glasses. “I mean, it’s there. The data is clear.” He gestured at the screen. “It’s there, Rodney; it’s in the network.”

“Not possible.”

“We’re literally seeing it,” the Czech scientist said.

McKay rounded on the man. “Sheppard was carrying it and Sheppard collapsed in the gate room. So how did it get there, Radek? Magic?”

“Yes,” the Czech scientist replied, dead serious. “He was searched. It’s not on his person.”

“I’m gonna have a stroke,” McKay breathed, high-pitched and incredulous. He turned back to his aquamarine display. “I’m gonna bleed into my brain and die. It’s probably already happening.”

The Czech scientist stood. “Radek Zelenka.” He offered Young his hand.

Young shook it.

“Is there anything you can tell us about the crystal Colonel Sheppard was carrying?” Zelenka fixed Young with an earnest, unwavering gaze. “Unfortunately, Dr. McKay is succumbing to his own hysterics and is of little help.”

“I heard that.” McKay’s fingertips moved dexterously over his console.

“You were meant to,” Zelenka threw back over his shoulder, unimpressed.

Young cleared his throat. “It came from Altera. The Ancient homeworld. It was a prize for completing a series of trials. It was small. Could fit in the palm of your hand. Red. Carved.”

“Carved?” Zelenka repeated. “And—and red?”

Young nodded. “Not a normal crystal spar like you’d see in a drive. It was complicated. More round than cylindrical.”

Zelenka nodded crisply and returned to his station. “See?” He eyed McKay forbiddingly. “Magic. Or, if you prefer, ‘energetic conversion of a living-crystal matrix’.”

McKay didn’t lift his eyes from the screen in front of him. “So you think—what. It seated itself?”

Zelenka sat back and opened his hands like he’d already won whatever the hell argument they were having.

Woolsey gathered himself and straightened. “Dr. McKay, as soon as you’ve sealed off all newly active labs and ensured there’s no ongoing depletion of our ZPM, I’d like to hold a senior staff briefing. Is there a tentative time you might—”

“Fourteen hundred,” McKay snapped. The sea-colored light shone off his hair.

“Eli.” Young pushed his luck with enough volume for the whole room to hear. “Stick with Dr. Zelenka.”

“Oh.” Zelenka squinted at Eli, then frowned at Young. “And who is this?” He turned to Eli. “Sorry, who are you?”

“Eli Wallace.” Eli held out his hand and smiled. “I’m Nick Rush’s intern.”

Zelenka practically tripped over himself trying to get out of his seat. “Oh. OH! You work for Dr. Rush? Why didn’t you say so?” He took Eli’s hand in both of his. “Very nice to meet you. Very nice. You want a chair? Take mine. I’ll get another.”

“Pathetic,” McKay muttered under his breath.

“I, uh—sure.” Eli confusedly watched Zelenka “borrow” a chair from the person at the next workstation.

“Colonel,” Woolsey said, “Dr. Jackson. Might I have a word in my office?”

“Sure,” Jackson replied.

Young clapped Eli on the shoulder and turned to follow Woolsey. Vala tagged along, limping beside Young.

“He doesn’t like me.” Vala’s gaze darted to Woolsey as she used her free hand to haul herself up the silver bannister.

“Really?” Young frowned. “Huh. The NID alum with the five law degrees doesn’t like you? I don’t get it.”

She flashed him a dazzling smile. “He was part of a sting operation to test my loyalties. I didn’t love the execution, so I put together a little bit of a turnabout.” At the top of the stairs, she lifted her hand and made a small circle with her finger. “I publicly insinuated he’d made some unusual sexual requests of me?”

Young rolled his eyes and leaned into his cane. “Vala.”

“Look, handsome, in my defense, in all the power structures I’ve ever operated within, people die so frequently that one doesn’t generally need to worry about retribution. How was I supposed to know he’d live so long?”

Young snorted. “Pro tip: don’t do that again.”

Vala sighed theatrically. “That’s what General Landry said. The damage is done, I’m afraid.”

Woolsey turned, ushering Young into his office with a polite sweep of the hand. He gave Vala a look of silent reproach, which she returned with a sparkler of a smile.

“My aren’t you looking well today, Administrator Woolsey?” She asked breathily. “These Lantean uniforms are so flattering.” She traced a fingertip along the red swatch of color at Woolsey’s shoulder.

Jackson cleared his throat and lifted her hand away.

“Everyone agrees,” Vala continued, undeterred. “Did you have a hand in their design?”

Woolsey gave Vala a repressive glare and pulled a chair for Young. “Colonel, please sit.” He pulled a chair for Vala and indicated it with his eyes.

“Sooo kind of you,” Vala breathed. “Not sure if you’re aware, but I was recently shot in the line of duty. With a gun. For Earth.”

“I’m aware,” Woolsey said crisply. “One moment.” With that, he left the room.

“Where’s he going?” Vala asked in a stage whisper.

“No idea.” Jackson’s gaze trailed Woolsey, bemused. He looked down at Young. “How’s Nick?”

Young grimaced and opened a hand. “Keller held my team at triage.”

Before Jackson could reply, Woolsey backed into his own office, fighting with a chair that was doing its best to avoid being moved. Jackson crossed to help him and together they dragged the chair up to the desk.

“My goodness, the pair of you are strong.” Vala lounged back in her chair and lifted her injured foot into Young’s lap. “The colonel and I are quite overcome.”

Jackson looked up at her, and the sun streaked his hair with gold. He dropped into the chair Woolsey had found for him and gave her a magnificent glare of sea-angel blue, coupled with a scowl that had brought down an empire or two.

“I’m fine,” Young said.

“Get your foot off him,” Jackson hissed.

With a theatrical pout, Vala removed the offending foot from Young’s lap.

“Welcome to Atlantis,” Woolsey said with more than a trace of self-deprecation. He stepped around his desk and slid into his waiting chair. “I’ve been ‘briefed,’ for a certain definition of the word, by General Landry. However, given recent events, I find myself in need of a few more details about the personnel and equipment you’ve brought to our city.”

Jackson’s eyes flicked to Young. “Most things touching Nick Rush are currently ‘Need to Know’,” he began.

“Dr. Jackson,” Woolsey said, “I can appreciate that, but the man stepped through my gate and now there’s water running down the walls.” Woolsey pointed to the corner of the room, where a depressed groove of metal housed a silent stream of glittering water. “As the administrator of a floating city, I find this concerning. To say the least.”

“I’d argue that looks decorative,” Jackson pointed out.

“Very pretty,” Vala added.

Woolsey steepled his fingers. “Unacceptable. Dr. McKay tells me we have multiple systems putting a small but measurable drain on our power reserves. We have unidentified labs and sealed city sectors coming online. Sectors which haven’t been cleared, let alone explored. I’d ask Colonel Sheppard for an explanation, but he’s currently incapacitated. The control crystal he was carrying has vanished, only to show up embedded at the heart of the neural net that runs city life support.” Woolsey took a breath, centered himself, and started again. “Everything you know. Now, please.”

Jackson looked at Young.

Young nodded.

Jackson straightened in his chair. His blue-fire eyes burned with the sun pouring through windows and skylights. “Ancient technology has a life and mind of its own. Even across all these millennia. It plays favorites.”

“I know it plays favorites,” Woolsey said, unimpressed. “Colonel Sheppard lives here. It’s been hard to miss.”

“Okay,” Jackson began, “then you understand—”

“I understand Colonel Sheppard and Dr. Rush removed a control crystal from Altera. Why would the Ancients permit such a thing? Do you know?”

“I—no.” Jackson gave Woolsey a faint smile.

“Guess, please.”

“You want me to guess?”

“Considering your track record as a whole, your ‘guesses’ are worth a great deal, Dr. Jackson.”

“Okay. Guessing. Historically, we’ve been allowed to interact with the technology we find, but this crystal was something different: a prize for a trial of the mind and spirit. It’s a way, maybe, for the Ancients to intervene without intervention.”

“Given the effects of this crystal,” Woolsey waved at the water silently sheeting down his wall, “what is its likely purpose?”

“No idea,” Jackson said.

“Guess,” Woolsey fired back pointedly.

Jackson frowned at the water sheeting down the wall, as if it were whispering distractions at him. “Life support doesn’t seem like an accident.”

“How so?”

“Well, one domain where Ancient technology keeps surprising us, is population-level caretaking. Buffers prevent pattern loss in the gate network. Positional updates prevent travelers from being stranded. Ancient tech maintains its own integrity so well that tens of thousands of years of corruption and theft by the Goa’uld couldn’t tear the spirit out of it.” Jackson stood and paced over to the wall, where water ran in a new silver/stone groove.

“Go on,” Woolsey said.

“And—the shape of the crystal. Carved like a spark.” Jackson trailed his fingertips through the water glimmering its way down the wall. His brow furrowed. “It feels—personal.” He looked across the room and caught Young’s eye. “Don’t you think?”

“Jackson,” Young said, “this is way over my head.”

“Personal?” Woolsey asked.

Jackson cast his gaze back toward the observation deck where McKay bent over a console. “This place is a cathedral. A temple to the sea. Fractal stained glass, partitioned like coral. Metal that shines like water. Stone that suggests sun.” He smiled, small and warm, his fingertips still in the flow of a silver-backed waterfall. “And now—water runs through it.” He knelt to study a shallow trough at the base of the wall, where silver molding had dropped away to reveal an inlaid grate over running water. “There are lights on the underside of these grates. Hard to see on a day full of sun. But…I’m wondering if something’s meant to grow.” He looked up at them. “We’ll see.”

“Grow?” Woolsey echoed.

“There’s keeping us alive,” Jackson said, back on his feet, “and then there’s saying hello. Rolling out the green carpet. Maybe the control crystal in our life support lacks a defined purpose. Maybe it’s a calling card. Maybe it’s first real mark of status humanity’s been given. Not a weapon, not a power source—”

“An AmEx Black Card,” Vala said sagely.

They all looked at her.

“They’re invitation only,” she explained. “Highly exclusive. When the Stargate Program goes public, we’ll all get one, I’m sure.”

“Uh.” Jackson frowned. “Don’t think it works that way.”

“The control crystal or American Express, the corporation, rewarding us for good deeds?” Vala asked.

Young snorted.

“Can we return to the matter at hand?” Woolsey gave Vala a dark look. “Dr. Keller has made astounding progress in shielding Colonel Sheppard’s mind against the pressures of Atlantis. But we still haven’t determined what was done to him on Altera. Whatever it was increased his sensitivity to the city’s technology. Can you shed any light on this, Dr. Jackson?”

Jackson shook his head. “I’m unwilling to speculate.”

Woolsey sighed. “Can you tell me why you’re unwilling to speculate?”

Jackson smiled a small smile and said nothing.

Woolsey looked to Young, like he was some kind of translator for crazy geniuses.

Maybe he was.

“Lotta top players on Atlantis right now,” Young offered. “Maybe best not to tip our hand about anything. To anyone. On any plane.”

Woolsey gave Jackson a look that pretty clearly said, Are you shitting me?

Jackson shrugged.

Woolsey pressed his fingertips to his eyebrows, as though he were trying to force a headache away. “And your purpose on Atlantis? Is that also ‘unspeakable’?”

“The less we talk about it the better, I’m thinking.” There was a note of apology in Jackson’s voice. “Pretty sure it’ll be one of those things where I know when I’m done.”

“I’d really rather not be drawn into your war,” Woolsey dropped his hands.

Jackson did his best to conceal his flinch.

“It’s not ‘his war’,” Vala said, cool and formal. “If it’s anyone’s, let’s call it mine. I did give birth to a Hostile Prophetess and Supreme Commander of the Origen War Machine.”

Everyone stared at her.

“Ummmmmm,” Jackson breathed, his eyes shut. “Can we not?”

“What?” Vala asked, clear and musical, her hair shining under ageless sea glass.

A knock sounded on the doorframe behind them. Young turned to see Major Lorne, Sheppard’s XO, standing in the doorway. He gathered himself, bracing for the ache that would come with shifting his weight, but—

“Ah, Major Lorne,” Woolsey said. “Would you mind showing Dr. Jackson and Ms. Mal Doran to their quarters? I’d like a word with Colonel Young.”

“Sure thing.” Lorne said. “McKay says there’s a senior staff briefing at 1400?”

Woolsey nodded.

Jackson and Vala got to their feet, looking curiously over their shoulders as they followed Lorne from the room.

“I can’t—” Woolsey dropped his voice, leaned over his desk, and looked Young in the eyes. “I can’t identify with any of that.” He gestured subtly after Jackson and Vala. “Can you?”

Young cleared his throat. Couldn’t think of a damn thing to follow it up with.

“There isn’t an Earth-based protocol that I’ve managed to enforce on this city for more than two hours at a time,” Woolsey said, dry as dust. “My top military advisor has a poorly concealed death wish. My predecessor adopted a nation of people with genetic ties to the Wraith. She died by slow conversion into a replicator, leaving everyone here with unprecedented institutional trauma. You brought us a math consultant with the reputation of a rockstar and the status of Planetary Asset because we’re the safest harbor he can find? Meanwhile, Dr. Jackson, the centerpiece of the Ori War, is here on an undisclosed mission. And Rodney McKay, the most reasonable person on this Expedition, is publicly threatening a stroke on the Observation Deck as the city transforms itself like it’s been gifted a line of credit from American Express.”

Young did his best not to smile. “McKay’s your most reasonable guy, huh?”

Woolsey took a breath. “Sometimes, it can seem that way.”

“I get it,” Young said. “This end-of-the-world vibe is making the rounds.”

“Colonel, frankly I’m glad you’re here. Colonel Sheppard is out of commission more frequently than I’d like. This,” Woolsey waved at the gate room, “is a case in point. Would you consider joining us for our senior staff briefing? I think we could all use a counterweight to Dr. McKay’s justifiable passions.”

Young hesitated. “My team and I are happy to help, but our primary objective is the protection of Earth’s Planetary Asset. My understanding was that Colonel Sheppard had no plans to incorporate us into your military operations here.”

“Quite right,” Woolsey said. “I strongly agree. No no, I was hoping I might rely on you in a more informal capacity?”

“Meaning?” Young asked. This was starting to feel a little IOA-y. NID-ish.

Woolsey seemed to know it, too. He sighed. “I need a little perspective. That’s all. A strong handle on protocol and regulation has done little to prepare me for this job, which requires weighing the solvency of worlds and the well-being of my personnel against haunted cities and legions of vampiric alien monsters. In the Age of Exploration, ship captains often struck up friendships with distinguished passengers while they were aboard. What are you and Dr. Rush, if not that?”

This was taking an unexpected turn.

When he’d pictured integrating himself into Atlantis Operations, it’d been Shep he’d imagined working with. Woolsey’d been a shadowy figure, a likely obstacle, removed from any real-world considerations. A suit in a corner with a clipboard and checklist.

But Young hadn’t been the only one making plans.

“Fair enough,” he said cautiously. “I’ve got more perspective than I know what to do with.”

Woolsey’s face lit up with a degree of delight that was simultaneously endearing and a little too much. “Wonderful! Major Lorne and I have arranged quarters for you and your team. Your personal belongings have already been transferred; I hope you don’t mind. We chose the location with an eye toward Dr. Rush’s security. Southeast Pier. Level Nineteen.” Woolsey stood. “If you’ll follow me, I think we have time for a quick tour before the 1400 briefing.”

Young stood. “Sure. But, in the meantime, I’d feel better if my team could be stationed a little deeper in the infirmary to keep an eye on Dr. Rush.”

“Ah, of course,” Woolsey said. “Say no more.” He pressed a small button on his earpiece. “Dr. Keller, this is Richard Woolsey. How are our patients?”

“Everybody’s stable,” Keller was on the edge of audible from Woolsey’s in-ear radio. “I’ll be attempting to wake Colonel Sheppard within the hour. Dr. Rush’s neurocortical adjustments are more of a work in progress. It would go faster with Rodney’s help.”

“Splendid,” Woolsey said. “Dr. McKay will be available to you as soon as our 1400 staff meeting is complete. In the meantime, would you mind allowing SG-68 access to your neuro-ICU? Dr. Rush is a Planetary Asset, after all, and his security is getting a little antsy.”

“You betcha,” she replied. “Keller out.”

“Thanks,” Young said.

Woolsey waved him off. “Don’t mention it. Let’s tour your quarters, shall we?”

To Young’s relief, the walk to the Southeast Pier was shorter than he’d been braced for. He’d worried whether his back and leg would survive a city of stairs, but getting from the Central Spire to the residential district of the Southeast Pier was as easy as stepping into a hallway closet and stepping out to a vista that belonged to a luxury ocean liner.

Woolsey led Young to a wrought-silver balustrade to take in the view. Pour-over sun splashed off the blue of rippling waves. At their backs, a silver tower soared overhead, casting a narrow shadow. As the pier stretched away to south and east, smaller spires jutted from its length.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Woolsey didn’t conceal his fondness. “All civilian personnel who arrived after the initial expedition have been set up on the Southeast Pier. The first wave of crew took rather spartan quarters in the Central Spire. We think they were meant for on-duty personnel. The real living quarters are here.”

“So this is a populated area?” Young asked.

“Oh yes,” Woolsey said. “In the city’s heyday, this was known as Sanctuary Quay. The transport we used is wired into the heart of the grid. It won’t go down unless we lose all power. We know from our research that Sanctuary Quay was home to a school, to gardens, to Ancient artists and inventors. There are suites for dignitaries and their retinues. That’s where we’ll house you and your team: the Nautilus Suite. According to city records, Moros himself designed and inhabited these rooms during his time on Atlantis.”

Young followed Woolsey along the hall. “Moros?”

“Ah. The Ancient whom humanity knows as ‘Merlin.’ I’ve heard he spent time on Earth. Perhaps he’s even a long-lost forebear of our Planetary Asset, eh?”

“What?” Young asked.

“Those Ancient genes come from somewhere, don’t they? And Merlin did have a rather famous dalliance with a human student…” Woolsey gave Young a roguish eyebrow.

“Disturbing.”

“I regretted it as soon as I said it,” Woolsey admitted. “Ah. Here we are.” He paused next to silver doors, inlaid with a spiral of colored glass that glittered under strong sun. “The Nautilus Suite.”

The entryway was a wide channel of misted glass, etched with the silhouettes of shells. Water glistened in shallow runnels, bracketing a floor of dark stone cut with rippled mineral deposits. The hall opened into a ballroom designed for clear nights on a starlit sea. Light fixtures of silver filigree, each different from the next, dropped from a ceiling more window than roof. Wheels of glass fish, glass coral, glass waves gleamed with light that was nearly swallowed by the bright day. Three sets of sliding doors opened onto a terrace overlooking the ocean.

Young shook his head. “Not gonna work,” he said. “Too exposed.”

“Nonsense,” Woolsey replied. “This is just your reception hall.”

“We don’t need a reception hall.”

“Everything you see,” Woolsey continued, “has its own shield and associated power reserve. The city rotates in response to storms and to enemy attack, so Sanctuary Quay orients away from danger at all times. It’s the lee in every storm. The opposite pier, Breakwater Quay, is structurally reinforced to take the brunt of any danger.”

“That’s something.” Young gestured at the doors with his cane. “Do these lock?”

“Not only do they lock and seal,” Woolsey said, “but they come with self-contained energy shields that reinforce the glass.” He moved to a panel on the wall, swept his fingers across its display, and a shimmer of pale gold passed across the wall of windows and the skylights above. “Stops projectiles and energy-based weapons.”

Young scanned the perimeter of the room. The silver curve of the interior wall broke at a single door.

“Colonel, I sense your skepticism.” Woolsey radiated genial stubbornness. “Think of this as a workspace. A receiving hall. The outer chamber before an inner sanctum, if you’ll permit a monastic metaphor. Or, better still: a shielded buffer between your personnel and the exterior of the tower.” He gestured toward the terrace.

Young angled his head in acknowledgement.

Woolsey headed for the silver door with an enthusiastic stride. He tempered his pace as soon as he realized he’d left Young behind. Once Young had caught up, Woolsey waved a hand over the door controls.

A quiet vestibule sat at the bottom of a well of light. Sun filtered through a circular skylight of aqua and amber glass. The soft beat of Young’s cane against the floor took on a subtle echo. The room was quartered by doors: the one at Young’s back, plus two open and one closed. Blue mosaics of ringed planets, constellations, the Milky Way, and Pegasus blended into one another, forming a ring above the door lintels. The continuous blue line of the frieze suggested a water level, rendered in chipped glass. In the center of the well, a fountain—half spun naquadah, half water—shone with colored light. 

Woolsey stopped short. “Ah,” he breathed, examining the silent streams of water that linked sculptural filigree to create an intricate pattern. “We thought this was an abstract sculpture.”

Young studied the fountain’s metal spokes, the way shimmering water lines connected small symbols. “Piece of the gate network, maybe.”

Woolsey swiped the tip of an index finger through an arc of water. With its flow distorted, the water chimed softly against an edge of metal it wasn’t supposed to hit. Woolsey sighed, small and satisfied. “Wonderful.”

They passed through an open door and into a kitchen that lay along the exterior curve of the tower. The space was large enough for twenty, with skylights and broad windows letting in the light. An unadorned door opened onto a tucked-away corner of the terrace shared with the ballroom. Along the walls, silent slides of water descended sunstone inlays and pooled in sinks of polished granite, like ever-running taps.

“Don’t be put off,” Woolsey said. “This is for serving staff.”

Young grunted. “Not very defensible.”

“Quite right, but we’re still in our buffer.” Woolsey circled out of the staff kitchen and into the next open archway.

They entered a room that finally felt built to the scale of his team. It had the structure of a suite—a central area with couches, chairs, a coffee table, and a wall-mounted screen.

“This, I expect, will be your team’s home base,” Woolsey said.

Young considered this, taking in the modestly sized space, its attached kitchenette, bathroom, and sliding door to a small balcony, far enough around the coil of the tower that it didn’t share a sightline with the ballroom’s event terrace. One wall had a sheet of mounted glass with silver pens clipped to its side. The Ancient version of a chalkboard, maybe?

“The windows tint on command,” Woolsey said, “and given your team will be solving cyphers within Astria Porta—” he paused to gesture at the boxes of Eli’s gaming gear stacked beneath the TV, “—this is a good venue for it.”

“Not bad,” Young decided.

The last of the three doors, the one angled toward the interior of the tower, stood beneath a ringed planet rendered in blue chips of sea glass ranging from navy to robin’s egg.

It led to a security station. Small and windowless, economical and defensible, full of consoles displaying power-readouts, shield statuses, tensile strength of naquadah that made up tower spires, and video monitoring for the whole Nautilus Suite. The only water in this room ran at the base of the walls and served to amplify the track lighting that ran the perimeter of the room.

“Major Lorne will be doing a dedicated security briefing with your full team at a later date.”

Young nodded, building a mental map. The receiving rooms and lounge coiled around a bottleneck security station between public and private spaces. He liked the look of the security station. There were cut-outs in the walls oriented to provide cover relative to the door they’d entered through. The egress door to the rest of the suite was concealed from sight behind a reinforced partition. It would be easy to hold against a threat from the public-facing door. It wasn’t designed to defend against attack from the private side.

Hopefully that wouldn’t be an issue.

They passed behind the reinforced partition and Woolsey opened the interior door, revealing a curved, shell-colored hall. Natural light filtered through overhead skylights. Bedrooms opened off the hall to the left and right. Through open doors Young saw generous beds, en suite bathrooms, and natural light from above. The rooms on the inner arc of the coil had a view of the city. Silver spires, some in shade, some in sun, rose like a metal forest. The rooms on the outer arc of the coil had no windows, as they were deep to the tower’s exterior wall.

“Beyond the security station,” Woolsey said, “Moros had lodging for six support staff. The inventory and network access for each room suggests personalization. Two soldiers, a historian, a stellar cartographer, a geneticist, and a materials scientist.”

“Seems like Jackson and Vala could fit in here, somewhere.” Young eyed the spacious rooms.

Woolsey raised his eyebrows. “If it were me, I’d rather not share a living space with Vala Mal Doran?”

Young stopped himself before he could tell Woolsey the woman had claimed top spot as Nick Rush’s terrestrial BFF. If these rooms were anything to go by, Woolsey was vying for that spot himself.

They arrived at the seventh door, positioned at the far end of the hall. Woolsey waved it open.

The door revolved on a central spoke, rather than retracting into the wall. Young appreciated the design, and, sure enough, when he checked the far side of the door he spotted naquadah bolts built into the wall that could slide into position and physically prevent door rotation. Six of them. They’d make a pretty handy mechanical barrier in a city full of electronic entry mechanisms.

The bars, he liked.

Ahead was a ramp of the same dark and rippled stone that ascended in a counterclockwise spiral, reversing the curve of the rooms on the first level. Young paused, considering.

“Too much for your injuries?” Woolsey asked.

“What? Oh. No, just surprised about the nested reverse-coil,” Young said. “Clockwise spirals are easier to defend. An ascending attacker’s right hand gets pinned against the inner curve. This one—feels backwards.”

“Fascinating,” Woolsey said. “Perhaps Ancients favored the left hand?”

“Or the Wraith,” Young suggested. “Do they tend to be left-handed?”

“Wonderful historical question; I’ll bring it to my history team.” Woolsey led the way up a turn and a half of ramp. The door at the top was the same type as the door at its base, revolving on a central spoke. “This,” the administrator said with deliberate grandeur, “is you.”

Beyond the door was a sunlit common space, a combined living room and kitchenette. Tall silver walls were inlaid with panels of sea-green stone that ran floor to ceiling. Glass and silver filigree doors led to a small private terrace with a view across the city. In the distance, opposite their position, Young glimpsed the fortified tip of Breakwater Quay between two nearer towers. A breeze wafted through the room, stirring tall, gauzy curtains. Water slid down the walls in glittering strips and ran in narrow grates along the room’s perimeter.

Through an open door, he glimpsed a stone-rimmed mirror, the edge of a coral and glass wardrobe, and the foot of a massive bed, where his duffle huddled like it was playing defense.

Woolsey led the way into the bedroom. The room was smaller than the sitting room, but not by much. The coverlet was gray, but notes of sky blue, turquoise, and lavender caught the light. “This, we think, was where Moros’s chief advisor was housed.” He surveyed the room with satisfaction.

Young tried to let the opulence of the room roll off his back.

He turned in a circle. Beyond the door to the bathroom he caught a strip of mother-of-pearl paneling. “Kinda feels like this is the end of the line.”

“It does,” Woolsey said, pleased, “doesn’t it?” He stepped to the wall on the far side of Young’s bed, where a spiral of inlaid amethyst flowed to and from lines of amber and aquamarine. Woolsey laid a fingertip on the spiral’s dead center, and petals of silver with invisible seams drew back into a concealed oculus door. Beyond its circular border was a dim hall. The only light came from cutouts in the wall, where bright backlight shone through wafer-thin stone.

Young leaned into his cane, took his weight off his aching hip, and considered a dark hole in a bright wall.

It was a solid tactical setup.

There was more to it than that, though. The image of Rush on a New York City fire escape burned on the screen of his mind. From that first instant he must have known something was different. It had been easy to see the clean lines of the man without the camouflage of bitterness, the desert-fatigue grief, all the erasures and void armor where he’d tried to overwrite everything bad that had ever happened to him.

Higher planes and transdimensional wars, Wraith always at the gates and the Ori bearing down on the Milky Way like a tide of fire—was it possible to shore themselves into a Lantean tower and ride out the end of the world?

Probably not.

And it was dumb as hell to fall in love with the guy who was lined up to take point in humanity’s endgame.

Too bad it had already happened.

Respectful and soft, Woolsey cleared his throat. “Too intimate?”

“No,” Young said. “For as long as we’ve known each other, we’ve been neighbors.”

The tunnel arced up, three quarters of a turn, then opened into a room curled around a cyclopean naquadah girder that had to be part of the tower’s structural frame.

They passed into a workshop with a floor of flecked black stone that glittered like stars trapped in dark water. The walls, bronzed with the patina of time, had escaped the burnishing that kept the rest of Atlantis a gleaming silver. The ceiling was high, with vertical space extending stories above, revealing the illuminated support struts of the tower’s interior. Crystal gleamed on the underside of benches, tables, and consoles. Light burned behind stone wafers set into the walls. Narrow windows cut into the ceiling dropped ribbons of diffuse daylight down through the high and narrow space.

For a room embedded in a soaring tower, it had a grounded feel. A buried feel.

The floor sloped up, and they followed the turn of the room. The workshop of tarnish and stone gave way to empty shelves, sized for books.

Another three-quarter turn through the empty library brought them to a cluster of couches and chairs of sturdy, dark material, arranged around a low table. Cabinets of dark stone and glass lined the walls, full of goblets, pitchers, basins, flasks, tea sets, glass orbs, distillation sets, crystal smoking pipes, and stranger things with purposes Young could only guess at. Running water slid down a glowing chute of stone on the outer wall. It collected in an underlit basin of smoked stone.

At the apex of the spiral stood a metal door with a central hatch.

It looked like an airlock. 

Hip burning after multiple turns up inclines, Young leaned into his cane, considering the door with a faint smile. He turned back the way they’d come, mentally mapping the strut that formed the center of the Nautilus Suite’s coil.

“Yes.” Woolsey answered the question Young hadn’t voiced. “Yes, precisely! You see it, don’t you? Moros’s bedroom cuts a small notch in one of four structural rods that reinforce the tower.”

Young nodded. “Not bad.”

Woolsey cranked the wheel of the door to reveal a small, rough-hewn room, large enough for a bed, a nightstand, and a rug. Sconces shone with warm light filtered through panes of amber glass. The walls were rough, as though someone had used a diamond chisel to scoop spoonfuls of naquadah out, bite by bite. 

“It’s small,” Woolsey said, a note of anxiety in his voice, “but a bit of an experience, to be sleeping in the bones of Sanctuary Quay’s most prominent tower. But if he doesn’t approve—”

Young snorted. “He’s gonna approve.”

Woolsey breathed a sigh of relief. “Splendid.”

Young swept his eyes over the compact cave of metal and stone, then turned back to the door. “He’s gotta be conscious to enjoy it, though.”

“Yes indeed,” Woolsey said. “Let’s go see about that, shall we?”