NaNo 2007: Chapters 21-25

Chapter 21: Books and Equations

John slumps in the chair in Mac's office, scrawling pieces of equations on the yellow legal pad balanced on his knee and keeping half an eye on the activity in the dojo. He still isn't really getting anywhere with the equations, but that doesn't really matter as long as he's making some small progress because he suspects it's going to take a long time for space travel on this Earth to become normal enough and fast enough for him to risk trying it- if it's still limited to a handful of astronauts, he can't afford to work his way through the space program, not with the immortality; and if it isn't fast enough, even the tweaking of engines that he feels confident he can do won't be enough to get him to civilization on the other side of the wormhole, even if he uses his theory to use a planet's gravity to go even faster. So even if it takes a few decades to work out the equations, he'll probably have them done well before he can test them. He just hopes the struggling space program won't collapse in the interim- it'll probably be centuries before he saves enough money to even attempt to start his own, especially if he doesn't find a new career that pays more than his current one of high school physics teacher does.

Not that he doesn't like being a teacher; in a way, it reminds him of being on Moya, but with far fewer weapons or explosions or danger, period. High school students have their own culture he knows little about, and most of the time they listen to him about as much as the Moyans always had, although they understand his idioms and pop culture references a lot more. Not all the time, though, because he's "old" and some things he refers to they're too young to remember, or to have been exposed to. But being a teacher is more of a placeholder than anything, something to give him enough money to pay his rent while he works on his wormhole equations. Physics is pretty much the only one of his skills that's actually legally marketable here and now, unless he wants to go out and get his pilot's license again and fly commercial; and although there are other jobs related to physics that pay better, most of them would require him to publish regularly or to work on theories for the employers. He can't work on anything other than his wormhole theories; they've seemingly taken over his brain. He can teach high school physics, because it's so elementary compared to what he's been working on that he could almost do it in his sleep, but he lives for his wormhole theories. When he closes his eyes he can see them there, waiting for him to untangle the threads. When he sleeps he dreams about them.

There's a knock on the office door, and John realizes he'd zoned out for a few minutes. "Come in," he calls, tossing the legal pad and pencil back onto the cluttered desk (he's been dojo-sitting for Mac for a few weeks now. He'll have to clear his clutter off before Mac gets back, but that still won't be for almost a month) and scanning the dojo again. Nobody's there who isn't supposed to be, so he turns his attention to whoever's entering the office.

It's a woman, which is somewhat of a surprise; most of the people who come to the dojo are men, in part because of the entrance "exam" and in part because most women just don't want to join. And she doesn't look like the Daniel he's supposed to give some books of Mac's to.

"Can I help you?" he asks.

"I need to pick up some books," she says. "They're for my friend Daniel."

"I was going to say," John says. "You don't look like a Daniel."

"Sam Carter," she introduces herself.

"John Crichton." He shakes her hand, and then starts rooting through the piles of paper on the desk. "Sorry about the mess. It's a lot neater when Mac's here, but I'm dojo-sitting for him."

"No problem," she says. "Daniel's desk looks like this all the time. For that matter, so does mine. May I?" She gestures at the desk.

"Sure," John says. "I suspect it'll go faster with some help."

She joins him in riffling through the papers, trying to find the books, but inadvertently knocks some of them on the floor. "Whoops, sorry," she says and bends over to pick them up. "I hope these weren't in any order."

"Nah, they're all just pieces I'm working on. Random order and probably wrong anyway."

She looks at the writing on the papers she's holding. "This looks familiar."

"Well, you know, physics," John replies. His searching hand feels the shape of a book. "Ah, I think I found them!"

"Of course it's physics," Carter says. "But I'm an astrophysicist, and I think I've seen this particular equation recently." She stares at the paper like if she stares long enough it'll tell her where she's seen it before.

"Believe me, you haven't," John says. "It's my own theory, about wormholes."

Her eyes widen like she's surprised or has placed where she saw the equations or suddenly remembers that she left the stove on at her house. John doesn't know which it is, because he can't read her mind. Her eyes are only wide for a second before she schools her face back to neutrality. "Thank you," she says, trading him the papers for the books. "And by the way, you missed an x in that equation." And then she's gone, back out the door and through the dojo before he can even say "you're welcome" or "goodbye". He looks down at the papers in his hand and realizes she's right. He had forgotten an x.

Chapter 22: Unexpected Genius

SG-1 was given a week off because Daniel and Colonel O'Neill were both injured. Sam had initially planned to spend it like she always spends her vacation time unless she's forced to leave- on the base, working on one of the million and one things she needs to get done that don't involve going offworld. But instead, she's spending her time off in Seacouver, Washington, picking up some books that Daniel had planned to pick up on the weekend and had convinced her to pick up in his stead because he can't fly with the injuries that he has.

Sam really doesn't want to be in Seacouver. She has work to do, work that she enjoys, and instead she's stuck in overcast Seacouver with nothing more interesting to do than pick up some old books. Granted, they must be rare if Daniel doesn't have them already, but couldn't they just be shipped? Why does she have to fly out and back just to pick them up? Daniel's entirely too good at convincing her to do things that she doesn't want to do. As a matter of fact, he's too good at convincing everybody. Oh, well. At least that's all she has to do, so it's not like she's going to be wasting her entire vacation. And it's still better than going fishing with the Colonel.

Sam double checks the address on the piece of paper. Yep, right place. She hadn't expected it to be a dojo, but apparently it is. Who keeps their antique books at a dojo, anyway? Though she supposes it might just be where Daniel's friend works, and thus he might have brought the books with him so there wouldn't be any problems with schedules or something. But still, one of Daniel's friends (or at least sources of antique books) working in a dojo seems to be a bit of an odd fit. She shrugs mentally, shoves the paper back in her pocket, and enters the building.

Inside, it's pretty much what she'd expected- weight lifting benches along the side of the room, punching bags, and a large open area with a mat, and benches along the wall. Stairs lead up, presumably to the locker room because it doesn't look like there is one on this level, and there's an elevator at the opposite end of the room. The office is along the same wall as the elevator, and she heads towards it as the most likely place for MacLeod to be.

She's the only woman in the whole place, and it seems like everybody stops what they're doing to stare at her as she passes through the room. It's been a long time since she let that kind of thing really get to her, though; there aren't very many women in the Air Force in comparison to men, either, or in astrophysics for that matter.

Whoever's in the office- she'd assume that it's MacLeod, but if there's one thing the SGC has taught her it's to not assume anything if she has any choice about the matter- probably isn't paying any attention to what's going on outside of the office; he looks like he's staring into space and thinking about whatever he's writing on the legal pad of paper in his lap, and if he saw her coming he'd probably wave or come out of the office to greet her (or tell her to go away, if this is that kind of place; she didn't exactly look it up to find out if it's members only, membership only by invitation). She reaches the office and knocks on its door.

"Come in," the man inside calls, his voice muffled by the door, and she enters the office, closing the door behind her. The man gives her a once-over, his eyes not lingering anywhere they shouldn't, and she can almost see him wondering why she's there. "Can I help you?"

"I need to pick up some books," she explains. "They're for my friend Daniel." Although there probably aren't very many people who are picking up books today at this dojo, it's better to tell him now and save him the question.

"I was going to say, you don't look like a Daniel," the man says, smiling with amusement.

"Sam Carter," Sam introduces herself, hoping Daniel told his friend she was going to pick up the books and that they won't have to call him for verification or something.

"John Crichton." So, not MacLeod after all. But he starts rooting through the mess of papers on the desk. Sam hadn't thought that a dojo would accumulate such a large volume of paper on its desk, but apparently this one does. But then he explains- "Sorry about the mess. It's a lot neater when Mac's here, but I'm dojo-sitting for him."

"No problem. Daniel's desk looks like this all the time. For that matter, so does mine," she replies. Honestly, she doesn't know anybody who doesn't have a desk this cluttered, except for maybe the Colonel- he tries to dodge paperwork so much that his desk is almost spotless. "May I?" she asks, gesturing at the mess. She doesn't want to mess up whatever system of organization (just because it's messy doesn't mean it isn't organized) might be used here, but it will go faster with two sets of hands searching.

"Sure, I expect it'll go faster with help," Crichton says, unconsciously echoing her train of thought.

Sam tries to help him, but unfortunately, she knocks some of the papers onto the floor instead. "Whoops, sorry. I hope these weren't in any order," she says, picking them up. If they were, she hopes he can tell which order they're supposed to be in, because she doubts she will.

"Nah, they're all just pieces I'm working on," Crichton says, unconcerned. "Random order and probably wrong anyway."

Probably wrong? That doesn't sound like it's related to the dojo. Sam looks closer at the papers in her hand. Physics, and high level physics at that. She can honestly say that was the last thing she was expecting on the papers of somebody dojo-sitting for MacLeod. But beyond that, there's something about the equations that's niggling at her. "This looks familiar."

"Well, you know, physics," Crichton says unconcernedly, more occupied with digging for the books than with the papers she's looking at. "Ah, I think I found them!"

"Of course it's physics," Sam says. "But I'm an astrophysicist, and I think I've seen this particular equation recently." Where would she have seen it, though? In a journal? She doesn't remember it being in any journals.

"Believe me, you haven't," Crichton replies. "It's my own theory, about wormholes."

Sam feels her eyes go wide with surprise. Of course, that's where she remembers it from, how could she forget? It's her own theory, more or less, and she suspects most of the differences are merely careless errors in this theory. But how does Crichton have them? She hasn't published outside of the SGC, and nobody else is publishing anything relating to wormholes in anything but the most remote of ways, mostly because as soon as somebody comes close they're recruited by the SGC. Wormhole theory is difficult for even most physicists, and John Crichton is definitely not one of the physics elite. She'd never even heard his name before today, and if he's published in the past it wasn't anything memorable, but somehow he's working on the same theories that she is, and by the looks of it he's making almost as much progress as she is, without the benefit of wormholes to examine. She needs this man, because no matter what his credentials actually are, he's good enough for the SGC. She just hopes he can get a security clearance.

Sam realizes that Crichton's holding the books she came for out to her, so she trades him the papers for the books. "Thank you, and by the way, you missed an x in that equation." She leaves before he can reply, although she waits until she's on the sidewalk outside the building to call the SGC. "I have a potential recruit; can you run a background check on him for me?"

Chapter 23: Debate

As it turns out, John Crichton doesn't pass a background check, especially not the rigorous one required by the SGC. In fact, although John Crichton clearly exists, his paper trail only dates back a few years. Before that, there's nothing, like he was created out of nothing. And he isn't in the Witness Protection Program or anything similar, either; they'd suspected, briefly, that he was, but when they'd checked they'd found out that he isn't and never had been in the past. The fingerprints on Daniel's books, when run through the databases of fingerprints that they can gain access to, turn up nothing before a driver's license 15 years ago, and nothing after except the driver's license renewals.

He's apparently a high school physics teacher, and not even a PhD, far from the most likely person to be working on wormhole theory, especially so successfully. Where did he learn enough physics to even come close? He has to have a degree to be teaching, but when they check into it deeper than the school he's teaching at obviously did, they find out that his degree's as fake as his birth certificate, as fake as his social security number.

"The man doesn't exist," General Hammond says. "Surely you don't still want him to join the SGC."

"Yes, sir, I do," Sam replies. "John Crichton can do physics that very few people can do, ad that's something we need."

"He can't pass a background check," Colonel O'Neill says. "He's a security risk."

"I know that, sir, but neither can Teal'c, and if he was a spy or working for the NID I don't think he would have been there, dojo-sitting."

"You don't know that, Carter."

"Sir, it makes no sense for him to be there unless it's unrelated to the SGC. There are too many variables that nobody could have predicted- Daniel being injured, MacLeod being out of town, me being the one to go and pick it up, and then actually noticing the papers. And if it was a spy or the NID I think they could come up with a better cover than a high school teacher who doesn't really exist."

"That may be true, but none of that changes the fact that he can't pass a background check," General Hammond tells her. "I'm sorry, Captain, but I'm afraid we can't hire him."

"We should probably report him to the police or INS or something," Colonel O'Neill points out. "Even if we don't."

"Well it's not like he's hurting anybody by just being there," Daniel says. "And apparently he's a good teacher, so he might even be doing some good."

"And it seems unlikely that he's an immigrant, not with that accent. He's probably just somebody who decided to start over, for one reason or another."

"But start over from what?" General Hammond asks. "We can't find even a trace of him before that driver's license, even with our resources."

"He looked like he was in his thirties," Sam says. "If he ran away when he was a teenager-"

"That still doesn't explain the nonexistent degree or how he got a job teaching so young- he's been working at that school for what, twelve years?" Colonel O'Neill says.

"Thirteen," Daniel says, referencing the dossier they have on him.

"So what, he made a new identity for himself and spent thirteen years teaching in Seacouver just to get into the SGC?" Sam demands. "That makes no sense, especially considering that the Stargate program didn't exist back then."

"You're right, Captain, but if he can't pass a background check we can't hire him, and that's final."

"Yes, sir. I just think we'd make a lot more progress if he was with us."

"Understood, Captain, but the rules are the rules."

Chapter 24: Approval

" You're dismissed," General Hammond ends the debriefing for their most recent mission. "Oh, and Captain?"

"Yes, sir?"

"You've been given permission to recruit John Crichton."

Sam's eyebrows shoot up. "Really, sir? Thank you."

"Don't thank me, thank the President," General Hammond says.

"Isn't he the guy who doesn't really exist?" Colonel O'Neill asks as Sg-1 leaves the conference room.

"The President?" Daniel asks absently, already absorbed in whatever he's working on now.

"I believe Colonel O'Neill was referring to John Crichton," Teal'c corrects.

"Oh, right, right," Daniel says, and almost runs into a door, but Teal'c closes it at the last moment.

"He is, sir, but I think he'll be a valuable asset to the SGC."

"Well if you're going to go to Seacouver in person, then we're coming with you. I'd like to meet this Crichton before he gets here."

Chapter 25: Horseshoes and Hand Grenades

When John answers his door, nearly the last thing he expects to see is the woman who'd picked up the books when he was dojo-sitting- not the exact last, because there are a lot of people that would be more unlikely, like Aeryn or Chiana or his dad or somebody dead; but it still seems extremely odd that she would take the trouble to find out who he is and come to visit him, friends in tow, especially since that wasn't exactly yesterday. But there she is, in an Air Force dress uniform, as is the grey-haired man. The one with the glasses and the one wearing the hat are both wearing suits. Suits and baseball caps really don't go together.

"Uh, hi," he says, baffled. "Sam Carter, right? From the dojo?"

"Yeah," she says. "This is Colonel O'Neill, Dr. Jackson, and Murray." Murray apparently doesn't rate even a Mr. "Do you mind if we come in?"

Air Force? What did John ever do to make the Air Force want to talk to him? It has to be something from when he'd been dojo-sitting, something that had seized her attention enough for her to remember it and drag other people into it. It must be the wormhole theory he'd been working on. "Yeah, sure," he says, hoping he'll be able to find some way to escape from this conversation but not having, but knowing that he probably won't be able to. Frell. I hope this isn't another Scorpius situation.

Carter's carrying a briefcase, and as soon as they get settled at the kitchen table she opens it up and takes out some papers. "Sign these," she says, and hands them to John in a stack.

"What are they?" he asks, already skimming them.

"Non disclosure agreement," Carter says. Apparently she's the spokesperson for the group, at least for this part of the discussion of whatever they're here to discuss. "Everybody has to sign one before we can tell them anything. If you refuse to sign, then we'll go away now because we have nothing to talk about."

"Do I want to sign this?" John asks cautiously.

"I may be a little bit biased," Carter says, "but in my opinion as a physicist and as a person, absolutely. It's the most amazing thing I've ever heard about." The guy with the glasses seems to agree, but the other two remain expressionless. Definitely military, John thinks. Do I want to even sign an NDA for something military? But Carter just looks so eager that he has to sign. Surely it's just an offer. They wouldn't force him into joining whatever they're a part of. Probably. So John signs and hopes he hasn't just made one of the biggest mistakes of his life.

Carter grins and accepts the signed NDA and pen back from John. "Colonel?" she says to the older man, who takes a device of some sort and carries it around the room. John figures it's a bug sweeper of some sort, because Carter doesn't say anything until he finishes, and when he finishes he says "it's clear" to her. Then the floodgates open.

"I was interested in your wormhole theory, because I've been working on the same thing for something called the Stargate Program."

"Stargate?" John asks. "That doesn't quite sound like the usual government program naming scheme."

"Well, it's named after a device discovered on a dig in Egypt," Dr. Jackson jumps in.

"You see, the stargate makes an artificial wormhole between it and another stargate on another planet," Sam says. "I've been basing my theory on the readings of wormholes I've taken from the stargate, but it looks like you've been coming up with your theory from scratch."

Frell, they are here about wormholes. He'd thought he'd left the whole pursued by the military because of wormholes thing behind eighteen years ago, but here it is, coming back to haunt him. It's like a nightmare that refuses to end. He should know better by now than to go around chasing wormholes, even if he hadn't had anybody chasing after him anymore. He'd felt so safe, here on Earth, after fifteen years. "The last I heard it wasn't illegal to be working on the same theories independently," he says to cover up his panic. "It's like with Newton and Leibnitz and calculus."

"I'm not here to tell you to stop," Carter tells him. "I'm here to offer you a job."

"I already have a job," John says. Frell, this is bad, this is really bad. Sure, he's chasing wormholes (which conveniently have already been harnessed by this Stargate Program, and he's just glad he isn't responsible for them having wormholes, because the last thing he wants to do is deal with the Ancients again. Well, technically that's wrong, but it's definitely at the far lower end of his list), and they have access to them, so if he cooperated they might help him out on that front, but he hasn't exactly been enthusiastic about the military- any military- since he started getting chased by the Peacekeepers. And somehow it seems unlikely that they'll take no for an answer, and is the identity Mac had set up for him sturdy enough to stand up to the sort of scrutiny a top secret military (although Dr. Jackson isn't military; John supposes they must have civilian scientists, because there probably aren't enough with the required skills in the military, much less in just the Air Force, especially if they really are working with wormholes. And traveling to other planets and presumably studying them, there are probably a lot of skills needed for that that aren't common in the military, even if he has only a vague idea of what they might be) program would give somebody before they even considered hiring them.

"You'd rather be a high school teacher than study wormholes in person?" Carter demands, like the choice is obvious. And John supposes if he hadn't had the experiences he's had, if he'd just been thinking about wormholes and had never seen one in person, never been tortured for information about them, seen way too many of his friends and allies die because of them; if he'd been who they think he is, then he'd be excited. He'd take this offer without a second thought. But he isn't who they think he is. At the moment, he'd take being a teacher over studying wormholes in a heartbeat, if it didn't mean that he'd never see his family again.

The only reason he's wavering is because what she's offering is so close to what he wants, so close to what he has planned. If he didn't have to work on the equations alone it would go a lot faster, at least if the person or people that he was working with were good enough.
And Carter's good enough; picking out the error in his equation at the dojo, after looking at it for only a few seconds, had proved that.

But close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, and this is neither, although it feels like at any moment Carter's friends (okay, mainly Colonel O'Neill, and maybe that Murray guy) are going to start lobbing hand grenades. There's too much to risk, both because of his past and because he's an Immortal. Mac's warned him what might happen if the military found out about
Immortals. John's been tortured enough for one life time- for several lifetimes- and he prefers not to provoke more torture. And even if he did join them? What then? They wouldn't just let him waltz through a wormhole without following him, and he doesn't want to lead the military- any military- to Moya, to his home.

But he isn't about to say or even hint at any of those things to Carter and co., so he just says, "I don't want anything to do with the military." Which has the added benefit of being true.

"Does this have anything to do with your fake ID?" Colonel O'Neill asks, which would probably be completely right under most other circumstances. "Because we know about that, but Carter here talked the General into getting special permission to hire you even though you can't pass the background check."

"That's not one of my reasons."

"Reasons? As in more than one?"

What is this, an interrogation? "They're personal," he says shortly.

Carter looks like he's kicked her puppy. "If that's what you want…" she trails off. She's probably unsure of how to finish; most people would jump on an opportunity like this, and the way the four of them move together is more like a combat team than anything else; she probably isn't the one who goes out and does the recruiting, and when she does everybody probably jumps right on the offer. This might be her first rejection, unless she'd learned that one of her potential recruits had gotten Alzheimer's or something. "Thanks for listening, anyway."

They all get up to leave. They're actually leaving, actually taking no for an answer, which makes sense because they wanted him for his brain, and he wouldn't have worked for them if they'd tried to force him, but the military isn't always rational, as he knows from painful experience. Unless, of course, they're just pretending to accept his refusal so they can grab him later or something…he's being paranoid. This is the United States Air Force, not the Peacekeepers. And Carter looks way too upset over his refusal to be planning to recruit him by force.

He closes the door behind them and is only just starting to relax when there comes a heavy knock on the door. Sighing to himself, he opens the door to find the quiet one, Murray.