Work Text
2005.
*"So," says General O'Neill, leaning back in his chair. "Maj—Colonel Young.""Yes, sir," Young replies."Congratulations on the promotion.""Thank you, sir," says Young."Below the zone, too. You must be pleased."Young says, "I'm honored by the trust you've placed in me, sir"; and O'Neill tilts his head, watching. Young meets his eyes. It isn't hard, particularly. He doesn't know O'Neill, but he's still been around the block once or twice.O'Neill looks away first. Picks up a pen: nice thing. Silvery. Looks solid. He doesn't tap it against the desk or anything, but Young doesn't think he's getting ready to write a report longhand, either. O'Neill says, "I understand you're friends with Major Dutta."Young hesitates. "We were on two training missions together, sir," he says, finally."P81-409," General O'Neill agrees, " and the one with the—the lion things.""As I understood it," says Young, "they were technically more closely related to the caracal."O'Neill nods. "Do you understand how they make these distinctions? Because I never have, I mean, if it walks like a lion quacks like a lion—P9R-228."Young pauses. The one with the caracals was P79-something. 51C? 41T? "I think that's a different planet," he says, finally. "I don't remember the designation of the one with the—uh. Cats.""The caracals," O'Neill supplies; and Young settles, into the roots of his feet. "That was P79-37A, by the way," O'Neill adds, "but they do all kind of blur together, after a while, don't they.""Yes, sir," Young agrees."You know, you're very deferential, for a Stargate officer," says General O'Neill. "I'm just remembering that about you, I noticed it when you first transferred in but I suppose this is the first chat we've had in a while, isn't it."O'Neill's gaze is very bright and very mild. Young doesn't look away. After 19 years he's had enough of these conversations to know what to expect from them, and to be, honestly, at this point, to get a little bored. He cares about as much as he has to, and that's it."I'm not a very talkative guy," he says; it seems safe enough. O'Neill smiles, but doesn't laugh."But I hope you'll be open to suggestion, on that front," he says. "Because I want to talk. Specifically, I want to talk to you about P9R-228."Young can feel his face shifting, however little he wants it to. "P9R-228 wasn't one of mine, sir.""No, I know," says General O'Neill. "But I'm asking you about Dutta.""Dutta," Young repeats; and General O'Neill says, "Yes, son, you're being promoted to Lieutenant Colonel, and Dutta is being separated, and so I would like to speak with you about the mission to P9R-228.""That was SG-6," Young says; and O'Neill bangs his hands flat on the edge of his desk, and Young, reflexive, straightens."I know," O'Neill says. "I know you weren't on it, I know it was SG-6, I know all kinds of things—all these files! right here at my fingertips!—but I want to know what you know about P9R-228." He sighs. "Come on, I know you're not stupid," he says. "So tell me about P9R-228.""Well, sir," says Young, "I—if I remember correctly, SG-6 went through four months back.""Yes," says O'Neill. "Good start. Who was on the team?""Well," says Young. "It was Major Dutta, of course, and then I think—Dr. Yamata and Dr. Okafor—I believe the planet had been flagged for some kind of natural resource extraction? And, um—Sergeant Weckham. Because the other geologist, uh, the skinny kid whose name I can never remember, he wanted to go look at interesting rocks but—uh, well. I'm assuming the command came down from you, not to unbalance the team like that.""Hm," says O'Neill. "Interesting rocks. And what happened?""Well, I don't actually know," says Young. "I'm not—my understanding is that the whole thing was being considered need-to-know and that I, at least, definitely didn't need to know. But if you'd allow me to speculate...""Oh, please do," says O'Neill."Right." Young licks at his bottom lip. "Well—from what I've pieced together from, you know, Weckham in the hospital and just—base gossip, really, there was some kind of civilization on the planet that didn't really want us hanging around testing their rocks, and there was a firefight, but Dutta didn't order them to pull back, and Weckham was shot several times trying to protect Okafor, and Yamata was killed.""Mm." O'Neill tilts his head back. "They got the rocks, by the way.""Oh?" Young says."Yeah," O'Neill says. "In case you were curious.""Interesting rocks?" Young asks."Interesting rocks," O'Neill agrees, and then leans back in his chair. "So you think Dutta should've ordered them to pull back sooner.""I don't really have the operational knowledge to make that call," Young says, frankly.O'Neill nods. "Dutta's a friend of yours?"Young hesitates. "We're—I know her, we're friendly, we trained together. Like I said.""Are you having an affair with her?" O'Neill asks."No, sir," Young says."All right," O'Neill says.He's perfectly amiable about it, is the thing; but he's still turning his pen. He's still watching Young's face. His expression is, bizarrely, hard to read: Young's been with SGC for almost a year, and the Air Force for almost twenty; and he knows how to play politics, when he wants to: transferred in to command his own team while he was still wading through everything that was suddenly need-to-know for him and promoted below the zone before he even really felt 100% confident giving directions around the Mountain: he does all right, usually, when he's not trapped in a room with General O'Neill."Sir." Young licks his lips. "If I may...""Oh, please do," says O'Neill; and Young nods."I think you're trying to ask me a question, but I'm not sure what it is," Young says."I thought it was pretty clear," O'Neill says. "I want to know if you think Major Dutta made the correct decision in the field."It isn't actually, Young thinks, a particularly complicated question. He's made decisions in the field on less and lived with them. But the room is unquiet, in that low busy way that offices are never really quiet, in a building full of humans and computers and fluorescent lights; and O'Neill is looking at him with that bright, unreadable expression; and Young's been warned about him left right and center, but never, quite, in so many words. Dutta's a good officer: smart, firm, well-liked by her men and not prone to the kinds of scrapes that dog (for example) the entire history of SG-1; and now she's going from commanding SG-6 to losing her commission within spitting distance of retirement and every major in the group is pissing themselves, because if there's one thing that SGC is oversupplied with, it's O-4s and up, and every last one of them knows it. People like O'Neill well enough, but he still scares the crap out of them."I think it's pretty patently clear that she didn't," says Young, "or she wouldn't be separated while I get promoted, when the smartest thing I've ever done on a mission was not bleed to death on PA4-281B.""Can't reason like that," says O'Neill. "Maybe we have information you don't.""You pretty obviously have information I don't," Young agrees."Yeah, but pretend neither of us do," O'Neill says. "Pretend it's just you, and me—I'll be Weckham. And we've got Dr. Yamata, who's probably trying to fall off a cliff somewhere, because that's just what Dr. Yamata does, and Dr. Okafor, who at least knows how to stay in between the people with the guns. And we've got some people shooting at us.""Yes, sir." Young straightens his neck. "And we've got some interesting rocks"; and O'Neill sets his pen on the desk, and folds his hands at the edge."We've got some damn interesting rocks," he agrees, and smiles. "So, Colonel. What do you do?"Young nods. "I think I'd have to pull out," he says. "Order them back to the Stargate, especially with Dr. Yamata having a history of wandering off—""What about the rocks?" O'Neill asks.Young pauses. "Well—I mean, do I know how interesting they are?""Nah, not really," O'Neill says. "Interesting enough for three geologists to want to go have a look but not interesting enough for me to let all of 'em.""Right." Young spreads his hands. "I order the team to fall back.""Leaving the rocks," O'Neill says.Young shrugs, back prickling. "The team's irreplaceable. That seems—like the more important principle."O'Neill leans back in his chair, looking at Young, long and steady.After a while, Young can't stand it anymore. "Wrong decision?" he asks, and then laughs, very awkwardly."Dutta isn't being separated for getting a scientist killed, if that's what you mean," says O'Neill, and then sighs, and pushes up to his feet, coming around the desk towards him.Young swallows, and tugs at the hem of his coat as he straightens. "I'm open to learning," he says, finally. "I want—I'd like to improve. Whether or not I'm being promoted.""Be careful with principle, that's all," O'Neill says to him, and pulls the door open. Young nods, and "Dismissed," O'Neill says, sounding tired; and feeling stiff all over, ill-fitting, Young comes towards him."I will, sir," he says. "I won't disappoint you.""Not about disappointing me, Colonel," says O'Neill. "But I've had an earful from Okafor, let me tell you."Young swallows. "Interesting rocks," he says; and O'Neill grins at him. Young doesn’t know what it means.
"Damned interesting rocks," O’Neill is saying, "on P9R-228."