Fic: Newcomers: Nathaniel Gibson, PhD (SGA, OC, PG-13)
Title: Newcomers: Nathaniel Gibson, PhD
Rating: PG-13 for language (I don't know, I have trouble defining anything that isn't obviously NC-17)
Character: OC
Disclaimer: The context isn't mine (the main character is, as is some of the worse technobabble), no harm meant.
Summary: Nate isn't a genius. He has an academic record to be proud of because he earned it. But sometimes he wonders how it got him here.
A/N: Third in the Newcomers series, after The Boy.
Nathaniel Gibson, PhD
Cambridge, Trinity College, Natural Sciences Tripos, MSci (Hons), 1992-6
He struggles for the first two years, heading to what any other university would call a decent second. He should have gone to any other university. He can barely hack the maths. He should have done engineering.
Some time at the start of his third year, something clicks, and while he doesn't see daylight for another eighteen months, he finds himself graduating with Honours and a shot at a full ride for a PhD at an American university, and he leaps.
University of Michigan, Space Physics Research Laboratory, PhD, "Correlation between Coronal Mass Ejections and Deep Space Radar Telemetry Interference", 1996-2000
A blur of computer screens and coding and dull, dull statistics, and if he never sees a screenful of deep space radar telemetry readings again it will be too soon. It's two parts engineering to three parts computing, with a sprinkling of physics on top to keep him sweet, and there are four other PhD students working on the same project, all of whom Dr Drummond favours over Nate.
It's the first time someone calls him 'Gibbs' (actually, it's "Gibbs-" snapsnapsnap "-move") - another student, but he doesn't dare correct him, because the guy's working on his second PhD, on day release from some high-level, top-secret government job. There's always a black-suited agent stationed outside the labs, scowling at everyone who passes. Nate couldn't swear to it, but he thinks it's a different agent each week. But at least everyone else is terrified of the guy, and he's long gone (in a fog of death threats and recriminations) by the time Nate staggers into the interminable final stretch of his thesis.
University of Michigan, Space Physics Research Laboratory, Post-Doctoral Research Assistant, 2001
It takes Nate six months to realise he's getting screwed over, his work subsumed into Drummond's. By the end of August, he's ready to pack it all in and head home, but by the time he can book a flight, Beritt Industries are headhunting him for a post that pays double. Nate looks at his student debts and decides that being a corporate drone is the way forward.
Beritt Industries, Resarch & Development Associate, 2002-7
He's not a genius, but he's a bloody good worker. He is-
"A good little worker bee." And the smile on her face just turning into a smirk, like she knew he could hear her.
He smiles, and tells them he wants to get back into theoretical research, and they smile back and pretend they believe him. The severance package is generous. He steals his laptop (it's a stupid little touchscreen tablet PC, but he's always been a sucker for them).
Interview, USAF Deep Space Radar Telemetry Project, Washington D.C., March 2007
Who the hell says they think something looks alien in a job interview with the government? Perhaps, he thinks to himself, as they stare back at him, he really doesn't want to get involved in whatever they're doing here. Reverse engineering this - whatever it is (and seriously, don't they know the Cold War's over? It would be simpler just to buy the original research).
He only applied out of a twisted nostalgia - it's an open secret that the Deep Space Radar Telemetry project is anything but. The more optimistic call it the USAF's JPL, saying it's the place to be for cutting edge research. The cynical - and Nate's increasingly in this group - say it's glorified arms manufacturing.
Just when he thinks they're going to chuck him out, Dr Lee leans forward and prompts, "But how do you think it works?" and something clicks.
USAF Deep Space Radar Telemetry Project, Groom Lake Facility, Civilian Contractor, 2007-2008
For the first six months, the buzz from the simple existence of the Stargate program is enough to keep him happy. Even when he starts to be drawn into the backbiting and infighting, the muttered disparagement of their colleagues in Colorado, the endless desert-dry paranoia, he still wakes up grinning at alien bloody technology.
He knows that he does good work, important work. That he's part of the team.
"You're a team player, Gibbs."
"It's Gibson, sir," he doesn't say, because the man's a General. And what the General means is "You're going to forget this ever happened." So he nods and agrees with everything the General says, and doesn't watch as they take away the bodies.
Apparently the paranoia was justified. He doesn't know where it slipped up, just that the only reason the place isn't a burning shell is that he decided to stay late, and could type fast enough to keep the black-clad, ski-masked intruders out of the labs long enough for the base's security teams to find them. Long enough for them to-
The next day, he applies to transfer out of Nevada.
Joint SGC/IOA Interviews, Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado, January 2009
The panel (a mixture of civilian scientists, USAF personnel and IOA officials) looks as though they've been arguing. He can tell none of them want to be there, whether to interview him (Dr McKay snorts with contempt at every other answer he gives) or anyone else (he's pretty sure the USAF Colonel is asleep, and if he isn't, he looks like he should be).
Two days after the interview, when he's staring at the walls of his hotel room, wondering if he's burnt too many bridges to go back to Nevada and help rebuild Area 51, and what they'll let him do if he tries to leave the program, there's a sharp knock at his door.
He opens it on a spruce Marine, who snaps to attention and says: "Sergeant Johnson, sir. Here to take you to orientation."
"Wh-" Bugger, he thinks. They're already getting rid of him. Or wouldn't they call it debriefing?
"Orientation, sir. Cultural awareness training, weapons training, ATA protocol..."
Nate stares at him.
"It's standard for all civilian personnel joining the mission, sir."
"Um."
"They left you a message, sir," says Johnson, and Nate starts, before scrambling for his phone. The 'no signal' message blinks at him unrepentantly.
The sergeant grins suddenly. "Welcome to the Atlantis mission, doc."
Nate finds himself grinning back.
International Atlantis Expedition, Phase 3 "Bellerophon", Science & Research Relief Staff, February 2009-date
"Wait, did you say weapons training?"
Continued in The Cambridge Grad
Rodney's POV next, natch.
This was the first part I started to write, and therefore was going in completely the wrong direction. I have a thoroughly awesome 'And Now' scene that I had to remove from the end, and now have nowhere to put :(
I also have a yearning to put together the Atlantis Expedition Job Application Pack.
Rating: PG-13 for language (I don't know, I have trouble defining anything that isn't obviously NC-17)
Character: OC
Disclaimer: The context isn't mine (the main character is, as is some of the worse technobabble), no harm meant.
Summary: Nate isn't a genius. He has an academic record to be proud of because he earned it. But sometimes he wonders how it got him here.
A/N: Third in the Newcomers series, after The Boy.
Nathaniel Gibson, PhD
Cambridge, Trinity College, Natural Sciences Tripos, MSci (Hons), 1992-6
He struggles for the first two years, heading to what any other university would call a decent second. He should have gone to any other university. He can barely hack the maths. He should have done engineering.
Some time at the start of his third year, something clicks, and while he doesn't see daylight for another eighteen months, he finds himself graduating with Honours and a shot at a full ride for a PhD at an American university, and he leaps.
University of Michigan, Space Physics Research Laboratory, PhD, "Correlation between Coronal Mass Ejections and Deep Space Radar Telemetry Interference", 1996-2000
A blur of computer screens and coding and dull, dull statistics, and if he never sees a screenful of deep space radar telemetry readings again it will be too soon. It's two parts engineering to three parts computing, with a sprinkling of physics on top to keep him sweet, and there are four other PhD students working on the same project, all of whom Dr Drummond favours over Nate.
It's the first time someone calls him 'Gibbs' (actually, it's "Gibbs-" snapsnapsnap "-move") - another student, but he doesn't dare correct him, because the guy's working on his second PhD, on day release from some high-level, top-secret government job. There's always a black-suited agent stationed outside the labs, scowling at everyone who passes. Nate couldn't swear to it, but he thinks it's a different agent each week. But at least everyone else is terrified of the guy, and he's long gone (in a fog of death threats and recriminations) by the time Nate staggers into the interminable final stretch of his thesis.
University of Michigan, Space Physics Research Laboratory, Post-Doctoral Research Assistant, 2001
It takes Nate six months to realise he's getting screwed over, his work subsumed into Drummond's. By the end of August, he's ready to pack it all in and head home, but by the time he can book a flight, Beritt Industries are headhunting him for a post that pays double. Nate looks at his student debts and decides that being a corporate drone is the way forward.
Beritt Industries, Resarch & Development Associate, 2002-7
He's not a genius, but he's a bloody good worker. He is-
"A good little worker bee." And the smile on her face just turning into a smirk, like she knew he could hear her.
He smiles, and tells them he wants to get back into theoretical research, and they smile back and pretend they believe him. The severance package is generous. He steals his laptop (it's a stupid little touchscreen tablet PC, but he's always been a sucker for them).
Interview, USAF Deep Space Radar Telemetry Project, Washington D.C., March 2007
Who the hell says they think something looks alien in a job interview with the government? Perhaps, he thinks to himself, as they stare back at him, he really doesn't want to get involved in whatever they're doing here. Reverse engineering this - whatever it is (and seriously, don't they know the Cold War's over? It would be simpler just to buy the original research).
He only applied out of a twisted nostalgia - it's an open secret that the Deep Space Radar Telemetry project is anything but. The more optimistic call it the USAF's JPL, saying it's the place to be for cutting edge research. The cynical - and Nate's increasingly in this group - say it's glorified arms manufacturing.
Just when he thinks they're going to chuck him out, Dr Lee leans forward and prompts, "But how do you think it works?" and something clicks.
USAF Deep Space Radar Telemetry Project, Groom Lake Facility, Civilian Contractor, 2007-2008
For the first six months, the buzz from the simple existence of the Stargate program is enough to keep him happy. Even when he starts to be drawn into the backbiting and infighting, the muttered disparagement of their colleagues in Colorado, the endless desert-dry paranoia, he still wakes up grinning at alien bloody technology.
He knows that he does good work, important work. That he's part of the team.
"You're a team player, Gibbs."
"It's Gibson, sir," he doesn't say, because the man's a General. And what the General means is "You're going to forget this ever happened." So he nods and agrees with everything the General says, and doesn't watch as they take away the bodies.
Apparently the paranoia was justified. He doesn't know where it slipped up, just that the only reason the place isn't a burning shell is that he decided to stay late, and could type fast enough to keep the black-clad, ski-masked intruders out of the labs long enough for the base's security teams to find them. Long enough for them to-
The next day, he applies to transfer out of Nevada.
Joint SGC/IOA Interviews, Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado, January 2009
The panel (a mixture of civilian scientists, USAF personnel and IOA officials) looks as though they've been arguing. He can tell none of them want to be there, whether to interview him (Dr McKay snorts with contempt at every other answer he gives) or anyone else (he's pretty sure the USAF Colonel is asleep, and if he isn't, he looks like he should be).
Two days after the interview, when he's staring at the walls of his hotel room, wondering if he's burnt too many bridges to go back to Nevada and help rebuild Area 51, and what they'll let him do if he tries to leave the program, there's a sharp knock at his door.
He opens it on a spruce Marine, who snaps to attention and says: "Sergeant Johnson, sir. Here to take you to orientation."
"Wh-" Bugger, he thinks. They're already getting rid of him. Or wouldn't they call it debriefing?
"Orientation, sir. Cultural awareness training, weapons training, ATA protocol..."
Nate stares at him.
"It's standard for all civilian personnel joining the mission, sir."
"Um."
"They left you a message, sir," says Johnson, and Nate starts, before scrambling for his phone. The 'no signal' message blinks at him unrepentantly.
The sergeant grins suddenly. "Welcome to the Atlantis mission, doc."
Nate finds himself grinning back.
International Atlantis Expedition, Phase 3 "Bellerophon", Science & Research Relief Staff, February 2009-date
"Wait, did you say weapons training?"
Continued in The Cambridge Grad
Rodney's POV next, natch.
This was the first part I started to write, and therefore was going in completely the wrong direction. I have a thoroughly awesome 'And Now' scene that I had to remove from the end, and now have nowhere to put :(
I also have a yearning to put together the Atlantis Expedition Job Application Pack.