by Karen Miller
She looks like she needs it.
He found his comb and gently ran it through Sam’s hair, knowing how much she hated being unkempt. I love my job, don’t get me wrong, she’d told him once, when they were up to their eyeballs in another crisis and plastered head to toe with mud. I just — sometimes I really wish it wasn’t so messy. Y’know?
“There you go, Sam,” he murmured, and tossed the comb onto his camp bed. “Pretty as a picture.” Then he went and sat beside Jack. “Hey.”
With an effort Jack lifted his swollen, blistered eyelids. “Hey.”
“How you doing?”
“Never better.”
“Yeah, I was thinking that.”
Wheezing, Jack shifted on his camp bed. “Can’t believe Fraiser’s in town.”
“No. It’s good. And all it took to get her here was the need for an autopsy.” He heard the bitterness in his voice, and tried to soften it. “And wanting to make sure Teal’c, Dave and I don’t run the SGC out of Tylenol.”
“No way,” said Jack. “You’re doing great, Daniel.”
Jack so rarely broke out in compliments. Despite the sharp pain of Lotar, he smiled. “Thanks. Although…”
“What?”
He was still their team leader. He had the right to know. “Teal’c’s taking this pretty hard. He’s blaming himself.”
“Damn.”
He hesitated, then added, “And us.”
Jack stared at him, his eyes so sunken, so bloodshot. “The whole… fairytale thing?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s wrong,” said Jack. “It’s not his fault, it’s not our fault. It’s not even Washington’s fault. For once. The Goa’uld did this, Daniel. They’re the only ones to blame.”
“I don’t know,” he said, troubled. “I can’t help — ”
“Daniel.”
“Yeah,” he sighed. “Okay.”
“Tell him to come see me. I’ll put him straight.”
Oh, so not a good idea. “You’re not well enough for exciting conversation, Jack.”
Jack managed a grin, a travesty of amusement. “If I can survive Dixon, I can survive anything.”
Right. And speaking of Dixon… How the hell do I say this tactfully? “Ah, how are you guys doing, anyway? How are you doing, him being here? Was I wrong, to worry? Y’know, about him stirring up — ”
Jack glared. “Oh, cut the crap, Daniel. The bastard told you, didn’t he.”
There really wasn’t any point, being tactful with Jack. “About you having nightmares? Yeah. Sorry.”
With a muffled grunt, Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m fine.”
Except he so clearly wasn’t. “Jack — ”
“I’m fine, I said, and that’s the end of the discussion,” Jack snapped. And then had to take a moment, to recover his breath. “Haven’t you got a bedpan to empty somewhere, or something?”
Actually, there was a lot of or something he needed to do. “Dixon’s really not a bad guy, Jack,” he said quietly, standing. “He’s worried about you.”
“I’m touched,” said Jack, and closed his eyes.
Daniel sighed. Okay. That went well. And knowing precisely when he was beaten, he left Jack alone.
Walking alone from SG-1’s tent to Georgetown’s medical district Janet found she had to stop for a minute, and take stock. Let the enormity of what was happening here hit her, so she could absorb it and move on. Be effective. Do her job.
I’ve read about field hospitals during the Civil War but I never thought I’d actually get to help recreate one.
It was an experience she could happily have lived without.
Gradually her turmoil eased and she was able to really take in what she was seeing. Dear God, what they’d achieved. It was some kind of miracle. She didn’t want to think what SG-1’s journey from Mennufer had been like, leading hundreds of people, many of them ill, needing to be stretchered, through the unforgiving terrain lying between the Stargate and the valley that had been the villagers’ home.
Maybe we should rechristen Jack ‘Moses’.
And if that wasn’t hard enough, then to arrive at the gate… only to see the mountains of equipment waiting for them. To cope with the rest of what they needed being sent through, hour after hour. She’d seen the operation from the SGC end. It had boggled her imagination, how fast Hammond had managed to organize tents and supplies and camp beds and portable generators and lights and — and everything SG-1 needed to create their home away from home.
A small herd of unaffected children, a roughly equal mix of boys and girls, had gathered in one of Georgetown’s narrow streets and was playing with the soccer ball Siler had included in a shipment of supplies. She stood and watched them for a while, wondering at their laughter.
Never underestimate the resilience of kids.
But even though this happy little band looked healthy enough, who knew what was brewing inside them, waiting for the chance to erupt in fevers, blisters, rashes and worse?
Oh God. They need a doctor.
According to Daniel they were currently dealing with one hundred and ninety-four affected villagers, whose symptoms ranged from mild to severe. It was insane. Daniel, Teal’c, Dixon and some barely competent unsophisticated villagers attempting to give modern medical treatment without a single medical degree between them. It was like trying to empty an ocean with a teaspoon.
And I have to leave them. I have to go back to Earth. So much for honoring my Hippocratic Oath.
Her stomach knotted with tension, she left the children to their ball game and kept on walking.
So far there were eight hospital tents. She worked through them methodically, one by one, recognizing faces in real life from their digicammed reproductions. She checked vitals, scribbled treatment notes, corrected medications, attempted many explanations, ran out of new prayers. Forced herself to meet the eyes of friends and family sitting with their ailing loved ones. Accepted their awed thanks, absorbed their inconsolable grief. Teal’c made the rounds with her; Dixon was snatching an overdue break, getting something to eat.
When she was finished she stepped outside tent number eight and stood with her hands on her hips, breathing. Just breathing. Struggling to keep inappropriate emotion at bay.
Teal’c’s hand came to rest on her shoulder. “It is indeed distressing, Doctor Fraiser.”
She blinked hard. “Yeah.”
“But there is yet hope. Not every villager has succumbed to these plagues.”
“I don’t know how much longer that’ll last, Teal’c,” she said, and looked at him. “The viruses have undergone some significant mutations. They’re incorporating biomaterial from SG-1 and infecting a population that’s been isolated for three thousand years. That’s why the plague is more severe this time.”
Teal’c’s face stilled completely. “Does O’Neill know?”
“No.” She sighed. “I don’t see there’s any point telling him. He can’t undo what’s happened. And I don’t want him feeling any worse than he does already.”
“You wish me to keep this information secret?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. Besides, the damage is done. Separating you from the villagers now would be pointless. And somebody has to treat the sick.”
“Indeed,” he said soberly.
Frowning, she considered him. Strong, stalwart Teal’c. The only person on Adjo who could breathe the tainted air and touch the infected without the fear of being infected himself.
Yes. Yes, and why is that? I’m so used to Teal’c’s perfect immunity I’ve started taking it for granted — and I shouldn’t. My God, I shouldn’t. Not with what Daniel found in that cave…
“Teal’c,” she said slowly, following the nascent train of thought. “Why are you immune to these diseases when your Jaffa ancestors died from them in Ra and Setesh’s war? I mean, yes, the original pathogens have changed over time, but clearly they’re still fatal. Why does your symbiote protect you when theirs co
uldn’t protect them?”
“Since Daniel Jackson told me of the cave paintings I have been thinking,” Teal’c said. “The Jaffa of the distant past were more like the humans from which we were created. Their Goa’uld symbiotes did not protect them. Those Jaffa could get sick and die. Then the Goa’uld changed us further, so their symbiotes did protect us.” His face twisted. “We were told this was the Gods showing us their great love.”
Janet felt her skin crawl. Loathsome, loathsome beings. “When exactly did they do this? Do you know?”
“No. The Jaffa have no written history, Doctor Fraiser. It is forbidden. Our truths are passed from father to son, from priestess to acolyte. In stories, in whispers, lest the Goa’uld overhear. Some truths have been lost to us, when the Jaffa who knew them died before they were able to share their knowledge.”
“But you’re certain you were changed.”
“Indeed.”
Mind racing, Janet stared at him. “Except… what if you weren’t, Teal’c? What if it was the Goa’uld who were changed?”
“By whom?”
She shook her head. “The battle was only between Ra and Setesh, but you said Adjo was off-limits to everyone,” she said slowly. “That sounds to me like there was some kind of summit meeting of system lords as a result of what happened here. That they reached a — a group agreement. Does that sound possible?”
Teal’c nodded. “If the matter is considered serious enough, system lords will put aside their differences in order to protect the Goa’uld empire in its entirety.”
Okay. Okay. So. Thinking it through… “Teal’c, every Jaffa, no matter which Goa’uld he or she serves, is reliant on a symbiote for survival. So all the system lords must’ve agreed to the plan.”
“Plan, Doctor Fraiser?”
“Yes. To genetically modify the species. To alter Goa’uld biology so symbiotes can produce the secretions that destroy a Jaffa’s natural immune systems at the time of the prim’ta and allow their alien immune systems to replace it. And — and — ” Oh, God. Was this the answer to one of the questions that had been bugging her for so long? “What if they were changed even further? What if they were modified to not just act as your immune system, but to give them the ability to actively cure human diseases? Like cancer? Like the plague? What if the ancient Goa’uld redesigned themselves so they could not only protect their living incubators but also perfect human beings as their ultimate hosts? The curing of human ailments, allied with exposure to the sarcophagus, explains how the Goa’uld can keep a human host alive for centuries.” Her heart was pounding. She had no proof, not a shred of it, but every instinct told her she was right. “Does any of this sound familiar to you? I mean, do you know when the Jaffa first became immune to disease, or the Goa’uld first exhibited the ability to cure cancer, for example?”
“No,” said Teal’c, his expression grimmer than ever. “The Jaffa are kept in ignorance of many things, to prevent them from becoming a threat to their Goa’uld masters. But what you are suggesting, Doctor… it does sound like the Goa’uld.”
She didn’t know whether to be pleased by that, or worried. And I don’t know how I can use it to help Adjo. Not yet. There’s something… something… I just can’t quite see it. But I will. I have to. All I need is time to think…
She clasped Teal’c’s arm lightly. “Okay. I have to perform this autopsy. Thanks, Teal’c. You’ve given me a lot to consider.”
“You are welcome, Doctor Fraiser,” he said, and bowed.
She made her way to the small tent where Lotar waited, and there found Lotar’s young husband. Bhuiku’s grave composure was impressive. Standing beside the decently sheet-shrouded body of his beloved he said, “Daniel promises me you will treat my wife with respect, Doctor Fraiser.”
“Yes, Bhuiku,” she said softly. “You have my word. I only wish I didn’t have to do this at all. I am deeply grateful for your permission to proceed.”
He nodded. “It is what she would have wanted.”
“Daniel has told me how hard you’re working to help your people. Our people. I can’t begin to tell you how much it’s appreciated.”
“Colonel O’Neill and his team came to us as friends,” he said, his eyes bright. “Our Elders deceived you and so your friends are trapped, as we are trapped, in the nightmare of rebirth. It is possible they will die or be forced to remain on Adjo forever. Knowing this, Doctor, how can I not help them?”
His pain stabbed through her, so sharply she almost made her own confession, almost told him what his people’s eager acceptance of SG-1 among them had done to them.
But I can’t. It’s too dangerous. Oh, God. I feel like a criminal. Like it’s my fault.
“Bhuiku,” she said, hearing the huskiness in her voice, “your people are victims of the Goa’uld. We don’t blame you or your Elders for this, and it breaks our hearts to see you suffering, to be unable to end that suffering.”
“If I believed a god existed, Doctor, I would thank it for sending you to us.”
Oh, Bhuiku. “I — I need to get started now.”
He looked at Lotar. “When you have done what must be done, may I come back and sit with her again?”
“Ah… Bhuiku…” She cleared her throat. “It might be better if you didn’t.”
Bhuiku flinched. “I see.”
He walked out of the tent without a backwards glance. Janet waited until self-control returned, then set up her instruments and got to work.
It was a long, painstaking business. When it was finished she walked out into the bright Adjoan sunshine. Inside the Hazmat suit she was clammy with sweat. Breathing deeply, she tried to forget the images washed in blood across her inner eye, the dreadful suffering they implied. When she had herself in hand she found Teal’c mending a broken camp bed, and asked him to see her medical equipment and the cases of tissue samples safely to the gate. Then she went in search of Bhuiku and found him with Daniel, sitting in a patch of shade. Daniel was peeling potatoes and Bhuiki shelled peas. When he saw her approach he stood, and again she was struck his dignity and grace.
“It is done, Doctor Fraiser?”
She nodded. “It’s done. You can hold her funeral now.”
Bhuiku’s eyes filled with tears, but he didn’t let them fall. “I do wish to see her one last time.”
Daniel looked up, alarmed. “Ah, Bhuiku — ”
“It’s all right,” she said. Suspecting as much, she’d worked hard to minimize the gruesomeness. “Sit with her, Bhuiku. Say your last goodbye. But she must be cremated before sunset.”
“I understand,” he said, and walked away.
Janet cleared her throat. “Okay, Daniel. Now that we’ve got a moment to ourselves, I want to examine you and Colonel Dixon. No arguments.”
He threw the peeler and a half-denuded potato into the pot beside him. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Where’s the colonel?”
Daniel grimaced. “Emptying latrines.”
They sent a village boy to run and fetch him, and she examined Daniel in the command tent. He was still unaffected. Exhausted, but unaffected.
“Still,” she said severely, “you have to get sufficient rest. Don’t rely on your sarcophagus advantage, Daniel. You might not be as bullet-proof as we hope.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and tried to dredge up a smile.
He left the tent, and Dixon entered. “I’m fine. Really.”
“I’m sure you are, Colonel,” she replied. “But what say we don’t let my medical degree go to waste?”
“What were you able to learn from the autopsy?” he asked, as methodically she checked his lymph nodes.
“That Lotar suffered a catastrophic system failure. Until tests are run on the tissue samples I collected that’s all I can say for certain.” She checked his temperature, his blood pressure with a digital monitor, flashed a pen-light in his eyes. “Okay,” she said at last. “That’s it.”
“And I’m good?”
“For now.
But — ” She considered him closely. “Colonel, Major Logan told me about your wife.”
Dixon scowled. “Then he was out of line. I’m fine. Lainie’s not your concern.”
“No. But how you’re coping with the situation is.”
He scrubbed a hand across his tired face. “Just back off, would you? I told you, I’m fine.” Then he sighed. “Sorry. I was channeling O’Neill there for a minute.”
“And very convincingly, too.”
He met her gaze squarely. “Doctor Fraiser, I’m handling it. I’ve got no other choice, have I?”
No. He didn’t. And nothing she could say would make the situation any easier, so… “All right, Colonel. We’re done. And I’ve got to go. I’ll just look in on Colonel O’Neill and Major Carter one last time.”
He stood. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Doc. I’ll see you at the gate.”
Chapter Twenty-four
It was harder to walk through Georgetown this time. Children at their lessons. Mothers nursing babies. Young men with ravaged eyes. Old men with no hope. She found it almost impossible to look at them, knowing now just how much these people needed her. Knowing she was about to blithely abandon them.
No. Not blithely. I’m going kicking and screaming. And when I get back home I’m going to fight to come back. If I have to march into the Oval Office myself, I’m not letting anyone wash our hands of this.
Jack and Sam were both sleeping. She kissed her gloved fingers though her face-mask and pressed them to Sam’s hollow cheek and, because they were alone, did the same to Jack. Neither of them stirred.
“You’re not forgotten, okay?” she told them. “We haven’t left you behind. Don’t you die while I’m gone. Do you hear me? Don’t you dare.”
Step by dragging step she made her way back to the Stargate. Daniel, Teal’c and Dixon were waiting for her at the DHD. The wormhole was engaged, and it looked like her equipment and tissue samples had already been sent back to the SGC. A portable spray-pack of heavy duty antiseptic stood ready.
“So. Guess this is goodbye,” said Daniel, once he’d finished spraying her down. He sounded forlorn. Tried to smile, and couldn’t quite manage it.