STARGATE SG-1: Do No Harm

by Karen Miller

  Is this what’s going to happen to us?

  Stomach heaving, bile flooding his mouth, Daniel turned away from the ugly sight. All his muscles were twitching, demanding that he run. Any sane, sensible person would run. Who knew what kind of pathogens were crawling over every surface or hanging in the air?

  Except… except…

  Lamplight played over the nearby cave wall… and the tainted air caught in his throat. “Oh my God…”

  Did Howard Carter feel like this, discovering Tutankhamen’s lost tomb? Feel awe, feel disbelief, feel the champagne in his blood?

  He must have. It’s incredible. There’s no feeling like this.

  The wall was covered in paintings, as fresh in this moment as the day they were made. There were the Goa’uld motherships, crudely represented but recognizable. There were the Goa’uld: Ra and Setesh. There were the humans stolen from Earth. The story beckoned, he was desperate to read it —

  But first things first.

  Lamp held high, the back of his other hand pressed hard to his mouth, he subdued his treacherous stomach and picked his way between the bloated, stinking corpses of Mennufer’s Elders, to see what else the cave contained.

  The lamplight fell across a carved human figurine set into a niche in the wall at the back. Three feet high, he thought it was made of raw naquadah. It had diamonds for eyes and smiled with lips of gold. All over its wildly misshapen body erupted boils of solid ruby. Emerald pustules disfigured its face.

  The thing was grotesque.

  Daniel glanced at dead Khenti, Madu, Sebak and Panahasi, again at the painted wall and then the figurine. “You fools,” he whispered. “Your secrets killed you. If only you’d told us. If only you’d let us help.”

  Head aching, tears burning his eyes, he thrust their folly from his mind and instead lost himself in the paintings on the wall. Right to left, in fourteen distinct panels, with brutal brevity and breathtaking detail, they told the story of Adjo’s terrible, incredible history.

  He read it twice, to be certain he was right, his heart pounding so hard it felt bruised against his ribs.

  Oh God, oh God, please let me be wrong.

  But he wasn’t. He was good at this… and the paintings didn’t lie.

  “Oh, God,” he whispered at last, stepping back. “Teal’c was right. Adjo’s a death trap.”

  He had to tell Jack.

  Running down to the valley floor in the dark was beyond crazy, it was suicidal, but that didn’t stop him. Somehow he managed to keep his feet, somehow he managed not to break a leg, or his neck. Sweating, panting, he reached the Elders’ retreat and slammed the door open.

  “Jack! Jack! I’ve figured it out and oh boy, oh boy, we are well and truly screwed!”

  Dixon looked up from reading a dog-eared paperback. “O’Neill’s asleep. What do you mean, we’re screwed?”

  “In a minute,” he said, and dropped to his knees beside Jack. Shaking his shoulder he said, “Jack. I’m sorry. Wake up.”

  With a querulous, protesting moan, Jack opened his eyes. The blisters on his face had darkened almost to black. “What? Daniel, so help me…”

  “Khenti’s dead, Jack. So are the rest of them. I found their bodies in the shrine.”

  That got Jack’s attention. Gritting his teeth, he sat up. “All of them? They’re all dead?”

  “’Fraid so,” he said, and let himself bump to the floor. “Whatever disease they contracted, it took them down fast. They’ve been spending so much time in that cave, I guess they infected each other. And then, without medicines, they thought they could save themselves with prayer.”

  “Poor bastards,” said Dixon, and put his book aside.

  “Jack…” Daniel took a deep breath. “This isn’t an ordinary epidemic. It’s bioterrorism.”

  Jack stared. “It’s what?”

  “Bioterrorism,” he repeated. His voice was shaking. There was sweat on his skin. After all he’d seen, all he’d experienced, still the enormity of the Goa’ulds’ evil was almost more than he could comprehend. “Viral warfare. Ra and Setesh, they unleashed some kind of plague — or plagues — on Adjo. When they realized neither one could defeat the other with regular tactics they — they infected it with diseases. Jack, even their Jaffa died.”

  “Jaffa don’t get sick, Daniel.”

  “Maybe not now, but they did back then. Jack, I’ve seen it. The whole story’s painted on the walls of the shrine. Ra and Setesh tried to poison Adjo, wipe out each other’s Jaffa and human slave populations, make the place uninhabitable. I guess the idea was they’d continue fighting somewhere else until one of them was finally dead, or conquered. Then, once the viruses had died out for lack of hosts, the victor would come back to Adjo and pick up where he left off plundering the planet of its natural resources.”

  Jack pointed to his disfigured face. “Hello! I think I found the flaw in their plan!”

  “Not the plan,” said Dixon. “Its execution. For whatever reasons not all the humans died, so the viruses survived too.”

  “Survived and mutated,” Daniel added. “Because that’s what viruses do. I’m guessing one of the original diseases they used was smallpox. It’s been around forever. Rameses V died of smallpox in 1196 BC. And — and — polio. Yeah, there was polio in Ancient Egypt. There’s a hieroglyph from — ha! Memphis! — it shows a temple priest called Siptah with all the typical clinical signs of paralytic poliomyelitis. And there are people in Mennufer today showing similar signs.”

  “Yeah, okay,” said Jack. “But why now? Are you saying it’s a coincidence that we step through the gate and people start dropping like flies?”

  Daniel nodded. “Coincidence. Bad timing. I think what happens is that the viruses have mutated so they can survive for long periods outside a human host. They go dormant in winter and reactivate in spring.” He shrugged. “And it’s spring.”

  “What?” Jack demanded. “You’re saying viruses hibernate? Like bears? Jeez, Daniel, you’ve been reading too much Michael Crichton.”

  “Actually, he’s right,” said Dixon mildly. “Tudor England, there was this disease they called the sweating sickness. Came out of nowhere, killed people in less than a day. Only in summer, though. And not millions, like the plague. Just thousands.”

  Jack just stared at him. “How in God’s name could you know that? Get away from me, Dixon! One Daniel on this team is enough!”

  Barely registering the insult Daniel looked at Sam, who hadn’t stirred through their conversation. “How’s she doing?”

  “Not good,” Jack said shortly.

  “And Lotar? Has anyone thought to check in with Teal’c?”

  “I did, half an hour ago,” said Dixon. “Lotar’s bad but she’s still breathing.”

  “Okay. Okay. So whatever she’s got, and Sam’s got, it’s not what killed the Elders.” Thank God, thank God. He screwed his eyes shut, trying to calm his frantic thoughts. “Okay. Bhuiku said not everyone gets sick. That some people, like the Elders, have gone their whole lives without being affected by rebirth. And some people do get sick but not everyone dies. Which is what happens at home. Twenty percent of people who catch Ebola survive, for example.”

  “Your point, Daniel?”

  “Yes. My point,” he said slowly, working through the implications. “My point is that the diseases Ra and Setesh introduced into Adjo’s ecosytem have mutated so far from their original strains that the rate of survival after exposure has increased significantly. And that the humans living here now, the descendants of the humans who didn’t succumb during the original plagues three thousand years ago, survived because of some kind of genetic immunity, and through concentrated interbreeding they’ve perpetuated and maybe even strengthened that immunity.”

  “Then how come any of them get sick?” said Dixon.

  “I don’t know,” Daniel said. “Genetic drift, maybe. Or maybe the way the pathogens mutate coincides with a weakness in some people’s immune systems. Janet’s the doctor,
she can work that out.”

  “And this explains why Carter and I are sick, but you and Dixon aren’t? We’re genetically inferior?” said Jack. “Gee. Thanks, Doctor Mengele.”

  “No, Jack. What I’m saying is it’s a crap shoot.”

  Dixon frowned. “Which means there’s no guarantee you and I won’t get sick somewhere down the line. Look at Khenti and his crew. If we’re exposed to a pathogen that’s mutated in a way our immune systems can’t fight…”

  “Yes,” said Daniel, nodding vigorously. “Unfortunately. If my theory’s correct.”

  “It sounds pretty correct to me,” said Sam weakly, and opened her eyes. “We have to tell Janet. She needs to know all this if she’s going to have any chance of — ”

  “Yeah, Carter, we know,” said Jack. “Shut up and go back to sleep. We’ve got one hell of a hike back to the gate in the morning.”

  “Yes, sir. Shutting up, sir,” she murmured, and let her eyes drift closed again.

  Jack checked his watch. “Okay. By my count we’ve got about six hours till first light and who knows what the medical situation will be by then. Only thing I know for sure is the crap’s going to hit the fan when the villagers find out Khenti and his pals are out of the picture permanently.”

  “We’ll have to step in,” said Dixon. “Assume some kind of leadership position. I don’t see we’ve got any choice.”

  “Agreed,” said Jack, after a moment. “But there’s no point creating panic tonight. We’ll tell ’em first thing tomorrow.”

  Daniel considered him. Just how bad are you feeling, Jack? You’ve got a good game face, but it’s obvious you’re in a bad way. Do I say this now or do I wait…

  “Spit it out, Daniel,” said Jack, resigned. “Whatever it is.”

  Right. “Probably you won’t want to hear this, but I think we have to consider taking the whole village back to the gate with us.”

  “You’re right,” said Jack. “I don’t want to hear that. The whole village, Daniel? Are you out of your mind?”

  “Jack, it’s a good bet there’s nowhere on this planet safe from infection. Yes, we could leave the healthy villagers behind but what if they get sick after we’ve left?”

  Jack was scowling. “Like Dixon said. It’s a crap shoot. They’ll have to take their chances like the rest of us. Like they always do. Us being here doesn’t change that.”

  Daniel nodded. Stay cool. He’s sick, he’s not thinking straight. Shouting isn’t going to help either of us. “True,” he agreed carefully. “But Jack, we’re going to have to take some healthy people with us to help transport the villagers who’ve already succumbed. If you want to a start a riot, try telling these people we’re only going to help a few of them. Tell mothers they have to leave their sons and daughters behind. Tell husbands you want them to abandon their wives. Tell them that and see how fast you lose control of the situation.”

  Silence, as Jack closed his eyes. He looked exhausted. Pummeled with pain. After a moment he dragged his eyes open again.

  “So you want me to tell Hammond he’s got to foot the bill for an all-out refugee camp?” He snorted. “You trying to get me fired, Daniel?”

  “Jack, we came here to find a way to exploit this planet’s natural resources,” he said quietly. “We were always going to have to provide some kind of compensation. And now that we know those resources are real, and phenomenally valuable, do you think Washington’s not going to find a way around this little virus problem? In my book that means we owe the people of Mennufer all the help we can give them as an upfront gesture of good faith.”

  “Just Mennufer?” said Jack, his puffy, bloodshot eyes glinting. “There are other villages here, Daniel. I’m surprised you don’t expect me to send them a telegram.”

  The thought of those other, unprotected villages cut through him like a sharpened knife. “No. There’s a limit to what we can do right now. I get that. But when this immediate crisis is over then yes. I do expect us to help the other villages beat this problem.”

  He held Jack’s gaze steadily, daring him to argue. But Jack didn’t. In honesty, he hadn’t expected him to. They often butted heads over ways and means but Jack could be as compassionate as Mother Teresa… provided military pragmatism wasn’t getting in the way.

  “So,” said Dixon, breaking the tense silence. “We sleep now, and turn the village on its ear at dawn. Is that the plan?”

  “Yeah,” said Jack, still staring. “That would be the plan.”

  “Well, I think it sucks,” said Dixon. “But since it’s the only game in town I say what the hell. Let’s play.”

  There was nothing left to say after that. They set their watches, doused every lamp but one, and went to sleep.

  A welcome, familiar voice woke them minutes before their alarms had a chance to sound.

  “— calling SG-1. Colonel O’Neill, do you read? I repeat, this is General Hammond calling SG-1. Colonel, do you — ”

  Jack fumbled for his radio. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here. This is O’Neill, General, reading you loud and clear.”

  “My God, Jack,” said the general. “You sound terrible.”

  Daniel put on his glasses. Yeah, but he looks worse. Overnight the blisters on Jack’s face had spread to his neck and his hands. The whites of his eyes were so bloodshot they were almost solid crimson. His voice was a thin rasp, as though his throat had turned to sandpaper. His hair looked lifeless, its shimmer of silver turned to tarnish.

  “I’m fine, sir,” he croaked. “Don’t tell me you’ve scrapped another UAV just to wish me good morning.”

  “No, we’ve got ourselves a naquadah-powered transmitter.”

  With a struggle, Jack sat up. “We have? Since when?”

  “Since Donnelly and McLaren invented it.”

  “Really? Gee, sir. Don’t tell Carter.”

  Sam stirred. “Don’t tell me what?”

  “Nothing,” said Jack. “Go back to sleep.”

  “Colonel, what’s your status?”

  “Well, sir — ” Jack began, then started coughing. Deep, hacking coughs that sounded like his lungs were being shredded.

  “Colonel!”

  Dixon, who’d already opened the door and lit a couple of extra lamps, took the radio. “Sir, this is Dixon.”

  “What’s wrong with O’Neill, Colonel, what — ”

  “Well, sir, he’s still poorly. So’s Carter. Basically the crap in that creek we talked about is getting deeper. All the village Elders are dead. On the slightly less gloomy side, Jackson’s figured out what’s going on.”

  “He has? Put him on.”

  Daniel took the outstretched radio. “Sir, it might be more efficient if I explained it to — ”

  “Sorry, son, I ordered Doctor Fraiser to bed for an hour before she passed out on her feet. Explain it to me and I’ll see she’s brought up to speed.”

  As Dixon fetched water for Jack, who was wheezing like an asthmatic, he gave Hammond an update. “So, I don’t know how, sir, but Doctor Fraiser’s going to have to find a way to treat these mutated versions of ancient Earth viruses. Otherwise we’ll just have to pray our own immune systems can stand up to them.”

  “I see,” said Hammond, after a long pause. “Thank you, Doctor Jackson.”

  His breathing recovered, Jack snatched the radio back. “But we’ll be fine, General. Carter’s tough. I’m tougher. Daniel and Dixon haven’t so much as sneezed. So no ordering wreaths just yet, if you don’t mind. Fraiser’ll come up with something. She always does.”

  “Colonel, how soon before we can expect you at the Adjo gate?” said Hammond, neatly sidestepping the verbal landmine.

  “Oh. Right. About that…” said Jack, wincing. “I estimate we’ll be leaving Mennufer within the hour, sir. Not sure how long it’ll take us to reach the gate. Could be ten hours, at least.”

  “Why so long?”

  “Well, sir, because the chances are good we’ll have pretty much the whole village with us. Six hundred
people, maybe more. So if you could see your way clear to, I don’t know, getting together a few more tents and ration packs and what have you…”

  “Six hundred?” said Hammond, sounding incredulous. “Colonel O’Neill — ”

  “Including babies. Yeah, I know, sir. I’m sorry. Could you just… humor me on this one? Seeing as how I’ve got the bubonic plague, and all?”

  A staticky silence. “My God, Jack,” said Hammond eventually. “You certainly know how to push a friendship.”

  “Yes, sir. It’s one of my more endearing qualities.”

  “You think so, Colonel? Well. We can discuss that thought and other delusions when you return. Now, unless there’s anything else you’ll have to excuse me. It seems I have a miracle to accomplish.”

  “No, sir. Nothing else, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  “Holy crap,” said Dixon. He almost sounded admiring. “You’re a work of art.”

  Despite all their troubles, Daniel grinned. “Really? I’ve always thought of him more like a kid’s finger painting. You know. Thick and messy.”

  Heavy-eyed, Jack looked at him. “Daniel, I have a gun. Did you forget I have a gun?”

  Still grinning, not answering, he fished his own radio free from its vest pocket and toggled it. “Teal’c? This is Daniel. Do you read?”

  “This is Teal’c. How are Colonel O’Neill and Major Carter?”

  “Still with us. How’s Lotar?”

  “I believe the phrase is ‘hanging in there’.”

  He felt a flood of relief. “Good. Can you bring her in to the retreat?”

  “You know I cannot. Doctor Fraiser expressly forbid — ”

  Jack toggled on his own radio. “Hey, Teal’c. Change of plans, we’ll explain when you get here. Fast as you can without compromising the girl. We — ”

  “Teal’c, it’s me again,” said Daniel, with an apologetic grimace at Jack. “We’re going back to the gate with as many villagers as want to come with us. Send Bhuiku ahead, will you? I think he can help us convince them it’s in their best interests to leave.”

  “O’Neill?”

  Jack sighed. “Yeah, Teal’c. Send the kid ahead.”