by Karen Miller
Swallowing a groan, he dropped at last to his own camp bed. Good God, the sheer glory of sitting down…
A stirring behind him, then: “What did Hammond say?”
O’Neill. Voice gravelly with fatigue and whatever the hell bizarro infection rampaged through his body.
Bending down to unlace his boots, Dixon shrugged. “Not much. The President wants to throw us a party when we get back.”
“Yeah,” said O’Neill, after a long moment. “A party. Right. Think I’ll be at home washing my hair that night. Been to one White House party, you’ve been to them all.”
Stifling a groan, he pulled his boots off. “If you say so. Me, I don’t have the President on speed dial.”
“What else did Hammond say?”
That I can’t talk to Lainie. That they can’t help us, and we’re all friggin’ screwed.
“My team’s okay. Most of them have gone back to Washington.”
“Yeah, like that’s important.”
Sweet baby Jesus. He stripped off his jacket and his torn, stinking tee shirt and dropped them in a pile ready for the next day’s laundry run to the SGC. “It is to me.”
O’Neill said nothing.
Smart move. Think I won’t hit a sick man? You’d better think again.
Man, he needed a shower in the worst possible way. Tomorrow, without fail. They had portable units now, courtesy of the base. With an audible groan, this time, he toppled like a felled tree, his stubbled face mashing into the skinny little pillow. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this tired. It nearly killed him, hauling the blanket over himself.
Blessed silence, save for Jackson’s snoring. Sleep descended like an ax.
Chapter Twenty-one
Janet stepped back from the electron microscope and rubbed her burning, bleary eyes. For nearly five hours straight she’d been wading through blood samples from Adjo. Every time she blinked the world turned red. In nearly five hours she’d seen more viruses and permutations of viruses than she’d realistically expected to encounter in a lifetime.
And she didn’t have the first idea of how to combat them. Especially now… with this new wrinkle she’d just discovered.
This isn’t happening. It can’t be happening. Not even our luck could be this bad.
Except it was, and it could, and what the hell she was supposed to do now she didn’t know. Couldn’t imagine.
She wanted to scream.
Nick, her lab assistant, looked up. “Doctor, I can confirm. We are seeing cross-contamination.”
“Yeah. I know. Dammit.”
She glanced at her watch. Nearly time for the next check-in from Adjo. And she needed to find out from Hammond what was happening with her request for smallpox vaccinations. Even though they weren’t dealing with any kind of pure Earth strain of the virus the vaccine might at least help slow down the progression of some people’s sickness. A desperate move, perhaps, but desperate was about all she had left.
“Can you keep going without me for the moment? I need to get downstairs.”
Nick, who was looking as tired as she felt, nodded. “Sure, Doctor.”
She patted his shoulder. “Terrific. I’ll be back as quick as I can.”
Her body humming with fatigue, she leaned against the wall of the elevator as it trundled her down to Level 27 and Hammond’s office. The general was on the phone, again. The red phone. He beckoned her to join him and pointed at a chair. Her muscles wept with relief as she sat in its padded comfort.
“Yes, Mister President,” he said. His expression was a mingling of frustration, disappointment and despair, but nothing beyond respectful politeness sounded in his voice. “Thank you.”
As Hammond replaced the red receiver with exaggerated care, Janet pinned her hands between her knees so they couldn’t form into fists and start punching.
“Don’t tell me. Let me guess,” she said, and made no attempt to hide her own feelings. “I’m not getting any smallpox vaccine, am I?”
He shook his head. “No. You’re not.”
He’s a general and you’re a captain, Janet. Don’t lose your temper, you can’t win this fight.
As advice went it was damned good. She ignored it anyway.
“General, that’s ridiculous. In no way does this request jeopardize our secrecy. Smallpox vaccine might not be as common as it used to be, but we’ve got enough of the stuff stockpiled that nobody is going to notice a requisition of six hundred vials. Not when — ”
“Doctor Fraiser, you’re preaching to the choir,” said Hammond. “But we’re coming up on the mid-terms and mid-terms turn rational politicians into raving paranoid control freaks.” He shook his head. “And you did not hear me say any such thing about our Commander in Chief.”
“Well, sir, in that case I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe I should just start throwing boxes of band-aids and sugar pills through the gate to Adjo! And then we can all sit in a circle, holding hands and singing kumbayah! Because that’ll be about as much help as anything else I can think of right now!”
Temper flashed in Hammond’s eyes, then he sighed. “I’m sorry, Doctor. I wish there was more I could do. If you think I’m happy about this, you are gravely mistaken.”
“Then how am I supposed to handle this situation, General?”
“The way you handle everything, Doctor. With consummate dedication and professionalism to the limits of all available resources.”
“But that’s just it, I don’t have all available resources, sir, I’m being prevented from accessing all available resources!” she protested. “Sir, I can fix this. If you’ll let me, I can fix this.”
Hammond looked at her, his eyes unbearably tired. “And what is it you’re going to do, Janet? March on the White House and stamp your foot until the President changes his mind? Wave a magic wand and undo the damage caused by two Goa’uld three thousand years ago? Turn back time so SG-1 don’t step foot on Adjo? What?”
He hardly ever called her Janet. Only when he was immensely pleased… or immensely distressed. She cleared her throat. “Sir, I know some people who know some people. I have… connections. In the private sector. I could — ”
“Absolutely not!”
“Why, sir? Because of national security?” It took all her fraying self-control not to leap out of the chair and go ranting around Hammond’s neat, orderly office. “General, that’s a crock. It’s a tired old excuse that gets trotted out every time the suits in Washington don’t want to help us. What about loyalty? Every single team on this base has shed blood in the name of national security. Colonel O’Neill and his team have died for it. And now Washington expects us to sit on our hands and let them die again? For the last time? It’s not just wrong, sir, it’s criminal!”
“And so is disclosing the existence of this program!”
“Oh, please, General. You know I’d do no such thing. Let me do this. I won’t compromise the base, I won’t put anyone in danger. But I —“
Hammond shoved to his feet. “Dear God, Janet! Don’t you think I’m at my wits’ end too? If cutting off my right arm could save SG-1 and the Adjoans I’d be using a rusty knife right now! But I cannot agree to what you’re suggesting. You’d risk tearing to shreds our paper-thin veil of secrecy. You know as well as I do that we are only ever one crisis away from full disclosure… and full disclosure of this facility is not in anyone’s best interest.”
Some small part of her, the Air Force officer, knew he was right. But a larger part, the doctor part, was screaming at her to fight.
“General, I’ve just confirmed cross-contamination in the viral samples SG-1 sent through from Adjo. And I’m seeing newly sequenced RNA in the latest mutations that strongly suggests these Goa’uld viruses have started incorporating current Earth pathogens into their makeup.”
“From SG-1?” Hammond was frowning. “Doctor — ”
“Yes, sir. They were in perfect health when they left here,” she said quickly. “But short of irradiating our teams, General, the
re’s no way to prevent them from taking bits and pieces of Earth with them wherever they go.”
“And that includes viruses and bacteria. I know,” said Hammond. His fingers drummed the desk. “It’s one of our many calculated risks.”
“And this time, General, that risk has blown up in our faces. The situation on Adjo is now highly unstable. In short, sir, we’ve made things worse.”
Slowly, Hammond sat again. “That was not our intention.”
She was so angry she didn’t even try to censor herself. “Oh, well then, I guess that makes it okay.”
“Doctor Fraiser!”
“General Hammond, please, you have to listen to me. If we don’t do everything in our power to stop this disease we might well be responsible for committing genocide.”
“Genocide is a willful act,” said Hammond, his voice tight and dangerously low. “The situation on Adjo is an accident.”
“Forgive me, sir, but I don’t believe we have the luxury of making that distinction. We have an absolute obligation to undo the damage we’ve done to the Adjoan biosystem.”
“We are not ignoring our obligations, Doctor,” said Hammond. “Do you have any idea what the creation and support of the Adjoan tent city is costing?”
“Money.” As if that solved anything on its own. “Sir, we need more than money, we need help. The Tok’ra — ”
“Cannot be apprised of this current crisis.”
“Why not?”
“Because there’s a consensus of opinion that with allies like them, we don’t need any more enemies.”
“But — but Jacob — ”
“Is part of the problem. Some of my superiors believe that because Jacob and I are friends, because we go back such a long way, my judgment might be compromised where the Tok’ra are concerned.”
She stared. “They think you trust them too easily because of Jacob?”
“It’s been suggested.”
“But sir, that’s nonsense. You’re never anything but scrupulously professional in your dealings with the Tok’ra.”
Hammond’s eyes warmed at her support, but his expression remained grave. “The thing is, Janet, while I do trust Jacob, implicitly… he’s not exactly Jacob any more, is he? And he’s walking a very fine line. You could even say his loyalties are divided now. But mine aren’t. And it’s not in Earth’s best interest for the Tok’ra to have access to all our dirty linen. Especially not linen as dirty as this.”
What could she say? He wasn’t entirely wrong. Their status with the Tok’ra was perilously low already, particularly with the mis-step over Apophis and Sokar. Every time the SGC screwed up or went running to the Tok’ra for help their arrogance only increased. It really was a case of what they don’t know won’t hurt us.
“Sir, I appreciate the dilemma,” she said carefully. “But these circumstances are surely extraordinary. And then there’s the question of Major Carter. If her condition should deteriorate further, doesn’t her father have a right to know?”
Hammond shrugged. “Of course he does. In an ideal world Jacob would be with her as we speak. But this is just one of the drawbacks to active service. Jacob came to terms with it a long time ago.”
They all had, to a greater or lesser extent. Every man and woman who put on a uniform knew they might die alone and far, far from home.
The general’s phone rang, then, and he answered it. “Hammond. Right. Thank you, Sergeant.” Standing, he looked at her. “SG-1’s called in. Doctor, is there a compelling medical reason for them to be told of these latest developments with the virus?”
She shook her head. “No, sir.”
“Then the information is classified, until further notice. Tell your lab teams.”
Throat aching, eyes hot, she nodded. “Yes, sir.”
He led the way to the control room. Even with the imperfect video transmission through the wormhole, Colonel Dixon’s concern was plainly visible.
“General Hammond, Doctor Fraiser, I don’t know what to tell you. We’ve been here two days now, and in two days another forty people are down sick. Seven in the last hour. The villagers are saying this speed and rate of infection are unprecedented. Nobody else has died yet but I gotta tell you… it’s only a matter of time.” He took a deep breath. His eyes were troubled. “Sir, I gotta ask. Is there a chance we’re responsible? Is this our fault, somehow?”
Janet looked at Hammond. He shook his head, minutely, and leaned into the mike. “Colonel, we have no way of knowing. Let’s focus on what’s most important. Are you or Doctor Jackson showing any signs of illness?”
“No, sir. We’re pretty tired, but that’s all. And Teal’c’s fine, but then he’s Teal’c.”
“And Colonel O’Neill? Major Carter?”
“O’Neill can still get around, if he has to. I’ve come pretty close to tying him to his camp bed once or twice. I think when this is over he’s going to shoot me with a zat again.”
Hammond made a little sound in his throat. “Colonel, I don’t doubt that for a moment. What about Major Carter?”
Dixon scrubbed at his stubble. “Sir, she’s been pretty unresponsive the last six hours. And — hell, I could be imagining things but it looks to me like her joints have kind of swollen up. Plus she’s developed this rash…”
“General, if I may?” said Janet, and Hammond stepped aside. “Colonel, it’s Fraiser. Did you say a red rash?”
“Yeah, that’s right, Doc.”
“And she’s still short of breath? Still running a fever?”
“Yeah. I’m keeping her temperature down with cool wet cloths and feeding her Tylenol when she’s awake enough to swallow, but it keeps creeping up. O’Neill’s sitting with her at the moment, talking to her. I think he’s getting through, but…”
Janet felt her insides twist viciously. Oh, Sam. Hang in there. What am I supposed to tell Cassie if you die? “Maintain that regimen, Colonel. Make sure Major Carter’s checked at half-hourly intervals. If her temperature spikes I want to know immediately.”
“Doctor?” said Hammond.
She looked at him. “Sir, the symptoms he’s describing sound like rheumatic fever. The only problem is, rheumatic fever usually presents after an untreated strep infection. That doesn’t fit here.”
He stared. “And is it fatal?”
“Ordinarily no, although there can be cardiac complications. The trouble is this only sounds like RF. It could be another mutation of the virus.” She turned back to the mike. “Colonel Dixon, I need more blood and a throat swab from Major Carter, ASAP.”
Dixon rubbed a hand across his tired face. “Will do.”
Hammond bent to the mike again. “Colonel Dixon, how are your supplies holding up?”
“You read my mind, General. On the medical front I need more of everything, basically. Lots more. I’m doing what Fraiser said, I’m treating the symptoms, trying to keep folk comfortable, but every time I turn around the symptoms have changed on me. Gotta tell you, it’s hard to keep up.”
“I hear you, Colonel,” said Hammond. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your supplies within the hour. You’re doing a sterling job.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not just me. Jackson and Teal’c are working round the clock too. And the villagers. We’ve turned into a pretty tight team.”
“And we’ve got your back. Stand by for Doctor Fraiser, with final instructions. Keep the faith, Colonel. You are not alone.”
“Yeah,” said Dixon, after a moment. “That’s good to know. Thank you, General.”
Janet took over the microphone. “Colonel, I need you to film your patients again, and send me blood samples of every new case you’ve got along with that footage. We’re building a database as fast we can, to track this thing. Once I’ve assessed your latest casualties I’ll give you my best-guess diagnosis ASAP and advise on the relevant courses of treatment.”
“Okay. Copy that.”
There was silence in the control room once the Adjo wormhole disconnected. Nobody was
looking at anyone else. Hammond stared into thin air, Harriman pretended a passionate interest in the dial-up computer and the other tech, Lassiter, seemed to be having trouble with her pen.
“Doctor Fraiser,” said Hammond, subdued, shifting his gaze to look at her, at last, “can I leave you to organize the new medical supplies?”
“Of course, sir,” she said, scrupulously polite. None of this was his fault, she knew that in her head, but her gut was screaming punch his lights out! Earth’s smallpox vaccine might not be able to cure what was happening on Adjo, but she was sure it could help. It’s not fair, it’s not fair…
“Good.” Hammond turned to leave, then turned back. “Doctor, what’s your best assessment of Colonel Dixon and Doctor Jackson’s chances of remaining off the sick list?”
She nearly laughed out loud, the question was so impossible to answer. “Sir… I don’t have any kind of assessment. There’s simply no way of knowing. The only thing I can tell you that might be helpful is that Doctor Jackson’s most recent blood samples have shown a steady rise in leukocyte — white blood cell — count.”
“Caused by?”
She shrugged. “White blood cells are the immune system’s warriors. Ever since his prolonged exposure to the Goa’uld sarcophagus Daniel’s exhibited an unusually robust resistance to infections. He heals faster than normal and hasn’t caught so much as a cold. It could be the sarcophagus permanently and positively impacted his immune system and that it’s gone into overdrive on Adjo.”
“You think he’s impervious to whatever diseases Ra and Setesh left on the planet?”
God save her from laymen… “I’m not prepared to go that far, sir. It’s possible even his immune system could be compromised eventually. But it’s clear, at least in the short term, that Daniel’s got some kind of advantage.”
“Then is there any way Doctor Jackson’s blood can be used to prevent infection in those people still to succumb, or strengthen the immune systems of those who are sick now?”
It killed her, knowing she’d have to disappoint him. “Actually, sir, we’re already working on that. We’ve isolated the serum from Doctor Jackson’s blood and are running tests now, but… it’s not looking hopeful. It seems that whatever effect the sarcophagus had on him, it’s not transferable.”