STARGATE SG-1: Do No Harm

by Karen Miller

  “Sergeant Harriman! Why was I not notified immediately of Lotar’s death?”

  Harriman stood. “Sir, you’d just left the base when word came through. In my judgment telling you then wouldn’t have changed anything and — and — sir, you needed the break.”

  Well… he couldn’t argue with that. He’d nearly run his car off the road twice on the way home. “Very well.”

  Harriman sat down again. “I’m sorry if I overstepped, General.”

  They were alone in the control room. “It’s all right, Walter,” he said. “I appreciate your concern.”

  “Yes, sir. Sir — ” Harriman picked up a video-tape from the console and held it out. “Here’s the latest footage from Adjo.”

  He’d ordered that a copy be made for him of all the incoming patient records. It would be rank cowardice to deny these people Earth’s unrestricted assistance then refuse to look the consequences in the eye. He took the tape. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

  Returned to his office, he watched it.

  So much pain. So much suffering. Jack O’Neill and Sam Carter, his people. Looking at them, as always, was bad. Even worse was looking at Mennufer’s children. Babies too young to understand what was happening, blistered and bleeding and sinking towards death. Moved to tears by their weeping, by the stoic misery of their parents, he thought, as always, of Tessa and Kayla. Thought how he’d feel if his precious grandchildren were similarly afflicted, and that someone with the power to help them refused.

  I’d want to kill them. I would.

  Last of all he watched the girl Lotar die. Quietly. Almost… invisibly. In her body one moment — fled from it the next. Mercifully Dixon stopped filming just as the first anguished cries of her young man were recorded.

  As the tape rewound he looked at the crumpled note on his desk. SG-1 reports death of villager Lotar. Then, added in a scrawl, black pen this time, not blue: Permission obtained to perform autopsy. Which was all very proactive, but under the circumstances both impractical and unlikely.

  Under the circumstances. And how many more innocents will die because of our circumstances? How soon before Jack and Sam are added to the list? And all because the President and the Pentagon care more about naquadah and covering their butts than they do for saving lives.

  He looked up at a knock on his closed door. “Come.”

  “Sir,” said Janet Fraiser. She looked as grim as he felt.

  “You’ve heard, I take it?” he said, and waved her to the visitor’s chair. “Lotar.”

  She sat down, her movements jerky with the force of her self-control. “Yes. General, I need to perform that autopsy.”

  He knew she’d ask him. She wouldn’t be Janet Fraiser if she didn’t. “And if you did, Doctor? Can you guarantee it would make a difference?”

  “Guarantee?” She shook her head. “Of course not, sir. But at this point any new information might be crucial.”

  “And there’s no way it could be performed remotely? You couldn’t — couldn’t talk someone through the procedure and observe via a MALP, for example?”

  “Sir?” She sat back, staring. “You can’t be — ” She stopped. Collected herself. “General, while technically that might be possible, not only would the results be sub-standard, from a research perspective, I would never put a layman through the experience. Autopsies are… extreme.”

  Yes, well, it was only a thought. “Bringing the body here is out of the question. You know that.”

  “Of course. I’d go there.”

  “And if something went wrong you’d be stuck there. The risk is — ”

  “Worth taking.” Now she sat forward, clenched fists on her knees, the light of battle in her dark eyes. “Sir, provided I’m fully kitted up and take every precaution I don’t anticipate any possibility of contamination. If Hazmat suits weren’t capable of doing their job nuclear specialists and USAMRIID investigators wouldn’t wear them in hot zones. Adjo is just another hot zone, sir. Not my first, and probably not my last.”

  “It sure as hell will be your last if something goes wrong!”

  She stood. “Sir, I am officially requesting permission to conduct vital medical research that might save SG-1, the people of Adjo and possibly salvage the mission as well. The risk to me is beyond minimal. The potential advantages to this base are off the chart positive.”

  “Have you forgotten, Doctor, that once you set foot on Adjo you can’t come back?”

  “Technically, that’s true. But sir, at no time while I’m on Adjo will I directly interface with a virus,” Janet said carefully. “Furthermore, immediately prior to my return to Earth I will make sure my HAZMAT suit is completely disinfected. In addition, you will oversee the placement of a decon unit on the gate ramp and I will exit into it from Adjo. My HAZMAT suit will be contained and incinerated, I’ll be sprayed with more disinfectant, put on a new HAZMAT suit and work in a quarantined lab until any potential incubation period has passed. I’ll even submit four hourly blood samples for testing.”

  Hammond considered her. “Clearly, Doctor, you’ve given this a lot of thought.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so pressured. He stared at his desk, at the crumpled note. “How confident are you that doing this will lead us to finding a cure?”

  “Sir, I’m very uncomfortable with the word cure,” she said, frowning. “And all I can tell you for certain is that not doing this might be a fatal mistake.”

  He’d have to clear it with the President.

  Or else I could prove, yet again, that it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission.

  The blistered, crying babies. Lotar’s final exhalation. The fear, not quite masked, in Jack O’Neill’s bloodshot eyes.

  “All right, Doctor. You have a go.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  An hour later, standing at the base of the gate ramp, cramped and already hot in the highest hi-tech military-issue Hazmat suit available on good old planet Earth, Janet let herself feel one dreadful pang for Cassandra.

  But she knows why I’m going. She wants me to save Jack and Sam and the rest of the team. She knows what it’s like to be a victim of the Goa’uld.

  Cassie, her daughter, was an extraordinary soul.

  Hammond had come down to the gate room to see her off. Siler was there too, ready to drag her enormous trolley-load of medical equipment up the ramp. Without a doubt this was going to be one of the most bizarre autopsies ever carried out in the history of medicine.

  And I’ll never be able to write about it for the American Medical Association or the New England Journal. Damn.

  The wormhole bloomed, and settled into place.

  “Good luck, Doctor Fraiser,” said the general. “Give our best to SG-1.”

  She turned and nodded. “Yes, sir.” Her voice came out flat and tinny, with that mechanical buzz belonging to all Hazmat comm-systems.

  “And Doctor?” Hammond’s voice and face were stern. “I expect to see you back here in a few hours, is that clear?”

  Her heart thudded. “Yes, sir.” She looked at Siler. “Well, Sergeant. I’m ready if you are.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Siler, and with a grunt got the heavy trolley moving up the ramp. Just before she stepped into the wormhole he added, “Ma’am, tell the team we’re really pulling for them.” He cleared his throat, almost embarrassed. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but there’s a vigil for them in the base chapel.”

  She nodded. “I did know that, Sergeant. And I’ll be sure to let SG-1 know. Now give me a ten count, then send the equipment through after me, okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Stargate travel no longer fazed her. She emerged from the wormhole onto Adjo and neatly stepped aside, waiting for the trolley-load of supplies to emerge behind her. It came through safely, she checked it, no damage, then turned to see who’d come to greet her.

  Daniel. Teal’c. Colonel Dixon. Adjo’s sun was just rising, thro
wing pale light over everything. Daniel looked like hell. So did Dixon. She could even detect signs of strain in Teal’c.

  “Hey, Janet,” said Daniel, and waggled his fingers. “Man, it’s nice to see your face. Kind of.”

  She wished she could hug him, comfort him, but for so many reasons she had to keep her distance. “Hey, Daniel. Good to see you too.”

  Beyond them huddled the tent city of Georgetown, a cramped and crammed-in not-quite-a-slum of dwellings and functional temp buildings, designed to save this small population from extinction. The whole set-up reminded her of refugee camps she’d seen in Africa and Asia. She thought she could feel the same oppressive despair weighing down the atmosphere. Her air supply was self-contained, but she knew what the place smelled like: the mingled odors of imperfectly washed humans, cooking food, sickness, smoke from the portable incinerators, chemical latrines.

  But it could be worse. Things can always be worse.

  A few of the villagers who’d not yet succumbed to disease hovered in the background. Clearly they’d lost their fear of the Stargate, but they’d never laid eyes on anything close to a Hazmat suit before. Eyes wide, mouths open, they gasped and pointed and clutched children close.

  Janet nodded at them. “Colonel Dixon, Teal’c, you might want to reassure the locals I’m not a monster. And after that take my gear to wherever Lotar’s located. Daniel, before I get started on the autopsy I’d like to check in on Colonel O’Neill and Major Carter.”

  “Thought you might,” said Daniel. “Come with me.”

  She walked through the tent city at his side, slowly reacquainting herself with the confines of a Hazmat suit. She hadn’t had to wear one since the incident on what she always, thanks to Jack, thought of as the plant people’s planet. God, she really hated working wrapped in rubber; it made her feel like one of those poor schmucky football team mascots. But she’d put herself through a lot more discomfort than that to help SG-1.

  “So,” said Daniel. “What did you make of my findings in the cave?”

  “What findings?”

  “You know. The cave paintings. The ones showing how all this started. The release of the plagues by Ra and Setesh. The dead Jaffa.”

  Dead Jaffa? She stopped. “Daniel, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You don’t — ” Fist pressed to his head, he spun round to face her. “Janet, I wrote a whole report on it, I drew pictures. Colonel Dixon sent it through to the SGC yesterday morning.”

  She shook her head. “I never saw it. Tell me about the dead Jaffa.”

  “The diseases the Goa’uld turned loose here killed them.”

  What? “But Teal’c’s not sick.”

  “I know,” said Daniel.

  “Does he know why? Does he — ”

  Daniel spread his arms in a ‘look around you’ gesture. “There hasn’t been much time for chatting, Janet. I told him about the paintings, but he didn’t have an explanation. I was expecting you to follow up — ”

  “Once I’d read your report.” She blew out a breath, the sound hollow and echoing inside her suit helmet. “Okay. When I’ve done what I came here to do, I’ll sit down with Teal’c. See what he knows. It might be nothing, or — ”

  “It might be something.” Daniel chewed his lip. “I really hope it’s something, Janet. Things are pretty bad.”

  As if she needed him to tell her that. In silence they continued to SG-1’s tent.

  Jack was ill-advisedly out of bed, sitting on a camp stool beside Sam. He let go of her flaccid hand when he saw they had visitors and pushed unsteadily to his feet. “Hey, Doc.”

  She nodded, for a moment not trusting herself to speak, wondering if this was what victims of the Great Plague in London had looked like. “Colonel. At the risk of spoiling our happy reunion, I feel bound to point out to you that you should be in bed.”

  Somehow he managed to smile. “Ah. Still the Napoleonic power-monger, I see. Nice to know some things don’t change.”

  “I wouldn’t want to disappoint you, sir. Now please. Go lie down, and I’ll examine you in a minute.”

  He didn’t even have the strength for a token protest, just nodded and creaked his way back to his camp bed. She dropped to the stool and looked at Sam.

  “Hey sweetie,” she murmured, her gloved fingers pressed gently to the lymph nodes under her friend’s jaw. Swollen. Tender. Even stuporous, Sam flinched. “You hang in there, Samantha. I’m not giving up on you just yet.”

  Daniel said, “If it’s any consolation, she hasn’t gotten worse overnight.”

  Her eyes were stinging. Damn. “That’s good news, Daniel. She could use more fluids, though. Go fetch me an i/v kit and a couple of bags of saline, would you? I’ll set it up now.”

  “Sure,” said Daniel. “Won’t be a moment.”

  Leaving Sam, she crossed to Jack. “Hey there,” she said, and pulled another stool close to sit on. “How ya doing, mi amigo?”

  He blinked rapidly. “Janet, I’m — ” His voice broke, and he closed his eyes. “Crap.”

  She took his hand and held it lightly, mindful of the open sores marring his skin. They should be bandaged. Damn, he was stubborn. “I know. I know. It’s okay.”

  He pressed his other hand across his face, trying to hide. Needing to hide. “I cannot believe how screwed we are.”

  “You’re a little screwed, yeah,” she said, struggling to keep her own voice steady. “But you’re not dead yet. And if I’ve got anything to say about it you won’t be dead for at least another forty years.”

  “Your lips to God’s ears, Janet.” He let his hand fall from his eyes, showing her his naked, frightened face. “What the hell are you doing here? You shouldn’t be risking yourself like this. You’ve got Cassie to think of.”

  “It was Cassie who told me I had to come, or else. I’m under strict instructions to make you all better.” She cleared her throat. “General Hammond sends his best, and Siler says to tell you there’s a vigil for you in the chapel.”

  His head rolled on the pillow, his stark gaze shifting. “Sam’s bad.”

  There was no point lying. “Yeah. She is.”

  “I can’t believe Daniel and Dixon aren’t sick.”

  “Well, I think I can explain Daniel, but as for Colonel Dixon?” She shrugged. “This thing is a crap shoot. You’re running roughly a 1-in-3 ratio of infected to healthy. So far, he’s got lucky.”

  “Yeah. He should buy us lottery tickets when this is over. So, is there a name for what Carter’s got? What I’ve got?”

  “Not really. I mean, nothing past Adjoan Strain A, Adjoan Strain B, Adjoan Strain — ”

  He grimaced. “That’s original. Janet, how the hell did you convince Hammond to let you come?”

  “No-one told you? I’m autopsying Lotar. It might help me understand what’s happening. Develop a treatment.”

  He tried to sit up. “No. You can’t. One slip of the scalpel and you’ll end up on a bed right beside Carter. I’m pulling rank. Turn around and go home.”

  Gently she pressed him onto his back. He was so weak, so unwell, he had no hope of fighting her. “Sorry, Jack. I got my clearance from our boss. And last time I looked colonel doesn’t outrank general.”

  He was breathing heavily, almost wheezing. Fluid in his chest. “Dammit, Janet — ”

  She had to grin, even though her throat was tight with pain. “Hey. We can play movie trivia quotes later. Right now I want you to lie still and shut up so I can examine you.”

  Defeated, he let her poke and prod without argument. His lymph nodes were tender, too. And his belly. When pushed, he admitted there wasn’t really any part of him that didn’t hurt to some degree.

  “Okay,” she said, and took his hand again. The fact he didn’t object distressed her almost more than his deteriorated condition. “Yet again you’re proving to the universe that you are one tough bastard. But let’s not kid ourselves. You’re sick, Jack. So you let the guys look after you. I know you h
ate being dependent, but things are how they are and they’re not going to change. At least not any time soon.”

  His eyes were too bright, and it wasn’t just from his low-grade fever. He was right on the edge. The only other time she’d seen him this close to breakdown was after Frank Cromwell’s death.

  She tightened her fingers. “If our friendship means anything, if ever you’ve trusted me as your doctor, you’ll promise me, promise me, you won’t get up again today.”

  “Hell,” he said. “Who taught you to play this dirty?”

  Another tight smile. “My skills evolve as the need arises.”

  He sighed, a raspy, bubbling exhalation that ended in a cough. “Yeah. Okay.”

  “Good,” she said, not even trying to hide her relief.

  And then his hand tightened on hers, harder than she’d have thought was possible. “Now you promise me, Janet. Swear you won’t let my team die. Swear you’ll get them out of here alive.”

  “Jack — ”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he said, and let go of her. “I know you can’t promise that.”

  She pressed her palm to his cheek and lied. “No. I can. I’ll save them, Jack. Whatever it takes.” Burdened with his trust she lied… and he heard her do it. “Do you hear me? I’ll save them.”

  Before he could answer, Daniel returned with the i/v kit for Sam. “Sorry I took so long,” he said. “I was — I got — anyway. Sorry.”

  They exchanged looks. She knew exactly why he’d taken so long, he was giving Jack the space and time he needed with his doctor. She smiled. “That’s okay. Let’s get Sam set up. Then I’ll check in on the rest of your patients and after that… Lotar.”

  Daniel stayed behind after Janet finished with Sam. She’d cursed putting in the i/v — apparently Hazmat suit gloves made the job a lot harder. He offered to do it but she said no. He thought, looking at her face as she inserted the i/v needle, that tending Sam herself, finally getting hands-on in this crisis, was a kind of healing for her.