STARGATE SG-1: Do No Harm (50 page)

Smooth as poured oil, Teal’c stepped into the fitful candle light. His eyes were full of pain.

“You would be wise to consider your words, Daniel Jackson.”

“And
you’d
be wise to consider your actions,” he retorted, heart pounding. “Dixon and I
need
you, Teal’c. We’re running on fumes. I know you feel responsible. I know you hate yourself right now because of what’s gone wrong, because Lotar’s dead, and the Elders. But — ”

Some deep emotion stirred in Teal’c’s eyes. “You did not side with me against General Hammond, Daniel Jackson.”

The accusation caught him unawares. Knocked the breath right out of him. “
What
?”

“None of you did.” Shockingly, Teal’c sounded hurt. “You dismissed my fears as fairytales.”

“I did no such thing! I — ” Daniel stopped. Flinched. Folded his arms, needing protection.
Oh hell.
“Teal’c, we took a calculated risk. That’s what we
do
. If we let the possibility of danger stop us
none
of us would set foot through the gate.”

“Nevertheless.”

“There was no
proof
. No concrete evidence that anything was wrong here! When we found out otherwise it was too late. And we never
would’ve
found out if we hadn’t come!”

Teal’c shook his head. “Like the Goa’uld, we have grown arrogant. Complacent. Because we have achieved some victories over our enemy we no longer fear them as once we did.”

Okay. Enough. “Newsflash, Teal’c! I’m
plenty
afraid! And — and — okay, maybe you’ve got a point. Maybe by not fighting Hammond with you, we let you down. That’s something we can talk about —
when this is over
. But first it has to
be
over. And for it to be over, Dixon and I need you back. We need you to get your head in the game.”

Teal’c’s eyes glittered. “My head is in the game, Daniel Jackson. I am not
sulking
.”

He unfolded his arms. Held up one apologetic hand. “No. No, you’re not. Poor choice of word. I’m sorry.”

“I merely…” It was disconcerting, seeing Teal’c lost for words. “I needed to recover my equilibrium.”

“And have you?”

Slowly, Teal’c nodded. “I believe so.”

“Good.” He let out a shaky breath. “That’s good. Now what say you and I get some dinner, before the last of the fried chicken is gone?”

A long silent moment, precariously balanced. Then Teal’c nodded again. “Very well.”

Daniel backed up a couple of steps, towards the tent flap. Then he stopped. “Tealc… I’m sorry.”

“As am I, Daniel Jackson,” said Teal’c, very quietly, and ducked his head to lead the way from the tent.

Returning to the base only five hours since leaving it the previous night — truly, he’d have been better off commandeering one of the guest quarters — Hammond read through the message slips stacked on his desk. Reached the fourth one and swore, unrestrainedly. Then he marched out to the control room, on the warpath.

“
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.”

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, throwing 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.