STARGATE SG-1: Do No Harm (37 page)

She’ll be fine. We’ll get her back to Janet and she’ll make a complete recovery
.

He said as much to Sam as she painfully sipped from the canteen. “As soon as Jack and Dixon get back from the mine they’ll put together a stretcher and carry you to the gate. Then it’ll be home and the infirmary.”

Balanced on one elbow, Sam pushed the canteen away. “No. New medical protocols, remember?”

Oh
crap
. He’d forgotten. “They’ll make an exception,” he said, pretending confidence. “They’ll have to. Who’s going to save the universe if you’re stuck here with a stupid fever?”

Her eyes were bloodshot and glassy. “Daniel, we both know this is more than a fever.”

“You’re making diagnoses now? I thought you were the wrong kind of doctor.”

Inch by inch she lay down again. “Don’t make me laugh, Daniel. My chest hurts enough as it is.”

He discarded the canteen and tried to help her get comfortable. “Sam, I think this has got something to do with rebirth. And I think Khenti knew it was going to happen.”

She pulled a face. “So the colonel was right again. Khenti wasn’t to be trusted. Is he around? Have you seen him?”

“Khenti? No. I think he and the other Elders have gone back to their shrine.”

“Is anyone else sick?”

“Not that I’ve seen.”

“Good,” she said, nodding. “Could be I’m the exception and not the rule.”

“Let’s hope so.” He felt a spidery scuttle of fright. “Sam… these new medical protocols. Does that mean — ”

Her eyes closed. “Don’t worry about it. We don’t leave our people behind. But, Daniel, you have to understand — ” With an effort she looked at him again. “If there’s any chance what I’ve got could contaminate the SGC or beyond then even if I’m cleared to gate home, I won’t.”

His mouth went dry. “That’s Jack’s decision, not yours.”

“Of course it’s mine,” she said, and fumbled for his hand. “You promise me, Daniel. If push comes to shove you
don’t
let me put anyone else in danger.”

“
Sam
…”

“God, you shouldn’t even be sitting with me now,” she muttered, letting go of him. “Get away from me. I could be contagious.”

“If you are then I’m already well and truly exposed,” he said, and took her hand again. “Come on. Don’t be stupid. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her fingers squeezed, lightly. “Daniel…” It was taking all her strength to stay focused on him. “I meant what I said.
Please
.”

How could he say no? There were tears in her eyes, and Sam almost never wept. “Yeah. Okay. Now just be quiet. Save your strength. It’s my turn to play doctor, okay?”

He fetched the Tylenol and antibiotics from the medkit and helped steady the canteen against her lips as she swallowed the pills.

“Thanks,” she whispered, and abandoned consciousness with a sigh.

Numb, he stared down at her.
Th
is isn’t happening. How can everything have gone so wrong, so fast
?

Which, given his life, was a stupid thing to wonder. It seemed
that for every victory the SGC scored they were knocked back three paces by some even greater disaster.

Dammit to hell. I los
t Sha’re this year. In a weird way I even lost my grandfather. I am not going to lose Sam too.

Although she had a fever she was starting to shiver. He fetched his own sleeping bag and spread it gently over her then settled by her side, her hand in his, and tried to raise Jack or Dixon on the radio.

No response.

Defeated, he put the radio aside. Now there was nothing to do but wait.

The naquadah mine reached for miles under Adjo’s skin.

Playing his flashlight over O’Neill’s back, Dixon cleared his throat. Since their vicious exchange of words on the valley-side they’d hardly spoken to each other.

Way to go, Dave. That’s demonstrating your fine leadership qualities
.

“So,” he said, keeping his tone neutral. “We’ve been in here a couple of hours now. Seen a lot of naquadah. A bunch of mining equipment. A few more skeletons. Are we done?”

O’Neill kept on walking. “You want to turn back? Turn back.”

Okay. This was ridiculous. SG-1 couldn’t function with its highest-ranked members at each other’s throats.

“Look, O’Neill, if I was out of line before I — ”

“
If
?” said O’Neill, scathing, then stopped. Breathed out hard. “Forget it.”

Well, at least they were talking. “O’Neill, seriously, what are we doing?”

O’Neill turned, his flashlight strobing. “We’re being thorough, Dixon. For example, we’re at least five miles into the side of the valley and we’re still getting fresh air. How’s that possible?”

He shrugged. “Nifty Goa’uld technology, I guess. But it’s not our problem, is it? That’s for the tech-heads and science geeks to work out. You said you wanted to see the mine for yourself so you could write your report for Hammond. Well, you’ve seen it.”

“I’ve seen it up to this point,” O’Neill retorted. “And up to this point it’s clear. But what if I go round one more corner and
come across a nifty Goa’uld booby trap? What if we lose a team of tech-heads and science geeks because I was too lazy — or too
chicken — to poke around in the dark for a few hours? In case you’ve forgotten, Ra and Setesh went to war over this place and playing fair was an alien concept.
No
pun intended. So if you don’t mind, if I’m not inconveniencing you, I’d like to poke around just a little while longer. But only because the lives of people I work with might depend on it.”

Clearly, when he felt like it, O’Neill could be most eloquent. And he could wield words as effectively as a commando knife.

He also had a point.

Dixon nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Lead on, Macduff.”

In silence they explored the mine for another hour and twenty-
two minutes and discovered exactly zero Goa’uld booby traps. By that time the temperature had dropped about five degrees, the air was growing stale and their footing uncertain.

Enough was enough.

“
O’Neill
,” he said, halting. “For Christ’s sake. Your report’s going to end up longer than War and Peace.
Stop
, already.”

Ten paces ahead, O’Neill slowed. Slowed. Stopped. Coughed.
“Yeah. Okay.”

Well, break out the champagne and sing hallelujah.

They’d marked their progress roughly every hundred yards with fluorescent tag-pens, so getting lost finding their way out wasn’t an issue. Emerging into the Adjoan daylight more than three hours later, Dixon slapped a hand across his eyes.

“Man, someone needs to turn down the sun. Feels like my eyeballs are going to fry.”

When O’Neill didn’t so much as grunt in reply he risked permanent blindness and lowered his sheltering fingers. The man had dropped to sit on a nearby rock. His color was bad, chalky-white except for a hectic scarlet patch burning on each cheek, and a thread of fresh blood trickled from his nose.

Oh, crap
. “Are you sick?”

O’Neill shook his head, then winced. “No.”

“You look sick. Like you’re running a fever.” He stepped closer, holding out his hand. “Are you — ”

“I swear to God, touch me and they’ll be calling you Colonel Hook,” said O’Neill, glaring.

The man was impossible. Dixon stepped back again. “Can you walk back to the village? Can you even
stand
?”

“Of course I can stand,” O’Neill snarled. He shoved to his feet. “See?” he said, swaying. “I told you. I’m fine.”

“Like hell. Is this from the raw naquadah?”

O’Neill sneered. “Worried about your own skin?”

He felt his temper rise to the boil. “Oh, enough with the friggin’ attitude. If it’s not the mine, then what? You’ve been swallowing Tylenol like it really is candy. How long have you been feeling bad?” That earned him a baleful look. “What, you didn’t think I’d notice?”

O’Neill swiped at the blood on his lips. Stared at his red-smeared hand, then the yellow creeping vines, resentful and trapped. “I get headaches. Big deal.”

“Oh, come
on
. This is more than a headache.”

“Yeah,” O’Neill grunted. Then he sighed. “Yeah, it is now.”

“Since when?”

Another sigh. “Since a couple of hours ago.”

“A couple of
hours
?” he echoed, incredulous. “And you kept up with the Seven Dwarves routine? You stupid bastard, are you out of your skull? What if you’d passed out in there? What did you think I was going to do,
carry
you down to the village?”

“No,” said O’Neill. “Thought you might drag me by one ankle.”

“God almighty, O’Neill, you’re a
maniac
.”

“It’s been rumored,” O’Neill said, and shrugged. “I wanted to make sure the mine was safe. It’s safe enough, at least for now. So let’s get the hell out of here. I need a gazillion more Tylenol.”

Getting back to the village turned into a nightmare. O’Neill struggled to keep his balance as they negotiated the rocky valley. There was no real path to follow, they just had to make it up as they went along. Worse than that the idiot resented and rejected any offer of help, even when he was in danger of pitching face first down the unfriendly slope.

The sixth time O’Neill narrowly escaped a broken ankle, or worse, Dixon lost his temper.

“
That’s it!”
he shouted. “Look, I get it, okay? You’re a tough guy. You’re a friggin’ superhero. But even Batman had Robin, and Superman had some damned dog. How is it going to kill you if you lean on me for five minutes? We’ve already had one team member go ass over eyeballs down this stupid hill. Why the hell would you want to make it two for two?”

Sweating, shivering, O’Neill stood there like a chastised school kid. Then he nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Whatever.”

By the time they reached the bottom of the valley slope Dixon was afraid he really would have to carry his fellow colonel home.

Although the idea of dragging him by the ankle sure as hell sounds sweet
.

Back on flat ground by the river they stopped to catch their breaths. O’Neill’s color was ashen now. His nose had stopped bleeding, but…

“What?” O’Neill demanded. “You’re staring like I’ve grown a third eye or something.
What
?”

Dixon swallowed. “You’ve got blisters. Pustules. Something.
On your face.”

O’Neill’s expression blanked. Tentatively he brought up one finger and touched his cheek. Touched the clear bubbles on his skin. “Well… crap,” he said quietly. Then his head came up. “Hey. Do you hear that?”

“What?” he said. And then he heard it too, a low pitched droning sound, coming from the direction of the Stargate.

“There!” said O’Neill pointing.

It was a UAV, circling above the village and river. A moment later their radios crackled and a faint, staticky voice came over SG-1’s channel.

“— Stargate Command — SG-1. Colonel O’Neill, do — copy? Repeat. This — Stargate — calling SG-1.
Does any member of — copy?”

O’Neill fumbled for his vest radio. “Stargate Command, this is O’Neill. Harriman, is that you?”

“— sir
,” came a voice full of relief. “
Colonel, what — your — stat — ”

“We’re fine, more or less,” O’Neill replied. “Why? What’s happening?”

“
Sir, it seems you’re facing a medical em
— ”

O’Neill shook his radio. “What? Say again, SGC, the signal’s pretty damned weak.”

“—
a medical emergency. Has Teal’c reached — age yet
?”

“I don’t know. I’m not in the village. What kind of medical emergency?”

“
Colonel, this is Fraiser
,” the doctor’s distorted voice said. “
Listen care — much time. Teal’c found Lotar — gate — possibly contag — Code Red med — protocols apply. Take every prec — isolate yourselves imm — advise SGC ASAP on your team’s — statu
s. Please confirm
.”

O’Neill let out a harsh breath. “Crap.” He toggled his radio. “SGC, confirmed. Code Red protocols now in effect. We’ll contact you with a status report ASAP. O’Neill out.”

As the UAV droned away into the distance, Dixon stared at him. Code Red?
Code Red
? But Lainie… the baby…

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh —

“Dixon!” snapped O’Neill. “If Lotar was contagious then we’re all in trouble. How are you feeling?”

With an effort, he dragged his anguished thoughts away from home. “I’m fine.”

“No headache? Nosebleeds? Sneezing? Burning sensation under the skin?”