Chapter Five

Major Janet Fraiser, CMO of Stargate Command, would never have considered herself the egghead that Sam pinned her hopes on, but she knew of some colleagues who could be considered as such. And it was to them that she resorted in this instance.

She'd never breathed a word to Jack, Sam or Teal'c, but Daniel Jackson's death had started a small, but select research group at Area 51. Their main mission was not only to study the effects of the radiation on his body - but also to find a cure. Thanks to her, they had in their possession blood and tissue samples of their mutual friend - her friend.

Originally, Janet had taken the samples in an effort to stem Daniel's rapid decline. She'd wished she'd never taken them at the time, because in the chaos of his miraculous transformation those samples had found their way out of the SGC. Hammond had tried to prevent their transfer, and she had 'volunteered' to have them accidentally destroyed.

Only Hammond's direct order to stand down had stopped her from destroying the samples. And if General Hammond were to walk into her office sometime in the next hour or so she would kiss him silly for that.

As much as the idea of having a part of Daniel wind up as some shadowy chain of experiments sickened her, the unexpected discovery that some possible good may have been gleaned from them caused her to feel a euphoric giddy joy.

And to think she had Rodney McKay to thank for this sudden good fortune. As it was, she had mixed feelings about the man. As a person, she couldn't stand him, his arrogance grated on her last nerve. But even so, the arrogant prig had his moments. Moments in which, much as she hated to admit it, he was a godsend. This was undoubtedly one such instance.

In his attempt to disprove Sam Carter's theories about the sequence of events that had occurred to the Stargate prior to Colonel O'Neill sending it rocketing off into outer space via the highly unstable hyperspace window, he'd discovered one of the scientists at Area 51 was not only a physicist, but also a medical doctor that specialized in the effects of radiation on the human body. Janet had taken classes from this man during her internship. This same man was someone she respected - and could trust.

Then to find that this same man headed the team that possessed the only earthly remains of one Daniel Jackson was enough to bowl her over. And how did she know this? This same respected doctor had just called her - at the behest of said prig - with the best news she could wish for.

It seemed he had heard about the radioactivity found in the remains of the X-302 - and its previous occupant - Colonel Jack O'Neill. And all thanks to that arrogant, egotistical, self-centered man she could cheerfully strangle on a good day - provided Sam didn't beat her to it.

If it had been anybody but the odious Rodney McKay, she would've chased him down and kissed him. However, as it was that self-same prig, McKay, she'd settled for thanking him, profusely. And mentally cancelled her order for a gallon of lemonade to be sent to McKay's lab station. After all, she told herself, she was a doctor, and had sworn to cause no harm... even if he so richly deserved it.

Even now, she carried the results of that research in the folder she hugged protectively to her chest; results that she hoped would prevent Colonel Jack O'Neill's death by ridding his body of the radioactive particles that was slowly killing him. Unlike Daniel, he could - and would be cured.

She'd spurned the idea of using the phone to tell General Hammond this good news. No, some things needed to be said face-to-face. And this was one of those times. As it was, it took everything she had to wipe the huge grin from her face.

Although she was tempted to stop by Sam's lab first, she didn't. General Hammond was her commanding officer and as such needed to be kept informed of everything that directly impacted the personnel that he commanded.

Just outside Hammond's open office door, she took a deep breath and knocked. "Sir?"

"Come in, Doctor." He closed the laptop he had in front of him and waved one hand at her. "What's on your mind?"

Dr. Fraiser nibbled her bottom lip and stepped to his desk. "It's about Colonel O'Neill, sir."

"Have a seat." Hammond's face fell, "What's he done this time? Is he still ducking out of the Infirmary?"

She sat down, back ramrod straight in the chair. "No, sir. That's not it." She paused and leaned forward a little. "I mean, yes he has, but that's not what I wanted to see you about."

Hammond cocked his head and sighed. "I've found sometimes that it helps to start at the beginning. Why don't you try that, Doctor?"

"Yes, sir. You're right. . . at the beginning," she licked her lips nervously and pondered why it was so hard for her to give him good news. Just a couple of days ago, she'd given him the worst news she possibly could, that a trusted subordinate and mutual friend was dying. And now, she was fumble-fingered and tongue-tied worse than any med student called to task by the Head Surgeon on morning rounds.

She focused on the man sitting in front of her and took a deep breath. "I just got off the phone with a former colleague of mine from Area 51. He's done some research on the effects of radiation on the human body. In fact, he based it on tissue samples from Dr. Jackson."

There, she'd done it, and she couldn't help but wonder what had been her problem? What's more, she had his full attention.

"And?" the general's eyes narrowed with suspicion; apparently he'd had his own reservations about turning over the samples too. 'Hmm', she thought. 'That sheds a whole new light on this whole matter.'

"He thinks he can help us, sir." She allowed her triumphant grin to show and her eyes lit with the fiery light of a medical practitioner who knows she has just cheated death... again.

"Help us? You mean, Jack?"

"Yes, sir. He believes he knows how to treat the colonel's symptoms."

Hammond sat back and rubbed his chin, his suspicion showing through with his every move. "I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Doctor...but I've got to ask. To what end? I want to save his life as much as anybody, but I won't have a good man used as a..." his eyes left hers as he searched for the right word to use. "... a guinea pig in an experiment, either."

"It wouldn't be like that, sir. I've reviewed his methods, and they are sound. I think we should try it." Janet sat on the edge of her chair, putting her hands on his desk. "It's the only chance the colonel has. And to be quite frank, sir; what do we have to lose? Or should I say, what does Colonel O'Neill have to lose?"

Hammond sighed and looked away for a moment before meeting her eyes; his own held a touch of sadness. "I see your point." He paused as if to weigh the risks. After all, it was ultimately his decision. If he said no, her hands would be tied. And the life of a man was in the balance.

After what seemed like forever to Janet, the general nodded. "You have a go to do whatever it takes." He smiled and some of the sorrow she'd seen in his face dropped away. "And just how did this colleague make the connection between his research and Jack's medical condition?"

"It was Rodney McKay's doing, sir," she smiled ruefully. "As much as I hate to admit it, we owe him, big time."

Hammond laughed, the first time she'd heard that wonderful sound in what seemed like forever. "Just when I think I know the man, he goes ahead and does something half-way decent." He shook his head. "Well, in that case, maybe I should postpone his being exiled to Siberia for a bit."

"You might at that, sir." She paused. "There is one more thing, sir."

Hammond raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

"Despite his worsening condition, the colonel did manage to get out of his room, so if you could have him sent to the Infirmary as soon as possible..."

"Of course, I'll have him sent right over, in fact, I might just escort him myself. This is news he needs to hear and I want him to hear it from you, face-to-face."

"Yes, sir."

"You're dismissed, Doctor. It seems to me that you've got some preparations to make before I deliver Jack to your tender mercies."

He picked up the phone as she stood and half-turned to leave. "That I do, sir. And thank you!"

"No, Doctor. Thank you for refusing to give up on our patient, even though he can be a royal pain in the ass, if you know what I mean."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, sir. I most certainly do."

Hammond punched some numbers. "Hello, security? I need Colonel O'Neill brought to my office yesterday. Yes, he escaped again." He paused. "Good, I'll expect to see him here then." He hung up the phone and smiled. "See? That's done. I'll hand-deliver him to the Infirmary myself."

***

Hammond had made a point of keeping abreast of all the developments in his 2IC's physical condition. The radiation poisoning was beginning to show, those stripe bruises had begun to heal, then slowly began to degrade into two strips of decaying flesh, leaking fluids and blood. Only pressure bandages, changed twice a day, controlled the seepage. And that rash was rapidly heading in the same direction. Stronger drugs were being used to control the maddening itch O'Neill had reported to Fraiser.

The man was being given every drug known to help combat the worsening damage, and to limit it. Jack quipped that he was being turned into one of Harlan's robots with all the injections and solution bags he was asked to endure as IVs. No wonder the man was hard to 'keep'in the Infirmary. Well, at least he never went far, the Commissary, his office or just to nap in his own bunk on base.

In the time before Jack was delivered to his office, George had made a few phone calls of his own. Not that he didn't trust the instincts of his CMO - but he did have a few contacts to call on - avenues of approach that were barred to one of her rank. And call on them he did.

He'd managed to acquaint himself with the record of this doctor friend of Fraiser's that by strange coincidence seemed to have all the answers they so badly needed. His contacts had told him enough about the man and his work ethic to satisfy some of his initial qualms about placing the life of his 2IC in his hands.

According to his contacts, the Doctor was brilliant, which was a given considering where he worked and who he worked for. Not only that, he had an excellent work record. But most important of all, unlike so many of his co-workers at Area 51 he had an agenda - at least on the surface - that seemed to go no further than the saving of lives - and now the life of Colonel Jack O'Neill.

Considering where the research was based, and the trouble they'd previously had from the crooks in the NID running it, men who were as crooked as a dog's hind leg, mind you, he would have been remiss in his duty as the commander to do anything less. And he took his duties and responsibilities very seriously, because he knew from personal experience how a bad commander could affect the personnel placed under him. How a bad CO could quite literally end the career, not to mention the very life, of the personnel assigned to his unit.

Perhaps, just perhaps, this man was a horse of a different color and just one of the new faces there that the SGC could trust.

From what he could glean from his phone calls, the theory behind the compound was that naquadah was a great attractor. Of naquadah and naquadria, its closet relative. So powerful was the attraction to join the stable mineral that the unstable particles were like planets pulled into the black hole their sun had become.

In order to be used medically, the naquadah had to be pulverized into almost single molecules of the mineral and then suspended in a fluid for delivery - both a tricky and delicate procedure. After that was done, it would be airlifted to the SGC.

Jack would have to drink the stuff in increasingly larger doses until they discovered his tolerance of the metal. Traveling along his digestive tract would allow the largest amount of access to his circulatory system outside his lungs. There the unstable particles would be drawn to the inert compound, bonded and then excreted through the natural body elimination process.

George grinned as he remembered his own initial reaction to the long-winded techno-babble his contact had spouted over the phone. "You mean Jack will drink the stuff and then shit it out?"

"Yes," his contact's strangled laughter was music to Hammond's ears. "You could put it that way, George."

"Yes, I would, wouldn't I" George answered and then grinned. "As long as it works, that's all that matters to me."

A quick check with Major Carter reassured Hammond that there would be no further danger of radiation. According to Major Carter and Rodney McKay, naquadah was the only mineral known that could be handled this way. This method could not be used for the other radioactive elements currently known to Earth science. What a shame.

George couldn't get over Jack's whole attitude about the mess he was in though. What with his repeated escapes from the Infirmary, all the while he only complained of feeling tired. At times like this he had trouble understanding the colonel. Most anyone else would have stayed in bed, close to the only place where a cure might originate. But this man did the total opposite, made himself scarce from those who would do anything to save his life. Either it was the bravest of positive thinking George had ever witnessed or the toughest case of denial. Deciding which was beyond him at the moment.

An SF stuck his head in to announce the colonel's arrival. The man who shuffled in did indeed look tired, but not as ill as he knew him to be. The stiff way he held his torso was the only indication of the fact that he dare not move for fear of restarting the bleeding in his shoulders that began just the day before.

"Jack," Hammond stood to greet him, besides he had every intention of delivering him to the Infirmary as promised. "Let's take a walk."

"Where we going, sir?"

"I think you know where, son."

"Oh. Can't talk you outta of this, can I?"

"No."

"Where you lead..." Jack extended one arm in invitation, but the gesture held none of the fluid grace that usually accompanied every movement the man made.

Hammond chuckled and fell into step beside his 2IC. Jack spoke first. "Any progress on the 'gate, sir?"

"It's still in transit. The Russians are taking their own sweet time delivering it."

"Go figure," Jack grunted. "Did you hear that the staff is planning on throwing a farewell party for McKay... 'after' he leaves for Siberia?"

"I'd heard something about it." George kept himself posted on the latest rumors generated by the SGC grapevine. From what he'd heard, the size and description of the party grew with each telling.

"I heard there'd be cake. Lots of cake." Jack smiled. "Yep, that's what I heard all right."

"From what I heard they're going to have cake, pie, and ice cream. Along with dancing girls and a brass band," George added. "And that a certain female Major would lead it." He paused and then grinned. "The peanut gallery is evenly divided as to the identity of the female major. I put my money on it being Major Carter."

Jack grunted and said nothing, just leaned against the far wall of the elevator with a pained expression that flitted briefly across his face, so quickly was it there and gone that Hammond wondered for a moment if he'd imagined it.

But the fact that Jack had nothing to say about it set George's mental alarm bells off. Under ordinary conditions, his snarky 2IC would have had some gem of a comment to make. But today... nothing. George thanked his lucky stars, and whichever guardian angel watched over Jack that they had found a cure for him. Now all they had to do was get the cure and Jack together.

'One thing at a time, George,' he cautioned himself. 'First you have to get him to the Infirmary, and get him to stay there.'

The elevator seemed to take forever to reach their floor, but at last the doors dinged open. Because of his concern, he allowed Jack to precede him out of the car and into the hall outside their destination, the man didn't look right. In fact he seemed to stagger rather than walk. When the colonel's arm shot out, with an accompanying stifled moan of pain, to steady himself against the wall, it was proof positive that something was very wrong.

"Jack!" Hammond closed with his friend in time to help ease him down the wall to sit on the floor.

"Sir. I don't feel so good. Sorry."

O'Neill's body immediately went limp in George's hands. He thanked his lucky stars that he had been with the man when this happened and so close to where he could get immediate help. Carefully he allowed Jack to slump to the floor before bounding up to barrel though the Infirmary doors.

"Hey people, I've got a sick man out here!" he bellowed and then stood back to allow the nurses and technicians to stampede past him to Jack's aid.

In no time Jack was under Doctor Fraiser's expert care. Her personnel were a pleasure to watch as Hammond stood well out of the way and let her staff do the jobs they were so good at. With the ease of long practice, they wheeled Jack into his room and got him settled in bed.

Hammond felt like a third wheel, useless in his CMO's domain, and took care to stay out of the way as he followed the colonel's entourage to his private room and stood just outside the door. There, he could monitor any progress being made, without being in the way.

From his vantage point, Hammond could see Jack had regained consciousness and seemed to be talking to the doctor. Even from this distance the customary use of hands with words seemed strained and not without effort. The man soon subsided into a motionless repose as the privacy curtains were drawn tight around his bed.

George Hammond was not used to being ignored, but this was not within his command purview, so he was content to wait. He knew his CMO well enough to realize she would report to him as soon as she could.

And it wasn't long until the diminutive commander of the Infirmary finally pushed through the curtains concealing his ill 2IC and stood before him, stethoscope draped around her neck.

"Sir."

"How is he, Doctor?"

She sighed and pursed her lips. "Not too good at the moment. I'm relieved to say it's not acute radiation sickness. But it is the first stage of it. His immune system has been compromised and he seems to have contracted the stomach flu."

"Then... this is good news?"

"In a way, yes, sir."

"Speaking of that, have you told him about the treatment, Doctor?"

"Not yet, sir. I wanted to finish my exam first. Then I'll tell him the news." She grinned as some of her excitement resurfaced.

"He could certainly use some good news right about now," Hammond grinned back at her, "And what's the status on this special treatment you told me about?"

"The compound," Fraiser consulted her watch. "...Took off from the labs at Area 51 about twenty minutes ago. We should have it in a couple of hours."

George sighed heavily; he hated waiting, but was willing to endure it if he had no other choice. On the other hand... "Is there anything I can do?"

From her answering smile, he knew he'd hit pay dirt and her next words merely confirmed it. "If you could smooth the delivery of the compound - that would be a great help. A general does have ways of... shall we say?" She paused dramatically with a twinkle in her eye, "Hurrying things along," her grin turned into a knowing smirk. An expression that eased Hammond's worry more than her claim that Jack was just sick with the ordinary run-of-the mill stomach flu.

At least it wasn't the kind of sickness they all knew would eventually happen, provided nothing was done about it. Not yet, anyway. There was still time to prevent the death of a fine officer and that lightened his heart considerably.

"Yes, there is. Thank you, Doctor. Keep me informed." With those parting words, George was already headed for his office and a phone call to a friend - a friend who just happened to be the top man at Peterson. They had choppers, and choppers were faster than land transport. Time to call in a marker or two, or three - as many as it took.