Chapter 10
Daniel woke up to the worst headache he'd ever had, and in the course of his life, he'd had hundreds. His head pounded, his neck hurt, and his entire face felt hot and tight. What was wrong with him now? A burning throat made him take a deep breath and try to clear it, but the resulting pain made him give an almost silent groan. He was sick.
"Daniel?"
Daniel forced his eyes open, and for the first time he realized that he was no longer in his prison. "Where am I?" he rasped.
"You're in the infirmary."
Hearing that made Daniel think that he was in the infirmary at the base, and he looked around, but the contours and colors of the room were all wrong. "Infirmary?"
Greg came into his line of vision. "When Pater went to wake you up this morning, he found you dead to the world and burning up, so he had you brought down here. How are you feeling?"
"Awful," Daniel complained, shifting under the covers. Movement now revealed that his joints were hurting as well. "Everything hurts."
"Well, it looks like you have garden-variety influenza," Greg said, pulling out a thermometer. "Here. Under your tongue."
Daniel obediently did what he was asked as Greg checked him over. He took breaths as asked, held the thermometer under his tongue, and held still so his blood pressure could be taken. He was still in a state of semi-shock that he was no longer in prison.
"Feel crummy?" Greg asked, jotting down Daniel's vitals.
"Terribly."
"Feel like you could eat anything? Drink something?"
"I'm thirsty, but I really don't want anything to eat."
"How about some broth and a glass of juice?" Greg suggested. "I want to get some nutrients in you if I can."
"All right," Daniel said, settling on his side. He must have fallen asleep then, because he woke up when someone touched his shoulder.
"Try to drink some of this, Daniel," Greg was saying. "Wake up a little."
Daniel groaned, not really interested in drinking and wanting only to go back to sleep. Greg coaxed him over the next few minutes into a higher level of wakefulness and got him to drink a mug full of beef broth and a glass of watered apple juice. Once he was finished, Greg let him fall back into his pillows and into sleep.
The next few times he woke up, he had more broth and more juice. Vaguely he remembered being helped into the bathroom a few times, but beyond that, nothing really happened. He slept, woke up, and drank what he was given before going back to sleep. He was too tired and feeling far too sick to think about anything, let alone plan how to escape. It was the perfect opportunity, and he was far too sick and tired to take advantage of it.
Jack would have been very disappointed, but even that thought could not motivate him. He felt awful, and he was so very, very tired. He'd reached the point where he had done all he could do, and he could do no more.
--
Janet stared at the readout of the latest sample in shock. She'd had the security teams take as much DNA material as possible from the house where the Family had held Daniel since she felt that it would be beneficial to have the DNA "fingerprint" of as many of the prisoners as possible. They'd brought back lots of stray bits of hair, and every single strand so far had been perfectly normal. This strand, though, was something she'd not seen before. Checking the results again, Janet picked up the phone to call General Hammond. He needed to know about this.
--
Jack was in his quarters, pacing. He'd tried to distract himself with a video game, with solitaire, with television, with some magazines and books, but nothing was working. He, Teal'c, and Sam had all been in her office, hoping for word from the police that someone from the Family had been sighted, but staring at a phone never did make it ring.
The commissary had taken pity on the three of them and delivered a hearty supper for them, but none of them really tasted what they were eating. They kept waiting and praying the phone would ring or an email would come in, but so far, there had been nothing.
It must have been very late when the general arrived, looking ticked. "This is the second time in the past two weeks you three have gone without sleep for longer than forty-eight hours. I know the three of you are worried, but running yourselves into the ground will not help Dr. Jackson."
Jack looked blearily up at his CO. "Hiya, sir. How's the DNA testing coming? Does Doc have any new info?"
General Hammond shook his head. He knew that Dr. Frasier would never lie or jump to conclusions, but he still had a hard time believing what she'd just told him on the phone. "Dr. Frasier will tell us that at oh nine hundred tomorrow morning," he told them. "I'm here to give SG-1 some new orders."
"Can't, sir," Jack said, fighting off a yawn. "Not 'till we find Daniel."
"These orders are to be obeyed immediately," the General persisted. "All three of you are confined to your quarters until oh eight hundred tomorrow. No computers or phones are to be in the quarters with you. If you choose to disobey these orders, then I will have SFs escort you. Is that understood?"
Sam blinked. "Sir, what about--"
"Is that understood, SG-1?"
"Indeed, General Hammond," Teal'c said, sounding thoroughly unhappy.
"Yes, sir," Sam said quietly.
All of them looked at Jack. "What?"
"Did you hear my orders, Colonel?"
"Yeah," Jack assured him. "No problem, sir."
General Hammond waited, glaring.
"You mean right now?" Jack asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise.
"I believe that to be his intention, O'Neill."
"If that phone rings while I'm in my quarters, sir, I'll never invite you over for a barbecue again."
"Understood, Colonel. Move."
Now Jack was in his quarters, and he'd had a few hours' sleep (okay, so he'd slept until six) but he was still confined to quarters until eight.
It was so unfair. It was like he was a little kid who'd been sent to his room for a time-out.
He glanced at the clock. 7:23. What was that saying about time flying? Well, he wasn't having fun, so time wasn't flying. He looked at the clock again. 7:24. This waiting was going to drive him nuts.
--
"How does a shaved ice sound?" Greg asked, bringing Daniel's lunch.
Daniel looked up from the book he was leafing through. "What?"
"Shaved ice. They sell packages of it in town, and I thought it would be a good treat to add to your lunch."
Daniel looked at the tray. He'd graduated from broth and watered juices to soup with noodles, rice, or vegetables in it and straight juice. Sometimes he had popsicles or Italian ice for a snack, or a little fruit. This tray had a beef-noodle soup, the broth thick with noodles, carrots, celery, and little flakes of parsley. Next to that was a tall glass of apple juice, and there was a small red cup of something so cold it had frost on it.
It seemed that Greg was taking no chances with his health at all. He was in for a slow convalescence once the last of the virus was gone. Greg was confident that he was over the worst of it, and for Daniel, that was the best news he'd had in a while. He felt well enough to flip through books and magazines, but he didn't feel like reading yet. Maybe the next day.
"Shaved ice sounds great," he said, reaching for it and picking up a spoon.
"Daniel," Greg said, sounding a bit exasperated. "Eat your soup first. I want you to eat the very nutritious stuff first."
"It'll melt," Daniel complained. "I'll have shaved water."
"It will stay cold enough," Greg assured him. "Eat your lunch."
Daniel sighed and took a mouthful of soup. He still didn't know who did the cooking for the family, but the food was always pretty good. Some of it was so good that he wanted the recipes, but so far, the recipes had been denied. He remembered hearing a story about the sanctity of a cook's recipes. It was said that when Queen Elizabeth had asked her cook for a recipe, she'd been refused. Perhaps this cook was a member of that "old school" of cooking? It seemed possible.
He savored the soup and dove into the shaved ice. It tasted just like a pina colada! "Where'd this stuff come from?" he asked, just to make sure. If it was possible, he wanted to get some for himself after he got back home.
"From town. The supermarket. The freezer section."
"You wouldn't know the name of the store, would you?"
"I didn't go," Greg pointed out. "There are a few supermarkets in town. It was Sylvia and a few of the other girls doing the shopping today."
"Oh."
--
"Do you feel better after a good night's rest, SG-1?" General Hammond asked as they entered the briefing room.
"You're still not invited to the barbecue, sir," Jack said. "But my sleep-deprivation headache's gone."
"That's good. Dr. Frasier will be up in a moment."
"No, I'm here now," she said, scooting into the room. "Morning. I have printouts for everyone."
"The DNA information?" Sam asked, taking her copy.
"Yes, of one individual, really," Janet said, passing out the rest of the printouts. "According to the results, the person the DNA sample came from is not fully human."
Jack felt his eyebrows go up so high he was certain they were going to make a permanent home in his hair. "What?"
"Dr. Frasier, if the individual is not fully human, then what is he?"
"Well, the individual is male, that much I can tell. It seems as if this person is part human and part...something else. I can't tell. There are genetic structures that aren't human, but somehow, they're managing to work with the human genetic structures with no problem."
"Goa'ould?" Jack asked, feeling cold.
"No," Janet promised him. "Not a Goa'ould. Something else. Something different. I have no way of knowing what it is without a larger specimen to study, but part of it is human."
"So, one of those people in that Family is part human and part...something else. Great."
"Do we have any way of guessing or extrapolating what this thing is?" Sam asked, concerned.
"Thanks for using the small word as well as the big word, Carter."
"I'm learning, sir."
Janet shook her head. "We can guess for years and never really hit on it. One very intriguing thing is that there is a dopamine-like chemical in high concentrations within the sample itself. The best I can tell from testing is that it is very...focused. It may have only one function. I can synthesize it, but I'm hesitant to test it. I can't really know what its effects are."
"Dopamine?" Jack said thoughtfully. "Why does that sound familiar?"
"I'm sure it's been mentioned at some point in your hearing, colonel," Janet said. "Dopamine is a neurotransmitter--a chemical--in human brains. It controls movement and the flow of information to our frontal lobes from the rest of the brain. Disorders in dopamine levels can cause problems in memory, attention, and problem solving."
"Isn't it also known as the 'reward chemical'?" Sam asked thoughtfully.
Janet nodded. "It is. It's heavily associated with the pleasure center in the brain. Naturally-rewarding experiences like a good meal, a massage, or making love will release it. However, it's also released during painful or negative experiences, and I'm not certain what this chemical is really for."
"So let's whip up a batch of it and test it," Jack said. "I volunteer."
"No, colonel," Janet and Hammond said immediately.
"Well, how are you planning on testing it? Rats?"
"That may be our only option," Janet said firmly. "I am not going to test an unknown chemical on a human being. Besides, dopamine can't be ingested or injected into the body since it can't cross the blood-brain barrier. It has to be applied in other ways, and I'm pretty certain you would not like them."
"You know, the Air Force frowns on animal testing, Doc. The rats didn't do anything to you. Besides, people take dopamine all the time," he reminded her.
"They take a synthetic precursor to dopamine, sir, not the straight stuff," Janet informed him. "Now, I've ordered some rats to test on, and they are on their way. Once I know more, I'll inform you, and only then will I even consider testing its effect on a human being."
Jack muttered something that sounded like "Napoleonic powermonger," but Janet ignored him.
"Thank you, Doctor," Hammond said. "SG-1, you are still on stand down until Dr. Jackson is located, but try to spend some time today away from the phone and computers. I really don't want to have to order you off the base for some down time."
All three of them stared at him, but it was Teal'c who voiced what he was thinking. "You would not be that cruel, General Hammond."
"Don't push me to it, Teal'c," Hammond told him. "I don't want to do that, but I will if I don't see you taking a little time for yourselves. There's the gym on base, and we have the library and commissary. Just make sure you don't spend all of today hovering over the phone."
"Understood, sir," Jack said, sounding a bit put out.
Hammond nodded. "Dismissed."
Jack led the way out of the briefing room and turned down the hallway that would lead to Sam's office.
"Uh, sir?"
"Carter?"
"Didn't General Hammond say he didn't want us hovering over the phone?"
"He said he didn't want us to spend all day hovering over it," Jack reminded her. "I intend to follow those instructions."
"You do, O'Neill?"
Jack smiled at Teal'c. "Well, sure. I know for a fact that it will take me at least ten minutes to get my lunch from the commissary today, and ten minutes for supper, if I go at peak times. Add to that the required bathroom breaks, and I'll spend about a half-hour to forty-five minutes away from the phone. If the line's moving really slow in the commissary, then I'll spend about an hour away from the phone. General Hammond did say a 'little time' for ourselves, and that's what I'm going to do. Orders followed to the letter."
"I like the way you think, sir."
"As do I, O'Neill," Teal'c said, fighting down a little smile.
"Glad to hear it, kids. Let's go hover over a phone for a while."