Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis is not mine; the following work of fanfiction is for fan enjoyment only. No profit is being made (sigh).

Epidemic

By Kerr Avon

6. Works in Theory...

An hour later he rubbed his eyes again. Teyla's sample had a few viral fragments present, but none active or replicating, yet when new virus was introduced into the sample, nothing seemed to attack it. It just went...dormant. Kavanagh's sample was a great deal like Stackhouse, Markham, and Ford's; variable amounts of free virons swimming about; host cells marked by viral proteins on the cell wall with actively replicating viral particles; intermittently lysing as they reproduced with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Now Rodney's on the other hand...

He examined the sample for the hundredth time. No viral DNA was present in the sample, and when he hit the button to introduce new particles, they were destroyed almost as fast as they were injected. But by what? It simply happened too quickly for proper analysis.

His head had begun pounding with a fervor; Beckett realized that he had been awake for more than 24 hours, and that was after several nights of minimal sleep as they transferred the infirmary and he over-enthusiastically checked out the new equipment. The exhaustion was not helping his deductive reasoning at this point. 'Coffee. That's what I need.' He shuffled over to the pot on the nearby counter. 'Now if the Ancients had been really clever, they would have had built-in coffeepots.' He chuckled dryly, then paused.

'Wait a minute. The Ancients. The Ancients' gene. 'ATA' gene...activation gene...' He narrowed his eyes as he tried to pin down the elusive thought through the fog that clouded his mind. Somehow, he recognized that this was an important piece of the puzzle, so he decided to map it out. 'Sheppard is the most severely affected; he has the only natural gene. Ford, Kavanagh, Markham, Kavanagh, and McKay have all received my gene therapy; all but McKay are sick to some degree, but none as bad as Sheppard.' He sipped his coffee, then wiped absently at the sweat that had appeared on his forehead. 'Teyla doesn't have the gene, and the virus in her system is dormant...inactive...hasn't been activated! It takes a combination of the virus AND THE ACTIVATION GENE to make a person sick!' That implied genetic manipulation of the virus by some enemy of the Ancients, and had ramifications that Carson decided to file away for future consideration. Right now, though, he had to find a cure, and Rodney was the key.

Taking his steaming cup with him, he headed back to the viral analyzer. He allowed himself a moment of reflection as he stared at it and sipped the liquid caffeine. 'Who would have imagined that I would be needing this thing just over a week after it was discovered?' He snorted as he recalled how offended Rodney had been when he made him lie down on the analyzer's gantry.

'Wait a second! It had reported him CLEAR of virus at that time. How could that be if he was the one who passed it on to Kavanagh?' He considered the timing of events as carefully as his exhausted brain would allow. 'McKay et al go to Velanos and pick up the virus and bring it back. It has a two week incubation period, so McKay exposed Kavanagh that day or the next...McKay and Grodin discover this Medical Unit a day or so later...' He groaned as he realized that Grodin was likely to occupy the next bed in the infirmary. 'McKay showed the place to me; I found the scanner and it read him clear of any harmful virus...Shite. That means...Damnit; if I'm right, I don't have much more time to figure this out...' His headaches, tremors, and sweating began to take on a more ominous significance than mere fatigue.

He headed to the analyzer with a sick feeling in his stomach. Drawing a tube of blood out of his own arm, he placed it in the analyzer, then steeled himself to look. The plate swarmed with viral particles, replicating almost as fast as Sheppard's. He sat heavily and stared over at where the pilot lay, still on the ventilator. It made sense; he had the naturally occurring form of the gene as well. Oh, this was not good...not good at all.

He slowly stripped off his gown and gloves, and removed his mask. After all, what was the point anymore? They only hindered his movement, and he wouldn't be leaving the infirmary any time soon.

'Still, that means he exposed me within the fifteen minutes between coming into my old lab and the scanner reading him as clear. So what caused him to be ... Oh, you must be joking!' His eyes widened with comprehension.

With sudden energy Beckett grabbed his laptop and tapped out a quick note:

"To Whom It May Concern:

"If I am found unconscious, the following information is vital to discovering a treatment for this virus. It appears to be a form of genetic weapon aimed at the Ancients, as it only activates in the presence of the 'ATA' gene. In individuals without the gene such as Teyla, once exposed, the virus becomes dormant, but they remain carriers. On base, the people having received my mouse retroviral gene therapy also appear susceptible, but to a lesser degree than the natural gene carriers. I have tested myself and find that I carry a viral load consistent with exposure almost two weeks ago. However, like Kavanagh, the only possible vector for my contamination is Rodney McKay, who currently has no trace of the disease in his system and whose blood appears incapable of being infected. Further, there is no natural immune response mounted against this pathogen. The vital question you must answer, if I am incapacitated before I can, is 'What makes Dr. McKay immune?' The only thing I can postulate is the 'viral analyzer' itself. I hypothesize that it may not only be diagnostic, but therapeutic as well for the patient placed on the attached platform. As I am currently suffering symptoms of the advanced disease, I propose to try my theory on myself. If successful, you would not be reading this note. If not, you will know where my deductive reasoning has lead me thus far, and hopefully work out a cure for the others.

"Good luck and God Speed,

"Carson"

If he were to suddenly worsen, his team needed to know about the theories he was testing. Next, he rushed to the gantry portion of the viral analyzer and lay down on it in a position where he could just barely reach the control panel. 'Here goes nothing!' He punched up the 'scanner', then quickly lay supine. As the blue line began at his feet, he noticed a burning sensation. The feeling grew exponentially as the line moved up his body; he bit his lip to keep from howling aloud. No one would be helped if his experiment were interrupted because of his weakness, nor did he want to worry the other patients within easy earshot.

He glanced at the closed door to the patient care area.

'When McKay said that this hurt I didn't take him at face value...I wonder if these walls are soundproof?' He had almost reached incoherence, but still managed not to cry out. 'Of course, his viral load was significantly lower two weeks ago.' A white-hot tidal wave flowed over his brain; nevertheless, somehow he managed to stay conscious. 'If I pass out now, I'll not wake up for hours, and I have too much to do...too many lives depending on me...especially if this works.' As the 'scanner' ground to a halt, he lay panting in exhaustion as he recovered himself. When he felt he could manage it, he sat up, then shakily swung his legs over the side. He noticed a metallic taste as he staggered around to the front of the console. 'Clear of pathogens' flashed at him in brilliant ancient writing. He sagged to the chair in relief; he'd misunderstood the machine. It didn't just scan for viruses and recommend treatment - it WAS the treatment! That was why Rodney was clear. The effects must last for at least a couple of weeks, so it was still destroying the newly-introduced viral elements he put in the blood sample. He was galvanized; there was work to do!

"Nurse Galas! Nurse Galas!" He burst into the patient ward, not caring who he disturbed.

The rumpled blonde woman came hustling over from the cot where she had been taking a quick catnap. "Yes Doctor Beck...Where's your mask? You're bleeding!" she pointed at his lower lip.

Running a hand across it, he came away with blood. 'So that's what that taste is; I must have bitten through my lower lip. I guess we'd better narcotize the patients before we put them through, or the shock alone may kill them.' He grinned despite his macabre appearance. "Never mind all that! I know how to treat them." He began issuing orders. "Get the whole team up and have two orderlies get Markham over here on a stretcher, ready to go if it works on Teyla. We'll need lots of Versed and Fentanyl, too. I'm going to get Teyla myself and explain what's going on." As he headed out the door towards quarantine, he could have sworn he heard Galas mutter, "I wish I knew what was going on," but he could have been mistaken.

He didn't bother to knock as he rushed into the isolation quarters and locked the door open. "Teyla! I've got a treatment, but I need to try it on you first since you have the smallest viral load."

"Carson, are you insane? Do you know what time it is?" groused McKay from his bunk, then shut up as he saw the Doctor's bloodied visage.

The physician blinked. He hadn't a clue. Nor did he care, but he looked at his watch to humor the physicist. "It's 06:00. Come on, Teyla."

The Athosian rose and went quickly to the door as Rodney called plaintively, "Hey, does this mean you've found a cure? What about me?"

Beckett didn't pause in his stride. "You're immune. You can go!" Grabbing Teyla by the hand, he rushed through the still-open door, leaving Rodney speechless with surprise.

AN: Poor Rodney! He never gets any respect. How's the Beckett-whumping so far? Don't worry, there's more!