A/N: Remember what I said about roller coasters. We're getting very close to the first summit.
Again, thanks to ga Unicorn and Ellex for their unrivalled beta advice. In particular for reining in the medi-speak. I tend to get a tad carried away.
Chapter 7
"There it is!" Carson exclaimed. The results he had been waiting for began scrolling across the laptop screen; positive results that indicated the source of the infection.
Teyla came to his side. "You have results, Dr. Beckett?" she asked.
"I think I've traced it," he said.
He spared a quick glance across the hall. There had been an influx of relatives when he had reported that the air was clear. They had taken over the care of their sick family members, removing the burden from the youngsters. Levin slept in a corner. Someone, Carson thought it might have been Ronon, had placed a clean blanket over the boy's shoulders.
The increase in helping hands had freed Carson to concentrate on the research.
"What have you found?" Teyla asked.
He grinned at her. "It's in the drinking water. Levin said came from the barrels. The Padanarams have been bringing it in for the sick to drink." He waved a hand at the half empty jug on the table. "There's a high concentration of viral DNA and protein coat in these samples, but none from the common well water." He emptied the half empty cups into the jug. "Perhaps you could ask Rina to tell the people not to drink the contaminated water from the barrels. I've got a couple of ideas on how to treat it."
She nodded and left the quarantined building. Ronon had already escaped the busy hall, citing a sudden need to check the perimeter.
Carson slipped a preloaded plate into the analyzer to begin testing the effects of the anti-virals he had brought from Atlantis. With the process commenced, he watched the slow progress of the DNA mapping. Segments were already in place. He reviewed what he could see. He was a geneticist at heart and the more he saw of this viral code, the surer he was that there was something unusual with this virus. There was something wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
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SGA
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The room John found himself in appeared to be a spacious antechamber brightly lit from strips built vertically into the grey walls. The ceiling was high enough not to trigger Rodney's claustrophobia.
'Frank' said, "Welcome to the home of the Traders," as he led them through a large doorway to a series of corridors as brightly lit as the antechamber. They were decorated with rich wall hangings and items of furniture that wouldn't have looked out of place in a museum.
'Frank' indicated items of special interest. He called them 'relics from long dead cultures'.
"This hanging," he began, waving his hand at a dark affair with deep reds and purples, "was from Llafanaat and shows the battle of Llafanenaocor." He stopped at another. "This one shows the destruction of Urons – a particularly ghastly affair. And this is my favorite," he said as he stopped in front of an enormous tapestry as tall as John, and double that in width. "Here you can see the Rozzico fighting against the Wraith. It was a battle to the last man, and we are lucky that one of the watching survivors 'gated to another planet and commissioned the creation of such art."
Sheppard studied the tapestry. The top left corner showed familiar arrow shaped crafts firing lightning at a group of unfortunates huddled on the right. Beneath the ships were a group of figures brandishing spears and swords. John wasn't surprised that no one survived if they were using spears against Wraith darts.
"Come, come," 'Frank' said, happily. He sounded like an enthusiastic gallery guide. "There is so much else to see."
Rodney and John shared a glance. "If he tries to sell us any of these monstrosities, we're leaving, Atlantis shield or not, McKay," Sheppard whispered.
McKay was staring at the tapestry with obvious distaste. "You'll have no arguments here, Sheppard."
-
"So, have the Traders been here long?" John asked to try and prevent further discussion of the wall hangings. Rodney sighed, but made no other comment. He once likened Sheppard's "First Contacts" a parade of failed chat up lines.
'Frank' didn't seem to mind. "The Traders have always lived here. There are myths that tell of a time when we lived on the surface, but there are many Traders who do not believe this ever happened. Certainly we have lived here since our records began, and I believe we have always done so."
"Do you trade with the continent?" John asked conversationally. They were now walking past a painting now that showed an army in a colorful local uniform, and he wanted to head off the tour-guide chat.
'Frank' leaned toward Sheppard and said conspiratorially, "We must trade with the Padanarams, it is true, but we find it… difficult to meet with them to discuss terms. They really are simple peasants. There are some Traders who say that we once lived like the primitive Padanarams. In huts, if you can believe it, growing our own food and collecting our own water. Much of the trading we do with them is in secret – we provide payment, and they provide goods. Of course, our most profitable trading is off-world."
"And how…?" Rodney asked, but 'Frank' interrupted.
"We are most fortunate in having a single, small craft that will ferry us to our trading partners. There were once many more," he said sadly, "but they have failed. We have tried to repair them, but without success."
Perhaps Rodney was finally learning discretion (or perhaps it was the swift kick to the shins delivered by Sheppard), but for once the scientist didn't offer his services.
'Frank' continued to talk about the 'outlandish' theories of the origins of the Traders as he led them further into the tunnels. John filtered out most of what the man was saying, something about the progress of civilization away from poverty.
This place was familiar, John thought. He was struck by a sense of déjà vu, but he couldn't place what it reminded him of. He stepped around a rug in shades of orange and blue and tried to imagine the corridors without the disturbing decor, but the assault on the senses was too powerful. It would come to him, eventually. He wanted to ask Rodney what he thought, but 'Frank's' constant conversation was making it difficult to get a word in.
Rodney was ignoring 'Frank' as well. He was absorbed in the handheld again. He was probably getting readings from the energy source that had had him so excited in earlier.
They turned a corner and stopped at a large door. 'Frank' said, "We would like to show you some of the items we have available. We have some specialty goods that I'm sure you will be very interested in."
"And what would they be?" John asked hesitantly. Please, not those pieces of 'art'.
"We would like to show you."
"I'm not sure what goods we can offer you."
"We shall leave the discussion of payment until you have seen what we have to offer." He paused to palm open the door.
"This is our main area of research," 'Frank' said as the door swished open to reveal an enormous room. He stepped back like a magician at the culmination of the trick.
It was lit from the same vertical strip lights as the corridors, and what was visible of the wall was divided into panels. There were large tasseled cushions in one far-away corner and more of the unsettling tapestries and paintings decorated the walls. A number of Traders were scattered around the room, and looked up at their arrival.
There was something even more familiar about this room. If John hadn't known better, he would have thought he was in space, and not in a tunnel under the ground.
In the center of the room, John's eye was caught by large tables with computers and other scientific equipment that wouldn't have looked out of place in any of the Atlantis labs.
Rodney saw them, too, and said in awe, "Oh, boy."
To the left were long aisles with what appeared to be targets at the end. The wall was darkened with what appeared to be blast patterns.
A couple of the Traders glided over in long robes to meet them. "We have a number of objects we would like to show you," 'Frank' said. The other Traders nodded. "We shall start with our most popular items. Projectile weapons." He directed them towards a table with piles of equipment scattered upon the top.
Weapons, John thought dumfounded, as he and Rodney trailed after 'Frank'. They were selling weapons.
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They were introduced to a shorter Trader, with a pockmarked face, whom John involuntarily christened 'Arthur'. He was very enthusiastic about projectile weapons. He took John's arm and tugged him towards a table with a variety of guns laid out.
"These are our most popular items," he said happily. John thought he sounded like a child showing off his new toys to the rest of the school-yard. He handed a small pistol-sized weapon to John. "It is based on plans we discovered in our database. We call it the Isiso-hand weapon after the author of the design plans."
John hefted it between his hands to assess the balance. It was lighter than he liked, but the grip was comfortable. He extended his arm, and sighted down the barrel.
"Ah, you would like to try it," 'Arthur' said, smiling. "We have areas for testing. There are other designs I would like to show you. Sadly, we don't have many visitors to our research area, so we normally only use the range for simple tests. It is very exciting to have other traders here to try out the weapons."
'Arthur' gathered up an assortment of other weapons, different handguns and a couple of larger guns of a size similar to the P-90. "Of course, I'm only an expert in the small arms, but my companions will be happy to show you the larger caliber items. I see you favor one of those…"
John looked around for Rodney, who was talking to 'Frank' beside the computer tables. Rodney was saying, "I would be very interested to see how you overcome the degradation."
'Frank' nodded, and said, "I shall speak to a fellow Trader who will be pleased to discuss information exchanges. I will ask him to attend momentarily."
John asked, "McKay, is everything alright?"
Rodney waved a hand. "Yeah. There's a couple of things here I'd like to look at a bit closer." He looked lost in thought – probably a shopping list of items he'd like from the Traders.
John assessed the distance between the shooting range and where Rodney had become engrossed in the computers. The scientist would remain within visual range, so John wouldn't be breaking Rule Number Three.
"Run along and play with your guns," Rodney said.
"Don't break anything,"
Rodney cast him a scathing look, and then turned his back to peer at the computer screen.
John shrugged at 'Arthur', who smiled back toothily.
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SGA
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Carson put down another unsuccessful trial of anti-virals, and turned to face Teyla. Rina stood at her side, watching Carson work. He realized that the population of the hall had increased again.
"They do know that I've no idea how to cure it yet?" he asked.
Rina answered. "They know we have no other hope now," she said sadly.
Carson sighed. So, no pressure, then.
"I have instructed the young men to move the barrels back to the Sacred Site," Rina said. "No one will drink the water from them."
Carson slipped another set of samples, this time loaded with another anti-viral. "Sacred Site?" he asked absently.
"Where the water is left for us."
The computer screen was blank for the moment, and he looked up at Rina and Teyla. "What do you mean, ma'am?"
"The barrels are left at the Sacred Site where the gods fill them for us. Then we bring them to the houses. For a hundred years we have left a tithe to the gods at the Sacred Site, and they provide wool or cloth. Three months ago, there was a drought, and they provided water. The barrels were last filled six days ago and distributed among the village. Gerlin thought it would be safer to drink because it appeared cleaner than the well water."
Carson thought, He couldn't have been more wrong. The virus was only present in this water 'gifted' by the gods, and the village's own well was clear.
The thought triggered off another idea in Carson's mind. He remembered the puzzling DNA sequence.
"Oh, god," he whispered. He had a sinking sensation as the pieces fell into place. He recognized the unusual sequences now.
Teyla did not speak but stepped out of the way as Carson rushed to the computer. He pulled up the DNA of the virus, then the highlighted sequences.
It was junk DNA. Why would there be junk DNA in a virus? It was too small and too conserved to have evolved its own. And the sequences were familiar: human DNA engineered into the virus.
And that meant…
"Oh, god," he whispered again.
"Dr. Beckett?" Teyla said.
"It's an artificial virus."
"What do you mean?"
He looked up from the computer screen to Teyla's confused face. "It's man-made."
"Do you mean someone caused this?" she asked. She indicated the gathered populace in the hall. "Who would do such a thing?"
"The people who gave them the water," Ronon said from his slouched position against the wall.
"The gods?" Rina asked.
Ronon shook his head. "The people on the radio."
Teyla gasped, and he shrugged. "It's obvious."
Carson cringed. It was obvious, and he'd missed it. And he'd let Sheppard walk into a trap.
Teyla grabbed the radio and signaled Sheppard.
"Teyla to Sheppard."
There was no reply. She tried again, and there was still no answer.
"Oh, dear," Carson whispered.