Chapter 4 - The Story of the Meddling Ancient
Observation Room
SGC
A Few Hours Later
Mitchell stood shoulder to shoulder with Lam and General Landry, watching Lieutenant Fisher getting attached to the medical equipment just like the rest of his team who were already there, in various stages of sickness.
"I've been keeping them all under observation," Lam reported, checking details from a file. "Airman Ryan is showing early symptoms. Lt. Brooks is running a fever, both their blood work came back positive for the virus. Lieutenant Fisher's blood pressure is a little lower than his usual baseline, but the virus hasn't shown up in his system as yet." She then turned to Landry, closing the report. "Sir, this strain has a completely different genetic makeup compared to the one we witnessed back in 412, and what's worse, it seems to be mutating right before our eyes."
"The entire Peterson base is under quarantine lockdown, sir," Mitchell made his own report. "Including General Hammon and his staff for the moment, because we found the Lieutenant just as he was about to shake hands with him, I brought Fisher with us so he could tell us exactly what happened."
Landry nodded, leaning closer to the microphone and switching it on so that he could speak to the patients in the isolation ward. "Lieutenant Fisher–"
"Sir." The soldier snapped to attention.
"We have reasons to believe the symptoms you are showing are the early case of the Prior plague," Landry said. "Did you come in direct contact with a Prior during your last mission?"
"It was a couple of days before we left the planet. Airman Ryan and I went to morning prostration. The Prior was there preaching." Fisher said.
"You had no idea your cover had been blown?" Mitchell spoke to the microphone. He knew the SG-6 was on an undercover recon mission.
"No, sir. There was no way anybody from that planet could've known we were from Earth," Fisher shook his head before looking up again. "Uh, The Prior walked among us, touching people on the head. Some sort of benediction.
"Sorry. He touched you on your head?!" Mitchell repeated, wincing as he understood exactly what that meant.
Fisher ducked his head. "I'm sorry, sir. If I had realised it was so important, I would've put it in my report."
"That's all right, Lieutenant. Thank you," Mitchell said, before switching the microphone off and turning to Lam and Landry.
"So how come he isn't sick?"
"I'm guessing it's because he's the carrier," Lam said thoughtfully. "If he got sick and died from the virus, it wouldn't spread very far, would it?"
"So, do we have our patient zero?"
"I'd say we do, sir."
"Fine," Landry said, turning to leave the observation room. "Let's go and deal with the other issue then. Come."
The Briefing Room
Level 27
SGC
The three of them went to the Briefing Room to find Jackson, Carter, and Sheppard already waiting for them, seated at the table. Mitchell immediately noticed the boy of about ten calmly sitting between Carter and Sheppard and idly wondered if that was Sheppard's mysterious visitor from earlier.
Once they all settled, Carter made the round of introductions. Mitchell had a little hard time placing the Ancient he had read about in mission reports with the young kid nestled between Sheppard and Carter.
"So, Orlin," Landry said. "Why come back as a boy this time?"
"Because I did not have any other choice, General Landry," said the kid-Orlin. "I had to take this form in order to preserve as many of my original memories as possible."
"The knowledge he possessed as an ascended being was too massive for a normal human brain to handle," Jackson intervened on behalf of Orlin. "We're guessing that having a younger brain gave him a slightly better chance of retaining the knowledge a little longer."
"That makes sense, actually," Lam agreed, studying the kid with a thoughtful look. "The neural make-up of a still developing mind has the potential for better memory retention than that of an adult."
"Ultimately, sir, he says he will lose most of the knowledge," Carter said, glancing worriedly at the kid. "I think he's taken a huge risk just to be here. We should at least hear him out."
"I'm sorry– but I need to know," Jackson butted in before Landry could, turning to Orlin with a narrow-eyed look. "Aren't you breaking some major cosmic rules here? I mean, why did the Others let you go without wiping your memory clean?"
"Honestly, I don't really know," Orlin shrugged. "I guess enough of them felt it was necessary for someone to step out of line and warn you."
"I'm assuming you're talking about the Ori?" Landry asked. "We're already aware of the threat they pose."
"Believe me, you don't know everything," Orlin said, glancing at everyone around the table. "A long time ago, the Ori and the Alterans were one society, human, on an evolutionary path to ascension, but a philosophical division grew. The Ori grew more and more fervent in their religious belief. The Alterans…for lack of a better way of putting it…believed in science. The Ori tried to wipe them out–"
"So instead of going to war, the Alterans built a ship, left their galaxy, and came here," Jackson interjected. "Uh, we know that both the Alterans and the Ori eventually ascended and that the Ori passed on a religion called 'Origin' to the next evolution of humans they created."
"Yes, but the central promise of the religion, everything Origin's followers devote themselves to, is a lie." Orlin declared.
"Are you saying that the Ori don't offer their followers ascension?" Jackson inquired slowly.
"No. Most certainly not. Then they'd have to share."
"Share what?" Mitchell frowned.
"The power they sap from those who worship them."
"Wha—how is that possible?" Carter turned to face Orlin fully, wide-eyed. "I mean, are you-are you saying there's a real, physical transfer of energy to the Ori that occurs simply through a human being's belief in them?"
"'Simply' is not how I would put it," Orlin murmured. "It's quite complicated but possible. And for it to have a measurable effect, it requires massive numbers of humans relinquishing their will. Nevertheless, it is one of the main reasons the Ancients have so strongly believed in strict non-interference in the lower planes."
"Because the temptation to manipulate and align lower life forms in some order for your own purposes could result in exactly this type of abusive corruption." Jackson summed it up.
"The Ori empower themselves by sapping the life force of those willing to surrender themselves to them," Orlin nodded.
"Unknowingly. And this promise of salvation in return…?"
"Leads to nothing but death of the most meaningless kind," said Orlin.
"Because there's no conscious effort to achieve enlightenment without being spoon-fed by the Ori." Jackson completed the thought, his face twisting in disgust.
"Do the Priors know this? I mean, are they complicit?"
"No. They are merely pawns," Orlin said in answer to Carter's question. "The more worlds the Priors convert, the more powerful the Ori become. They must be stopped."
"Why don't the Ancients, er, Alterans, whatever you call yourselves now…why don't you stop them?" Landry demanded.
"I am one of them no longer, and even if I was, it is unclear whether such action would result in victory. Nor is such an endeavour at that level necessarily the next best step to further enlightenment," Orlin said, a little dejected and sad. "All I can say for sure is that if this galaxy were to succumb and bow to the Ori, it would be very bad for everyone."
"Now that you're here, is there any way you can actually help?" Landry asked at the end.
"Yes," Orlin said, inclining his head at Sheppard. "With what I have already entrusted to John, I believe I can help you avert a planet-wide massacre."
Control Room
SGC
The Second Day of the Plague
Mitchell let the words of the reports they were receiving at the Control room distract him from his thoughts wandering to what was being planned in the infirmary. He resolutely did not want to think about the de-ascended bastard's so-called plan.
His stubborn, enraged mind, however, hardly cared for his wishes as it replayed the rest of the briefing all over again, making the words of the report he was reading go blurry in his vision.
"The plague, as you may have realised by now, mutates as it spreads, doing its best to avoid being counteracted by a cure," Orlin said, focusing on Lam. "Anything you may come up with against the early stages of the sickness will have no impact on it as it evolves–"
"As of now, we only have people with symptoms of high fever, difficulty breathing, nausea, and general weakness, with one extreme case of Colonel Barnes. He slipped into a coma a few hours ago," Lam reported before turning to Orlin. "How severe will this get?"
"The virus is fatal," Orlin said somberly. "No matter how mild the symptoms are in your people, once they contract it, they die sooner or later."
That declaration managed to send a wave of horror through everyone. Mitchell experienced a nasty case of deja vu as he recalled the same event that happened back in P8X-412. Only the arrival of the Prior had averted that entire village from being eradicated, along with himself.
He didn't want to imagine how many deaths it would take for a Prior to even consider visiting the Earth. Or they could just let the entire planet die if they wished so that they could use their demise as an example to get the rest of the galaxy in line.
"How do you suggest we combat this?" Landry demanded, not even bothering to hide his alarm.
"As I mentioned earlier, I have seen this before, and I was searching for a means to prevent the catastrophe," Orlin said calmly before turning to smile at Sheppard. "And then you died."
Mitchell felt his entire thought process coming to a screeching halt at hearing that. Absolute silence descended in the briefing room as everyone took a moment to process that bit of revelation.
When his mind finally got past the shock, the first thing Mitchell wanted to demand was when the hell had that happened. Was it when Sheppard was captured by the Goa'uld? Was it when he was undercover? Or was it before? Was he involved in a fatal crash somewhere back in the Middle East?
Sheppard, of course, was the only one who wasn't shocked by Orlin's admittance. The sickly pallor on his face and the haunted look in his eyes confirmed to Mitchell that the experience had left some deep invisible scars.
"Convenient for you, wasn't it?" Was all Sheppard said, his voice a little shaky.
"No, it wasn't," Orlin said softly, quite sadly. "It was never meant to happen that way anyway, but it did. When I found you, your last moments enabled me to take certain liberties with your transition–"
"What the hell are you talking about?" Mitchell growled, figuring it was time somebody started making sense.
Orlin's inquisitive gaze met his enraged one and then he looked around, taking in everyone's confused and shocked expressions, realising that this was the first time everyone had heard his news. Then he turned to Sheppard again. "My actions have no impact on your life as it flows through time, John," Orlin implored him earnestly. "I promise you this, if you wish to share your memories, that is entirely up to you."
"Sheppard–"
"So what did you do?" Sheppard asked Orlin, cutting Mitchell off.
Obviously, being allowed to talk and wanting to talk were two vastly different things. Mitchell squished the desire to shake the man by the shoulders so he could listen to what the Alteran bastard was saying.
"The cure to the plague, well... the stages of cures to the stages of the plague, are embedded in your genetic material now," he explained. "In order to mass produce the cure, we shall have to harvest it from you in stages…"
Mitchell slowly unclenched his fingers before he could crush the latest printed report into a ball. The asshole had then gone on, describing so matter of factly what that entailed… for Sheppard.
It had been an emotional rollercoaster ride just to sit through the rest of that torturous session of a briefing.
Whatever gratitude he had felt for Orlin for saving Sheppard's life had turned quickly into a red-hot rage when he went on describing his grand plan to infect Sheppard with the goddam virus so they could start bleeding him dry to wean the cursed cure out of him.
It had infuriated him even more to witness Sheppard accepting all of it with nothing more than a resigned nod. Even Landry had looked troubled at Orlin's proposal. Lam had instantly protested, saying that went against all her ethics. Even Carter and Jackson had glared at Orlin, trying to figure out if his reverse ascension had already scrambled his mind.
It had been Sheppard who had pointed out with slow careful words, that realistically, if Orlin was telling the truth, he was probably the only one who was going to survive the plague. That it was just a matter of time until the virus got through the containment and spread all over the world, killing everyone.
Sheppard had stressed that, from that perspective, letting himself be used to stop mass annihilation wasn't even a choice.
Mitchell saw his point, and grudgingly even accepted that he would have done the same if he were in Sheppard's place.
But that didn't mean anybody had to even remotely like the absolute madness of it.
Mitchell threw the paper on the nearest table before he started to crush it the way he wanted to wring Orlin's scrawny neck. He grabbed the next one, trying to see if that one was easier to read and figure out the meaning of the words and the lines.
"Uh, the team on-site at Peterson just reported that two of the people in the crowd at General Hammond's speech are displaying symptoms and have tested positive," Harriman muttered next to him, obviously having seen his struggle and deciding to take pity on him. "The General himself is fine."
"That's great, chief," Mitchell said, finally seeing the words of the report in his hand. "What about the restaurant and gas station Fisher stopped at on his way into town?
"The CDC has mobilised units to try and contain the situation. They've sent out bulletins to every hospital and medical facility in the state. Anyone showing plague symptoms will be referred to us, sir."
"Do we have a cover story?"
"A new influenza that first appeared at St. Francis Medical Center two days ago. We're issuing a press release in an hour," Landry walked in, answering his question before Harriman could. "Colonel, I'd like you in the field following up on Lt. Fisher's activities, just to be sure."
Mitchell swallowed. As much as he would rather be near Sheppard, he knew it was useless. He was not a doctor or a scientist or an Ancient. He was of no use to what took place in the cordoned-off area of the infirmary.
"Yes, sir," he said, accepting the order.
At least, being in the field, doing something that actually contributed, would help him keep his worries from spilling over, or so he tried to convince himself.
"You'll have to get scrubbed and stay in hazmat on the outside," Landry called out to him as he left. "Carolyn's orders."
"Yes, sir."