Chapter 6 - The Truth Behind the Transition

Infirmary
Level 21
SGC

Infernal headaches, shivers, agony in his extremities, bone-deep exhaustion, and nausea were now Sheppard's constant companions. Minutes and hours blurred together as he gradually lost track of time and he only knew what the small clock hanging by the wall to his left told him.

It read 11.25. He had no idea if it was day or night or if it was still the same day.

He was idly starting to wonder how he didn't feel hungry or thirsty at all when Orlin staggered in and collapsed on the hard steel chair to his right.

Despite the fact that it contained a formerly ascended Alteran, Orlin's body was still a human adolescent and the strain of the hours showed. He slumped on the chair, sighing wearily, his shoulders hunched, his face pale and his eyes red-rimmed.

Sheppard had absolutely no idea how long it had been since he had last spoken to him.

"I thought you went back to help somebody with something?" Sheppard said and winced at how hoarse his voice sounded.

His throat felt like it had gotten shredded by a blunt knife. The painful, scratchy feeling woke up a dark memory from another time he had been subjected to a different kind of agony and torture, one that had definitely not been his choice.

He pushed it away with effort and tried to focus on Orlin as he spoke.

"I did," he nodded. "I first went to the lab to assist with the harvesting of the newest anti-viral strain before I proceeded to the workstation of Dr Lee."

"Ah," Sheppard sighed, shuffling a little so he could turn on his side to face Orlin. "Carter's Anti-Prior gun."

"It is a brain wave pattern neutraliser."

"Yeah, that's what I said," Sheppard mumbled.

Orlin's lips curved to the side in a small smile before he turned to face Sheppard fully. "How are you feeling, John?"

"Like I've been hit by a mack-truck over and over again," Sheppard muttered, tugging on the pillow to the side. It just wasn't in the right place and it was making his neck hurt. More than it already did. After struggling with the annoying pillow for a few long seconds, he realised Orlin had gone completely silent.

He glanced up at the Altern and found him staring, awe-struck.

"What's wrong?" Sheppard asked and frowned. He knew what he just said, only what came out of his mouth definitely didn't track with what he had constructed in his mind.

"I have missed my native language," Orlin said, smiling wide. Sheppard was mostly sure what the boy was saying wasn't English. But his brain understood the gibberish without any difficulty. "Nobody speaks it anymore."

Sheppard blinked, trying to figure out if this was a new symptom of the plague.

"You were speaking Alteran, John," Orlin explained when he noticed his confusion. "I did not realise you gained the ability," then his expression turned thoughtful. "It must have woken up with the rest of your genetic abilities…"

"I'm speaking Alteran, a language I've never studied a day in my life," Sheppard said, trying and failing to keep his tone even when the alien language kept spilling out of his mouth. "Was it another extra feature you felt like sticking in me so you wouldn't be bored when you got here?"

"You sound bitter…" Orlin furrowed his brows, confused and a little hurt.

Sheppard closed his eyes and breathed evenly, trying to calm himself through the agony that had renewed its efforts to liquefy his brain.

"I'm just… It's–" he inhaled deeply, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. "I don't know why you did it, Orlin," he said softly after a moment, locking his gaze with Orlin's wary, green one. "I never did anything to deserve it, this second chance or whatever it is, any of this," he said, waving a hand around to indicate the SGC…and his life. "And yet, there you were, bringing me back to life new and improved with a whole lot of extra goodies, like some reward or something. It makes me suspicious, you know, nobody ever does anything this big… this nice for anyone for free."

He refused to look away after pouring all that out. All those questions had been stumbling around in his mind for over a year, trying to figure out why it had happened. Now that the guy responsible was right there, he wanted to find out the reason.

In a way, voicing all his fears and doubts in Alteran felt easier, for some reason, even though he had no clue how he managed to keep the conversation going. The flowery, formal language was strange and unfamiliar, and it gave him some space, a sense of disconnect, from the intense emotions those questions never failed to invoke in him whenever they surfaced.

"You're right," Orlin admitted. "Nothing had ever been given free to anyone. But, haven't you been paying for this new life, as you say, in your own way, John?"

Sheppard thought he had, or he was. "Is that enough?" he asked, unable to hide his weak voice from breaking a little. "Will all of this ever be enough? What guarantees do I have that the next Ascended being comes after you wouldn't just take it all away?"

Because that was the crux of the matter. Sheppard knew he had already gotten irrevocably attached to this life; his new job, his family, new friends…Cam, the man he had always loved and never stopped. A dark, suffocating fear always hovered in a corner of his mind, wondering when he would lose everything without a warning just the way he had received it all in the first place.

"There are no guarantees in life," Orlin murmured, fixing his gaze on his hands. "You never know when you will die, John, none of you humans have that ability. And now, since my own transition, I don't have any of that insight either," then he looked up, pinning Sheppard with an expression that was way too ancient and wise on the chubby face of a ten-year-old. "You live your life as you always have, according to your beliefs, faith, morals, and the promises you've made," he said, earnestly. "And enjoy the rewards of a life lived well until the time inevitably arrives for you to move on towards the next step, whatever that may be."

That was what Sheppard had been doing, living this new life he always had, striving to give it his best no matter how hard it was at times. He was not proud of the depths he had succumbed to the first time around when he had lost everything; the life full of misery and regrets spent doing things he had never believed he would be forced to do until he had found a form of salvation, or a means to continue, by becoming a cop.

Sheppard stared at Orlin when all those shameful memories from his other life unravelled in his mind, unbidden and relentless. Blinking and squinting didn't help much to eliminate the sting in his eyes. The pain in his head was blinding, and the harrowing flood of intense memories and emotions was enough to make black spots appear in his vision.

Orlin seemed to understand his thoughts even when he didn't voice them.

"As to any of others taking your life away, that is forbidden," the Alteran continued softly, smiling kindly, reassuringly at him. "As I told you earlier, this life and everything that came with it, is yours to do with as you see fit. None of my former brethren has any say in it. That is one guarantee I can give you."

Those words did mean a lot. Sheppard wanted to believe the feeling in his gut desperately that he could trust what Orlin was saying.

"Thanks," he murmured. "I'm not trying to be ungrateful," he felt the need to stress because he truly wasn't. "It's just… even after a year, I'm just having a hard time believing all of this is all."

"You have made choices I've never foreseen, John," Orlin continued, sounding a little awed. "Your life had been altered once already against the laws before my intervention. What I did was merely right that wrong. Your reemergence is an entirely new occurrence, and so are all your choices. You are a convergence reborn and you are writing your destiny as you go along. It has never been written before…"

Sheppard was sure that declaration would have made more sense to him if he wasn't being killed from inside by the deadly virus swimming in his system. As it was, he had no clue what Orlin meant.

"I don't know what any of that means." He mumbled.

"The ascended beings exist outside of the flow of time," Orlin started to explain. "As such, we can see everything in it as it unfolds. Everything about every living being inside the flow is already written… their destinies are as plain as Adamas crystals for us to observe and study as we please. But you… you do not have a set destiny, John Sheppard," he murmured, pinning him in place with a piercing gaze that stressed the meaning of his words ten-fold. "Your previous fate had been altered and therefore, dissolved out of existence. What you are is a wholly new set of events we only see as you create them. It means the Ori will never know what will happen when it comes to you. That is a unique weapon you may use in your battle against their murderous and deceitful crusade."

Put like that, it did sound like a great big deal. Something akin to a cloak of heavy responsibility, a purpose, settled on Sheppard's metaphorical shoulders, bringing with it a sense of security, safety, and warmth, despite the immense burden it carried.

"Sounds like I'm one hell of a wild card–"

"That is exactly what you are," Orlin nodded, grinning fiercely. "Even I did not foresee this happening, albeit it was an incredibly fortuitous occurrence."

Airport
Colorado

Mitchell got out of the SUV and took off his helmet, enjoying the fresh air on his sweat-soaked face. With the airport on lockdown and all flight operations suspended, his surroundings were rather quiet. The grounded planes were slowly wheeling down the runway to get to the hangars, their journeys adjourned for the time being.

He tore his gaze away from the sight and sighed. The next report he had to make was not encouraging at the least.

"Sir, we have a problem," he said when Landry answered his call. "Looks like one of the people who used the gas pump Fisher touched got onto a plane before the quarantine went into effect."

"To where?"

"It's bad," Mitchell said, squinting at the details he had written down on his clipboard. "He caught a flight to Denver, with connections to Chicago and New York."

The voice of a female news reporter came over the phone when Landry stayed silent. Mitchell figured the General must have moved closer to Harriman in the Control room, where a few live feeds were on, tracking the progress of the disaster. "Hospitals are struggling to cope with an influx of people who suspect they may have contracted the virus. As a result, crowded waiting rooms are serving to only exacerbate an already difficult…"

"Sir, I'm afraid we've lost control of the situation," Mitchell said softly, voicing he knew what the General must be thinking as he digested the report.

"Seems that way, Colonel." Landry agreed with a deep sigh.

Mess Hall
SGC

Samantha Carter took it upon herself to escort the Alteran to the mess hall before he passed out from hunger and exhaustion. He seemed to have completely forgotten that he was now human, only an adolescent at that, and he needed to do certain things at certain times so he didn't get sick himself.

"I have to admit, it's nice being out of that uncomfortable suit for a while," Orlin admitted. Carter had had to remind him to get in the suit in the first place when he had tried to walk into the lab they had set up to work on harvesting the cure from Sheppard's samples. "I know I'm vulnerable now as a human, yet I still can't quite get my head around my own frailty."

"Well, you've been at it for nearly nine hours straight today," she said, smiling at him. "You need something to eat."

"I am hungry," Orlin said, narrowing his eyes at the sandwich he had on his plate. "Maybe it's just me—it has been a while since I experienced human senses, but this food doesn't smell very good."

"That's because it's not very good," Carter chuckled. It was already way past the time they served dinner. The snacks from the vending machine were admittedly not the best options.

Orlin took a bit from his sandwich and chewed thoughtfully for a moment before twisting his lips in a grimace. "I remember eating pretty well the last time I did this." He complained, almost sounding like the kid he now was.

"This is a one-way trip for you this time, isn't it?" Carter asked after a moment of silence. It was still hard for her to comprehend what he had given up so that he could help them. "The Others, they're not going to help you ascend again, are they?"

Orlin kept his eyes on his food and shrugged. "I don't think so."

He went quiet and contemplative after that, and Carter finished her own snack, content to let the silence regain between them.

"I know it must be kind of weird," Orlin said, finally, after finishing half his sandwich. "With my appearance this young."

"A little…" Carter said, slowly. "But I understand."

"My only regret in all this is that human social conventions preclude us from showing affection the way I wish I could."

Carter almost choked on the cantaloupe she had popped into her mouth. "Excuse me?"

"My feelings haven't changed for you since we last saw each other, Sam," Orlin said, pinning her with a look that had no business appearing on a kid that young.

Carter let out a chuckle to hide her discomfort. They had, of course, grown rather attached when she first met him. But that had been a long time ago and he had been a grown man then, not a child.

"Maybe in a few years…"

"Uh–"

"It's okay. We don't need to talk about it any further," Orlin said, clearly having noticed Carter's discomfort. "I just wanted you to know that taking human form at this age, while necessary, didn't come easy because of how I knew I would feel being here with you again."

Carter shifted in her seat, a little ill at ease, not sure what to say to him.

"Is it me, or is this food not very good?" Orlin grimaced at the other half of the sandwich he just took a bite from.

"Are you making a joke?" Carter smiled.

"No," Orlin frowned. "It has been a while since I tasted food, but this seems terrible."

Carter hesitated, concerned about Orlin again for an entirely different reason. "We just talked about that." She softly reminded him.

"Oh right, I'm sorry. I'm used to hearing my own thoughts in my mind, and sometimes it's hard to distinguish whi-which ones I say out loud…Did I tell you I still have feelings for you?"

"Yes, thank you…yeah, we don't need to go into that again." Carter said quickly, wondering if the memory loss he was experiencing was due to exhaustion or something worse he hadn't disclosed.

Control Room
Level 27
SGC

Landry listened to Dr Jackson as he made a progress report of the situation. The Control room was now an official operations room, with live feeds and maps up to track the nationwide spread of the infection. Calls kept coming in non-stop, with recent updates and numbers of the people who seemed to be succumbing to the virus every passing second.

"Five thousand confirmed cases of infection. Now the bulk of those are from the Colorado Springs and Denver areas."

Which made sense, considering they were basically the ground zero.

"What about New York? And Chicago?"

"Forty-five new cases have been reported in Utah, thirty-six in New York, twenty in Chicago, and now twenty in San Diego." Jackson read off the file he had with him.

Carolyn joined them then and stared at the live feed showing CDC tents going up around the airport in Denver for a full minute before turning to him.

"The country's in a panic."

"The President's preparing an address," he said to her before turning to Jackson. "What the hell happened at JFK and Salt Lake? The CDC had the manifest and the names of the flight crew."

"And because we moved fast, most of those passengers were quarantined, but a few still remain unaccounted for. They're doing the best they can to track them down now." Jackson shrugged.

Carolyn walked over to the map of the area his people were updating every few minutes. "According to this, we're now hearing about cases in new locations. Every hour now, as opposed to three or four a day,"

"What about casualties?"

"There are only three people dead so far, Colonel Barnes was the first, his condition was too severe for us to combat with just the initial stages of the cure, the other two were from Denver, they died within hours of contracting the infection, one had a chronic heart condition that got worse and the other had asthma-"

"So far?"

"Most cases show a reasonably long incubation period," Carolyn explained. "We're going as fast as we can with the anti-viral production, but the harvest of the cure is a natural process that we can't hurry along. We will have what we need within a couple of days, but until then, the fatalities are going to happen," she finished grimly.

Landry's Office
Level 27
SGC

Mitchell sat on the chair beside the General's table and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He had just returned to the Mountain half an hour ago, finally accepting the fact that no amount of tracking could help round up the plague carriers and quarantine all of them in an effective manner. The virus was already truly out of their grasp and control, spreading faster than anything they had to combat for decades.

After a quick shower to get rid of the grime, he had grabbed a quick snack and made his way to the infirmary first before anything, intending to check on Sheppard. To his surprise, they had even let him inside the area they had set up for the man, saying he was the only infected patient who was not contagious. They told him that the witchcraft the Alteran had performed on him when he planted the miracle cure on Sheppard had something to do with that convenience.

Mitchell hadn't honestly cared. He had wanted to see Sheppard so badly he would have even put on the hazmat gear again if he had to. It had just been much easier since there wasn't any need.

He had found Sheppard fast asleep, surrounded by a heavy blanket and a few pillows. One of the medics explained to Mitchell that Sheppard's fever spikes were getting frequent, and he had a hard time getting through the continuous case of chills.

Mitchell could still see the pale face of the man in his mind, his brow furrowed in pain even as he slept. He hated seeing Sheppard in that state - a freaking human experiment for the lack of a better term for what they were doing to him - despite the reasons. And, for the millionth time, he wished the bastard Alteran had come up with a different way to stash the cure for the cursed plague.

The door behind him opened and he stood to attention, his body moving almost automatically. Landry came in, followed by Jackson and Carter.

The General waved them all to sit and took his own seat behind the desk.

"Colonels, please tell me something good is happening somewhere," he sighed, looking just as weary as Mitchell felt.

"Dr. Lee has finished the anti-Prior prototype," Carter announced.

"Of course, without a Prior on hand…"

"It does need to be field tested," Carter said, agreeing with Jackson. "But we think we have a few good reasons to try it."

"How's that?"

"For one thing, we need a blood sample from the Prior who infected Lt. Fisher."

"Why?" Landry frowned. "I thought we already have the cure, albeit it's slow going."

"We do." Carter nodded. "According to Orlin, the Prior who infected Lt. Fisher essentially manipulated his own DNA to create the virus, as such, he now retains a connection to all those who have been infected and cured, in order to permanently remove that connection, we need a base sample from that Prior."

"It isn't a primary concern, is it?"

"No. sir. But it is something that needs to be done, in any case," Cater insisted. "After we have fully harvested and distributed the cure, a second wave of vaccine could be distributed as a booster against the plague," she said, explaining why it was important. "It is a precaution Orlin strongly suggests we take so that anyone who was infected in the first place does not remain vulnerable to his other manipulations"

"Is it a possibility?" Mitchell asked, concerned, suddenly thinking back to the possibility of him being vulnerable to the Prior from P8X-412.

"The plague this Prior infected us with, has a dual purpose, unlike the wave they created back in 412, which was just another case of showing off their god's power," Carter said, glancing at him. "Even after fully cured, this strain leaves a mark due to his having used his own DNA for the virus. And that's a problem. If our teams happened to run into a planet with that specific Prior at any time after this, they would be vulnerable to his manipulation in ways we can't even imagine."

"Okay, I get it," Landry sighed, accepting her explanation. "What is the other reason?"

"Orlin doesn't think even the Priors know the truth about the Ori," said Jackson. "So, we could use this opportunity to 'enlighten one of them' for a change…"

"Hmm-mmm," Landry chuckled. "You want to try and turn this Prior."

"Well, maybe not a complete 180, but he might give us something, especially once he finds out his gods aren't going to ascend him," Jackson said, shrugging, trying for nonchalance. But Mitchell could see he was excited at the prospect of having something to throw at the smug face of a Prior, valid intel that came from the same plane their Ori gods resided.

Landry, however, was skeptical about his plan. "If he believes you."

"We won't know until we try, sir." Jackson was not deterred.

"In the meantime, we can at least get a blood sample," Carter added.

"You're talking about using an untested technology to try and capture a Prior," Landry said, weighing the pros and cons of the planned venture.

"It was the intel we received from Jolan that led us to the recon mission 885 in the first place," Mitchell said, "He also mentioned that they're expecting the same Prior back there in Sodan tomorrow."

"And you're sure they can be trusted?" Landry aimed him a look, which Mitchell understood.

Even though they had returned their warrior mostly unharmed, with plenty tretonin for him to last for months now that was sans-Goa'uld, the Sodans were still divided when it came to their opinions of the Earth.

Sheppard's brazen and frankly unbelievable entry to their village through their highly protected and extremely secretive transport system had left a lasting impression on their minds, even when none of them admitted to it.

Mitchell personally thought it was a fantastic way of teaching the uptight and arrogant bunch of warriors a little humility. Even though they weren't all that bad once you got to know them, they were solely in need of a reality check that they weren't alone in the universe, and they certainly could use some friends who weren't there to manipulate them or outright lie to them for hidden, nefarious purposes.

"As far as we know, the Sodan are the ones who blew SG-6's cover." Landry pointed out.

Mitchell thought back to the conversation he had with Jolan before they sent the team on the mission. He hadn't detected any deception on the warrior's part. In fact, to Mitchell, Jolan had seemed genuine in his offer to assist with the intel… a way of showing his gratitude for his brother's safe return.

"I don't believe that sir," he said to the General.

"In any case, this entire proposal seems awfully risky," Landry said, hesitatingly. "Especially when we are talking about an operation we have to conduct on a planet that is not very friendly towards us."

"We still need to field test the prototype anyway, sir," Mitchell pointed out. "Seems to me that we can kill a few birds with one stone this way."

"Fine," Landry said, finally giving the go-ahead. "Contact your friend and find out how amenable they would be to the plan, and then we'll see about implementing it."