Chapter 32
Gray clouds hovered over the island while rain drummed on rooftops and cobblestone streets, running in endless channels down the hillsides to pool in muddy rivers and fill ravines. It thrummed incessantly. At first pleasantly distracting, then annoyingly so, until at last it simply became a constant state of being - damp and chilly, or wet and miserable. It didn't matter which to the members of SG-1, they were sick of it and going stir crazy.
It pattered on the slate roof above the warm, dry kitchen where most of the team took refuge when they weren't busy in one of the workrooms that lined the west wing of the mansion. There was a potter's shop, a weaving room, a cutting and dying room for leather, cloth and other items, even rooms for wood working and stone cutting. All the things any large home, Minoan or otherwise required to be self-sufficient.
After four months on Kronos' little mountain top, they'd mined and dug, hauled and shoveled, then carried and smelted enough rock to extract all the minerals they needed. In addition, the finest, most tightly woven linen in villa's stores had been cut to size for each member of the team and painted with a mixture of lead, mercury and charcoal. Quilted together with the thin Mylar emergency blankets they'd carried in their packs and in the med kit, Methos and Carter had created the radiation suits they'd require. They were hot, stiff and uncomfortable, but they were what they had.
That done, their current project was to create a containment unit for whatever they found inside the Ark. They'd kicked the idea around for several days before finally deciding that a blanket of lead, foldable and easily carried even at seventy pounds, was probably the best solution to the problem. Not knowing what size the object would be had been an important concern. Therefore, they needed to prepare for any eventuality. Which meant having the ability to wrap the contents - of whatever size or shape it turned out to be - enough times to create a proper seal in the precise thickness required.
Methos rubbed tired eyes as he stared at the numbers again, trying to make sense out of the fact that his formulae to synthesize appropriate anti-radiation medications were simply not adding up. He had all the materials he needed - had in fact distilled and mixed the correct chemicals in the correct amounts according to the breakdown of components in the related drugs he'd found in the med kit. Still, something was missing. The delicate balance between what constituted a poison to the body - and truthfully, all medication was essentially poison if administered incorrectly - and what promoted healing. At this rate, he thought, tossing down his pen in disgust, he was never going to finish in time!
He picked up the vial of Rituxan, just one of several drugs he'd been working with, some of which he hadn't even known existed and that he suspected were probably classified. He tried not to think about what they might have meant for Alexa, dying painfully and slowly in that hospital in Switzerland where he'd taken her in a last ditch effort to prevent her death. Then again, the military didn't need government approval to try new medications. From his experience, they went by a different policy. Cure it now and worry about the side effects later.
The Rituxan, though still experimental for the general public, wasn't exactly new. A monoclonal antibody without a radioisotope which worked by targeting cancer cells before they could grow by delivering small doses of radiation directly to the cancer. And like all the anti-radiation drugs in the kit its purpose was to prevent the immediate and widespread rapid growth of cancers and lymphomas which sudden exposure to large doses of radiation caused, and which were among the primary causes of death associated with radiation sickness. Still, whatever was in these vials, including the Rituxan, was definitely cutting edge stuff.
Maybe it's in the synthesizing process, he thought tiredly, getting up to go find Carter. The last time he'd seen her she was with O'Neill, who was taking his turn at playing blacksmith and hammering out the lead ingots they needed to make into sheets to build the containment blanket.
He found her in the hall talking quietly with Teal'c and waited a discreet distance away. A moment later, she paused in her conversation just long enough to look his way.
"A quick question, Major," Methos said, holding up the vial of Rituxan. "Do you know where these drugs were manufactured?"
"The space shuttle or Mir," she answered succinctly, turning back to Teal'c as Methos quickly blanked his expression.
No wonder, he thought, sitting heavily as he found a seat on a bench in another corridor. With a slow shake of his head he stared at the vial in his hands. He might have guessed, he thought ruefully. Plants grown in a weightless, hydroponics environment had properties unlike any others. No parasitic impurities from the soil and no loss of key nutrients expended in the struggle to rise above the planet's gravity. This in turn created greater concentrations of whatever chemicals might be extracted from the plants - and in purer forms than could ever occur in nature, because they were essentially mutations of the plants themselves. Meaning, he realized with a sickening twist in his gut, that the very process used to manufacture the drugs made them impossible to duplicate without the exact same facilities.
Methos' hand tightened around the vial. Gods above and below, he wasn't going to have enough! Not to treat everybody at once. And that was the plan. For everyone to go in together, retrieve the Ark, bury the package and get through the Stargate fast enough to be treated properly at the SGC.
Of course, he thought, quickly calming himself, the others did have their anti-toxin kits which contained pre-measured single doses of everything from the antidote to Anthrax to morphine. Carter had told him as much when she'd handed over the drugs in the kit for him to work with. If that was the case, maybe it wasn't as hopeless as he imagined. It all depended on just how much exposure they'd be risking even with the suits.
Methos stood and headed for the empty workroom Carter had claimed for her office. He needed to look at her original figures from the Egypt site.
Not surprisingly, Methos knew a little something about radiation. After the Americans had dropped the first atomic bomb he'd made it his business to know. An Immortal standing at ground zero had no better chance of surviving the unleashed power of the sun than any mortal. And who knew what could affect Immortal physiology, since even they didn't know what made them so. Over the years, given the advances in both medicine and weaponry, he'd kept up with his studies. Especially when it had come up as a treatment option for Alexa.
He found Carter's laptop open on the table and booted it up. He knew she wouldn't mind his using it. After all, she'd given him the password so he could work on synthesizing the drugs. And of course, any classified materials he wasn't supposed to see were locked and encrypted in separate files. But her findings on the radioactivity at the site weren't off limits.
He found the file easily, quickly skimming through the document until he found what he wanted. Then sat staring numbly at the screen as he added it all up.
According to her report, normal background radiation was approximately 1 to 2 millisieverts, or mSv, per year, while 5 mSv in a sudden single exposure was a definite cancer risk - and 20 mSv annually was considered acceptable for radiation workers - though he'd read evidence from Nagasaki and Hiroshima to suggest that one could survive a sudden exposure of 200 mSv with cancers and other treatable health problems. The estimated leakage from the false Ark before opening, Carter had surmised, was approximately 500 mSv. Adding that 5,000 mSv was a probable figure for the true Ark given the amount of damage it had caused to the Horsemen - a dose which had been almost instantly lethal on opening.
And the fake? Methos shook his head, closing his eyes to the horror on the screen. From the isotopes found in the desert Carter had extrapolated a sudden exposure to 20,000 mSv. A figure not survivable by any means. At least not in the primitive gear they'd be wearing. Even with pre-treatment the others might last only long enough to get the Ark out and buried. There'd be no chance whatsoever that they'd make it to the ship. And Carter had to know that.
Methos hurriedly erased any evidence of his presence on the computer, shutting it down and leaving just as quickly.
Good god! he thought angrily as he made his way to his quarters. What kind of game was the woman playing?! Did Jack know about this?
Methos stopped in his tracks in the hall outside his room. "He has to know," he whispered softly. O'Neill commanded troops in a nuclear age army. Whether air, sea or ground forces, it wouldn't matter. A working knowledge of what posed an acceptable risk to personnel and what constituted a lethal exposure would be required reading. For all that he pretended to be less than sharp when it came to cracking the books, O'Neill was no one's fool. And if that was so, then what was going on?
He glanced at the door to O'Neill's room, knowing there was only one way to find out for sure. Without hesitation, Methos slipped inside the colonel's room going right to the shelf where he'd seen what he needed before. O'Neill's mission diary. The notes he made on every foray through the Stargate to be later used in his reports. He went to the window where the light was better and started reading, his heart sinking deeper with every word.
Not only did O'Neill know this was a suicide mission, but Carter and Teal'c knew as well. Of course, the Jaffa would have guessed, Methos realized sickly. He would have seen the evidence of his fate in the dead Jaffa bodies aboard the ship. If they hadn't survived, he wouldn't either. And he'd been the one to come up with this insane plan in the first place. Together, they were shielding he and Daniel.
Well, Daniel he could understand, Methos thought sadly. The boy didn't need to know the truth. That would be too cruel. Giving him the knowledge that they would succeed in saving the world, but die painfully and horribly in the process wasn't something you told a non-combatant volunteer. But him?! Methos wondered with a sense of shock. Why shield the Immortal? The radiation wasn't going to kill him!
Morale, Methos realized as he read further. This whole elaborate plan had been hatched not simply to protect Daniel, but to keep Methos from feeling badly when they all died.
"Shit!" he muttered, sliding down against the wall to sit on the floor. O'Neill was worried he'd feel guilty because of their sacrifice. The colonel's reasoning was plain, even between the lines. He would never have asked Methos to go in alone to remove the Ark. Not when it meant the very definite possibility that he wouldn't make it back to the gate. And as much as they'd planned for stealth, the reality was they'd likely have to fight their way through. That had been the reason for everyone sticking together in the first place. They couldn't take the chance that anyone would be left behind.
Especially him, Methos thought as he read the last entry in the diary, his chest going tight with emotion. It was a letter from O'Neill. A letter addressed to him. A letter he knew Methos would eventually find.
"My friend," it started.
"I know this is hard. We didn't want to leave you like this - alone and out of place in this time. But I figured that somehow this was going to happen no matter what. Don't kid yourself, Pierson, we knew the choices. Go out as a team or sit back, live comfortably and wait to die - hoping like hell you managed to make it another 3,000 years to pull our collective asses out of the fire. Not fair! That wasn't what you signed on for. Then there was that other choice. The one I nipped in the bud before you even thought about making the offer. No way was I sending you in alone. You'd be totally defenseless! Dead, half dead, or too sick to protect yourself without back up - and all these guys have swords! Besides, I had my orders..."
Orders? Methos thought, confused. What orders?
"...you're not allowed to die."
Oh, Methos thought, chagrined. Those orders.
"Be that as it may," O'Neill went on. "I figured this was the best solution. We didn't belong here anyway and the longer we stayed the greater the risk we'd change history and screw it all up. So don't kick yourself for not figuring it out in time. I know you're a smart guy. Way smarter than me, especially when it comes to the science stuff! But I think you kind of liked us, so I know this has got to hurt. And I suppose once you realized what we'd done you gave us the coup de grace. There had to be more than enough morphine in the kit to make it easy on us. So, thanks for that!"
Methos inhaled deeply and briefly shut his eyes. God, how much courage had this taken to write? Thank you for helping us die? And yes, he admitted silently. That's exactly what he'd have done given just that happenstance. He looked back at the page, swallowing hard.
"And on the subject of the med kit, Pierson. If you're still hanging around the area feeling sorry for yourself, I want you to use the drugs Carter gave you to keep yourself fit and get the hell out. I mean it! You're still our one chance at immortality, selfish as that sounds. In any case, right now you have a choice. In 3,000 years you can try and stop us from going to the ship and change the outcome - or not. Without the radiation factor we'll just fly her out. We'll live, your counterpart will live and so will you. And I don't think it's such a bad thing having two of you around.
"So, I guess that's it, except for my final orders. I had Daniel make up a list of places you can hide. Just in case, I told him, because he didn't know about all this. I couldn't do that to him. I was supposed to protect him, damn it! That was my job! And yeah, I know, you've lived here before - but not like you are now. Which sort of makes it a To Do list. Or maybe a Not To Do list! They're mostly locations on holy ground that won't get overrun during the next three thousand years. Gives you pretty good odds, even if you'll probably be bored out of your mind! And you've got money now. If you've found this book then you've checked the packs and found the stones Carter and I set aside for you. Which makes my orders simple: Take your own good advice. Live. Grow stronger. Fight another day!"
It was signed, "Warmest regards, Col. J. O'Neill, USAF."
Unable to breathe, Methos glanced at the post script. "Be a good minion and remember Mr. Tums. He's in my pack with all the other friends I introduced you to. Take care. GS."
Laughing softly Methos wiped at his eyes, ignoring the list and putting the diary back exactly where he'd found it. He checked the corridor and slipped out, going down the back stairs to the stables. Passing the kitchen he caught sight of Daniel and called out that he was going for a ride.
"In the rain?!" the archaeologist shouted, but Methos pretended not to hear as he hurried past.
He couldn't recall having ever read a more painful letter, he realized as he saddled one of the mares. We love you, remember us, live for us, goodbye. Oh god! he thought, resting his forehead against the saddle as grief and guilt nearly overwhelmed his heart. What had he ever done to deserve all that?
With an effort of will he stilled his emotions just long enough to swing onto the saddle and ride out. His tears flowed in silence like the rain, washing his cheeks with dripping warmth. And it was not enough to say he hurt, but that he ached with such profound sorrow the agony was indescribable. They were here and then they were gone. That's how it was with mortals. It was like Alexa all over again, but worse.
She'd known she was dying. Helpless in the face of an unrelenting illness she'd never imagined having to face. He'd stood by her, watching her live for those precious months they'd shared. And oh, how she'd lived, just for the sake of saying she was alive.
But this? he thought, feeling sick to his stomach. O'Neill was living to die. Inexorably working toward that goal just as surely as the cancer had worked it's way through Alexa. Teal'c and Carter as well. All doing their best to make sure he and Daniel didn't suffer, while they'd lived since the beginning with this charade. Never in all his days had he met such courage. And Immortals thought they were tough!
"This is so not happening!" Methos muttered as he pulled the mare up short. They were not going to die like that. Not if he had anything to say about it! And certainly not in the joyless pursuit of death. O'Neill was right. He had a choice. In fact, he had all the choices Time had to offer.
But how to stop it? he wondered. Simply speaking with O'Neill wouldn't do it. The only thing that could come of that would be the other man's sense of failure. He'd feel sad that Methos knew the truth, having wanted to spare him. But it wouldn't make a difference in what he truly believed he had to do. And then of course, he'd watch Methos like a hawk to make sure he couldn't interfere.
No, Methos sighed, steeling his heart to the task ahead. He'd have to be far subtler than that. He couldn't possibly let on that he knew. And he couldn't let anyone sense something wrong. He'd have to pretend he'd never seen those numbers, never read that letter - and in the meantime, he would have to plot.
Go to next part.