AUTHOR: Rebecca Ratliff


DATE: February 2003

ARCHIVE: If I haven't submitted to your archive, please ask. (I'll say yes, I just like to know where it is.)

CATEGORY: Jack/Sam UST, angst




SUMMARY: You can't stuff everything back into Pandora's Box.


DISCLAIMER: "Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. I have written this story for entertainment purposes only and no money whatsoever has exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the authors. Not to be archived without permission of the author."

Friday afternoon was just as slow around SGC HQ as it was anywhere else. O'Neill wandered to Sam's lab to see if she was doing anything interesting. He found her staring at her computer monitor, trying and failing to get some work done.

"What's wrong, Carter?"

Sam said, "The tritonin samples went off to Atlanta this morning."

"But they know the side effects. I thought General Hammond ordered all the samples destroyed once the Pangarans got started distributing the antidote."

"He did, sir, but those orders were countermanded before Janet and I could get rid of it all."


"Sir. To some of the drug company executives, the idea of an addictive substance like this is a gold mine. With our recombinate DNA technology, we won't need a Goa'uld queen to produce the drug in a test tube. And I just...packed it up and sent it off to the CDC. I should have worked faster to destroy it while I had the chance. Instead, in five or ten years...."

"You couldn't have stopped it. Carter, listen to me. You can't keep something like this under wraps. But we know the truth."

"Yes, sir. We know the truth about a lot of things," she replied.

Jack didn't have an answer for her misgivings. He felt them himself. He wouldn't keep quiet for that--but he knew how easily one man and his inconvient truths could disappear. As had almost happened with the Aschen, in the process of saving the world from the Goa'uld, had he sold them into a worse form of slavery? God only knew.

Earth was decades ahead of Pangara as far as genetic engineering was concerned. It was possible that something could be done to turn tritonin into the miracle cure that the Pangarans had intended.

They had opened a Pandora's box and the contents had flown out past all chance of retrieval. There was no way to know now if hope or despair remained within. All they could do was watch and wait.


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