"This is most unwise," Olma cautioned as she retrieved part of the plague sample from stasis.

"It must be done," Stevenson said, cradling the regenerator in his lap. The small cube was a potent healing device developed by the Alterra to augment their already advanced healing ability…so much so that it was dangerous to less advanced forms, such as the seed species, including the Lanteans. Today he had brought it with him as backup, just in case he needed some biological help in fighting off the plague virus that he was about to infect himself with.

"We will quarantine this room and await the outcome of your test," Olma said, looking up into his eyes with concern. "We don't want to inadvertently rerelease the virus back into the galaxy."

"I'll be fine," he assured her. "Aeria will be the difficult one to heal."

Olma handed him a small injector vile. "I will monitor your progress from another chamber. If you require our assistance don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you," Stevenson said kindly, "but this is one fight that I need to win on my own. If my body can't quickly squash a small infection, then there is little hope to save her."

Olma glanced along his eye line at the frozen image of the Ancient researcher. "She seemed hopeful, given what little information I was able to convey to her. If this cure does indeed prove to be successful, I wish to sit down and have a proper discussion with her. Our ancestors held her in great esteem."

"You'll have to get in line," he said sarcastically. "We have much to discuss."

Olma smiled. "I suppose you do. Good luck, my friend."

Stevenson nodded to her as she left, conveying his gratitude for her help with a brief telepathic burst. After she was clear of the room he injected himself with the virus and laid the empty vile on the side table next to his chair. He still held the regenerator in his lap, yet it wasn't active. He needed to let his new Goa'uld inspired bio-correction cells do their thing while the Nox medical sensors tracked their progress, gathering data that might be needed for an alteration of the cell design if the refined prototype failed.

No more than six minutes later a green sterilization field swept across the room, followed promptly by Olma's return. Her wide smile told Stevenson everything he needed to know.

"Amazing," she said, grasping his hand and examining it. "The new cells worked flawlessly. Their response time was twice as fast as predicted."

Stevenson frowned. "What are you looking for?"

"A small portion of the virus tried to flee your body just prior to its destruction. I am searching for toxic residue within your skin cells."

Stevenson frowned. "It moved outward by design."

"Yes, it was shocking. It appears to be a reaction to a failed infection. Our research notes never hinted that the virus held such a capability."

"Must be a defense mechanism," Stevenson said, realizing the full truth. The Ascended Empire had engineered the plague to flee the body upon a defeated replication attempt in order to spread the plague to others before it was completely destroyed by the host body.

"This is a most virulent disease," Olma commented, continuing to examine his hand where the injection had taken place. "It appears to have deposited some type of inert particle on the surface of your body. The sterilization field didn't register it as a threat. I'm removing it now," she said, pulling out a small device from a hidden pocket. When finished, she took the sample and placed it in an examination slot on one of the Ancient diagnostic machines.

"It mutated into a transit spore," Stevenson commented as they reviewed the scan data. "And a non-active spore at that."

Olma shook her head disbelievingly. "I don't know how it obtained this ability, but it appears to be a deliberate evasion of the immunization process. If it can't quickly get a foothold in your tissues, it retreats before your immune system can adapt to counter it. This way a preventative cure can never be devised for an uninfected individual. Those that prove strong enough to survive the plague never become immune to it because the virus doesn't remain in the body long enough for that to happen…this is incredibly unlikely for a naturally occurring disease. There is a possibility this plague was deliberately engineered to behave in this fashion."

"That doesn't matter so long as the new cell can defeat it," Stevenson said, trying to deflect the conversation away from that line of thought. Who knew how many ascended beings could be eavesdropping on their conversation at this very moment. "Revive Aeria."

Olma visibly stirred. "Should we not study your success in more detail before we attempt to heal her?"

"She's waited long enough," he said, activating the regenerator. Small streams of bright white light emanated from tiny cracks in its ornate surface. "I'll use this to keep her alive long enough for her body to produce the new cells."

"As you wish," she said reluctantly. "But I'm staying with you this time. You may need my help to keep her alive."

"Alright, but have someone else monitoring her progress from afar. If this goes badly we need as much of a head start as possible to return her to the stasis pod."

"Leora is there. Are you ready?" she asked, standing by the Ancient stasis pod.

Stevenson touched the device and the brightness of the light doubled. "Do it."

Olma deactivated the stasis field and Stevenson telekinetically caught Aeria's body as she collapsed to the floor. He pulled her over to him through the air and placed her hand on the regenerator.

Focus sister, he said to her telepathically as he injected her with the genome update, you have little time left. Draw strength from the device and me while the cure takes effect.

He felt her mind coalesce around his words and the regenerator responded to her mental command, sustaining her cells against the debilitating affect of the festering disease encompassing every facet of her body.

Who are you? she asked wordlessly.

The last of your brothers, he said, using his own healing abilities to further sustain her quivering form. I am the product of the Repository of Knowledge.

How much time has passed?

I do not know for certain, but at least four million years.

Aeria blinked her eyes open and looked up at him, her hand still on the regenerator. Tell me what has happened. Tell me of this cure you have found.

Your body is producing a specially engineered cell patterned after a parasitical lifeform currently native to Avalona that has impressive healing abilities. It succeeded in destroying the virus in the tissue sample taken from you earlier, and was equally successful in curing the virus within me.

You were infected?

Deliberately so, just a few minutes ago.

That was foolhardy. You never should have taken the risk. The whole point of the Repository was to circumvent the plague. You jeopardized everything.

I needed to be sure it would work before we revived you again. And it did, magnificently, yet my condition was infantile compared to yours. We must take care or we may lose you yet…and after all the years you've survived it would be a shame to surrender to defeat now.

Indeed…hold me up. I am beginning to feel faint.

Stevenson cradled her head in the crevice between his shoulder and neck, making sure to keep her hand squarely on the regenerator. He wrapped her up in a tight embrace and held her to him over the next four hours. The conversed in silence, mind to mind, where not even Olma could overhear them as Aeria's body began to create more and more of the bio-correction cells and send them into battle against the invasive plague.

Aeria's body suffered from the toxic aftermath of the tiny battles. She drew heavily on the regenerator to keep her body functioning while the internal war continued to escalate. Through it all, Aeria kept her mind linked to Stevenson's, using his consciousness as an anchor and a diversion from the internal strains. They talked long and in depth about many things, save for Stevenson's true mission, which she had no knowledge of and he had no choice but to avoid for fear of exposing himself.

Never the less, Aeria and Stevenson grew close very fast, with Stevenson the better for it. Ever since his transformation he had felt empty and alone, longing for something that he had never experienced before, and did not completely understand. Now, holding her in his arms and sensing her mind he realized that which he'd been missing…brotherhood.

They were the last two Alterrans in the universe, save for those that had ascended, and he could feel the bond between them, as palatable as the gravitational pull beneath him. It meant a great deal more to be Alterran than it did to be Human, and the connections between individuals was much more intense. They didn't operate with a hive mind like the Wraith did, but the bonds between them were equally intense…without compromising their individuality in the process.

With only having known Aeria for a few brief hours, Stevenson was more fully committed to helping and protecting her than anyone he had known on Earth, his former family included. He was Alterra now, and so was she, and what that truly meant defied description.

After half a day of effort, the tide had turned in the internal war and Aeria's bio-chemistry began to creep back toward Alterran norms. She wasn't out of the woods yet, but she was passed the worse of it, and making small, yet steady progress.

Suddenly her mind slipped from Stevenson's.

What's wrong? he asked.

The others…they're calling to me.

…no, no don't do it. Don't listen to them…Stevenson said panickly.

Thank you for saving me, brother. They couldn't act until…you…goodbye…

"No!" Stevenson yelled, jolting Olma out of her speculative daze.

"What's wrong?" she asked as Aeria began to glow. Her body transformed into the pure energy of the ascended within the circle of Stevenson's arms, then rose upward, disappearing from this dimension and leaving Stevenson clutching little more than her clothing.

Anger welled up inside him as he stood and yelled violently. "You back-stabbing traitors! It was working…it was working! I was going to save her! What happened to your precious non-interference!?"

Every muscle in Stevenson's body was tense, flexing against his own strength in frustration. He slowly dropped to his knees, looking as if he was going to burst a blood vessel.

"You bastards," he whispered vehemently. "You hypocritical bastards…I needed her," he said, pounding the floor with both fists. He threw his head back, looking up at the ceiling in futility.

"I needed her!" he screamed.