Dodecagon

By Veldeia


Day Two
Daniel woke up wondering if he'd accidentally fallen from his bed. At least it felt like he was lying on the floor. But he was not entangled in sheets, he was in a sleeping bag, which would mean that he was offworld.

It only took that realization to bring it all back in awful clarity. SG-1 stuck in the Ancients' science lab, with two people called Max and Galen that he barely knew anything about. And Galen had healed him. He was all right now, no longer injured, dizzy, cold--he was feeling fine, except that the floor was hard and uncomfortable, and it was a bit too warm.

The most important thing was, Daniel could think again. The memory of all that had went through his head earlier made him ashamed of himself. It'd been all useless desperation and gloom, surrendering to the fact that they would all die here, instead of something that could help them get out. Of course, there was a perfectly rational, physical explanation for it--of course he hadn't exactly been himself, he'd been in shock, he'd been dying. Still, he hated to think that he had been about to give up.

He got up and looked around. The room was perfectly still and silent. The others had went to sleep too, and they hadn't waken up yet. For a passing while, Daniel had the awful idea that they might all be dead, but he could hear someone snoring--probably Max, and he saw Sam turning around. He looked at his watch, only to be reminded that it was broken. Sam lay near him, her hand out of her sleeping bag, so he checked her watch instead. It showed 0730. They had left the SGC at around 1000 the previous morning. In a few hours, they'd have spent a full day in this place.

Daniel caught a glimpse of movement in the corner of his eye, right where the multiverse mirror was. He turned around, startled. It was only Galen, who apparently wasn't sleeping. He had just sat down on the pedestal, at the foot of the device. Daniel walked over and sat down next to him.

"So... I didn't thank you yet, did I? For saving my hand, my life, and all that."

"You're quite welcome. I take it that you're feeling better now?"

"A lot better. Normal, really. As if nothing ever happened. So, you're an Ancient?"

"Do I really look ancient to you? No, I'm not one of these Alterans who've built this place. Maximilian and I are just as human as you. We actually discussed most of this with your friends when you had already fallen asleep."

"Then you'll have to fill me in. Who are you, and why are you here?"

"Those are questions we spend all our lives trying to answer."

Right. That gave Daniel some serious Oma Desala flashbacks. "Just give me the short version," he said, feeling like he was channeling Jack.

"Maximilian is--much like you, I hear--a specialist in ancient, alien languages. I am a techno-mage."

"What's that?"

"That would be in the long version, I'm afraid. Dreamers, shapers, singers and makers, my teacher used to call us. We use technology to achieve the effect of magic. Not all of us are humans, but we all work for a common goal: understanding the universe and knowing all that can be known."

"But you just don't happen to know how to get us out of here."

"Knowing everything is a noble goal, but hard to attain. We're still working on it."

"And that's why you came here?"

"Yes, in a way, that is why I'm here, since it's the reason I exist. It's the true reason any of us exist. But no, back to the tale. There is a particular reason as to why Maximilian and I came to be in this particular place, and this very unexpected time. We both belong to the crew of a ship known as the Excalibur. At the beginning of the year 2267, the current year where we come from, we set out on a quest to save Earth from a plague that will otherwise wipe out all life from the planet in a matter of years."

"Wait, wait, wait! 2267 AD? What timeline? Did you destroy Ra? Did you even ever meet the Goa'uld? What about the Ori?" The questions kept coming, though as they came, Daniel knew that they might be all wrong. He might not be able to guess how different Galen and Max's universe was from the ones he knew. But at least there were humans there who lived on Earth, so there had to be similarities. "Did you ever find the stargates? Do you even have stargates?"

"Another interesting point that came about in our earlier conversation. I've never encountered anything that resembles these stargates you speak of, and I don't think anyone has, in our universe. Instead, we use jumpgates, which open into hyperspace, in much the same way, allowing fast travel through great distances."

"And you said not all techno-mages are humans, so you've made first contact--when? With whom?"

"Unlike in your universe and timeline, with us, humans only made first contact in 2156. We had been visited by aliens before, but we only learned of it much later. That year, we met the Centauri, who are, according to your friends, not a race known to you, just as the Goa'uld, the Ori, the Ancients, the Asgard, the Nox and the Furlings are wholly unknown to me."

"So it's not the same plague that destroyed the Ancients that's got to your Earth."

"It's not. It's a biological weapon used against us by a race known as the Drakh, servants of the Shadows, who, I hear, also don't exist in your universe. In search of a cure to that plague we have visited a number of alien ruins, and this place is one of them."

"According to the diary of one of the people who worked here, it's supposed to be perfectly hidden. How did you find it?"

"I have certain sources and certain technologies available that come with being what I am. I came across a rumor and a discovery of something, an odd distortion in space, barely noticeable. I was able to locate it exactly and uncover the shielding. Ah, and this was something that your friends found quite intriguing, while I was surprised that they did not know: We are not on a planet. This Dodecagon, as you call it, is basically a space station. There is a hatch in the ceiling--right where your friend Cameron located an area that does not emit light--but even if we could open it, it would only lead to an airlock, and then into the vacuum of space."

A space station. Of all things. Sam had located the gate coordinates quite far out there, not near to any known star, but they had supposed--well, they had had many ideas about it. The base could've been on an asteroid, or on an artificially built planet... Of course, a space station, all alone in deep space, far removed from everything, was the safest place to conduct the sort of experiments the Duodecim had done with the multiverse mirror.

"What about the device, the mirror? How'd you end up here? How did you activate it? And most of all, can we go through it again?"

"By accident, we didn't, and no."

"Sorry?"

"We were locked in, same as you. We're still not sure what exactly closes the doors, but it must be either close proximity to the device, or then touching it, or certain parts of it. We tried to do our best to get out, and in the course of things, Maximilian thought it a wise thing to do to go and touch the surface of the Veraeda, as device was called in one of the texts. I didn't agree with him, but as I tried to stop him, the exact moment my hand contacted his, the device was activated, and we found ourselves here."

"So, even in the year 2267, humans still haven't learned the first rule of survival. Don't touch. But why do you say we can't use the multiverse mirror again?"

"See for yourself," Galen gestured at the device.

Daniel turned to look. The surface was no longer ice-like. It wasn't even transparent anymore, just a dull, matted gray.

"The mirror's broken, and I'm afraid I'm the one to blame for that, just as I'm to blame for the initial activation of the mirror. This is also the reason why I can't do much inside these walls."

"And you're the one to blame because..."

"Samantha told that you understand something of this technology. The power unit of the mirror is, or rather, as it's now fused into its base so it can't be removed, was what you call a Zero Point Module. I, as a techno-mage, need technology to cast spells, and for that, I need a power source. And just as this device, just as the entire complex around us, I use zero point energy. Only I do it in a way that isn't exactly compatible with this technology, or so it would seem. As the two technologies clash, the consequences are impossible to predict."

"So much for escaping through the mirror, then."

"It would only have taken us to another sealed room anyway. Activating it is a sure way to initiate the lockdown at the other end."

"Which, of course, brings us back to the walls and the texts, which still seem to be our only way out. At least there's two of us working on them now, with Max around, or three, if your knowledge of all that can be known includes linguistics and history."

"It does, actually, though right now, it's rather limited. I'll help if I can."

Right. Daniel's knowledge was rather limited now, too, since he could've used a whole library of grammars and dictionaries, instead of a set of random notes from here and there. But it'd have to do.

He stood up and walked a few steps closer to the wall. The text right in front of him was the ominous Brahmi script, the one that he had failed to date, so Mitchell had got badly hurt. Hopefully Galen had been able to heal Mitchell as well. At least he seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

Daniel searched his pockets and picked up a notebook and a pen. Back to work.


Organization. Putting this operation in order. Someone needed to be in charge and coordinate their efforts, so they could get out as fast as possible. And that was Mitchell's job. That was the first thing he decided once he woke up and figured out where he was and what was going on. So, once he'd gotten up, noticed to his embarrassment that he was the last one to do so, and eaten a cereal bar for breakfast, he called everyone to gather around.

"Now, folks. I think we need to arrange things a bit. See what everyone's up to, so everyone can do what they're best at and what's most useful for us. And unless you've got a lot against it, I'm going to be the one in charge. SG-1's my team, after all, and there's four of us, and only two of you future folks," he said, and waited for any possible complaints. He'd been sure Eilerson would come up with something, but surprisingly enough, even he stayed silent, and Galen gave a nod.

"So... Jackson, Eilerson, I guess you already know well enough what your job is?"

"Doing what no one else can--saving us all," Eilerson declared egoistically.

Jackson just cast an icy glance at Eilerson, crossed his arms and nodded.

"Sam, you keep working with the ice-mirror-thing-"

"The Veraeda," Eilerson put in.

"Whatever. You know what I mean. The device. See if there's any way it can be fixed, or anything that we can get from it that could be of any use."

"Yes, sir."

"I'll concentrate on the immediate survival issues--someone's got to do an exact count on how much supplies we have. Now that I'm at it, how about you, Galen, Eilerson--you didn't happen to bring any food or water with you?"

"Well, as we weren't supposed to stay in here for a long time... Not really, we didn't," Eilerson told, for once showing the shadow of an apology on his face.

"If we've got some and they have nothing, then we've got to share! We're all in this together," Jackson insisted. As if Mitchell wouldn't have done it anyway.

"Of course we're going to, though I'm not sure if we've got a whole lot of anything to share. Anyway, that's for me to find out. Which leaves Teal'c and Galen--"

"If I may suggest, Colonel Mitchell, I believe someone should continue investigating the objects on the tables."

"Which I think is a very good idea, Cameron, and I might be of some assistance there."

"Right. So, Teal'c and Galen work on the stuff on the tables. Good. Lunch at 1400 hours. No coffee breaks, since we can't have any coffee."

"Aw, come on, Cam," Jackson groaned. "No need to remind us of that. I'd kill for a cup of coffee..."

Though there was instant coffee in the MREs, they didn't have any water to waste, and no way of heating it, unless Teal'c and Galen should find the Ancient version of a camping stove. And water was what it'd all come down to, just in general.

Out of the basic survival needs, they didn't need to worry about shelter or warmth. Being too sheltered was, after all, the real problem. Their prison was comfortable enough when it came to temperature, and both Carter and Galen assured Mitchell that though they were on a space station, the Ancient technology was such that they'd not be running out of air. Lighting a fire in here would've probably been a very stupid thing to do, and impossible as well, since there was nothing to burn, but luckily they had no need to do it anyway. They had basic medical supplies, plus Galen's healing skills in case of further encounters with the walls. They didn't have a whole lot of food, but people could survive without food for a good while. So, water was the real problem.

They hadn't had a lot of water to begin with--just two quarts each, and Mitchell didn't know how much everyone had already drunk, so he'd have to check that. Maybe most of it. If they'd need to stay here much longer, with six people sharing what little they had, they'd soon be in trouble. As far as he knew, they had no way of getting more, since there didn't seem to be any kind of a water source in the room. Again, maybe there might be something on the tables, but he doubted it. If the Ancients had left in a hurry and had only taken the most important stuff with them, then they'd surely have taken all the water they could get.


Daniel knew other people thought he was good with people. He could usually get along with all kinds of people. And out of all the people in all the infinite universes out there, he had ended up with one he just couldn't stand. After just a few hours of working together, Max was driving him nuts. Still, Daniel had to admit that he was talented, knew a lot, and that they were making a lot more progress together than what he'd done alone. They might really be able to solve this.

The first thing Max had told had been that these walls weren't similar to what he'd seen in the Dodecagon in their universe. That suggested that maybe a new set was generated at random whenever the lockdown was initiated. Max also noted that this set of texts was worse than what he'd first had, since there were five of these that he didn't know at all. Daniel had recognized all but six. He wasn't usually the most competitive person around, but now, he was annoyed by that fact.

"You took this for Brahmi? No, no, no, Daniel, what where you thinking? This is newer than that. It's Kalinga, and unless it's from some timeline that differs from those of us both, it's from sometime between the 6th and the 11th century CE."

"Right. But in my opinion, it'd still come next after the Egyptian, unless one of those completely unrecognizable texts comes between them."

"Do you consider that one over there completely unrecognizable?"

"Actually, I thought as soon as I saw it that I've seen it somewhere before, I just couldn't tell where."

"Think green hills, fiddling, leprechauns, so on--our universes have too much in common not to have similar national clichés."

"Ireland! That's Ogham! So it's probably older than the Kalinga."

"Oh, yes, impressive thinking, Daniel. With this speed, we might even get out in a few years, or so."

Daniel bit his lip, keeping the sour remarks to himself. Fighting would not further their cause. It wouldn't help at all. He'd just have to get along with Max. Go on with the business.

"And you've recognized this one here as well, right?"

"Yes. It took me by surprise at first, since unlike most of the others, this is written in an alien language."

"That's one thing I'd been wondering all along. A surprising majority of these are Earth languages, though of course in our universe many have spread to other worlds when the Goa'uld transported people there. I thought that was the whole idea of it. Ancients were basically humans, the first humans ever, at least in our timeline and our universe. I'm not sure about yours. Anyway, I figured that they'd have chosen to have only human writings on these walls. But now, you think that's not the case?"

"You've really got to pay more attention to what I say. The language is alien, yes. It's a well-known Minbari religious text. But as it's said that it was written by Valen himself, that'd make it the work of a human."

"And that says nothing at all to me."

"Never mind. The bottom line is, this text was written by a human, so it doesn't actually break the pattern. As to dating it, it'd be 13th century CE. Right after the Ogham and the Kalinga."

"Of course, we can't be sure unless we can translate them and recognize the texts. Which isn't going to happen."

"Really, I'm not sure we even need to translate them all, they're clearly from different periods of time."

"Right. Anyway, can you read Kalinga or Ogham?"

"Of course I can--if I can first study a signlist, read a grammar, and check the words from a dictionary."

"So, it's not an issue. We'll just have to hope the order's right, even though we can't understand any of the texts. Great. At least I can translate this one in no time and maybe have an accurate dating, since it's medieval Latin, though I can't understand why it's that messy. Actually, it might even be older than your 13th century Minbari."

"You're right, I'll give you that. Of course, I could've translated the Latin as well, but I'll leave it to you and concentrate on something more challenging. Perhaps I'll try to check that one over there. You have no idea of what it might be?"

"None whatsoever."

"That doesn't surprise me in the least."

"You don't have any idea of what it is, either, do you? Just go away and let me work, Max. Please," Daniel said, finally unable to put up with Max's endless sneering.

Without Max harassing him, Daniel could almost enjoy working on this. Especially since he was able to figure out the medieval text in no time. It wasn't actually a text at all. It had words, the standard wording of the Gloria of a Roman Catholic mass, but the little squiggles he had taken as some sort of distortion or mess in the text were probably neume notation. It was a piece of music written in the medieval way. He wasn't very experienced with such things, but all things considered, he was pretty certain it was from the 10th or the 11th century. It was a period of time that overlapped that of the Kalinga, so that complicated things further--they couldn't know which came first without being able to read and date the Kalinga. They'd still just have to guess, unless they got some unexpected help.

Max, who was apparently fluent in Polish, had dated the text written in that language to the 19th century. What they had left was the Vis Uban text that Daniel could translate but couldn't date, and then three scripts that neither had recognized, one of which Max was working on at the moment. Daniel didn't want to talk to Max again, so he picked another one. There was something very distantly familiar about it, a lot more vague than what he'd felt about the Ogham. It was annoying. He went over to his stuff and grabbed a bunch of his old notes, hoping that they might shed some light on the matter.

He ended up staring at the wall stupidly, trying to dissect each symbol in his head. There was something so very familiar about them. His best guess was that they were an evolved, newer version of some old writing that he knew. If he could only name it.

"Daniel Jackson?" Teal'c's deep voice startled him out of his contemplation.

"What's it, Teal'c? Something important?"

"We found another Ancient diary, or a device that very much resembles one. I believe you wish to see it?"

"Right. I do, maybe not just right now..."

"Indeed, for it is also 1400 hours, the time for lunch set by Colonel Mitchell. Thus you can eat now, and then study the diary afterwards."

"Lunch time already? Okay. Now that you mention it, maybe I'm a bit hungry."

He followed Teal'c to one part of the room where Mitchell had gathered together all their supplies. Mitchell was looking grim, and when he had told them what he had to say, no one else looked cheerful, either.

"I hope some of you have good news to give, since I don't. We've only got about four quarts of water left, altogether, and so far no way of getting more. I guess you all understand what that means. Either we get out quick, or we'll get awfully thirsty in the days to come."


"Now that we're all having a break, I'd like to hear some updates. How're we doing? Anything, anyone?" Mitchell asked.

"We've put over half of the texts in order. I think we might be done by the end of the day," Eilerson sounded confident about it.

Jackson smirked, suggesting that he didn't quite agree, but didn't say anything, just kept poking his cold MRE with his spoon. All right, so it really wasn't a gourmet meal, but at least it was food.

"Good work. Then we'll just have to decide who gets to be the lucky one who punches the walls."

"Couldn't we take turns? There's no reason it has to be the same person touching each," Carter suggested.

"Now, that's an idea. So, Sam, have you got anything new to tell?"

"I'm afraid not. The ZPM has melted right into its slot, we can't get it out, and even if we could, we'd have nothing to replace it with, and it'd do us no good, since it's not working anymore. It also means we don't have to worry about getting any more visitors. Other than the ZPM, there are no clearly discernible parts in the device, no control panel or anything like that. I'm not sure if working on it is the best thing to do right now, I could just move over to the tables as well."

"Teal'c, Galen, what's up with the tables anyway?"

"We have found several objects that Galen deems interesting, but will not say much more. Also, there is another Ancient diary, which I gave to Daniel Jackson, a few picture viewers that show planets as seen from space and landscapes from their surfaces. And one device which seems as if it could be used to clean one's teeth."

"No! Really? An Ancient toothbrush? That's just..." Mitchell shook his head. "Well, keep looking, there's got to be something we can use there. At least the diary is a good find, if it's got anything in it that helps with the walls. Jackson?"

Daniel had suddenly leaped up from where he'd been sitting. "Yeah! I've got it now!" he exclaimed, whatever that meant.

"Daniel? What's up?"

Ignoring Mitchell, he made his way back to the wall he'd been staring earlier. Eilerson followed him, already asking doubtfully,

"You think you actually managed to figure it out?"

"No, I don't think, I know. Just look at it. I knew it's something familiar. It's way too familiar to have taken me this long. It's Demotic! Or, rather, it's not Demotic, but some extremely evolved odd version of it, something that's never existed in our universe."

"Demotic? That's clearly not Greek, so you mean, Demotic Egyptian?"

"That's what it's got to be. It's so similar that I can't see what else it could be. This is amazing! It's, it's the next stage of Egyptian writing--what would've happened if Egypt had never succumbed to foreign rule-"

"Yes, that's all very interesting, but the main problem remains. Can you date it?" Eilerson was perfectly dispassionate.

"I'll have to translate it first. I can't read it right away, it's so different, but I think I can soon enough, and maybe that'll give us some hint to the dating..."

"Good thing you can read it, Daniel, but now, we're having a lunch break. All of us. You can work on it later," Mitchell told them.

Eilerson left the wall and came back to the rest of them, but Jackson sat down right in front of the wall and opened a book on the floor, and went on, just like earlier, poking a cold MRE, while his thoughts were probably a thousand years away.

For a moment, they all sat and ate in silence. Mitchell had started to have this thing against silence in here. This place was so eerily silent. There just weren't any sounds at all if no one spoke, no hum from the air conditioning, no mechanical sounds from the technology that was bound to be everywhere around them, nothing. Because of that, Eilerson's sudden, sharp question startled him, though it was aimed at Galen.

"So, Galen--now that we're all sitting here together nicely and comfortably--you wouldn't care to explain why I've never seen you heal anyone before? And more than that, why haven't you done anything about the plague, you and all your techno-magical friends who just spend their time hiding somewhere? Can't waste time saving lesser planets?"

"Maximilian--you don't think I'm doing everything I can, everything in my power, to help Earth?"

"Of course I don't. You keep to yourself, you keep more secrets than the rest of the crew combined, we never know exactly what you're about, and you're not exactly straightforward about it either."

"We don't need to have this conversation, not here, not right now, Maximilian."

"Oh yes, Galen, I think we're having it right here, right now, in front of these people, with you unable to toss me with a fireball if you're unhappy about it. So they'll know everything as well."

"There is no 'everything' to tell. There's a very simple reason I can't just go and heal the plague: I can't. None of us can. Disease are generally much more difficult to heal than injuries, and something as complex as this is beyond our skills and means."

"And you really expect me to believe that?"

"What you believe or do not believe is not my concern."

Interesting as the conversation was, with all the odd things it told about these techno-mages and about Galen, Mitchell couldn't let it go on. "Gentlemen, guys, folks--Max, I agree with Galen, this isn't the time or the place for this. That's rule number two from now on--wait, no, actually, it's rule number three. One: No Touching the Walls. Two: No Wasting Water. Three: No Fighting. Am I making myself clear?"

"I've really no reason to take orders from you," Eilerson said. Something Mitchell had been expecting ever since he first declared he was in charge. He wasn't going to put up with it.

"We've got to work together here. We're running out of water. We won't live long without it. Fighting isn't going to help us get out. So you just shut up, Eilerson, shut the fuck up, and do your best. You can fight all you wish once we get out. Until that, No Fighting!"

Mitchell didn't get the satisfaction of seeing Eilerson's expression change, since it didn't. He stared back just as arrogantly as ever, but at least he really did shut up.


The post-Demotic Egyptian text really was something. Translating it was a test of creativity and intuition, since the grammar was different from what Daniel was used to, and it was full of odd words he'd never met before. Of course, they were words that had never existed in the world he knew. But what it came down to was that it was some sort of a declaration of human rights. It said that all are equal, women and men alike, all races, all peoples, all religions, and so on. No mention of any divine powers at all.

This was something that the ancient Egyptians he knew would certainly not have written. His best guess for a date was that this was pretty new, possibly newer than the medieval, the Kalinga and the Minbari. He couldn't be sure, he couldn't really base that on anything, but that was what his intuition said. That if this Egyptian language and the civilization that had written it had evolved directly from what he knew to this, then it'd have taken a thousand years, maybe more. He was willing to bet on it.

"Max? I've got something on this one. Any luck with yours?"

Max walked over to Daniel from the wall he'd spent the last several hours working on. "What've you got?" he asked, not answering Daniel's question. Probably didn't want to tell that he hadn't got anything new to say.

"I'm betting that this one's newer than anything we've arranged before, but probably older than Polish."

"And that's a guess?"

"I've translated it, and the way it reads, a declaration of human rights thing, that's my best guess based on my knowledge of the entire Egyptian culture."

"Right. Which probably isn't a lot."

"Which actually is what I've been studying since I was a kid."

"And unfortunately we can't all be child prodigies."

Daniel had, as far as he knew, actually been a child prodigy. He had already heard several times that Max had certainly been one. Still, he ignored that comment as best he could, and changed the subject.

"Don't you think you were a bit optimistic when you said we'd have this figured out by the end of the day?"

"I think we've already got it, as close as we'll ever get. There are still two scripts that neither of us knows, and with what you've suggested, I think we can assume they're from some future timeline, so we just can't know them. Luckily there's only two, so we can try them both ways--Galen can always heal any injuries that someone might get if we don't get it right the first time."

"That's assuming that those two really are from the future, and not something we just don't know that'd fit in somewhere among the others."

"Look, logically thinking, they've got to be from the future. There's already a surprising concentration of texts from the first millennium CE. There's only two that're millions of years old, that one lucky guess of yours from your first try, and then the Ancient. Then there's the hieroglyphic Egyptian. Then the Ogham, the Kalinga, the medieval neume notation, the Minbari--all from a surprisingly short period of time. Next, you'd put your Demotic, right? And after that..."

"It could be either Polish or the Vis Uban, which might not be very old, though on the other hand, it could be way older than I think."

"No--logic, again! We've already got so many texts from some periods, I think we've got to have at least a few from recent times. I'd say it's recent. Maybe contemporary to you."

"So, you'd put Polish first, and then Vis Uban, and then the two we don't know in some order. So, the last four come down to just guessing and hoping no one gets hurt too bad."

"I'm not going to be the one who presses the walls. Neither should you. We're needed to figure this out. If we can't get it right now, then we'll have to think about it some more. The others can't do that, so they're expendable."

"You're just not willing to risk your precious neck," Daniel muttered. He was going to do it, actually. He wouldn't let anyone else get hurt again for his mistakes. But he wouldn't argue. No Fighting, as Mitchell had said. "Anyway, if that's our best guess, maybe we shouldn't waste more time. Let's go and talk this over with the others, so we can actually try it out."


"Jackson, no. One word, two letters, you're a linguist, you can figure this out. No. No way, Daniel." Mitchell could hardly believe he was hearing this from someone who was supposedly so brilliant.

"Then we'll really never get out, because there's no way I'm going to let anyone else risk it again. I already failed once, and nearly got you killed. I won't let it happen again. Either it's me doing the walls, or then no one. Besides, it shouldn't be that bad this time, with Galen around."

"And if it's something he can't heal? Who's going to figure out the correct order if you get your head chopped off or something?" Right, that was awful, Mitchell hated it as soon as he had said it, but it was true as well. They couldn't even begin to guess all the things that could happen if they'd make a mistake again. Which was why Mitchell thought they should do it one at a time, one person per one wall, in a random, fairly drawn order.

"If I get it wrong, I'll just be glad it wasn't someone else, and you've still got Max around. He'd not touch the walls for a million dollars."

Eilerson shrugged. "How much are your dollars worth? There's always a proper price for everything."

"Never mind! Cam, you've got to let me do it. We think we've got it right now, anyway, there's only two texts at the end that we don't know and aren't sure about, so we'll have to guess, but even then, it's a fifty-fifty chance, and if it's not right at the first time, then we can just try the other one."

"Daniel... You don't have to do it, no one's blaming you for the previous time," Carter tried. But he just wouldn't listen.

"We're not getting anywhere with this. I'm going to do it. Just try and stop me," Jackson declared, heading for the first wall--the one he had guessed correctly the first time, when Mitchell had done the wall-touching.

Teal'c stopped him before he got there, grabbing hold around his waist. No way Jackson could escape that hold, though he was struggling and squirming all he could.

"Teal'c! Teal'c, please. Come on. Let me go. This is my job. If I get it wrong, it's my fault, and I take the blame and the punishment. Isn't that the way the Jaffa think? That one must pay for one's mistakes?"

"Indeed it is, but these mistakes will not be yours alone. They will be those of Max Eilerson as well," Teal'c spoke with the steady voice of reason.

"Then we're not getting out. I won't tell the correct order to anyone."

"What's to stop me from telling it?" Eilerson put in. "I just want to get out. I don't mind who does it, as long as it's not me. Daniel, really, it's so touching that you're willing to be the martyr, and the concern you others show is every bit as moving, but get over it already."

"Stay out of this, Eilerson," Mitchell said coldly. "Daniel? All right. No Fighting's still the rule. I'm going to let you do this. Do it quick, before I change my mind. Get us out. Galen, stay close to him just in case."

Jackson nodded grimly. Teal'c released his hold, and without a moment's hesitation Jackson walked to the first wall and touched it. It lit up as before.

The next two walls they already knew--the Ancient and the Egyptian. No surprises there either, they started to glow soothingly just like the first one.

"Max? We agreed that it's the Ogham that's next, right?" Jackson checked with Eilerson before proceeding. Whatever Ogham might mean.

"Leprechauns, fiddling and green hills. 3rd to 6th century."

With Galen following right on his heels, Jackson walked over to a wall covered in horizontal lines that had sets of shorter vertical lines crossing them, and touched it. The second his fingers hit the surface, they all saw it wasn't correct. The lights from the other walls blinked out.

The Ogham wall stayed dark, no hint of anything bright striking at Jackson. Instead, there was a really odd sound, a sort of a buzzing whistling, and a hint of movement in the air between him and the wall.

And then Jackson was lying on the ground, writhing in pain, with a forest of spikes sticking out of his upper body.


Again.

He'd done it again, failed again.

At least he'd got what he wanted--no one else was hurt, just him.

And now he had the unexpected, really uncomfortable experience of finding out what it felt like to be a pincushion. Being stuck with a bunch of needles in the infirmary was nothing compared to this. Nothing at all.

Though most of his mind was lost in the agony, one corner kept wondering what had went wrong. And it refused to take all the blame. Max had been so certain that it was Ogham and that it came before the Kalinga that Daniel hadn't even doubted it. Which had been a stupid thing to do. Blindly trusting someone he hardly even knew.

Someone had taken hold of his shoulders. Galen. The saving angel once again, though--once again--trusting him blindly was probably just as stupid as trusting Max. He'd not been sitting with the others at lunch when Max and Galen had had their little exchange, but Daniel had still heard it, had heard Max say that Galen held more secrets than the rest of their crew combined.

"Daniel, I need you to stay still. I'm going to remove the needles and heal the punctures. It's going to take a while, and they're spread so wide that I can't numb it all--Samantha? Do you have any sedatives? Strong painkillers? I could also use a pair of gloves."

Gloves? What for? Daniel couldn't figure that one out. Instead, he concentrated on staying still and catching his breath. This wasn't so bad. It really wasn't. The last time had been a lot worse, had hurt more. He was still conscious, he was still breathing, he wasn't going to die. Not even nearly so. Just a load of needles, nasty, but not that dangerous. Right. Fine.

Ouch. One more needle stuck him, as Sam injected him with whatever it was she'd got.

Ow. One less needle. And another. Galen was plucking them out quickly, as if he was in a hurry. Daniel wondered why he'd be, but didn't come up with anything.

This really wasn't so bad. He was actually starting to believe that. Each new needle that was pulled out only stung for a very short while.

He was all sleepy again, and feeling strangely happy and good. It made no sense. Galen's face was getting blurred, going in and out of focus.

He couldn't really tell if that was because of the wall and the needles, or if it was what Sam had given him. Might be that. They probably had morphine among the medical supplies, unless they had used it up already with the previous injuries... It would perfectly explain the way he felt.

Daniel fought against it. He wasn't going to fall asleep. Then they'd all get overly worried again. He'd show them that it wasn't so bad. He'd hit an easy wall this time. Got lucky.

Now it was Sam's face floating above his.

"Sam?"

"It's going to be okay, Daniel, just a moment longer."

"Sam, 's not bad... 'm okay... Say that to the others... Don' worry..." the words came out more slurred than he'd expected.


That was it. Mitchell wasn't going to let Jackson anywhere near those walls again. Ever. If that meant they were staying here, then fine. That'd be the unofficial rule number four. That even though Rule One had to be broken, even though someone had to touch the walls, it wouldn't be Jackson anymore, no matter what.

All in all, nasty as the thought was, Mitchell was surprised that this hadn't been any worse. Right, it did look horrible, and probably felt that way too, but it wasn't lethal. He'd figured from the earlier attacks that the punishments were supposed to be just that, they were supposed to kill. So he'd been wrong. For once, that was a good thing.

When Galen had plucked out all the needles except for five or so, he looked up, straight at Mitchell.

"Cameron? Would you mind bringing over that trash can-chamber pot-device?"

That took Mitchell by surprise, but he just shrugged, said "Sure," and did what he'd been asked.

Galen had been piling the needles on the floor, careful to keep them in one place, away from everyone, so they wouldn't touch anything. Combined with the thick gloves he was now wearing, that really gave the impression that he thought the needles were dangerous. Which was a chilling thought. Maybe Mitchell hadn't been wrong after all. Maybe there was something in them. That was what Galen seemed to think, since he collected the needles, careful not to touch the sharp ends, and dropped them into the bowl. He removed his gloves and put them in as well, and then pressed the button, zapping them out of existence.

Now that Mitchell looked at Jackson, he did seem more than a bit out of it, glazed eyes staring absently at something, smiling vaguely. The few comments he'd made had sounded like he was drunk. But Carter had sedated him so he'd not feel the worst of the needle-removing operation, so that could explain all as well.

Galen had turned to Jackson again, holding that same crystal Mitchell had glimpsed before over him. A moment later, he stood up and walked away, gesturing for the others to follow. Teal'c stayed behind, lingering by Jackson's side, but Galen shook his head to him and showed that he should come, too.

"Now, this is important for us all. So far, I've seen no signs of anything, no poison or infection of any kind. Perhaps there was none. Still, we should all be cautious. I wouldn't notice a virus, except from the symptoms if some show up, so there could still be one. If it's airborne, then we will all have it sooner or later. On the other hand, as far as I've understood, the previous punishments from the walls have only struck a single person, so that might be the case here as well. Nevertheless, from now on, I recommend that you take care and keep in mind the fact that Daniel could be contagious."

"Do you not think that this should be told to Daniel Jackson himself?" Teal'c asked.

"Actually, I see no reason to tell him. I have means of monitoring him closely so that he won't notice it. If there's nothing, then he'd just be overly worried without any reason. If there truly is a serious viral infection, then there might not be much I can do, and worrying over it will not change that fact. But, of course, it's your call, he is your friend, and you'll do as you see fit."

"See--that's the way he always works. The less you tell people, the better," Eilerson muttered. Mitchell could just guess he wouldn't be going anywhere near Jackson anymore, not until they could be a hundred-percent sure that there was no risk of anyone catching something from him.

"Sir, I've got to say I agree with Galen on this. Daniel's been through enough already, let him just think that everything's all right now," Carter said.

"I disagree, Colonel Carter. He has the right to know of our doubts."

The decision was Mitchell's to make. He'd already made enough bad ones for one day. He did want to protect Jackson, didn't want him to fear some awful disease that might not even exist. But as he tried putting himself in Jackson's position, he figured that he'd want to know.

"I'm with you, Teal'c. We'll tell him. Though maybe we'd better wait a while, wait until he's all himself again. I the mean time, I want someone with Jackson all the time. The rest, just go about your business as usual."


As the funny, fuzzy cloudiness that had taken over Daniel's mind was slowly starting to release it's hold, he asked Sam, his present guardian, to bring that other Ancient diary to him.

Someone had been watching over him all the time, talking something every now and then. He'd answered as best he could, but had mostly ended up rambling incoherently. He hadn't fallen asleep, or at least he hadn't noticed it if he had.

He was glad he was finally getting over it. It'd just been a bunch of needles. He could've survived it without being sent up to the fluffy could plane. Sam had really overdone it. He told her that. She just chuckled, and gave him the diary.

He opened it and read the first page that came up.

Today, I discussed the Veraeda with Arden. He's troubled. Though he and the others who have went through have assured everyone that it works as predicted, that is not entirely true. The control mechanism is flawed, does not work as it should, although it is of the same kind so successfully used in other devices, such as the space vessels. Of course, it would be impossible to accurately think of something no one has ever seen, but still, the travelers have found themselves tossed hundreds, thousands, even millions of years forward or backward in time, without wishing to do so. It almost seems as if the Veraeda has a will of its own, for often the travelers have emerged in the room when someone has been sealed inside, unable to get out. Only last time, they found a group of four of our kind, from Avalon, but far younger than us, millions of years in the future, trapped inside, and helped them out just in time.

Daniel couldn't believe his eyes. He read the sentence again, and again. It could mean anyone. Four from Avalon. Avalon was the Ancient name for Earth. It could mean anyone, but it also might mean SG-1. Only not in this timeline. In some alternate universe, they might have been saved by the Ancients. In this universe, that was not going to happen. There were no longer four of them, there were six, and the Veraeda was broken. But there was nothing more about that in the text. It went on analyzing Arden instead, his worries, his state of mind. It was very personal. Daniel scrolled on a few pages, and stopped when he noticed a familiar name.

Feiara has still not been able to overcome her feeling of guilt over being here. She knows that she is only a member of the Duodecim because someone needed to take Eufrasia's place. Of course, she was nowhere near to the Dodecagon when Eufrasia perished. Still, her emotions on the matter are confused. It is also clear that she fears the Veraeda, more than anyone else. Though Arden and Arian have assured her that it is completely safe now, that the accident that took Eufrasia from us was only a part of the development process, she is still doubtful and afraid.

Right. So the device could be dangerous, or had been, at some time. That wasn't all that surprising. Daniel spent a while considering the diary, scrolled a few more pages on. Unlike Feiara's diary, this one contained no exact, scientific data. It was all about people, all about the members of the Duodecim, how they felt, what issues they had with things, or with each other. Apparently whoever had been writing this was some sort of a psychologist, in charge of seeing to the mental well-being of the Duodecim. Or then, maybe just someone obsessed with observing people.

There was another familiar name, the one he'd often thought about, at the beginning of a long paragraph of text.

Ioannes has been avoiding me. Where several others have expressed concern over the containment, or rather, the way it must be opened and the traps in the walls, Ioannes insists that they should remain. First of all, a large part of the design was his, secondly, he personally enjoys the ever changing puzzle of putting the texts in order, and lastly, he says that if indeed someone should be wise enough to find their way into the Dodecagon in a timeline where it is empty and abandoned, they should have the means to get out. We have not informed many people of the actual location of the Dodecagon. Each device for opening the stargate is accounted for, and is in the possession of someone we deem reliable. It is highly unlikely that anyone should get in, but there is already proof from travel through the Veraeda that it has happened. The way Ioannes sees it is that, if someone becomes trapped and cannot get out, they are not worth rescuing, not worthy of getting out. That it is all right and good that they should suffer and die. This is a side of him that makes me worried. I do not know what is the reason for such hatred of those who are not as advanced as we. He is not willing to speak of this. I have suggested that I might request his suspension from the Duodecim if he continues showing overly violent and destructive thoughts, but he does not care. He knows he has the favor of Ansoi, Ystradwel and Brann, and with such protection, he will never be suspended.

Daniel had pictured Ioannes as someone a bit like himself. This changed that completely. Ioannes was nothing like Daniel. He was the reason these walls were here, the reason they were trapped. Daniel could forget any hopes about finding Ioannes's diary. He wouldn't have left it behind, lying around so that some lower lifeform might pick it up and use his notes to escape the traps he had set. As for this diary, it had offered some interesting knowledge, such as the fact that the Veraeda was thought-controlled, but nothing that would be even distantly helpful with the walls.

"Sam, you think it's all right if I get up and start working again?" he asked, forming the words clearly without the slightest trouble.

"You're feeling normal again?"

"Perfectly normal."

"Then I guess it's all right. Just wait a bit, I'll check with Mitchell first. I think he had something he wanted to say to you."


"Yes, there's no reason why he shouldn't return to his work right away," Galen assured.

Mitchell was still suspicious. He hated just having to accept whatever Galen said because he seemed to know things and was very convincing in expressing them.

"How's it exactly that you can be so sure? How do you know? I mean, I don't see any scanners or stuff, and he's all the way over there," he tried, though he was certain they'd not get a straight answer.

"The reason you cannot see any 'scanners or stuff' is because they are in here," Galen said, lifting his hand in front of Mitchell's face, "And in here," he pointed to his head. "You must not suppose something doesn't exist simply because you cannot see it."

"Yeah, sounds cool and mystical, but without any kind of evidence except for your word, how can we know for sure?"

"You want concrete proof? Scientific evidence? We could arrange that. You could go ahead and count someone's pulse as well as you can with only your  watch, your fingers and your mind, and I could tell it to you exactly without touching the subject at all. But then, how reliable could such evidence be when you could always be at fault, just as well as I?"

Now that Mitchell thought about it, the idea was somewhat worrisome. He couldn't imagine Galen ever telling all the things he could or couldn't see. Mitchell didn't consider himself much of a scientist or a medic, but he saw the implications. If Galen could monitor someone's heart rate or body temperature so they couldn't notice it, he might be able to tell a lot about how they felt, if they were nervous, or angry--and he could probably notice lies. Then again, it could all be just a show, and he might not be able to see anything more than the average person. Maybe he just told these things to gain respect, or to keep everyone wary. That would've been really pathetic. And Mitchell was starting to feel a bit paranoid.

"At least I'd know how I'd got it if I'd done it by myself. But never mind. I'll take your word, once again. You've been right about things so far, and I'm really not sure what you'd get out of lying to us. So, let's go and tell Jackson. Not you, Galen. You just--do whatever you do. Go bug Eilerson or something."

Mitchell, Carter and Teal'c crossed the few steps across the room to where Jackson was sitting, again flipping through some notes.

The more he'd thought about this, the more certain Mitchell had grown that they absolutely had to tell Jackson. They had all been taken aback by Galen's grim words, the thought that they might have an airborne killer virus in here, without anything anyone, not even Galen, could do about it. It would certainly make people even more tense than they'd been before, and they'd probably all start keeping a distance to Jackson, at least unconsciously. If no one told Jackson why, he'd be doubly isolated.

Mitchell also had something else he must say, something he had to do, and it wasn't a whole lot easier or happier.

He took Jackson's canteen and handed it over to him. It was almost empty.

"That's the last of your water. Yours to drink when you feel like it."

Jackson took it and nodded. He didn't say anything. There wasn't much to say about it, really. It was an awfully concrete reminder of the fact that they needed to get the walls open soon.

"...and, there was something else. Just get to work right away, that's what you need to do, what we all need you to do. And I know I don't need to tell you that. What I have to tell is, Daniel, just... So that you'd know--about those needles. Galen figured that there might've been something in them. Poison would've probably had a faster effect, so, a virus, or something. So, he's told us all to consider you possibly contagious, until proved otherwise."

"Oh," Jackson said, looking dead serious. He spent a while considering the thought, frowning, and then continued, "It does make sense, really."

"Galen didn't want us to tell you. Didn't want you to worry over something that's probably not there."

"So far, there's no sign of anything at all. He says you're all right," Carter added.

"And this makes me trust him oh so much more than before," Jackson noted sarcastically. "Thanks for letting me know."

Jackson got up, looking a bit unsteady, but got his balance back quickly enough, and walked over to talk with Eilerson.


"So, you've figured out why I was wrong about the Ogham?" Max said scornfully.

"Look, this has nothing to do with who was right and who was wrong. Either we get out or, well, you know what'll happen. And that's all that matters. So, I've figured out an alternative explanation to that Ogham. It's just that we've no way of confirming it since neither of us can read it. See, you were talking about the lack of newer texts? I've heard of Ogham being used by neo-Celtic druid religions. Maybe it's something like that. Maybe it's from the 20th century, or even the 21st."

"At least it's not from the 2200's, since I can't remember hearing about such use."

"...or, maybe it's just in this universe where I live. On the other hand, with a possibly infinite number of alternate universes out there, it could be anything. I mean, maybe there's a universe where Ogham's the first writing system ever invented, or one where it's the major script in use. So, it could go anywhere among those texts."

"But we can't go that way. We can't start doubting everything. We'll just have to assume something, try it out, and if it's not that, then think of an explanation and try something else."

"As long as the one trying it out isn't you?"

"No. We'll split it, so that everyone has to do their part. And I'll join in."

Well. That was something. A surprising bit of humanity. "If I may ask, why the sudden change of mind?"

The look on Max's face was odd, since it was something Daniel hadn't seen before. Maybe embarrassment, or uncertainty. His words lacked much of his usual confidence. "Because... I didn't think you were going to do it, when you went on about touching the walls all alone to keep anyone else from getting hurt. I was sure you were just trying to appear better than the rest of us, knowing that we'd not let you do it anyway. But you really meant all you said, and you really did it. It was colossally stupid, of course, but you did it."

Daniel didn't know what to say to that. In a way, it was a really sad confession. That Max had so completely stopped believing in people that he couldn't recognize real compassion, or real guilt and need to redeem oneself, for what they were. At least it was nice to know that something good had come out of their second failure with the walls, the needles, the anguish and the wasted time.

"Well, someone had to do it. Now, about that next time. If we're going to assume the Ogham's from the 20th century or so, then there's got to be something else that's older than Kalinga. We've already tried putting Kalinga after the hieroglyphic Egyptian, and that was wrong. So, maybe the medieval notation is older than it, after all."

"I could go with that," Max nodded. "First the medieval mass, then the Kalinga, then the Minbari--"

"Then the post-Demotic Egyptian, the Polish--but what about the Ogham compared to the Vis Uban text?"

"The last five texts are just guesswork again. If you ask me, I'd put the Ogham first, then the Vis Uban, but I've no scientific reason for that. I've got to admit you know more about both of them than I do."

"But I'd try that first, as well. Ogham before the Vis Uban. And it's a guess. Let's go and try it."


After Jackson and Eilerson had told that they had another possible wall combination that was worth trying, Mitchell spent a while figuring out how to go on about it. Whoever did the first three didn't matter, since they knew they had them right already. For the rest, they'd take turns. He ended up having everyone's names on pieces of paper that they put in his baseball cap. Well, everyone's except for Jackson's. Jackson had objected, of course, but with everyone else uniformly agreeing on leaving him out, he didn't have much choice.

Then, as if that wasn't hard enough, he'd also have to decide who'd actually draw the lots. Who'd be the executioner if they made a mistake again. It wouldn't be fair to ask that of Jackson. And there was no point in wasting time thinking this.

"Here's how we'll do this. The names are in here, and we'll take turns drawing them, in alphabetical order. So, Carter picks the first name, and that'll be the person who gets the fourth wall. Jackson, mind doing the first three?"

Jackson went on to touch the three they already knew. Then, with everyone staring intently, Carter took one piece of paper and unfolded it.

"Teal'c," she read out aloud, and showed it to the others.

He said simply, "Show me which wall I shall touch."

Jackson guided him to one of the walls. "This one. It's got to be this one. Medieval neume notation."

Jackson backed away. Everyone else had stayed behind, close to the ice-device, as a precaution. Except for Galen, of course, who was close by in case it'd be the wrong wall again.

Without a trace of hesitation, Teal'c placed his whole palm on the wall, which lit up instantly.

Four down, eight to go. Mitchell wondered if those correctly chosen walls would just keep glowing forever if they'd never touch another one again. With this Ancient technology that had already lasted for millions of years, it seemed likely.

"So, next name. Eilerson's going to pick it for us."

Eilerson looked pretty tense. Mitchell was surprised he'd ever agreed to put his name in that cap. At least he didn't pick up his own name.

"Galen. You're next. Kalinga wall. That one," Eilerson told in a flat voice.

Galen didn't hesitate either. He walked straight to the wall and pushed it. And it was right as well.

It was promising. They really were making progress here. Mitchell just didn't dare say it aloud, and neither did anyone else. The primitive prejudice was too strong, the absurd fear that if someone said "Yeah, we're doing good," then the next one would go wrong.

As soon as he'd done the wall, Galen walked back to grab the name of who'd come after him.

"Cam," he read from the piece of paper.

Mitchell nodded. He had to admit he was more than a bit afraid of this. The last time had been bad enough. And he had an overly vivid imagination when it came to inventing all kinds of awful things that might happen. But he'd never let anyone see that. Though, maybe Galen saw that he was nervous. Blood pressure going through the roof. About as nervous as he could get.

"Which one?" he asked, and Daniel pointed it to him.

He brushed the stone with his fingers. It felt cold. And it started to glow. Another right choice.

"I know, I'm the next to draw a name," Jackson said, before Mitchell got there.

When he'd picked the name and taken a look at it, he stayed silent for a suspiciously long time. Finally, he said, "Max."

"Your best guess. Post-demotic Egyptian," Eilerson replied, and Jackson nodded.

Eilerson was trying hard not to look timid, but for this once, he failed. He covered the short distance slowly, gazing around, and reached a visibly shaky hand towards the wall.

Nothing happened.

It was the wrong wall, and the lights from the other walls went off, but Eilerson just stood there, cowering.

The odd calm didn't last longer than a heartbeat. All of a sudden, Galen was hauling Eilerson away from the wall and yelling urgently,

"Gather around me! Now! Quickly!"

Startled and puzzled, Mitchell ran to him, like everyone else. Galen let go of Eilerson, who fell to his knees, gasping and shaking all over. Either he had completely lost it, or then something bad had come from that wall after all.

"Galen, what the hell just happened?" Mitchell asked.

"Nerve gas. It's all around us now, but I have shielded us. We only need to wait for the air conditioning to remove it."

Now that Mitchell looked around, he saw a faint, blue glow surrounding them. A force field of some kind. Looked like Galen had cast a spell, and the place hadn't blown up or anything. Maybe he could just blast his way right through a wall and get them out. But right now, Eilerson was the immediate concern.

Galen had knelt down in front of him, one hand on his chest, the other holding the crystal near to him.

"Am--Am I going to--to die?" Eilerson managed to stutter.

"No, Maximilian. You're not going to die. I got you just in time."

Mitchell knew enough about nerve gas to guess that it'd been a very close call. He gazed at the room around them, and saw nothing out of the ordinary, aside from the shimmering shield. Whatever the exact chemical composition of that gas was, it was completely colorless, invisible, and probably odorless too. If they hadn't had Galen with them, if he hadn't been able to notice it, they might've all been dead within minutes. So much for walls that only targeted the person who'd touched it.

Next time, they'd have to be more careful. Mitchell just couldn't see how. There was no way they could be prepared for everything.


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