Dodecagon

By Veldeia


Day Three

Daniel woke up. He had hardly slept at all.

By the time Galen had finally, after a long, tedious wait, declared that the room was safe again and removed the shield, it had been really late. Though time hardly existed inside these deadly walls and the constant glow of light from the ceiling, they had all been tired. Mitchell had suggested that they'd rest for a while, and everyone had agreed. Not that they could've done anything useful in a while anyway, with Max barely conscious and clearly feeling very sick. Galen had promised it would pass, given time.

Galen had also said that though he had done a shield spell, it didn't mean he would do anything else. A shield, he had explained, didn't use a lot of energy. Even though it had worked, it didn't mean that shooting fire and lighting at the walls would be a wise thing to do. They still needed to put the walls in order.

Daniel doubted if any of them had really been able to sleep. He had spent most of the time lying with his eyes closed and hoping that he could get rid of all the nasty things that kept going through his head.

This time, there was no one else he could blame, nothing he could say to defend himself--the mistake had been all his. His intuition about the Demotic hadn't been correct. In a way, there was symmetry. Daniel had been wrong and Max had got hurt. The previous time, it had been Max who'd been wrong about the Ogham, and Daniel had paid for it.

Daniel still couldn't be sure that he wasn't infected with some gruesome Ancient biological weapon, maybe even something that might spread to everyone else as well. He didn't know how many hours, or days, for that matter, he'd have to wait, until he could be sure he hadn't caught anything from the needles. Now, he felt hypersensitive and hypochondriac. Every time he felt anything even slightly off, he'd start at it. Of course, he was feeling off most of the time, tired and sore, hungry and thirsty.

He still had that last drop of water at the bottom of his canteen. He was saving it. He didn't really know why. Somehow it was a comforting thought that he still had water left, though it wasn't much good when it just stayed in there. And he wasn't sure if he was feeling thirsty just because he knew they were out of water, or if it really was the first symptom of dehydration. Or the first symptom of some alien disease.

The thoughts had kept going around in circles all night. From the walls to the needles, and then to the thirst.

Daniel had only realized he'd fallen asleep when he'd noticed that the ceiling was no longer even and glowing, but a huge, decorated dome, like the inside of some baroque church. And then the Veraeda had opened, except that it had looked exactly like a stargate, with the vortex and the gently rippling surface when it was open. Jack had stepped out of it, carrying a whole pot of coffee and a box of donuts. And he had yelled at Galen, "You no-good wizard-wannabe, why haven't you gotten them out yet?"

Daniel opened his eyes to face the relentless smooth light from above. He got up, and noted that the Veraeda looked just as dull and gray as he had remembered. Jack definitely wasn't anywhere near to this place. Daniel wondered if he even knew something had happened to the current SG-1. They'd been out of contact with the SGC for two days already. Surely someone would've told Jack.

Jack would be right there, waiting in the gate room when SG-1 returned. If they returned.

Mitchell's start of the day speech was somewhat less inspired today than what it'd been last morning.

"Let's see. I'm not trying to be depressing, but we're out of food and water, the Veraeda"--he pronounced the word carefully--"is not working and there's nothing really useful on the tables. Basically, this means that aside from Jackson and Eilerson, who've got the hardest job of all, there really isn't much of anything we can do, unless you two can think of something we can do for you. I guess we've just got to try and come up with interesting ways to spend time."

Max was back on his feet again, though he still looked pale, and more than that, withdrawn and silent. But they'd have to keep thinking about the walls.

"I don't want to try it again, I don't want to guess anymore. Not before we've got something tangible on at least a few of those mystery walls. We've got six right and six to go. There's several hundred possible ways we could arrange those six, if we just go on guessing. We'll get killed long before we get through all the possible combinations. We've got to be able to read some of them, or recognize and accurately date the scripts, something. If we don't, then we're not going out," Max said bluntly. No sign of his earlier optimism, the belief that they could find the right order through logic and intuition.

"We can figure this out. We've got to. So, I was obviously wrong about the new Egyptian--it's got to be even newer than I thought. But if it's several thousands of years younger than the demotic I know, I wouln't expect it to be recognizable anymore. I mean, the difference between hieroglyphic and demotic Egyptian is so great that it's impossible to see without a lot of studying."

"Yes, that's odd, isn't it?" Max replied absently. "I think I'm going to work on the Ogham some more. Last night, I had this idea that if it's actually contemporary to you, then it might not be in ancient Irish at all. Maybe it's in modern English. So, I'm going to try and decipher it as if it is. See if something comes out of it that way."

"And I'm going back to my demotic, for starters," Daniel stated, and each went to work on their chosen walls.

The symmetry was still there. They had both chosen the walls that they had been wrong about. Both were trying to fix their mistakes.

Daniel was pretty certain about the bits he had managed to translate so far. The parts he hadn't been able to translate before still escaped him. He spent hours staring at the wall. All he got from it was a headache. A pretty nasty one, too.

Mitchell appeared by his side and put something into his palm. He looked at it. Aspirin. He cast a puzzled glance at Mitchell.

"Figured you'd need it. My head's about to split, and I thought you're probably not feeling a whole lot better. First symptoms of dehydration, you know. Galen was friendly enough to let me know that you and I'd be facing it first, since we both lost some blood earlier, and he wasn't able to fix it completely."

Daniel had had the uncomfortable feeling that Galen was staring at him, had been staring at him ever since he'd gotten the needles out. Looking for signs of--something. Well, dehydration was bad, but at least it wasn't contagious.

"Now he's telling us," he said cynically.

"Yeah, that's what I thought too."

Mitchell stayed there for a while, but didn't say anything. Probably didn't want to ask how the translation was going, because he could guess it wasn't going well. Daniel was glad he didn't.

Daniel looked at the pill still on his palm. His mouth felt so dry and his throat so sore that there was no way he could manage to dry swallow it. This was probably as good a moment as any to drink that last mouthful of water. He knew the headache wouldn't stay away for long, but maybe even a moment's relief would allow him to figure out something about the walls. He emptied his canteen and swallowed the aspirin.

He turned his gaze to the wall again, the symbols that carried no signs of Greek influence, the symbols that were all too close to demotic Egyptian letters. They were neatly written, much neater than than any demotic text Daniel had ever seen. Almost unnaturally neat. Each time the same letter was repeated, it was exactly the same, without even the slightest fluctuation typical to handwritten text. It was like--now that he thought of it--it probably wasn't handwritten at all. It was printed, or typed. In some universe, Egyptians had invited book printing, or who knew, maybe even typewriters, or computers. And perhaps that had caused the script to stay as it was for a long period of time.

The problem was, even though Daniel could offer such a plausible explanation to the writing, he was still no closer to dating it.


Mitchell had suggested strip poker, but everyone had declined, except for Teal'c, and since he knew he'd lose to Teal'c, they had settled for "Go Fish" instead.

Mitchell quickly found out that Galen could beat everyone every time, even Teal'c. As if he could see right through the cards. For all Mitchell knew, maybe he could. It really wouldn't be all that surprising.

"Perhaps we should attempt a game that is not played with cards," Teal'c proposed.

"Truth or dare?" Mitchell tried.

"I think I shall take a break from all this playing," Galen said, and walked away, to poke at something on one of the tables.

They fell silent for a while. That hated silence again.

Almost out of nowhere, Eilerson's voice suddenly broke the oppressed quiet. "No! No! We're never going to solve this. We're dead. We're all dead. Thirst or traps, don't know which comes first! We can't possibly hope to understand the slightest bit of writing when we know nothing of it, nothing at all. No idea of context, no idea of the language--nothing! We're dead."

And then he was standing right in front of Galen, fisted hands in front of him, face red and twisted with anger. "And you! You damn techno-mage--now, when for once you could really be helpful--and what are you doing? Nothing! Just like the rest of them! Can't cast one single spell to get us out--you'll just let us all die-"

Galen's face stayed stern and cool, but he reached with his hand and grasped Eilerson's shirtfront. "Maximilian!" he boomed, and Eilerson fell silent. "You would have me risk a spell at the walls? You would choose a quick and certain death above the possibility of survival? I would gladly give that to you, but there are more of us here. The universe does not turn around you. You remember what happened when I came to contact with the Veraeda-"

Galen fell silent in mid-sentence, frowning. Without explaining, he turned his back to Eilerson and walked to the ice-device. As everyone else watched in silence, he ran his fingers along its surface, traced the silvery casing on one side, and finally knelt to place his hand on the ZPM, eyes closed in concentration.

The Veraeda flashed into life, the opaque surface became transparent and ice-like. In a blink, it was gone, gray again. Galen had lifted his hand away.

"Maximilian, we're not going to die here. Not in this room, at least not in this universe. I cannot believe I never thought of this before. Though the Zero-Point Module may be broken, there is still a source of zero-point energy here that's available to us. Myself."

"Wait! You said you're not exactly compatible with Ancient technology--how can you be sure that you can power it up, instead of just causing some kind of a short circuit? Is this somehow different from doing something to the walls?" Carter asked.

Mitchell suddenly realized that Galen had already touched a wall without any consequences. No short circuit there either. Maybe it was the same thing. Or then, maybe it just had to do with what the walls were like. Maybe they weren't as sensitive to such conflict as the Veraeda. Once again, it wasn't like Galen was going to tell them if he knew it.

Galen didn't even give a straight answer to Carter's question. "This is entirely different. Because of what this device is like. It is..." he said, and shook his head. "No, you would not understand. Even if you would, I would not tell you."

"But--Galen, didn't you say that even if we could go through the Veraeda, we'd just find ourselves in another sealed Dodecagon-room?" Jackson joined in the conversation.

"Yes, that's what will happen. Still, it gives us hope. How many walls have you been able to identify here, for certain, without guessing?"

Jackson grimaced. Not many, Mitchell knew that. And then, Jackson's face lit up with something, an idea, and a hopeful one, if Mitchell could read it correctly.

"A new set of texts is generated every time something triggers the lockdown--so, we can just go through the Veraeda, and see what the texts are like in that universe. If we recognize more than here, then we've got a better chance of solving them. And if we don't, we can always go through it again..."

Even Eilerson was looking hopeful now. "That could work. It really could."

"Pack your things, people. We're taking a trip through the mother of all quantum mirrors," Mitchell declared.

Packing their things didn't take all that long. In a matter of minutes, the members of SG-1 were standing in front of the Veraeda with their packs. Eilerson and Galen hadn't had much of anything with them when they'd first accidentally come through the mirror.

"You know, Feiara mentioned in her diary that the Veraeda's capacity is limited," Jackson noted. "On the other hand, she was talking about the whole of the Duodecim going through it. Twelve people. There's only six of us."

"I'm not saying that this is safe. It is awfully risky for all of you. Also, I can't tell what kind of an effect powering the Veraeda will have on me," Galen warned.

Mitchell remembered Galen had been knocked out the last time, though he hadn't even touched the device himself, just contacted it through Eilerson. He really hoped this wouldn't turn out to be a one way trip for him.

"Now, I want each of you to place one hand on the device, and the person closest to me must give their other hand to me. I need to touch the ZPM in order to access the Veraeda's technology."

They lined up in front of the device. Mitchell purposely placed himself nearest to Galen and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Go ahead, when you're ready," he told him.

The surface of the Veraeda turned into ice again. It felt like ice as well, perfectly smooth and slick. Mitchell had the oddest feeling that his hand was sliding on the surface, though he could see it wasn't moving. It was as if there was no friction at all between the surface and his palm. The feeling spread outwards from it, enveloping his entire body.

He was flowing, like water in a river. He was liquid. Liquid electricity, like he had thought when the Veraeda had opened and the odd wave of energy had hit them.

Then something forced him to stop. He was no longer flowing.

The liquid that he had become was freezing. It was so cold.

It seemed to last forever.

In an abrupt snap, the odd feelings disappeared.

Mitchell was standing in front of the Veraeda again, staring at a matted gray surface that felt coarse against his palm.


They'd made it through. They were--somewhere. In some alternate universe.

Daniel wondered how they'd ever get back to their own universe, even if they managed to open the doors here. If they'd get the doors open, they wouldn't be able to activate the mirror again, because that would close the doors again. But even if they wouldn't be able to go home, at least they'd live on. Maybe in some universe completely alien to them, but they'd live. If they got the doors open, and found a way out of this Ancient space station.

Everyone else was slowly starting to move around him, Teal'c to his right and Sam to his left. It looked like everyone was all right. Even Max, though he was probably more than a bit embarrassed because of his desperate outburst in the previous room. But if it hadn't been for that, Galen might not have figured out that he could power up the Veraeda.

Daniel couldn't see Galen from where he was, so he backed away to get a wider view.

The techno-mage was lying on the floor, eyes open but eerily unmoving, like those of a dead body. Mitchell was checking him out.

"He's alive. Vitals seem stable. He's just totally out of it, completely unresponsive," Mitchell told them. "We knew that using the device would probably do something to him. I guess all we can do is keep an eye on him and hope he comes out of it sooner or later. In the mean time, Jackson, Eilerson, go and take a look at the walls. See if they're any better here. Wherever here might be."

Daniel gazed at the surrounding room. The size and shape of it were awfully familiar, but there were major differences. There were no tables. None at all. Nothing else in the room than the Veraeda on its pedestal, and then, a dark form on the floor behind it, near the wall. He walked over to take a closer look.

As soon as he got within a few steps, he realized what it was, and called to the others, "Guys, I think you need to see this."

It was a mummy, or a mummified corpse, to be exact. Oddly enough, the first image it called to his mind was not that of the Egyptian mummies so familiar to him, but that of the Linvris. The minor Goa'uld lords killed by Machello's devices. Coming through a stargate in his closet. Haunting him, until his friends had taken him for mad and put him in the mental ward. It had happened years ago, and it really wasn't something he wanted to think about right now. He pushed it away, and looked at this corpse more closely.

Actually, it didn't look anything like a Goa'uld. It clearly wasn't human. The parched skin still had patches of different greens and browns. Instead of a nose, it had a snout with a set of horns on it, and there were several more horns on its hairless head. It didn't have ears, only holes in their place. The hands had long, curved claws. It was wearing what looked like a space suit of some kind. As far as Daniel could see, there were no signs of any kind of injuries, nothing to tell how it had died. Maybe it had hit a nerve gas wall. Or something else they had been lucky enough to avoid so far.

"Daniel, stay away from it," Sam warned.

"I'm definitely not going to start poking at it."

"What is it, anyway?" Mitchell asked.

"It reminds me of the prehistoric beasts known as dinosaurs."

"Yes, Teal'c--that's what I thought as well... What if it really is that? If we're in a universe where dinosaurs never became extinct, and evolved into humanoid creatures of some sort, even developed space travel--maybe humans never came to be in this universe," Daniel thought aloud.

"Yeah, it's amazing, but it doesn't help us, unless we get out and actually have to face these things. Jackson, the walls. Please. Now," Mitchell said, his tone cold and commanding, different from anything he'd said to Daniel during the last few days. His face looked tense, with dark circles under the eyes, and stubble covering most of his chin. Really tired, with a bad headache, Daniel could guess. And anxious and worried of his team. Jack sometimes started snapping at people too in similar situations. It was perfectly understandable.

Daniel could just imagine what he looked like himself. Probably not much better than Mitchell. He ran his hand along his cheek. Coarse with long stubble. Just when he'd gotten rid of that beard a week or so ago. He was tired too, since he hadn't slept a whole lot during the last two days. His T-shirt was still full of tiny holes from the needles. What little help the aspirin had offered had worn off quickly, and the headache hadn't just returned, it had spread out--most of his body felt vaguely achy now, muscles and joints protesting every time he moved. And he felt a bit dizzy, but it mostly stayed away when he ignored it. He wondered if it had something to do with the trip through the Veraeda, or if it was just all about the inevitable dehydration.

He lifted his gaze from the humanoid dinosaur and looked at the wall behind it. It was carved with Maya hieroglyphs. He might not be able to translate it, but he was pretty certain he could figure out a dating. He went on, following the walls counter-clockwise.


In some other circumstances, Mitchell might've found the mummified dino interesting, but now, he thought it was far from it. When Teal'c and Carter had stayed near it, he'd returned to sit on the pedestal at the foot of the ice-device, keeping an eye on Galen.

He'd sat there for half an hour, when Galen suddenly came to and spoke up.

"Did it work?" he asked.

"Yeah, it worked. I can't be really sure we're in another universe, but at least we're in a room with different walls. Jackson and Eilerson haven't told if they can figure it out yet. How're you doing?"

"Fine, for now. If we must go through again, I can do it. I must do it, actually, since, as you may have noticed, the Veraeda in this room is now broken as well."

"Yeah, Sam took a look at it and said that the ZPM's melted, just like the last time you came through."

"It cannot be avoided, I'm afraid. I'm also afraid that if there is a next time, I'll be out longer. How much longer, I can't tell."

"What's it do to you anyway? Should we be worried?"

"I can take care of myself. If we come to a point where I can't, I'll ask for help. You see, my tech--the technology I use, that is--was not exactly built for this kind of use. It is... It is closely connected to my system. And it seems that when it meets this sort of unusual, unexpected stress, it comes through as a great physical strain on my body. I need time to recover from it."

Mitchell wondered what that really meant. "Closely connected" to his body. Combined with how he had said, or showed, earlier that it was in his hands and his head, Mitchell could only come to one conclusion. The technology was inside him. In his body. Implants of some sort, or cybernetic parts. Maybe he was a cyborg, or something like that. It would explain how he could connect to the mirror so easily.

"It's not like it's going to kill you, is it?"

"There will be a limit. Sooner or later, it will be too much. Not yet, though. I can take us through the device several times more. Of that I'm certain."

Carter and Teal'c returned from the corpse and sat down on the pedestal as well.

"Galen, I've been wondering," Carter started. "Daniel told me he'd read from one of the Ancient diaries that the Veraeda is thought-controlled. Did you control it? Did you tell it where to put us?"

"I did not control it. I was not the one using it, I was simply the power cell. The battery. Nothing more."

"Then who did? Who decided where we were going?" Mitchell was baffled. He'd thought Galen had been in control, and that he'd have at least a vague idea of where they were.

Galen looked mildly amused. "No one. We went right were it wanted to take us."


The second-last wall had caught Daniel's attention for a good while. It was another of those really annoying cases of "I've seen this before, but can't name it right now." And he was so certain that if he ever told that to Max, Max would instantly tell him what it was. Still, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't come up with anything. The ever-present, slowly worsening aches and nausea didn't make it a whole lot easier.

Finally, he gave up. Max had probably already finished his round, and was waiting for him so they could compare what they had. Daniel looked at the last wall. Nothing like he'd ever seen before. Once again. It looked like a bunch of stars with different numbers of rays. They were drawn at the exact same intervals from each other both horizontally and vertically, so he couldn't even guess which way the script was supposed to be read.

"So?" Max's voice came directly from behind him.

Daniel turned around and shrugged. "I don't think it's any better than the first room. I can give accurate dates for two texts, a bit hazier for three, there's two I think I know but can't actually name or date. The rest don't say a thing to me."

Max crossed his arms and shook his head. "I recognize six of them, more or less, but I can't even date all of them. The other six I've never seen before. If we stay here, we'll have to keep guessing. Six or seven out of twelve is about the same than what we had last time."

It was depressing--that they had traveled to this alien universe just to find out that it was no better than their own. At least they could always try another one. Sooner or later, they'd probably come to a universe where they'd be able to figure out the walls. It'd just have to be sooner, because they wouldn't be able to go on all that long.

The linguists had no choice but to go and tell the others the bad news.

"So, we'll just go through again. As soon as possible. Galen?" Mitchell said as soon as they'd told him.

"We can go right away. Just gather around the device."

Daniel placed his hand on the uneven surface, waiting for it to come to life again.


Mitchell massaged his temples. If he could just get rid of this headache. Combined with the constant waiting, without anything useful to do, it made him extremely irritated. He kept snapping at people when he really didn't mean to.

"We have still not tried playing Truth or dare, Colonel Mitchell. Perhaps that would help us pass time," Teal'c suggested.

Mitchell sighed and let his hands fall on his lap. They were sitting on the pedestal again, he, Carter and Teal'c, with Galen lying in a heap on the floor. It felt awful, watching him end up like that so they could travel through the device, but they didn't have much choice. Carter had closed Galen's eyes. That lifeless stare had felt way too scary in this grim place. He'd been out for over an hour already, and Jackson and Eilerson had spent all that time gazing at the walls and talking in low voices. No news from them yet.

The room was just like the previous one. No tables here, either. The only difference was that there were no dead dinos around. No sign that anyone had ever lived here. Nothing that'd reveal anything about the universe they were in. And nothing new to see, nothing even distantly interesting to do.

"Right... This really isn't the time and place I'd pick for that, T, but it's not like we've got anything better to do. Sam, you in?"

"As long as you don't dare me to kiss Max."

"So, who's starting?"

"I shall begin. Truth or dare, Colonel Mitchell?"

"Dare. Of course."

"In that case, I dare you to make up a song of our current situation, in the melodramatic opera style."

No matter how tired and thirsty he was, Mitchell laughed out loud at that.


Daniel jumped at the unexpected sound of laughter from where the rest of the team was waiting. He didn't see anything funny anywhere around. Instead, he was starting to get really depressed.

He felt awful, and this room was hopeless. He'd recognized one text as South Iberian script, something that really wasn't all that familiar to him. Now, after spending all too much time trying to figure out seven other walls without any success, he'd come across one that he knew all too well. It was the only one of the scripts of the four great races that he didn't know. The writing of the Furlings, that one race that remained a complete mystery to them. He had no idea when they had been around, or if they still were, so he couldn't even begin to guess the dating for the text.

He felt something flowing from his nose, and absently wiped it away with his finger. It was blood. Probably not a good sign. Dehydration gone so far that the nasal membranes were dried and cracking. He dug a tissue from his pocket and pinched his nose with it, hoping he could stop the flow before someone noticed. No need to get the others worried.

The last remaining walls were just as bad as the majority of them. No chance. None at all.

He hid the tissue in his fist and faced Max.

"It's no good. There's the Ancient text, like in the previous rooms, but from the others, I can only recognize two. That's three out of all the twelve walls. And out of those three, I can only date two."

"That's two more than what I have," Max said meekly.

"Surely you've got to know that one? Iberian script?"

"Right... I knew I'd seen that before, somewhere..."

They both chuckled, dryly and mirthlessly. It was turning out to be a bad joke between them. Seen it before, but can't name it.

They walked over to join the rest of the team by the Veraeda.

"Sam, Teal'c, Cam... Bad news again. I'm sorry," Daniel shook his head. "This is worse than the two rooms we've seen before."

"Galen still hasn't come around. We've got to wait a while longer," Mitchell answered.


"So, Daniel, truth or dare?" Mitchell asked.

Mitchell figured he should come up with something funny. Jackson really looked like he could use some cheering up. He had curled up with his arms on his knees and his head on his arms, withdrawn into himself. Actually, he looked like he needed a supportive arm around his shoulders, or at least a pat on the back, but still, though almost a full day had passed since that nasty incident with the needles, no one was particularly willing to touch him. Especially now that Galen was out, unable to warn them if there really was something to worry about.

Jackson lifted his head, but just a bit. "Truth, I guess," he said.

Now that he tried to think of a question, Mitchell found it surprisingly hard. Favorite food? Certainly not. Something about Vala? No, that wouldn't be nice. He came up with a useful serious question instead. A bit unfair, maybe, taking advantage of the game like this, but it was perfectly within the rules.

"All right. I've got a really good question for all of you. But since it's Daniel's turn, he goes first. How're you doing?"

"That's the question?" Jackson looked up. Mitchell noted that there was dried blood under his nose.

"Remember, you've got to tell the truth."

"Right. Well. I've been better, but I've been worse, too," Jackson answered. "Don't feel nearly as bad as I did after the first wall."

Mitchell thought that sounded pretty believable. "Had a nosebleed?" he asked.

"I thought you only get to ask one question."

"So, it's not a part of the game anymore."

Jackson sighed and shrugged. "Okay, yes. So, I had a nosebleed. No big deal, right? Happens with dehydration."

Mitchell raised his eyebrows at Carter, searching for confirmation that it was just that, not a hint of something worse. She gave it, with a nod and a few words. "It's not unexpected, really. But..." she fell silent, looking uneasy.

Carter clearly didn't want to talk this over in front of Jackson. Mitchell could think of several things to fill in after that "but", such as worry over the fact that Jackson was starting to look this bad this soon. This place wasn't particularly warm or dry, so he'd have expected them to survive several days without water. Maybe he'd been too optimistic.

"So, Sam, how're you doing, then?"

"Better than you, sir, I dare say."

Mitchell couldn't argue with that. Though actually, he wasn't doing that bad, right now. Either his headache wasn't as bad now as it'd been a while ago, or then he'd just started getting used to it. But, as the one asking the questions, he wasn't going to discuss that with the others. Instead, he turned to Teal'c.

"Teal'c?"

"Currently I am fine. However, my supply of tretonin will soon be entirely spent."

That didn't need any more explaining. They all understood what it meant. As a Jaffa, Teal'c was probably the strongest and healthiest of them at the moment, but without the symbiote-replacing drug, he would get sick and die. And Mitchell could bet Teal'c wouldn't want to talk about that, so he left it there.

"Max? How're you?"

When it came to Eilerson, Mitchell was mostly worried about how he was handling this mentally. Not too well, if the way he'd started shouting at Galen in the first room gave any clue.

"Just great, but ask me again tomorrow, and I might be dead," Eilerson's sarcastic answer summed up what everyone else probably thought.

"And as to our last team member..." Mitchell said, moving over to see to the techno-mage.

Galen's eyes opened before Mitchell got there. He sat up and asked,

"Cameron? Any luck?"

"Afraid not. Apparently this is the worst room so far. So, if you're all right, then we're ready to go as soon as you are."

Galen spent a while gazing at the surrounding room, turning his head slowly. Probably taking the time to scan and process whatever he saw. Maybe Mitchell was just imagining, but he thought Galen stared at Jackson for a longer time than at the rest of them.

"I can't tell how long I'll be out next time, but that's inevitable. We must go right now."

They lined up at the side of the Veraeda for the third time. Going through it was already starting to feel like a familiar thing. Mitchell knew what to expect. Staring into the ice, flowing, then freezing, until that sudden strange flash when everything returned to normal again, and the surface lost its sheen.

Of course, once it was over, the first thing to do was to see that everyone else had got through, and then go check on Galen.

"Everyone here? All right. Jackson, Eilerson, you know your job," Mitchell told them, and knelt to the unconscious techno-mage.

"Looks like it's getting worse every time. Pulse is around 180, and breathing sounds like he's just run a world record sprint. Sam, care to give me a second opinion?"


Daniel kept both his hands on the surface of the Veraeda, leaning against it. Blood was trickling down his face again. He could taste it when he licked his lips. Though they were through already, he still felt like the world was spinning around him.

He heard Mitchell tell that they knew their job. Daniel sure did. He knew everything depended on him and Max. He heard Mitchell's worried words from Galen's side. Galen couldn't take many more trips through the device. And Teal'c was running out of tretonin. Daniel couldn't believe he'd been so busy feeling dehydrated that he hadn't even thought of it. That running out of water wasn't the only thing that'd get to Teal'c. They had to get out. Soon. Very soon. Daniel had to get them out. He had to get to the walls and figure them out.

Daniel let go of the Veraeda and started making his way towards the nearest wall. The room wouldn't stay still around him. He couldn't step straight, he could hardly stay up. He wondered if this really was what he was supposed to feel like. He didn't feel dehydrated, he felt like he was suffering of a really, really bad bout of flu.

He was near enough to the wall. He squinted at the text. The writing looked familiar. Runes. Futhark. He'd have to read it to see whether it was in Proto-Norse, or if it was actually Asgard. Shouldn't be impossible to date. If he could manage it. He had to.

Next wall. It didn't look familiar.

A few steps forward, with odd aches stabbing at his feet. Another unfamiliar text.

The next wall was in Ancient. He'd known to expect that. He had to move on.

Without warning, an overwhelming spell of dizziness struck him. Instinctively, he groped for support, and felt his hand contact something hard.

In the fraction of a second, he understood what it was. God, no!

He yanked his hand away, stumbled backwards, lost his balance and fell. Right into Teal'c's arms.

"What happened? What'd it do? Nothing hit me... Not nerve gas again, is it?" he uttered to Teal'c's shoulder.

Teal'c obviously hadn't got what he said, or hadn't heard, or understood. Instead, he had placed his hand on Daniel's forehead.

"Your body temperature appears to be much above that of a normal, healthy person. Why did you not tell us that you were unwell, Daniel Jackson?"

"Teal'c, never mind, it doesn't matter now! God, I hit the wall! Teal'c, we've got to take cover!"

Daniel tried to put one foot in front of the other, but it was so hard that Teal'c had to carry most of his weight. Besides, if it really was nerve gas again, and Galen was still out, they had nowhere to run. He felt sick. Even worse than before.

"Teal'c, Teal'c, let go, let me down," he pleaded urgently. Maybe Teal'c saw what was about to happen, because he did that without questioning.

Daniel fell down to all fours and threw up. He hadn't thought there would be anything left that could come out, but, of course, he had been wrong.

He pushed himself away from the stain and slumped to the floor, fighting to catch his breath. Blood again. He was throwing up blood. As confused as he was, he was pretty sure it couldn't be just dehydration. He'd caught something from the needles, after all. He was sure of it. And he was probably contagious too. Then everyone else would get it and they'd all be sick.

He was vaguely aware of the others gathering around him, felt someone's fingers on the side of his neck--Were they completely out of their minds?

"No, no! Don't touch me! Get away from me! And the wall! Get away from the wall!" he cried out at them, and fought his way up from the floor. He could still get up. He could still take a few steps. He made his way to the pedestal and sat down, burying his head in his hands.

"What wall, Jackson? What wall's he talking about?" Mitchell was asking.

"Daniel Jackson accidentally touched a wall as he began feeling ill," Teal'c told him.

"It's not glowing--can't have been the right one--did it do this to him?"

"I do not think so, Colonel Mitchell. I did not see anything coming out of the wall."

"Daniel? Daniel, talk to me--what's wrong? What's going on?" Sam's soothing voice came right from his side. She was too near. She shouldn't be coming anywhere near him. He edged away from her.

"Don't touch me, Sam, you'll get it too. It's the needles, Sam. It's... Something. Something bad. And I hit the wall, and I... I don't know what's going to happen to us," he rambled.

She looked at him, lips pursed and eyes wide with worry, but she stayed away. She knew he was right.

And then he heard Max's voice saying, "Is it just me or is it getting a bit chilly in here?"

It was cold. It really was. Daniel was shivering, and he didn't think it was just the fever.

"Indeed, the ambient temperature appears to be falling rapidly," Teal'c confirmed.

That was what the wall had done. It hadn't hit Daniel. It had hit them all. Unless they could get out fast, they'd freeze to death.

Mitchell was clearly fighting to remain in control of the situation. "Eilerson? You finished with the walls already?"

"At a quick check, I could recognize four, maybe five. Not enough, unless Daniel's got more luck."

"No... I don't think so," he told them.

"Then we've got to wake up Galen," Mitchell said. "And Sam, Teal'c--get all our blankets, sleeping bags, and everyone's jackets. Jackson, just try and relax."

That had to be one of the most stupid, useless pieces of advice Daniel had ever got. Try and relax, when he might've gotten them all killed--again--several times over--how was he supposed to get over that?

Sam gave him his jacket and his sleeping bag. They hadn't been wearing their jackets since they had got stuck in their own universe. The temperature in the Dodecagon had always been pleasant and perfectly steady. Always, until he'd done the unthinkable and hit that wall. He got the jacket on and got into the sleeping bag.

"Galen! Galen! Wake up! We've got to go!" Mitchell was yelling furiously, but apparently, without success.

It was getting colder so fast, Daniel couldn't tell apart his feverish feelings and the drop in room temperature. He felt like he was going to be sick again, and fell down to lay on his side, but luckily, wondrously, the feeling passed. No more blood, for now. He just stayed there, lying very still, hoping that the room would settle down, stop whirling around him.

Someone was wrapping a blanket around him. It didn't help a whole lot. His teeth were chattering.

Now he heard Max's voice, shouting at Galen, trying to rouse him.

Daniel felt someone's back against his, then an arm around him, drawing him closer. Befuddled, he looked around, and saw that they were all gathered in a heap in front of the Veraeda, covered in blankets and sleeping bags.

"No--can't--too close--you'll get sick too," he tried to tell the others, and tried to squirm away, but they wouldn't listen.

"Look, Daniel!" Mitchell was speaking in that commanding tone again. "We're still all in this together. If we share body heat, we just might survive long enough to worry about getting sick."

Daniel was too tired to argue. He just lay there, shivering all over, hoping for it all to end, but it wouldn't. Every time he thought it couldn't get any colder, thought that he was deep frozen from head to toes already, it got worse. Soon he was so cold and tired that he'd even stopped shivering.

He had completely lost track of time. He heard the others talking about something, now and then, felt them moving about, talking again, but he couldn't even tell their voices apart.

"Daniel, give me your hand," Sam said right into his ear. He didn't dare think it meant what he supposed it meant. He struggled to get a hand out of the sleeping bag. When he did, he felt Sam's hands guiding his, until it touched the surface of the Veraeda. It felt like ice, but he couldn't know if it was because it really was crusted with it, or if it was open.

And then it wasn't the room that was spinning anymore, but him. He was fluctuating, flowing, water. They were going to live, if only for a while longer. They were going through the Veraeda again.


A new universe. A new room. The air against Mitchell's face was no longer freezing, but he was still cold, chilled to the core. His head felt foggy, but one thought remained clear as crystal. He had to know if all had made it through. He had to know if everyone was alive.

"Teal'c?"

"I am here."

"Sam?"

"Mmmh... Yeah," her answer was vague, sounding like someone who was half-asleep and didn't want to wake up. But she was alive.

"Daniel?"

No answer. Mitchell forced his frozen hand to move. He knew Jackson was the one resting against his right side. With all the fabric they had wrapped themselves in, it wasn't easy to maneuver his hand into Jackson's sleeping bag. In the meantime, he went on asking,

"Eilerson?"

"Someone call the cryo technician, please..." he mumbled.

"Who's nearest to Galen?"

"I can see to him, Colonel Mitchell," Teal'c answered.

Mitchell had managed to get his fingers to Jackson's neck, but they were so cold-numb that he couldn't feel anything at all. Couldn't tell if it was just him, or if there really was nothing to feel.

Holding his breath, he reached a bit further, placing his hand on Jackson's icy chest. It felt like a ridiculous idea to begin with that anyone so cold could be still alive. Yet he was. Mitchell felt one beat, and after a second that felt like an hour, another, so very slow, but steady. More than that, he felt that frozen chest rise and fall slightly. Jackson was breathing. He was alive. Maybe just barely, but alive nevertheless.

When Teal'c informed him that "Galen is alive, but again unconscious and unresponsive," Mitchell couldn't help smiling a bit. All here, all alive. If they'd survived that, surely they'd be able to get out. And now that he knew that, he could close his eyes and rest for a while. Not sleep. He couldn't sleep, not now, not when they were all lying in a heap in front of the Veraeda, probably seriously hypothermic, and more and worse than that when it came to Jackson and Galen.

He knew he shouldn't sleep.

And before he realized it, he'd drifted into a deep, dreamless slumber.


On to Day 4

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