Author's Notes: Thanks to all who have reviewed it; I'm sorry for the technical faults that the past postings had, and thanks to those who have called me on them. Also, a big thanks to the positive feedback on the way the story is progressing. I hope the following chapters will live up to these wonderful words.
"DanielJackson, what is going on?" Teal'c said as he ran into the room. "I saw a flash of bright light come from this room."
"I was working on translating part of the ancient text when a light came down from the ceiling and landed on Sam. Jack tried to push her out of the way and then the light disappeared and they both were gone. I think that somehow someone triggered a kind of transportation beam to activate."
The recent years of exotic alien encounters, Goul'd technology, and constant surprises had caused Teal'c and Daniel to almost accept the strange and unusual events as everyday occurrences.
"Why do you believe this?"
"Well, judging from the text that I have translated so far, I think that the light was some sort of beaming device. Where have they gone I don't know, but the writings on the wall refer to a light pouring down upon the inhabitants of the pyramids and of them disappearing and reappearing the same way. This must mean that somehow the trigger to the beam is here in the room, we just have to find it.
"Perhaps O'Neil or CaptainCarter triggered the device?"
"That's possible, but without knowing anything about the language or the symbols, I don't see how someone could stumble on it accidentally. Let me see if the rest of the translation can give me a clue. Meanwhile, can you let General Hammond know what's going on?"
"Indeed, DanielJackson."
As Al opened the observation room door and entered the area, Jack looked over and almost laughed. If the situation hadn't been so serious or disconcerting, Jack would have bet good money that the person coming into the room was either a professional clown or his blind friend chose his clothes. Al was sporting a bright red silk collard long sleeved shirt with bold strokes of purple slashing across each other. The dark brown corduroy pants did little to tone down the white and black alligator shoes he was wearing. This plus the fact that the object in this man's hand in which he was typing and smacking looked like a rejected Game Boy brought some small piece of humor into the situation. Jack could not help but let his initial thoughts flow from his mouth.
"What happened, you lose a bet! Those have got to be the worst clothes I've ever seen a person wear in my life!"
Al looked down at his outfit. "I'll have you know that these threads cost me a pretty penny." He looked back at the handlink for a second more, and then looked at Jack. "Hi, I'm Al. I don't suppose you want to tell me your name, do you?"
"Um, no, since I'm being held by Ronald McDonald's talentless brother in an insane asylum, I don't feel like talking much. Maybe you can tell me what's going on and we can take it from there." Recovering a little from his initial shock of Al's clothing, Jack's sarcasm was kicking in. "Okay, I'm definitely not being held by the Goul'd, and this is not the NID's style, but no doctor I have ever heard of dresses like that, so where the hell am I!"
"Maybe it would be better if you can tell me the last thing you remember," offered Al.
"No way clown man, I'm not saying anything until I know what's going on. Where is the rest of my team? Where precisely am I?"
"Well, you're in a facility located underground in New Mexico. That's all I can pretty much tell you right now, but we do need your help. Um, basically you have switched places with a friend of ours, and we need your help to get him back." Al hoped that this truthful pleading could perhaps gain the confidence of their guest. "Can you at least tell me your name."
"New Mexico?" Jack's brain was trying to get a grasp on the situation. "Look, the last thing I remember is walking through a forest, and then I end up here. Until you can tell me exactly what is going on, like what friend you are talking about and where the rest of my people are, you get nothing from me."
Al, used to this kind of response from difficult guests, tried one more approach. "Okay, that's fair, but can you answer a simple question? What year is it?"
Jack was taken aback by this simple inquiry. "Um, last time I checked, bub, it was 1998, and as far as what you can call me…my friends call me Jack; you can call me nothing at all until I get some answers here."
"Okay, Jack, are you hungry? Would you like something to eat, or maybe a book to read? I'm going to check on something and see about getting you back to where you belong." Al smacked the handlink again as he imputed some information for Ziggy to process. The handlink whined and beeped in protest to the abuse. "We have coffee and some soft drinks around, and some okay cafeteria food."
"Well, if I'm trapped here, a big cup of coffee, black, and some Asprin would help a lot."
"Alright, I'll see that it gets here pronto."
Jack, confused about his current situation, watched Al walk out of the room into what looked like a plain white hallway. What had happened to him? Where was his team? Were they also being held somewhere in this place? This guy, Al, didn't seem that bad, but what did he mean when he said Jack and his friend had switched places? "Maybe it's just a dream and I'm going to wake up soon," he thought as he waited for his coffee. "Or maybe I really have finally snapped."