"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 real evidence except for your word, how can we know if something exists or not?"

"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. He'd 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," he 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 came 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. 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.