It was not a sedative. He discovered this almost immediately, when the room stayed in focus and showed no signs of blacking out on him any time soon. To his great relief, there was also no rush associated with the injection, which meant that in all probability they weren't trying to get him hooked on something like cocaine or heroin. His thoughts whirled, trying hard to figure out what they could have put in that syringe.
Ideas danced through his brain, many discarded practically at their conception, if not before. He was an educated man – and though Jack would argue against it, idealism did not preclude street-smarts. Yet he could not come up with a plausible reason for them to drug him, unless to subdue him.
A small part of him sat back in amazement and watched the frenetic activity of the rest of his mind, marveling at the way he was simultaneously exploring different avenues of thought. Panic and adrenaline could do remarkable things to the brain.
He had only just processed that realization when an alarming thought hit him. This was wrong – he didn't think like this – his thoughts were loud, clamoring, inside his brain and he was desperate for something to which he could direct his attention, his focus - and there was nothing to engage his over-worked and under-stimulated mind in this bare, barren room. What had they done to him?
He was suddenly reminded of Ma'chello's mind-bugs, how they had thrown off his perceptions, and the helplessness he felt then, knowing that he couldn't trust what he was seeing, what he was hearing and feeling, and knowing that he was trapped. Daniel took several deep breaths, trying to stave off hyperventilation for as long as possible, and closed his eyes, retreating back into his own mind and trying to process what the drug was doing to him.
The small, detached part of his mind came to his rescue. He could focus on that one voice of reason within himself, and block out all the other sensations and random thoughts distracting him.
What did he know?
He was at the dubious mercy of the NID, apparently in Ain Ghazel. It was across the Dead Sea from Ein Gedi, in Jordan. He ignored the part of his mind that seized upon that scrap of knowledge and ran with it, digging through his memory to find every piece of information he could recall about the famous site.
He was most assuredly being treated with care, despite the drugs and the force being employed. He catalogued the reactions of the guards and determined that they had assumed him to be a pure academic, yet the degree of caution they had treated him with – especially after breaking Sanders' nose – suggested a level of professionalism that would only escalate if they knew he was planning and capable of escape. The fact that they had yet to seriously harm him, despite his resistance, suggested that he had value to them. Perhaps he could use that as leverage.
He had been missing for at least two days, perhaps more. If he was truly in Ain Ghazel, across the globe from the SGC, and had been unconscious for an unspecified period of time, then he had lost perhaps forty-eight, yet definitely no more than seventy-two hours.
What did he have? What did he need?
The first list extended no further than his clothing, faculties, and hidden self-defense capabilities. He limited the second to escape, unwilling to think further on the odds he could feel his mind calculating even as he studiously ignored the numbers churning in his brain.
It was too soon before the small, reasonable part of his mind was exhausted, and retreated. Daniel found himself adrift within his own mind, and he closed his eyes, concentrating within.
He had no idea how long he lay there, processing everything about him at lightning-speed, going through the coordinates for each planetary designation he could recall in each of his twenty-five plus languages. He started to play mental word games, doing everything he could to stay anchored in this sea of blurring mental motion. All too soon, though, he was left with nothing to occupy his frenetic thoughts.
Then, to try to keep himself from slipping into dementia, he started planning escape. Part of him awoke long enough to sneer at the ridiculousness of his presumption. He knew nothing about the way this place – wherever it was – really worked; nothing about guard numbers, routines, schedules, the layout of the compound – if it really was one. In addition, he needed to get out of the country while avoiding the NID, who would undoubtedly be following him from the moment he escaped. There was so much he didn't know. But so having so many variables to account for left his mind free to envision different scenarios and lay out different plans for each new situation he could come up with, not unlike the simulations that trainees were put through before being granted admittance to the SGC.
This was how he occupied himself, for the hours that it took for the drug to run its course. Unlike what he had expected, this drug sharpened his senses so that he had an exact grasp of the time. It was eight hours and thirty-nine minutes before his mind calmed enough that he lost track, he could feel the tension slowly seeping out of him. The effort he had extolled to keep himself, locked away from external stimulation, from loosing his grasp on reality had exhausted Daniel.
Even so, after so much forced unconsciousness, he couldn't sleep. Being drugged into oblivion did not constitute proper rest, yet anxiety tugged at him relentlessly as he faced the reality of his situation.
It was only a short time after the drug seemed to have run its course when Sanders returned. He had cleaned up and sought medical care, and was also much more in control of himself.
"What did you give me?" Daniel demanded.
Sanders shrugged. "It was nothing more than a slightly engineered isotope of a naturally produced brain chemical, if you must know. Glutamate, to be precise. It was altered to penetrate the limbic system and saturate your cells, regardless of the content already present. It is, as you have no doubt guessed, a stimulant. It also is quite closely involved with memory."
Daniel's head was beginning to ache.
Sanders, however, only allowed a pause for a moment. "This is what you will be injected with, every morning. Should you decide not to assist us -" he gestured to the restraints. "You will remain here. I will mention, however, that it will be infinitely easier for you if you have something to think about, to concentrate on, while the drug is in your system."
Daniel glared at Sanders, struggling to think over the pounding in his skull. They were going to drug him like that, every day, and there was nothing he could do about it. They knew that, as did he. He had a choice. He could either resist, and in all probability be raving if – when – Jack, Sam and Teal'c found him, or he could work with the NID. Use every opportunity to gather information for escape. Slow them, sabotage them, if he could. Anything.
Daniel finally locked his eyes with Sanders, and slowly nodded his head.
Sanders' resulting smile was not a nice expression, laden with smug superiority, but acquiescence gained Daniel a palatable, surprisingly good meal. Aside from drugging him into a highly-stimulated frenzy every chance they got, there were no risks being taken with his well-being. The irony of that made Daniel hide a smile behind the rim of his cup, sipping at the water they had given him.
After he had finished eating and was given access to the facilities, Joe Campbell was sent to bring Daniel to the reason for his imprisonment.
It was not a technical device. It was the last thing Daniel had expected. The NID was heading a covert excavation of part of the ancient ruins of Ain Ghazal. It made no sense. The dig had already been excavated by professional archaeologists more than once, and was somewhat of a local marvel. It had been catalogued, but nothing of serious import had been discovered, according to the modern archaeological community. Thus, Ain Ghazal had been reduced to a mere annotation in the archaeological reference books, revived every so often in introductory archaeological courses as sidenote to discussions of Jericho.
When his questions and demands as to what they were looking for went unanswered, Daniel fell back on the academic attitudes he had so often witnessed in his peers. "If you intend for me to do anything out here, you have to give me an idea of what's going on," he pointed out, glancing at Sanders who had come up on his left.
Sanders' expression never lost its haughty security. "Come," he commanded. Left with no choice, Daniel followed, noting the amount and positions of the guards liberally spaced in every part of the dig.
The lights turned on, illuminating the layers of excavation in the growing darkness. Daniel was led past all the workers to a tent on the far side of the dig. Ducking under the canvas flap, he came across a better-equipped version of the categorizing and cleaning section of the Ein Gedi dig.
There were, in the back, several young men working on the artifacts. On a separate table, however, was an object which appeared to be the gadget Sanders had described to Daniel when their positions had been reversed a week ago.
It was cylindrical, about six inches long with a diameter of half that length. The metal that composed its surface was highly polished and silver, yet non-reflective. A delicate tracery of markings wrapped around it, and Daniel moved toward it as Sanders gestured him to the table.
Daniel looked at it, and reached out to lift the object, reasonably sure that if it was dangerous, they'd stop him. It looked like it should be heavy, yet was astonishingly light. Careful fingers gently tested the metal to see if it was little more than a tinfoil shell, but despite the impression of fragility, the object was very strong.
"We don't know what it says, if it says anything." Sanders was eager to impart all the information concerning the object to Daniel, to give him anything he needed to crack the strange language.
Daniel turned over the object in his hands, gently tracing the flowing script as he half-listened to Sanders, who was talking about digital readouts mapping the surface of the cylinder, and computer programs designed to be interactive in assisting with the translation.
He put it down, and continued to listen as Sanders showed him where to find out the exact provenance of the artifact in relation to the dig as a whole, and also in relation to other artifacts. The local matrix – dirt and artifacts found in close proximity to the unusual cylinder – had been painstakingly preserved, and mapped using subterranean radar. Seriation charts were pulled up on computers, and graphical analyses were quite extensively analyzed by the staff.
Thirty minutes of direction revealed the astonishing breadth and depth of NID resources. But the remnants of the drug in his system ensured that Daniel was alert, and despite the pounding in his head, he was devoting a good deal of attention to the area around him. He was gathering information, processing the layout of the guards, and knowing where he was helped him greatly. Yet, neither Sanders nor escape held his full attention; both were simply results of the situation he was in. The why of his position was what troubled him the most. Still puzzling over the reason for his capture, Daniel followed Sanders back to the cell, and allowed himself to be locked in for the night.
And as he rested on the thin mattress, staring listlessly at the ceiling, Daniel planned his escape. His mind gradually ran down as the chemical was fully screened from his system, and despite his own inclinations, Daniel fell asleep.
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Sorry for the excessive delay, it wasn't entirely ffnet's fault. For some reason, this chapter was exceptionally hard to write, and it slowed me up some. I apologize to all those who were expecting a Thanksgiving posting.