Friday, April 30
Reality A001

The vile taste in his mouth combined with the strange grogginess of his mind told Daniel what had happened immediately when he woke up. He remembered the drugged coffee, the words of the airman, and didn't want to open his eyes. He didn't want to know what had been done with him this time.

After several seconds, though, he couldn't stop himself. He opened his eyes and looked down at himself for signs of medical paraphernalia. There were none. He was wearing his fatigue pants and a black t-shirt, just as he had been when he'd been working. But the ceiling above him was different. He sat up sharply and looked around. The walls were concrete, but there was nothing else in this room that was familiar. Even those weren't really familiar, as they were painted a pale blue.

The bed was a double, with a simple wooden headboard and footboard. There were prints on the walls of impressionist art, and a framed papyrus above the door. A blessing on a house. Probably a fake, but it was very good.

Daniel shook his head. There was a wooden wardrobe in the opposite corner with doors on top and drawers below, and an attractive light fixture in the ceiling. A brass lamp with a cream colored shade sat on the bedside table with the book he'd last been reading sitting neatly under it. All the woodwork in the room was mahogany. The doors, too, were painted blue. One of them was to his right, the other was straight ahead from the foot of the bed. He stood up and looked around. The bed was covered with an old fashioned quilt, he didn't know the name of the pattern, in green, blue and cream.

Where was he? Where had they moved him? Why had they moved him? He pushed himself to the edge of the bed and stood up, wincing as the change in position made his headache wake up. Two doors . . . one of those doors must lead to the bathroom. He felt queasy from the aftereffects of the drugs anyway, and his nerves made it an urgent problem. He went first to the door on his right and it opened into a pleasant bathroom. Dark green and white tile covered the floor and went halfway up the walls. Above the tile, the concrete of the wall had been painted pale green. The fixtures were white and the sink, tub and toilet were all the same shade of green as the walls. The shower curtain was a simple white and green plaid with a clear liner.

These rooms had been set up for some time, he thought. This wasn't something that had been created since he'd been captured and Hammond had decided to keep him. This was created for whatever Daniel they found that worked out, a living space for a man who would never be permitted to leave the base, a man Hammond preferred to leave dead so he could control him utterly.

Was it even the same base? Daniel couldn't be certain. He thought so, but . . . He shuddered. Even if it was, the mountain had dozens of corridors. Jack and Samantha might not know where he'd been put, they might not be granted access.

His queasiness had reduced, at least for now, to manageable levels, though why he wasn't sure as his stress levels were soaring. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, and he reached automatically under his arm for the scar that was there, the healing wound. It was the same.

The tub was on the right and the toilet and sink were on the left with what was clearly a laundry chute between them. There was another door directly across from him. He walked slowly towards it, leaving the door to the bedroom open. There were no locks thus far, he noticed, as he opened the door onto an enormous office space. Three of the walls were lined with book cases and file cabinets, all of rich cherry with what he could see of the walls painted beige. There was a large desk, one that didn't look as if someone had died on its surface. He gulped. A large table with several chairs around it looked ready for briefings. The remaining wall had a long whiteboard that covered nearly its whole length, leaving just room for a door that was opposite the bathroom door and a phone right next to it. A phone. Daniel had no illusions, he was sure that it was only capable of reaching very specific numbers, but it was a mark of connection to the outside world that he hadn't previously had. He also noticed a light switch on the wall beneath the phone and glanced to his side. There was a switch here as well. He flipped it experimentally and the room was plunged into darkness. Hastily, he turned it back on again. The desk had a lamp on it, as did the table, and there were several portable lamps scattered around the room decoratively, which would allow him to direct extra light to whatever surface he needed it on. The small, cheap, portable cd player had been moved in here, as had the racks of CDs. And all of the books.

He looked around in astonishment, feeling very surreal. Why had Hammond done this? Was it an indication of favor, or something more sinister? Of course, with Hammond, an indication of favor was pretty damned sinister.

He walked further into the room, unwillingly drawn by the lure of books. He tried the door opposite; not surprisingly, it didn't open. He had a feeling this was the door to the rest of the base. Was it still the SGC, or had he been moved farther away? Was it even still Friday?

As he looked around, he noticed a third door. From its position on the same wall as the bathroom door, he suspected it led into the same space as the second door in the bedroom. Wondering what else there could possibly be, he went to that door and opened it.

The next room was clearly a living room with a few kitchen bits thrown in for good measure. There was a seating area that was gathered around a coffee table and facing a wardrobe that Daniel assumed must contain entertainment equipment. Behind the sofa, against the bedroom wall, there were several bookcases containing novels and games.

The kitchen area was to his immediate left. It wasn't large, maybe twelve square feet in the corner by the door. At the far end there was a refrigerator, larger than a bar fridge but smaller than full-size. Between the fridge and the wall there was a stretch of cream tile counter with a sink midway along it. Cupboards ranged above with both cupboards and drawers below. At the near end of the counter, there was a featureless panel of wood that was of the same grain as the cupboard above it and which stretched to the floor. He walked closer and looked at it from the side. There was a door that slid up from the bottom. He lifted the handle and saw what could only be a dumbwaiter. There was a small panel of lights above the door and a button.

He shut it, suppressing a shiver. This meant no one would ever have to come in here. Forcing himself not to shut down both emotionally and physically at that thought, he opened the cupboards above the counter. One of them contained dishes, another such staples as bread and crackers, the third had canned soup and other simple to make foods. Beneath the counter there was a coffee maker and a hot plate with a couple of pots. Under the sink there were cleaning supplies.

A table with four chairs completed the room. He consoled himself with the thought that everything was set up to accommodate more than one person. He was meant to have guests. But if they wanted to punish him, he was a prisoner in a tower. The way this space was organized, he wouldn't need to see another living soul for weeks, months, on end. He wondered what they'd do if he stopped eating or cleaning up after himself. They could probably gas the rooms, put him to sleep and take care of that for him while he slept.

"Do you like it?"

The voice came from behind him, and since he hadn't heard anyone come in, he jumped and turned around to stare at General Hammond in shocked surprise. Lt. Berman stood behind him, phlegmatic as always. Daniel recovered himself as quickly as he could. "Sir, I –" Surprise made him honest. "No, sir, I don't." His heart quickened as he realized just how angry that could make the general.

Hammond tilted his head, looking intrigued. "Is it the space you object to, or your imprisonment?"

Daniel swallowed and licked his lips. "The . . . uh . . . the latter," he said after a moment.

"Hm." Hammond nodded. "You haven't asked me to sit."

"Would you like to sit down?" Daniel asked, gesturing towards the sofa.

"Please." Hammond walked over and selected one of the chairs. Berman took up a position behind him, keeping an eye on Daniel.

"I don't know yet what I have to offer you to drink. Coffee would take awhile." He opened the fridge and saw an array of water bottles, some soda, and things like butter and eggs.

"This isn't really a social visit, Dr. Jackson," Hammond said. "Please, come sit down." Daniel walked over to the chair across from where Hammond had seated himself. He tried to put an appropriately attentive and bland expression on his face. Hammond smiled. "Good boy," he said. Daniel felt himself flush. "Now, these will be your quarters for the foreseeable future. If there are things you need that you don't have, particularly things you need to get your job done, let us know so we can provide you with them if possible."

"A computer would be useful, sir," Daniel said after a moment. "It would make preparing the translations much simpler, and there are things that require computer modeling, etc. I realize that you probably don't want to give me access to the internet, but if I had someone I could ask to surf for me, as well, there are things that I often research on the net when I'm working."

"I'll see what can be arranged. It's possible that the computer geniuses can come up with a means to permit you direct access that is monitored in some way."

"Right," Daniel said. "Other than that, I can't think of anything off the top of my head. I haven't really looked at everything yet."

"Of course. As you discover needs, simply let someone know. The phone is a direct line to the security team that keeps an eye on you. They will forward messages to me." Daniel nodded. "As you know, your injury makes it impossible to send you on offworld missions for the time being. I suggest you take this additional time to adjust yourself to the situation. You are here permanently. There is nothing you can do to change that."

Daniel closed his eyes and nodded again. "I realize that, sir," he said, knowing it was what Hammond wanted to hear.

"I'm sure you do intellectually, you're a smart man after all," Hammond said. "But I very much doubt that you've fully accepted it. Persuade yourself. Your situation will become much more pleasant when you've adjusted."

"I understand, sir," Daniel said woodenly.

"And you must realize, I can do whatever I want to with you, and there's nothing you can do to stop me. There's nothing Jack O'Neill can do to stop me. Somewhere within you, you must acknowledge that I am the one with the power and submit to that."

Daniel realized abruptly that part of the reason he'd been drugged for the move was to prove that power once again, to emphasize his complete vulnerability to Hammond's whims. Quite effective. He took a deep breath to will himself to remain in control. "Did Jack know you were moving me?"

The pleasure in the general's eyes deepened slightly. "No, neither Colonel O'Neill nor Lt. Carter was aware of the move."

"I see," Daniel said. So Hammond was proving his power to Jack and Samantha as well. What had made the man feel he needed to prove it so firmly to all of them? Was there some insecurity in the situation outside? And if there was, would it benefit him or work to his detriment? Or would it leave things exactly the same? The uncertainty was enough to make him jittery. "Sir, if you don't mind, is it still Friday?"

Hammond smiled. "It is. It's five o'clock on Friday afternoon. You've been unconscious approximately eight hours while we moved everything got it all situated. Dr. Warner gave you an examination to make sure that your incision is healing properly, and he seems pleased enough with your progress."

The image of the doctor examining him while he lay unconscious and utterly helpless gave Daniel the willies, but he concealed this reaction. "I'm glad to hear it," he said.

"You were also given an injection containing number of vitamins and minerals to ensure your continued good health." And what else was in the shot? Daniel wondered desperately. Was he now being drugged as everyone else here was? "Dr. Warner gave you a thorough physical, in fact. He says you need to eat more consistently. You've lost weight since his last examination of you."

Daniel blinked. Oh yes, it was so easy to eat under these circumstances. "That could be because I'm not getting as much exercise," he suggested tentatively.

Hammond nodded curtly. "Yes, a situation that will soon be remedied. You will be taken to the gym to exercise daily starting tomorrow. Also starting tomorrow, your work schedule will be a minimum of eight hours a day, Monday through Saturday." Daniel nodded. "You will be expected to exercise every day, of course."

"Of course," Daniel said.

"And I will expect you do to what I ask when I ask it," Hammond went on. "If an emergency arises on a Sunday, you will work, and we will arrange a replacement day off later in the week."

"Certainly," Daniel said.

"And I don't want to hear any prating about moral or ethical concerns, either. You're not paid to have moral –"

"Am I being paid?" Daniel asked in surprise.

"Um . . . no," Hammond said, looking faintly embarrassed.

"Then I suppose I can have more and ethical concerns if I want to, then." The moment the words left his mouth, he wanted to take them back but it was too late.

Embarrassment turned to rage. Hammond shot out of his chair. "You live or die by my sufferance, boy," he snarled. "Remember that."

"I do, sir," Daniel said, sinking deeper into the chair. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

Hammond made an effort to regain control of his temper and sat down again. "No, you shouldn't have. But we will overlook your little error in judgment."

There was a pregnant pause, and Daniel stirred himself after a moment. "Thank you, sir," he said.

"Now, you have the rest of the day free to explore your new surroundings."

"Did my thing for covering my cast during showers get moved?" Daniel asked suddenly.

"I don't know," Hammond said. "Why don't you go look and then I'll make sure it gets here if it isn't."

Daniel nodded and got up. He went into the bathroom and looked, but he didn't find it. Going back out to the living room, he found Hammond standing near the door into the office. "No, sir, it's not there that I can see."

"I'll arrange for it to be delivered." Hammond looked around. "Remember this, Dr. Jackson, the more you cooperate, the more you adapt yourself to this situation, the better things will be for you."

"Thank you, sir," Daniel said. He followed the general out into the office and peered through the door to see what he could see when they left. All that was outside seemed to be more of the same endless hallways that honeycombed the mountain. The door shut silently, and Daniel bit his lip. That was something he'd miss. He'd liked being able to tell when someone had entered the room. The other door had been noisy enough to hear over the shower.

He stared at the door for a moment, then walked over to it to try it again. It was locked, of course, but it had been worth a try.

His stomach was beginning to gnaw at him. He hadn't eaten breakfast and whatever vitamin shots he might have been given hadn't filled his stomach. He went into the sitting room again and opened the refrigerator door to decide what he'd eat. At that moment there was a ding from the dumbwaiter, and a green light flashed on. Apprehensively, Daniel walked over and opened the sliding door. Within there were two items. A tray with ordinary commissary macaroni and cheese, a little dish of peas, another of applesauce, and a glass of milk sat partially on top of an envelope that looked like interoffice mail. He slid them both out onto the counter and closed the dumbwaiter. The green light turned off immediately and a red light came on. Daniel assumed that meant the elevator was in transit. He tucked the envelope behind his cast and picked up the tray one-handed, carrying it to the table at some risk to the milk.

He stared at the macaroni without pleasure, but started eating it anyway. He needed to keep eating so he didn't lose any more weight. He slipped the envelope out and looked at it. All it said on it was "Dr. Jackson L583." Shaking his head, he opened it and pulled out the contents. There was a calendar with food options on it, a brief note and a page that had three entrees listed with several choices of side dishes and desserts. He put them aside and looked at the note.

Dr. Jackson,

Please indicate your preferences on the menu calendar so that we can send you the food you'd like. Also, I have been given to understand that you want to give your CO and Lt. Carter a special meal when they return. Please indicate the entree and up to three side dishes on the other page, and the dessert. I know that Lt. Carter particularly likes the chocolate cheesecake.

Maj. Souza

Housekeeping

A little freaked by the implications of the note, Daniel nevertheless followed the instructions. It was a little hard to choose between stewed turkey and tuna casserole, but he persevered past such adversity. After all, he could always make a sandwich if he couldn't stomach the food from the commissary.

In fact, now that he thought of it, he picked up his tray and put it back on the counter, then got out some bread and ham and condiments. Much better. This was more comfortable than the other space, and had the benefit of not having been prison to several other versions of him, so far as he knew. This wasn't where his arm had been broken.

He pushed that memory aside with most of his sandwich and got up to see what entertainment options he had. In the wardrobe there was a TV set, a VCR and DVD player, a stereo system. There were a number of video tapes, a few DVDs and a single remote for all the equipment. He turned on the TV. Apparently, he was being favored with cable. He flipped from channel to channel, then stopped on a screen that said 'COMMERCIAL CENSORED'. He waited a few minutes and then the screen came to life with an episode of some sitcom or other. He flipped again to another channel, one where he thought he could expect to find network news. There, too, the screen was blank except for the words 'NEWS CENSORED'. More than a little creepy. He flipped around till he found something that looked like a history channel and sat back to listen to the archeologist talk about the ruins of some ancient temple in the Andes. As he listened, he again had a sense of dislocation with theories and discoveries being slanted in unexpected ways. It was a fascinating look at another culture that was so close yet just a hair off his own. He'd really enjoy it if he had the option of leaving whenever he wanted to. In fact, if he had that option and Jack trying to get him to leave with him, he'd probably be resisting.

The next program showed only the title, then the screen went blank and lettering popped up. 'PROGRAMMING CENSORED'. Daniel growled and shut the TV off.

He glanced up at the clock on the wall, which was one of the more incongruous features of the room, being a standard institutional wall clock, controlled by some outside source. It was now just past seven, and he had no one to talk to and nothing to do. He cleaned up the remnants of his meal and went into the bedroom to see just what he'd been provided in the way of clothing. There was a drawer of underwear and socks, a drawer of black t-shirts and a drawer of neatly folded fatigue pants. In the cupboard portion of the wardrobe resided sheets and other spare bedding, and several pairs of pajamas.

A cupboard in the bathroom proved to contain towels, and there were pounds of ground gourmet coffee stored in the freezer. He'd never heard of the company, and he wondered if it was the local Daniel's favorite. He was stocked up for a long stay, as uncomfortable as that made him.

He got the coffee maker set up on the counter. It was the kind that could be set on a timer, so he made a pot, then set it to have coffee ready for him at seven the next morning. Then he wandered the room, reflecting that the making of his own coffee made him feel marginally safer. It would be a hell of a risk to drug the water in the tap. They could give him too much or too little on accident, all depending on how much of the water he drank. That rendered the coffee he made himself considerably less likely to contain things he wouldn't want to consume.

He found a book on the shelves that was old enough to have possibly survived the cultural shift unscathed and settled down to read.