They waited.
Makepeace didn't know if the luxury-bunker suite came with its own virtual butler, but if so no holograms acknowledged SG-3's sporadic queries. The men were left alone, and passed the time in frustrated tedium. They knew that something nasty was happening topside, but could do nothing about it, instead forced to rely on a loony alien machine for its dubious protection.
Unable to escape, they investigated their surroundings, finding food, water, sanitary facilities, sleeping quarters—everything they needed to survive for an extended duration. Andrews wondered aloud why Varayimshaeta hadn't seen fit to include a giant home theater. After all, they could only amuse themselves with dirty jokes for so long. Neither Varayimshaeta nor any holograms deigned to reply.
With nothing better to do, they hit the pantry and made themselves breakfast, then sat around the common room and entertained one another with word games, "No, shit, there I was" stories, and, naturally, dirty jokes.
Hanging out in bunkers always made Makepeace twitchy. His reaction to this luxury model was no different than to the more stark variety. To distract himself, Makepeace made a point of watching the kitchen, waiting to see if—and how—the dishes cleaned themselves. An incredibly raunchy punchline to a story Johnson was telling distracted him for a minute or two, and had him laughing in admiration of the author's imagination. However, when he turned back, the kitchen had been cleaned up—no noise, no fuss. "Damn," he muttered in frustration. "Missed it again."
"Sir?" Henderson asked.
Makepeace gestured at the kitchen. "Missed seeing the dishes do themselves. Just once, I want to see this place clean itself up. Does anyone know how the hell it works?"
Andrews said, with a completely straight face, "Magic pixie dust, sir."
Makepeace stared at him.
"It's our best guess, Colonel," said Johnson, shrugging. "The automation's shy or something. It doesn't seem to like to work when anyone's watching. We've never seen it, either, and we've tried."
"Everything stays messy until you give up paying attention," said Andrews. "Then next time you look, it's all cleaned up. So, I figure it's the good fairies."
Makepeace said, "I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am that I asked," and settled down for a nice, long sulk.