Chapter Text
The briefing room at the SGC was quiet except for the projector humming softly against the wall.
Which, in Daniel Jackson's experience terms, meant disaster was approaching at approximately Mach Fuck.
Daniel sat halfway slouched in his chair with a legal pad balanced on one knee, glasses sliding down his nose while he scribbled translations in cramped handwriting. Three empty coffee cups sat abandoned near his elbow like tiny ceramic gravestones.
On the screen behind him was a photograph of a stone tablet recovered from PX7-991.
The symbols on it looked vaguely Ancient-adjacent and deeply annoying.
Jack leaned back in his chair, booted feet crossed on the table despite several decades of military professionalism trying and failing to stop him.
“So,” Jack said, “good news or apocalypse news?”
Daniel didn’t look up.
“Define apocalypse.”
Sam sighed into her coffee.
“That’s never a reassuring sentence.”
Teal’c tilted his head slightly toward the screen.
“The symbols resemble Ancient script.”
“They do,” Daniel muttered. “But they’re wrong.”
Jack pointed vaguely.
“How can ancient chicken scratch be wrong?”
Daniel finally looked up, eyes bright in the way that meant his brain had latched onto something and wouldn’t let go for the next fourteen hours.
“It’s a linguistic graft.”
Silence.
Jack blinked.
“A what now?”
Daniel stood abruptly, grabbing a marker and moving to the whiteboard with all the chaotic energy of a man powered exclusively by caffeine and divine intervention.
“These symbols—” he circled part of the projection “—are Ancient in structure, but the syntax is closer to early Goa’uld ceremonial dialects, except whoever made this also incorporated pre-dynastic Sumerian root framing.”
Jack stared.
Sam stared.
A beat passed.
Jack looked at Sam.
Sam looked at Daniel.
Teal’c looked mildly impressed, which for Teal’c was basically a standing ovation.
Daniel kept going, talking faster as excitement grabbed him by the throat.
“It’s not a language naturally developed over time—it was engineered. Deliberately. Probably to function as a diplomatic bridge language between cultures.”
He scribbled arrows and symbols across the board with increasing intensity.
“And if I’m right, this symbol here doesn’t mean ‘door’—”
He crossed something out aggressively.
“—it means ‘threshold between worlds.’ Which changes the entire translation because then this section—”
He underlined a chunk of text.
“—becomes a warning.”
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Okay. Cool. Fantastic. Love warnings. What are we being warned about?”
Daniel stopped moving.
The room waited.
Daniel frowned slightly.
“…I’m not sure yet.”
Jack groaned dramatically and thunked his head lightly against the back of his chair.
“Of course not.”
Sam stood and moved closer to the board, studying the symbols.
“Wait—Daniel, this notation here. Isn’t this mathematically structured?”
Daniel lit up immediately.
“Yes! Thank you. Oh my god, finally, someone sees it.”
Jack pointed accusingly.
“I see lines.”
“It’s coordinate mapping,” Daniel said, already writing equations beneath the symbols. “Or at least a conceptual equivalent.”
Sam’s eyes widened.
“You think it’s Stargate addresses?”
“I think,” Daniel said carefully, “it might be directions.”
“To where?” Jack asked.
Daniel paused.
Then, with the expression of a man realizing the universe specifically hated him personally:
“…I have no idea.”
Jack threw his hands into the air.
“Fantastic. Outstanding work, everybody. We found mystery coordinates written by dead aliens. Again.”
Teal’c folded his hands behind his back.
“This does appear to be a recurring issue.”
“Thank you, Teal’c,” Jack said flatly. “Your support sustains me.”
Daniel ignored them completely, muttering to himself while flipping through notes.
“No, no, no, that symbol can’t mean celestial alignment unless—”
His pen slipped from behind his ear.
Without looking, Daniel snatched it cleanly out of the air before it hit the floor.
Perfect reflex.
Instant.
Effortless.
Sam blinked.
Jack narrowed his eyes slightly.
Daniel froze for half a second after realizing what he’d done.
Then immediately compensated by walking directly into the corner of the table.
Hard.
“Ow—Jesus—”
Jack snorted instantly.
“There he is.”
Daniel glared at him while rubbing his hip.
“That table moved.”
“The table,” Sam repeated carefully, “moved.”
“Yes.”
“Attacked you, did it?”
“It knows what it did.”
Teal’c nodded once.
“Indeed.”
Daniel pointed at Teal’c.
“Thank you.”
Jack looked between them.
“I hate that this is a functional social dynamic.”
The intercom crackled overhead.
“SG-1 to Gate Room.”
Jack stood with a sigh.
“Well. Time to go see what fresh hell the galaxy cooked up today.”
Sam gathered her notes.
Teal’c moved for the door.
Daniel stayed frozen at the board, staring at the symbols with growing intensity.
Jack stopped in the doorway.
“Daniel.”
No response.
“Daniel.”
“…Hang on.”
“Daniel.”
Daniel turned slowly, eyes wide behind his glasses.
“What if this isn’t directions to somewhere?”
Jack immediately frowned.
“What?”
Daniel grabbed his notebook.
“What if it’s directions away from something?”
A beat.
Jack pointed toward the hallway.
“Nope. Absolutely not. I recognize that look. That’s your ‘I’m about to uncover ancient cosmic horror’ face.”
“I do not have a face for that.”
“You absolutely do.”
Sam nodded immediately.
“You really do.”
Teal’c considered him.
“It is distinct.”
Daniel looked deeply offended.
“I hate all of you.”
Jack clapped him on the shoulder as they walked out.
“C’mon, Space Nerd. Let’s go almost die responsibly.”