• SPOILERS : Heroes. Mentions of Meridian, the movie and Singularity for sure. Anything before Heroes really is fair game.
• SUMMARY : This is a rewrite of Heroes, not to fix The Bad Thing that happened, but more as a fixing plot holes/how I wish it had been kind of way.
• PG-13 [M] [Hc]

"Our liberty depends on the freedom of the press, and that cannot be limited without being lost." ~ Thomas Jefferson

Emmett Bregman swallowed and shifted compulsively as he waited in the stiff plastic chair. Maybe he should do an exposé on the horribly uncomfortable chairs at the White House? Although his gaze had been fixed on the door for the past fifteen minutes, he still jumped when it swung open and a man directed him inside. Emmett had a healthy imagination, but quite frankly he had no idea why he had been summoned here.

"Ah, Mr. Bregman, glad you could make it."

Right. Like he was going to pass up this chance…whatever it was. "Thank you, Sir," he said, although he wasn’t military. What did one call the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs?

General Maynard had a well-deserved reputation for not wasting time. "You’re probably wondering why you’re here."

"Uh…yes, Sir."

"I want you to understand that what I’m about to tell you is absolutely top secret, and you are not repeat what you are about to hear to anyone."

Emmett frowned. "That’s… not what I’d expect you to tell a reporter."

The other man smiled at him. "No. It’s not. But we have a job for you. The President has decided to make a documentary of the work being done at one of our top secret projects. It will not be public knowledge for a long, long time, but it will inevitably be someday, and we want a record of its existence and its people. I expect it won’t be released to the public until long after we are dead and gone. But it will be the story of your career."

Emmett suddenly realized that he’d been slowly leaning forward as he listened and was now almost falling out of his chair. Turning red, he scooted back, thinking about what had and hadn’t been said. "I’m sure you’ve got many qualified military personnel," he said suspiciously.

The other man shrugged. "Yes, we do. But you’re the best." Emmett started to wave that off, but the general continued, "I’d never been impressed with all the reporters hanging around the military, nosing around where they weren’t welcome and compromising security. But then I saw the documentary you shot about Martin Krystovski. I haven’t cried since I was a child, but you brought tears to my eyes. You captured the bravery and the spirit of the boys over there in Vietnam. The President and I want you to do the same again."

Emmett was completely floored. Before he knew it his mouth was opening. He heard a voice that sounded an awful lot like his own say, "I’ll do it."

After reading and signing stacks of paperwork, Emmett’s hand was starting to cramp and his curiosity was practically killing him. The language of the contract was extremely strict, but from what he’d been told, it also seemed fair enough. He’d only protested at one point, when he saw that he would be assigned a production crew from cleared military personnel. General Maynard had looked uncomfortable and said, "There was an… incident…with a film crew last year. This is non-negotiable, Mr. Bregman." Emmett felt there wasn’t really anything he could say to that. He couldn’t turn back now.

Finally the legal details had been dealt with. Emmett moved to sit in the chair facing the Secretary. He watched as the other man pulled a plain manila folder into his lap but didn’t open it. Maynard cleared his throat and began. "In 1928 an object was found at a dig in Gaza, Egypt. It was initially classified because we thought it might be some kind of weapon. But it wasn’t producing results and was scrapped to fund other military projects. Eventually the daughter of one of the original researchers received enough support to start the project again." He seemed to hesitate. "Her team discovered that the object was in fact an alien artifact known as a "Stargate," capable to instantaneous transport to other planets."

Up until now, Emmett had been listening intently, if a little confused. At the last words, he started laughing. "Good one! Now, is there a real story you wanted me to cover or is there a hidden camera in here, recording the look on my face?" The laugh died away as he saw Maynard’s deadly serious expression. They stared at each other without speaking for a few moments, and Emmett’s mouth slowly dropped open. "My God…" Abruptly he stood and ran a hand over his head distractedly. He turned back to the other man. "How long?"

Maynard gave him a measured look. "Over seven years."

"My God," Emmett murmured again. He still felt like he had been had. He simply couldn’t wrap his head around the enormity of this, the ramifications. He turned on the Secretary. "And you didn’t think people had a right to know? Just think of the dangers that could come through, the—"

"I don’t need to imagine them. I know." Emmett collapsed back into his chair. "And soon you will as well. A studio has set up for you at a federal safe house. We’ve requested files of missions, personnel, technology and knowledge gained. You’ll be able to examine them there." Emmett could only nod vaguely, feeling uneasily that he was in *way* over his head.

A few days later Emmett stood looking around the sparsely furnished apartment. He still felt off-kilter because his usual co-writer hadn’t been cleared for the project. Just because she was from India…. His eyes widened when he saw the large cardboard boxes stacked around the room. He slowly dropped his overstuffed duffel bag to the floor and walked to the closest box. It was sealed shut, but he dug out his pocket knife and slowly pried it open. It was full of bulging files. He randomly selected one.

Flipping through it, Emmett saw detailed drawings of complex-looking machines, pages with text completely alien to him –"Oh God," he thought, "They’re literally alien."—written down one side and what appeared to be English translations on the other. Hands shaking slightly, he replaced the file. It was slowly beginning to sink in; this was real. As he stepped back, he noticed a large number one written on one box. Cutting it open, he found a loose sheet on top of the files stacked inside. It read, "Chronological mission reports."

Emmett took a closer look at the rest of the boxes, finally seeing that they all had numbers. There were two more boxes of mission reports. Box Four had personnel information. As far as he could gather, the rest of the boxes, including the first one he’d opened, contained information later gathered on earth. There were files on allies and, presumably, on enemies as well.

Emmett didn’t bother to eat. He grabbed a notebook and pen, the first file from the first box, and sat down on the floor. As he opened it his hands slightly shook. The first sheet was a communiqué from a General John West to the then-president. Emmett skimmed over the technical details, eventually getting that "the device" had been activated. It requested a go-ahead for a recon mission. The next page was the president granting permission. Next: items and personnel on the team going through the Stargate. Emmett jotted down the names; Colonel Jonathon O’Neill (he’d been recalled from retirement? What was that about?), Captain Charlie Kawalsky as his second-in-command, Major Louis Feretti, Major Joe Henders…Dr. Daniel Jackson? A civilian went along? Was that normal? Emmett put a question mark next to the scribbled name.

He paused when he saw a single item placed innocuously between foot powder (did they really need that much foot powder?) and medical supplies; one Mark Three Nuclear Warhead. Slowly he turned to the next page.

It was a mission report by Team Leader O’Neill. Emmett read the account with fascination, imagining the desert world the colonel described. He pictured the final battle in his mind, hoping he’d have a chance to talk to O’Neill. He paused when he read there were four casualties, among them the civilian. He grew confused when he read that O’Neill had ordered the bomb timed to detonate after they left, destroying the alien world. Slowly he erased the little stars he’d drawn next to the Colonel’s name; maybe the man wasn’t such a hero after all.

After that came a flurry of reports concerning the shut-down procedure of the project. Hours later, Emmett read a report sent flagged as high importance to the president. The action had started again.

The next morning Emmett woke up with a start. Looking around he realized he had fallen asleep on the floor, the file open on his chest. Yawning, he stood, stumbled to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. Deciding he’d read enough mission reports for now, he went to the box of personnel files and withdrew several. He paused, shuddering a little, when he saw Captain Kawalsky’s file. He remembered reading about the man’s horrible—what did one call it? Infestation?—and death. He left it and carried the others to the kitchen with him.

That night Emmett pushed away the remains of his dinner. He flipped to a fresh page in his notebook and started jotting down preliminary ideas; it would need a catchy, easy to understand introduction. Maybe a shot of the Stargate or a team going into it… He decided to choose a small representative group from each of the various departments to focus on. It would be easier for the audience to keep track of that way. And at the top of his list was SG-1.

Emmett had quickly realized it would literally take months to read through all the information he’d been sent. He’d already started skimming only SG-1’s mission reports. He’d stopped reading the personnel files once they were clearly past the mission reports he’d read, but if they were anything like the first reports, they would be stunning. Emmett made a note to himself to check before the interviews if the person had lost any friends or loved ones to the aliens—what were they called again? "Goos?" He’d noticed in the file that Dr. Jackson was listed as a widower. He was already dreading that report.

He flipped back a few pages. Ah. "Goa’uld." Note: check the pronunciation on that. What else? A few stories about dramatic missions, a few examples of some alien device now benefiting earth, military or otherwise. Oh, and a tribute to the fallen soldiers. Setting aside the notebook, Emmett popped in a tape he’d found in Box Six labeled, "Camera of D. Jackson, PR7-4NQ."

A few minutes later his eyes were glazing over. He actually hadn’t seen anything of the alien world yet, just slow—excruciatingly slow—panning over some kind of tan rock with an inscription on it. He was pretty sure that what Dr. Jackson was mumbling in English—mostly—but it might as well have been alien. Leaving the tape playing in the faint hope that it might eventually show something interesting, Emmett opened the next mission report.

Days later, reports and personnel files and photos scattered around the floor, Emmett considered his options and wrote a brief outline of his plan. Open with shots of the Stargate. Explain how it works. Then he could have Dr. Jackson (who despite the numerous death certificates bearing his name was in fact still alive) explain about the Goa’uld and the alien warrior, "Teal’c" could help. Emmett mused that he’d have to ask a bit about Jackson’s wife, make the tragedy surrounding her more real. He already felt a little bad, knowing that he would be reopening a wound that probably still hurt deeply even now. But he hoped his sincerity would show that the question wasn’t asked to hurt the man. He also wanted to ask Teal’c about his past serving the enemy.

After that, he thought, he’d do a brief profile on a search and rescue team. There was a nice dramatic story he’d found to ask them about, a team cut off from the Stargate by a sudden and rapidly spreading forest fire. All the team members had acted professionally and heroically, and even better, with the exception of one of the S&R guys who had since died, they were all alive and in good health.

Senator Kinsey had contacted Emmett (which was strange because he thought he was supposed to be unreachable at the safe house) saying he’d give an interview. Emmett wasn’t quite sure what to make of this. He’d already read some less than complementary things about the man, especially from SG-1’s reports. Secondly, Kinsey wasn’t deeply connected to the program, just involved in the budget. The budget was certainly important and necessary, but it was also *boring* and wouldn’t shed any new light on the program. It was obvious that Kinsey wanted to make himself look good by being associated with Stargate Command. Yet Emmett had been told the SGC wouldn’t be declassified for a long time, after his career and Kinsey’s were both long over, probably after they were both dead and gone. By that time, a quick interview on Emmett’s tape wouldn’t affect the man’s political career.

After that, Emmett thought he’d poke around and have a look at the technologies that were being developed. He could hardly wait to take a look at the high tech toys on the market or used by the military and try to guess if their origin was extraterrestrial. Even if he couldn’t ever tell anyone about it… he would know. His individual interviews would have to be interspersed between the other elements of the documentary, to keep the focus personal and real. The order, of course, would depend on how the interviews went.

Yes, all the basic elements for a great story were here…all except romance. Emmett frowned. Sure, there was a certain tragic beauty to the story of Daniel Jackson and his wife… but he needed something that had a chance of still ending happily. Anyway, wasn’t romance between coworkers inevitable? He just had to decide on the pair. Instantly his gaze lit on the photo of Samantha Carter. Of course- single, beautiful woman. But who to portray her with?

Not Doctor Jackson. Sure, he’d lost his wife almost four years ago, but it would be fresh in the audience’s mind. Teal’c? No, too….alien. Hell, he didn’t even know if it….worked…the same for… "Jaffa." O’Neill? Emmett considered. Well, he was maybe a little old for her, but he was apparently divorced, definitely a hero, and if he could cut it in a field unit, still in his prime.

Yeah, that would work. He’d nudge them both a little and see what kind of reactions he got.

Shifting his focus, Emmett studied the instructions given by the Defense Department again. He wanted to push the members of Stargate Command, yes, but he didn’t want to unnecessarily antagonize them. The most significant restriction he could see was against filming any ongoing activities. That could be a problem.

Emmett thoughtfully tapped his pen against his chin as he considered the restriction. In a way, he could understand it. He didn’t want to be in the way. But it was possible that the military was more concerned about the possibly of him taping something that made them look bad than they were about the real dangers of him being underfoot. Emmett could still vividly remember recording during the Gulf War and having his camera snatched away and destroyed. Well, he’d give the members of Stargate Command a fair chance to make themselves look good, but he didn’t intend to show the program through rose-colored glasses. And hopefully he’d persuade them to allow a few shots of a team departing. After all, they could hardly expect him to do a documentary on the Stargate without ever showing the thing. Could they?

"Hi there," Emmett said with a bright smile. His smile faded somewhat when the airman on duty took his identification and pass without a word. As he was waved past the first checkpoint, Emmett took one last look back at the blue sky above Colorado Springs. After two months of preparation and research, he was really here. In the next few days he’d be talking to aliens and people who’d saved the world. He was going to ask a man what it was like to be dead, and was half-afraid of what the answer might be. Going past the next checkpoint into the mountain complex itself, Emmett admitted to himself that ignorance was indeed sometimes bliss.

In a conference room in Norad he met his assistants. They looked alike and seemed amazingly young to Emmett. His cameraman introduced himself as "James. Ah, Dale James," and, with a little motion towards his uniform, though it wasn’t marked that Emmett could see: "Tech Sergeant." He sounded sheepish and a little proud. Emmett suspected that’d only recently achieved his current rank.

The other young man snapped to attention and said, "Shep Wickenhouse, Airman First Class." Emmett could almost hear the unspoken "Sir" and resisted the urge to say "At ease." So Wickenhouse was the sound guy.

Emmett had no idea what their attitude was towards civilians. One would expect that he’d be assigned people who would help and not hinder him, but painful experience had taught him that was not always the case. Straightening a little and wishing for the hundredth time he hadn’t let his gym membership lapse in those months after Kathy died, he said, "Well, then, as you know, I’m Emmett Bregman. For the next few days I want you to consider yourselves my employees. I won’t ask you to do anything that goes against your orders. If I accidentally do so, you’re free to correct me, but otherwise, if I ask you to do something I expect you to do it. If either of you have a problem with that, I suggest you leave now, before the work really starts." He paused to gauge their reactions. Wickenhouse was impassive, but James was nodding a little.

Just then there was a knock on the door. A uniformed man entered and said formally, "Mr. Bregman? Colonel Tom Rondell, Cheyenne Mountain Complex Public Affairs Liaison."

Blinking at the rapid-fire delivery, Emmett gave the man his best smile and said, "That’s quite a mouthful. Call me Emmett."

Rondell’s stern expression never wavered from beneath his mustache. "Yes Sir."

Great. One of *those* types. Shaking his head a little, Emmett gestured to his crew. "Uh, OK… this is my posse here," and let his new crew introduce themselves, as they clearly didn’t know the man either. Rondell nodded to both but didn’t offer a hand. Maybe it was a military thing.

Rondell turned towards the door. "The General is ready for you now." As his team picked up their gear, Emmett checked his notes one final time. On the walk to the elevator he lightly interrogated the two about their previous filming experience. They weren’t the rank amateurs he’d feared they would be, but they’d never done a full-length documentary before, let alone one on such a heady topic.

Inside the crowded elevator the conversation died away as they all watched the numbered floors click down to Sublevel Eleven. Once there, they all signed yet another form and moved from the first elevator into a second, while grim-faced soldiers carrying huge machine guns—perhaps SPAS 12s, though Emmett was hardly an expert on guns—watched them carefully. Once inside, Rondell hit the button for Sublevel Twenty-seven. Again the trip was quiet.

When the elevator stopped, they went down a short hallway. Rondell briskly knocked three times on the office door, and a voice within said, "Come."

As they entered, Emmett got his first look at a man who before he’d only seen in pictures; General George Hammond. As Rondell said their names the general straightened a stack of papers and put them to one side before turning his pale blue gaze towards Emmett. Without preamble Hammond said, "I consider it my responsibility to protect my peoples’ interests. I will not allow your presence here to threaten any ongoing missions or the safety of my people."

Feeling chastised though he hadn’t said a word, Emmett said, "That’s something I certainly don’t want either, Sir," putting all the sincerity he could into the words. "My job is to chronicle what you’ve been doing here. Frankly, I think it’s an amazing oversight that it hasn’t been already."

The general frowned. "That’s because it’s top secret. Only a handful of people will see anything you shoot."

"Ah, yes," Emmett thought. "Typical military thinking. If it’s not useful immediately then what use is it?" Aloud he said, "So far General, so far. Eventually, inevitably…this program is going to be disclosed to the American public and the whole world, and I think that this small film we’re doing may provide insight into what has been going on here for the last six years."

"What has been going on here?" Hammond asked, his voice dangerously soft.

But an easily-intimidated journalist didn’t get anywhere, as Emmett well knew. Meeting the other man’s gaze he said, "With respect, Sir, that’s what I’m here to find out. I don’t expect to be welcomed with open arms into the lives of your people. But I’ve been invited to do this by the President of the United States, and all I can ask is that you try to meet me half-way." Hammond nodded curtly, effectively dismissing them, and Rondell led the group from the room.

Emmett didn’t say much as Rondell escorted them to the VIP rooms on Sublevel Twenty-five that would be their base of operations. Emmett had provided a list of personnel he wanted to interview, and he saw a sheet on the table with the interview schedule. Glancing at it, he was that Major Samantha Carter was up first, and in only a few hours.

He’d requested that when possible the interviews be conducted in the person’s office, and it looked like Major Carter had agreed to be interviewed in her lab. So they’d have to go a bit early to set up and check the light and acoustics of the room. As the other men checked their equipment, Emmett busied himself putting his interview questions in better order. He could feel himself shifting from his usual perspective into his professional "working mode," where he saw the world much as the camera did, the room around him as a set, the people around him as actors. He could hardly wait.

As he introduced himself to Major Carter, Emmett felt his stomach flip-flop. The picture really hadn’t done her justice. She seemed uncomfortable, though, so he tried to joke around as a little as Wickenhouse attached the mike to her T-shirt. It seemed like there was more going on than nerves, so he ventured, "You know Major, I haven’t seen much of this place yet, but neither you nor General Hammond seem very enthusiastic about this project."

She smiled a little ruefully, "Yes, well, we did have a bad experience with a TV crew last year."

Emmett thought back over the mission reports he’d read, and—oh. Right. "The Prometheus incident? Isn’t that why the Airforce insisted on their own crew?"

She shrugged. "That, and you could just be sensing reluctance from people around here to put themselves up on a pedestal. I mean, we are just doing our jobs."

Sitting down in a chair facing her, Emmett said, "But an extraordinary job, Major, and one well worth attention." Smiling at her embarrassment, he gestured for James to start rolling.

She was still a bit nervous to start with, so Emmett took a minute to tell her, "Your briefings are recorded, aren’t they? This camera is nothing new, just a little bigger than normal. Just ignore it and focus on me." That actually didn’t help much, but he could see her relaxing as the interview progressed. He started with how she became involved in the program, smiling at the thought of her as a child, dreaming of becoming an astronaut and going into space someday. Maybe he’d be able to dig up a picture of her as a little girl; that actually wasn’t a bad idea for all of the people the documentary focused on. He quickly jotted a note to that effect.

Emmett had been in the business for a long time, and he knew he was a good interviewer. He wound around the conversation to her father and family (she seemed to be the only member of SG-1 who had a family, though hers was far from typical) and about her scientific studies, though he could already tell that section of video would require some heavy editing. "What’s it like to go through the stargate?" he asked her.

She smiled. "Well, Daniel’s the one who has a way with words. He says it’s a "rollercoaster of stars tumbling into nothingness" and while that’s rather poetic, I have to agree, though that barely scratches the surface."

"And by Daniel, you mean Dr. Jackson, your teammate," Emmett said, and led her into talking about her team. She was pleased to have the focus shifted away from her, he thought, and she talked eagerly about the people she served with, particularly the General "he never gives up on us and he doesn’t leave his people behind," Dr. Jackson "without question, the most brilliant man I have ever met, as well as the kindest," Teal’c "so wise and there’s no one I trust more in a fight," the Chief Medical Officer, Janet Frasier "a miracle worker; she’s saved all of our lives more times than I can count"—and of course, her commanding officer.

"Tell me," Emmett said, "about Colonel O’Neill."

She looked thoughtful. "He’s an amazing man. He has to be, to lead the team the way he does. The rest of SG-1 is so specialized—Daniel’s languages, my science, and Teal’c’s experience—that we tend to get distracted by our specific needs. Colonel O’Neill is the glue that holds the team together."

Nodding encouragement, Emmett said, "And personally?"

"He’s one of the funniest people I’ve ever met. As you can imagine, it can get very… tense… down here at times, and he can manage the mood of a room better than anyone I’ve seen. His motto is "No one gets left behind." People tend to underestimate him because he likes to pretend he’s not as smart as he is, but they’ll only do that once."

Seeing an opening for his agenda, Emmett asked, "Do you spend a lot of time together outside of work?"

Chucking, she said, "Oh, we don’t get much time outside of work. When we do… well, our personal interests are a little different."

"Ever hear the expression ‘opposites attract’?" Emmett’s pen hovered over his notepad.

Major Carter’s eyes narrowed slightly, her body tensing. "I’m not sure what you mean. Our relationship is first and foremost a professional one."

"Really?" Emmett coaxed. "Professional? After everything you’ve been through? I’ve read the reports of your missions, Major, and I know you’ve faced death together. And ‘professional’ is the word you think fits your relationship best?"

She was no longer smiling or relaxed. "All the members of SG-1 are family to me. I don’t think I like what you’re implying." She abruptly stood and pulled off the microphone.

Emmett belatedly realized he may have pushed too far, and the only emotion he’d provoked was anger. That could be a good thing though; if she was getting defensive that probably meant there was something she wasn’t saying.

After giving the mike back to Wickenhouse, the major faced Emmett. She was definitely angry. "Unless you drop this line of questioning and assure me you won’t use those last few questions, this interview is over."

So she was afraid about how she would look? Well, if the general couldn’t intimidate him she certainly couldn’t. Emmett said, "I can’t promise that." Her answer was to point to the door.

As they trudged back towards the elevator, Emmett flipped through his notes. Overall, it was a good first interview, although the ending wasn’t that great. He’d probably have to talk to her again, but he’d wait for her to calm down a little first, and he would have needed to end the interview soon anyway; his next began in just over forty-five minutes.

Emmett glanced at his watch and sped up a little. He’d lost track of time talking to SG teams 2 and 18 and was running late to his appointment with Dr. Jackson. From what he’d read, Jackson headed the archeology/linguistics department and was one of the SGC’s top negotiators as well as being on SG-1, so he had to be extremely busy. It would be extremely bad form to make him wait.

He was very pleased with the group interview he had just finished. The men seemed glad to have a chance to talk about their ordeal. Emmett couldn’t imagine how terrifying it would be to see the brush on the ground around you suddenly blaze up into a wall of fire. The soldiers had joked around and teased each other, showing off the faded scars from their burns, but in a quiet moment, one had admitted, "I thought I was gonna die there, and my body would never get home," and the others had quietly nodded agreement. That solidarity, Emmett thought, was what being a soldier was all about. And now he was about to meet the man who had opened the Stargate.

The door to Dr. Jackson’s lab was open, so Emmett stepped inside. "Dr. Jackson?" he began, and the man at the computer lifted a hand, making the universal "just a second" gesture without looking up. Emmett entered the room and motioned for his team to start setting up their equipment as he looked around.

The lab didn’t have the sleek, almost futuristic air of efficiency that Major Carter’s did, though it fit the image of a harried professor very well. The lights were soft lamps instead of overhead neon lights, presumably to protect the old artifacts and books covering nearly every surface.

After a few moments Daniel Jackson put the cap back on his pen and gently set the stone tablet he’d been studying to one side. Then he turned to Emmett. "Mr. Bregman, I presume."

"Ah, yes, but please, call me Emmett," Emmett said, slightly unnerved by the other man’s assessing look. Somehow, he felt like he was being judged and found lacking. The wariness in Dr. Jackson’s eyes surprised and disappointed him; he’d hoped that as a civilian himself, Jackson would be able to understand his position. "If you’re ready to begin…."

Dr. Jackson made a gesture that could have been agreement or indifference.

Twenty minutes later Emmett felt like he was drowning. He was having difficulty believing that the man before him was a skilled communicator, because he was getting terrible, half-rambling sentences that often trailed away unfinished. He knew better than to grill the man on his childhood, but he needed some background to show how Jackson joined the Stargate program. And hadn’t that gone well….

All Emmett had wanted was to lead Dr. Jackson into explaining his linguistic qualifications. He was beginning to suspect that the man was being deliberately obtuse. It hadn’t escaped his attention that he hadn’t been given permission to use the name "Daniel."

At the moment Dr. Jackson was discussing linguistic protocol in great detail, the majority of words multisyllabic. There was no way someone unfamiliar with the technical terms used in linguistics could begin to follow it. This entire section of the interview would need to be scrapped. Ironically, this was the one subject the man seemed willing to talk about. He’d effectively shut down discussion of missions, his teammates or his personal life.

When Dr. Jackson paused for breath, Emmett interjected desperately, "Dr. Jackson… tell me… what’s it like to be dead?"

The other man gave him a knowing look, seeming unsurprised at the change in topic. "Well, I wasn’t exactly dead."

"You’ve died on a number of occasions," Emmett countered. "What do you remember?" He looked at Dr. Jackson’s bland expression and realized the other man had no intention of telling him anything useful. "No, scratch that," he said. "How about you just tell me why you’re blocking me."

For a moment, he thought Jackson would deny what he’d been doing. But then the other man leaned slightly towards Emmett. "I’ll let you in on a little something about the SGC," he said. Emmett nodded eagerly. "You’ll have to excuse the language, but it’s like this: You got yourself on Sam’s shit-list. That makes you on SG-1’s as well. And if you’re around the mountain for any length of time, you’ll learn that most people follow SG-1’s lead."

Emmett protested, "But I don’t even know what she’s upset about."

Dr. Jackson’s eyebrows arched; he clearly didn’t believe it. Stand fluidly, he said, "I’m busy. Come back when you’ve made peace with Sam."

Realizing he’d been effectively dismissed, Emmett reluctantly nodded to his crew. As they packed up, Emmett unhappily watched Dr. Jackson cross the room to another bookshelf, his back pointedly turned. Rumor had it the man was being considered for the Presidential Medal of Freedom, and Emmett had hoped for and expected a good rapport with him. But there wasn’t much point in staying if he would only continue to be so efficiently blocked.

As they were leaving, Dr. Jackson added, "Oh, and Mr. Bregman? I’m sure the word from Sam is spreading around the SGC even now. Don’t expect a warm welcome."

Emmett stifled his groan as he departed. Somehow he’d turned the SGC against him, the exact opposite of what he’d intended. Shrugging off the disappointment for later, he checked his schedule. One of the science teams had indicated they were available anytime during normal business hours (unless they told him otherwise). Since the interview had been cut short and he’d allotted quite a bit of time to Dr. Jackson on the schedule, now he had time to see one of the science research teams in action. Maybe he’d even get to see some newly-developed technology.

He just hoped the word from SG-1 hadn’t reached them yet.

Emmett guessed that the scientists he was speaking with didn’t yet know about Major Carter’s inexplicable anger; they were clearly delighted to have someone to talk about their research with.

"Most of our work is strictly practical," Dr. Bill Lee told him. "Oh, when there’s some amazing phenomenon offworld that defies scientific laws as we know them, we can get together a team and have a short research assignment for knowledge’s sake, but usually the regular SG teams just take what samples they can and bring them back here for us to analyze."

"Samples? Like what?" Emmett asked.

"Plant and mineral samples usually. We also work pretty closely with Daniel’s cultural experts to understand the context they’re used in on their native planets. We backwards-engineer alien technology as well. But as I was saying, this is a front-line facility, so our research is largely defense-oriented. We consider it our job to make sure the SG-teams have what they need to get the job done and come home alive." It sounded to Emmett like he’d rehearsed that last sentence, but that was OK. It was a good line.

"So, could you show me an example of something you’ve created or—what was it—backwards-engineered?" Emmett asked.

"Actually, yes," Dr. Lee said with a smile. "You see, Kevlar won’t stop the energy blast from a staff weapon. And the armor plating in other bullet-proof protection gets super-heated from the plasma, so while it will stop the penetration the wearer becomes trapped in what essentially is their own personal microwave oven. You know, not a good idea." Looking a bit embarrassed at his obvious comment, he quickly continued, "Ah, anyway, what we’ve been working on is this."

Turning the table, he picked a small black rectangular object. Emmett glanced at James to make sure the camera was getting it. Lee said, "It’s a ceramic polymer which will resist the heat, stop the blast, and is flexible enough to fit into a standard-issue SG vest." He bent the edges slightly to show the item’s flexibility, and held it out for Emmett to feel.

The material felt cool beneath Emmett’s fingers. It felt hard—it looked fragile but felt like armor—and almost brittle, but bent easily enough when he twisted his hands slightly. "Remarkable," Emmett breathed as he handed it back. He watched as Dr. Lee inserted the armor into the sides of an SG vest.

As he worked, Lee explained, "We’re working on fine-tuning the final stages. The problem is, so far the vest has stopped one staff-blast but fails to protect against a second. Since staff weapons are able to fire rapidly, we’re experimenting right now with thicknesses, and we think we’re just about there. Ah, Sergeant Siler, Teal’c, thanks for coming."

The lean man put the vest on, Emmett spun around. Teal’c was here? The… alien? It was an effort to keep his mouth from falling open as he realized the huge black man was looming right behind him with a staff weapon, and not looking particularly friendly either. Forcing his attention back to Dr. Lee, Emmett asked, "Would it be all right if we tape the trial?"

"Um, sure," the scientist replied as he handed Teal’c a pair of protective glasses. "We’re recording the results too. Just stand over there." Emmett obediently motioned his crew to the side, feeling a bit uneasy as another scientist with a fire extinguisher positioned himself about five feet away from Siler. Teal’c then leveled his weapon at the sergeant and fired it twice.

The first blast tore the fabric away from the polymer and unbalanced Siler slightly; the second sent him flying backwards onto the protective mat behind him, a fire blossoming on his chest. The technician with the extinguisher quickly rushed over to him and put the flames out. "I’m fine," Siler said, never loosing his laconic expression. "Just a few burns."

"OK, get down to the infirmary then and have Dr. Frasier send us the report," Lee instructed. As the group dispersed, Lee saw Emmett’s slightly horrified expression. "Oh, don’t worry Mr. Bregman, he does this all the time." When Emmett’s expression didn’t change, he added, "Just remember; without the polymer, either of those blasts would have been fatal."

Making a mental effort to shift gears, Emmett turned the discussion to the naquadah generator he’d read about. Dr. Meyers eagerly tried to explain how it worked, but stopped when he saw he’d lost Emmett and tried again. "Basically, the generator emits clean, efficient energy. But we’re still working on how to make it commercially viable. I mean, we’d like nothing more than to get these out in the market. It would cut pollution big-time and make our dependence on foreign oil almost nil."

Emmitt studied the device. "And the problems are…?"

"Well, first of all, anything this powerful could become a seriously dangerous weapon. We’ve designed them to be as safe as possible, but if one begins to overload, it’s physically impossible to stop, effectively turning it into a bomb. And the naquadah itself increases the bomb’s destructive capability.

"Second, of course, our amount of naquadah is limited and because of the material’s destructive power, the military prefers that it be used in developing weapons."

"Which is crap," grumbled another scientist, "now that they have naquadria." A brief silence fell over the room, and Emmett tried to remember where he’d come across "naquadria" in his research.

"Well, yes," said Meyers carefully. "But naquadria’s a whole lot more unstable, and we have much less of it."

"I just think after what it took to get it, we shouldn’t lock it away and never use it!"

"We shouldn’t waste it either!"

"Ah, gentlemen?" Emmett asked.

The scientists seemed to share a look, and Dr. Lee explained, "You know about Daniel’s ascension, right?"

Emmett blinked. "Um, yes. He was exposed to radiation…."

"…from an offworld experiment with a naquadria bomb that went wrong," Lee finished. "That’s how we acquired it. We’ve had a number of debates about what the ethical thing to do with it is. Right now the teams at Area 51 are working to make a truly viable hyperspace drive, but it’s a… touchy…. subject."

"But getting back to the naquadah generator," said Meyers. "If its use became widespread, we would be replacing our dependence on oil-rich countries with dependence on naquadah-rich offworld allies. If for any reason we lost control of our stargate, the consequences would be disastrous."

Lee mused, "It would be hard to explain to the public where we got the naquadah too. Oh, most people would probably believe it was synthesized in a lab somewhere, but not everyone would. So unless we can figure out a way to synthesize it, naquadah technology won’t become available to the rest of the world until the stargate is public knowledge."

"So do you think the stargate should be public knowledge?" Emmett asked. He was genuinely curious about how people would answer this question; in truth, both sides had some valid points. And sure enough, several scientists were nodding, a few were shaking their heads, and most looked conflicted.

"I wish we could share the amazing things we’re learning, but… I don’t think the world is ready to know," Dr. Lee admitted. "There’s a quote of Arthur Schopenhauer’s that I like. Ah, he was a German philosopher in the nineteenth century, a brilliant man." When Emmett looked incredulous, Lee explained, "Daniel and I went on a mission together to Honduras, and during the flight, we somehow got on the topic of philosophy. Uh, where was I? Right. Well, anyway, Schopenhauer said that truth passes through three stages. First, it is ridiculed. Like when Daniel recognized that all of the accepted theories about the pyramids and ancient societies were wrong, he was laughed out of academia."

"Right," Emmett nodded.

"Well, if the Stargate became public knowledge now, people would ridicule it until they were faced with overwhelming evidence otherwise. The second stage is violent opposition. People would be furious, I think. There would be a lot of distrust all around. Eventuality, it would be accepted, but a lot would depend on how people found out about it." He sighed. "No matter how much good we could do for the planet, if the people aren’t ready to accept it, things will get a whole lot worse before they get better. I don’t think it will be right to make the program public for a long, long time."

The next morning as Emmett was making his way to a conference room for his interview with Senator Kinsey, he saw a familiar figure in the corridor coming towards him. "Is that who I think it is?" he asked his companions, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice.

"That’s Colonel O’Neill," Rondell confirmed.

At a glance from Emmett, his crew quickly turned on their equipment. As O’Neill approached, Emmett said, "Colonel O’Neill, hi!"

Before he could continue, O’Neill reeled off, "I like vanilla over chocolate, my favorite color is peridot, I think Tibet should be free, and if I could have dinner with anyone in the world, it’d be Mary Steenbergen." He never looked at the camera and never stopped walking, Wickenhouse and James struggling to keep up.

As the colonel slipped past them into an elevator, the only thing that came to Emmett’s mind was, "Mary Steenbergen?"

Oh God. Had he said that out loud? O’Neill smirked. "I think she’s nice." Oh God. He had said it out loud.

The elevator doors started to close and Emmett, remembering suddenly that the colonel’s name wasn’t on his interview list, impulsively pushed them open again. "No no, look look look. If I could just take a minute—"

"Look," said the colonel. "I don’t really have time at the moment. I have a… briefing… to go do."

"I understand," Emmett assured him. "But I really do need to talk to you, so when would be a good time?"

O’Neill gave him a patently insincere smile. "Oh, anytime’s good, just send me a memo." The elevator doors slid closed and Emmett was left looking at a slate-gray wall, feeling like he’d been had.

Without much enthusiasm he continued towards his meeting. He had already figured out that Kinsey probably had brought a speech prepared, so when the old codger started talking it was easy to tune him out and go over the encounter with O’Neill in his mind.

O’Neill was an easy man to relate to, Emmett thought, more so than many of the experts of the SGC. In some ways, Major Carter’s discussion of quantum physics or Dr. Jackson’s highly technical discourse would be as alien to the average viewer as Teal’c was. But O’Neill seemed like the sort of affable, sarcastic guy everyone knew. Smart, certainly, more street-smart than book-smart, but still, very intelligent. Emmett found that truly funny people usually were.

And yet, the man was, as Major Carter put it, the man who held SG-1 together. He was a man who made bad jokes and drank beer watching hockey, but also made life and death decisions on a regular basis. Emmett had already decided to focus the documentary on SG-1, the most important, longest-established team with a penchant for the most dramatic missions. And SG-1 centered around Colonel Jack O’Neill. Emmett suspected that O’Neill had the power to make or break the quality of the documentary.

Seeing that Kinsey was winding down, Emmett forced his attention back to the man he was "interviewing."

Kinsey always tried to come across as righteous, but tended to look pompous, as Emmett well knew from watching the nightly news; Kinsey was currently VP on the presidential ticket with Henry Hayes.

Kinsey looked directly at the camera the entire time he spoke. "Like the people who are now serving here at the SGC, the youth of tomorrow will one day have to defend the free spirit of mankind. And not just on our fair planet, but out there, through the stargate, in the vastness of the galaxy, where untold evil with powers we’ve never seen before are still waiting to prey upon us."

Right. Emmett had heard that sort of fear-mongering many times before. Forcing a smile to his face, he tried to sound sincere as he thanked Kinsey for the interview.

"These people deserve it," said the Senator, obviously playing a whole different game with the camera there than he did without, judging by SG-1’s mission reports.

In the faint hope of getting something usable, Emmett lowered his voice and suggested, "Ah, look Senator, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, me saying this, but, it sounded a little… prepared. Just a little rehearsed, and I don’t think you’re gonna like the results. What if we kinda do things off the cuff and I just throw things at you, see how you respond?"

For a moment Kinsey seemed to nod before saying abruptly, "No."

"No?" Emmett asked, thinking a little desperately that he couldn’t just cut the man’s entire section out, but he hadn’t given the camera anything good.

"No. Now did you want anything else from me?"

"No Sir, thank you for your time." A waste of time, more like.

Still, an hour later Emmett was forced to that admit that all of his interviews, even Kinsey’s smarmy righteousness and Dr. Jackson’s blatant refusal to cooperate, had gone better than his interview with Teal’c. Or rather, his non-interview, since it didn’t actually take place.

Emmett was feeling really frustrated. He still didn’t know why he was being treated like an enemy. He had a little bit of time before his meeting with Dr. Frasier, so he decided to get some work done on the memorial segment for the fallen soldiers. Since the project was so classified, even their families didn’t know the truth about how they had died. Tributes were always difficult to do without crossing the line into sentimentality, and Emmett was determined that this one succeed in provoking emotion and respect.

As he trudged back towards his rooms, he saw Dr. Jackson walking down the corridor talking animatedly to an airman. Maybe he should try again with Jackson? Nah, there wouldn’t be too much point to it until he cleared up the misunderstanding with Major Carter, and now that Jackson had seen them his face had already gone blank. Emmett nodded to James to keep rolling though; the camera was on because as they walked James was filming what the SGC complex itself looked like. It had been James’ idea, and while Emmett wasn’t sure they would need the footage, he was pleased the young cameraman was taking initiative.

Jackson’s pager went off, and after he looked at it, he stopped dead in his tracks and said to his companion, "Oh, excuse me, I’ve… got to go," and darted away through the corridor.

Thrilled that he was actually catching some live action, Emmett hurried to follow, motioning to his crew as he went. They must have made a sight, tearing through the SGC in a bizarre parade, with Emmett breathlessly calling, "Dr. Jackson? What is it?" and Rondell ineffectively saying,

"You know you can’t film any ongoing activities, Mr. Bregman!" while running after them.

The chase led into Jackson’s office, where he snatched a piece of paper out of the fax machine and began rapidly scanning it. Since he was completely ignoring them, Emmett asked, "Dr. Jackson? What is it?"

The resulting torrent of words was next to impossible to decipher: "ItwasthemaskfragmentIcollected."

"Sorry, could you slow down?"

Taking a breath, Jackson said more clearly, "The mask fragment I collected from P3X-298, it was carbonated in the pre-dynastic era of Egypt here on earth."

Ah, OK. Emmett still didn’t understand, but at least the man was talking to him, so he asked, "Yeah? So, uh, what’s the significance of this?" He made sure he wasn’t in the way of the camera.

Jackson blinked like the answer was completely obvious. "It’s fascinating."

The adrenaline left Emmett in a rush. Feeling like he was still missing something, he said, "Wait, wait, back up. That’s… it? It’s fascinating? Why…why were we running?"

Jackson looked innocently at the camera crew as if he’d just noticed their presence and a small smile curved his lips. "Oh, I just wanted to see if you’d chase me."

As he nodded for the guys to turn their equipment off, Emmett realized that he really needed to sort out his problem with Major Carter right away. Jackson wasn’t just being unhelpful anymore; he had taken his obstruction to the next level. And Emmett had barely met the rest of SG-1; if he didn’t fix things fast, God only knew what the rest of the team would have in store for him.

He could scarcely believe the day wasn’t even half-over yet; he already felt exhausted. The interview with Dr. Frasier had to be better than his day so far. It could hardly get worse.

Dr. Frasier was a pleasant surprise. He’d been somehow expecting a stern, stocky, no-nonsense matron, not a petite woman with a gentle smile. And although she had to know that SG-1 was angry with him, she was still sincerely answering his questions and had the sort of presence that came across on camera as very natural. He led her through discussing some of the more devastating cases she’d encountered (emergency operations on soldiers pierced with multiple arrows and harrowing withdrawal from alien narcotics) to more funny stories, like the time SG-3 had come back from a summer festival dyed orange and her attempts to figure out what was causing the pigmentation in the increasingly-annoyed soldiers.

"It sounds amazing," he told her, still chuckling a little from a story about a bird-like mammal that’d flown through the gate and its capture in the infirmary.

"Yeah," she agreed. "I never know what’s next. You just try to keep your head on straight. Of course, not everything is exotic or complicated. We also set a lot of broken bones and proscribe a ton of antibiotics."

"But still, it sometimes must be overwhelming, right?"

"Oh yes. It’s funny actually; you think all the training, everything we know about medicine, it really amounts to very little. I mean, often I’m faced with situations where there’s just nothing I can do." Her smile faded. "I’ve grown very close to the men and women here, and when they’re beyond my help, it’s… difficult… to be professional about it."

Hoping to return to the pleasant mood from before (and if he was honest with himself, hoping she would smile again), Emmett asked, "Is there an upside?"

He was pleased to see her brighten immediately. "Are you kidding me? I think the reason we all manage to persevere is because we feel that we’re on the brink of understanding so much more, and not just about medicine but about who we are and where we came from, what the future has in store. How we fit into the grand scheme of things; what SG-1 is always calling "that meaning of life stuff."

Latching on to her reference Emmett said, "Yes, almost everyone I’ve talked to has referred to SG-1."

"That’s understandable," the doctor told him. "I consider them among my closest friends, but they’re all almost… bigger than life, somehow. Their talent for getting into trouble is only just exceeded by their ability to get out of it again." She smiled at his obvious curiosity. "Their medical files are confidential, of course, but they certainly deserve their status as icons of the SGC."

As the interview wound down he asked his standard closing question: "Do you think the stargate should be made public knowledge?"

She considered the question. "I think that ideally it would be revealed to the world when the major threats—the goa’uld, the replicators, things like that, are under control. When we can offer Gate travel to scientists or students, then we should. But as things are right now I think that revealing it would cause mass fear and resentment. And anyway, I wouldn’t want to be famous, and I wouldn’t want to have that kind of media attention focused on my daughter."

"Oh, you’re married?" Emmett asked, telling himself that it would be a good chance to ask about what it was like keeping a secret, and that he was most definitely not asking to figure out if she was single.

She gave him a knowing smile and answered, "Divorced, actually. My daughter’s adopted." Her smile grew playful. "She’s from another planet." As Emmett was picking his jaw up off the floor, she glanced at the camera and said, "I’d prefer if you didn’t include that in the documentary though. Being a teenager is hard enough, and I don’t want her to be an object of curiosity to all the people who will eventually see this. I’m sure you can get information about what it’s like to be an alien on Earth from Teal’c or Nyan."

Emmett reluctantly nodded for James to turn the camera off. "Nyan, maybe. He’s a research assistant, right? But Teal’c? I don’t think he’d be willing to talk about it."

"He is very stoic," Dr. Frasier agreed. But I think he’ll warm to you once you’ve spoken with Sam."

"Major Carter? Do you know why she’s angry with me?"

The doctor gave him an assessing look. "You really don’t know, do you?"

"No, I don’t," Emmett insisted.

"Well, from what I heard you tried to insinuate that she either had or wanted a relationship with Colonel O’Neill."

"Well, yes," he said, still confused.

"Since she’s directly in his chain of command, it’s against Air Force regulations for them to engage in a relationship, and she were to develop romantic feelings for him, she’d basically have to get over them or transfer to another team."

"But romances develop between coworkers all the time," Emmett argued, "and I’m sure they’re both professional enough to still do their jobs well."

Dr. Frasier shrugged. "Well, whether they could manage it isn’t the issue; the rules they’ve sworn to uphold say they can’t. SG-1 tends to come under a lot of scrutiny for this sort of thing because they’re all like family to each other. They’ve acquired political enemies who would love a chance to break the team apart. To be honest, the reason they haven’t been is because they always deliver such spectacular results.

"But Sam’s position is more precarious simply because she’s a woman. She’s worked incredibly hard to reach the top of her field and her rank. Yet even now, there are people who gossip that she’s achieved her rank at such a young age by sleeping her way to the top. All it would take is one "official" rumor, like some statement in your documentary, no matter if it was complementary or not, and she could be officially investigated, even court-martialed."

"I guess I’d heard somewhere fraternization wasn’t allowed," Emmett mused, "but I didn’t realize how serious it was. Thank you for clarifying it for me. So, I shouldn’t really ask about personal relationships, then, because they won’t tell me."

Dr. Frasier laughed. "Wait, what kind of relationship are we talking about?" But then she nodded. "Yes, I think you’d get the best material by talking to people about their work. If they choose to volunteer more about their families then, it’s up to them."

Emmett checked his watch. "Thank you for your time, Doctor. I think I have everything I’ll need from you, but I’ll let you know, OK?"

"OK," she agreed, and Emmett reluctantly departed.

When Emmett entered the control room to conduct his next interview, he was surprised to see Major Carter there, typing something complicated-looking into a computer. She glanced at him and typed a bit more before saying to the others, "OK, we’re set. Looks good everyone."

Emmett checked his watch. "Am I interrupting something?"

She shook her head. "Routine checks. I was just leaving."

Emmett took a chance. "Before you do—Major, I’m sorry. I was out of line before."

When he saw the rest of the room looking curious, he regretted his hasty words, but the major actually smiled.

"Well, I might have overreacted a little. We’ll talk later." Although he knew he probably wasn’t wholly forgiven yet, Emmett was relieved. He’d made the first step, and it looked like his apology would be accepted. He hadn’t completely screwed up the documentary yet.

As he talked to one of the long-time stargate technicians, a Sergeant Walter Harriman, Emmett remained constantly aware of the object in the room in front of them. The Stargate teased his peripheral vision and he tried not to stare, mostly unsuccessfully.

A simple circle shouldn’t be so impressive, he thought. Yet somehow he found the blue-gray material compelling, and he didn’t think it was just because he knew what the Stargate did. He could imagine Catherine Langford, the driving force behind the start of the Stargate Project, coming to look at it well before anyone had any idea what it did. He forced his attention back to the interview.

"The iris is a metal plate of titanium strengthened with trinium. Now, it sits just in front of where the event horizon is formed—less than three micrometers, in fact—and that prevents material from reintegrating."

"Whoa-it what?" Emmett asked. "I don’t see any metal plate, Sergeant."

"Oh, it’s open right now, and uh, call me Walter. Nobody calls me Sergeant. See that slightly different shade at the inside edge of the Gate? That’s not part of the Gate, that’s where the iris is attached." When he pointed, Emmett was able to see what he meant.

"Oh, OK. Uh, trinium?" The futuristic name made Emmett think of Star Trek or maybe Superman.

"Oh, it’s an element that we found offworld. It’s brittle in its raw state, but we can refine it into a material 100 times lighter and stronger than steel."

"Wow, that would be really useful in industry," Emmett said.

"You know, that’s what a lot of us thought at first. But actually, no. Because it’s so scarce and using the Stargate to get it is so expensive, it’s far more expensive than steel. We only use it in situations where steel simply isn’t strong enough, and steel is generally enough for the public market."

"Oh. Right. Thanks. Please, go on."

Seeing that Emmett was still somewhat confused, Walter explained, "Matter can only travel one way through an open wormhole, but some forms of energy can travel both ways. Whenever we receive an incoming wormhole, we close the iris. SG teams returning to Earth send a coded signal before entering the Stargate. When we receive the signal we open the iris to allow them through. Anyone not providing an iris code won’t reintegrate, they’ll splat."

"Splat?" Emmett asked, feeling a little faint.

Walter looked embarrassed. "It’s a…term… Colonel O’Neill likes to use."

"OK… So, describe for me your actual job."

"Essentially what I and other Gate technicians do is operate the dialing computer and iris control. We set the Gate to dial out and track its progress verbally, ah, saying ‘chevron one encoded, chevron two encoded,’ and so on," he explained.

"The iris works like this. The control is right here." He gestured to a flat panel with the outline of a hand on it. "I just put my hand on it and close the iris—" as he did, there was a hissing noise Emmett could hear even through the heavy glass, and dull gray metal rapidly appeared over the Stargate. Walter smiled at the open-mouthed reaction and finished—"and open the iris," as he lifted his hand and the iris twisted away again.

"Fantastic," Emmett breathed. "Could you do that a couple times? I want shots of the control and of the iris itself." He nodded to James and the cameraman seemed thrilled to be given authority of the shot.

"So that’s… all you do?" he finally asked Walter.

Walter shrugged. "We run computer diagnostics, troubleshoot. Since I have access to the P.A. system, if we need someone in the Gateroom or need to announce something to the base, I’m often the one to do it. I know it probably seems boring to you, but around here, boring is good. We never know if an unscheduled activation means something simple like an ally checking in, or something worse like incoming injuries, or even an attempted invasion."

As Emmett was about to ask for some examples, suddenly there was a loud sound as a chevron on the Stargate moved and locked in place with a resounding clang.

"Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave," Walter said. Emmett reluctantly nodded to his crew and they turned off their equipment.

"I’ll be right out," Rondell told them. Emmett had thought the man was stoic before, but he could almost see the ready-for-anything look hardening on the taciturn face.

As they hurried out of the room, Emmett could both hear Walter’s actual voice and the same words echoing in the corridor: "Unscheduled offworld activation… unscheduled offworld activation…."

The door closed behind them and Emmett hesitated, not sure what to do. It was something of a relief to see the door open and Rondell exit a moment later, expression marginally less tense. "It’s SG-7," he said. "They’re a little early, nothing serious, but we have precautions for—"

Whatever Rondell was about to say was lost, swallowed by an enormous sound. Emmett didn’t have time to figure out what it was, but for a fraction of a second he could see Rondell walking towards him, the door half-open. Then suddenly the other man was gone, and Emmett didn’t know how or why, but the wall was rushing towards him. He ran away from it down the corridor, vaguely aware of James and Wickenhouse doing the same thing. The floor trembled and the lights abruptly went out, plunging them into inky darkness.

A split-second later there was a low hum and the lights flickered on again, though they seemed somewhat lower than before. "Backup generator," Emmett’s mind helpfully supplied. His ears were ringing from the aftermath of—whatever it had been, and he nearly jumped a foot when someone caught at his arm. He exhaled sharply when he saw that it was only Wickenhouse gently examining him for obvious injuries.

Looking around in the muted light, Emmett saw James lying on his back with his eyes screwed shut, still holding the camera to his chest. He couldn’t see Rondell anywhere, but the doorway where Emmett had last seen him was completely destroyed.

James managed to get to his feet with their help, but refused to let go of the camera. "He’s in shock," Emmett thought, sympathetic but worried. The corridor seemed deserted and he still didn’t really know what had happened. He thought it has something to do with the stargate but his memory of the last few minutes was hazy and he wasn’t sure what had actually happened.

Wickenhouse caught his eye and started steering James down the corridor, away from the stargate room. On impulse Emmett scooped up the discarded sound equipment and jogged after them, wincing as pain flared in his knee.

There was no real sense of direction or purpose. Emmett wanted more than anything to get out of the base—although he’d never been afraid of being underground, the dull gray now made him feel claustrophobic and nauseous, and the mountain seemed to be a maze trapping them in. Eventually they found the main elevator shaft, but after a moment Wickenhouse shook his head. Emmett followed his lead and looked more closely, and saw—a keycard was needed to access the elevator. And of course, Rondell had been the one with the necessary keycard. He wanted to scream.

However, his hearing had started coming back. First Emmett heard the sirens blaring, sounding much like they did when the stargate activated, and Sergeant Harriman’s voice shouting over and over again, "Code nine! This is not a drill! Code nine, I repeat, this is not a drill!"

Emmett had no idea what "code nine," meant but it couldn’t be good. He mouthed at Wickenhouse, "stairs?" and the other man nodded. Of course, they didn’t know where the stairs were, and now Emmett could also make out the chatter of machinegun fire. What to do? If they moved around blindly it was an invitation to disaster, but the hallway by the elevator felt far too exposed. At that moment the light above the elevator lit, though the accompanying "ping" was lost in the sound of the emergency siren, and Emmett and his crew found themselves facing a heavily armed SG team, weapons at ready.

The leader of the team blinked at Emmett, then belatedly made a cutting motion with his hand, and his team lowered their weapons. The leader’s eyes scanned Emmett in quick assessment. "Who are you?"

"Uh… Emmett Bregman." When the man’s face didn’t change, Emmett explained, "I’m here wa-with my film crew to document the Stargate Project." He cursed his nervous stutter.

The man’s lip curled slightly. "A civilian?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Emmett nodded anyway, feeling foolish. "But my crew is military." The man’s gaze flicked over James and Wickenhouse, then he drew a pistol out of his belt and handed it to Wickenhouse. At his nod Emmett and James were handed small weapons as well, then the leader jerked his head.

"Stay behind me." Another quick unspoken message had his men putting some sort of explosive on the elevator and Emmett watching as his means of escape from the mountain was further cut off.

"Who are you?" he asked, hoping he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt.

The leader glanced over. "Colonel Dixon. SG-13. What can you tell us about the situation?"

"Uh…" Emmett faltered. "Not much." He obediently backed away at Dixon’s nod, and a moment later there was a muffled bang as the elevator was disabled, then the team rapidly peeled away down the hall, and the film crew followed. Emmett left the big mikes behind; the handgun felt heavy against his sweating palm. But the camera was clearly still a lifeline for James. He clutched it against his chest with his left arm, his gun held loosely in his right hand.

Realizing that Dixon was still waiting for an answer, Emmett said, "We were in the control room when the stargate started up. We had to leave, but Colonel Rondell—" he paused as the memory came to him like a punch—"started to say that it was just SG... um, seven, I think. Then there was an explosion…. What does "code nine" stand for?"

Dixon was silent, no doubt mulling over Emmett’s information, but one of the other soldiers said softly, "Alien incursion."

Dixon hit his radio and said into it, "SG-13 here, going to cover the stairwell on twenty-seven. We’ve got the film crew too. Out."

Emmett blinked, wondering how they’d managed to get in their complete uniforms so fast—or had his sense of time been distorted?—and the same soldier who had just spoken seemed to anticipate his question. "We were actually about to go out on a mission and just finishing our pre-departure check-ups. I’m Simon Wells, by the way."

"Emmett Bregman," Emmett said, taking the outstretched hand, and grateful for this small moment of normality, interrupted all too soon by the sound of steady, advancing footsteps, ringing with a metallic sound.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Dixon snarled. The young red-haired man started flat-out running with a gesture for them to follow, while the others in SG-13 turned to face the enemy. A small part of Emmett’s curiosity, so integral a part of his being, made him want to look back and see what was happening, but that part was overwhelmed by his fear.

The man ahead of him opened the door next to the stairwell and Emmett hurried inside, glad to be out of the hallway. A few moments later the rest of SG-13 stumbled in, Dixon and the yet-unnamed fourth member supporting Wells.

"Sir?" asked the red-haired man.

"We got ‘em. We’re OK for the moment," Dixon said. "How is he?" Emmett wasn’t sure who the question was meant for—the colonel was looked at Wells, whose face was growing very pale; too pale, blood pooling on the floor beneath him.

"They got him right in the back, Sir," said the fourth man. "We need help."

Dixon swore and jabbed at his radio again. "We have a man down and need medical assistance immediately."

Tuning out the conversation, Emmett looked over his crew. OK, so he knew they weren’t really his crew and they were trained soldiers, but they were green and right now they sure as hell looked lost. And he felt bad for James but this was no time to freeze up. Emmett said sternly, "James? Why aren’t you doing your job?" When the other man gave him a stricken look, he ordered, "Turn that camera on."

He met Dixon’s eyes and said before the other man could protest, "Here’s a lesson in getting your story without distracting the soldiers in the field. Turn the camera on." James slowly obeyed as though he was in a daze. "Then pan around the room…. OK, now keep the camera on whoever I’m talking to, except don’t forget to get some reaction shots. But if the colonel here tells you to put the camera in the corner and use your gun I expect you to do it. Do you understand?"

"Yes Sir," James croaked.

Emmett turned his attention back to Dixon, trying to read the other man’s expression, and asked, "Just how much danger are we in?"

Dixon rubbed a hand over his face. "I wouldn’t have said much, but somehow those Jaffa got past the others. But we are more out of the way here, and if they try for the stairs they have to go by this door. What do you think you’re playing at filming this?"

Emmett shrugged. "I once spent a very, very long night with a family in Belarus. We were afraid every moment that the police would come pounding on the door. The little girl kept starting to cry and her parents were at wits end trying to keep her calm. Finally I turned on my camera and interviewed the whole family, once by one. I hid the light so they wouldn’t know when I ran out of film, just kept asking questions until the sun came up."

After a brief silence, the injured man, Wells, croaked, "I guess I’d better go first."

Dixon scowled. "You’ll go last. Bosworth and I will keep watch first. Balinsky, you’re up."

The red-haired man blinked. "I’m—what? You want to interview me?"

Emmett briefly told Wickenhouse to help the others, mildly regretful he’d left the mikes behind after all, then turned his attention to Balinsky. "Yes. Yes I do. Tell me about yourself, a little background."

The other man still seemed unsure, but said, "Well, ah, my name is Cameron Balinsky, and I’m an archeologist…."

Emmett was talking to Bosworth about how he’d found out about the stargate when they were halted by a shuttering gasp from Wells. Bosworth abruptly stopped talking and went to his teammate’s side. "Simon, buddy? How you doin’?"

"Jake, I can’t feel my legs." There was a hint of panic in Wells’ voice and the other men exchanged worried looks above him.

Bosworth lightly touched the injured man’s shoulder. "Hang in there, OK? Help is coming." He glanced at Emmett, then told his friend, "I think Mr. Bregman here wants to interview you now."

Emmett nodded and turned to Wells as James maneuvered the camera to a better angle. "Yes, yes, tell me about yourself."

Wells managed a little smile to show he knew what they were doing. "My wife and I are expecting."

"Oh?" Emmett said. "Your first?"

"Yeah." Wells’ smile grew distant, then twisted in pain. "Oh God, I’m never gonna see my son."

"You’re not dead yet," Dixon grunted from by the door. "And you don’t know what the kid will be yet, what’s all this "son" stuff?"

"Marci had an ultrasound," Wells breathed. "In my… vest. But Sir, I’m not feeling so good."

Bosworth carefully slid out the scan while Dixon griped about ultrasounds not being approved SG equipment that he could remember and "you’ll live all right, but here’s the thing with babies—in a couple months, you’ll be wishing you hadn’t." He went off on a tear about babies and kids in general, barely pausing when his team reminded him he had four kids himself, and closed with, "Miracle of birth, my ass. I’ll tell you what’s a miracle—birth control that works."

Emmett looked at the blurred image on the scan and held in a chuckle when Dixon commented, "Son, huh? Well I wouldn’t go painting the room blue just yet."

Now by the door, Balinsky hissed, "Someone’s coming."

"I hear it," Dixon said, and the room went silent except for the sounds of harsh breathing. After an eternal, tense moment, Dixon lowered his gun a fraction. "It’s Fraiser and Jackson."

Sure enough, a moment later Drs. Fraiser and Jackson appeared, both with machine guns and heavy packs they immediately shrugged off. Fraiser took one looked at the injured man and put her gun down, opening her pack with purpose. Emmett quickly motioned James back out of the way but let the camera keep rolling.

Dr. Jackson also put his gun down and went to Wells’ side. Wickenhouse had been trying to put pressure on the wound, but readily relinquished his place. "Hey there, I’m—"

"Daniel Jackson, I know, SG-1," Wells breathed. "I think it went straight through me. "I’m gonna die, aren’t I?"

"Not if I have anything to do with it," Dr. Fraiser—Janet—said. "We’re going to turn you over now, OK? Stop the bleeding." Bosworth and Wickenhouse rushed to help, while Dr. Jackson quietly spoke to Dixon and Emmett listened without shame.

"Best guess is that SG-7 cracked. We’re at Threat Level Foxtrot Alpha Six."

Dixon nodded with a grimace. "Figured as much."

"We’re cut off from the computer and the main self destruct. Walter somehow survived the explosion, thank God, and managed to close the iris, but a lot of Jaffa got through. We were actually on our way to the gate room when your call came."

"I don’t know where those three Jaffa came from, Daniel, but they came out of nowhere, I swear."

Dr. Jackson nodded, his expression troubled. "Some undoubtedly got out of the gate room during the initial confusion. Until we have time to do a full sweep of the base we just won’t know." His gaze fell on Emmett, and after a moment his expression cleared with recognition.

"Dr. Jackson," Emmett said.

Jackson couldn’t yet know that he’d apologized to Major Carter, so he was surprised to see the other man’s eyes soften with sympathy. "It’s Daniel. How are you holding up?"

"I’m in way over my head," Emmett admitted. "But if there’s any way I can help…."

Before Daniel could answer, his radio crackled to life. "Colonel O’Neill’s been hit, we need a medic!"

"Sam?" Daniel asked into his radio, just that one word, but full of questions.

She answered, "We’re pinned down, no one can get to him yet…. He’s not moving…."

Daniel looked at Janet, who nodded, then keyed his radio again. "We’re on our way, Sam."

Janet’s shirt and hands were streaked with blood, but she didn’t seem to notice. She said to Dixon, "He’s stable for now," –though Emmett would never forget the sound of Wells calling for his wife, trying to say goodbye—"but you’ll have to get him to the infirmary as soon as possible. We’ll leave a stretcher. Just be careful not to jostle him too much." She pulled a cylindrical object out of her bag and handed it to Emmett, as he was the closest one not coated in blood. Then she zipped up her bag, picked up her gun, she and Daniel briskly nodded, and they were gone.

Dixon took the small object from Emmett’s trembling hands, and it unrolled into a stretcher. The soldiers carefully lifted their companion onto it. Dixon ordered, "Bosworth, you, Mr. Bregman and Sergeant James get him to the infirmary. Balinsky, Wickenhouse, you’re with me."

Emmett felt a small surge of pride when James and Wickenhouse both looked to him for approval, and nodded his agreement. It had to be killing the colonel to split up his team, but they couldn’t abandon their current position, and he could hardly send the film crew out by themselves with Wells. Bosworth offered his CO a quick salute before easing out the door, gun at ready. Emmett and James followed with the stretcher, and behind them the camera silently recorded.

The trek up the stairs seemed to take an unnaturally long time, all of them jumping at the ordinary echoes from their own movements, and Emmett felt more secure once they’d reached the infirmary. There were more people, for one thing, and it also wasn’t likely to be a specific target of the invading Jaffa, though they’d be in a bad position if one happened upon them.

Emmett and James were teamed up with a nurse and sent to make sure they had sufficient quantities of the different blood types; Emmett guessed that it was busywork to keep them out of the professionals’ way but didn’t mind. Wells was being operated on by a Dr. Warner, and when Emmett was near that part of the infirmary, blocked off by a blue curtain, he could hear beeping machines and low voices, but couldn’t make out the words.

Some of the soldiers guarding the infirmary spoke frequently into their radios, but kept their volumes low and Emmett couldn’t hear what they said. The reporter in him was curious, especially about Colonel O’Neill’s condition—was he seriously injured?—but he was also relieved to have something to do.

Some time later (he had completely forgotten his watch and wasn’t sure when the invasion had started, but was amazed that only a few hours had gone by) Emmett and James were given the "all-clear" and escorted up to the surface. James went home and Emmett was driven back to his hotel.

He turned on the TV but had trouble concentrating. As he looked at the generic watercolors on the walls and adjusted his room’s temperature, he could hardly believe that only a few hours earlier, his life had been in real peril. Emmett had faced threatening situations before, but the change from danger to safety was somehow too quick to take in.

The room’s phone rang—only the military possessed the number—and the precise voice on the other end informed him: "You will be contacted when normal operations are resumed. An airman will bring your camera to you. Do you need anything?"

"Could I get the phone numbers for my crew?" Emmett asked, searching his memory to remember their ranks. "Ah… they’re Tech Sergeant Dale James and Airman- First Class I think? Shep Wickenhouse."

"One moment please."

After he hung up, Emmett immediately picked up the phone again and started to dial Jenna and Frank, but stopped after the fifth number. God, what was he thinking? What could he tell his friends? –Nothing. He dialed James instead, and went on to plan beginning editing the next day. Maybe filming at the SGC had been interrupted, but he could still get work done. Wickenhouse sounded strange on the phone, but Emmett attributed it to shock.

Tempted though he was, Emmett didn’t watch the day’s tape when it arrived a few hours later. He didn’t dare watch anything so classified in his hotel room. "It only has to wait until tomorrow," he told himself, as the Air Force had cleared a secure room for their use.

The next morning as they waited for the tape to rewind, Emmett asked Wickenhouse, "So, what happened after we left yesterday?"

The younger man gulped. "We waited a while longer until the "all-clear" came and got sent home. When I got to the surface I remembered I’d left the camera and told them about it."

He looked anxious, so Emmett reassured, "That’s alright. I actually forgot about it myself until I heard it was recovered. Did you find out what happened to O’Neill?"

Wickenhouse shook his head. "But… I think something happened to Dr. Frasier, and maybe Dr. Jackson too. There was—something—on the radio, but it was really garbled." His expression said that he feared the worst.

Emmett didn’t know what to say. The tape was ready; he pushed "play."

The gate technician’s face filled the screen. Emmett fast-forwarded it, impatient. He hit play again during the few moments of blank space they always left between interviews, ensuring that neither would be cut off, and then the camera was slowly panning around the half lit room by the stairwell. It passed over Wells, his breathing ragged, and Bosworth leaning over him, their faces obscured by shadow. As the camera turned towards Balinsky for the first interview, Emmett started fast-forwarding again.

He watched Daniel and Janet go in and out, never pausing, and as the stretcher bearing Wells disappeared from view he hit "play" again. The men remaining in the room were silent, though Emmett could see Wickenhouse on the left side of the screen keep glancing to the blood on the floor.

And then Dixon’s radio had crackled to life. The words were mostly unintelligible, like Wickenhouse had said, but it was Daniel’s voice and he sounded frantic. Another voice came on, saying clearly, "Understood, we have your position and we’re on our way."

Emmett hit pause and turned to James. "Enhance that. I want to know what he said."

"Yes Sir."

And a short while later Daniel’s words came clearly from the speakers, a continuous frightened sentence: "I need a medic Frasier’s been hit I need a medic! Sierra Gulf Niner… aghh I need a medic!"

He’d been guessing it would be something like that, but it was a shock all the same. Wells, O’Neill, and Frasier too? He knew that Wells had a good chance of recovery, but what of the others? With a sudden start, Emmett remembered their liaison, Colonel Rondell, and added another name to the mental list. Then, needing to distract himself, he got to work.

When a clean-shaven Asian-American man arrived during work the next day and introduced himself as "Major Kou Xiong. I’ll be your liaison for the remainder of your stay," Emmett knew the fate of Rondell. It wasn’t really a shock, but Emmett still felt a sudden kind of grief, which he pushed aside to be dealt with later.

"Casualties from the attack?" he asked. When the other man hesitated, Emmett said, "Please, don’t block me on this. We were there, and we need to know."

Xiong nodded, his expression understanding but grave, and Emmett’s fear grew. "There were a number of injuries, those of Major Wells, Sergeant Harriman and Colonel O’Neill being the most severe, but they’ll be alright. There were two fatalities, Colonel Rondell and Major Doctor Frasier."

He’d told himself that was a possibility, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. Emmett looked at the stricken faces of his crew and realized with a shiver that he’d talked to both Rondell and Janet…Frasier—he stumbled over how to think of her—just before their deaths.

"How?" he managed to croak.

In answer Xiong held up a small tape. "This is from the security monitor in the hallway. I can’t promise you’ll be able to use it in your film, but I thought it would show what happened better than I could explain."

There was no sound and the lighting was terrible. Janet ran into the shot from the lower left, cast into shades of black and white by the low-quality film. She paused near a corner and cautiously looked ahead, gun first. Then she jerked abruptly backward almost like she’d been pulled from behind by an invisible rope. From the angle and the lack of color Emmett couldn’t see any blood, just a small figure that looked like an abandoned doll, but only for a moment.

Because then Daniel was running forward, shouting something although Emmett couldn’t hear the words. He pulled Janet away from the corner and held his gun awkwardly in one hand as he fumbled for her pulse. He put his hand over her heart, then grimaced and pulled off his glasses, putting them slightly above her open mouth. He was looking to see if they were fogged by a faint breath, Emmett realized. After a moment Daniel flung the glass onto the floor and swiped at his eyes, his anguish palpable in the grainy picture. The feed from the camera ended suddenly and the picture on the television dissolved into snow.

Xiong stopped the tape but the silence stretched on until Emmett managed, "That tape needs to be in the documentary." When Wickenhouse and James turned scandalized eyes on him, he said, "We’re trying to show the audience what the SGC is all about. Before… this… happened, I thought that SG-1 was how to do that. But now… the way to show the character of the SGC and of its people, and even their mission itself, is to tell Janet’s story."

He looked seriously at the others. "We’re going to have to do this very, very carefully. Let’s not try to do any set interview times or approach anyone whose emotions are right at the surface. We’ll also have to tape the memorial service, but the key words to remember are going to be quiet, unobtrusive. At times like this, stories worth telling will come at us from all sides, and we need to be in a position to hear them without causing offense." Turning to Xiong, he asked, "When will we be allowed back into the base?"

The next day, they went to Hammond’s office first, and the slight feeling of dejavue caused by the similarities to the first day were crushed by the all-too-real differences. Emmett had to lay out his plan to the general and show him what they had so far. Hammond’s face was hard and angry and Emmett was stunned when he was given the go-ahead.

He talked to the nurses and other infirmary staff. He talked to Wells again, and Harriman, who had crouched under his desk as the explosion began, a single but solid wall of steel between him and the center of the blast. Harriman described how he’d been trapped by debris into that small pocket and his fight to free himself. "I knew until I could close the iris they would keep coming," he said. "I didn’t even have time to think about how little air was in there, I just heard all the weapons being fired and thought of how many Jaffa could come through before the ‘gate shut down automatically in 38 minutes."

Emmett avoided SG-1, knowing that they were especially close to Janet, although once he did catch a glimpse of Daniel in a private infirmary room, hands resting lightly on the empty bed. Emmett thought he saw the glint of a tear, but kept on walking. There would be time for SG-1 later, when the grief was a little more distant.

The memorial was public, at Janet’s burial, so Emmett knew nothing classified would be said. He was told it was public so Janet’s friends outside the military could come. And come they did, pouring into the cemetery. A few stopped by the camera set-up to ask why he was there, and he learned who a few of them were; a school teacher of Janet’s daughter, Janet’s ex mother-in-law, a civilian doctor Janet had often corresponded with. Then there was the crowd of high school students, surrounding a slight girl with brown hair. Emmett realized she had to be Janet’s daughter.

Several people spoke, some from the SGC and some not, and Major Carter gave the eulogy. "Everyone here knows that Janet Frasier was… an extraordinary human being. I cannot add to what has already been so eloquently said here today. For those of you who knew her outside her job, know that although the details of her death are classified, she was not killed in a freak accident or by friendly fire. She died doing her job. She died saving lives."

Sam shuffled her notes. "I could not find the words to pay Janet the tribute she is due. But thanks to a suggestion from another of Janet’s friends, I realized that while words may not be enough, there are some names that might do. We often talk about those who give their lives in the service of their country, and while Janet Frasier did just that, that’s not what her life was about. The following are the names of the men and women who did not die in the service, but who are in fact alive today because of Janet." Sam began the list with her own name, and laid an iris on the coffin before continuing.

With each name, more people came forward with irises, until the brown of the coffin was obscured by a violet carpet. Everyone was crying—Sam, Emmett—everyone. Later, in the editing room, Emmett would fade Sam’s voice after the first few names, and show the irises being laid down while on voiceover the audience heard the ancient ballad Daniel had recited, a song Janet had loved and which Daniel had introduced to her. He spoke the words in both the original Arabic and in English, alternating every line.

Baktoub ismac yah habibi ay louhe il adeem. One iris. I write your name in stone.

Btouktoub ismie yah habibi ay ramul it tarig. Another iris. You write my name in the sand on the road.

Ohh bukra bit shatie dinie ya jourouh il fatahha. And another. Tomorrow the rain will fall on all the opened wounds.

Ohh bithel ismac yah habibi ohh ismie byinmahha. And another. Your name will remain, but mine will disappear.

For now though, Emmett’s mind was far from the editing room, and he sat heavily on the grass next to the rest of his crew, glad they had a tripod for the camera, because at the moment none of them would be able to hold it steady. He watched the coffin lower and the crowd slowly disperse.

Emmet was lost in his thoughts, remembering his wife’s funeral as well as his brief memories of Janet, when he realized that someone had stopped in front of him. Looking up, he saw the girl—young woman—he had noticed earlier. Janet’s daughter. He had sent her a message through General Hammond, giving her his condolences, though he knew how little they would mean, but also informing her that he would not air any of the segment about Janet without her permission.

Her cheeks were streaked with tears, but she was composed and although Emmett knew she was adopted, he could see some of her mother’s grace. He got to his feet and shook the hand she offered, saying, "I’m Emmett Bregman," uncertain what she wanted.

"I’m Cassie Frasier. I want to talk to you."

"Of course," he said immediately, nodding for James to turn the camera off. "I don’t have everything about your mother edited yet, but you’re welcome to see what I have."

"I think I can wait to watch the finished product. Mom… well, she always told me not to judge something before it was done." Cassie’s gaze grew distant. "Most of the base was suspicious about this whole project, you know, but Mom thought it was exciting. She was asking me what makeup she should wear for her interview and she laughed at herself about it. That morning… I was getting ready for school when she left and I joked, I said, "Are you ready for your close-up?" And that was the last thing I ever said to her."

Her eyes were growing wet and Emmett uncomfortably shifted his weight to the other foot. He knew he wasn’t any good with kids. What she really seemed to need was a hug, but he didn’t think she would accept one from him. He finally said, "The last thing I ever said to my wife was, "Oh, I forgot to take the sheets off the line, but I’m running late and I need to go or I’ll miss my flight. I’ll call when I arrive.""

He saw Cassie’s confusion, and explained, "I was going to do a human rights piece in Botswana. When I got to the hotel, there was the message waiting for me from my brother-in-law. It was one of those dangerous intersections, the kind that cause multiple accidents every year. And I remember being guilty for months afterwards that I hadn’t done that one little chore for her."

"But it gets better with time, I know," Cassie said, tone impatient.

Emmett shrugged. "They’re clichés but they’re true, to a point anyway." He hesitated. "I know this won’t mean much, with how short a time I knew her, but I thought Janet was… remarkable, from the very first. She had humor and grace. And I hope I’ll be able in some small way to show that."

"Grandpa George said you would probably want to interview me."

It took Emmett a minute to realize she meant General Hammond. He said honestly, "I would like to. But it’s completely up to you, and I don’t want you to feel like you have too."

Cassie studied him for a long moment, her gaze as penetrating as her mother’s. "I’ll be in touch." Then she was walking away, returning to the group of students Emmett only now realized were waiting for her a short distance away. She didn’t look back.

Emmett spent a few days on the material he had before tentatively seeking out SG-1. In the end he spoke to Teal’c first, sitting uncomfortably on the floor in Teal’c’s quarters for nearly two hours. Neither made any reference to Emmett’s previous disastrous interview attempt, for which Emmett was grateful. Teal’c spoke briefly but with obvious pride about his son, and Emmett said without thinking, "It must be difficult to be so far away from him."

Almost instantly he wanted to take the words back, but Teal’c’s response was a regal nod. "Indeed, he has grown into maturity outside my sight. Yet were I still First Prime I would likely be dead by now. And were I still alive, I would not see him much more than I do now. In fact I chose to betray Apophis because I could not bear for Rya’c to live out his life as a slave."

Emmett was very moved when without prompting, Teal’c looked straight at the camera and said, "People of the Tau’ri, I have often seen your desire for the universe to be a simple place, where right and wrong are clear and all Jaffa are the enemy. But we are not. We live lives that are not so different as you may believe. We love our children. We yearn to be free of the Goa’uld. The Jaffa who believe the Goa’uld are gods also believe the universe is simple, but that is no more than a wishful dream. When you learn the secrets of this facility, remember this."

When asked about Janet Teal’c said gravely, "Doctor Frasier was a skilled warrior. We were honored by her presence and although my symbiote often protected me from serious injury, she saved my life on a number of occasions. She was a fit ruler for the infirmary." Emmett thought that was an odd turn of phrase—"ruler of the infirmary?"—but Teal’c explained, "I also did not consider healers to have a great deal of personal power, but after observing her victory on numerous occasions against Daniel Jackson and Colonel O’Neill I came to recognize her prowess as a warrior." Emmett thought he detected a note of amusement in the last words, but Teal’c had such a perfectly straight face he wasn’t sure.

The issue was clarified when he spoke to Colonel O’Neill, and asked about Janet.

"Napoleonic powermonger!"

Emmett’s pen froze. "Sorry?"

A small smile touched O’Neill’s face. "I called her that sometimes, usually when I felt ready to leave the infirmary and she’d didn’t think I was ready yet. She was feisty. Didn’t let me bullshit her any, you know? Daniel always tried to get out early too, batting his eyelashes at her, but she never bought it." He paused briefly. "I don’t do the mushy stuff too well. But she was part of the family, and we miss her. Will miss her. Ah, you know."

Since he knew O’Neill wanted to move on, Emmett said, "You were on the first mission…."

"Yeah." O’Neill ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it. "God, that was a long time ago. Lifetimes ago. We had no idea what we were getting into."

"Do you regret it?"

The other man considered. "I’d be lying if I said there weren’t moments when the bad seemed to outweigh the good by so damn much. So many good people have died, the doc among them. And we’ve screwed up, too, lots of times. We learn from our mistakes though."

He sighed. "But I don’t think you can put the good and the bad side by side and say one outweighed the other, not really. And I’m not into playing the game of "what if." To be honest… I can’t imagine doing anything else. The things I’ve seen, the people I’ve been privileged to work with…," He looked at Emmett, not the camera. "I don’t regret it."

Much of Emmett’s first interview with Major Carter was good material (except for when he tried to put words into her mouth, which he apologized for again), so he really only had to ask her about Janet. Sam talked about their girls’ night out, and about Cassie, and about their last movie night, when they’d watched every Meg Ryan movie they could find, finally falling asleep near the end of "Joe and the Volcano" as the sun came up.

They were just about done when Sam, like Teal’c, stopped to address the camera. "In the few years the stargate has been open, our knowledge of the natural world and of physics itself has grown exponentially. In fact, I have a request in to the general right now to add another three positions to the personnel in my department. I urge everyone with interests in physics and engineering to examine even a little of what we’ve learned, because the results are amazing. I’m sure Daniel feels the same way about the possibilities in anthropology, archeology and linguistics.

"Traveling through the stargate is dangerous, of course. Even on worlds deemed safe we can never be sure of our safety. But even given what happened to Janet—what could happen to any of us—I firmly believe that the efforts of this command are worthwhile."

Playing devil’s advocate, Emmett said, "If you’re so convinced that what you’re doing here is right, why not tell the public about it?"

She hedged, "That’s not my call."

"But surely you must have an opinion about it," Emmett pressed.

Sam bit her lip. "I don’t know. I’m glad it’s not my call. I mean, sometimes you look at what’s going on, here on Earth, and it makes you just want to scream. You want to tell people that it’s all so much bigger than they think. But at the same time, I agree that people aren’t ready to know the scope of the truth. So I’ll follow my orders, and keep doing what I feel is right… and hope when the time comes, that they’ll understand why the people in charge chose to keep it a secret." She offered Emmett a tentative smile, and he knew it was the best he was going to get, so he thanked her and moved on.

Daniel was working when Emmett arrived to interview him, just like the last time; but this time Daniel set aside his notebook right away. The mikes and cameras were quietly and quickly set up.

Eventually Emmett broke the silence. "I guess I should thank you for letting me use the video from the security camera." Daniel shrugged noncommittally. Emmett said, "I don’t suppose you could tell me how it happened, in your own words."

Another shrug, but this time Daniel answered. "We were covering each other, trading off. I’d cover Janet while she ran ahead, then she’d scout the next stretch and I’d run on past her. It could have just as easily been me. If the shot had been a foot different in any direction, or five seconds later… she might still be alive." He looked at Emmett for the first time, then at the camera. Emmett wanted to ask him so many things—if he felt responsible for what happened, though he clearly wasn’t, or if Daniel wished he’d died in Janet’s place—but didn’t dare.

So he went into the questions he’d wanted to ask during the first interview. This time Daniel was much more cooperative, though the muted pain in his eyes was always present. Emmett decided on the spot that he’d find some way to include the bit of Daniel leading him a fruitless chase through the halls; if nothing else, to see the man’s more light-hearted scene. And Daniel’s response to the "Should the public be told about the stargate?" question was indeed similar to Sam’s.

They were just finishing up when there was a loud rap on the door, and without waiting for an answer Jack O’Neill sauntered into the small office, closely followed by Sam and Teal’c. "Oh, I’m sorry, are you not done?" O’Neill asked, each word dripping insincerity.

"Just about," Emmett said, glancing at James. The camera kept rolling.

"Great, then. Daniel, suppertime!" O’Neill sing-songed. He smirked at the camera. "These academic types, I tell you. I swear he wouldn’t eat at all if we didn’t nag him into it." Daniel rolled his eyes, but his expression was more fond than exasperated, and Emmett didn’t miss the quick, concerned glances Daniel’s team gave him when they thought he wasn’t looking. Daniel offered Emmett a quick smile that was very nearly genuine and followed his team away.

Emmett interviewed others, of course. He spoke again to Cassie, going again over the morning of the day Janet died, and lightly touching on the culture shock of living on a planet different from her birth. General Hammond spoke from the heart about the difficulty he had sending the people under his command into danger and the hard decisions he frequently had to make. Emmett had enough interviews for an epic miniseries, and so much of it was so good he had no idea how he would cut it down. And in the end, he was allowed to film SG-4’s departure on a mission. The clang of the chevrons and the splash of the blue wormhole was something Emmett felt sure he would never forget.

Emmett had found a picture of a young Samantha Carter, a tousled blond grinning at the camera, front teeth missing and a Band-Aid on one knee, and one of Mr. Daniel Jackson, still a graduate student, lecturing in an intro. to archeology class, an odd blend of clumsiness and confidence. One index finger was raised as he made a point, light reflecting off his glasses.

He had a snapshot of a teenage Jack O’Neill leaning against a yellow Mustang, smiling sardonically at the camera. Of course, he had no picture for Teal’c. There was the black and white photo of George Hammond painting the ladder of a treehouse, white paint smudged on one arm. He looked to be about eight. There was Janet Frasier in a shot Emmett could still hardly believe he’d found, with her seriously holding a toy stethoscope to her father’s chest, lips pursed with concentration.

The photo idea had been good, and the people at the SGC had done amazingly well finding childhood yearbooks and candid shots. Emmett inserted them in to the start of his interviews. It would further humanize the soldiers; Emmett wanted a drama with characters the eventual audience would empathize with. Flipping another photo, he thought that the science team must have worked together to find similar pictures, because they’d all found the obligatory pictures of themselves as toddlers with food smeared all over their faces; for Dr. Lee it was spaghetti—for Dr. Meyers it was chocolate pudding.

So many pictures; Sergeant Harriman giving his sister bunny ears with a wicked grin; Cassie on the swings at a local park; and Colonel Rondell, God rest his soul, looking earnest in his boy scout uniform. Even Senator Kinsey was represented; one of his aids had brought Emmett a picture of the senator at age twelve or so, flying a kite. Colonel Dixon’s face was obscured by a large balloon of bubble gum. Finally there was the Wells family, a Polaroid with words written in blue ink on the bottom tag space; Simon, Marci, baby Janet—March ’04.

Since his trip to Stargate Command, Emmett found himself stargazing more often; wondering who was out there right at that moment, and what had happened since his departure. He felt pretty good about the film overall. In the end he’d decided he didn’t want to tell his audience that the secrecy was right or wrong, just introduce the people of the SGC in a way that showed their courage without getting too sentimental. He’d received a complimentary note from the President; at the moment it was sitting in his sock drawer, next to Kathy’s obituary.

From the door his buddy Frank said, "Well, look who’s back."

"I hope you brought beer," Emmett said.

"Yeah. And Jenna’s got a pizza."

"Hey Emmett," Jenna said from behind her husband. "So the big secret project is done?"

Emmett raised his eyebrows at the not very subtle fishing for information. "Nice try. But I have no desire to experience the consequences of breaking my contract."

"We’ve just been worried," Jenna said. "You know how we feel about government secrecy."

Emmett asked dryly, "And what does the great William Proxmire have to say on the topic?" Frank and Jenna were friends with the former Wisconsin senator and Frank had an irritating tendency to quote the man’s words as gospel.

"As a matter of fact," Frank said, "he’s quoted as saying, "Power always has to be kept in check; power exercised in secret, especially under the cloak of national security, is doubly dangerous."

"Who said anything about National Security?" Emmett asked. But his friends still looked worried, so he said, "That actually is a sentiment I tend to agree with. But we don’t have to worry about this… thing. Trust me on this one." His friends exchanged a glance and then subsided, and Emmett headed for the kitchen to get a bottle-opener for the beer. And if he glanced once more through the picture window at the night sky—well, no one would ever know but him.

The End

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I could rant about this episode for a long time—obviously, as I felt there were enough plot holes to warrant a rewrite—but I’ll spare you. : ) Basically, I wanted the episode to make more sense (why did Janet go offworld? Don’t they have field medics?, etc.), to focus on Janet instead of trying to trick us into thinking it was Jack, and to show every character as competent and professional, something I think TPTB have trouble doing with female and civilian characters in particular. Please, let me know how I did.

-The song Daniel recites is from a book called "Honor Lost" about honor killings in Jordon. Very, very, very, very sad stuff.

-I have no idea what sort of guy William Proxmire is, but he was a Senator for Wisconsin from 1957-1989, and the quote is indeed his.

© July 2005 I didn't create them. They don't belong to me. Don't send me money, 'cause I won't take it, and above all, don't sue me!