"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 back. "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.