I am so sorry for taking so long! Clearly my experiment in going a chapter at a time has failed miserably and has not really made me any faster. But now finals are done, my stuff is at the new apartment, and I have 2.5 weeks before summer camp #1 starts, so I'm hoping to get a lot done. Please nag me to get this done-it does actually help motivate me.
Umm, fyi... some swearing in this chapter...

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 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 in fact 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…."