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A New War #16: Gateways
by Lianne Burwell
August 1999
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General George Hammond stormed into the med-center, furious and looking 
for answers. Glancing around, he spotted the team leader for SG-1. "What 
the hell happened, Colonel?" he snapped.

O'Neill snapped to attention -- not a good sign. "Armen's been shot. 
Dr. Fraiser has him in surgery right now, but it could be iffy. Stomach 
wounds aren't good."

There was a strangled sound from one of Armen's companions -- Mulder, 
Hammond reminded himself -- but he ignored it. "And how did a gunman get 
*into* the base?" he asked in a low, dangerous tone.

O'Neill's eyes slid to the side. "He didn't. The gunman was Corporal 
Whitaker. He's base personnel. He shot Armen when he was delivering their 
lunch. He's in the lockup," O'Neill added.

Hammond could feel his jaw dropping with shock. "One of our own people? 
Are you sure?" He frowned, thinking furiously. "Any chance he's been 
taken over, or something?"

A shake of the head was his answer. "No, sir. He works in the kitchen, no 
direct contact with any of the SG teams. If he's been affected by 
something then there should be more."

"Then why?"

"I told you, General," Mulder said, speaking up for the first time. "The 
Consortium's probably had agents inside your facility right from the 
start. Hell," he said with a harsh laugh, "this fellow, Whitaker, 
probably isn't the only one."

Hammond stared at the man for a long moment. There was an angry light in 
Mulder's eyes that sent a tiny shiver down his back. Hammond didn't scare 
easily, either. He forced the reaction down and decided to use it.

"I want to talk to Whitaker," he told O'Neill. Then he turned to Mulder. 
"Would you care to join us, Agent Mulder?"

The man blinked. "That was fast," he muttered under his breath. "You 
realize that by doing a look-up on me, you've probably alerted every 
outfit that's hunting for me to my exact location?"

Hammond glared back at him. "Yes or no, Agent Mulder," he said.

Mulder glanced at the door to the surgery bay, and for a moment the anger 
disappeared and was replaced by fear.

"Go," Kincaid said in a soft tone. "I'll keep an eye on him."

Mulder hesitated for a moment longer, then stepped away from the wall he 
was leaning against. "Anything happens to him, I'm holding you 
responsible," he said. For the life of him, Hammond couldn't tell if the 
man meant him or Kincaid or the world in general. He couldn't help 
wondering just what *was* the relationship between the two men.

Hammond headed for the door, and O'Neill and Mulder fell into step behind 
him. Outside the med-center, armed guards stood. Normally, Hammond would 
have found the sight reassuring, but now... now he was beginning to 
wonder just how far he could trust his own people. He didn't like the 
feeling.

The lockup was only a short walk from the med-center, since it also 
served as isolation for anyone exposed to an unknown bug during a 
mission. The small cells were air-tight and locked from the outside. 
Hammond noted that there was a guard outside one of the cells and headed 
for it.

The guard saluted and moved to one side. Hammond typed in his security 
code and the door slid open. The three men stepped inside.

Corporal Whitaker was sitting on the room's cot, slouched against one 
wall. Hammond recognized him as someone who worked in the base kitchen, 
but couldn't remember ever having spoken to the man. That was about to 
change.

"Care to explain yourself, soldier?" he asked in his best hard-assed 
commander voice. Whitaker didn't even bother to look up. "Well?" Silence.

"It doesn't really matter," Mulder said from next to the door, and 
Whitaker's head shot up. The expression on his face wasn't pleasant.

"Why not?" Hammond asked. He figured that since Mulder was getting a 
reaction, he'd play along with the man.

"The Consortium doesn't like failure. If there are any other flunkies 
on-base, he'll be dead within a day or two. If there aren't, then he'll 
be dead the moment you take him *off*-base."

There was a flash of uncertainty in Whitaker's eyes. Hammond almost felt 
sympathetic, but he squashed that quickly. The boy was young, not even 
twenty-five, but he should have know what he was getting himself into. 
"Other flunkies?" he asked instead. "Are you saying there might be more, 
Agent Mulder?"

Mulder shrugged. "They're like termites. If you see one, then there's a 
thousand you don't see, eating away at the structure until a strong 
breeze could blow it down."

It wasn't a pleasant analogy. Hammond glanced over at O'Neill, who looked 
like he was about to explode. "Colonel, I suggest that the personnel 
files could use another go through," he said thoughtfully.

"Yes, sir," was the only answer. O'Neill didn't take his eyes off of the 
prisoner, though.

"So," Mulder said in a light tone that wasn't reflected in his eyes. "How 
does it feel to be a walking dead man?"

Whitaker snorted. "You tell me. You'll probably be dead first."

Mulder frowned. "What makes you say that?" he asked mildly.

"Orders are out. Kill on sight, no matter what the circumstances. 
Priority one orders."

Hammond could actually see Mulder go pale. "Just me?" he asked, his voice 
going hard as stone.

"You. Your partner. Krycek. But you most of all," Whitaker said with a 
sneer. Then he seemed to remember where he was, and his mouth snapped 
shut.

"Who else on my base is working with you?" Hammond demanded. Whitaker's 
face went blank, and he stared at the wall opposite him. Hammond stepped 
over so that he was directly in front of the young man. "Talk!"

Nothing. Hammond turned to O'Neill, seething under his professional 
expression. "I want round-the-clock guard on him. Nothing and no one goes 
in or out. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

Hammond headed for the door. "And seal the base, Colonel. No one comes in 
or leaves without my approval."

"Sir."

When they left the room, Hammond didn't look back. Whitaker had made his 
choice and he would have to live with -- or die by -- it. It was the 
price of serving two masters. He was more concerned about the security of 
his base.

O'Neill headed off to carry out his orders, while Hammond headed back to 
the med-center, Mulder trailing along behind him. He wanted to know if 
Armen was going to survive. He hoped so. From the one interview he found 
that he rather liked the brash young man.

* * * * *

The doctor was rubber her eyes as she left the operating theatre. She 
looked tired. Kincaid waited until she sat down at her desk and started 
typing up her report, then poured a cup of coffee from the coffee-maker 
in the corner of the room and brought it over to her. "Here," he said, 
holding it out.

She looked up, and a smile crossed her dark, attractive face, dropping 
several years from her apparent age. "Thanks," she said, taking the cup.

Kincaid glanced over at the door to the intensive care-unit where he'd 
seen Krycek wheeled after his surgery, then turned back to the doctor. 
"How is he going to be?" he asked.

She looked at him and frowned. "How about we wait until the general gets 
back, Mr.--" She paused expectantly.

"John Kincaid," he replied. They shook hands, and all the other bullshit 
that went along with polite society. That sort of thing was one of the 
reasons why he avoided polite society. The Hunters -- a biker gang he'd 
allied himself with -- were cruder, but much more direct, and more honest 
he'd found.

Maybe that was why he liked Krycek so much. While the man had obviously 
made lying an art-form, his reasons were clear and unchanging. He fought 
and killed and lied to protect his world and the man he loved. Kincaid 
understood those reasons well. Even though he'd been committed to 
protecting Earth, his own reasons for sticking with the Project had been 
simple: Harrison Blackwood.

But with Ironhorse back from the dead, he'd lost all chance of winning 
Harrison. For one brief moment, he'd considered leaving New York, heading 
back to the life he'd built over the last few years. Then a pair of green 
eyes had turned towards him, and Krycek had dragged him off to bed. By 
the time morning had come around, his pain had been soothed and common 
sense had reasserted itself. Even if he didn't have a chance with 
Harrison, his world was still in danger again. He couldn't turn away, not 
after having risked so much to save it in the past.

But, he thought as he watched the doctor working at her computer, intent 
on what she was writing, that didn't mean he had to be alone. Perhaps it 
was time to accept that Harrison wasn't meant for him and find someone 
else. Krycek was too intent on his target -- and he would probably have 
better luck with Mulder than Kincaid had had with Harrison -- but there 
was a world to choose from out there.

A grin started to form as he leaned back in his chair. Yeah, he was tired 
of being alone. It was time for John Kincaid to go on the prowl.

Maybe he'd see what the lovely doctor did in her spare time.

The door swished open, breaking his train of thought, and Kincaid leapt 
to his feet, automatically falling into a defensive posture before he 
recognized Hammond and Mulder. He relaxed slightly, but not too much. 
Both men looked furious.

"How is he?" Mulder asked.

"Dr. Fraiser?" Hammond said at the same time

The doctor saved what she was working on, and stood up. "Well, he 
survived surgery, and it looks good. The bullet did an in and out, not 
doing too much damage as it went through. It narrowly missed several 
organs, including the intestines, thank God. If they'd been nicked, we'd 
be looking at a good chance of infection. However, he lost a lot of 
blood, and he's underweight and probably malnourished as well. That will 
slow his complete recovery down."

"Can I see him?" Mulder asked.

The doctor glanced to Hammond for permission, then pointed towards the 
door to the ICU. "He's still out, and will be for a while."

Mulder nodded, but he was already headed for the door.

The doctor was continuing her report, but Kincaid wasn't listening. From 
his position, he could see through the window in the door to the bed 
where Krycek was lying, hooked up to several pieces of monitoring 
equipment.

Mulder stopped, just inside the door. For a long moment he stood there, 
just looking at the pale man. Kincaid held his breath and waited to see 
what the man would do. Mulder knew that Krycek wanted him, and any fool 
could see that Mulder wanted him back. The question was whether Mulder 
would ever admit it to himself. But if this didn't do it, nothing would. 
If this didn't get the man to commit himself, then Kincaid was going to 
convince Krycek to give up and come with him. They'd make one hell of a 
team.

Finally, Mulder moved. He walked over to the side of Krycek's bed and 
reached down to cover the man's hand. He stayed still for a moment, but 
Kincaid could see his lips moving, even if he couldn't hear the words. 
Finally, he bent down and kissed Krycek on the forehead, then the lips.

Satisfied, Kincaid stepped back. While he really wished it hadn't taken 
this much to get through to the man, at least Mulder was finally starting 
to wise up.

But while Kincaid was willing to keep out of the way, he wasn't willing 
to let Mulder know that just yet. He waited until the FBI agent was 
coming back into the main room, then grabbed him by the arm. "Hurt him 
and I swear, I'll take him from you," he said in a low tone. "Assuming I 
don't kill you first."

Mulder glared back at him. "You're welcome to try," he hissed. Kincaid 
let him go, not letting loose the smile. He might not know Mulder well, 
but he already knew one thing about him: Leave him to think about his 
choice and he would back off. Challenge him, and he would rise to it. 
Threatening to take Krycek from him would make him more determined not to 
give him up.

Hammond was waiting, and Mulder walked over to him. His back was straight 
and when he spoke, his voice was full of command. "General, I think it's 
time you told us just what it is about this base that has the Consortium 
so interested. What alien technology *is* it that you have?"

Hammond glared at him, but Mulder stared him down. Coming up behind him, 
Kincaid added his own glare to the pressure.

After a moment, Hammond sighed. "All right," he said. He glanced at his 
watch, then turned towards the door. "SG-7 will be heading out in ten 
minutes. If you gentlemen would care to join me?"

* * * * *

The control room was interesting, but it was what he saw down below 
through the broad windows that pulled Mulder away from the contemplation 
of his sanity, or lack thereof.

He'd just kissed Alex Krycek. *Kissed* him. In a military base that was 
probably crammed full of surveillance cameras. A physical record that 
would probably be used against him. He must have been insane.

But he hadn't been able to help himself. Seeing Alex lying there, pale 
and thin, suffering from a gunshot wound he'd taken for Mulder... The 
instinct had been building for days. No, he told himself, be honest. It 
had been building for months, maybe even years. Hell, it had probably 
started the day he'd met the man, thinking he was just an over-eager 
young agent. He was beginning to wonder if everything that had happened 
since then had happened for the sole purpose of getting them here.

Almost immediately, he'd rebelled against the thought. Alex was 
unconscious, he had told himself. He'd never know, and Mulder would never 
tell him.

Then Kincaid had thrown out his little challenge. Kincaid had seen. 
Kincaid would tell Alex. There was no going back.

Forcing his thoughts away from Alex and the confusion that seemed to go 
with the man wherever he went, Mulder stared at the... whatever it was. 
It was some sort of ring, about ten, fifteen feet in diameter, with 
strange carvings on it. He turned to the general.

"That's it?" he asked, waving towards the object.

"That's it," Hammond replied.

Mulder stared at it. "What the hell is it, then?" he demanded. He 
couldn't see anything about it that would cause the large blip on Mana's 
scan.

Hammond leaned forward to a microphone. "SG-7, are you ready?" Down below 
a group of men in field fatigues turned and one raised an up-thrust thumb.

Hammond nodded to one of the technicians. "That, gentlemen," he said, "is 
a Stargate."

The technician tapped a command into the keyboard in front of him, and 
suddenly the inner portion of the ring started rotating. It stopped, and 
a v-like object moved to frame a symbol on the ring. There was a loud 
clank, followed by a shudder. "Chevron one encoded," the technician 
announced.

It wasn't finished. Again the ring moved, then stopped, and the 
technician announced a chevron. Each time, there was a physical effect, 
becoming louder and more pronounced, until the technician almost shouted, 
"Chevron seven encoded!"

Immediately, there was a loud 'woosh', and the ring was suddenly filled 
with... Well, he wasn't sure just what it was. It looked like a back-lit 
pool of boiling water. And yet it didn't. Whatever it was, though, it 
erupted from the ring, then subsided into a more placid form.

As they watched, the military team waked up the ramp to the ring, paused, 
then stepped through. The light of the whatever-it-was flared, and then 
vanished. Suddenly, Mulder could once again see through to the concrete 
walls behind the ring.

Mulder stared, his jaw hanging loose. He looked like an idiot, he knew, 
but it didn't really matter. He was still trying to assimilate what he'd 
seen.

A Stargate, Hammond had called it. But to where?

TO BE CONTINUED