Beyond the Iris: A Stargate Story

Chapter 1

Eleanor Owens

A month had passed since my final interview, and thanks to General Hammond, I was essentially hired on the spot. I had sold most of my belongings, only what I could pack up in the shipping crate myself and fit in my little car. The route was only a 12-hour drive, but with a nice per diem granted for the move, I decided to break it into a 3-day trip. My background work with a former professor of mine in the southwestern states had paved the road to where I am now, but that didn't mean it was smooth. I never took time to see things along the way when working under his tutelage, and I didn't have the fondest memories of Utah historically from prior work visits. So, I took the time to dust off my hiking boots and walk the Canyonlands again.

I took the time to appreciate the life I was carving out for myself. My older brother was a firefighter in Kansas City. He was so proud of his work and the contributions he made for our home city. A few years ago he died with that same courage and integrity protecting the community we loved, and I think that was the catalyst I needed to leave the self-destructive archeological program I was a part of and move on to my position at Area-51. There I spent a couple of years learning about parts of the Stargate program I was allowed access to and found a new love for the world of cultural anthropology. To imagine worlds out there untouched by Earth, but still so similar to us. Really seeing how humanity spreads across the galaxy and not only survives, but thrives to an extent that they have their own cultures and practices unthought of here. These other civilizations with practices, recipes, stories and songs that make them so uniquely themselves. I could drown myself in back cataloged mission reports and still not have enough reading material to satiate this desire to learn more. When I heard a rumor that a new position was opening up at the Stargate Command I was one of the first to submit my resume thinking there was no way I would ever be offered the spot. It was definitely a surprise that I was accepted, especially since I was on the bottom of the list of qualifications. I was given another week to house hunt, and quickly moved myself into a cozy single bedroom bungalow between the base and downtown. The home was the perfect size for me to start on this new adventure, and there was a working herb garden in the back as a plus.

Now here I was, today on the first day of a new position. I had gone through the security checkpoint gate, and was standing in the parking lot in front of Cheyenne Mountain Air Force Base clutching the strap of the distressed leather messenger bag my brother had given me the first day of college. It slumped across my body in nervous anticipation with my hands shaking alongside it. They shouldn't be, after all I had worked hard to get to this point. When I was given that phone call about my acceptance the woman on the HR department line told me that General Hammond seemed to have a real interest in my background work prior to Area-51.

There were multiple papers that I had attempted to have published when working on my doctorate, a doctorate I had never finished. When I sent them out to various journals they were always sent back and dismissed. The premise of them always fell back on the concept that outside forces had intervened in Earth's development. I knew that my old professor, Dr. Edward Yoke, was contracted through the US Military to send certain artifacts back to various bases for inspection. We had been told that it was mostly to make sure that the items remained protected and safeguarded, but seeing the intricate detailed pieces buried alongside clay pottery shards made from tools that would never have been able to smelt or pierce metal, metal that was not even indigenous to the area, I started calculating my own theories. I kept them to myself when I became a running joke among my colleagues, but I still attempted to publish them. Towards the end I had been contacted by Area-51 and offered a position that I couldn't refuse, answers to my turned down papers.

I was told that someone would be waiting to guide me through the tunnels and corridors of the base maze. I needed help with actually getting into the base today, and as I walked toward the bustling intersection of military personnel, businessmen, doctors, scientists, I couldn't help but feel out of place. There was a man standing against a fence looking bored, holding a thin folder in his hands. He was lanky and tall, with golden blonde hair in a perfectly shellacked quiff and dark circles under his eyes. I walked up to him with a false confidence plastered across my face, but knew instantly he could sense I wasn't as collected as I had imagined.