"Normal heroes always take the roundabout way," I sang, reciting a line from a famous Soviet film. "Normal heroes always take the roundabout way."
Pissing off the Ascended isn't the smartest thought that can come to the population of this universe.
"It's not easy going the roundabout way, not very pleasant, and very far, not very pleasant, and very far."
How many opportunities to complicate one's fate do beings who've lived thousands, even millions of years, and seen some serious shit, have? Most likely the same numbers: thousands and millions.
And they'd probably manage to do it without breaking their own rules. Even if Melia had listened to me, she didn't agree that rules were meant to be broken.
"But only the wise do it this way, only the brave advance this way," I sighed heavily, leaning back from the Jumper's control panel. "Only the brave advance this way."
There's a belief that you can intrigue an idiot by promising to tell him something interesting tomorrow.
"Fools build heroes and charge straight ahead," I stared at the glowing instrument panel from the pilot's seat, trying to compensate for my irritation with singing. Thankfully, no one was around to tell me where I could go with my vocal talents. "Normal heroes always do the opposite, normal heroes always do the opposite."
Jumper control panel. View from the pilot's seat.
The thought that the Ascended's energy asses would be slightly singed, and they'd finally spit on their religious precepts and help, wouldn't leave me alone.
"And we'll never stray from the crooked path, and if we have to, we'll take the crooked path again, and if we have to, we'll take the crooked path again."
But the psychological attack via a singer who had a bear step on his ear wasn't helping one bit.
And how else to solve a problem with a huge number of unknowns, I had no idea.
The ultimatum I'd given Melia was good. Damn good.
"If you're not interfering, then don't get in the way." "If you trust me, then trust me—don't look over my shoulder with your finger on the big gun's trigger." And, for crying out loud, at least give me a Russian-Ancient dictionary.
How can you possibly control the technology of an alien civilization when everything, literally everything, is written in their language?
From the markings on buttons to the text on monitors.
And it wouldn't be so bad if it were static text! No! The Ancients used... scrolling text as their basic method of displaying textual information. So there you sit, looking at a monitor—any monitor—and watch as dozens and hundreds of pictograms race before your eyes in wave after wave.
I can't say my ultimatum worked as intended.
They won't trust me, but they won't interfere at every step either. As for the other conditions... Mixed results there too. But the main thing I understood was: in moments of danger, sitting around waiting for someone big, good, and bright to come and save me isn't worth it. They won't interfere. Not when great evil is done to me, nor if I decide to do it. Later, yes, maybe they'll come and punish me if I commit great villainies—break their rules. But that'll be later. And quite possibly, they won't do it themselves but will send someone after my soul.
Wonderful allies. I don't trust them, they don't trust me. Who's to blame? Hippaforalkus!
They didn't give me a dictionary, of course. And no, not even because giving me that information would be a rule violation. Oh no, Melia assured me that such data was, in principle, unnecessary to give me, since I could potentially find the answer myself.
Because deep down, I already know it.
Brilliant, right?
Of course.
At first, I thought she was appealing to the fact that I'd once seen something on the internet about this topic... Turns out, no. Not that at all.
"To achieve anything, you need to learn," the Ancient said before vanishing.
And that was it.
I didn't have the strength to swear and curse.
I'd already realized we were playing those universal chess games where my move, which seemed victorious, actually helped the opponent hit back. I thought that since they couldn't intervene quickly, were afraid, and were busy in general, they'd meet me halfway? No such luck.
The only thing, besides the obvious, that worked directly in my favor was that the Ascended weren't going to contest my rights to Atlantis and any other of their legacies I might discover.
And no, that's not a concession.
That's, damn it, a law they have. If an item hasn't been claimed for a long period, and its owner or creator hasn't asserted their rights, then whoever said "mine" first is the new owner.
Well, I said it. I can be proud of myself—Atlantis is mine. It's supposedly even written somewhere in its subroutines. Okay, now I just need to find a few ZPMs, set a course for Earth, and get a certificate of ownership from the MFC for... Here's the catch. I doubt the local version of my homeland can issue documents for ownership of a spaceship—which is also a city, a bit of a laboratory-testing complex, a sample of high technology, a weapons platform—and that's only what I know about Atlantis.
Well, at least from Melia's hints about Moros banning drinking fountains in every room, I understood that those water columns I wanted to drink from were actually circulating not oceanic water, but already desalinated water.
It took me about thirty minutes to find a tap and thoroughly quench my thirst. Great, now I definitely won't die. From dehydration, of course. Once the shield falls, that'll definitely be my end.
There's an option, of course: use the Jumper to blast a hole in a section of the tower and fly out. The ship is sealed, so it can withstand the ocean pressure and break through to the planet's surface. There's a continent there—I could plow fields, hunt game... But there's a catch.
Actually, two.
First: the storm that hit the expedition during their first year here and nearly sank Atlantis when it was on the ocean's surface. The continent wasn't a picnic either.
Second: the solar flare that happened to them in one of the later seasons. Burns everything alive. The Ancients protected the planet in the past by stretching a shield over it. I can't do that—I don't have enough energy.
No, seriously! More than half the problems would be solved if I had energy! But no ZPM in the city will help me—searching for them would mean draining even more energy from a doomed source.
Annoying, but there's an alternative energy source on the planet—the drilling rig. Only it's buried at the bottom of the ocean floor... And I don't know exactly where. But I remember a Wraith ship crashed nearby. And inside it, there's one small problem. Which could create two more problems threatening the planet's destruction.
And I'm not even mentioning that the platform's controls are also in the Ancient language! And I have absolutely nowhere to learn it!
I spent several hours trying to come up with at least some plan.
I have a clue about how and where to find a ZPM, but... To do that, I need to leave the city! And for that, I need to know where to go—the planet with what I'm looking for is somewhere in this galaxy. And I can't get there without knowing its address. At least not in my current situation.
All in all, it took me a few hours to realize that the Ascended hadn't gotten the smartest helper.
I'd heard Melia's words about ZPMs and drinking fountains... But I thought the hints were only in those. It seems the lady had basically used the whole conversation to pass on hints that, hopefully, only I would understand.
Learn... I need to learn to achieve success.
And where do you learn on Atlantis?
Right—in the hologram room. Which is where I'd returned.
Yes, the installation uses a lot of already scarce energy. But I simply couldn't find any other options. Pushing buttons blindly and hoping for the best is a bad idea. I wouldn't travel back in time, of course, but I could easily blow up something I shouldn't. Or open doors in the flooded sections of the city. Or do something else.
I had no great desire to be a monkey with a grenade, nor to waste time on a random set of addresses based on the "lucky or not" principle.
According to the show, the Ancient language, or as it was also called, the Alteran language, resembled Latin. I didn't know that either, but here's the surprise: the Latin alphabet is the same in many Western countries.
There was even a joke about that—a Frenchman and an Englishman lamenting that their alphabets had the same letters but different words.
So I turned to Melis's hologram—the real hologram, not her Ascended copy—and asked her to show me the Ancient alphabet.
She showed me. As I'd already guessed, the city's computer adapts to the language it hears for oral communication. I don't know if the city has a database of all existing languages or if it analyzes what's said and learns like a neural network, but the fact remains.
I got the symbols of the Ancient alphabet.
And the ten digits—from zero to nine.
Then I asked her to show me the symbol for the Atlantis gate and its full address. To dial the gate address, this element is mandatory. It's the last in a chain of seven symbols. Generally, each symbol is a constellation visible in the night sky, and supposedly it's unique for each planet—at least for the local group where the constellations are similar. But something tells me it's not that simple—otherwise they'd have to work very hard to always return to their home planet from the other end of the galaxy.
Or maybe they did work hard—I'll just have to find out for myself.
Should it surprise me that the Ancient alphabet used on Atlantis had twenty-six symbols? Exactly the same number as the Latin alphabet.
Granted, there are various dialects where the symbols are slightly different and the count varies. But I chose the "basic" one.
Matching the letters and Arabic numerals with their counterparts from the basic Alteran alphabet from Atlantis wasn't all that difficult. As a result, through trial and error, I recorded the identifications I'd made into my PDA's memory. It wasn't bad, but I needed to test my findings in practice. For that, the city's control panel and the available address database would do.
Lantean alphabet.
Without the numerous laptops, familiar monitors, servers, and PDAs produced on Earth, the city's control center seemed empty. The Ancients hadn't even provided chairs or seats for working in this place.
Atlantis control center. Located in the "right" part of the second tier of the gate room.
In the Ancients' control panels, absolutely everything is unusual. The shape, the size, the texture...
There are no familiar buttons here; each "keyboard" is a flat glass (or glass-like) panel inserted into a console slot. They can easily be removed and swapped around for convenience. But at the same time, there's also a more familiar "button" mode—but that's mostly tied to the gate control panel.
Each such glass panel has marks for touch buttons—just place a finger on top and something will definitely turn on. Through trial and error, I finally managed to reach the database I needed.
But that was a real pain. First, I had to translate from Ancient to English, then, scraping my memory, to Russian. Turns out, I remember the language of a potential enemy much better than I thought. Or maybe it's another one of those Ancient jokes.
The database of Pegasus Galaxy gates that the Ancients had wasn't just a notebook with many addresses that could be dialed right there in the control center to open a wormhole to the other end of the galaxy. It also had relatively detailed reference information—if the Ancients knew what was happening on that planet.
Melia's hint, transparent as a child's tear, gave me a chance not only to save the city but also, in principle, to establish myself in the galaxy on a completely different level. All I had to do was find the right planet—and that was no easy task. I'd have to go through thousands and thousands of addresses... And it's not even certain that the database would mention the planet I needed in a way I'd understand.
And there certainly weren't any notes about what the expedition had discovered there—because the expedition itself didn't exist.
Potentially, potential, potentia...
None of this had anything to do with cheap jokes.
In this galaxy, there's a planet where a so-called Brotherhood once ruled. In the show, during the expedition leader's time travel, the Ancient who helped her, Janus, not only saved the city but also gave the woman who remained in stasis for ten thousand years in abandoned Atlantis a note with five planets' addresses. Each had a ZPM.
One of the planets on that list is the world ruled by the Quinndozium Brotherhood. I remember they were monks—harmless and timid. But they were all destroyed during a Wraith attack on the planet. And the knowledge of the ZPM's location was lost.
The expedition members went to investigate, faced many puzzles, found the ZPM... but couldn't take it.
The problem was that the locals kept the device exclusively for the Ancients. And when they learned the expedition members weren't Ancients, they took the battery back and hid it again. As far as I know, the Earthlings never tried to track that ZPM down again.
In the Brotherhood's records, it was referred to as "Potentia." Which means "power" or something similar.
All I had to do was find the right address, fly to the planet, pick up the ZPM, and return to Atlantis before the city disappeared beneath the water. Easy—do it three times a day and you'd forget about cholesterol.
But there was another problem.
Based on cause and effect, the ZPM ended up with the Brotherhood because Janus gave it to them. And he did that for the expedition leader who came from the past. Melis confirmed that no version of the expedition had ever arrived in the city. Which meant there wasn't even a hint that those infamous five ZPMs from Janus existed in this galaxy. To hell with all five—I'd have been happy with just one. For starters, anyway.
Yes, there were other places with ZPMs. But there, except for the replicator planet, they were practically drained. And it wasn't certain I'd find even one.
What's the probability of guessing correctly even once when choosing one address out of thousands? Tiny. Even with the gate database having search and filters based on key terms—that didn't make it any easier.
So, I had four obvious locations to choose from, three of which clearly had ZPMs of varying depletion levels. In my situation, I didn't have much of a choice.
I needed at least some kind of ZPM to prolong the city's agony.
It wasn't for nothing that Melis was hinting at the last option. Logically speaking, Janus, after leaving Atlantis, was unlikely to have returned to Pegasus just to leave even one ZPM. Simply put—that would require a ton of energy. And the Ancients who fled to the Milky Way were extremely constrained in resources. Besides, in the canon events, when the Council members directly asked Janus if the time-traveling heroine had gone through the gate, he lied and said yes.
That's right—the Lanteans didn't let the Earth woman return to her own time. They planned to take her with them to Earth.
I don't think I need to say that as soon as all the inhabitants of Atlantis left for Earth and realized the Earth woman wasn't with them, they didn't go back to get her. The galaxy was crawling with Wraiths, and their ships were pretty tight.
True, they could have used the gate—the Milky Way had ZPMs after all... But they didn't. Why? I don't know; I can only guess, but without facts, it's just a waste of time.
I don't think Janus sent any ZPMs to the Pegasus Galaxy after he left. He probably gave the addresses of planets where they already existed in one form or another. That would have been the most reasonable option.
In any case, the situation in the city was such that I needed a ZPM, even a partially charged one. An extra hour, day, week, or month wasn't just important.
All I had to do was find the coordinates of the planets I needed in Atlantis's database and take a Jumper there.
Easier said than done.
Unfortunately, my memory wasn't rich with the coordinates of the Brotherhood's planet. It was called Dagan, by the way. So I couldn't even use the search service. And working through trial and error...
Wait a minute. If I couldn't find Dagan by its coordinates, why not try a different approach?
* * *
The idea of entering the planet's name into the search engine seemed extremely interesting. So I did just that.
Imagine my surprise when it turned out that in the entire vast Atlantis database, there wasn't a single mention of such a thing. Not just the planet's name—there wasn't even a remotely similar word.
Dagan, Dakan, Dogann, Dagon... I rearranged the letters as best I could, as far as my memory allowed—nothing.
Unlike Earth equivalents, the city's search system required exact search criteria. So I tried a dozen times to enter the planet's name into the system one way or another, but I never advanced in my search.
A specter of disappointment loomed on the horizon.
Well no, Russians don't give up that easily.
Let's try a different search criterion.
Unfortunately for me, the word "Potentia" was clearly related to the language of the Ancients, who, as we recall, dabbled in Latin. If I was right, then "Potentia" from Latin means strength, power, and a dozen other meanings. So, the search engine gave me information about planets that had powerful volcanoes, strong storms, magnetic fields, hurricanes, and so on and so forth...
Were there cataclysms of that order on the Brotherhood's planet? The Ancients weren't interested in ordinary volcanoes or anything like that. Only supervolcanoes, supercyclones, super tides.
I think I would have remembered something like that. And since I don't, I can safely remove such planets from the list. And that cut down the number of resulting options by about thirty percent.
Out of three thousand addresses, I only had to look at two thousand. Progress, but not as swift as I would have liked.
To be sure, I tried my luck with the planet's name a few more times, then in frustration kicked the Stargate control console, as if the high-tech device could be blamed for anything.
I refused to accept defeat. Not when I was so close to saving the city! While Atlantis belonged to the Ancients, I couldn't have cared less about it. But now that the city is mine... No, my grandfather is Belarusian and my grandmother is Mordvin — such a fiery mix leaves no chance for passing wonders of the universe.
I needed to change my approach.
At the same time, my stomach made itself known with a quiet rumble. Like, hey boss, solving the Ancients' problems is all well and good, but don't forget about yourself.
Fine. That damn planet wasn't going anywhere. At least not in the half hour I planned to spend on a meal. Because I wasn't even going to leave the control center.
My limited supply of rations took another hit. Over the five days I'd been in Atlantis, I was already sick of them. And if at first I associated them more with hematogen, now they seemed exclusively like plasticine. I'm starting to understand Melis.
Time dragged monotonously.
Day after day, I pored over one database record after another. Some of the city's sensors were still working, so I did receive reports that half the city was already flooded.
But I still couldn't make any progress in my research. Good thing I'd been using a minimum of consumers in the city, so the shield was still holding. I didn't believe for a second that this was due to positive intervention from the Ancients.
A jumper was ready, packed to the brim with everything I could find in my small habitat. A couple of scanners, a few trinkets, some information crystals in the Lantean language...
Interestingly, I even found a personal protective shield of the Ancients.
It was shown in the series a couple of times. A small crystal, looking like a tiny green coffin. When activated, it protected its wearer from any damage: bullets, energy weapons, falling from great heights, and so on...
The personal shield of the Lanteans.
The device activated quite simply — if you had the Ancient gene, you just had to stick it on your body or clothes. It enveloped the person in an almost invisible film of energy.
A useful thing, no doubt.
Especially since it was keyed to only one owner and no one could remove it — the shield only deactivated at the owner's will. In the series, to achieve this, they had to starve one of the expedition members into a hunger-induced fit so the smart device would turn off. It turns out it has a safety mechanism — not letting any food or water through, only air (and I think some other gases too), the shield would deactivate when the owner considered themselves in mortal danger from using the device.
After long practice using it, over about four days, I learned to turn it off by force of will, simply by thinking that I would die if it didn't turn off on its own. The main thing was to really, really believe it.
I'm sure there's a more normal "switch," but I couldn't find one. Not yet.
During the days spent studying the gate database, I'd even gotten somewhat used to the constantly blinking images with various symbols and explanations on the Ancients' monitors in the control center.
The latter, by the way, also turned out to be of different types. There are ones that look like rectangular pieces of murky green glass hanging from the ceiling. There are simple ones built into the wall. There just aren't the kind I'm used to.
Though, I must admit, in the pursuit of "ultra-thinness" for bezel-less monitors, the local manufacturers had surpassed my fellow Earthlings. As they had in many other things, actually.
The city's computer, apparently realizing that the only inhabitant of Atlantis was slightly less than a genius, was displaying a city schematic for me, marking flooded areas in red. The lab where "I was born!" was also underwater. A little more, and the entire city would be engulfed by the ocean.
Chewing the disgusting ration bar, I returned to sorting through the addresses.
After a few more hours of work, I felt my brain boiling. Along with my irritation. I could really go for a couple of cigarettes right now...
But there was no such thing in the city.
However, from the control center I could get to an open balcony, which offered a wonderful view of the dying city. In moments when everything finally got to me and I wanted to run away from here, I'd go out "to get some air."
If I had at least one sufficiently charged ZPM, I could admire not the black hulks of distant skyscrapers, but buildings shining with internal lights. But as it is... Half the city is flooded, the other half is just getting ready for it.
A brilliant "isekai," nothing to say for it...
I thought about whether, if I'd ended up in the version of events where Janus helped save the city, it would have been easier... But after two or three "smoke breaks," I came to the conclusion that no, it wouldn't have been.
The expedition had their own energy sources with which they kept the city functioning the whole time until they got a ZPM. I didn't have any such generators. And I couldn't create them — I had neither the knowledge nor the materials.
Consequently, Atlantis, if it were on the surface, would be left without power. Defenseless and alone. Yes, I could use the gate from a jumper — if you dial the gate address from one, the city doesn't waste ZPM energy to activate the "ring."
But these are all such contingencies... That you only resort to when hopelessness sets in... Yes, well. Sir, forgive me, but you are clearly not cut out for the role of savior of a great civilization.
Watching another city skyscraper release its air, filling with water, I absently thought that the flood-damaged parts of the city could be repaired.
Oh, why doesn't the gate database work on the same principle as the jumper's controls? In the series, it was said that it reads your thoughts, as it were... And, to be honest — it does. The ship responds to mental commands just as effectively as it does to button presses.
Essentially, you could say that the instrument panel and steering yoke on the ship are a backup control system for the jumper. The primary one is mental control. But, for example, you can't dial an address mentally... Well, I haven't tried it that many times. Only about ten. But not a single dialing key lit up in the jumper. And there was no dialing sound either. Nor any extra backlighting on the keyboard.
"Sir, this work is beyond your ability," I said to myself.
Funny. Despite it being quite cold on the balcony — after all, the city is hundreds of meters below the ocean surface — the porridge in my head was starting to burn. I'm calling myself "sir."
Maybe I should invite one of the Ancients for a chat, Melis, for example? Nah, better Ganos Lal. And drive her up the wall with endless addresses like "gracious mistress," "young lady," "madam."..
That would be a laugh.
"Sir" is laughing at "madam.".. Actually, did the Lanteans have some special form of address for girls and women? Well, like the well-known mademoiselle and madame, miss and missus... I wonder, was it customary among the Ancients to carry a handkerchief in your jacket pocket, so you could offer it to a lady when needed?
There must have been some form of address, but it clearly wasn't "madam," because such an address only appeared... in the relatively recent history of my world... On Earth... In this universe, it's not customary to rename... planets...
Stop!
From the realization of my mistake, I felt a wave of heat rush over me. Despite the cold all around.
But that didn't matter anymore — I ran back into the control center.
Why the hell did I even decide that in the Ancients' database the planet was called Dagan? After all, the ancient language gave rise to Latin, and "Dagan" doesn't sound like something that got its name from that language! Exactly! I remembered!
The planet was called something entirely different in the time of the Ancients!
Madam... Ugh, dammit, Sudaria!
Well, of course!
That's where these thoughts were coming from!
Sudaria! That's what the planet was called in the olden days, not Dagan, Dogan, or whatever!
Translated from Latin, it meant "handkerchief" or even "nose cloth." I couldn't remember that, but by taking my mind off the stupid address sorting, my brain "rebooted," and I unconsciously accessed my memories. The associative chain formed, and voilà! The planet's name surfaced in my head on its own!
Standing at the terminal responsible for the gate database and the gate itself, I silently thanked the city's creators that this console didn't work directly with the city's central computer. Over so many days, if I'd been addressing the most advanced computer in this galaxy, I'd have drained way more power!
Making a couple of mistakes, on the third try I entered the correct name and... got a result!
Oh, for crying out loud!
Sudaria really existed!
The planet was even on the list of addresses I'd been looking through and reading their faded descriptions! Under number one thousand eight hundred and forty-seven! Which was about a thousand addresses past where I'd stopped.
I felt like screaming with joy when I saw the coveted six symbols of the planet's address before me. But the elation was nothing compared to the realization of how aimlessly and stupidly I had spent so much time.
That was it, no more hesitation.
With a hand trembling from the excitement of my first major victory, I dialed the combination on the city's console. With a characteristic hum, seven blue crystals on the outer rim of the gate lit up. As did the seven coordinate symbols of the dialed address on the inner ring.
With a noise that made me jump from both fear and triumph, a vortex of blue energy burst from the empty center of the gate.
The Stargate activation process. This part is tied to the activation of the gate at the Earth base in the Milky Way galaxy — that's where the crystals are red-orange. The Milky Way and Pegasus gates differ not only in design, but also in functionality. Because the "Pegasus" ones are newer. By 5–10 million years or so.
The vortex of energy, which I knew was capable of destroying anything in its path, retracted inward with a loud gurgle. Now the inner circle of the gate was filled with "water." It even rippled, as if a breeze was ruffling its surface.
But that was just an illusion.
There was no wind, no water.
It was an energy structure, only vaguely resembling the analogies the mind draws. It seemed like a distant but powerful light was shining in the center of this "puddle.".. But that was just an effect too.
Activated gate of Atlantis.
The white-blue glow generated by the gate dispelled the semi-darkness in the room.
For a few seconds, I just stared at this marvel of technology. Simply because... Well, how could I not? This is a working stargate, for fuck's sake! I just activated it! Myself, for fuck's sake! Without any doctorates or the Ancients' knowledge in my head!
Eat that, cheaters!
"Admired it long enough," I said. "Time to save the city."
I decided to use the same jumper that had become my home and storage unit since the Ascended left. Uncomfortable as it was, I still slept in it, on the side seats, with the rear hatch closed — which also doubled as the ramp. The ship was airtight and could be used as a submarine. So if I suddenly got "flooded" at night, there was a chance I'd wake up and escape the mess.
Sitting in the pilot's seat, I placed my hands on the yoke, made of a transparent, plastic-like material. A short mental command to start the engines... And the ship lifted off the floor on an anti-gravity cushion. Perfect, it worked!
I had some concerns that the city might suffer a bit if I suddenly screwed up the controls. I slowly made my way to the center of the hangar space, and the seemingly monolithic floor parted, revealing the gate room.
Oh, I hope I don't wreck everything in here.
But as it turned out, the Ancients had foreseen this scenario. The moment I directed the jumper slightly forward and down, it switched to automatic piloting.
The jumper slowly descended into the gate room, pivoted on its axis so the cockpit faced the gate.
A few more seconds of reverent awe and anxiety, which made my hands and armpits sweat... I hope there isn't some kind of shield or defense on the other side that'll splatter me on rematerialization.
In the events I knew, there wasn't...
But in reality... And I shouldn't be here either. Most likely.
I nudged the yoke slightly and felt myself pressed into the seatback as the white-blue "puddle" filled everything my gaze touched.
* * *
On a distant continent of the planet Lantea, the mother world of the ancient city of Atlantis, peace reigned.
Night had fallen, but on the shore of a steep cliff, it was light.
Several figures, radiating a blindingly bright light, stood close to each other, looking straight ahead. Any other being of human origin, the type these beings belonged to, couldn't have boasted such sharp eyesight.
After all, they were looking far beyond the horizon, through many meters of water column.
"I think we should consider how to leave this galaxy," said a snow-white figure with the face of Ganos Lal. "This man... is not a savior. Hippaforalkus found a man as eccentric, inflexible, and straightforward as he was himself. A mind without cunning and..."
"Enough," another Ascended interrupted her. "Your opinion is noted. As is your attitude toward what has been done."
"We cannot entrust our fates to him," Ganos protested. "I believe in people, I believe in their path and self-improvement, but... This Mikhail! He can't even solve the simplest problem! Melis practically told him everything outright! But he didn't even get that right away!"
"I said — enough!" the same Ascended repeated in the same emotionless tone. The others besides these two remained silent. "It would be irrational not to use this chance."
"This is a mistake," Lal declared. "We should have intervened and eliminated the violation of the rules."
"And break them again?" A glow appeared in the air, and another Ascended materialized next to the arguers. "I'm afraid, Ganos, you are projecting your personal thoughts and emotions regarding this man's ancestors too much."
"My emotions are fine, Melis," Morgana stated. "And it has nothing to do with his ancestors!"
"But it does have to do with our survival," the man reminded. "The rules have already been broken. We can only neutralize the consequences. Which is what we are doing."
"This man will destroy Atlantis!" said Ganos Lal. "The causal link will be broken."
"Maybe so," the man said. "But the violation of the rules will be rectified."
"At the cost of our legacy?" Morgana was horrified.
"This is neither the first nor the last city in the Pegasus galaxy," Melis reminded. "Sooner or later, others will be found."
"Only we may not be around by then," Lal pointed towards the resting Atlantis at the bottom. "This man is like a mockery of our grand plan!"
"Perhaps," the second Ascended pretended to believe what was said. "But I draw attention to the fact that we have shown more patience towards people and their actions before."
"Because before, our descendants were acting," another figure of light appeared nearby. But, unlike the others, this woman had a more memorable appearance. "Ganos Lal is nervous because General Hippaforalkus's actions could lead to an irreversible change in the future. And the strengthening of that branch of our descendants that we prefer to forget."
"Oh," a blank smile appeared on Melis's face. "Chaya Sar. I thought you were already dead."
"You know that under normal circumstances, that's impossible," the dark-skinned woman replied coldly, having joined the other Ascended last.
"Who knows," Melis tilted her head. "The Ascended in the Milky Way thought so too. Now they are dead."
"Who summoned the exile to this meeting?" Ganos Lal asked irritably. She didn't even bother to hide her disgust at the sight of the newcomer to their gathering.
"I have the right to be among you," said Chaya Sar. "I am as much an Ascended as you are."
"You were exiled and punished," the leader of the Ascended reminded her. "You are forbidden to leave the planet."
"I know. But you don't have enough energy to..."
"We don't need your help," the leader of the Ancients in the Pegasus galaxy cut her off. "You have disobeyed your sentence. And your punishment will last another hundred thousand years."
"Witnessed," the other Ascended repeated in unison.
"Another hundred thousand years for coming to help you?" Chaya Sar looked at the other Ancients in confusion.
"You have violated the terms of your punishment," said Ganos Lal. "The sanctions for this were known to you in advance."
"You just don't want me involved in any of this," Sar said.
"You're right," Melis confirmed. "Your 'help' usually ends in disaster. In the current circumstances, this cannot be allowed."
"I take it I won't receive forgiveness, even if the Ori convert every single one of our descendants in the universe to their faith?" Chaya clarified.
"Do not aggravate your guilt," the leader of the Ancients said. "Return to where you are supposed to be. And do not appear among us again."
Melis, still holding a meaningless smile on her face, demonstratively waved her palm at the guest.
"I hope you succeed," Chaya said, with poorly concealed pain in her voice. "If I am needed..."
"You won't be," Ganos Lal said sharply. "Get back to where you belong!"
Silently enduring the insult, the dark-skinned Ascended dissolved into thin air.
"I never liked her," Lal said contemptuously. "After what she did, to show up here with an innocent look on her face... It's like she's mocking all of us!"
"Or maybe you should just calm down," Melis said, casting a glance towards Atlantis. "I'd like to say I feel sorry for Atlantis and Mikhail, but..."
"At least half of that would be a lie," Ganos Lal snorted.
"Exactly," Melis put on another of her empty little smiles. "I think the break is over, and it's time for us to plan the next step, since this man has failed..."