"The reconnaissance drone didn't detect any Wraith ships or any other threat on the other side," I said, receiving the information update on the virtual display. "So, it's time for us to go."
"It's about time," Alvar said just as I put my hands on the ship's controls.
The bluish 'puddle' of the gate inexorably approached as the light control yoke changed position. The ship entered the hyper-tunnel.
"So, what's the problem?" I asked, already on the other side. I found myself several thousand light-years from Lantea. It takes your breath away sometimes — just a few moments and that's it, Neil Armstrong could repeat his line about the step... and go to hell. "You could have gone back to your homeland long ago yourself. Then again," I looked at the landscape that had opened up before me, "I understand why you weren't in a hurry."
The scene before me wasn't just depressing.
It evoked a sucking feeling of pity and compassion for the population of an entire world.
The Gate on Jensen's home planet had been installed in the city center, where the central square, ringed by massive buildings, once stood. Now though... only long-abandoned ruins remained.
Scenes from Alvar Jensen's home planet.
"I see this is unfamiliar to you, but soldiers follow their commanders' orders," the former runner grumbled. "It would be extremely stupid and ungrateful of me to agree to cooperate with you and then start doing whatever I please. That's not how cooperation works. At least not in the long term."
"Sounds logical," I agreed, gaining altitude above the ruined houses.
I'd read somewhere that from the nature of the destruction, you could tell what weapon struck the building, at what angle, and which part of the structure it hit. I don't know if that claim extends to Wraith energy weapons, but their thoroughness is something to envy.
"This was the capital of Ermen," Alvar said, sadness in his voice. "More than fifty thousand people lived and worked here."
I almost blurted out that it seemed a bit small for the capital of an entire planet. Then, cursing myself for being flippant, remembered that this galaxy had its own little 'Spanish expedition,' so to speak.
"So your planet is called Ermen," I said instead.
"Yes." Alvar stared straight ahead, but it was as if he didn't see what flashed past the windshield.
The man was silent, lost in his own thoughts. His face showed that returning to his roots didn't exactly thrill him. At least because he had to see the pain the Wraiths had left behind.
I lifted the jumper higher, to about half a kilometer, rightly figuring I shouldn't disturb the runner for now. Without his directions, I'd be searching for what we needed until the Second Coming of the Ancients.
"That way." Alvar pointed toward a massive crater ahead and to the right of our position.
"Straight into the hole?" I clarified, guiding the jumper toward the indicated spot.
"That's where a military base was, one that defended the city," he explained. "Our people have been attacked by Wraiths more than once throughout our history. So there are tunnels running under the city, leading from the base to different parts of town. They were discovered about twenty years ago, prepared for exactly this kind of situation."
"You didn't build them?" I tensed up.
"Our ancestors did, as I understand it," Jensen explained. "The Wraiths hadn't visited Ermen for several centuries. According to the chronicles, during their last culling, they nearly wiped us all out."
"They gave you time to multiply," I figured out.
"Right. A couple hundred years ago, we were simple herders and farmers, until the Wraith raids made our leaders decide to move away from the foothill plains. There were so few of us left that it was decided to use the Ring of the Ancients, which legends spoke of."
"You wanted to run."
"Yes. Our chiefs remembered the legend of where to find them, and on rock paintings, they saw several addresses. Desperation drove us. But in the end, we came to the ruins of the Capital. We found the Ring of the Ancients here, the ruins of cities built before us."
"And you decided to stay." I brought the jumper to the spot the runner had pointed out. Rough estimate — about fifteen kilometers from the Gate to this place in a straight line. Alvar had been to his homeland several times — he'd come back for ammunition and equipment. I figured the Wraiths had picked a worthy candidate to be a runner. "In your place, I'd probably have done the same."
"Sure, the city was in ruins, but there was shelter, and nearby there were forests to hunt in, fields to cultivate. We never left. Especially after we discovered the catacombs."
"I don't want to interrupt, but how does a history lesson help us?" I asked. "We came for weapons, not a spelunking tour."
"Interesting choice of words." The runner's mouth twitched. "Come on, you'll see it all yourself."
"I hope you won't be keeping the secrets of some technological miracle," I muttered, heading to the rear of the jumper. "Because going from herders and farmers to a civilization that, by your own account, was reaching planetary orbit in a couple hundred years takes some serious doing."
"That's exactly why I suggested Chaya come with me," Alvar smirked. "No offense, but as a technician and scientist, she'd leave you in the dust. And yes, there's something in the tunnels she might like."
"Who's arguing?" I asked as we stepped out of the jumper. Looking around, I grimaced at the sight of every square meter covered with decayed pieces of human bodies. Bones, bones, skeletal fragments... All these people had died during the bombardment. But there was no one to give them a proper burial. "But when you were thinking about your gallantry, did you consider how grateful she'd be for having to haul crates of weapons?"
"I'd have managed on my own," Alvar snorted. "This way."
The former runner raised his weapon and, with his knees slightly bent, moved at a brisk pace toward a particularly large pile of rubble on the slope of the big crater.
Rough estimate, the crater was about fifty meters deep, and the entrance to the tunnels Jensen mentioned was a bit higher. If I remember anything about explosives, a detonation usually throws material from the inside out, scattering debris and shrapnel around.
The crater was littered with fragments of walls, ceilings, mangled rebar, and much more.
"I take it there was a big underground base here," I guessed, catching up to Alvar as he climbed over the ruins.
"A complex built by our ancestors," he explained.
"And you kept quiet about this the whole time?" I was stunned. Because in the Pegasus galaxy, the Ancients were known among humans as the Ancestors.
"Does that change anything?" the runner was surprised. "We're here either way. Help me shift this piece of wall. The crawlway to the tunnel is behind it. I covered it up the last time I left here. So the Wraiths wouldn't find it."
He pointed to an uneven chunk about a meter and a half high, about twenty centimeters thick. In width — about a meter and a half, so you could squeeze through without any problems.
I looked at the edge of the wall and shook my head. Reinforced concrete. When you thought about it, in my universe, concrete in its conventional sense was invented sometime in the early 1800s. Plus or minus fifty years or so.
Roman concrete, yes, existed long before that, but here, as far as I could see, it was precisely that notorious 'Portland cement.' Concrete reinforcement also appeared around the 19th century. Well, plus or minus, allowing for my faulty memory.
And this despite the fact that we weren't attacked every couple hundred years by guys who could, just out of hunger, devour the entire population of a planet. But here, as Alvar said, that had already happened before. I figured the locals knew quite a bit about the civilization that preceded them.
"Are these base fragments?" I asked.
"No," Yenser replied. "The base had an ammunition and weapons depot, powerful energy sources, including a couple of nuclear reactors. When the Wraiths struck the base, everything here exploded, causing a collapse. The rubble we're walking on is mostly the upper floors of nearby Capital buildings."
"Buildings you built?" I clarified.
"We tore down the old ones to the foundation," he admitted. "Otherwise we couldn't have built a new city."
So, in two hundred years, shepherds had learned to make spaceships, nuclear reactors, and reinforced concrete. A joke for a minute, or I'm missing something.
"And how did you move it by yourself before?" I asked, bracing my feet against one part of the rubble and my hands against the needed piece. Alvar did the same. And just as I readied myself to strain every muscle, the wall fragment easily tipped over a little over a meter toward the center of the crater.
The rubble beneath us sprang back. Looking closer, I saw a thick piece of rebar, as thick as my forearm, running through the base of the shifted chunk. And its free ends disappeared under other debris.
Under the bottom edge, a hollow hidden by other slabs was visible, allowing this 'lid' to rotate freely around an axis.
"This is the first time I've seen a building material this dense and this light," I admitted.
"The Ancestors knew how to build," Jensen smirked. "We do too."
"I don't doubt it."
Directing his light into the gap, too dark for daylight to penetrate, Jensen, still on guard, still in a combat stance, dropped down, assessing the situation. I lingered a moment, then activated the jumper's cloaking scanner. Even if we were alone on the planet, and the equipment hadn't detected signs of other life, it's better to be safe. They say problems come when you're brimming with confidence and carelessly leave valuable equipment in plain sight.
Stepping over pieces of wall and ceiling that had formed the collapse, I descended to the main level. Alvar was already waiting for me, illuminating the almost perfectly round tunnel arches with his rifle's tactical flashlight. Lined with metal plates, fastened with massive rivets, they stretched far ahead.
I looked at the floor but didn't find the rusty rails I'd expected. Or any signs they'd ever been there.
"What's the matter?" Alvar asked, seeing my interest.
"I thought you might have a subway here too," I explained.
"What's that?"
"Something like trains that run in tunnels like this underground," I explained.
"No, we didn't have that. And the Ancestors didn't seem to either."
"Okay, let's get this straight," I proposed. "There's too much confusion with this 'Ancestors' thing of yours. You generalize too much, and it makes my head spin."
"I don't understand."
"When you say 'Ancestors,' I can never tell if you mean your own distant relatives from the past or the Ancients. That gets really annoying sometimes, you know. I was expecting to see Lantean design here."
Instead — a horror-movie version of the Moscow Metro. Eh, if only it were all tiled...
One of the tunnels under the Capital of Ermen.
"Well, sorry to disappoint," Alvar shrugged. "So, shall we?"
"Far?"
"A couple of kilometers," the soldier estimated. "There's a depot of weapons, uniforms, medicine, and everything needed for one of the districts. I checked the others on my previous visits — they're empty. Looks like some infantrymen broke into them during the fighting with the Wraiths."
"And you didn't bother to find out why?" I asked.
"I'm a pilot, not an infantryman," Jensen reminded me. "When the invasion started, my fighter was shot down. I made a forced landing, then spent several more days fighting my way to the Capital. And when I arrived, the Wraiths were already running the show. I fought them commando-style for a couple of days, but in the end, they stunned me and took me to a hive ship. They released me on another planet, and when I came back here, there were no living souls left. Just like that Wraith who made me a runner said. Since then, I haven't found a single one of my people, even though I left signs and messages every time I came here to resupply."
"I think on the way back, we could search for someone from orbit," I suggested. "Maybe someone survived in the forests, mountains, and so on."
"If they're not idiots, they've already cleared out of here," Jensen countered. "Anyway, what would I say to them when we meet? 'Hello, let's rebuild our civilization?'"
"Why not?" I was surprised. "It wouldn't be the first time people in this galaxy have started over."
"And what, you'd let all my people onto Atlantis?" Alvar laughed, stopping at a fork of several tunnels. Orienting himself, he waved toward the one on our right.
"Chaya and I aren't against helpers, but not freeloaders," I said. Bringing up the rear, I kept my personal shield active out of habit. Yes, as the Proculucian had established, the technology was experimental, energy-hungry, but indispensable in my opinion. She agreed with that, though. She just didn't know if she could replicate it. To do that, she'd have to disassemble the existing sample and study it thoroughly. Or, through trial and error, develop a similar one from the data in the lab where I'd found it. The problem, however, was that making the shield, like similar Ancient technologies, required rare earth elements. Which we didn't have much of. I was starting to understand why, in the series, the expedition preferred not to repair serious damage to key systems but to bypass such places with backup systems.
"Are you sure?" Alvar asked. "Things haven't been exactly smooth between you two lately."
"What makes you say that?"
"Then why aren't she and Teyla with us?"
"They have things to do on Atlantis," I shrugged.
"Uh-huh," Alvar smirked. "One is scrubbing the ancient food containers, and the other is acting like you don't exist."
"And it's impossible to guess who's who in your comparison," I shot back. "Chaya has things to do — she wants to send a second reconnaissance drone to the combat satellite to find out in advance what damage it has and whether we can repair it with what we have."
"That satellite is exactly where it all started," Jensen noted. "You've offended Chaya somehow."
"I don't recall a course in home psychotherapy being included in this weapons run."
"I don't know what happened between you two," Jensen continued as if nothing were wrong, "but you're wrong to treat her like that. She's a good woman, kind and smart. Those are the kind you should cherish and care for, not drive to tears."
"And who drove her to tears?"
"You did. Teyla said Chaya ran out of her lab in tears after that conversation. That's not right."
Well, well. I had no idea about any of that. I hadn't even noticed. Then again... paying attention to those close to me isn't my strong suit. I'd noticed Marina's health problems too late, as well.
That's just my nature — if I get immersed in something, I don't notice anything around me. Priority allocation — do what's important as fast as possible, and the rest doesn't really need attention right now. Concentrating all efforts on one task strikes me as the most optimal way to solve the problems at hand.
"I don't think it's about me. More about what I said."
"And that's not the same thing?" Jensen stopped at the entrance to a wide corridor, on both sides of which were metal doors covered with a brownish substance. There were traces of dust on the floor, dirt, and in some places, water dripped from aged pipes in the ceiling.
"I guess not," I concluded. "I take it you're not taking an interest in Chaya for no reason?"
"She's done a lot for me," the former runner didn't deny it. "You may have disabled the transmitter, but she removed it. It's safer that way. She helped me get used to the wonders of Atlantis. She even tried to make me like you and her."
"Yes, I know about the attempt to give you the gene. Too bad it didn't work. We're short on pilots."
"Agreed," the man said. "Saying half of Atlantis's inhabitants can pilot jumpers is one thing — it's a proud statement. But the fact that there are only four of us — not so much. We've arrived, by the way. This door."
Approaching the indicated opening, I noticed the door was partially skewed. But there were also marks on the stone floor suggesting the door had jammed while opening.
"Can you shoot through the door with your blaster?" Jensen asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
"And behind it... an armory? With rifles, ammunition, grenades, and so on down the list. Am I right?"
"Naturally." Alvar gestured around the room. "This is an operational depot for recruits or mobilized civilians. Arming them and providing everything they need is our duty."
"Yes, but I'm not going to shoot the door," I had to warn him. "It's too flimsy for that kind of weapon. I'm afraid our emergency reserves might detonate. And they, as you know..."
"I know," Jensen cut me off. "Fine, help me force the door. We can't stand here forever."
The door, unlike the reinforced concrete, wasn't light. It took a couple of minutes to swing it wide open — otherwise, carrying out the weapons would have been problematic. Jensen swept his flashlight over the numerous structures inside, then walked over to a strange-looking panel with wires coming out of a device. Grabbing the handle of a wheel on its front, he began cranking it energetically.
The quite recognizable whining of a dynamo machine sounded.
Dim light flickered under the ceiling, as well as at the front of the numerous rectangular structures I'd noticed earlier. Jensen kept cranking for several more minutes until a bright white light from something resembling fluorescent lamps dispelled the darkness.
The depot wasn't futuristic, but it wasn't depressing either. About a hundred to a hundred and fifty square meters of space was filled with numerous rack-cases. In some, orderly rows of firearms could be seen — pistols, automatic rifles, and regular rifles. In others lay orderly rows of ribbed and smooth cylinders, equipped with safety pins and narrow trigger levers. I assumed this was the local equivalent of grenades. But... why store assembled grenades? There's a simple rule — the casing and contents are separate, the detonator separate. Need to use one — screw it in and go.
Yes, in some circumstances, when fighting is non-stop, there's really no need to have grenades prepared for long-term storage on hand. During active combat, yes, grenades should be armed, because you never know when you'll need them.
But here, obviously, there was no fighting. This was a long-term depot. Different rules should apply here. But, looking closer, there they were: hundreds of loaded magazines and clips, armed grenades, mines... Yes, it's convenient — walk in and grab, don't waste time. But that's not how it's done! Springs can fatigue, and then there's no question of feeding rounds into the mechanism. Either these guys were more advanced and weren't afraid of metal corrosion, or they didn't know what such carelessness could lead to.
I was suddenly reluctant to touch their grenades — they might blow up in my hands any second. Or during transport.
Ammunition depot under the Capital.
"How many soldiers is this depot meant for?" I asked. Some of the weapons lockers were already opened. I figured the runner had taken as much as he could carry.
"This particular one can equip a battalion of soldiers." Alvar, wasting no time, went to one of the massive cabinets and started pulling out loaded magazines and belts with grenades threaded through the loops. "Those doors you saw — behind each one is a storage for medicine, canned food, uniforms, and gear. There are many similar depots in the tunnels with everything needed for guerrilla warfare behind enemy lines. Or for a quick evacuation with what you'd need on the run. But this is the central depot. The first place after the base, guarded by the best means. The other depots, smaller than this one, have much fewer supplies — enough for a company at most."
"I didn't notice any particular security problem."
"That's because I disabled it on my first return," Jensen said. "And I couldn't turn it back on."
"Did you check the others?" I asked, examining the ammunition and weapons, perfectly prepared for long-term storage. They weren't in greased packaging, but that didn't mean there wasn't a preservative solution on them: it was visible on closer inspection, something like Solid Oil in consistency, but only by consistency.
Interesting.
"I wasn't in the mood for sightseeing," Alvar admitted. "I'd go in, take what I needed, and leave as fast as possible before the Wraiths figured out I was underground and how I got in."
"Yes, scanning underground utilities is a weakness of theirs," I agreed.
The presence of such large stocks made fulfilling the promise to the Athosians much easier. If this depot alone had weapons and gear for a battalion of soldiers, that was already enough to arm a small army. And there were other, smaller depots too!
We wouldn't have to manufacture anything using Atlantis's resources. At least not at first. Not to mention we could acquire our own arsenal and much more.
However, something was bothering me.
"It's a magnificent setup you've got here," I praised. "But it doesn't answer any fewer questions."
"Come on." Alvar waved toward the exit. "There's another depot. You'll understand everything there."
The other depot turned out to be the door next door. The corridor had gotten brighter too. And, what was even more interesting, the metal door had a combination lock. Apparently, Alvar hadn't locked that depot with it last time he left.
"When there's no power, these locks are a real pain," he explained. "I had to resort to some tricks to open it and get weapons."
"I take it the trick involves an external power source?" I asked.
"Yes." Jensen put some effort into opening the new door. And it was at least three times thicker than the previous one. I didn't miss the numerous cylindrical bolts of the locking mechanisms. From the end I could see, there were about five of them, each as thick as my leg. "I have some idea how to create a short circuit and blow the lock with a directed explosion. Fortunately, the weapons depot has weaker access than the memory storage."
"Memory storage?" I repeated. Jensen made an inviting gesture with his hand.
Inside, the same process repeated — the dynamo, flickering light, unknown structures...
But instead of rows of weapons racks and ammunition stores, I was faced with what looked like server cabinets from my past life. Massive, about three meters tall, they stood in two rows of five units each. Blinking with multicolored lights and filling the room with the hum of operating mechanisms, they ignited an unprecedented interest in me.
"Let me guess," I said, seeing Alvar heading toward the far corner of the room, where several worktables and carts with various equipment were located. "Besides the tunnel network, you also discovered server rooms left by your ancestors. Did I get that right?"
"Memory storage," Alvar confirmed. "The Ancestors were quite smart to have preserved their knowledge for future generations. As I understand it, our planet has been attacked many times in the past, and after every Wraith raid, everything started from scratch. However, there's something in this storage that doesn't belong to our technology. It doesn't look like anything we've seen from the Ancestors' legacy. That's why I asked Chaya to come with me — maybe she would have recognized this object."
"The Ancients' technology is quite specific and has a characteristic design," I smirked. "So..."
I fell silent when I saw what Jensen was wheeling toward me on a small cart.
Resembling an artillery rocket, equipped with six short, ribbed fins in the middle section, the object stirred something in my memory from the scant pages of history concerning events I knew.
"The Ancestors' language is somewhat different from ours," Jensen explained. "But command said that according to the chronicles, the Ancestors indicated that it was with this object, which they called the 'Sitari Legacy,' that they were able to reach the pinnacle of their development. We could only figure out what they left us on these servers," he pointed to the glowing cabinets. "But this thing — no. Maybe Chaya can figure out what this device is for..."
"I can tell you what it is without her." I looked around for something that might resemble a hologram or a controlled vision. No, nothing. The scanner showed that the object emitted no radiation whatsoever, just as it had no traces of energy. If it ever worked, it certainly hadn't in the last few years.
"And?"
"This is a probe containing all the information and technological achievements of the Sitari race," I said. "It looks like your ancestors hit the jackpot."
Sitari probe.