"A couple more minutes and it'll be done," Chaya said, extracting a thin, barely noticeable crystalline needle from Teyla's vein. A transparent vial, the size of a pinky, filled to the top with the Athosian's venous blood, was carefully detached from the collection device and placed into the receiving bay of an Ancient computer. The Proculucian secured a strip of healing patch over the puncture site, then moved to the device's control console. Her fingers fluttered over the glowing panel.
"Do you think you can give me that gene Mikhail mentioned?" Teyla clarified, watching the Ancient's actions closely. The latter, though she said she wasn't particularly strong in medicine, still acted confidently.
"It's highly unlikely to succeed," Chaya admitted. "Even in the best of times, gene therapy only gave this gene to a fraction of sentient beings. And the response rate was extremely low. It was only generations later that it could be strengthened through combining genes of different strengths and interventions. I want to examine your blood to check something."
"Do you think I'm sick with something?" Teyla grew worried.
"No." Chaya smiled. "I scanned both you and Alvar on the first day. Your health is quite satisfactory, given your culture's development."
"Then why do this?" Emmagan continued to be curious.
"During the time the Ancients were absent from the galaxy, much has changed," the girl said. "Including the biomes of the planets you and Jensen visited. New microorganisms, diseases, and so forth that the Lantians never knew have arisen. I suspect you've come down with some of them. If antibodies remain in your blood, that will allow me to develop medicines in case Mikhail and I become infected."
"I understand," Teyla said. "My people would welcome such help. Our healers do their best, but with machines like these —" she looked at the numerous Ancient devices arranged around the medical bay with poorly concealed admiration. " many lives could be saved."
"Probably," Chaya agreed after a moment's thought. "However, we shouldn't deify our technology. It can do many things your doctors cannot, but not everything. I doubt there's a cure for all diseases. For example, despite their entire history, millions of years of evolution and technological progress, the Ancients never managed to defeat the common cold. It would seem to be the most ordinary illness, yet it's precisely what allows our bodies to strengthen their defenses against harmful agents."
"A legend circulates among my people that the Ancients could heal people just by touching them," Teyla recalled.
"Yes, that's possible," Chaya confirmed. "But to do that, one needs to develop their body and mind far beyond what Mikhail or I have achieved. Perhaps someday we'll approach the Lantians, but..." She smiled tightly, looking at the Athosian. "Not today. And not tomorrow."
"The main thing is not to give up," Teyla said with a diplomatic smile.
The girls were silent for a while, then Emmagan asked, "Are there disagreements between you and Mikhail?"
Chaya, who had been continuously staring at the monitor, froze for an instant, looking away as if trying to find the right words. Then she looked at the Athosian and nodded to confirm the accuracy of her guess.
"You don't like that he doesn't share his secrets with you?" Teyla suggested.
Chaya didn't answer, pressing her lips together and looking at her hands. She was hardly interested in them specifically, but... Apparently, she was simply uncomfortable, and the Ancient was searching for the right words.
"I know how to keep secrets," Teyla assured her. "Besides, I myself know how badly one sometimes needs someone to talk to."
"The issue isn't Mikhail himself," Chaya said, looking at her. "I don't remember what happened to me when I was Ascended, but I do have memories of my life in a human body. And I remember well who I was and what I did. There are actions I'm deeply ashamed of, things I'm not proud of. And I also know that Mikhail behaves the same way a typical Lantian would toward assimilated peoples. He puts his own plans first and gives orders. I'm afraid it will all repeat — and we'll only learn the truth when it's too late."
"I don't think scandals can fix anything," Chaya said. "One could simply sit down and discuss everything in private..."
The Ancient looked at her with a skeptical gaze.
"Or," Teyla sighed, "one could accept as given that men in any community don't like to talk about their affairs."
"And the higher a man's position, the less he wants to share his plans with subordinates," Chaya sighed. "Sometimes we're nothing more than service personnel to them."
"I wouldn't say Mikhail treats us like servants," Chaya objected. "He's certainly no paragon of virtue, but he's not a tyrant either."
"Maybe," Chaya smiled thinly. "But I think once he learns certain things about his genetics, he'll drastically reconsider his attitude toward us."
"Is he sick with something?"
"If an inflatable ego and conceit can be called a sickness, then I think he's in the terminal stage," Chaya admitted. "You see... The Ancient Technology Activation Gene wasn't invented for nothing. It's a special part of our blood that many Lantians and the peoples close to them inherit from generation to generation. Even if our descendants call all nations close to the Lantians 'Ancients' or 'Ancestors,' there's a big difference between us. First and foremost, the Lantians were and remain the titular race of the Ancients in the Pegasus Galaxy. All those who joined them..."
"Were slaves?" Teyla gasped.
"No, of course not," Chaya said, taken aback. "The main ideology of the Ancients is freedom of choice and the consequences that follow from that choice. But, let's say... The Lantians weren't in too much of a hurry to bring the races they assimilated into all their knowledge. Yes, they revealed the secrets of the universe to us — but only those we could understand and comprehend. Some races died at the hands of the Wraiths without ever managing to come to terms with even that basic knowledge. From other races, like mine, only a few understood the value of the gift we were given. We strove to comprehend the Ancients' knowledge in full. But when it came to certain categories of knowledge, the Lantians refused to reveal those secrets. They said we were too young for it."
"Was that knowledge dangerous?" Teyla clarified.
"Much of it — more than you think," the Ancient admitted.
"Maybe they were doing the right thing after all?" Emmagan asked. "We, even if not as developed as the Ancients, still don't give our children knives — even for cutting meat — until they understand how dangerous those objects are. Some grasp it at a young age, while others, even as adolescents, take our warnings lightly."
"That's more or less how they explained their decisions," the Ancient smiled. "But not everyone understood or accepted their warnings. This led to significant problems within Ancient society. And we, the younger peoples, could see that the problems could have been avoided, but the Lantians weren't in a hurry to listen to our ideas. In the end, almost all the younger races died in the war with the Wraiths, and the Lantians themselves left this galaxy."
"Do you think Mikhail is as deaf to reason and your advice as the other Lantians were?"
"More than that," Chaya sighed. "Genetically, he's more Ancient than I am. The strength of his gene corresponds to a good value among the Lantians. And I'm afraid that will play a cruel trick on him. That's why I don't want to tell him that he can interact with Ancient technology better than I can."
"Why not? You said yourself that the better the interaction, the easier it is to control. Isn't that a good thing?"
"You see, a strong Ancient gene in itself is a blessing. Because it grants access to communication through the neural interfaces of the Lantians' most complex equipment. For example, control over the command chair, or mental commands for shuttles. He can do it with just a fleeting thought. Whereas I need concentration and attentiveness. Where he can do several things at once with the same chair — like adjusting shield readings, controlling engines, weapons, hyperdrive systems, or lockdown of individual parts of the city — I can only manage one thing, maybe two. Yes, of course, I can activate systems using the good old buttons on the control panels, but... It's not quite the same as control by thought."
"So, in some areas he's stronger than you, and in others you surpass him," Teyla understood. "And you think he'll refuse your help if he finds out what's really going on?"
"There's a chance of that," Chaya admitted. "And I'm afraid that in that case, he'll make an irreversible mistake. You know, I and several of my colleagues among the Lesser Ancients even developed a theory that the quality of the Ancient gene also influenced brain chemistry. Because of this, the Lantians, as it happened, weren't as far-sighted as they should have been."
"And you decided Mikhail would be just as short-sighted," Teyla gasped.
"Yes."
"So you decided it would be better to shield him from this knowledge so he wouldn't do anything stupid?" The Athosian smiled sheepishly, looking into Chaya's eyes. The Ancient nodded affirmatively, studying the images on her screen.
"It seems you were condemning other Lantians for that very thing not long ago," Emmagan innocently pointed out the flaw in the Proculucian's logic.
"But I'm doing it with good intentions!" Chaya objected.
"Just as we on Athos protect our children from dangers," Teyla agreed. "But... surely you must have thought that the Lantians were doing the same to you, for the same reasons?"
"I did think about it, of course — we talked about this..."
"But you condemn their behavior while condoning your own," Teyla spread her hands. "You're angry at Mikhail for not sharing his plans with you. But... perhaps he doesn't see the same from you, and that's why he's being cautious?"
The Proculucian froze, furrowing her brow, then looked at the Athosian in bewilderment. Teyla smiled conciliatorily in her usual manner.
"We have a saying: 'Don't point at someone who looks just like you,'" she shared an old Athosian bit of wisdom. "You want to protect him from mistakes, he wants to help us all... I think you just need to tell each other about your hidden thoughts and worries. On Athos, such conversations and joint meditations help avoid family conflicts."
"I doubt he knows even one meditation pose," the Ancient grumbled unexpectedly. "He'll most likely just fall asleep the moment he tries to achieve harmony of mind and spirit."
"Is it right to condemn him when you haven't even started yet?" Emmagan asked. "Try it — it's probably worth it."
Chaya was distracted by a sound signal from her fold-out computer.
"The gate has activated," the Ancient said. "Mikhail and Alvar are returning. Looks like they found what they were looking for."
"I think we should go meet them?" Teyla suggested.
"Your blood analysis isn't finished yet," Chaya said. She looked toward another computer, then added, "Besides, data came in from the reconnaissance drone I sent to the satellite... I need to study all this before telling the others..."
"Running from a problem and a conversation isn't the same as solving it," Teyla advised. "If you don't plow the garden while the weather's warm, it'll be too late to grieve over the ruined harvest when the cold comes."
"You know what?" Chaya pulled back from the computer and lifted her chin. "I'm not conceited like the Lantians. And I'm not arrogant like them. I'll go and talk to him. Honestly and openly!"
"That's better," Teyla approved.
"But," the Ancient returned to her computer, putting on a face of intense concentration, "tomorrow."
Smirking, Emmagan walked over to her companion and took her by the arm.
"Don't make me remind you that the Ancients got a lot of problems because they didn't want to listen to the younger peoples," she said, gently pulling Chaya toward the exit.
"I shouldn't have told you that," Chaya grumbled.
"On the contrary," Teyla said with a dazzling smile. "You're taking steps on a path different from the one the Lantians walked. Maybe on our path, we won't make the mistakes they did?"
"I'd certainly like that," Chaya said darkly.
* * *
After arriving in Atlantis, I immediately had two questions.
First: why did we have to be met in the gate room if we were all going to go to the lab anyway to hook the probe up to the scanners?
Second: what did the girls talk about while we were gone, that Chaya stopped pretending I didn't exist?
One way or another, the probe we'd brought — which, as I remembered, contained the knowledge of an entire alien race — couldn't just be plugged into the Ancient computer that easily. It needed time.
Actually, time was also needed to connect the hard-drive equivalents that Alvar and I had extracted from the servers and also delivered to Atlantis. Yes, our first trip for weapons had turned into delivering a large pile of informational goods. Yes, we also brought rifles and ammunition, but only a few crates. Two, to be precise. The rest simply wouldn't fit in the jumper.
Sitting around waiting for Chaya to figure out connecting the information sources would have been stupid. So the most obvious solution was to continue what we'd started. But, surprise surprise, that didn't happen without some initiative.
"The preparations on Athos are almost complete," Teyla reminded us. "Chaya has already found us a suitable planet that's safe."
"That data was provided by the reconnaissance drone," the Ancient clarified. "But it can't assess everything. I left it in low orbit around the planet; it's scanning it. There hasn't been a single trace of gate activation the entire time. Studying the dialing device indicates the gate hasn't been used in at least a thousand years. No trace of settlements has been found, so most likely you'll be the first to settle there in a long time."
"The Wraiths might have forgotten about that planet for a while," Alvar said. "But that doesn't mean nothing threatens them in the new world. It would be best if I trained a few people how to handle rifles."
"That would help us defend ourselves in case of a threat," Teyla picked up.
"And the unlooted warehouses on your planet should just stay?" I asked the runner.
"You've got a ship, you've got free time," he shrugged. "I think if you really try, you could fly to the vault right in the jumper. That'll be the easiest way to load everything."
Teyla and Alvar took a crate of rifles with them, plus a dozen magazines for each. The training of recruits on Athos was about to begin, yeah.
So, everyone had important business, and I was as free as an asteroid falling on a dinosaur's head. But, as it turned out, it wasn't that simple.
From my calculations, the jumper could fly into the tunnel only with the engines retracted into the hull. That is, in the state it's in when parked or going through the gate. And in that position, the ship can't stay for long — the autopilot won't allow it.
So, from time to time, I'd have to "spread the wings" to charge the anti-gravity cushion. Or whatever it is that lets the jumper fly in that position. I figured corridor intersections would work for that — they're much roomier than the tunnels themselves.
One way or another, even the most winding path through the corridors to the vaults was better than hauling dozens of weapons on my own back. Thankfully, Alvar had dispelled my doubts about how explosive the method of storing grenades and mines was. The locals made them well, so corrosion and physics playing tricks weren't a concern.
Well, since we'd decided to empty the vaults on that planet, there was no need to worry about masking the complex anymore. A couple of drones were enough to destroy the camouflaged entrance to the tunnel. Then it was just a matter of technique — turn the jumper tail-first and back in. As stupid as that sounds. The main thing was not to say it out loud.
If the ship didn't have a sufficiently advanced piloting system with response to mental commands, I'm afraid I wouldn't have been able to navigate the tunnels so precisely without rearview mirrors. And even then, I was scraping by on the turns.
Jensen had explained how to find the other depots — they were only about a kilometer apart along the tunnel route. Estimating from the complex map compiled by the jumper's scanners, I figured there were about fifty depots in total. Well, I hoped Teyla and Alvar wouldn't slack off as loaders long enough to help me.
By the second solo "run," I gave up on the method of loading weapons in crates. When Alvar and I had been hauling things, we'd done it this way: first, we'd take a crate of rifles, remove the packing material for careful storage of the rifles and pistols, fill it with either loaded magazines or loose ammunition to fill the empty space, then place the crates in the jumper's cargo bay. The information carriers had been stored in the cockpit, but now I wasn't in the mood for these logistical games.
I have to say, the weapons manufacturers on Jensen's homeworld were quite inventive when it came to safety. I realized that when I decided to scan the grenades and mines to make sure they were safe. Basically, the mechanism was standard — a casing, explosive inside, a detonator running through the center activated by pulling the pin. The safety lever allowed for a delay, but testing exactly how long that delay was wasn't part of my plans for now. The design's highlight was that inside, between the explosive and the detonator, there was a dielectric material that only broke down when the detonator was activated. In effect, without fully pulling the pin, you couldn't pull out the dielectric either. That's why Jensen was so calm about safety.
Of course, I decided to test the dielectric's resistance to impacts and falls another time.
The dielectric itself was something like silicone — it was also used to protect the bottom of loose cartridges not loaded into magazines or clips in the warehouse. All of this did credit to the fallen people — they really prepared so that their weapons could lie for a long time and be used decades later.
There wasn't much metal in the automatic rifles, pistols, and other "small arms" only the key components. The body, foregrip, stock, grip, even the magazines, sights, adjustment screws, and mounting points for accessories — all made of dielectric polymer. Strong enough that even with a local knife, it took considerable effort to leave a scratch or nick.
Interesting material. The more I got acquainted with the products of the local industry, the more respect I had for it. Yes, I had a hunch that neither they nor their ancestors had come up with it all themselves, but still! It was colossal progress. I'd need to test this polymer's resistance to energy weapons later. If the test results were promising, this material could be used everywhere.
Because the sanity of Atlantis's builders raised serious questions for me. The fact was that the city-ship's load-bearing structures, its foundation, were made of several types of metal. But the "skyscrapers.".. Their bodies and floors were made of something resembling the reinforced concrete I'd seen. Yes, lighter than metal of equivalent thickness and density, yes, strength appropriate for the tasks, same with airtightness, but... Metal fatigue hadn't been canceled.
Atlantis was several million years old. Yes, it had been rebuilt and repaired, but... For the last ten thousand years, millions of tons of mass had rested on that metal foundation. It was no wonder that some metal structures had simply buckled and deformed.
But those were all distant plans that probably wouldn't be realized in my lifetime. So, the priority was supplying the city and its inhabitants with everything the fallen civilization could share with us.
I was primarily interested in firearms and melee weapons. Chaya asked me why that was my choice when I delivered the fourth jumper, packed to the brim with weapons and ammunition. I'd generously scattered the latter into storage bins, each holding a whole crate; I unloaded the rifles and pistols, stacking them directly on top of the bins, on the cargo bay floor and the cockpit, hanging them on the seat backs with the straps that came with them.
"We have pulse blasters," Chaya noted when I delivered another batch of weapons to Atlantis. And with that, by the way, all the small arms in that vault were exhausted. But it was too early to relax — ahead of me were the neighboring storage rooms with uniforms, footwear, equipment, medical supplies, and so on. If I was lucky, I'd even pull a dynamo out of there. We didn't need it, but the Athosians would find it useful. Set one up in the middle of the settlement, dig in a dozen poles around the perimeter, run wiring, screw in borrowed light bulbs — and voila, comfort. Not to mention that Jensen's countrymen had something like our diesel generators. Though the fuel barrels would also need to be delivered. And there were about a hundred of those barrels sitting there — I'd glanced into the room where they were stored. Each held about two hundred liters, and you couldn't move many at once. Not to mention there were no loaders there. Just my own muscle power.
"Yes, there are," I agreed, eyeing the next jumper I'd be taking to the ruins. It was logical that I could barely feel my muscles after loading the previous four jumpers. And I didn't really feel like unloading them. At least not while there were flyable, empty ships available. "But throughout the entire city, in the areas we've visited, we found only about a dozen. And half of those need servicing and repair. We have a supply of power crystals for them, and in combat, they're devastating and deadly. Only, I think the Wraiths will have no trouble connecting the dots between their dead soldiers with burned-through holes in their bodies and Lantian weapons. It's better not to shine a spotlight on our presence in the galaxy any more than we already have."
On the fifth "run," I transported to Atlantis the entire stock of uniforms, ammunition, and other equipment from that vault. Including coils with a couple of kilometers' worth of that very wire that had saved Alvar from a life on the run.
What can I say? Now we had at least a huge size range of boots, very similar to combat boots, but made of fabrics and polymer that could withstand a knife stab. With those on, you definitely wouldn't pierce your foot on a rusty nail while walking through ashes.
I understood what Jensen was talking about when he asked about camouflage. There were about ten types of it in that vault — very reminiscent of Earth versions, not just in pattern formation but even in color. There were also solid-color sets — black, dark gray, gray, dark green, and other colors. No insignia, but with places for attaching patches and chevrons. Though not the familiar "Velcro," but something more like adhesive bases on soundproofing sheets: peel off the protective layer and stick whatever you want. I tried, just for fun, attaching a knife sheath holster to a couple of "mounting points.".. Half an hour later, I couldn't pull it off what had once been the sticky spot. And I tried my best.
Only, I think that wasn't what they were for, because such "adhesive patches" were scattered across the camouflage from the torso to the legs. They were present on almost every piece of equipment or protection, besides the uniform itself.
Helmets, backpacks with back supports that didn't cause discomfort, ballistic goggles with a relatively good tinting effect and night vision device, pouches, vests, knee pads, elbow pads, shoulder pads, polymer body armor... I doubted the latter would protect against Wraith stunners, but who was stopping me from checking when the opportunity arose? Preferably by getting Wraith weapons without the Wraiths themselves.
Anyway, small tests showed that at close and medium range, the protective elements held large-caliber bullets fired by the Ermen gunsmiths. I didn't particularly want to test the behind-armor effect on myself, but I figured the camouflage suits themselves weren't just lined with porous but elastic material for nothing.
At first, I was puzzled by the armor elements, pouches, and patch pockets, which, if they had fastening or adjustment straps, had only one each. But then I realized that the "adhesive patches" were suspiciously close to where the additional elements were supposed to go. And it all clicked — the "patches" were for attachment, and the straps were for adjusting the fit against the body.
I didn't understand why the people of Ermen used so little polymer in their protective gear, but I suspected that, while versatile, it wasn't cheap. And wrapping a soldier from head to toe in armor was another kind of logic. On the other hand, all vital areas were covered.
The presence of such uniforms made me significantly happier. I immediately found myself a full set and kitted it out according to my own judgment and understanding. And I had to say, it was quite well-designed. Comfortable, didn't restrict movement, fairly light... I suspected that this miracle polymer, which the Ermen gunsmiths used for making weapons and armor, would serve very well in our military back home.
And what couldn't help but please me was the familiar zipper fasteners, pockets, and pouches with snap buttons. No futuristic magnetic rivets or technologically similar zippers. Simple, cheap, and — most importantly for army supply — quite cheap to produce.
Yes, I didn't give up my personal shield, hiding it in the chest pocket of the gray-blue suit I'd chosen for everyday wear. One thought and the shield would activate, sticking to the fabric and pressing against my body. Convenient as hell: impossible to lose in a closed pocket, and always ready to use, always "at hand," so to speak.
I smiled when I found, in one of the equipment crates, something like balaclavas made of stretchy fabric. It probably wouldn't stop a bullet or a knife, but for hiding identity, wind, sand, and dust — it would do just fine. The "mask show" of the Pegasus Galaxy, it seemed, was not unknown. Or would become so in time.
Example of Ermen infantry equipment. Image from the Internet.
My changing almost cost me my life when, on the fifth run, I returned to the jumper bay, opened the rear ramp, and was making my way through the piles of everything useful toward the ship's exit when I saw Chaya. The girl was digging through the contents of my previous jumper, examining a firearm pistol with interest. Already loaded with a magazine, by the way.
My appearance in full combat gear led to unexpected consequences. The moment I stepped out of the shadows and called to her, realizing the membrane fabric of the balaclava was distorting my voice, a shot rang out.
A couple of times in my past life, bullets had hit my body armor. I got off with broken ribs and bruises.
But there's a catch.
The caliber of the rounds from Ermen's gunsmiths is ten millimeters—almost machine-gun rounds. What's more, the bullets come in different shapes, but looking at what they turn into upon impact, I had no desire to experience them firsthand.
Expanding bullets that substantially increase in diameter after hitting a target are not something you want to test on yourself. Even if you have body armor made of super-strong polymer of alien manufacture. I doubt the Wraiths, with their enviable regeneration, would particularly want to feel "roses" of metal inside them either.
"Subspace interference, Mikhail!" Chaya's frightened face appeared above me as she pulled the helmet and balaclava off my head. "Why are you dressed like that?!"
After blinking a couple of times, I realized I was actually lying on the hangar floor. Just a few seconds ago I was standing perfectly steady on my feet.
My chest hurt so much I couldn't breathe right away. Thanks to the Proculusian, who raised my head, I looked at the breastplate. It wasn't penetrated, but I had to admit, the polymer had failed the "super-strong" material test. The plate over my heart, where the bullet hit, was covered in cracks, but it hadn't lost its overall shape.
"Lie still, I'll scan you," Chaya pulled out an Ancient scanner from somewhere, drew out a thin, glowing white strip connected to the main unit by a transparent wire, and began to pass it over me from head to toe.
I didn't just lack words to comment on the situation—even my thoughts had flown off somewhere.
"A minor bruise," she said with a sigh of relief, helping me sit up. "Why did you put this on? I didn't recognize you out of your usual attire!"
"You're lucky I don't shoot when you change clothes," I coughed. "You're supposed to be in the lab! Analyzing the data!"
"I'm almost finished, just the conversion is left," Chaya helped me to my feet. "Head spinning? Double vision? Pain in the back of your head?"
"No, I'm fine." I took a step to the side and nearly collapsed, but the girl caught my arm in time. "I suppose, to make peace, all you needed was to shoot me..."
"Primate!" Chaya winced. Yes, calling someone a "primate" or "primitive" is considered an insult among the Ancients. Actually, on Earth you could get punched in the face for saying your interlocutor was a monkey. What a cultured insult... Darwin would have appreciated it. "What if I'd shot you in the head?"
"Then I'd have to think about the consequences," I said, leaning against the entrance hatch of the jumper, taking a few seconds to collect myself. Terrible sensation—like being hit in the chest with a sledgehammer. I unhooked the breastplate, unzipped my jacket, and looked around... Yeah, it was going to be one hell of a bruise, but no broken bones. In principle, a pretty good balance of defensive and offensive technology. If only the plates didn't crack... Then again, I don't think the inhabitants of Ermen thought about using their weapons against their own people. It's entirely possible that these body armors hold up well against smaller caliber firearms. And Wraith weapons don't kill at all—puncturing food just spoils it.
"I'm so sorry," Chaya said. "If you'd just warned me..."
"I'm warning you now," I said honestly. "For the next test, you're wearing the body armor. And I'll take a rifle. A sniper rifle. I think its bullet has a slightly larger caliber."
"Is that a joke?"
"Put on the armor and step back," I advised, zipping up my jacket. It's fine, I'll live. Turning the plate over, I saw that the crack had only gone through the outer layer. The inner layer was perfectly intact—there wasn't even a dent at the impact point. Miracles, you know. Considering that the vast majority of the local Pegasus population uses either bows/crossbows or firearms of about 5-6mm caliber, I think the protection against the natives is of excellent quality.
"I'm so sorry this happened," Chaya repeated. "I came here to fly with you to Ermen."
"Decided to help load medical supplies and canned food?" I was surprised, walking towards the next unloaded jumper in the queue. That was exactly the goal I had set for the upcoming "trips."
Chaya followed like a silent tail. Until I advised her to change into clothes more suitable for climbing through ruins. The girl, obviously still freaking out over her actions, silently ran into the just-parked jumper. I headed to the new one.
"Well, I don't have a couple of hours to pick out boots that match my eye color," I sighed, starting the ship after a couple of minutes of waiting. It wasn't that I planned to take her at all, but I tried to estimate if I had the strength to do another couple of "runs." I suspect I'll have enough for today, so it's time to seal the hatch...
"Thanks for waiting," Chaya settled into the copilot's seat. Dressed in the same gray-blue uniform, in boots, properly laced up and not just tied through the two middle eyelets, she "zipped" the zipper on her jacket, fastening it all the way to her neck. "Sometimes you need to go somewhere together."
"You should put the pistol aside," I advised. My plan to use the personal shield in a moment of danger hadn't exactly worked out—I didn't even have time to think about it.
"I put the safety on," the girl assured me as I finished dialing the Ermen gate address and lowered the ship to gate level. "Don't worry—Teyla and Alvar reported they're staying on Athos until tomorrow. The gate shield will activate automatically as soon as we leave."
"Are you sure you turned everything off?" I asked, still not understanding why she had "latched onto my tail." "The iron, the curling iron, the epilator, the alien probe..."
"Why are you asking that question?" Chaya asked.
"I just wouldn't want to come back in a couple of hours to a burned-down shack..."
"I've thought of everything," the girl assured me a second before we flew into the "puddle" of the gate.
After we slipped out on the other side, I directed the ship along the familiar route.
"Talk to me," I asked. "Any news on our finds?"
"A little," Chaya admitted, clearly glad we'd moved on to discussing important things. "The probe you brought back belongs to the Sekkari race. They are one of the few silicon-based life forms in Pegasus. Unfortunately, they died out about forty thousand years ago—even the Atlantis database doesn't have accurate information about them."
"Sekkari?" I repeated. "Not 'Sicari'?"
"No, the translation is accurate," my memory had apparently failed me on the details. "The Lantians made contact with them, exchanged knowledge, and offered an alliance. But the Sekkari were isolationists. And, as stated in the database, 'our paths of knowing the Universe were similar, but differed in methods and goals, which made joint research impossible.'"
"The Lantians killed them?"
"No, of course not. They were simply forgotten. The Lantians only found out the Sekkari had gone extinct during the war with the Wraiths, when one of their ships retreated to their planet. It turned out their experiments had made the planet uninhabitable, causing the race to die out. But, as I understand it, they built these probes to populate other worlds."
"Why didn't they use the Stargates to leave the planet?" I asked with interest.
"The database has no mention of them at all. I suspect there couldn't have been Stargates on their planet at all—that's why the Ancients didn't discover the Sekkari at the beginning of their path."
It's a possibility. The hypothesis is as good as any other.
"And spaceships?"
"Unfortunately, they didn't master interstellar travel. They were probably only interested in near space and their own world. There are no details, and we're unlikely to ever find out the specifics."
"Well, why not. If I recall, the probe contains all the information about this race, as well as an artificial intelligence," I remembered.
"Oh," Chaya exclaimed. "Your future knowledge again?"
"Again," I confirmed. "So what about that data and the AI? I remember it was quite developed."
"On the data carriers from Ermen, I found some interesting information," Chaya continued. "Jensen's ancestors discovered the probe and, over several generations, managed to access its information. It allowed them to make a significant technological leap in various fields. But the Wraiths were already active in the galaxy at that time. The race was almost completely destroyed, along with their achievements."
"But they hid their work underground."
"And then Alvar's direct ancestors discovered the knowledge repositories," Chaya continued. "I think they were descendants of the miraculously surviving members of the preceding human civilization. Because they figured out the information in the repository fairly quickly."
"They developed, they prepared, but then the Wraiths came," I lowered the jumper into the pit and began to turn around. "The Wheel of Fortune turned again. But don't you think they got too little knowledge from the encyclopedia of an entire race that even the Ancients were interested in?"
"They extracted everything they could from the probe," Chaya said sadly. "In doing so, they damaged a significant portion of the data, including the artificial intelligence. I found traces of repair attempts inside the probe, but..."
"They only made it worse?" I clarified, backing the jumper stern-first into the tunnel.
"Yes. Alvar's ancestors received only crumbs of knowledge, but they used them. Then their descendants came and used their developments."
"So we have the complete database of Jensen's people?" I inquired.
"That's exactly why I'm here," Chaya admitted. "A significant part of the data is damaged and cannot be recovered. But some hard drives do contain interesting data that we can use for our own purposes. However... I still hope there are other information repositories—at least the records say that the Ermens fragmented their knowledge into specialized databases scattered across all the dungeons. I found a mention of standard distribution schematics for such repositories. Every city had one main repository and about ten secondary data storage locations. They were divided by specialization—aviation, weapons, industry, energy, and so on. I don't think we'll find much new, or anything at all. The Ermens never managed to create data storage devices resistant to external factors. Two or three thousand years have passed... Their chronicles are very fragmentary. But I think if we find at least other 'corrupted' databases of the preceding civilization, we might be able to recover more data. Including historical chronicles."
"Wait," I interrupted the girl. "Are you saying the servers weren't created by Jensen's compatriots, but by an earlier version of the Ermens?"
"Yes," Chaya said. "Jensen's kin and direct ancestors only used this data. They understood some of it, developed some on their own. But they never managed to surpass their predecessors—those were actively exploring space, even managed to build an interstellar state from their colonies and allies across Pegasus. But the Wraiths woke up and destroyed those who posed a threat to them..."
Something clicked in my head.
An interstellar state of colonies and allies. Sounds very, very familiar. Seems like someone was parodying the Ancients.
Then again, who do you take an example from? From people who surpassed you in everything, of course. And the Ancients were clearly in a league of their own.
"We should ask Teyla if any of her acquaintances or trading partners have heard of this Ermen Confederacy," I suggested. "I don't think the Wraiths could have destroyed all of them. Someone might have survived, or hidden well. Since they had an interstellar confederation, similar servers might exist on other planets."
"Perhaps," Chaya agreed. "However, I'm not counting on it much. I'm more interested in the local mechanisms and remnants of technology."
"For what purpose?"
"When you said that using firearms would be the best way to mask our Lantean origins, I thought our Recon Drones were also a 'signature'," Chaya explained as the jumper reached a fork. I was finally able to deploy the engines and let the anti-grav charge up.
"Speaking of which, yes," I agreed after thinking. "For now, the Wraiths don't have anything concrete. Just an isolated incident that could be written off as a coincidence. But if probes of Lantean design start flying through the gates, then it's time to think about a new crusade against Atlantis. And it wouldn't be long before we woke up every Wraith in the galaxy."
"So I'd like to assemble some analog Recon Drones from local technology," Chaya explained. "Also to mask our affiliation. Lantean-made drones are too efficient and too valuable to waste that way. With them, I can do much more for Atlantis directly in our home system."
Sending Lantean probes on missions over and over could eventually lead to running into Wraiths and getting back scrap metal. Or getting nothing back but a blown cover. And if Lantean tech is too valuable to waste, local tech...
"Great idea," I agreed. "But we'll need a lot of local scrap metal to come up with something worthwhile."
"Agreed. But first, we need to look for databases on energy on this planet. I found a mention of a compact reactor that could help us a lot."
"An analog of the ZPM?" I asked skeptically.
"No," Chaya shook her head. "It's not even close. But it could help us start up the 'Satellite'."
"How?"
"I sent a Recon Drone to inspect it. The Wraiths didn't destroy the satellite because it wasn't a threat to them. During the assault, they damaged the generator—the drone recorded that it was literally melted. However, thanks to the energy buffering technology, any moderately powerful energy source, for example, a compact nuclear reactor, could power the satellite. I have a few ideas on how to rebuild it and make it more efficient. But the problem is, it's far from Lantea, and we don't have any other power sources besides the single battery."
"ZPM," I suggested. "Let's call it that?"
"What difference does it make?" Chaya asked. "ZPM, battery, zero point energy extraction device..."
"UUNE," I spelled the initials. "No, let's stick with ZPM. Sounds more authoritative. The word 'battery' reminds me of the heating radiators from my world."
"Makes no difference to me," Chaya shrugged.
"You're suspiciously friendly," I doubted. "Are you sure Teyla didn't bite you?"
."..How could that possibly be related?" Chaya was surprised. "The traits of one living being cannot affect another through a bite. My physiology is more advanced than hers, so my genetics would dominate in case of a conflict..."
"Let me tell you a story about how a few ancient humans were bitten by 'Iratus' bugs, and they turned into Wraiths many years later?" I offered, lowering the jumper next to the entrance to the corridor with the things we were interested in.
"Thanks," Chaya laughed quietly. "After stories like that, I'll have trouble falling asleep. Especially if you describe in full detail the process of the bugs absorbing human genetic traits and the evolutionary changes of the Iratus bugs into Wraiths."
It seems she's starting to warm up to me. A perfect chance to improve relations with an Ancient woman who has a habit of getting offended by a lack of openness.
Eh, you'd think they were a superior race, but here they are with all these human emotions worthy of "primates." Good thing we're not a couple, or she'd be jealous of Teyla, and then goodbye, Athosians.
As the jumper's ramp lowered, I thought it over. Earth women, to get back at their men, would hit their cars, burn them, draw obscenities on them, throw their things out, and pull other little stunts.
And what would a jealous Ancient do? Blow up the star system where her ex lived? Cause a supervolcano eruption under the feet of his new flame? Drop an asteroid on the planet? Collapse a star into a black hole?
"Mikhail," Chaya's puzzled voice came from the cockpit. "The life signs detector..."
Before the ramp was fully down, I already knew what she was about to say. Rushing to the tiny control panel, I hit the emergency seal button for the bulkhead separating the cockpit and cargo bay of the jumper.
The figures hiding in the twilight of the corridor noticed my movements and opened fire.
Blinding shots rang out, and I was thrown backward.
And then—darkness.