The Jumper entered the atmosphere of the second and last planet in the Lantean system without much trouble. My fears that the ionized atmosphere — which the ship's scanners had warned about — could interfere with the communication systems were based on the fact that's how it was in the series.
But in reality, it turned out quite differently.
Yes, the atmospheric ionization was off the charts compared to Lantea itself. And yes, it really did affect the stable operation of the Jumper's communication systems. While I only had people on board who weren't particularly knowledgeable about Ancient technology, I ran some tests.
"What is that?" Kirik asked, seeing a blinking red dot on the virtual screen that displayed a schematic section of the second planet's surface.
"A subspace transmitter operating on Wraith frequencies," I explained. Sensing my companions tense up, I added, "It's too weak to call in any nearby Wraith. The ionized atmosphere attenuates it so much that it doesn't extend beyond this planet's low orbit."
"Otherwise the Wraith would have already arrived here," Teyla realized.
"Exactly," I confirmed. "The other question is why they, when attacking Atlantis, didn't immediately discover their own ship here, or whoever sent that signal."
"Good question," agreed Kirik, drawing an Ermen pistol from his thigh holster and checking the magazine. He moved to the rear compartment and began gearing up for the upcoming sortie.
Like us, he didn't need a long explanation of the advantages of Ermen uniforms and armor protection. Though it wasn't so much the vests and armor plates he liked, but the comfortable load-bearing equipment, pouches, and attachment pockets he had stuffed full of ammunition.
We'd brought a fairly large amount of weapons from Ermen. And despite expecting them to be rather uniform — one or two models per firearm type — it turned out that wasn't the case.
Weapons manufacturing in Alvar's civilization was thriving. A couple of state enterprises, small workshops doing small-batch production... It didn't quite match the idea of developing a planet's economy whose population, even in its best years, probably never exceeded the official headcount of Moscow's residents in better times.
But one way or another, Atlantis's arsenals held up to fifty different weapon types and models. All that was missing was a couple of mortar batteries or multiple rocket launchers to form a separate assault battalion with attached heavy weapons. Then again, I'd have been happy with just a couple of cannon-type guns...
Except they weren't there.
As the saying goes: demand determines supply? Well, in a galaxy populated by bloodthirsty Wraith, weapons are developed primarily to counter them. Why build tanks, submarines, ballistic missiles, tube artillery, or anything like that, if the enemy never had and doesn't have such weapons?
What use is a tank or IFV if a Wraith, flying over the 'box' on a 'Dart,' can snatch the crew without penetrating the armor? What sense is there in developing tube or rocket artillery when Wraith will never attack in tight formations, dig trenches, or turn houses into bunkers?
No, the Wraith significantly influenced the development of military science in the Pegasus galaxy.
Small arms are necessary because the enemy has plenty of infantry. And that infantry can appear on positions literally out of thin air, delivered by a 'Dart.' But they don't attack in waves, don't capture strongpoints, and so on.
Weapons are developed to counter a specific enemy tactic. And the Wraith, relying on their technological advantage, actually don't have that many strong points.
Their ships and ability to conduct orbital bombardments can only be countered by our own ships or weapons capable of firing at orbital targets. The Ermens only managed to develop fighters equally effective for combat both in atmosphere and in near space. Logically, when based on spaceships, they could serve as a starship's air wing.
But those are details.
The Wraith have plenty of infantry capable of withstanding a lot of damage — so to destroy them you need large-caliber small arms and grenades. Wraith don't operate in large squads, so the need for artillery, even mortars, disappears. This approach justifies the extensive development of small arms and mine-explosive weaponry.
Realizing they had too few fighters to repel even a hundred 'Darts,' the Ermens also focused on developing anti-aircraft artillery. But not in the area of rapid-fire automatic or semi-automatic cannons. I saw a few damaged specimens — in effect, it's something between Earth's Oerlikons and heavy machine guns. Twenty-five-millimeter explosive rounds... Yes, a decent defense method.
Man-portable air-defense systems were just beginning to be developed by Alvar's people and hadn't progressed beyond prototypes and small-batch production. Essentially, Alvar on Sudaria used the vast majority of what was left in storage. We managed to dig up and deliver to Atlantis another fifty systems, very reminiscent of American Stingers, but the size of a 'Mukha' rocket launcher.
As for the rest... Pistols, revolvers, submachine guns, assault rifles, sniper rifles, machine guns — both light and heavy — grenades... It's not a bad selection, really. After all, the Ermens went down the path of standardizing requirements and calibers for each weapon type. A unified appearance, as well as type and caliber, for pistol, revolver (though these are mostly ceremonial and award weapons), rifle, machine gun, and anti-aircraft types.
So rifle rounds, for example, are equally useful and effective both in Alvar's favorite 'FAMAS-like' rifle and in the submachine gun resembling a Swiss SIG Sauer product that Kirik took a liking to.
Speaking of which, the Ermens didn't really have a 'pure' submachine gun as a weapon type. Which isn't surprising, since a unified cartridge for assault rifles had been adopted. Actually, their pistol isn't just a pistol — it's more of a submachine gun, or a pistol with automatic fire capability.
What was pleasing about Ermen-produced weapons was their size. Their 'assault rifles' had the compactness of a submachine gun with a detachable stock, short barrels, but were equally effective for both medium and close quarters combat. Of course, I personally wouldn't risk using them in house-to-house fighting, but as Alvar explained to me, that's what the large-caliber (by my standards) pistols were created for. A big expanding round, excellent stopping power... What more do you need if you suddenly come face to face with a regenerating Wraith? Earth's standard Berettas, for example, couldn't handle the job at all. They could dump half or even a whole magazine into a Wraith, and it still wouldn't go down... or even stop.
But these are all details I didn't dwell on. No need yet, since I'm using an Ancient impulse blaster pistol. It does a great job of turning a whole Wraith into a not-whole one at fifty meters. Sure, the rate of fire is one shot per second, but with that kind of destructive power... Why need more?
What amused me was how similar the names of Ermen weapons were to Earth ones. Alvar's FAMAS-like rifle was called 'Amas.' And the one Kirik chose was even called 'Alash.' I was deeply touched by the fact that here too, people name weapons after their creators.
Kirik explained his choice of the 'Alash' by saying it felt good in his hands, was light and compact. Yes, the magazine didn't hold forty-five rounds like the 'Amas' that Alvar preferred, but only thirty. But that made the weight and handling better for him.
Teyla shared the same opinion after trying the new assault rifle. Incidentally, the official name for this type is SHAV. SHAV 'Amas,' SHAV 'Alash'... Assault automatic rifle of such and such model. And yes, no model numbers for new generations or modifications — it's the same rifle as before. Or a completely new one was created if needed.
For instance, the 'Amas' was a previous-generation rifle — precisely because of its heavy loaded weight, excessive design complexity, and large amount of metal in the body.
The 'Alash' came to replace it, but couldn't completely push the 'Amas' out of production. The army kept the former, while law enforcement and civilians took a liking to the latter. And yes, Ermen's government was probably wise to allow free circulation of weapons on the planet. After all, living in constant danger of a sudden raid disciplines people in handling weapons.
Yeah... And no frequent armed attacks, robberies, and so on... Unless Alvar is embellishing his stories about his homeland.
Kirik's assault rifle, the 'Alash.'
In the events I know, Earthlings preferred close-quarters combat, no more than a hundred meters. And they used Belgian FN90 submachine guns for that. I don't know why the Americans didn't push their 'best' automatic rifles, but such weapons...
Maybe I don't know much about waging war against enemies from other planets, but... No, seriously! The FN90 has plenty of advantages, of course. But against Wraith... The cartridge it uses has excellent penetration, but...
Alright, I'm probably just nitpicking. It's not really that important to me now anyway. To understand what Ermen weapons do to Wraith, I just need to remember the encounter with Alvar on Sudaria. He minced those Wraith into salad back then. And that's despite the 'Amas' being inferior to the 'Alash' in rate of fire.
Things...
"Approaching the surface," I warned my companions. "This planet isn't one you'd want to come back to. Sandy surface, sparse vegetation, dunes, lots of open space. No signs of life detected."
"Are you sure there's a Wraith here?" Teyla clarified, returning to the cockpit fully geared up. I glanced at her 'Alash' and silently approved. The Athosian was the only one of my three 'fighters' who always kept her weapon on safe outside combat. Alvar and Kirik preferred not to waste extra seconds before a fight.
"Maybe the equipment is malfunctioning at this distance?" Kirik asked, sitting down in the seat behind me. Hmm, looks like he's feeling better. Or maybe the anticipation of fighting a Wraith that had lived over ten thousand years on this planet inspired him. "You yourself mentioned interference."
"It's in the atmosphere," I reminded. "We've already entered the lower atmosphere. The troposphere here is quite unusual — about five kilometers from the surface — but there's far less interference than in the stratosphere."
View of the landscapes of the second planet in the Lantean system.
"And did the Ancestors give this world a name?" Teyla asked with interest.
"They weren't particularly interested in planets without stargates," I explained. "And the technology of those devices doesn't allow installing more than one in a solar system."
"Why?" Kirik asked.
"When placed close together, the addresses of one gate overlap with another," I explained. "It's a nearly unfixable 'glitch,' so when different gates are close to each other, you can dial one planet's address and end up on another. Not the most pleasant surprise, actually."
But that's just my guess. Whether it's true within a single star system, I can only speculate. But within a single planet — yes, that's exactly what happens. In the events I know, Earthlings experienced this — as always — firsthand when an accident caused a transfer from the gate they were using to the one in Antarctica, installed by the Ancients millions of years ago.
But I think the Ancients wouldn't have had much trouble placing a gate on every planet that interested them, even within one star system. If, of course, it didn't cause some kind of paradox.
I'll need to talk about this with Chaya when I get the chance. Maybe she knows the answer or can find a solution, write some program or something.
"Since they had ships capable of traveling between planets in one system, then yes, there's not much point in placing gates on every planet in the system," Kirik unexpectedly approved of the Ancients' actions. "Have you considered the possibility of building a backup base on this planet? Say, an underground shelter in case Atlantis falls?"
"And why would we need a base on a planet without a gate?" I asked.
"But if Atlantis falls, its gate will disappear too, won't it?" Kirik clarified.
And I had no comeback for that.
The idea isn't as shallow as it might seem at first glance. No, really, it's a brilliant idea!
If we can create a backup base here, equip it with a stargate, secure it — why not? And it's not even about making ourselves a quiet hideaway in case Atlantis is destroyed. This base and this planet could be used as a prison, for example, without worrying about prisoners escaping (just don't leave a dialing device). And we could come here via a Jumper, which has an integrated dialing device in its systems.
Or it could be the laboratory outside Atlantis that Chaya so desires. And we wouldn't have to spend fifteen hours flying between planets. We wouldn't even need to drag a satellite from here to Lantea!
Overall, it's a truly great idea.
Except there's a catch.
By this point, the Jumper had descended to two hundred meters above the sandy planet's surface.
"We don't have an interstellar ship that could bring new gates here," I explained. "To install them here, we'd have to take them from somewhere. And that clearly means another star system. The Jumper can't get there. At least not in our lifetimes."
"Maybe we can use this ship?" Teyla asked, pointing at the landscape that opened before us. Extremely uncharacteristic for this planet.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you a downed Wraith transport ship," I announced the identity of the behemoth lying on the planet's surface. Only a small part of the ancient vessel was visible — most was hidden under the sand. "It's lain here for ten thousand years, shot down by that very satellite that Chaya and Alvar are currently repairing."
"And somewhere inside is a Wraith that hasn't starved to death in all that time?" Kirik clarified. "I doubt that's possible. They're extremely resilient, but still dependent on food..."
The man trailed off, clearly catching the implication of what I'd said.
"Wraith don't usually need transport ships," Teyla said. "I've never heard of them using any. All their equipment is on hive ships."
All, but not all. I wonder if she really doesn't realize, or just doesn't want to believe it?
"I think after the war with the Lanteans, the need for such ships disappeared," I suggested. "Or they were all destroyed and never grown again. Due to lack of need. After all, the siege of Atlantis was lifted, and there was no longer a need to supply the blockade forces with food."
Downed Wraith transport ship. Still from the series.
Teyla flinched.
"When you say food, do you mean what I think?" she asked quietly.
"Exactly," I nodded. "This ship was transporting people to feed the tens of thousands of Wraith besieging Atlantis. Thousands and thousands of people..."
"By feeding on them, the Wraith could survive," Kirik said. "It would be foolish to attack such an object with just the three of us. They could set up an ambush..."
I closed my eyes for a moment, activating certain Jumper systems.
"We're not going inside," I explained the reason for the glowing projectiles streaking toward the wrecked ship. "We're knocking on the front door and inviting the Wraith out for a chat."
At that moment, four Ancient guided missiles slammed into the upper part of the downed ship. Powerful explosions shook the entire structure to its foundation. And certainly woke up anyone sleeping inside.
"I thought you said this would be a sabotage operation, a hunt," Kirik reminded. "That implies stealthily following the prey."
"Exactly," I agreed, making the Jumper circle without active cloaking over the downed Wraith ship. "But first we lure the prey out of its lair and send it on a trail."
I noticed two interesting facts.
First — a red dot appeared on the Jumper's virtual screen. Right in the remains of the wrecked Wraith ship.
Second — Teyla fell silent and became more focused, as if sensing something invisible to us. Though I already knew what it was about.
And yes, both observations were connected. A direct cause-and-effect relationship, if you will. I think Teyla will soon enlighten us about her little secret.
Well, if not, I have a backup plan to use what I know about her and some of her people without flaunting my foreknowledge. I need to be more careful in such matters.
"Is that the Wraith?" the former runner clarified.
"The very same. The only survivor from the whole crew. And since we've woken him up, it's time to send him where he's most needed."
"A hunt on the hunter?" Kirik asked with interest.
"Exactly," I smirked, continuing to circle above the old enemy starship.
* * *
Over the years, he had awakened from hibernation more than once.
The Wraith commander of the transport starship — one of many supplying food to his brethren during the attack on Atlantis — tore himself from the embrace of the stasis pod. The barely functioning device had sustained his life for long centuries, millennia, he'd lost count.
But never before had his awakening been accompanied by an attack on his ship's wreckage. Some time ago, he might have worried that such an incident could damage the cargo. But the thousands of food storage chambers had been empty for ages.
Just as dead were the members of his crew — the commander had fed on them and the transported human cattle throughout his long hibernation.
The surviving Wraith.
Through the breaches in the ship's hull, damaged on impact, he could see the reason he'd left the stasis pod. A Lantean small craft was circling the wreckage, as if searching for something.
The Wraith bared his teeth, feeling his blood begin to boil in anticipation of the coming feeding. Grabbing a functional stunner pistol, the commander rushed to the exit of the broken ship.
Hiding under an overhanging section of the ship, he discerned that the Lantean vessel was heading toward a large dune half a kilometer from the crash site. They decided no one was here and were going to land. Intending to inspect the starship?
Possibly.
But two things threw him off. First — the sensation of a faint mental echo from a fellow Wraith. Too weak, perhaps degenerated or dying. Second — only Lanteans or races they had assimilated could pilot Lantean ships. Just like the Wraith, the Lanteans used a genetic lock for such complex technology, guarding it from use by other sentients.
The presence of a very weak Wraith piqued his interest. When his ship fell, Atlantis was under siege. The Lanteans couldn't have won that war — they simply lacked resources. But their ship was here.
Could it be that one of his people had managed to capture such a ship? Possible. Thousands of years had passed.
He sensed no other Wraith nearby, including in orbit. So no hive ship, no cruiser nearby. No other brethren either. So what was this ship doing here, with its intriguing passenger?
For a moment, he thought the Lanteans had somehow managed to turn the tide of the war and the Wraith were now a dying race. But he quickly dismissed that foolish thought.
With giant strides — more leaping over the sand than walking across it — the commander reached the crest of a dune and concealed himself. A very interesting sight unfolded before him.
A Lantean shuttle with its ramp lowered. Two trails of footprints going in different directions and disappearing beyond another dune. No sentries, no defensive structures. Why had the crew left? Maybe the ship was damaged?
Squinting, he saw three trails of footprints going to his right, turning toward his downed ship. Gone to scout the wreckage? Possibly. All the better.
Or maybe it was an ambush? Possible. He would have done the same. But he felt the faint Wraith moving away.
He had to act.
But which of his guesses was correct, he didn't know. And guessing was pointless — he needed to check personally.
Satisfied that he could barely sense the faint Wraith within his mental range, the survivor rose and dashed toward the ship. His stunner was ready to attack at the first hint of danger.
The survivor leaped down from his chosen dune in large bounds, steadily approaching the Lantean starship. When he got within fifty paces, he sensed someone's presence inside the ship. And it was definitely not a Wraith.
A human voice. So, he had to act fast.
"Good thing you fixed the main systems," the human was apparently talking to someone in the cockpit. "How much surplus power do we get from your generator?"
He didn't hear the answer — the human was speaking on a personal communication device.
"So that should be enough to establish shields, a cloaking or defensive field, and even connect the engines?" Approval appeared in the voice of the young man standing in the cargo hold with his back to the open hatch of the Lantean ship. He seemed not to have expected to hear that from his invisible interlocutor. Unlikely he meant his own ship — it was beyond repair. So something in orbit? Perhaps that very satellite that had shot down his ship thousands of years ago? Interesting. He should interrogate this whelp before draining him. "Excellent. That's really good news. As soon as we're done with the Wraith ship on the surface, we'll head back and fly to Atlantis."
Atlantis! The Lantean city-ship! It had survived?
More questions than answers.
And the survivor already knew who would give him the information he needed.
Breaking into a run, he pushed off from the loose ground half a dozen meters from the hatch. Leaping into the air, he intended to execute his signature move — attack the opponent from above, knock him down, and pin him with his full weight before draining him.
This would be the most exquisite feeding in years! He would taste a Lantean again! That human inside a working ship from Atlantis could be nothing else...
Just as the survivor was already imagining the euphoria of feeding, he felt an impact. As if he'd slammed into an invisible wall at full speed. Pain flooded his torso, throwing him onto the sand.
For a moment, he saw a blue-white shield surrounding the Lantean ship ahead of him.
Snarling, he lunged forward, scrambling to his feet.
"Hello," said the same young dark-haired man with amusement in his voice. He looked at the survivor without a trace of fear in his eyes. And he had a weapon in his hands.
The Wraith raised his stunner and fired at the energy field. It would weaken it, even if not by much. These ships didn't have very strong barriers; he could punch through...
The weapon in the Lantean's hands spat fire and roar.
At that same moment, the survivor's armor screeched, taking a charge of metal into its surface. The inertia threw the Wraith onto his back. Feeling pain in three or more places on his torso, he rose just as fast as the last time.
"You can't kill me, whelp!" he snarled, moving out of the Lantean's line of fire. "I've drunk the life of Ancients! I've fed on thousands of humans and hundreds of my own crew!"
"I know," the human stepped out of the ship but remained under the shield's protection. "That's why I'm here."
The weapon in the human's hands clearly had nothing to do with energy weapons. Because it spewed bits of metal that tore the survivor's flesh to pieces. But that wasn't pain that could stop him from carrying out his plan.
He dashed sideways, curving around the ship. His stunner fired at the shield at maximum rate, gradually wearing it down. He only needed fifty, maybe more shots, for the defense to collapse and give him access to the ship's interior. Without the shield, this whelp could do nothing to him!
The human, as he had predicted, followed him, continuing to shoot. But the surviving Wraith commander was too fast for the sluggish opponent. Bullets kicked up huge fountains of sand behind him but caused almost no harm. And how could they, when his body held the lives of thousands of living beings? And that power, though fleeting, was still present within him.
Running around the pilot's cockpit, the Wraith roared as another one of his shots splashed not against the shield, but against the ship's hull. Through the viewport, he could see the lights burning inside the small Lantean shuttle. That meant he could launch it even without the Lantean gene!
In one leap, the Wraith landed on the roof of the ship. Instead of running around to the other side, he moved across the top.
A burst of ammunition bit into his back, causing the survivor unimaginable pain. The force of the impacts tore his robes and rendered the back of his armored cuirass useless. The Wraith tumbled head over heels onto the sand.
But he landed well — right next to the open entrance.
Overcoming the pain, leaving his own healing to regeneration, the surviving commander threw himself inside the ship. He had been on such starships many times before, so his hand habitually found the button to seal the rear hatch. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed enormous bruises on his greenish skin — places where he had been wounded by the enemy's bullets.
But the injuries were healing before his eyes.
Behind him came the sound of the drives working, raising the ramp and sealing the small vessel. The survivor, limping on a leg injured and damaged in the fall, reached the pilot's cockpit. The instrument panel glowed with internal light... He lunged for the control yoke, intending to lift the ship into the air.
"RAAAAAGH!!!" he roared in a hoarse bass at the exact moment the control panel went dark right in front of his nose.
The same surviving Wraith.
Impotent rage passed along with the cry of powerlessness. He looked at the dead control panel once more, then heard the mechanism unlocking the hatch behind him.
Rushing back to stun the enemy, he spread his arms to grab him and knock him down. Once they were rolling in the sand, it would cost the Wraith nothing to tear open the clothes on the Lantean's chest and start feeding. First he would restore his strength, then he would learn everything he wanted.
Before taking the last of the human's life.
For the second time in the last five minutes, the survivor ran into a wall. His face smeared against the white-green glow surrounding the mockingly smiling man. A punch to the face sent the Wraith hurtling away from the human.
"How?!" slightly slower than the first time, the survivor got to his feet, staring at the being with hatred.
"Magic, man, it exists," the human replied. His weapon was back in his hands and it roared before the survivor could dodge aside.
Bullets riddled the survivor's body, tearing chunks of flesh from it. Collapsing onto the sand, the Wraith realized it wasn't his torso that had been hit. The man had shot at his legs and practically shattered both his shins. What remained, slowly regenerating, was unable to keep his body upright.
"I'll get to you, human!" the Wraith assured him. "You can't kill me! My reserves of strength are vast!"
"Maybe," the young man agreed, picking up the stun pistol that had fallen from the survivor's hands. "But it's precisely for that reserve that I decided to capture you, Koschei. I hope you don't mind the name? You have something in common — pallor, immortality..."
Gathering all his strength, the survivor lunged toward the human. But he flew sideways when the butt of the Lantean's rifle smashed into his face. Rolling over, the Wraith, now called Koschei, bared his teeth and fled.
He just needed to get behind a dune to...
Before the survivor could finish the thought, two more people appeared on the dune crest where he had been watching the ship. A man and a woman, holding the same type of firearms as the owner of the small Atlantis transport vessel.
When Koschei tried to attack them, he took several shots straight to the chest. His armor plates screeched, but the pain throughout his body still couldn't make him escape from here.
The light went out in the survivor's eyes.