I had to sweat quite a bit to get Kirik aboard the Aurora. And by "sweat" I mean it literally. By the time the former Runner's feet touched the ship's deck, a lot of time had passed. And along with it, precious oxygen was draining away, not to mention the energy in the suit.
Getting to the ship's auxiliary command center, hidden deep in the starship's bowels near the aft section, took us nearly an hour. We had to strain our already exhausted bodies to force open each bulkhead on board and continue our journey. All the way to the next bulkhead. The only saving grace was that a starship is a finite location. And the ship's map allowed us to take the shortest and most intact route.
By the time we reached the Aurora's auxiliary command post, we were literally collapsing from exhaustion. Because, dammit, the ship had responded with some sixth sense to the fact that people had come aboard. Living, real people, even with the Ancient gene. Why should they float in zero gravity, conserving their strength while moving around the ship? Let me turn on the gravity! At half Fyodor strength! So that flying would be problematic and running wouldn't be too fast either.
Okay, that's just grumbling. Having at least some gravity allowed us to move through the corridors quickly enough. If only this magnificent and unprecedentedly helpful ship would also start the life support systems on its own... But no, the Aurora knew the difference between helpfulness and pandering.
The CP wasn't much different from what I'd seen in the series.
A room with no portholes, displays and consoles built into the walls, several control panels in the center of the room... And a huge door, more like the wall of a bunker built to survive a nuclear bombardment.
Overall, it strongly resembled the cell room on Atlantis. Remove the control terminals, put a holding cell with a prisoner in here, and it would be a perfect match.
As soon as I stepped over the threshold, the lighting came on, and the control consoles and monitors slowly began to come to life. The ship started waking up, responding to the appearance of the right person in the right place at the right time.
"Can you handle it?" Kirik asked when I removed one of the panels from the main console and connected my scanner to it.
"Give me a minute," I requested.
The device came to life. The translation programs loaded by Chaya dove into the ship's depths. The onboard computer accepted them without any issues.
And then the lights went out, and the panels shut down.
Bitch...
"If this is a joke, it's a bad one," Kirik approached me. "Did you break something?"
"I don't think so."
"Mikhail, our people are over there!" Kirik pointed toward the powered-down Hippaforalkus. "They're running out of oxygen and..."
"Yes, and so are we!" I exploded. "And they have a whole ship full of air, while we only have a limited reserve! So why don't you keep your opinion to yourself while I'm trying to save both our lives!"
As if in mockery or confirmation of my rightness, the auxiliary bridge came back to life, glowing with instrument lights and monitor screens. But this time, the inscriptions on the screens were translated into my native language.
Mentally thanking Chaya again, I approached one of the consoles responsible for the ship's life support systems and... This console controlled a good hundred different systems. For example, managing bulkheads in case of decompression. Temperature on board, oxygen and other gas content, lighting throughout the ship, blast shutters on the portholes, temperature of liquids, including drinking water, sanitation... Oh, who cares!
What do I care about the composition of the aerosol used for cleaning crew bodies, or the liquid recycling system? Yes, in the best traditions of science fiction — the fluids coming out of the crew were processed into what that same crew later drank. Or washed with... Honestly — I don't want to know about it.
At my command, the blast door of the auxiliary command post closed, sealing us in and cutting us off from the rest of the ship. Kirik was already ready to shoot (right, ricochets are such a minor detail, really!), but seeing my signal that everything was fine, he relaxed.
"Let there be air," I said, activating the Aurora's life support systems. For the first time in ten thousand years, it was possible to breathe on board with one's own lungs.
Thanks to the translator, finding the necessary systems wasn't a big problem. What was much worse was that the ship showed me a diagram of itself — its damage.
Yes, I assumed only the internal sections had survived. And thank god, they were all connected. The problem was that a third of the crew was in the damaged compartments. Getting them out would be a very serious problem if not a huge one.
"Can we take off the suits?" Kirik asked warily.
Before answering him, I first checked the information with the ship's systems, then with a handheld scanner. The old onboard computer on the damaged battleship might still make a mistake, but my device never would.
The Aurora was indeed adapting its compartments fairly quickly to make them comfortable for a human to be in.
"Yes," I snapped the fastener under my throat, depressurizing the suit. Lifting the helmet slightly, I was ready to slam it back shut at any second if I heard the hiss of air leaving the suit... But no. The onboard computer had indeed pumped the CP full of the breathable mixture. And it wasn't even that cold — a noticeable warmth was flowing from under the ceiling. Well, yes, like Americans, the Ancients don't have radiators or anything like that. They have a ventilation system that circulates air and keeps the right temperature throughout the rooms.
But what the hell difference does it make? It's not absolute zero here, nor even Oymyakon. And not even those vaunted "minus two hundred seventy" degrees that should be in a vacuum. The ship spent ten thousand years in a state of minimal power consumption, the life support system didn't work... In a vacuum, of course, there's no medium that would cool or heat up in familiar terms, but... Damn it all!
Only now did it dawn on me that I hadn't seen snow or a layer of ice in any section of the ship. Logically, over that time, quite a few changes should have occurred... But there were none. Either another trick of the Ancients' systems, or I just don't know physics well enough. I'd bet on the latter.
Okay, that's not the most important thing right now.
And it's not even the question of how the ship generates oxygen if it was vented into open space after the crew entered stasis pods. Yes, that's right. The Aurora didn't pump the oxygen out of the rooms into special tanks or anything. It simply opened the compartments from bow to stern and ejected all the air. And all the liquids from its tanks.
The good old saying flashed through my mind: "A vacuum is a perfect thermos." Apparently I just haven't delved into the secrets of space enough to authoritatively declare that some terrible sorcery is happening on board.
If I dig through my memory, in the events I know, Earthlings never found frozen Ancient technology in the middle of space. I suspect that wasn't just saving on props.
I could also recall how Earthlings showed up at an Ancient outpost buried under solidified magma. Breathing inside was completely impossible, but once all systems were activated, the suffocating gases were immediately replaced with a breathable atmosphere. Technology of another, more advanced civilization at its best, so to speak.
"It's cold," Kirik chattered, taking off his helmet.
"It'll take time for the ship to restore comfortable conditions for people," I explained, checking the readings. "It's minus five now. In a minute, it'll be twenty degrees everywhere on the ship."
Cool, though... I think on Earth, they'd pay a fortune for a life support system like that. But... What the hell would I even be thinking about Earth for? Or measuring by old standards?
Well, let's say things are relatively okay on Earth. Let's say I even give them this hulk of a warship. And... What then? Will they make me some kind of prince? A king? Give me all the money on the planet?
Sounds "tasty," but... What the hell do I need all that for? I have, dammit, a spaceship (well, one and a half), a city-ship, and a completely different level of needs and evaluation criteria.
Shaking my head, I threw out the empty thoughts.
At the same time, I freed myself from my spacesuit and set it aside. Might come in handy again.
"We need to contact our ship," Kirik said.
"As if I don't know that," I shook my head and approached another console, checking the metrics I was interested in. "The Hippaforalkus is completely de-energized. Every system. Even if we wanted to, we couldn't contact them. The only way to help them is to get the transporter working."
The auxiliary command post of Aurora-class battleships and their like.
"What about the plan with the Jumpers in the hangar?" Kirik asked.
"Same as before, it remains the last resort," I replied. "The compartment seals inside it are broken. To get there, we'll have to open several doors whose control mechanisms are damaged. Immediately after that, the hangar and the entire Aurora will depressurize. When we were getting here, we forced open quite a few good doors. And a couple of them," I pointed to the blinking red bulkheads that could trace our path to the bridge, "we actually broke."
"A couple?" Kirik clarified.
"Well, about ten," I sighed. "Due to the damage to the locking mechanisms in the compartment we entered through, we had to seal off several decks to prevent decompression."
"So the escaping air wouldn't push the Aurora off course?"
"I doubt even the ship's ruins could be shifted that easily," I admitted. "But it's better not to learn astrophysics by trial and error. We don't have that many spare parts to fix what's broken. So it's best not to break anything else unnecessarily. And yes, we should also value the oxygen."
"Can't the ship itself create the atmosphere in the required volumes?" Kirik wondered. "Chaya said it's simple work for the ship's systems."
"With a working power system — yes," I confirmed, continuing to read what was on the screen. The ship's log is a fascinating thing, especially when read from end to beginning. But out of thousands of entries, I was only interested in a few hundred. "But the problem is precisely that the Aurora is running on the residual energy of its ZPM. The generators were damaged and aren't functioning. So we don't have time to enjoy the local scenery or appreciate the classic Lantean interior."
Cross-referencing the ship's plan with what I already had, I mapped out a route to the transporter booth. I'd have to cross half the ship, since it was located in the central section. And it's no bigger than that little room on Atlantis.
I wonder how many trips the crew members made here? A hundred or two?
If I interpreted the data on the number of crew correctly, the Aurora had five hundred aboard. Authorized complement. According to the stasis pods used — just over three hundred. What happened to the rest — died in battle, during the journey, or the starship set out on a raid with an incomplete crew — remains a mystery.
In any case, three hundred and twenty Ancients is three hundred and twenty Ancients. That's not two and a half Atlanteans.
We, of course, left our suits at the CP. Carrying them with us would have been foolish — the ship, at least the sections we needed to work in, had full integrity. So unless it involved a walk in open space, everything was fine.
And now for the details I'd learned while the ship was restoring proper temperature, atmosphere quality, humidity, and other settings essential for crew functionality in its compartments.
Despite all its damage, the Aurora had no intention of falling apart. Thank the builders.
The starship had been damaged while fleeing from the Wraith. They managed to complete their mission and jump into hyperspace. But it turned out the ship's damage was too great. So, to avoid dying from the deadly radiation emitted by the damaged hyperdrive, the ship was sent on a sublight course. The crew entered stasis pods, contacting Atlantis and requesting help.
But there's a catch. The ship's course passed through a region where there weren't many stargates nearby. The Aurora was directed to fly to the nearest planet with a gate, where a century later repair teams from Atlantis were supposed to meet it. But... pretty soon afterward, the Lanteans left the galaxy. And they didn't give a damn about their brethren.
To really make your head explode, just understand the fact that it was from Atlantis that the signal was sent that deactivated the ship's systems, except for the stasis pods. So they made sure the ship wouldn't fall into Wraith hands. And the ZPMs on it, presumably. But the fact that over three hundred people ended up in a deadly trap...
Damn freeze, I simply don't have words to explain all this civilly, even to myself. And, more importantly, without wanting to grab the Ascended by their energy genitals. They simply threw their own kind to die slowly! To die, no less!
Because if there was any plan for a triumphant return to Atlantis, the Ancients clearly didn't implement it.
Screw Mash! None of the Ascended even thought about saving their comrades! They just threw the big, thick rules of Ascension at everything that happened!
And yet, what Chaya told me, what I knew myself — to Ascend, you don't have to break your own back. From the higher planes of existence, they could simply extend a "hand of friendship," offer "brotherly help," and all that. I'm sure that even nine, eight, or a couple of thousand years ago, they could have easily thawed everyone out and Ascended them.
No words, only emotions. Although... I need to stop being surprised at something like this. These are the Ancients, screw them... "Everyone has the right to choose, and we cannot interfere." Spit and rub away that philosophy.
I don't even want to think about it anymore. I need to distract my head with more tactically important information.
The ship is not capable of traveling between galaxies, because it has only an interstellar drive (like the Hippaforalkus, by the way). But, I remember from the series, converting them isn't a problem.
The starship has an arsenal of homing missiles — the Ancients' main weapon. But the crew fired every last drone in their final battle with the Wraith.
The ZPM really does have little energy — maybe half a percent or something close to that. In terms of the ZPMs Atlantis has, that's a drop. In terms of the rest of the galaxy's power generation, that module would be enough to power an entire planet... for some time.
From the ship's log, it's clear that the starship received a secret mission from the Atlantis Council. The documents don't say exactly what it was tasked with, but I know anyway: to find weaknesses in Wraith technology. And in the series, it was said that this information could turn the tide of the entire war. Tasty, give me more.
But the data is encrypted with the captain's code, and breaking that security without Chaya or clever hacking programs is completely impossible. But I think if we revive the captain, we can negotiate. It's not that I want to start exterminating the Wraith right this second. But sooner or later, we will definitely clash for life and death. And that will be a big problem. For us. The Wraith don't care if they all die except one. He'll be glad there are more people left for him to feed on.
How, where, and in what way the crew gathered such valuable information is also unclear — there's no information about it in the log. I don't think, of course, that they tracked down Wraith and dissected them somewhere in a local dungeon until they revealed their most terrible secrets. I suspect that somewhere in the galaxy there is something like a secret laboratory or monitoring center that collected this information. And the Aurora was merely a courier delivering it.
What's not clear is why the starship was sent for such secrets when Atlantis was already underwater on Lantea. Why not earlier? Why the Aurora specifically? Weren't there more combat-ready ships? In the end, they could have stripped the Aurora for parts and restored the Hippaforalkus! They wouldn't have had to fight through the entire Wraith fleet blockading Lantea!
It seems the Ancients never looked for the easy way.
After all, it's so great to create problems out of nowhere and then heroically overcome them. Or not overcome them, shamefully fleeing to Earth and leaving an entire galaxy of people to be torn apart by the Wraiths.
Speaking of which, studying the ship's log gave me another indirect confirmation of what I already suspected: Atlantis is capable of receiving starships at its piers. Because the Aurora took off from "Pier Number Two of Atlantis." I suspect we're talking about one of the "big" piers; the other three don't inspire confidence, and they're built up very, very densely. But the "big" ones have a cavity in the central section that closely matches the ship's dimensions in shape. Or at least comes very close.
Or maybe my imagination is just running wild.
The important thing is something else.
This ship isn't just a source of valuable specialists; it's also rich in priceless information. As long as it hasn't become obsolete over ten thousand years — that would be awkward.
"Look!" Kirik grabbed my arm, stopping in the middle of the corridor. I was so lost in thought I hadn't even noticed we'd almost arrived. "Are these the stasis pods you were talking about?"
For a second I was still floating in my own thoughts, then I followed his gaze.
"That's right," I replied. My answer made Kirik grunt and approach the structure protruding from the wall without much fear. "They preserve human bodies by slowing life processes to an absolute minimum."
Somewhat reminiscent of a very technological alien egg, the stasis pod on the Aurora was a horizontal platform built into the wall. And there were dozens of rows of them — all the way up to the corridor's ceiling. And these corridors were anything but small. I don't know why the Ancients built corridors and compartments three or four meters high, but I think when you don't have to worry about saving space on ships by cramming a useful mechanism into every corner, you can afford comfort, even on a research vessel.
Stasis pods aboard the Aurora.
According to the beginning of the log, the Aurora was indeed a research starship. The flagship of its series. Its mission, like that of its sister ships, was to explore the darkest corners of the Pegasus galaxy. Where there were no stargates.
The ship is very old — far more than ten thousand years old. At the time of its construction, it was considered cutting-edge technology. And the stasis pods were installed precisely so that the great minds and most valuable representatives of their race wouldn't waste precious days, months, and years flying around the galaxy.
Yeah... That's another problem. The hyperdrive on the Aurora is much older than the one on, say, the Hippaforalkus. And traveling from one end of the dwarf galaxy Pegasus to the other could take... At best, several months. And even then, only thanks to the ZPM.
My battleship flies faster just from its own generators — we reached the edge of the galaxy where the Aurora was located in a week. The Aurora would have needed months...
But even so, this ship's technology far surpasses what even the most developed civilizations in the galaxy have. Including the Wraiths. Probably including the Wraiths.
Meanwhile, Kirik walked up to the nearest pod and wiped a small patch of frost from the glass lid above the upper body of the person resting inside.
"If this technology is so excellent," he looked at me, "then why do you need a Wraith's help?"
I walked up to the pod as well, activated the scanner, and passed it over the person lying inside. The scanner beeped, displaying data on the screen.
"Take a closer look," I advised, reading the inscriptions on the screen.
Kirik frowned, peered through the pod's glass, then recoiled, looking at me with wide eyes.
"There's an old man in there!"
"The technology is good, but it's not perfect," I explained, pointing to the elderly man lying inside the stasis pod. "This guy was in the prime of his life when he got into the pod. Now he's a decrepit old man who'd barely survive being pulled out of here without resuscitation in the form of reverse feeding by a Wraith."
"I don't think they'll be thrilled," Kirik shook his head. "After all... For them, the war was just yesterday, and then this... Waking up to find out ten thousand years have passed, your race is almost extinct, and you yourself were saved thanks to a Wraith..."
"It's not that simple," I said, running the scanner over the neighboring pods. "The Ancients are pretty resourceful folks. The people in these chambers aren't just sleeping — their minds are active."
"How is that possible?"
"Something like a dream," I tried to explain. I figured if I told the former runner that the minds of the crew were united in a virtual reality where they were aboard a copy of the ship, living out their lives... I figured that explanation would also need explaining. And we don't have that much time. Sure, we have more than enough ZPM reserves, but... I've got one sneaky little idea... But I can't pull it off alone; I'll need help.
I hope the crew will give it to me. Well, and if they don't... Screw them then, I'll shut down the pods if the bastards don't recognize me as their leader and swear eternal service. Figuratively speaking, of course. And I mean the oath part, not the shutting-down-the-pods part.
I've had enough of Chaya's grandstanding. If three hundred and twenty more freeloaders who look at me like I'm crap get added to her, they'd be better off dying peacefully in their sleep. I'm not about to heroically throw myself at the Lantean flag just because these guys are who they are. I have no desire to gaze adoringly into their mouths and catch every spark of great (not) wisdom.
Besides, this isn't a democracy by any stretch.
"And in their sleep, they're... awake?" Kirik regarded my words suspiciously.
"The body sleeps, but the mind lives in a made-up world, one for all of them," I explained as best I could. "They think they're still aboard the Aurora."
"And what do they do there?" the former runner asked, looking around. "Are they watching us?"
"I hope not."
In the series, it was said that the crew couldn't influence the physical world from their virtual reality in any way. Consequently... That doesn't rule out the possibility that there might be surveillance devices in the room through which the crew could know we're here and be spying on us.
In the events I know of, they never managed to determine what exactly the crew perceived as reality. Before the Terrans boarded, the Wraiths had arrived on the Aurora, managed to connect to the virtual reality, and made the crew "forget" that they had entered the stasis pods.
Thankfully, that didn't happen here — the Aurora's log records the appearance of any type of starship in its immediate vicinity, as well as the boarding of living and non-living objects. We're the first to arrive here in all this time.
Looks like Chaya was right about this too: the Terrans were unlucky enough to miss the party because they'd already woken up all the Wraiths in the galaxy beforehand. That's why they only managed to have a brief conversation with the crew, learn that a Wraith that had infiltrated the virtual reality had deleted a secret message. And then the Terrans fled into oblivion, blowing up both the Aurora and a couple of Wraith ships that had arrived, with the ship's commander's consent.
A perfect story about how to screw things up without even taking your pants off.
Honestly, both the Ancients themselves and their series descendants... Oh, but I swore I wouldn't judge. I'm not without sin myself. Look, literally an hour ago I almost died in open space.
"Do you think a Wraith can really revive all of them?" Kirik asked, looking at the chambers.
"He can definitely handle a few," I assured him, getting my bearings from the map. This conversation was starting to get on my nerves. "So, I suggest we split up. You have your radio and weapon on you, right?"
"Of course."
"Then your task is to go through all the accessible compartments — the doors will open as soon as you approach them. If they don't open, the compartment is damaged and there's nothing to do there."
"And what am I supposed to do on this patrol?" Kirik asked, glancing at my energy pistol on my thigh holster.
"Check the pods," I ordered. "There should be a person in each one. If there's anyone else, or if you find any empty ones — let me know. Meanwhile, I'll restore the transporter."
"Who else could be on board besides these people?" Kirik tensed.
"No one, but your chatter is bothering me," I thought.
"In an ideal world — no one. But you never know. Better safe than sorry. Though I think you won't need to inspect every pod — just the first and second rows from the floor, max. If someone wanted to connect to this system, they wouldn't climb into a chamber near the ceiling."
"Logical."
"There we stand."