Well, then...
I had two scanners, seventy-five blank crystals, five bundles of something between heat-shrink tubing and glue sticks for a DIYer's favorite glue gun, an ancient crimper that functioned more like a wire stripper, wire cutters, a soldering iron, and a whole sea of coils of something resembling fiber optic cable used as standard wiring, plus a ruby crystal, a sapphire crystal, an emerald crystal, a box of diamond crystals, and a dozen crystals that looked like cloudy amber. Not that all of this was absolutely necessary for repairing the transporter, but if you're going to start repairing Ancient technology, you have to take the job seriously.
Interestingly, most of the Ancients' wiring is made of a material similar to fiber optics. Different gauges and different energy conductivity. The standard wiring, like the kind that carries the equivalent of "two hundred and twenty volts," consisted of thin, cloudy-white optical fibers about a millimeter thick. Connected to power at only one end, they reminded me a bit of a Soviet "dandelion" lamp, with the main light in a box and tiny points of light at the tip.
Just like on Earth, the Ancients use different wiring for different tasks. The only difference is that it varies in thickness and clarity. The higher the voltage meant to be transmitted through the wires, the thicker the wire and the higher its clarity, and therefore the purity of the material it's made from.
That's what Chaya explained to me. In practice, the only way I could tell the wires apart was by thickness. Both thin transparent and thick transparent. Actually, no — that one seems a bit cloudy, like frosted glass... No, wait, not frosted, it's just lying on a couple of crystals.
The longer I worked with the wiring, like a robot, using the ancient crimper to snip out damaged sections, the more I felt like that guy running a home internet line in an apartment after a fire. Snip off the melted ends here, then pick the right coil of wire, snip it with the crimper, insert a special fiber optic bundle into the crimper's receiving slot, heat it up, connect the stripped end of the old wire and the new one in the device, solder them together with a piece of a third one... And so on about forty times. Then move on to the next panel. Oh, this one only has about a hundred burned-out wires and a dozen crystals.
And the more I understood what hellish work Chaya had been doing. The Ancients' wires didn't use insulation — when a voltage higher than they could transmit appeared in the circuit, one of two things happened. Either the crystal closest to the point of overvoltage burned out, turning black inside like my thoughts. Or, spewing a fountain of sparks, the wire would dry out and burn through. By the third niche with damaged wiring, I'd concluded that sometimes this led to an entire section of crystals and wires burning out.
Insulation? No, never heard of it. Color coding? Pfft, for crying out loud, mashu vat! I think if the Ancients had built a bomb and sent someone like John McClane to defuse it, he'd be freaking out. Just listening to the radio: "John, John, cut the red wire!" and realizing there's no red here... Unpleasant.
By the way, John would have liked Ancient architecture. The ventilation ducts are wide, comfortable, sturdy. You can crawl through them without fear of getting shot by "angry Russians."
Well, of course, only if they don't have an Ancient pulse pistol. If McClane's enemies had that kind of weapon, he wouldn't have made it through half of his first adventure.
Karma is a mean, stooped dog.
By the fifth panel, I'd run out of the right crystals. There were still two panels ahead, so, without any tricks, using the scanner's prompts, I cannibalized everything I needed from the nearest lighting panel. I'm starting to understand why the Ancients installed them, like, five to ten of them, and all in different designs, per square meter of corridor. It's an excellent source of spare parts for more important systems and mechanisms!
I got shocked twice. Sad, but I had to redo one of the sections and say goodbye to my personal shield's protection. But at least I remembered that electricians actually get paid extra for working under live voltage. Besides, that thing is good. The moment the hair all over your body stands on end, you remember such a necessary mechanism as a relay or a fuse.
Turns out, it's even on the same deck as you. Literally in the corridor. There's even a decorative cover that says for idiots: "Distribution Panel." Okay, not exactly like that — there are a few symbols that look like stoned printed letters that have abused some mushroom-fed Arabic numerals. Right. Of course, a warning and explanation in the Ancient language.
"You're such a clever girl," I almost teared up as I connected to the panel using the scanner. Turns out, the Aurora is such a caring lady that she herself turned on the switches that had tripped ten thousand years ago due to a short circuit. Good thing I was repairing from the source of the short to the transporter booth, not the other way around. Otherwise, I'd have gotten jolted earlier. And, most likely, jolted into a cremated state.
"Misha, I've gone through the decks," Kirik reported to me. Hm, that was fast. Ah, it's just that I've been messing around here for three hours already! "There are empty chambers. I didn't find anyone but humans in the pods."
"Good news," I said, snipping a bundle of wiring that powered the lights on the opposite side from the transporter. Well, "opposite" is relative... Half the lights in the corridor went out. So... Looks like I'm having trouble understanding electrical schematics... No, wait, it's not me — a fuse crystal burned out. In that niche I hadn't opened.
"Are you done yet?"
"More or less," I double-checked to make sure the power wasn't being supplied to the transporter circuits I'd been working on.
"A huge amount of time has passed!"
"Tell me something I don't know," I advised him.
Interesting... I've become more phlegmatic during the transporter booth repair. I don't even feel like swearing as much as usual.
I can literally feel my "poker face" as I do this important work. I wonder if the Ancients had problems with facial expressions and humor precisely because they got shocked so often?
"I'm coming to you," Kirik said after a moment's thought.
Interesting... I wonder how he'll do that if he doesn't know the ship's layout.
As it turned out, I'd wrongly suspected the former runner of topographical cretinism. He found me in about thirty minutes.
"You still haven't fixed this thing?" he asked, watching me rearrange the crystals in the control panel. "A lot of time has passed. Our people..."
At that very moment, when the crystals clicked into place and lit up, along with the entire repaired circuit, and the transporter booth's backlight and transfer display came on, I looked at my battle comrade. Apparently, something on my face didn't sit well with him, because Kirik frowned and muttered:
"Sorry. I'm worried about our people."
Yeah, right. Who'd worry about us.
"Is it working?" he pointed to the open doors of the transporter chamber, on the wall of which two outlines of Ancient battleships had appeared. One, the one in the center, was obviously the Aurora. And the other, located flush against her non-existent bow, was the Hippaforalkus. A transporter point glowed red in the center of each one. Just press the one on my more intact ship, and voilà, you'd be where you needed to be.
"At least it's glowing," I sighed, looking around. "Whether it's working properly or not, we'll find out now."
I took a few damaged crystals, put them in an empty box, and placed it on the floor of the teleportation chamber. After waiting a second, I pressed the point on the Hippaforalkus's outline. Then I dove out of the chamber like a bullet as its doors began to close.
I believe in my electrical engineer skills, of course.
But I don't want to join the list of those inventors who died testing their own handiwork.
The doors closed, and a snowy-white radiance flashed behind the small colored glass of the transparencies. Well, at least it glows nicely...
The chamber doors slid open. The box of crystals was gone. But in its place was Alash, lowering her weapon, and Teyla, exhaling with relief at the sight of us.
"We were starting to worry," she said, handing the weapon back to the delighted Kirik.
"Us too," said the smiling former runner, openly but restrainedly admiring the Athosian woman. Oh, kid, don't you know she's got a boyfriend among her people? Or... Who even knows about that besides me? And even then, only because of that infamous foreknowledge...
Slinging the straps off her shoulders, she set a massive black backpack on the floor next to the wall.
"There's food, water, crystals, spare parts, ammunition here. Alvar said everyone should take as much as they can carry. We didn't know if there was an enemy on board that wasn't initially visible, so..."
Better safe than sorry. Good.
"Any problems on the ship?" I asked.
"It's getting cold," Emmagan admitted. "And dark. Alvar ordered us to gather in the teleportation bay, since that's our most likely escape route. We take turns on watch every half hour, hoping..."
She smiled modestly.
"I see you managed after all, and death from hypothermia isn't threatening us," she added.
Behind her, the teleportation chamber doors closed, light flashed, and two more Athosians stepped out. Laden like pack animals, they visibly relaxed and lowered their weapons at the sight of us. And began taking off their backpacks.
"Alvar Jensen sent us to scout and to assist you, Teyla," said one of Emmagan's tribesmen. His face looked familiar... I think this guy is her boyfriend. In the known events, he'll become the father of her child. Canon, I think his name is. "Mikhail, you should return to the Ancestors' ship. The sooner, the better. Teyla took a great risk volunteering to go and rescue you."
Oh, really.
I see Emmagan looking away. Kirik also caught some deception in her words. But, credit where it's due — the former runner, like me, realized we shouldn't make a scene. Or interrogate Teyla about why she lied about being sent here.
Looks like the guy is hot-headed and a bit jealous.
Well, it happens. But, as the Jedi say, jealousy leads to the Dark Side. We should sort this out right away.
Here and now.
"Kanaan," the guy introduced himself, a little more sharply than necessary. Apparently, my question "Who the hell are you?" didn't thrill him.
"So, Kanaan," I addressed the Athosian. "Want some advice?"
The man, who kept throwing jealous glances at Teyla, looked at me with displeasure. Is he jealous? Oh... He's jealous of me over her!
This is the last thing we need!
"You need to return to the ship immediately!" he repeated, grimacing.
"Let's step aside," I said, smiling in a friendly manner, slinging my arm around the shoulders of the guy, who was stunned by my audacity, and against his will, I pulled him away from the others. So that we stood with our backs to the rest. Teyla and the second Athosian exchanged glances, clearly not understanding what was happening. But Kirik caught on immediately. "So, about that promised advice..."
Without any wind-up, I punched him in the solar plexus.
Canon grunted, gasped, and doubled over. Grabbing him by the scruff, I forced the man to stand more or less upright.
Kanaan, the Athosian.
"I don't know what you've imagined," I said, almost in a whisper. "But learn a few simple truths. First — it's not your place to talk to me in that tone. And it's not your place to tell me what I should or shouldn't do. Who are you in life?"
"I... don't... understand..." he breathed out.
"What do you do in your free time from spaceflight, warrior?" I clarified.
"Brew... beer..." he was struggling with all his might to catch his breath.
"And I thought you were a chicken farmer," I sighed and patted Canon on the back. "So, brewer. Your opinion is only interesting to me when I'm choosing between light and dark beer. Other than that — mouth shut. Got me?"
"Y-yes," the man said tightly.
"Wonderful," I assured him. "Now for the second piece of wisdom. I don't know what you've imagined about me and Teyla, but I can assure you on my part: I have no feelings for her. And no intentions. She's my..." I paused. Really, what is she to me? "Ally. I don't mix work and personal. You don't do lewd things with a barrel of beer, do you?"
The Athosian looked at me with wild eyes.
"I hope you don't," I said, making a mental note for the future: no more beer, or Athosian wine for that matter. "Did you understand the wisdom of the Ancients that I just shared with you?"
"Y-yes," he still seemed unable to catch his breath.
"Wonderful," I patted him on the back. "Any questions?"
"No," he shook his head.
"Good man," I praised. "If you ever decide to stop acting like a jealous fool, just ask yourself: if you have to dart your eyes around trying to figure out if your woman is about to leave you for another man, maybe you should think about whether you need that kind of woman. Understand?"
"S-sounds like it," he said.
The guy is kind of weak. The punch was trivial, and he still can't pull himself together. Looks like this "alpha" is, at best, an "omega."
"Good boy," I patted him on the back again. "Now let's go back to our comrades. I'm returning to the ship. Kirik is in charge. And don't you dare..." I wanted to say "god," but then realized that in the local context, that expression wouldn't carry the right weight, " Ancestors forbid you try anything while I'm gone. Believe me, you didn't like my anger. Clear?"
"Yes," well, he seemed to have recovered. "I apologize."
"For what?" I was surprised.
Canon straightened up and looked me in the eyes. Hm... Respect.
"Teyla is my comfort," he said quietly, looking toward the impatiently watching Athosian leader. "When the Wraiths took my wife and son... Shared grief brought us together... But when you came into our world... I thought that she and you... She's lived among you for so long, rarely shows up on New Athos, doesn't listen to our advice anymore, listens to you... I thought that you..."
"Did Teyla lose someone during the last Wraith harvest on Athos?" I asked.
"Earlier," Kanaan looked embarrassed. "Her father and mother were taken by the Wraiths when she was young... These losses brought us together after I lost my family..."
"Did she say that?" I asked curiously.
"No," Kanaan suddenly looked flustered. Yes, his name is different, but... I can call this adult teenager whatever I want in my head. "But I understood it from her words and actions..."
I wanted to swear.
"Love and Secrets of the Pegasus Galaxy." "Santa Barbara, Athosian Style." "Teyla the Wild Angel.".. In a word — a soap opera.
One didn't realize she should have explained everything very clearly to her people; the other, instead of asking directly, decided to make things up in his head...
Go-o-o-od...
"Breathe out," I patted him on the shoulder. I wanted to advise the guy not to invest his soul in this relationship, of course. I could be wrong about the Athosian woman, but... This is classic! The lady found a grief-stricken widower for a no-strings-attached relationship. And his psyche played tricks on him, making him think he was something more to her than just a friend for hayloft exercises. "I'll repeat — there's nothing between me and Teyla. And," seeing his eyes widen, "there never will be. She's only my comrade. Nothing more. You can rest easy."
"Thank you," the man (though what kind of man is he? He's thirty at most. And has the brains of a twenty-year-old) extended his hand to me. "I think... That's how you show trust between two men, isn't it?"
"That's only the first step," I replied to the offered handshake, squeezing the brewer's wrist. "But whether you can turn your back on me in a bathhouse — only time will tell."
* * *
"Finally."
Those were Alvar's first words when the doors of the teleportation booth on the Hippaforalkus opened to let me out.
"I was already starting to prepare an assault team," the Ermen admitted.
Judging by how five Athosians exhaled with a mix of belligerence and relief. The guys were standing next to the booth in the small corridor. They had apparently been that assault team.
"Cancel the migration of peoples," I said, looking around. "Where's Koschei?"
Steam was coming from my mouth. The temperature on board wasn't exactly comfortable either. Well, at least Teyla hadn't distorted the real circumstances here.
"In his cell," Jensen replied. "I was planning to send him in the last group. Along with the second prisoner..."
"Haven't they frozen to death yet?" I asked.
"The guards say no," Jensen patted the radio attached to his suit. "Did everything work out?"
The last question he asked just as we headed toward the bridge. A dim light flickered on in the corridor — the starship was responding to the return of the bearer of the Ancient gene. And I was glad of it. Honestly, I'd thought the Hippaforalkus had broken down, not gone into hibernation mode. The last thing I wanted was to be repairing systems I barely understood out in open space.
"Power is on, the transport booth is working," I answered, turning at the right spot. Huh, I'd been through here maybe twice, no more. And it turned out I wasn't getting lost. That hadn't happened before. "Kirik checked — the crew is still in stasis, but some are outside the sealed compartments of the ship. We'll deal with them last."
"Sounds like serious work in open space," Jensen observed. "Judging by what was visible from the portholes, decompression could only happen if there are breaches. I can't imagine where we'd get enough metal to patch everything."
"Right now, that's not a top-tier problem," I replied. "Here's our plan. There are empty stasis pods on board. I'm going to get into one, establish contact with the crew. Explain to them what's happening outside their little virtual world. Then we'll start pulling them out one by one and bringing them back."
"You sure you can manage it before the Hippaforalkus goes back into energy-saving mode, or whatever caused it to shut down?" Jensen asked. I'd explained to him during the journey that the Aurora's crew was in a virtual reality linking their minds while their bodies remained in stasis. On this mission, he was essentially my second-in-command, so he needed to know the key information, at least in broad strokes.
"I don't think talking to the Aurora's crew will take several hours straight," I said.
In reality, I couldn't predict exactly how the conversation with the frozen Ancients would go. All my plans rested on the assumption that I could mentally control my entry into and exit from the stasis pod. If the Ancients wanted to join me — great, we'd work according to plan. Thaw them out, gradually bring them back.
The data I'd gotten from feeding the Genii to Koschei was quite interesting. The Wraith was fairly strong, and there was plenty of life energy in him that could be used to revive the Aurora's crew.
The other matter was that I couldn't revive absolutely everyone. I was sure of that. Even though I hadn't come up with a plan for Koschei to use reverse feeding to restore life, I suspected he was right when he said resurrecting Lantians would require more power than ordinary humans.
But even so, I figured he could at least bring a few Ancients back. And here, I should take Chaya's advice — awaken those who could genuinely be useful, so to speak, "as early as tomorrow." The captain, the first officer, engineers, technicians... The last two categories were as necessary as air. The first two for commanding the battleships.
Until I found a way to become "smarter," I'd have to rely on other people's help. No one argued with that fact, of course...
At the moment, the Wraith only had the red-haired Genii female for "snacking." Plus whatever reserves he'd had before. I was really hoping he could "revive" at least five to ten Ancients.
Even such a small boost in personnel would help us, and very, very significantly.
Of course, there were still a variety of questions regarding interpersonal conflicts, interference from the Ascended, or the stubbornness of the Aurora's crew members.
But that's where the second postulate kicked in: if they turned out to be complete assholes, no one would save them. I didn't think, of course, that absolutely every crew member would be happy to stay in their stasis pods and die, but you should never underestimate Ancient stubbornness over nothing.
After all, for ten thousand years, these frozen guys, who had the ability to leave stasis whenever they wanted, just... hadn't done it. It was logical — you wait and wait and wait, no one rescues you. You get out of the pod, check if you're dying. If you have the strength, you make it to the bridge, see if there's a stargate nearby, what can be done, and then...
And then, ideally, don't think you're the smartest. The life support on the ship was shut down. And you could only turn it on from the auxiliary bridge. From the nearest stasis pod, that was half a kilometer in a straight line. Not to mention having to open a dozen doors, half of which wouldn't yield without a crowbar and brute force. No power, no air, no heat, and no way of knowing whether there was vacuum behind this particular bulkhead or not.
Ancients were physically, mentally, and intellectually more developed than ordinary humans. But they still needed to breathe. And flying out into vacuum when you opened the wrong door wasn't pleasant.
In short, whether the Aurora's crew had sat idly by or tried to save themselves, guessing was pointless. Only talking to the Ancients could shed light on what had happened.
The bridge of the Hippaforalkus was empty. Panels and monitors were already glowing by the time I stepped through the threshold.
The command chair greeted me with considerable coolness, but I tried not to pay attention. Closing my eyes, I gave the starship a mental command...
"You've started the inertial dampeners," Alvar noticed. "Power is going to the engines and shields..."
"Right," I said, mentally commanding the ship to "rise higher." The smart machine only got it on the third try, when I explained that I wasn't planning to ram the Aurora. But I did want to get out of her path and position myself "higher" to avoid creating an emergency situation in case something happened. "You never know what might happen while I'm in the stasis pod. Let the Hippaforalkus drift near the Aurora, not bump into her wreckage."
It took about half an hour to get into position next to the damaged ship. Twice I nearly rammed the battered vessel trying to get close to her. After all, the transport booth had a limited range. If we drifted too far, we wouldn't be able to move quickly between starships.
"The Wraith was better at piloting," Alvar blurted out. Not reproachfully, not mockingly.
Just stating a fact.
"I thought you were the one who bumped the ships together," I said.
"When I tried, we almost exposed the side," Alvar admitted. "So even though I didn't want to, I had to ask him for help."
Braking with the maneuvering thrusters, the Hippaforalkus took up a position ten kilometers from the Aurora, off her starboard side. Wow, I'd even managed to keep the ships roughly in the same plane. Cutting the engines, I confirmed the starship wasn't moving, not even by inertia.
Then, turning in the chair, I looked at Alvar. A guess formed in my mind:
"Did the systems start shutting down after the Wraith took control?"
Jensen thought for a moment, then nodded.
"We barely made it. The hyperdrive went first, then the subspace comms," the Ermen pointed to the panels on the bridge, listing them in the order they'd gone dark when Koschei was there. "Then the main engines. The Wraith used the maneuvering thrusters and inertia to adjust the flight and bump the ships together. Somehow he managed to reroute power from the shields to the engines to brake the Aurora. After that, the auxiliary systems started shutting down — the comms we were using, life support, shields. The bulkheads locked — we had to force them open manually..."
I think I was starting to understand.
Either everything that happened was a huge coincidence, or the starship had "anti-Wraith protection" installed. Come to think of it, it made perfect sense: he could be on board, no problem. Especially when unconscious and in the brig. But if he got to the controls...
Hyperdrive — so he couldn't fly off to his own kind.
Subspace comms — so he couldn't call for help.
Main engines — so he couldn't even reach the nearest gate at sublight.
The shields held to prevent boarding. The Wraith redirected power from them to the sublight drives, and those systems also failed. Because the ship sensed Koschei wouldn't give up that easily. The shields probably went out because the generators shut down. The ship realized the hypothetical enemy could redirect energy from one system to another. And that meant he could also power the hyperdrive, long-range comms, and so on. Logically, the next step was to cut all power to the entire starship.
Short-range comms, life support, compartment lockdowns — the Hippaforalkus was doing everything it could to make life difficult for the Wraith who had taken command. It probably would have vented the compartments, but it sensed living people were on board. I guess it hoped the humans could stop the bastard.
Of course, restarting the systems after Koschei was returned to his pod would have been the ideal option. But I suspected the computer either decided the Wraith had escaped the brig and could do it again, or that he had taken control of the crew.
Or, which was also logical, only someone with the Ancient gene could restart the ship.
I didn't want to jump to conclusions, but... Something told me this brilliant program had been written by one spiteful but very far-sighted former Ascended. Because in the events I knew about, nothing like this had ever happened.
There were a few cases where Wraith appeared on Ancient ships and even in the city, and even connected to the systems, but Ancient equipment didn't behave that way... either this function wasn't in the show, or it was disabled.
I'd bet on the first option being correct.
It was also strange that we weren't sending a distress signal... Checking the subspace transmitter, I confirmed we weren't. Not sending one. Not sending one anymore.
"Misha, everything all right?" Alvar asked me as I activated the ship's long-range sensors. Nothing... Thank the...
At the very edge of the sensor range, four red markers appeared: one large and three small. The onboard computer helpfully showed a red line connecting us to the Wraith ships. Along with a small inscription in the Ancient language...
"Is that what I think it is?" Jensen asked quietly.
"If you're thinking of a hive ship and three Wraith cruisers heading our way, then yes," I said, my voice suddenly hoarse.