.".. in a couple of hours they'll be here. The Aurora will be found, the crew will be killed or used for knowledge harvesting by the Wraith. That's why I'm inside — to negotiate with you."
It wasn't his piercing gaze or even his stern voice that convinced me I should be completely candid with the Aurora's commander. There was a certain risk that the Lantian, like his Ascended brethren, would consider me a mistake of nature and try to kill me... By the way, if you died in the virtual environment, did you die in real life too?
No.
I decided on candor for two reasons.
This man, even though we'd only just met, inspired a liking in me. Like a kind grandfather you visit for the weekend. He'd listen, nod at what you said, let you talk it out. Then give you a dozen pieces of advice on how he would handle your problematic situations himself. But the choice, of course, was always yours.
And second, what had happened on the bridge had sobered me up. And led me to some very obvious thoughts.
The captain was the undisputed authority on board a military ship. Those who contradicted him sat in the brig, not freely walking around the bridge. Therefore, his subordinates listened to him, respected him, and trusted him.
If I could win this man over to my side, the crew would come with him. The commander of the Aurora wasn't arrogant, didn't act rude, and didn't pretend everyone around him was too underdeveloped to understand why the sun rose in the east and set in the west.
"Ten thousand years," the battle cruiser's commander repeated like an echo. It was as if he hadn't heard a word I'd just said. The bitterness of lived years bled through his voice. "A long time, even for our physiology..."
And the pain of a betrayed man.
"How old are our bodies?" he asked, glancing at me.
"As far as I know, if you were extracted, you wouldn't survive long enough to be transported to Atlantis," I admitted. "Most likely, you wouldn't even last until we boarded the Hippaforalkus. If you were thawed out, of course."
I didn't think he needed an exact answer. The captain knew perfectly well what I was and what I could do.
"Ten thousand years," he repeated with a heavy sigh. "I hoped they would come for us... Instead, the Council did everything to make sure we didn't survive. If not for your intervention, we would have died. In ten, a hundred, five hundred, or a thousand years — but we would have died."
"The danger of death still remains," I reminded him. "The Wraith will be here soon. And with all due respect, I'm not confident we'll manage without your help. We need to start evacuating personnel as quickly as possible. I'm sure there's some trick to get all the pods out in time and move them to my ship. Once we're safe, we'll start reviving your people. But we need to hurry. Otherwise, all the Lanteans aboard the Aurora face death."
The commander of the Aurora looked at me as if seeing me for the first time.
The commander of the Aurora.
"Lanteans?" he repeated with a sad smile. "Mikhail... With every new phrase you say, it hurts more and more..."
What did he mean by that?
I asked him exactly that question.
The captain gave a bitter smirk.
"There isn't a single Lantean aboard the Aurora besides me," he explained, his voice thick with grief.
Was it the virtual environment that had suddenly dropped in temperature, or had I been thrown into an icy cold?
* * *
By the time the lid of the stasis pod had lifted, it already seemed to Kirik like an eternity had passed.
"Are you done?" he walked up to Mikhail.
The Lantean looked stunned, glancing around.
But he pulled himself together fairly quickly.
"Not quite," the guy muttered, climbing out of the chamber. "I'll need to go back..."
"You were inside for half an hour," Teyla said. "There isn't much time left..."
"Enough," Mikhail cut her off. His voice turned sharp, impatient. As if he was trying to save every second.
Walking over to the nearest occupied pod, he drew both of their attention to the control panel. Each stasis chamber on the decks of Atlantis had one.
Three slanted rows of small buttons. Three in each row. Mikhail pressed every third button in sequence. Strictly from top to bottom.
With a hiss, the pod containing the sleeping person slid forward, emerging from the wall. But contrary to expectation, it didn't crash to the floor — it began to hover in the air. Not that this surprised Kirik or Teyla anymore.
"Watch and remember," Mikhail demonstrated the button sequence again. "Safe disconnection from the virtual reality, switch to emergency power, activate anti-gravity suspension. After that, you can push the pod right to the transporter. Got it?"
"Couldn't they all be disconnected from the backup bridge?" Kirik asked. "That would be faster."
"Each pod has forty-five minutes of backup power," Mikhail explained. "We won't get them all out before the pods run out of juice. And they can only be disconnected manually, one by one. The transporter can fit five at a time. Right here," Mikhail pointed to the side of the stasis pod, where a control panel blinked with lights, "there's a yellow button. One press — the chamber stands upright," he demonstrated the pod transitioning to the correct position. "A second press — it goes back to horizontal. Understand?"
"Yes," Teyla said absently. "We need to move all the pods to the Hippaforalkus?"
"Exactly," Mikhail said, touching his radio. "Alvar, send Koschei. Under guard and under watch. Tell him to have Sora for a snack first — he'll need the strength."
"Mikhail," Teyla interrupted. "I don't think this is the right thing to do..."
The girl fell silent when I shushed her.
"Will do," the temporary commander of the battleship replied. "Anything else?"
"Leave five men at the transporter to move the pods into the compartments. You handle connecting them to the power grid. Send the rest to the Aurora. You remember what Chaya said about the hookup?"
She had developed miles of temporary wiring across dozens of compartments aboard the Hippaforalkus, where the stasis pods would need to be connected. And, of course, she'd shown us how to do it properly without burning out the body or the wiring. Still, knowing who she'd be working with, she'd made everything as simple as possible.
"Yes," came the short reply.
"Excellent," I praised. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Copy."
"If you're leaving, what do we do with Koschei when he gets here?" Teyla asked.
"You help the others bring the pods and send them to the Hippaforalkus," I told Emmagan. "Kirik, you'll guard Koschei while I'm inside the pods. To save time, we'll revive a few useful crew members. They'll help both here and aboard the Hippaforalkus."
"Got it," he replied. "How will I know which pods to revive? I still have to find them..."
"Don't worry," I advised him. "They'll all be in one section. As soon as Koschei says he has no more strength, make sure he's not faking. If that doesn't work — knock him out and send him to the brig."
"Will do," the former runaway assured me.
"Now, come on, I'll show you which guys we're reviving first..."
* * *
From the moment she was captured, Sora never doubted that she would be killed. They tried to interrogate her, but she said nothing. They beat her several times — and the author of her many injuries, bruises, and scrapes was a man named Alvar. An Ermen whose planet had fallen because of the Genii's actions.
So she had no doubt that sooner or later she would die. No one keeps a prisoner who's of no use. Sora, as her father and Commander Agastus Koli had trained her, endured the torture with honor. Not a single word was said about what interested the captors. She didn't even reveal that she was a Genii. Yes, they knew that themselves, but she wasn't about to confirm it.
That's the rule of the game the Genii play. You get caught — your own fault. Die, but don't betray your people. Not a word to the enemy. And only then, after death, do the Ancestors await you, approving of what you've done.
Sora Tyrus didn't know how she'd ended up here. But she suspected she'd been moved here after being stunned by Wraith weapons in the chamber on Atlantis.
She also didn't know why the lights went out and it got cold. She would have gladly used the opportunity to escape her cell... if the door grate hadn't weighed more than she could lift. And the guard didn't let her relax.
She decided to trust the Ancestors and wait until the situation changed. Maybe then she'd have a chance to escape. She was ready to fight her way out. Just open the cell...
But she wasn't prepared for what she saw when the door to her new cell swung open.
The same guard who had been watching her all this time entered the cell. But he didn't bring clothes or anything useful. Several Athosians in Ermen uniforms with Ermen weapons came in with him.
At first, she thought they were going to feed her... They always came in groups when they unlocked her cell.
But reality turned out to be far more prosaic.
The Athosians, the irreconcilable enemies of the Wraith, actually intended to feed someone in this cell. But not her.
The girl shrank into the corner as a figure bound in chains entered the room... Sora understood everything. And she screamed in terror.
"Well, hello," a laughing Wraith addressed her in a wheezing voice, looming over her. "I hope you taste better than your father..."
A Genii never leaves life without having the last word. But this time, Sora broke the Genii's precepts.
She didn't have time to say anything when the Wraith's feeding appendage fell onto her chest, and pain and euphoria shot through her body.
She never witnessed her own death throes.
* * *
The moment he disconnected from the virtual environment, he understood in practice that everything the captain had said was true. Their bodies had indeed aged. So much so that even with the mild disorientation from the long stasis, he felt the changes of age. Muscle wasting, skin that had lost its firmness and elasticity, trembling fingers... Joint aches came as a matter of course.
As soon as his body experienced the long-forgotten sensation of stiff muscles, he took a deep breath.
"Ihaar," a familiar voice intruded into his ears. Opening his eyes slightly, the senior engineer squinted. But the dim light in reality was favorable to his ability to see. "Do you understand me?"
The young man stared into Mikhail's face, who was leaning over him. He wanted to say something, but his tongue wouldn't obey. Something was stuck in his throat, some kind of fluid. It seemed... It seemed his body was dying. Probably something with his lungs.
It looked like they were trying to help him, unbuttoning his tunic at the chest, tearing his uniform undershirt. The shirt gave a deafening crack as it ripped down the middle of his chest. It seemed it really was a lung problem. And they were probably going to try to resuscitate him now...
"He's reacting to sounds," came the voice of some other man. An unfamiliar voice. Ihaar didn't really care anymore. He understood that he was dying. It seemed the commander was wrong — Mikhail had no way to bring them back. But if that was the case, then what was all this for?
"Keep standing over him," came a suspiciously familiar voice at the edge of his fading consciousness. "But don't blame me later if I can't revive him..."
"If he dies, I'll tear your head off," the shadow above him, with Mikhail's face, assured. The shadow seemed to move away, but it didn't get any brighter.
His consciousness was almost extinguished when he felt it... His body suddenly filled with pain — the kind that made him want to scream as loudly as he could.
And this pain was far from elderly...
The remaining air in his lungs expelled clots of fluid from his throat. At the same time, his body was flooded with euphoria from the suddenly surging levels of pleasure hormones. And adrenaline. His adrenal glands, as if the ten-thousand-year wait had never happened, started working at full capacity with his enhanced physiology, yanking his consciousness back from oblivion.
And at that moment, his vision focused. The shadows vanished. Even the meager light above him was enough to see the characteristic green face... Horror and fear froze Ihaar, preventing him from moving or resisting the Wraith's right hand resting on his chest.
"Ancient," the Wraith exhaled into his face, a triumphant mask frozen on its features. "Your time has come!"
But the worst part was that, as his body's sensations returned, Ihaar couldn't stop the feeding process. He couldn't even scream.
And he couldn't warn the remaining crew members of his ship that they had fallen into Mikhail and the Wraith's trap.
* * *
Returning to the virtual environment was becoming a routine matter.
Darkness, light, blue and brown patterns on the bulkheads of the Aurora...
The same small room where I'd left the captain after receiving thorough instructions from him.
.".. there are munitions, shields, and the ship can fight," Trebal said heatedly, standing before the commander of the Aurora.
"That won't help us," he cut her off in a calm but categorical tone. He didn't raise his voice, didn't get rude, didn't resort to shouting or insults. He was as calm as a boa constrictor.
I'll be honest — I envied him so much at that moment. Silencing a bitchy executive officer with a single phrase... This man was someone to learn from. I hoped he wouldn't refuse to give me a few masterclasses on leadership.
Fine, well, a few hundred masterclasses.
It was pleasant talking with this man and...
"We have time," Trebal insisted. "I can take an engineering team and repair the engines. We just need to jump into hyperspace!"
"That's not up for discussion," the captain cut her off, noticing me. He stood up from the transport container and walked toward me. "Senior Officer Trebal, you're dismissed. Make sure all members of the engineering team are among the first to be revived. They will provide invaluable assistance to Mikhail and his people."
"Captain!" Trebal exclaimed, glancing at him sideways.
"You have your orders, officer!" the commander of the Aurora raised his voice, looking me in the eye. "Carry them out!"
Officer Trebal and the commander of the Aurora.
Trebal looked at him, then at me. But this time, angrier. And she silently left the small room.
"Juniors," the commander of the Aurora said with a sad smile. "Always impatient, always impulsive. You have no idea how many problems that caused. And disasters..."
"We still have an hour and a half," I said. "There's time to talk. Since you said to evacuate yourself last..."
"The captain always leaves the ship last," the commander of the Aurora said calmly, gesturing toward the door. "Come, we have much to discuss, Mikhail."
We stepped into the corridor.
It was fairly empty, yet some crew members continued to scurry in both directions. As if they had urgent business. In the virtual environment, that is.
"What's going on?" I asked, walking to the right of the only Lantean on the ship. "You can't control the ship's real equipment from virtuality."
"No, you can't," the captain agreed. "But why do you think the virtual environment was created?"
"To give the crew something to do during the flights," I offered the most obvious answer. In fact, Chaya had told me this herself.
"Correct," my companion said. "We had ten thousand years to practice various tasks. If you let your mind wander from critically important work, panic can break even the strong. The most obvious thing was to order the crew to occupy themselves with research and work while waiting for rescue. And now they're uploading the data from their work from virtual computers onto storage devices and transferring them to their chambers."
As if to confirm his words, we saw several people in the corridor doing exactly that — connecting Ancient laptops directly to the control panels next to the decorative blanks where stasis chambers should be.
"And what results did you achieve?" I asked. "Given that you were the only Lantean aboard the ship."
"Being a Lantean doesn't mean knowing everything," the battleship's commander assured me. "Each of us is a specialist in our own field. To one degree or another. It's impossible to acquire all the knowledge of the universe in a human body. No matter how magnificently it's been developed by evolution or genetic, biochemical, cybernetic, or other enhancements. All the knowledge of all races that have ever lived and are living — all in one place. In an energy state. Knowledge of everything about everything is a colossal amount of information. All the data storage devices we could have created since the dawn of our race wouldn't be enough to contain it. Ascension is the only way to understand the universe."
Hmm... And here I thought the Ascended possessed only the knowledge of the Ancients. But it turns out... it's not that simple.
Although, if you dig deeper, nothing here is as simple as it might seem at first glance.
"And what field are you a specialist in?" I asked.
"I knew military technology well — hyperdrives, impulse ship weapons," the captain replied. "That's why I volunteered to command the Aurora on its final raid. The Council was against it, but I insisted. They were probably already thinking about evacuating to Earth back then. Sending the Aurora to the galactic rim with a crew of lesser races suited them just fine. If they managed — good, there'd be a chance. If they didn't — no great loss. That... was the intent. By the end of the war, there were so few Lanteans left that I hoped we wouldn't be abandoned even in a difficult situation. Unfortunately, the bet didn't pay off. The Council chose the simplest path. Saving the majority at the cost of the others' lives."
"You talk about it so easily," I shuddered. "In essence, the Council left you and your crew to die..."
"In my time, such accusations could get you disintegrated," the commander of the Aurora chuckled. "We're partly lucky that Ascension doesn't grant access to the virtual environment. Or the ability to infiltrate various computer systems. We can speak freely about everything."
"Are you sure about that?"
"I'm familiar with the works on Ascension and partly understand the limits of their abilities," the captain said, stopping me at an intersection of corridors. Several guys in Aurora security uniforms ran past us. "In my time, it was more of a theory, since there weren't that many Ascended among us. And they weren't in a hurry to share information or make contact. And when it did happen, there were no direct answers whatsoever. Hints, riddles... And even those only appeared by the time we were already losing the war."
"I understand why the Ascended don't want to share information with me and other humans — we're not their kind. But you're Ancients, you know millions of times more, you're more advanced... Why wouldn't they...?"
"Why not tell us what became known on the path to Ascension or upon achieving it?" the captain understood my thought. All I could do was nod. "Even we are nothing more than simpletons compared to the dominant species of an entire galaxy. As far as I understand, the rules don't allow direct intervention. And all those workarounds you mentioned... That's precisely the result of individual Ascended trying to help less developed species. Though, from your story, it seems that in the events you know about, the Ascended helped exclusively those who, in one way or another, protected their world order and position. Snobbery, egoism, and arrogance in their purest form," the man sighed sadly. "Unfortunately, that's all of us. The more you know, can do, and comprehend — the longer you live, the less you resemble a human and the more you become a machine. Logic and planning replace emotions, feelings, compassion... From what I understood of your story about Oma Desala and Orlin, Chaya Sar, Morus, and Ganos Lal, some of them still had stirrings of conscience. Though, I don't think it's that simple..."
"In my opinion, it's simple," I shrugged. "The Ancients are the Ascended. They make the rules. So why can't they break them?"
"Why do you think the Ancients made the rules of Ascension?" the captain was surprised. "That was done long before them. Most likely, long before our race appeared. Unfortunately, my knowledge in this area is limited. But I think you can satisfy your curiosity by consulting Atlantis's database."
"A significant part of it is encrypted and password-protected," I admitted.
"Yes," the ship's commander sighed. "Protection and insurance against overly curious members of the lesser races. Though, the Council hid a lot from ordinary Lanteans as well. However," he quickly corrected himself, "those are just rumors and my assumptions."
And there it was — a revelation. I'd bet my hand that last slip was a classic Freudian one. He knows far more than he's letting on. But, like with Chaya, he's being careful. Giving hints, not answers.
Smart. Because if he's wrong and the Ascended are indeed watching us, he's hardly earned himself a time-out in the corner. On salt or buckwheat. Figuratively speaking, of course.
The difference in communicating with the Aurora's commander versus Chaya was palpable. The girl behaved — even with her parody of the Lanteans — more humanly, simply. She wasn't a stranger to humor, albeit peculiar, or fear... The commander of the Aurora, on the other hand, seemed more like a walking encyclopedia, knowing everything about everything. But an encyclopedia with feelings and his own code of honor.
He couldn't help but inspire admiration. At least because this man couldn't be unaware that even if we wanted to, we couldn't evacuate every crew member. Not in such a tight timeframe. I knew my people and the revived Ancients were doing everything they could, but... I understood we wouldn't make it. That made me sad, and it tore me apart with anger at the captain's decision to be the last to leave the ship. Effectively, he'd signed his own death sentence.
And he'd explained it to me very simply. The Aurora's reconnaissance mission was to obtain data from a laboratory complex built at the war's beginning. They studied Wraith technology there. And the Wraith themselves. There were no gates there, ruling out Wraith appearing on the planets. What exactly the scientists transmitted to the Council, the captain didn't know — the Wraith managed to track them and attacked. The labs were destroyed, the Aurora sustained critical damage and lost almost all its jumpers, expended its munitions defending itself until the final data packet was received. They went into hyperspace, but the damage was too severe. And then everything matched what I'd found in the ship's own database.
The captain didn't know for sure, but he'd heard something about reverse feeding. It turned out the Wraith had invented it at the height of the war. And it was then experimentally established that the Wraith energy required to revive one Lantean was equivalent to what was needed to restore a dozen members of the lesser races. If I revived him alone, I'd get one smart person. If I didn't revive him — I'd get twelve people. Less intelligent than him, of course, but more useful. After all, his crew were intimately familiar with the Ancient systems.
Simple math. It smacked of fatalism, but... It was his choice. And it aligned more than well with my own.
When I climbed into the chamber, Koschei had managed to get Ihaar and half his engineering team back on their feet. Those guys had already proven invaluable. They weren't just handling the connection of chambers aboard the Hippaforalkus — they were also piloting our available jumpers and using spacesuits to retrieve pods from the ship's depressurized sections. Not to mention they were also working on restoring a couple of doors leading into the Aurora's hangar. Those were being used as airlocks so that other jumpers, landing in the depressurized hangar, could also haul out stasis chambers. Relying solely on the transporter would have been a huge mistake. With Ihaar and his subordinates, we now had not one, but three evacuation routes for the Aurora's crew.
Only, we still probably wouldn't make it before the Wraith arrived.
"Have you noticed anything strange about Chaya Sar's behavior?" the captain suddenly asked as we stopped at the threshold of the backup command post.
"Not particularly," it was hard to admit. After all, there were reasons to say "yes." "Is there something I should know?"
"I'm not one to spread others' secrets," the commander admitted, approaching one of the consoles. "I'm sure that if she's helping you, she's doing it from the heart. As always. But don't let her get carried away with her scientific pursuits and lead you into a false sense of her absolute rightness. One day, it could cost you your life."
I didn't like this vagueness.
"Why not just say it outright?" I asked.
"Well, you didn't tell me about your suspicions that Sar inevitably should have objected to you saving us," the captain smiled. "Everyone has a right to secrets. You and I both. I think if you didn't reveal everything at once, you have your own reasons for protecting her. I respect that kind of behavior. She's your companion and assistant, your ally. Perhaps more, but that's none of my business. Protecting your people is a leader's duty. It won't be written anywhere in any instruction manual. It must come from within. You have it. No wonder General Hippaforalkus chose you. He knew how to see in the lesser races what might one day make them great."
Fine... The captain was playing his own game. He didn't say outright why Chaya was so dangerous, but at the same time, he'd dangled bait for me to figure it out myself. And he hadn't hinted that she'd done anything terrible. He hadn't predetermined my opinion. He was letting me investigate everything on my own and make a decision according to my own convictions.
Damn, a little more and I'd start admiring this Lantean!
"I'll have time to figure it out if the Ascended don't decide to kill me," I muttered. "After all, I'm a global violation of the rules of Ascension and all that."
"It's hard to blame them for that fear," the Aurora's captain looked at me. "Are you familiar with the concept of 'cascade entropy failure'?"
"You know the answer yourself," I chuckled. "My knowledge... is very superficial."
"You'll have to fill that gap if you want to solve problems instead of creating them," the captain said. As usual, without judgment. Just a statement of fact. "I'll simplify the explanation. Please don't take my tone as condescending, it's just that... we'd spend too much time figuring out your level of technical knowledge. And I'm afraid I'm not the best lecturer."
I bet.
"So, you're a guest from an alternate universe." The captain stood across from me, his hands clenched into fists. But his demeanor didn't suggest he was about to throw a punch at me. "Your body, your consciousness — indeed, any object present in a given universe — carries a specific energy charge. It differs from the charge a similar object, entity, or person would have in another universe. As does its frequency — each universe has a unique one. Imagine what would happen if these charges came near each other?"
"Opposite charges would attract, and identical charges would repel each other," I guessed.
The captain froze for a moment, then nodded in agreement.
"Broadly correct. Now, imagine that universes are like the pages of a closed book. Somewhere in the center lies a base universe, whose actions spawn newer and newer universes. The further they are from the base universe, the more their charges differ. And moving the same objects between universes causes a catastrophe. Several — even two — versions of the same object simply cannot coexist in one universe. Their charges and vibration frequencies won't allow it. I trust you understand that every molecule and atom in the universe vibrates and moves?"
"I figured as much," I said. No, seriously, I had to figure out how to save this man. If the Lanteans had a standard, it was the Aurora's commander. "And what happens if the objects come into contact or get close enough to each other?"
"I read about old Alteran experiments from their time in the Milky Way galaxy." The captain unclenched his fists. "When they left their home galaxy, nothing restrained their imagination or scientific research. Including experiments with quantum physics, as you call it. Traveling to alternate universes was one direction. But it was shut down and declared forbidden after the consequences became irreversible."
"Consequences?" I tensed up. "Irreversible? What do you mean?"
"Time and space in the universes aren't governed by uniform laws across all of Creation," the captain said. "In some places it flows faster, in others slower. In some, we could spy on other versions of ourselves and adopt their achievements; in others, they did the same to us. And somewhere, a cascading entropy failure caused the collapse of the spacetime continuum; somewhere else, a change in history and the annihilation of entire races... I could hypothesize that your universe emerged precisely as a result of such interference. But I have too little input data to say that for certain. If you're interested, talk to Chaya Sar. Spatial physics is her favorite discipline." He paused for a moment, then added:
"At least it was a little over ten thousand years ago."
You'd think my head would explode from what the captain said. But no — I absorbed it all like a sponge. Every word. And I even understood some of it, given my own knowledge.
That was the problem. The Ascended feared that a second version of me could exist in this universe. Our charges and frequencies don't match, and upon contact... anything could happen.
"You have no idea what food for thought you've just given me," I admitted. "Thank you."
"Glad I could help." The captain was already immersed in some calculations and computations, moving from one console to another. And still managing to talk to me. A multitasker from the Big Bang. "I'm sorry I can't do more. But we still have a little time. If you have any more questions, ask them."
"How do you pick, out of millions of questions, the one that matters most, given the circumstances?" I chuckled.
"The right approach." The captain thought for a second, then spoke. "In a way, I even envy that our race's future rests in your hands. You're young, energetic; you know that even developed minds can make catastrophic mistakes. I think you have a chance to build a more just Ancient society than what we created. I believe in you, Mikhail. I believe and I hope."
An invisible hand gripped my throat.
I'd known this man for only a few hours, but in that time I'd developed such respect for him that resentment choked me.
"Come with me, Captain." I grabbed his arm. "Maybe not now, but after some time we could revive you and—"
The captain looked at me with a sympathetic smile. He put his hand on my shoulder and gave me a fatherly, kind look. It squeezed my heart even tighter.
"I appreciate your offer, Mikhail. And I understand your motives. But I wasn't idle during those ten thousand years either. More than anyone, I understood that the longer we remained in stasis, the harder it would be to bring us back to life. I ran calculations, built hundreds of thousands of hypotheses, proved some and rejected others. I found hundreds and thousands of options, but not one came even close to a way to preserve our lives. You can be proud of yourself — you found the correct way to save my crew. But I cannot go with you."
"That's not an answer to 'why not.'"
"We are guilty of what's happening in this galaxy." The Aurora commander sighed. "We are guilty of what's happening in the Milky Way and in the Alterans' home galaxy. We ran instead of fighting back. Ran instead of fighting to the last. We relied on science and calculations where we should have listened to our hearts, our emotions, our own spirituality. Now, of course, we can say whatever we want, but... I know for a fact that resurrecting me would require hundreds of innocent lives."
Whoa!
"I dare to note that I'm not the one sending innocents to feed the Wraith," I assured him.
The captain smiled sadly.
"Believe me, nothing would be more desirable to me than to return to my home city." Regret crept into his voice. "But it's beyond my strength. The risks... are too great. Compared to what my race has done, any criminal is innocent. And we are doubly guilty for not fixing anything — we just left. I couldn't live with that burden of guilt. Even before, it was problematic, but now... everything would be even worse. By joining you, I would definitely bring disaster upon your people. Take an old Lantean at his word — you don't need an ally who paints a target on your back. The stakes are too high..."
"But self-sacrifice isn't the answer! There's still Ascension..."
The words slipped out before I realized how wrong I was. He'd just told me he wouldn't be welcome in the world of the living.
That's why, even in the series, he didn't try to find a way to save himself but went for self-sacrifice.
"Ascension is our victory," he said. "But also an acknowledgment that our path wasn't the only correct one."
"What do you mean?"
"The Ori," the man explained. "Our brothers, our irreconcilable enemies. As I understood from your story, they are the only advanced beings in our home galaxy, which we populated long before the Milky Way. They chose the path of radical spirituality, believing that Ascension could only be achieved through an exclusively spiritual path, through religion. We, on the other hand, relied on science. From your account, I conclude that no Ascension was ever achieved through a technical path."
"To the best of my knowledge," I corrected. "Perhaps others..."
"Others are a separate conversation. We're only talking about the Alterans and the Ori — about our fundamental contradictions that led to what's happening now," my interlocutor said sternly. "You wanted to know why the Ascended Ancients are so prim and don't strive to Ascend all their worshippers?"
Honestly, that wasn't what I wanted to know. I hadn't even asked about it! What was he...
And then it hit me.
It wasn't me who wanted to know — it was him. And the Aurora commander wasn't telling me this for no reason.
"The Ori draw energy from their followers," I recalled. "And the Ancients..."
It was almost difficult to say. For almost blurting it out in front of Ganos Lal, she'd wanted to kill me.
"Hypocrisy is an inherited trait." The man smiled sadly. "We had it, and we passed it on to you. And I don't think the differences between universes are as critical as we think."
"But the Ancients don't have that many followers... Billions of people don't even know they exist!"
"Does it matter whether you believe in specific individuals, or just revere their deeds?" the Aurora commander asked. "Does the material the wiring is made of have a significant effect on the energy flowing to the reactor? If the goal is still to get energy from the source?"
"By any means, but not directly," I whispered.
"You understand." The Aurora commander let out a relieved breath. "I'm glad. I hope you also understand that this knowledge must never be spoken aloud. Otherwise..."
"Otherwise there'll be a volunteer Ascended who'll come for my soul," I replied succinctly.
"More likely, some of the fervent believers in the Ancestors — as we're called here — would receive an epiphany that you are a great evil." My interlocutor smiled sadly. "Such are the realities, Mikhail. The Ancients lie."
It burned through me like a fiery whip.
That was roughly what was written in Chaya's laptop when she became human in Atlantis. Only it wasn't the Ancients, but the Others... But was the difference really that great?
But now everything was falling into place.
The Council could have easily forbidden this Lantean from leading a doomed mission. They could have simply taken him into custody if they valued their compatriot. Send the ship under Trebal's command — she and other crew members have the Ancient gene. Not all of them, but the key officers and specialists, like Ihaar, did.
But they didn't.
They could have stayed in Atlantis for thousands more years, waiting for the right moment to save the Aurora and her people. The galaxy is vast, and the Wraith couldn't be everywhere. Hell, they could have sent camouflaged jumpers to Lantea-2 to replenish construction resources. They could have cultivated harvests and built ships on Taranis! How many such planets without Wraith were there across the galaxy? Even if there were no gates, they could have...
You can do anything if you're ready to make sacrifices.
But if you intend to bury the truth at any cost... you leave the city, go to Earth, and just walk away from your problems, doing what needs to be done so everything runs like clockwork.
"Not that big," I finally agreed. "Thank you. I used to think my suspicions were just fan delusions, but now..."
"I'd consider that one of the reasons they chose you, and not someone else," the Aurora commander smiled.
And here I thought it was just because I was agreeable.
"Give a man a fish, and he'll be fed for a day," I murmured. "Teach him to fish, and he'll live... a bit longer."
The Aurora commander thought for a moment. Then he smiled approvingly.
"Your world has good idioms. Everyone can find something for themselves, something instructive. I hope our descendants in this universe are just as wise."
Wise, sure... But there were a couple of caveats.
"I'd like to know if it chafes the Ascended Ancients that Ascension can't be achieved through technical means," I chuckled. "Only spiritual, just like the Ori said."
"From what I know, they weren't entirely right either," my interlocutor said. "But at the same time, Ascension is proof of how far from the truth even advanced beings can stray if they're influenced by dogma. And the difference between these undeniable points of view — science or spirituality — isn't what matters. What matters is not letting them distort your worldview and steer it onto a path of absolute enmity."
Which is essentially what happened. With the Ancients, with the Ori... God, what a viper's nest this really was.
I felt sick. At the very least, because my origins, my physiology, my resources already put me on the sparring board from both trainer teams' perspectives. And these were the kind of chess games where the opponent could easily shove a rook in your eye or hit you over the head with the board.
"Our time is running out." The Aurora commander's expression darkened as he returned to the console in front of him. "Before you go, I'd like to help you one last time. You'll need to remember and enter my code into the Aurora's onboard computer. Any console connected to the main systems will do. There should be a few near your pod."
"Self-destruct," I realized.
"First and foremost." The captain nodded. "Along with the communiqué we were supposed to deliver to the Aurora. Unfortunately, it's too voluminous to transmit to your ship in time..."
"And your transmitter's busted..."
"Yes, it was clearly destroyed in the battle," the Aurora commander agreed. "You'll have to first initiate the self-destruct, then extract the onboard computer. By that time, the program will be running and you'll have some time to leave the Aurora. The systems will run on... what did you call it?"
"ZPM."
"Yes, the power cell will act as a catalyst for the detonation. Forgive me for not being able to give it to you — with limited resources, it could have helped you in battle. But..."
"We could have shot the ship with projectiles."
"You know where to find new ZPMs, but the factory that produced the projectiles was destroyed long ago," the Aurora commander said. "You can't replenish that resource without mortal danger. You understand what I mean."
Of course I did. The Asurans, who perfectly replicate Ancient technology. Including ZPMs and projectiles. But they're desperate to destroy the Ancients' legacy as revenge for the past.
Using the ZPM to blow up the ship was the only way to destroy the Aurora with minimal losses. A defeat for a strategic victory. A possible victory.
Captain... Damn it, how could this be!
"The onboard computer is located here." The captain showed me the information on the ship's map. "Disconnecting it isn't hard — just flip the switch and disconnect the data and power buses. It's important to take all ten crystals. I can't say why, but you'll understand in time. If I were you, I'd pay attention to the red one first..."
Another hint.
"Thank you for everything." I shook his hand warmly. "I'm very sorry I can't do more..."
"You can't overcome a black hole's influence with a screwdriver and a bit of fishing line." The captain smiled. "There are situations we can't win. I hope the Aurora will be a valuable lesson for you. Learn from others' mistakes — especially since there were plenty of them."
"Thank you for the lesson, Captain." And I wasn't being disingenuous. In the few hours I'd spent with him, I felt like I'd been enlightened... No, irony was completely inappropriate at moments like this.
This man truly was an excellent teacher. It was such a shame that...
Shame. But no shame! Because for every clever move... and so on!
"I think it's time for me to go."
"Promise me two things, Mikhail," the captain addressed me.
"Anything."
"Then three things." The man smiled. "First — never say that to anyone you can't guarantee you'll fool."
"Fair enough," I agreed. Unexpected wisdom from the Ancients. "Second?"
"When the ship's crew returned from a dangerous mission, a toast was raised in their honor," the Aurora commander told me about the tradition. "My crew accomplished their mission. We were betrayed, forgotten, and erased from history. The only thing left for us..."
"Is a toast in your honor," I understood. "Absolutely, Captain. I'm sure that toast will be raised by your crew members too. You won't be forgotten. I promise."
"I believe you." The captain nodded. "And finally, the last thing... Take care of her. Watch your jaw, Mikhail."
That seemed like two requests in one, but... I didn't have time to clarify what the captain meant.
A flash of light, darkness...