The continuous, albeit melodic, buzzing near my ear was annoying.
And even the smell of appetizing pieces of meat cooking on wood shavings couldn't drown it out.
"Seliza," I said, turning the improvised skewer.
"Just a second," Kirik's ward giggled childishly. "I need to make sure your brain is okay."
"You don't need a scanner for that," a voice came from the doorway connecting the open terrace to the dining room. "He's grilling livestock meat over coals in a city that's thousands of years old, under hundreds of meters of water, at the bottom of the ocean, and under a shield that hasn't had maintenance in at least ten thousand years. Of course there's something wrong with his brain."
After hearing the caustic-sounding but essentially correct remark, I tore my gaze away from the browning improvised shashlik.
"Trebal."
"Mikhail."
"Trebal!"
"Celise."
"Celise."
"Mikhail?"
"Go somewhere warm!"
"You're mean," the chief and only medic of Atlantis pouted. "Brain is fine, but the body's biochemistry is definitely non-standard. Lots of stress hormones. I'd recommend you relax and..."
"Celise!"
"What?"
"I'll tell Kirik you're interested in the wrong things!"
"And I wasn't talking about going out with girls," the big child stuck out her tongue. "The pool, sleeping, physical exercise!"
"On my planet, disobedient and naughty children are put in the corner," I recalled. "As punishment."
"And what kind of punishment is that?" both... girls were surprised.
"Someone rustles candy wrappers behind their back. And doesn't share."
"Well, that's beyond good and evil!" Celise flared up, running off the balcony. Only her heels flashed.
"You're mean," Trebal sighed. "You upset a child... How do you sleep peacefully after that?"
"With my teeth to the wall."
"Alone..."
"Are you starting again?"
We stared at each other for a few seconds, then I returned to my task. I couldn't let the meat cook longer than it should. It already looked like beef. If I missed the moment, overcooked it, I could just throw it away — it would become tough as rubber.
"It's cool out here," I noted. "And you still refuse to wear the Ermen uniform."
"The men's version hangs on me like a sack, and the women's..." Trebal fell meaningfully silent. Seeing that I didn't react, she added: "Hugs in all the most indecent places."
"Find yourself a man already," I sighed.
"That's boring," Trebal pulled a chair from the nearest table, threw a blanket on it, sat down, and wrapped herself in it like a cocoon. "Watching how you react is much more interesting."
I think it's ready... No, the juices are still running.
"And mocking me, especially in front of Chaya — is that more fun?"
"Immensely," Trebal assured me. "She goes into such a funny stupor... And stays silent. Typical victim behavior. She's afraid to get into a conflict with me because she hasn't processed her trauma of being complicit in the destruction of my people. So this won't end for a very, very long time..."
"Remind me, what's your number on the 'Atlantis Bitches' ranking?"
"I created it," Trebal laughed.
I could only sigh.
"Do you think if I throw you off the balcony, you'll hit the city's structures or fall into the water?"
"In either case, you'll be the one who suffers most," Trebal assured me. "And no, not because the Ancients will raise a fuss. You'll just die of boredom."
"And here I thought you'd become a ghost and haunt me at night..."
"Oh," Trebal laughed. "So those are your desires... You know, if you add me to the trusted list on your apartment's control panel, I might just come to you at night..."
"Let me guess. And before coming to me, you'll knock on Chaya's door, since it's on the way?"
"Pfft, how crude," the commander of the Hippaforalkus grimaced. "I would never stoop to such barbarism. I'd activate her control panel so the sound would wake her up."
"Bitch," I exhaled in resignation. I'm starting to guess why the Ascended don't visit me. Why would they, when I already have my own personal hell?
"Did you come here to mock me or on business?"
"On business," Trebal's voice turned serious. "I heard you were grilling meat on the rooftop, didn't see Chaya, put two and two together..."
Oh, for fuck's sake...
"Tell me," I looked at the girl. "What great evil have I done you that you behave like this?"
"Being born?" the Dorandan suggested.
"In this universe or in general?" I asked.
"Makes no difference here," she smiled, showing dazzlingly white teeth. "I'm sure you were just as amusing in your own universe."
"What makes you say that?"
"They created a body for you, not a new consciousness," she said. "Your character remained the same. A little analysis... You have a bitch and a victim under your command. You spend a lot of time with the latter and you're comfortable with her. But when the bitch gets on your nerves, instead of giving a dressing-down, insulting, humiliating, setting her straight, maybe even using physical force — all in the best traditions of gender disputes among primitive races — you obediently banter with me. From which I conclude that you actually enjoy our exchanges of barbs, and you're not at all opposed to continuing them. You know, I actually suspect you like feeling dominated. Even strong men sometimes want to shed the burden of power..."
I took one of the half-meter skewers from the improvised grill, twirled it in my hands, thought...
"And do puncture wounds fall under the traditions of gender disputes among primitive races?"
Trebal smiled even wider.
"There's a very interesting study according to which relationships between people, if they have a persistent conflictual orientation, actually have a beneficial effect on mobilizing their internal reserves of body and mind," she said.
"Are you implying that you motivate me with your antics?"
"You said it yourself," Trebal wagged her finger. "I am merely a slave to my female physiology and... Hmm, now that's accuracy."
The girl, dropping the frivolous expression from her face, looked with a hint of delight at the skewer that had stuck exactly into the end of the tabletop. It wasn't made of metal or plastic, but of a material resembling cork. Except it didn't absorb moisture at all. Smart of the Lantians — the city was, by default, supposed to be in an area of high humidity.
"I was aiming for your eye," I lied.
Actually, I wanted to throw it onto the table in front of her, hoping she'd pounce on it like a dog on a bone.
"Forget about that," Trebal's voice went cold. "I don't like damaged or glued-together eyelashes."
Fuck, why did I leave my impulse pistol in the cabin? I could have come up with a dozen mitigating circumstances by now.
"Hmm," on the third try, Trebal managed to pull the skewer out of the table. "Strong, though. Developing your physiology?"
"Just put a piece of meat in your mouth and chew it for a couple of hours," I asked. "Otherwise I'll definitely be committing a sin."
"Rape isn't a sin if everyone enjoyed it!" Trebal said, biting into a piece of meat on a skewer. "Hot... But tasty. I've never tried it before."
"Didn't the Ancients roast meat?" I asked in surprise.
"It's an irrational waste of food products," Trebal said, continuing her feast. "Roasting causes a lot of beneficial juices and substances to be lost. It's better to process it into nutritious porridge in a kitchen appliance."
"Without salt, without flavor, without seasoning... And everything's a uniform brown color..."
"But you can get full from one small portion," the Ancient countered. "Tribune Titus once treated me to meat prepared on one of the wild planets. According to him, the meat was simultaneously roasted, steamed, dried, smoked... It was delicious."
"Congratulations, it seems your galaxy has shawarma."
"Can you make it?" the Ancient asked.
Assessing my capabilities, I had to tell the truth.
"I don't know how it's made. I've never even been interested."
"A pity," Trebal said — to my surprise, she had already finished the meat on the skewer. "You cook well. Did you receive some kind of training?"
"Something like that," I replied dryly. "Up to a certain point in my life, the only things I could cook were slightly burnt scrambled eggs and stuck-together dumplings."
"That sounds disgusting."
"It almost always tastes that way too. Especially if you undercook them."
"And what was the reason?" Trebal asked. "Didn't you have a kitchen automaton at home? Or was it broken?"
"My wife did the cooking. All I ever did my whole life was work." The memories of the past brought no joy. As, actually, always happens when you've really screwed up. Remembering mistakes isn't something you want to do.
"So you were married," Trebal drawled. "So that's it... You probably think you'll go back to her?"
"If I'm lucky," I said.
"You won't be," Trebal cut in.
"What makes you say that? In the Milky Way, there are devices that allow travel between realities..."
"And what are the chances that out of an infinite number of universes, you'll find yours?" she asked. "You weren't transferred into a new body for no reason. Pulling out a consciousness is surely no easier than pulling out a whole person. So there must have been some point to it..."
"If I'd been transferred into my own body, I would have died immediately," I said. "In my world, I practically died in an accident."
"If the consciousness isn't dead, the body can be restored," Trebal noted. "No, I think the choice was made precisely to make it harder for you to find your home universe. There are probably thousands of alternative realities where you survived a similar accident and died. How will you know which one is yours? You wouldn't have enough lifetimes to figure it out..."
"Are you mocking me?" I asked.
"No," she said seriously, wiping her grease-shiny lips with the blanket. Well, hello there, high culture of advanced races. "I'm trying to help you. You can't do one important thing while thinking about another important thing. Your thoughts need to be focused on a specific task. Then there will be results. Otherwise, extraneous thoughts won't help you find the answer."
"Thanks for the advice," I muttered. I don't like it when people try to teach me how to do things 'the right way.' Especially when it's done by people who haven't achieved anything in that field. "I'll figure it out."
"I don't doubt it," Trebal's voice regained its former lightness. I'd even say frivolity. "Can I ask one more question?"
"Three-seven-five-six-one-one."
Trebal thought for a moment.
"And what's that set of numbers?" she asked.
"The code to my cabin door. You were asking. Try it, maybe you'll manage to surprise me."
"Mmm," the Ancient drawled. "You're joking. You do know that access to the room isn't based on a digital code, but on genetic scanning?"
"I do," I confirmed. "I was hoping you didn't."
"Funny," a smile appeared on her face. Not a smirk, not a grin. A genuine smile. Truly kind. "But I wanted to ask a different question. A personal one. Don't answer if you don't want to."
"I always use that caveat, even when they don't allow me," I told her. "Go ahead. And preferably, do it in a way that doesn't make me want to throw a second skewer."
"Why did you agree to come here?" judging by the absence of playful, mocking, snide, and other intonations, this question wasn't from the category: 'Everything said can and will be used against you.' "I understood correctly — for you, all of this was like a fairy tale. Stories from the theater. Fiction."
"Hippaforalkus didn't specify who he was or where he intended to send me," I informed her. "It was a surprise for me."
"That makes it doubly unclear why you agreed. A step into the unknown and... It's not rational."
"It's rational when in exchange you're offered the chance to save the life of a loved one," I countered. "For that, you'd jump into fire and into a vat of acid. Especially if you lived like me, seeing nothing but work."
"Who was it?" Trebal asked. "Who did you save? A child? A parent?"
"My wife," I answered, feeling some irritation. For some reason, I didn't want to talk about this with Trebal. Actually, not just with her... Though, it's not like there was a line of people wanting to ask such questions. And up until now, I'd been quite comfortable. "She was terminally ill. I didn't notice it for too long, until it was too late. That day, I was bringing her medicine that was supposed to help, ease the pain, maybe even start remission and recovery..."
"And you got into an accident."
"I overestimated my vehicle driving skills," I confirmed. "My chances of surviving... there were none. So when the offer was made, I agreed without hesitation or second thoughts. Only here did I think that I could have asked to bring her here with me, but... At the time, I just wanted her to live. I guess I wanted to compensate for my mistakes — that I didn't notice in time, that I didn't pay attention and... Anyway, it doesn't matter. I did what I did. She deserves it. She deserves a better life."
"And... Would you have done it for someone else?" Trebal asked quietly. "For another loved one."
"Besides her, I had no one else."
"I... That was an abstract question."
"I'm not interested in hypotheses. There was an opportunity, I took it. Nothing more, nothing less. Is that all?"
"Yes," the Dorandan replied, rising from the table and wrapping herself in the blanket. "Thank you very much for the roasted meat. It was delicious."
"You're welcome. Wait until the whole batch is done, there'll be more and... Ah, damn! It's burned to hell!"
"Sorry," Trebal's voice sounded somehow colorless, as if lifeless. "I'll go. I'm feeling cold..."
"Go on, go on," I waved, examining one side of the skewers. The black crust of char clearly didn't testify to culinary mastery. "Or did you have something substantial?"
"No," Trebal replied. "Just..." she smiled her usual impudent smile. Though it looked somehow... forced, I guess. "I decided to get on your nerves a little. Seems I succeeded and it's time to retreat before you decide to cook me in this brazier."
Looking at the burnt shashlik, I shifted my gaze to Trebal backing toward the exit... And she was the reason almost a kilogram of shashlik had burned!
"You'd better run," I advised. "Even though my homeland isn't the Caucasus and this isn't lamb, ruined meat still demands blood vengeance."
"If it's virgin blood, I'm safe!" the girl shouted, disappearing through the doorway.
Maybe I really did die, huh? And this is actually hell?
I mean, why did she come? To wheedle a piece, distract me with conversation, and ruin the rest? So I'd look foolish in front of the hungry Ancients waiting for shashlik?
If so... Well, what a bitch! Where in this galaxy can I get some expanding foam? Or at least a jackhammer...
* * *
"Very tasty," Chaya said, dabbing her lips with a napkin. "Can I speak frankly?"
"Can you not ask questions like that? I hope you're always frank with me. Or was our agreement a one-time thing and I need to renew the subscription?" I asked.
"It's basic politeness," the Proculucian said with mild reproach. "Sorry, I keep forgetting that your people have different speech and communication structures. I'm trying to adapt..."
"Don't," I waved my hand, pondering whether I should try chewing another piece of 'beef rubber.' No, it's not that it's as stale as boot soles, but... It's still pretty tough to chew. Given the lack of sauces that even remotely go with the meat, it's hopeless. At least there's salt, pepper, and something resembling onions, so I managed some kind of marinade. The Athosians generally only eat bland meat. They've tamed fire, but rock salt is as popular with them as garlic in a vampire dormitory. "It's unnecessary. I feel like some kind of tyrant, making everyone adapt to me."
"Two rules of behavioral paradigm," Sar intoned. "Either you adapt to circumstances, or you adapt them to yourself. It's all logical and standardized."
Ah right, exactly. I forgot whose company I'm in.
"You wanted to ask something," I reminded her.
"Say something," the girl corrected. "The first batch is tougher than the second."
"I know. I left it on the fire too long," I admitted.
"The-ere," Chaya's eyes widened slightly and she looked away, biting her lip. "That's exactly what I wanted to talk about..."
"Intermission's over, act two," I sighed. "Are you going to take turns talking to me about random topics?"
"Mmm... She and I have somewhat strained relations," Chaya reminded me. "And, except at general meetings, we try not to meet... But then I saw her running out of the balcony... She looked devastated. Did you have a fight?"
"I wanted to stab her with a skewer."
"Radical," the Proculucian assessed. "If you need someone to hold her down next time, you have my radio number. Otherwise she might run away again..."
Unable to hold back, I laughed. Chaya smiled too.
I don't know if she pictured that scene, but I sure did... Horror in Lantean decor. Ascended, hold my beer! You definitely didn't expect this!
"And without jokes?" I asked.
"Without jokes, I wanted to say that testing of the new mental ability suppressor is complete," Chaya said innocently. "And I very delicately wanted to hint that it would be a good idea to take care of the Queen of Death, her ship, and the drilling rig... Because we've gotten so caught up in missions outside the city that we've forgotten about our rear."
"Honestly, I'd like to train Teyla in mental tricks." Chaya looked at me with interest. "We have a very old and very skilled Wraith, so... Why not?"
"Reasonable," Teyla agreed. "You said that in the known events, the queen abandoned her ship, leaving the self-destruct mode active. If the cruiser explodes, it will disrupt the earth's crust, lead to instability, and so on... Do you think Teyla could, if necessary, get into her head and find out the right sequence to cancel the explosion?"
"I think not," I sighed. "I'm really hoping we can break into the cruiser and find her before the queen does something nasty. Or at least disarm the self-destruct."
"It's unlikely that can be done," Chaya admitted. "Wraith technology is unfamiliar to me... And I don't think I can figure it out anytime soon, especially under conditions of a possible explosion."
"We have a Wraith... Though his loyalty to us is very questionable. And with thoughts like these, I come to the conclusion that the situation is a dead end. Either we can kill her immediately, or there'll be a big explosion. And goodbye to our drilling rig, goodbye to the trophy Wraith ship, goodbye to Lantea's biome..."
"I'm currently in the process of modeling the situation," the Ancient assured me. "It's possible that the consequences of the explosion won't be so destructive for the planet... But I'm not sure about the drilling rig. I haven't been able to find it yet, so for now it's all very superficial theory."
"And how many such theories do you have?" I asked. "Right now, at this moment..."
Chaya thought.
"Approximately two hundred to two hundred fifty different models and simulations are running at this very moment," the Ancient answered, calculating in her head. "Plus or minus another fifty."
"Plus or minus?" I clarified. "That's too wide a range. Doesn't seem like you'd have trouble with exact numbers."
Sar sighed.
"Four hundred seventy-one," the girl admitted.
"Well, that's tolerable," I agreed. "If it were four hundred seventy-two, I'd immediately order you to go on vacation."
The Proculucian laughed, covering her face with her palm.
"My work is my vacation," she reminded me of her credo. "Really. Stressing my brain, finding solutions to problems — that's what I like."
"You can blow up the planet if it gets too boring," I suggested. "Every girl should have an unforgettable fireworks display in her life."
Chaya looked at me with a reproachful gaze.
"What?" I didn't understand. "Too early for jokes like that by ten thousand years?"
"A little," she agreed.
"I'll set an alarm for five to five thousand years from now," I said. "We'll check again."
"Deal," she smiled. "So-o?"
"I was told you sent scout probes and groups to some planets. Any news?"
"Unfortunately," Chaya grew sad. "We surveyed six planets where there were formerly Ancient outposts. Now there are only ruins there. Though, on one planet we found a heavily damaged 'Jumper.' Stripped it for parts."
"Looting is good," I approved. "What about the ships I mentioned?"
"I have nothing to cheer you with yet," the girl grew sad. "The city-ship you called 'The Tower' is most likely the homeland of the Ytranians. But the database has no mention of where it might have been shot down and crashed. Unfortunately, that city didn't have its own Stargate and depended on gates on planets. Accordingly, tracking its position, last course, and so on, is not possible."
"Why is that?" I asked with interest. "Wasn't it built from Atlantis's blueprints?"
"In general terms," Chaya agreed. "But it's very, very far from standardization. The main systems and most of the auxiliary ones are the same, but in the details... It's definitely different."
"To put it simply — we don't know where to look for it," I concluded.
"Seventy of my simulations are dedicated to searching for that city," Chaya assured me. "Unfortunately... Its inhabitants operated independently from Atlantis, fought behind enemy lines, and therefore very rarely sent reports. It will take a lot of time to find it. But we're doing everything we can. It's good that we have six new technicians," she smiled. "We have extra hands for assembling reconnaissance drones."
"And, on the other hand, we could look for the last survivors from that city," I said. "They're out there somewhere, between the Milky Way and Pegasus, flying on a damaged warship at near-light speed..."
"One hundred eighty-four simulations are dedicated to calculating the course of that starship," the Ancient shared. "Thousands of variables, millions of small factors. Unfortunately, the phrase 'They were in battle, news of evacuation came, they retreated, but the hyperdrive broke, so they flew on sublight engines at near-light speed all the way to Earth' is too vague. Finding a starship in interstellar void with that is problematic. And here we're talking intergalactic... It's difficult," she repeated.
"Hmm... And that ship drifting around a dwarf star?" I asked.
"We have seventy-one versions of which ship could have been near the star during a battle or been abandoned there by its crew." Chaya smiled, seeing my reaction. "And a little over two thousand stars where this could have happened."
"A dead end?" I grimaced.
"You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?" the Proculucian asked.
"Actually, I expected it to be simpler," I admitted. "In the series, such adventures happened almost twenty times a year."
"A year," the Ancient latched onto that word. "A long time. Maybe in a year, we'll start getting lucky with such things too."
"Maybe," I agreed. "Any good news?"
"You'll be surprised, but yes," Chaya said. "The repair of the Hippaforalkus is going quite briskly, and a new superreactor is being assembled — it will replace one of the non-working ones. So there'll be more energy... But... That's all we have in terms of upgrades for now."
"We need naquadah," I remembered.
"The more, the better," the girl agreed. "We're planning to survey several planets with old mines. Maybe we'll get lucky and there's something not too deep below the surface."
"And the satellite?" I asked. "You wanted to develop some kind of upgrade for it, if I remember correctly."
"That's exactly what I wanted to talk about as something pleasant," Chaya shared. "So, we have a generator that produces more than enough energy for this satellite. Its only weapons are beam cannons, and very powerful ones. But they're not effective enough against 'darts' or a large number of targets. When you asked me to look at the 'Jumpers' to replace their cloaking field with a protective one, I had an idea. But first, tell me — who pulled off the same trick in the known events?"
"Koschei."
"Not surprised," the girl noted. "So. We've accumulated a certain number of spare parts from the 'Jumpers.' Specifically, cloaking generators, engines... I thought, what if we install them on the 'Satellite'? Calculations show that my generator can quite easily power both the weapon systems and the shield. By analogy with the 'Jumper,' it can be either invisible or shielded. Additional protection and camouflage."
"Good idea," I approved. "But I'd like the satellite's weapon to fire not just a single beam that cuts a hive ship in half and keeps drilling through vacuum after the enemy has already exploded, but more... Economically, with a higher rate of fire."
"I've thought about that too," Sar assured me. "I'm currently writing a program to optimize the power and length of the beam. Ideally, this will save us up to half the energy per shot. Which means that with one buffer charge, the satellite can fire twice. Then a recharge and repeat."
"Haven't you thought about installing rapid-fire cannons on it, like the pulse cannons on the Hippaforalkus?" I asked. "Especially since we have the turret from Dorandan."
"I'm afraid for a satellite that won't hold up in battle against an entire Wraith fleet, such an installation would be excessive," Chaya countered. "But pulse cannons... I've thought about it," she sighed. "But, unfortunately, the satellite's design won't allow it. We can run the power buses, load the necessary programs into the onboard computer. And even thanks to installing the Jumper engines, the satellite will be able to move in orbit. Slowly, but it will. But rapid-fire artillery, unfortunately, won't help it. To protect it, we'd need fifty pulse cannons. I'm afraid it won't last long under fire from Wraith ships. A dozen shots from a hive ship's main caliber, and even my generator won't handle the shield depletion. And installing more generators there would simply be wasteful."
"Well," I concluded. "So there's good news, but not great. On the other hand, it could be worse, right?"
"Of course," the Ancient confirmed. "And, speaking of 'worse.'"
"Go ahead," I sighed. "Finish me off, ruthless girl. What else has happened?"
"I reviewed the Aurora's onboard computer," she said. "And, in particular, the red crystal... I'll tell you this: combined with what the revived Ancients are bringing out of the virtual environment with them... We have some problems. I'd even say: fundamental ones."
"That serious?" I clarified, feeling my mood evaporate.
"More than that," Chaya said in the same tone. "These ideas fundamentally contradict your policy, Misha. And we urgently need to do something about it."