"You know," the young woman, who introduced herself as Trebal, lifted his head by the chin. "I can cause you a lot of pain if you don't cooperate. What he did," she nodded towards the man named Alvar standing by the door, who had been beating him for a while, "will seem like just a sweet prelude if I want it to."
Kaspar laughed.
He had already despaired of understanding what was going on here.
He got knocked out in one place, and woke up tied up and helpless, stripped to his underwear, in a completely different one. And the warehouse, restored for use as a hangar, clearly lost to this place.
Around him was a room, clearly built by the Ancients.
He'd once been on board a ship that Larrin found. And he'd seen how clean, spacious, and tastefully decorated the interior was. It was the same here — the general style was recognizable.
But still... Where could an Ancient base be located on Athos? Certainly not in the Old City — the ruins there looked the least like something that could have remained intact at all. Not to mention the design.
Most likely underground... And the annex he thought was just a sleeping place for those two scavengers actually served as an entrance to a bunker. Only, he hadn't heard anything about the Ancients building their outposts underground.
On the other hand, over so much time, the structures could have sunk beneath the surface...
"I think it's time to knock out some teeth," Alvar said, cracking his knuckles. "Battered kidneys and a couple of cracked ribs are clearly nothing new to him. Let's see how he talks when he has to eat through a straw."
"You'll have to try hard, tough guy," Fry put all the sarcasm he could muster into that last word. If only because Alvar wasn't exactly built like him.
"But we could skip all that," Trebal whispered in his ear. "For example, I could start breaking every bone in your body."
The scout turned to her and smiled.
"You'd better strip down and cuddle up," he suggested. "And I'll think about whether you're worth me starting to talk."
The next moment, he caught a movement at the entrance out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he saw another person enter.
And the textured sole of a boot that slammed into his chest, throwing him backward. Banging his head painfully on the floor, Kaspar closed his eyes for a moment and hissed, trying to overcome the unpleasant sensation.
Too bad the chair was metal and didn't break when he fell.
The next second, he felt someone's hand grab his not-so-long hair. Pulling his body forward, the newcomer returned the prisoner to his original position.
And immediately punched him in the face.
His head snapped back, his jaw cracked, and a couple of teeth flew out onto the floor. Returning his head to its original position, the young dark-haired guy, maybe twenty-five or thirty, no older, smiled at him.
"Hi. My name is Mikhail."
"Well, I didn't call you," Kaspar coughed, earning another punch, this time from the other side.
And again he was lifted from the floor by his hair.
"I can do this all day," the guy assured him.
"What a coincidence," Fry laughed, touching the bleeding sockets of his knocked-out teeth with his tongue. "Let me guess — you were offended by my proposal to that lady?"
He nodded towards Trebal, who was standing by the wall. The girl leaned against it, folded her arms over her chest, and watched what this Mikhail was doing with a raised eyebrow.
"I advise you not to speak rudely to my woman, Nomad," Alvar brought another chair, and Mikhail sat on it, resting his arms on the backrest. "Otherwise you won't get away with just broken bones and knocked-out teeth. Got it?"
"And what exactly am I supposed to 'get' from that?" Kaspar asked, slightly confused. The fact that Mikhail had so easily and casually called him a Nomad was, of course, a coincidence, since his people weren't very well known in the galaxy. Just at the rumor level. And the only thing that could have given him away was...
"Nice toy," Mikhail pulled his "frequency gun" from his belt. "I've always wondered, do you make them on your ships, or is there a workshop somewhere on some far, far away planet?"
That was no longer a coincidence.
Fry remained silent. That was the best tactic for now.
"Nomads?" Alvar asked. "Who are they? Some kind of 'runners'?"
"Not exactly," Mikhail said, looking him in the eye. "Well, my wandering friend, don't you want to tell us anything?"
"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about," Kaspar said, forcing confidence into his voice. He had been in similar jams many times before. Only back then, his captors didn't know who he really was. And there was always a support group nearby.
Now... Everything was different. He had gone on this mission alone, so he could explain himself to Emmagan if necessary. But if he had a whole squad with him, that would have been a huge problem. No one would have been able to explain how he brought an entire group of people to the planet unnoticed.
But the cover story — "I tagged along at the tail end, covered my face with clothes, and as soon as I passed through the gate, I hid immediately. You have to understand — I had too many accumulated questions" almost always worked. The Athosians weren't too bright, so they would have bought it, even if they became suspicious.
But these three, plus at least two others he had seen all this time, were clearly not Athosians. And most likely not simpletons either.
"Well," Mikhail smirked, "then I'll start, and you correct me where I'm wrong."
"You chose the wrong prisoner," Kaspar warned him good-naturedly.
"Oh no, my friend," there was ice in the interrogator's eyes. "You're the one who landed on the wrong planet. Trebal, how long has our 'Jumper' been tracking him?"
"From the very moment his ship appeared in orbit of Athos," the girl by the wall said. "Scanners detected them, but I decided not to shoot them down until things were clear."
"But you did put a beacon on him, right?" Mikhail asked.
"Yes," Trebal replied after a slight delay.
Kaspar felt his mouth go dry.
Asan, right after landing, had headed to the system where the Ancient starship was sitting motionless. There he was supposed to meet Larrin and the Council to relay the information Kaspar had gathered. Until now, that system had never been visited by Wraith ships or anyone else. Unless there were other spacefaring races in the galaxy.
And now... If they really had put a tracking device on Asan's starship, then... At the very least, these people would know where the Nomads' ship traveled and was located.
But... Why would they want that? To capture Asan's starship by storm and get the ship? Probably. He hadn't seen any starships of theirs (which doesn't mean they don't have them, of course). But in this galaxy, a spaceship capable of traveling not only between gates but also between stars is literally priceless.
A shitty mission.
"Excellent," Mikhail smiled. "Now, a quick primer on the Nomads. A long time ago, this race was attacked by the Wraith. And they got the idea that the best way to hide from them was to move onto spaceships and stay constantly on the move."
"Never stopping on planets?" Alvar clarified.
"At the very least, they need supplies and minerals to repair the ships," Trebal added. "Judging by the condition the starship was in, they clearly have problems with dry docks."
Kaspar remained silent. Any answer from him now would only make things worse. Silence, though... Mikhail seemed to be the only one who knew more than the other two. It would be useful to hear what information this man possessed.
"That's what they do," he said. "They also land people on planets to avoid overpopulation on their starships. Since the ships are a long way from new, the systems are in terrible shape, and there isn't even enough space for everyone. They're afraid to establish colonies on planets because of Wraith raids."
"Their ships have energy weapons," Trebal said. "And they likely have more than one ship. They could put up a fight."
"Agreed," Alvar said, looking at Fry. "But if they repel an attack by one ship, or by scouts that came for harvesting, a Hive with cruisers will follow. And most likely, more than one. If the gate is blocked, as the Wraith always do before an attack, the ships won't be able to evacuate a colony that's grown on the planet. Especially if they don't have the capacity to build new ships or properly maintain the old ones."
"And they don't have that capacity," Mikhail continued. "They need foundries to produce hull parts. They need factories to manufacture quality equipment to replace damaged parts. They improvise to keep the fleet running and existing. Thus, they cannot build new ships, and the ones they have are often repaired using unsuitable components and unsystematic reconstruction."
Either this man knew one of the Nomads well, and that person had opened up to him, or... No, that was impossible. Every Nomad, even those left on planets, knew that the secret of their race must be kept. Everyone understood how important such secrecy was. It was hard to imagine any of his kin betraying the secrets of the Nomads.
"Their system of government is also extremely interesting," Mikhail continued. "There's a Council that makes all important decisions concerning the race as a whole, like alliances and declarations of war. However, the captains of individual ships make individual decisions, like whether to engage in battle or not, on their own. Also, why do you think our friend is so calm during interrogation? Because he knows his friends will come for him? No. Torture during interrogation, even by a presumably friendly sentient, is a perfectly normal procedure for him. So we're not doing anything he wouldn't have done to us."
That was already too personal information for some random guy to know. Interrogations were conducted by ship captains and their close associates. And those people didn't spread information about how they obtained what they wanted. And they certainly didn't leave traces or witnesses.
Fry looked at the man again.
No, he had never seen him among the Nomads. Too clean, no signs of malnutrition, fatigue, sleep deprivation, radiation damage to internal organs — he couldn't be from a Nomad ship. And he looked too well-fed and well-dressed to come from a typical Pegasus human settlement. Even the most advanced races couldn't keep a body in perfect cleanliness. But this one, like the others, didn't have even a hint of dirt under his nails or traces of grime, oil, or anything technical on his hands, body, or uniform...
Where did these clean freaks even come from? Even the scavengers look way dirtier than them. Because in an environment like this, the fewer people, the more pickings there are. Even the commanders work.
But these ones...
Everything is too strange. They couldn't be Wraith helpers either—those only recruit followers from underdeveloped races, knowing they'd never bring a bomb or nuclear weapon onto their ship. But these people... Having access to Ancient technology, they'd sooner become lab rats for the Wraith than allies or servants.
Simply because the Wraith would never let them have more substantial roles.
"How dangerous are they?" Alvar asked.
"They collect and use that weapon as standard equipment," Mikhail said, grabbing it by the barrel and handing the Frequency Gun to his accomplice without looking. "Their ships have hyperdrives, they have shields, they have energy weapons, life support systems, energy sources. That's already enough to cause a fair bit of a headache for everyone around."
"They are no match for us," Trebal said confidently. "We have partial data on their ship. If it has a standard design and tech progression, one or two projectiles will be enough to blow it up and forget it."
"Don't bother looking for identity registries on their ships; for now, these are more homemade crafts than factory production," Mikhail said. "But for the most part, in terms of technical capability, they differ little from each other. However, their technology isn't based on crystals."
"Is that so?" Trebal was surprised, looking at Kaspar, who continued to remain silent, with fresh eyes. "Well done, I must say. Now it's clear why their shields are crap, their engines barely match our oldest versions... And everything else is of the same quality, I suppose."
"They've reached the limit of their technological evolutionary development," Mikhail said. He kept looking at the prisoner, as if the answers were written on his face. What if he's one of the descendants of the Taken? Those could read minds and pull various tricks with consciousness. What if he's getting all the answers straight from Kaspar's head?!
"But this instructive lecture doesn't explain what he's doing on Athos," Trebal said.
"No, that actually explains a lot," Mikhail said. "Remember Teyla mentioned that one of their old trade partners warned her after a dispute with the Genii that they don't forgive trade grievances?"
"Of course," Trebal frowned. "Are you saying this is a representative of the Nomads?"
"I'm saying that before us is that very mysterious guy who for years has been buying cheap products from anyone he can and delivering them to a place nobody knows," Mikhail looked him straight in the eye. "A trade agent or diplomat, of which there are hundreds and thousands across the galaxy from different worlds. Who would suspect him, especially if he's a regular customer? After he shows up, the Genii don't come, the Wraith don't raid. And people in the galaxy are quite sensitive to such things. If you don't bring trouble right away, they trust you more. And it's not in the Nomads' interest to harm their trade allies—otherwise, at best, they'll have to find new ones. And why bother with that hassle if, in fact, none of the races they trade with can personally harm them?"
"Sounds reasonable," Alvar agreed. "You think the Nomads are interested in the rerouting?"
"Anyone who encounters the fact that the Wraith can't come through the gate is bound to be interested in that kind of technology," Mikhail said. "Everyone needs protection if it's effective. And securing the gate from Wraith dialing is already a victory. So, if they found a colony on a planet, they could always evacuate the people while the ships hold off the cruisers and hive ships. They're unlikely to win an open battle, but they could delay, give their people a chance to escape. Am I right, Nomad?"
"Probably," Kaspar shrugged.
Under no circumstances should a scout ever reveal himself or give the enemy even a chance to learn more about himself and the fleet than they already know. It's a rule by which they survive.
One of many, if we're being honest.
"He was interested in our jumper," the woman said. "You think they have someone with the Ancient gene to pilot it?"
"No, dear, they have something of ours," Mikhail smirked, seeing Fry react involuntarily to the last word. "Right, Nomad. Spin your gears. You understand what I'm talking about. A big, beautiful one, almost undamaged, and orbiting a dwarf star.
"A battleship," Trebal beamed. "The one you were talking about!"
"Exactly," Mikhail continued. "Until now, I had doubts whether they'd found it yet, but see how our guest's eyes darted? Looked away a little, trying to figure out if I'd been tipped off to that conclusion. No, you can relax, not you, Nomad."
Kaspar licked his lips, dry with anxiety.
A beacon... It must work on the same principle as the spy satellites the Nomads install in useful star systems whenever possible, to know in advance if someone is waiting for them at the end of the journey. And if so, things are very bad.
There are no Stargates near the battleship's location, but if these people have a starship capable of interstellar travel...
Or if they intend to capture Asan's starship, combined with the coordinates they have, they could easily fly there, start the systems. Even if the starship doesn't move, according to Larrin herself, it has weapons on board capable of wiping out the entire Nomad fleet.
The scout broke into a sweat.
These people directly use Ancient technology. They know the locations of their outposts, they can track Nomad starships without being discovered...
And Mikhail also said the Nomads have "something of ours." And he meant the Ancient battleship.
"Gate rerouting," an Ancient battleship that belongs to "them," piloting small Lantian ships, Lantian-designed energy weapons, personal shields capable of withstanding a Frequency Gun shot...
These technologies are an order of magnitude, if not more, better than what the Wraith have, what the Nomads themselves have, and everyone else his people know of.
And these people handle them without any problems, as if they know every tiny detail of how they function. As if... they themselves build something similar.
Or, at the very least, are descendants or close acquaintances of those who built the Rings of the Ancients, all those magnificent ships...
"See how his pupil contracts?" Mikhail asked, addressing Trebal. "The lighting here hasn't changed, so the body is reacting to an adrenaline rush. Looks like he's starting to think in the right direction... Well, Nomad, will you tell me yourself, or should I do it for you?"
Kaspar licked his equally dry lips with his dry tongue.
"Are you the Ancestors?" he inquired cautiously.
Alvar snorted and laughed quietly.
Trebal smiled but said nothing.
Even Mikhail, closing his eyes, laughed reservedly.
"The guy's got a brain," he said. "So how do you explain all the nuances of the self-name to him?"
"Do we need to explain anything?" Trebal inquired. "I don't think he's in a position to receive answers from us. Especially since he hasn't given any himself."
It was a rebuke, but Kaspar wasn't about to lose his composure from the pile of information dumped on him. There was always a chance he was wrong, mistaking wishful thinking for reality.
After all, the Ancestors lived in this galaxy for millions of years. They seeded it with life, gave rise to the human race on every available planet. Could it be that these people were simply descendants who found Ancient technology, just as the Nomads discovered an Ancient battleship?
They just got lucky, and one of them has the gene to control this technology.
It's all too chaotic.
And most likely, he was right—the right to control Ancient technology doesn't make them the Ancestors. Millions of people live in the galaxy believing the Ancients will return, that they will show their power and rid Pegasus of the Wraith.
His thoughts are probably just a wish that goes against the facts. This... yes, probably, everything that's happening must be explained just that way.
It's unlikely the Ancients needed to beat him to get information. They are the progenitors of humanity! Who beats their own children to get what they want?
Only...
"We are Lanteans," Mikhail said without polish, solemnity, or any pride. "And we are who you call the Ancients."
It's too... No, that can't be. They're some kind of impostors using what he said... Except, practically everything Mikhail said, Kaspar hadn't told him.
But perhaps he should assume someone else among the Nomads was more talkative? Under such torture, it's possible.
"And no reaction," Alvar noted. "Maybe a few more teeth on the floor will sober him up?"
"No," Mikhail objected decisively, getting up from the chair. "I have a better idea. Give him back his clothes and prepare him for transport."
Apparently, he was their leader, the way he acted and had the right to give orders.
Trebal and Alvar exchanged glances.
The man twirled the Frequency Gun on his finger and handed it to the girl, who headed for the exit with Mikhail.
Apparently, Alvar didn't hold the highest position in their society. More like a senior executor or something of that sort.
"Well then," the captor easily drew from the sheath on his belt a clearly factory-made blade, cut the ropes holding the Nomad scout, and, without fearing an attack from behind, walked to the corner of the room, picked up an armful of clothes, and threw them at Kaspar's feet. "Get ready, kid, we're going for a ride. And I beg of you—do something stupid."
But Fry had completely different plans.
* * *
The hyperspace window shattered into a burst of color, and Asan's ship emerged in orbit around the planet known as Athos.
"All systems nominal, Commander," he was informed from the control console of the bridge, which had lacked viewports for hundreds of years, all welded shut with ship armor. It was simpler than wasting time and resources on smelting strong glass suitable for interstellar travel. "No other ships detected, no signals from the surface either."
"Not surprising," the starship's commander grumbled. "We're two days late. Fry's a tough guy, but if he walked into an ambush or had to retreat under fire... He hardly planted a docking beacon."
If the scout was even alive.
Asan hated it when someone interfered with his plans. Especially when that someone was late.
"Be ready to raise shields," he ordered. "If there's a trap waiting for us here, we'll leave as soon as..."
"A window into hyperspace is opening," the navigator reported.
"Shields raised, Commander, weapons locked!"
"Hyperdrive ready to jump!"
"Stand down," one glance at the monitor was enough for him to realize it was the very reason for the delay. "It's Larrin's ship."
The second Nomad starship jumped out of hyperspace a couple of dozen kilometers from the first. They didn't settle into orbit, but within a minute, Asan was informed of a communication channel opening from it.
A model Nomad ship.
On a monitor that had seen better days, the image of a fair-haired girl appeared, with beautiful facial features and an outright lousy character.
Asan tried to look her in the eye and ignore the twin brother behind the second ship's commander.
"My scanners show no energy sources on the planet, no signs of life, and not even the landing beacon your man was supposed to plant," Larrin's voice sounded matter-of-fact, but there was a reproach in it.
"When I was here twelve days ago, we detected a brief energy source surge in the ruins of the Old City," Asan explained. "That was why I agreed to send out a scout after all."
"Except there's nothing here," Larrin said, as if by the way. "And for 'nothing,' you pulled my crew away from an important task!"
"Not me, the Council," Asan corrected. "And you volunteered to fly, even though there was no need."
"You described the situation with the Athosians so colorfully that I even got my hopes up that it wasn't a delusion," Larrin snorted. "And the net result is a missing scout and..."
"A hyperspace window is forming!" the navigator shouted.
But by the time he said the words, it had already happened.
The monitors displayed the image of a huge starship, by the modest standards of Nomad ships. It unambiguously positioned itself so that both their ships were between it and the planet.
"Prepare for battle and retreat!" Larrin commanded. "Shields to maximum, fan out..."
"Wraiths!" Asan hissed. "Emergency jump and..."
"No, wait!" his twin brother, who had been standing with his nose in his portable computer the whole time, shouted. "The engine signature is different! The nature of the hyperspace window is different and..."
What he was going to say next remained a mystery.
First, Asan saw it on the monitor of the open communication channel—a glowing figure appeared next to Larrin, giving her quite a fright.
And a moment later, he found exactly the same one on his own bridge.
Simultaneously, the Nomads on the bridges of both ships raised their Frequency Guns, aiming at the newcomers...
Asan, aiming at the head of the young woman in the gray uniform himself, realized only a second later that the same passenger had appeared on the bridges of both ships.
"Who are you?!" Larrin got almost right up to her, practically shoving the Frequency Gun in her face.
"It's a hologram!" Nevik said quietly. "They've established a forced communication link with us from the ship that just arrived."
"And whose ship is that?" Asan asked, holstering his personal weapon. It was useless against a figure made of light particles. But it would be quite easy to blow up valuable equipment with a shot that passed through the hologram.
"Nevik!" Larrin snapped at her scientist. "Whose ship is that?!"
The twin's face showed confusion bordering on panic.
"Ancient. Looks like we dragged their ship with us during the jump and..."
"I am Trebal," the hologram activated. "Commander of the warship Hippaforalkus, Atlantis Aerospace Forces. I think you already understand that making unnecessary moves isn't wise, because starting negotiations with a firefight isn't the most pleasant part of my job.