There are many synonyms for the sensations Larrn was experiencing at the moment. But she wasn't about to engage in such analysis and simply assessed her emotions with simple, understandable words.
Anger and irritation.
And just a little rage, which she allowed herself to show only after boarding her ship. Many centuries ago, it had been named the "Wanderer" and had not changed that name since.
Larrin did not belong to the lineage of those who had once begun their journey from the command bridge of the "Wanderer." For seven generations now, this starship had been led by those whom the Council and crew deemed worthy.
But for the first time ever, the "Wanderer" had a female commander.
The Society of Nomads was not intolerant or reprehensible enough to restrict any of its members in activities aimed at the development and improvement of society.
The latter was the only condition for remaining in one's post. Whether you were a teenager, a feeble old man, a woman, or disabled—if you were good at your job, no one would raise objections. The main thing was not to mess up.
But to obtain the post you wanted, you had to try hard and prove yourself. Larrin began trying twenty years ago, when her last relatives died.
However, she had not witnessed the deaths of her father and mother with her own eyes. With a five-year gap, they had been dropped off on different planets. And were never mentioned again. It was not the custom of Nomads to sit and weep for those who could no longer be useful to their society. Wandering through space made you less sensitive, tougher.
From fifteen to twenty-five, she had been a scout, visiting dozens of worlds so that the Nomads might live better. On some planets, they knew the Nomads were a nomadic people, but did not know they wandered through space. On most others, they didn't even suspect whom they were trading with.
It was then that she had been struck by the colors and expanses of the planets she visited. And it had cost her little effort to travel to those worlds where the Nomads had dropped off her parents.
But she found no one.
The primitive communities where the Nomads mostly deposited those who had become a burden could not withstand Wraith cullings. And it was not difficult for her to learn that her parents had been gathered for slaughter like cattle.
For practically her entire career as a scout, she had not doubted that, though cruel, her people were acting correctly. Otherwise, they would not survive.
But the longer she spent on planets, the more she wondered: was there truly no world in the entire galaxy unfamiliar with Wraith invasion? Practice showed there was not.
But science... She could not say exactly what drove her—hope or statistics—but she believed that in the galaxy there must be a place that would not interest the Wraith as hunting grounds. In her opinion, it had to be a planet without Stargates, for then the Wraith could not come through the Ancestors' ring for prey.
And in such a world, the Nomads could live without fear for their lives, maintaining contact with the galaxy using their own ships. And then they would not need to drop people off on alien planets! Even in the worst case, if the Council did not agree to stop wandering, they could always deposit their people on a home planet where they would be safe!
And she also understood that as a scout, she would not be able to find such a planet. So she devoted her best years to attaining the position of ship commander.
And very soon she understood that she would have to step over herself and her principles to achieve what she wanted.
Though it was disgusting and sometimes haunted her in nightmares, she obtained command of the "Wanderer." An old, barely holding together ship, whose crew was too weary from the overwhelming number of problems they faced every day.
Four years and the remnants of her own morality went into preventing her cherished dream from crumbling to dust. Ignoring the cost and her own disgust at what she had done, she obtained what was necessary to restore her ship. And now, for a full year, the "Wanderer" no longer astonished its crew with a dozen critical damages per day.
That was definite progress.
And definite respect she had gained among other captains. As for what it cost to secure support for some of her actions from Council members, she did not want to remember, due to the rising urge to vomit.
Not that she cared about having to clean up breakfast remnants. She just did not want to waste already tasteless food. There wasn't enough for everyone anyway.
The Ancestors' ship was a splendid chance to obtain not just a starship that would relieve dozens of overcrowded ships in their old fleet, but also to allow her to take a leading position among the captains. Who in their right mind would even think of arguing with someone commanding a battleship of the Ancestors?
Only... she had not succeeded.
She had not succeeded in negotiating with the leader of the Lantians to exchange herself and a promise of cooperation for the ship.
She had not succeeded in negotiating with the Council to meet the Lantians halfway and hand over the ship in exchange for cooperation.
In her past, she had often failed at things, but today... This was a verdict.
Once in her cabin, the young woman closed the airlock hatch behind her, and only then allowed her rage to surface.
Over and over, she drove the sole of her boot into the bed frame, as if it were the cause of her misfortunes. And by the time her leg began to ache and the metal showed no sign of deforming, it passed.
Collapsing onto the bed, she felt helpless.
There was a concept called "you've been had." Brazenly used and then discarded like a worn-out piece of hull plating crumbling to pieces.
Right now, the Council and that part of it on which Larrin had counted had "had" her. In a particularly cynical form.
From the table came the sound of a buzzer for an incoming call. The girl approached the intercom and pressed the feedback button.
"What?"
"Commander, Katana Labrea on the line," Nevik informed her.
"Transfer her to my monitor," ordered Larrin, approaching the table where a computer was welded fast to the tabletop.
After a couple of seconds, the black screen lit up and the face of a young woman with long dark hair appeared.
Female captains in the entire Nomad fleet were not so numerous. And Larrin enjoyed a certain authority among them. In fact, she had counted on them when she voiced her proposal to the Council.
The calculation was simple—to show those conservative bastards that she had strength behind her. Not only the girl-captains and their ships, but also Atlantis, which was ready to use force to reclaim what was theirs.
Only the Council interpreted her words not at all as she had thought.
They had no intention of changing anything. Simply because they were not ready to lose their power over the Nomads. After all, if the Nomads became dependent on Atlantis, they would, in fact, turn into a semi-colony.
The Council was quite content that birth control was turning their people into a nation of old men, that starships had practically exhausted their resources, and that new ones were nowhere to be found. And Larrin's feelings, who had stated outright—Atlantis shows no interest in controlling them. At most—cooperation, and even then, as Captain Asan correctly said—not exactly long-term.
Atlantis wants its ship back and in exchange is willing to share some knowledge. However, one must understand that they have no resource planets, no large population. They are not in a position to control anyone.
But the numerous Nomads, using Atlantis for their own purposes, could obtain not only a planet and a range of technologies in exchange for a ship that might never even be launched, but also, by leveraging their extensive connections and knowledge of the galaxy, become valuable partners to the Lantians.
Suppliers of resources, for example. And all this, not just for pretty eyes, but as mutually beneficial trade!
"Larrin," she heard a loud address.
"I'm here," answered the commander of the "Wanderer."
"Sure?" Katana smiled sadly. "I thought a minute of silence suggested otherwise."
Katana Labrea, a Nomad.
"I had a bad day," Larrin admitted. "Did something happen to you?"
"More like to you," Labrea grew serious. "The Council sent me and the other captains an order—to proceed to the system with the Ancestors' ship. And, you know yourself, they wouldn't interfere in captains' interests..."
"Unless they considered my actions a threat to the interests of the Nomads," Larrin hissed through her teeth. "They want to take the Ancestors' ship from me."
"This smells like a shield integrity test," Labrea exhaled heavily. "Larrin, what's happening?"
"The Council rejected my proposal to give the ship to Atlantis in exchange for a planet and cooperation," said the Nomad, quickly thinking about what she could do. Least of all did she now want to contact Mikhail and confess her helplessness. "And it seems they've decided to take everything into their own hands."
Who would cooperate on equal terms with someone who cannot fulfill the promises laid upon them? Yes, she had not guaranteed the result and the Council's agreement... But she had been foolish enough to promise that, even if they did not agree, she would hand over the ship herself.
Yes, after that, one could forget about ever restoring her authority among the captains. Most likely, after this deal, she would lose her ship and crew altogether. But at least she could count on Mikhail keeping his word. Well, and perhaps he might show a little sympathy to the girl and those who followed her, due to the severing of ties with her people.
But... If she lost the Ancestors' ship... If the Council laid its greedy hands on it, if it made it their property, then she would have nothing. With the ship but without support, she could hope for Atlantis's help. But without the Ancestors' ship, she would be needed by no one.
"How many ships do you have in the system with the Ancestors' battleship?" asked Katana, clearly worried.
"My 'Wanderer', two other starships—all I could summon for such an occasion," Larrin admitted.
"There will be one more soon," Labrea assured her. "I'll be with you in a few hours. The rest of the fleet ships will need more time."
Katana had the fastest starship in the entire fleet. Not only because she knew how to find good tech, but also because her young chief engineer was completely insane. Even by Nomad standards.
"I can't ask you to do this," Larrin's conscience stirred. And that happened very rarely. "If they called everyone, then..."
"Come on," Katana laughed nervously. "Do you really think it will come to a battle? All against all? I beg you. The Council isn't that stupid to think a little civil war would benefit anyone. They'll rattle their guns, shout, threaten, call us fools, and threaten to take the ships. After that, they'll calm down and start a dialogue about what they really want from you and those who stand by your side."
"I hope so," said Larrin, looking at the transmitter lying on the edge of the table, which Mikhail had given her. It looked like a radio, but was in fact a very advanced communication device... "I'll contact everyone I trust. If there are many of us, the Council will want to discuss the ship transfer again. You're right—no one needs a new civil war."
A war in which dozens of ships along with their crews could perish or be damaged so severely they could never be restored. Considering how many people were on each ship... If the Council truly decided that the Ancestors' battleship was worth firing on their own...
No, they didn't have the guts.
"Four hours," said Katana. "And I'll be in the system. The nearest other ship by my estimates will be with you in eight hours. Other, meaning not ours, but..."
"I understand," said Larrin. "Other"meaning obeying the Council. Practically an enemy. "Until then."
"Be there soon," Labrea reminded, vanishing from the screen.
Enemy... Until now, only the Wraith had been such.
That one part of the Nomads would go against another, Larrin did not believe. The Ancestors' ship was, of course, a valuable toy for the conservatively minded part of the Nomads, but to fight...
For centuries they had struggled so that as many of them as possible might survive. The Council would not give the order to fire even on four or five ships that supported her. Simply because, besides the crew that stood firmly behind their captain, on board there were also many artisans needed by everyone. Children from other ships, after all. They wouldn't kill them, would they?
"Larrin," a voice came from the intercom. "We're being hailed from the 'Endurance'."
The girl reached the intercom.
"Transfer to my cabin. And all such calls here too."
"Understood," answered Nevik. "Do we need to know what's happening?"
"I'll tell you after I speak with Asan," she promised. "And for now... I want to know where the nearest planet with a Stargate is."
"Three hours from here," Nevik answered instantly. "Conditions are more than modest and unsuitable for a long stay."
"Suitable."
Actually—barely. Three hours one way, about an hour for activities, three back... And if nothing happened, their return would be barely in time for the Council ships' arrival.
As always—she had to risk it.
"Calling to dance on my bones?" asked Larrin when Asan's face appeared on the monitor.
"I see you're already in the know," he said gloomily.
"Good people told me," she assured. "I suppose the 'Endurance' will be with me in eight hours?"
"In nine," Asan corrected. "And three more ships that support me. That's why we're delayed. Plus those you have. I think that will be enough for the Council not to engage in nonsense, but to discuss everything again."
"Your support was a surprise to me during the Council communication," Larrin admitted.
"I'm for survival," he replied.
"Well, or you were offered something too," Larrin smirked. "A Hyperdrive? Weapons?"
"That's a private deal," Asan cut off. "You're not in a hurry to talk about your conditions either."
"A girl should have secrets," Larrin snorted.
"Then be content with them," said Asan. "We may not see eye to eye on many things, but we have something in common. A view of the future. I don't want to see us slowly degenerate. That's the only reason I support you."
"And only because you believe—they won't open fire," Larrin added.
"Right," Asan agreed. "Only, on board those ships I'll bring, there will be almost eleven thousand of our people. Some more on yours. That's already a certain percentage of our entire race. The Council won't dare."
"I hope so," Larrin admitted. "But I don't believe in optimism. So, here's what I propose..."
* * *
Styx entered the quarters allotted for holding the queen.
An unremarkable compartment, of which there were many on the base. Yet at the same time, it was not the apartments where a hive queen should reside by status.
But neither was it a prisoner compartment, which would correspond to her status.
It was a laboratory and a prison simultaneously.
Blasphemous from the perspective of any Wraith commander. Whether he was a blade or a Smart One, like Styx.
Keeping a queen captive—more than unworthy.
Only a queen can capture another queen. A commander cannot harm a queen—regardless of whether she was his queen or from a rival hive. The mental powers a queen possessed would not allow a commander to do that.
An ordinary commander.
But Styx's mental power was higher than that of ordinary Wraith. Higher than that of Cunning Blade. True, the younger Wraith did not know this.
And so, that embittered and helpless look she threw at him as soon as the Smart One entered partly confirmed that this queen, too, did not realize whom she had threatened not so long ago.
The closer he approached her, bound by dozens of organic bonds, fastened to a luxurious throne that had previously received only worthy queens, the stronger the pressure on his mind became. Cunning Blade tried to strip him of will, force him to his knees, compel...
"A waste of strength," he said coldly, approaching the queen. His clawed fingers, sheathed in chitin from the Iratus spider, gripped her angular chin. Turning the queen's head from side to side, he continued to ignore her murderous gaze, examining her gaunt face. "You resist. That's foolish."
Her dark veins, visible through pale skin, pulsed nervously in time with the equipment that restrained the queen and penetrated her, working. Dozens of organic cables—from thin tendrils to thick ones as wide as an arm—were now connected to her, sustaining life and simultaneously draining it from Cunning Blade.
"I am a queen!" she growled. "You have no right to treat me like this!"
"Would killing you be better?" he inquired, approaching an almost invisible console beside the queen's throne. His fingers touched several pliant keys, and data of interest to the Smart One appeared on the monitor. "Perhaps better. You are not as prudent as I thought."
The Wraith approached the queen and again seized her face. But this time not with the care and respect he had shown before.
"Most likely still better," he said. "For you are useless. If you think you can constantly resist this mechanism, invented by the finest Smart Ones of the Wraith many thousands of years ago, you are mistaken. Today, tomorrow, or in a month—but you will weaken so much that I will get what I want."
"My hive will find me!" she hissed. "My commanders will drag you and throw you at my feet! My Smart Ones will make you know the most terrible pain you have never experienced! I will feed on every member of your pathetic scavenger hive, and finish my feast with my feeding hand sucking the life from you. The last thing you will see before your genetic line is severed—is how I enjoy depriving you of life. That is how it will be!"
"Your hive?" the Smart One smirked. All the other bravado he did not even intend to comment on, letting Cunning Blade understand that her words were no more than a gust of wind that did not move him. "Your hive is now under my control. Your soldiers obey my orders. Your junior commanders conduct gatherings on your former grounds at my desire. Your allies did not even bother to wake from hibernation to protect you or assert rights to your release. Even your admirers," he brought his face, grinning in a smile, closer, "and they serve me. The only thing that remains yours, queen," he pronounced the last word with clearly readable cynicism, mockery, and humiliation, "is life. And I will take it if you are not useful to me. As I took the lives of your senior commanders who refused to pledge allegiance to me. And then, when my forces are beyond number, I will find those who fly the Lantian ship, I will arrange a feast. But you will not see that."
The queen bared her fangs, making it clear she despised the one standing before her.
"I wish you to find them as quickly as possible," the queen said with sarcasm. "And when they kill you and destroy your old useless scavenger hive, my Wraith will return for me. And everything you achieve will be mine. So do your job, Smart One. Serve your queen. One way or another."
Keeping a queen captive against her will—a violation of all traditions, written and unwritten laws.
But to strike a queen in the face... For that, even a queen's consort would be killed on the spot.
"Do not waste strength on empty dreams, Cunning Blade," he advised, watching as the captive queen stared at him with wide-open eyes. Everything she had believed in throughout her life, the inviolability of a queen from commanders, was now violated and trampled by a single slap. She was not ready for this, confused, insulted...
And the next second, her eyes rolled back and Cunning Blade went limp, collapsing against the part of the throne supporting the queen's back.
Styx looked at the display. The parts of the monitor that had been blinking red until now changed their hue to yellow. That was better.
Styx looked at his hand that he had raised against the queen.
"Just one strike," he laughed. "And royal grandeur shattered to dust... Convenient."
Cunning Blade had held out long enough that he had begun to worry about his plan. Much time had passed since he last used this base.
And too much had to be altered in the settings to launch even what there was energy for. A drop in the ocean...
But now, when just one strike had been able to destroy the mental resistance that Cunning Blade used against the ancient mechanism, he had a chance. Now everything worked.
He just needed to find as much energy as possible.
And now, when he did not need to spend his time breaking the queen and rebuilding the mechanism, he could engage in the searches necessary for further advancement of his plan.