Darkness.
The transport chamber had worked, but it was impossible to see anything inside. Only a second later, pinpoint lights flickered on above our heads. Emergency lighting in action.
And that was not a good sign. At the very least because the transport function is the primary function of the device we ended up in. And there are also primary and secondary functions. Judging by how hot it was getting, the life support system here was clearly failing. And that's a primary function.
And yes, in the gradation of Ancient technology, the devil himself would break a leg trying to figure it out. That's why they load basic knowledge into the heads of the young — it's simply not realistic to learn it on your own. I know; I've tried.
"Are we locked in?" Teyla asked.
"It looks like the motion detection mechanism is damaged," Ihaar blurted out, pulling an Ancient scanner from his belt pouch. "Ventilation too… It seems there's damage to the control channels. But why, if we were transported and…"
As if in answer to his question, crimson flashes of energy streaked past the stained-glass doors on either side of the corridor.
"Oh," the engineer exclaimed. "Now I understand."
"We need to get out," Kirik voiced the idea, holstering his stunner. "There's a small gap between the doors here."
"The chamber was about to open, but it was damaged in the process," Ihaar rattled off. "Good thing we were transported and materialized instead of getting stuck in the energy buffer!"
"Mikhail," the former "runner" said, ignoring the engineer's lament, "I'll push one half open, and you take the other…"
"Yeah, of cou…" I moved forward, slinging my rifle over my back, but Saya stepped up to the door ahead of me, "…rse?"
The cyborg, whose blue eyes glowed especially brightly in the semidarkness, stared intently at the airtight seam of the doors. Then, in the finest tradition of Terminators, she shoved her fingers into the barely visible gap.
"Oh, well, that's just pure stupidity," Ihaar shook his head. "The control mechanisms are pressing with a force…"
The hiss of the drives pierced the air, and the doors, groaning, slowly began to move apart, pushed by the cyborg's inhuman strength.
With a screech, the panels slid aside as Saya began to push her arms apart. The energy bolts, however, showed no sign of stopping their flight down both sides of the corridor, leaving black scorch marks on the interior plating.
"Well, maybe it wasn't stupidity," the engineer forced out, commenting on the cyborg's work. She left them without a comment.
The cyborg pushed the two doors open far enough for a person with gear to squeeze through them.
"The problem is solved," she reported, taking her rifle in her right hand. "The optimal option is to let me exit first and lay down suppressive fire. You'll have a brief window to change positions."
"They're shooting from both sides," Kirik noted. "Which side are our people on?"
"Are there any of our people here?" Ihaar huffed, watching as a red bolt melted part of the dark brown wall directly opposite the booth. Sparks sprayed from the wall. The already dim lighting in the corridor vanished completely. "These barbarians will destroy the battleship!"
"That won't happen," I activated the communicator, tuning it to the device that should be on this ship. "Larrin! Answer me!"
It so happened that my voice rang out in a brief lull between the exchanges of fire. And immediately, fire resumed from the right. Only this time, they were shooting at us, clearly having assessed us as not being brothers in arms.
"Mikhail?" a surprised voice came from the radio. "How are you?!... We're pinned down near the bridge. We have a lot of wounded!"
And our bridge is to the left.
"Saya," I addressed the cyborg, who was devouring me with an attentive gaze. "Enemies on the right. Destroy them."
"Working on it," the product of Salumai-Lantian technology clipped out. "Wait here."
The iris of her eyes instantly shifted color from sky blue to blood red. The girl was immediately at the gap in the booth, thrusting her rifle out and firing a burst into the corridor, forcing the shooters on the right to either take cover or scream in agony.
And she wasn't even aiming... Although, the Nomads' reaction was understandable—no one expects a brave soul to charge into an attack under heavy fire.
And Object Forty-One, having told her survival instinct to hold her beer, was doing exactly that.
Springing from her spot, she rushed toward the wall opposite the transport booth. The cyborg slid on her feet across the floor, dropping to her knees, letting several enemy shots fly over her head while returning fire with her rifle. Reaching the wall, she kicked herself backward and sideways, shifting back toward the booth, but much farther to the right of our position.
Her rifle spat out short bursts, and every other one ended with screams of such pain, as if the enemy were being cut open alive. I haven't tested it on myself, but I think Ermen ammunition for assault rifles definitely doesn't improve one's health upon impact.
From the sounds, it was clear the cyborg had gotten up and switched to bounding movements, quickly advancing down the corridor. Ihaar, Teyla, Kirik, and I looked at each other in confusion, not quite understanding why we were even needed if she was here.
"Maybe we should help?" the former "Runner" suggested, when the short automatic bursts were replaced by pistol shots. It seemed the extended magazine of the "Amas," which she, like Alvar, had preferred over the lighter "Alash," had run out before the enemies had.
"Is it necessary?" I asked, when I heard a desperate male scream:
"No! Don't! I…"
And a single shot. Followed by four more.
After which Saya's voice came from the corridor:
"Cleared and secured. You can leave the shelter."
From the left came something from the Nomads: either admiration or a curse. It sounded too similar to tell.
Exiting the transport booth, we surveyed the battlefield.
Although, it looked more like the site of a massacre.
Starting a few meters from the booth on the right and continuing all the way to the sealed doors of the corridor, everything was littered with black scorch marks. Looked like both sides had some sharpshooters. But bullet holes weren't that numerous. Literally, about four... at the far end of the corridor. And each hole was rimmed with bloody splatter.
And on the floor lay two Nomads, their bodies neatly filled with Saya's expanding bullets. The cyborg held position in the doorway, occasionally peeking out to check the situation.
And all the while, she was reloading her "Amas," swapping the empty magazine for a loaded one, tossing the first into a thigh pouch. Very handy, and it looked like it was made precisely for these pouches.
At the far end of the corridor, beyond the blast door forced open by brute strength, four more bodies were visible on the floor. Completely lifeless. As far as I could tell, the cyborg had given each Nomad a finishing shot. And... actually, I agree with her—it's faster than checking a pulse and more effective than leaving potentially alive enemies at your back.
"Mikhail!" Larrin's shout came from behind me. Turning around, I saw the Nomad woman walking from the other side of the corridor. A bandage on her right shoulder, a bandage on her thigh. She'd been hit. "Is this..."
She looked at Saya. Saya looked back at her with red eyes.
The defiant Nomad woman looked away first. Waving her hand, she signaled to the three Nomads holding position at the blast door to the left of the transport booth to advance forward.
"Kirik," I addressed the former "Runner." "Hold position here. I'll relay new orders once we figure out what's what on the ship."
"Got it," he nodded.
"Ihaar," the engineer was looking at the corridor and the traces of battle covering it like a parent seeing their child beaten up by classmates. "Fix the booth. We might need it. Don't forget about the time," I looked at my scanner. "We have a little over ten minutes for the system restart."
"If I can fix it," he tossed back, taking the equipment backpack off his back. "They were shooting here like it was a firing range."
"Would it have been better if we'd just surrendered the ship?" Larrin threw out an angry remark, but in the next second, I grabbed her by the elbow and she moved with us toward the ship's bridge.
"I'll spare you what I think about your appearance at a very needed moment, but I'm glad you're here," the girl said, limping. "Almost all my people are dead. Several wounded by firearms. We've been cut off from most of the ship. The Hyperdrive, engine room, living quarters—everything is under the control of squads loyal to the Council. I have too few people to control the whole ship."
"There are about two and a half thousand people on your vessels," I recalled, as we crossed the line of blast doors. The ship, even though it sensed the arrival of Ancient gene carriers on board, still wasn't rushing to reactivate. "Even if you armed half of them, you could have held them off. The only places they could come in from are the emergency airlocks and the hangar."
"I and my supporters disembarked people from our ships," Larrin explained, wincing as we passed two Nomad corpses. Not a trace of physical damage—they were killed by Nomad weapons. Killed, not just incapacitated, which would have been logical. "Three hours of hyperspace flight from here, there's a planet with a Stargate. We landed the people, keeping only the minimum needed to operate the ships and patch holes, onto the planet so they could go to one of the worlds we trade with. They'll wait out the result of this battle there. The other allied ships did the same, but on different planets along the way here."
"Smart of you to spare yourself unnecessary casualties," I agreed. "Outside, when we arrived, only two ships contacted us—Asan's and some Labrea's. Not a word about the rest."
"Two ships surrendered and left, the rest we lost," Larrin said bitterly.
"A bloody price for a disagreement," I winced.
"I had only a hundred people on each of the allied ships," Larrin said. "From my flagship and the other destroyed ones, only sixty managed to get here. Half are already dead, another twenty-five people are seriously wounded or stunned. Those three I sent to defend the corridor, myself, and Nevik—that's all that's left of the four-person crews. At best, thirty out of four hundred! That's what the deal with you cost me! Me and those who believed in me!"
"If you haven't forgotten, I suggested you skip the step of talking to the Council and hand the ship directly to me. That way we would have avoided casualties. You wanted to do everything right and take care of all members of Nomad society. So don't try to make me feel sorry for you."
The girl grabbed my arm as we approached the bridge. The corridor in front of it was literally strewn with wounded Nomads. Some were unconscious, probably stunned, as I didn't notice any wounds. Others had bandages. And on most, they were already soaked through with blood.
"There's no turning back," she said. "The Council has had enough of me and those who wanted to live on planets. Whether we leave here with the ship or not—my people need their own world. And your help."
"Deals aren't renegotiated mid-process," I noted.
"Mikhail!" Larrin hissed emphatically, lowering her voice to a whisper. Obviously so that the few conscious wounded couldn't hear her. "We are outlaws! We have nowhere else to go but Atlantis! Any Council ship that finds my people on trade planets will kill them without a second thought."
"If," Teyla reminded them of her presence, "your people share your point of view and haven't already left the planets you left them on."
"A valid point," I said, shaking off Larrin's hand. "First, we get the ship back to our territory, and then we'll discuss how quickly we can help your people. That's non-negotiable."
"Fine," Larrin gritted her teeth.
Passing my hand over the control panel, I slipped through the barely opened bulkhead doors.
"Larrin," Nevik, the twin scientist, pulled away from the control panel. The top cover removed, crystals pulled out, wires cut... And the communicator I had given Larrin, lying nearby. "I couldn't... Oh! You're already here?! Uh, how...?"
"Step away from the equipment, techno-fascist," I asked, climbing into the command chair. "And don't touch anything else here."
The bridge of this starship resembled that of the "Aurora" more than the "Hippaforalkus." Even though all three belonged to different generations of battleship modernization.
Although, in fact, the general layout and design of all three types were identical. A central platform with the command chair in the middle, rows of consoles arranged in a semicircle in front, as well as consoles and monitors to the sides and behind the captain's chair.
The devil was in the details.
The main system control panels on the "Aurora" and on this battleship were on the same podium in front of the commander, which allowed him, if the ship was operational, to actually control it single-handedly. Well, of course, if he didn't want to fire projectiles.
On the "Hippaforalkus," these consoles were placed outside the podium, and judging by the presence of standard acceleration couches, it was assumed they would be used by watch members, not the ship's commander.
Obviously, by the third generation, the Lantians decided to return everything to how it was, realizing that the first option was good enough.
As a distinctive feature of the command chair, in many ways similar to what I'd seen on both the "Aurora" and the "Hippaforalkus," a touch panel was built into the armrest on this battleship, somewhat reminiscent of the manual control in the armrest of the Control Chair.
Except that under my palm, I felt not a silicone-like material, but a perfectly strict touch panel.
The semicircular forward viewport, segmented by vertical slivers that made it look from the outside like a peeled tangerine, provided a stunning view of how the "Hippaforalkus" and the two Nomad ships attached to its flanks were holding the defense slightly ahead and "above" us.
Trebal, as promised, wasn't using projectiles. But the impulse cannons, distributed across the forward hemisphere, sides, and stern of the Ancient ship, were mercilessly firing at the nimble Nomad starships.
"Ihaar," I touched the communicator key. "I'm starting the battleship's full startup. Prepare yourselves."
It was dangerous to specify what exactly to prepare for—the starship had been drifting for ten thousand years and was clearly not abandoned by its crew for no reason. In the events I knew of, the Nomads claimed the Ancients left the ship because its power plant or engine was emitting deadly radiation. And no one ever returned to fix it.
Given the battle raging on board, anything could have failed. And the last thing I wanted was for my chief engineer to get corneal burns or a pillar of sparks in his face when power from the Superreactors started flowing through the wires to all the ship's systems.
"Understood," he replied. "I can't fix this anyway. They melted the relay box. Power, life support, and so on—everything here is shot."
But I wasn't listening to him anymore.
Closing my eyes to concentrate, I sent a mental command to the battleship's main computer. "Wake up."
It felt as if time had stopped.
I remember my contact with Trebal's modified Control Chair. I remember my contact with the "Hippaforalkus"'s systems during the flight to the "Aurora." I had interacted with the mental controls of "Jumpers" dozens of times.
But this... This was something completely different.
My mind, like water moving under pressure through pipes, dove into a stream of consciousness that carried me from the starship's bow to its stern in a fraction of a second. Returning my consciousness to the bridge, I felt as if my mind had stumbled upon a film that was enveloping me...
And I didn't like this feeling. I had never felt anything like it before, so I instinctively sought to get rid of it. But not by breaking the mental contact, but by breaking the film. And the latter, like bonds, had enveloped the ship, interfering with the operation of its systems.
Something was binding its systems, forcing them to work slowly, with errors, incorrectly. Like a leash on a fighting dog.
I didn't feel the presence of an alien mind next to me, but something similar, as if someone was trying to grasp your thoughts, desires, interpret them, transform them into electronic signals... This isn't an artificial intelligence.
It's a more advanced onboard computer system than what I'd encountered on the "Hippaforalkus" and the "Jumpers." Except there, it was more like a smart dog that understands your commands, but here...
Here, it's clearly not a dog. Something far more powerful, majestic, weighty.
If a "Jumper" felt completely tiny, and the "Hippaforalkus" felt simply large and understandable, comfortable, like a favorite worn-out sweater, then this battleship...
Not a battleship. Not just a battleship. It had a name, woven into all its programs and subprograms. Into every electrical circuit, every crystal, sheet of armor, or bulkhead.
Not a consciousness... There is no mind here in the classical sense.
Only... It's hard to describe. It's as if you're looking at a masterpiece by the greatest artist of all time. You notice every brushstroke, every play of colors, every tiny detail... You see every component of the canvas and know that it has its own meaning, which adds up to a single global vision of the creator...
But you see this vision unclearly, as if blurred. It's all because of this leash, this veil, which seems to be part of the painting, related to it, but not quite... Like modern parchment hiding the true image...
And with all your senses, you understand that this is wrong.
This painting should not be hidden, even if you put parchment on it for protection. Because it's a blasphemy, distorting the very essence of the creation.
Reaching out with an invisible hand, with the power of thought, I grabbed that veil and tore it, intending to make the masterpiece magnificent again.
Strangely enough, it worked.
"Amazing," I heard Nevik's voice. "The systems... Larrin, the ship is working! I couldn't even turn on the lights here! And then he just sat down, and everything started working! Consoles, lighting, life support, diagnostic consoles and monitors..."
Just sat down? That's strange. I've been here for so long. Or is time just flowing differently for me?
If so, then... I have the opportunity to understand the ship, don't I? Then I need to use it. Time to get into the onboard computer.
And at that same moment, I felt what it means to be a ship that is simultaneously around me and inside my mind.
It was as if I'd been doused with a bucket of cold water, torrents of information crashing down on my consciousness the moment I looked at the masterpiece of military genius, now freed from the veil-leash, the computer code that had been conflicting with the ship's native programs.
This isn't a domestic, obedient little dog, like a Yorkshire terrier or a pinscher, like a "Jumper."
This isn't a trained predator, a domesticated Pallas's cat or a puma, as it seemed when controlling the "Hippaforalkus."
A force was awakening from its ten-thousand-year sleep, speaking openly with me, outlining its problems and capabilities. Every malfunction, every glitching system, every operational mechanism.
Every person on the deck was visible to me. A lot of people. Two hundred and fifteen, not counting those currently near the bridge.
All the rest are not our friends. Do you understand me? You understand. You can see for yourself that they are not friends. Harmful people who are opening the interior hull and want to cause harm. And they want to move this harm to other parts of the ship. Oh. That's bad. It seems they want to break our reactors.
That won't do.
"Nevik, what is this?"
"The shields and weapons systems have started up," I heard the annoying whisper again. "That screen is tracking the people on board the ship."
"The engine room is highlighted in red on the ship's schematic! And the engine bay control room."
"I... I don't know, Larrin. It looks like hull breaches have formed in those places. The Council soldiers ended up in space and... I don't understand anything."
"But I understand," Larrin's voice sounded confused and at the same time angry. "Hull breaches don't close by themselves. Someone opened the emergency airlocks nearby and threw them into space!"
Not someone, but us. We don't like it when people try to immobilize us.
Problem solved. There, we'll close the bulkheads and raise the internal energy shields.
Excellent.
Now the saboteurs are locked in separate compartments and cannot move around the ship. Yes, they can still cause harm, but that's a minor detail.
We'll get rid of them soon.
Right now, other information is important.
The exact output power each of the four Superreactors could provide.
The percentage of armor wear and data on where it was damaged.
An instantaneous answer about the engines, hyperdrive, the state of the arsenal, and malfunctions in the Control Chair systems.
That very engine damage sustained in the battle with the Wraith, which caused deadly radiation to begin spreading through the ship's corridors.
The ship was awakening and simultaneously speaking with me.
The dry language of numbers, which it could only communicate to me, because it recognized only me as the entity to whom it was accountable. Only to me could the battleship tell how badly it was damaged and how long it had waited for the repair crew promised by the previous captain.
And not only that. A brief report on what it is. God... So that's why we couldn't find it in the database! It's the fourth one!
Only to me could the warship tell about the mistakes of the previous commander, a Ytran, who couldn't feel the same things I feel. He was close, but still not good enough compared to the very first commander, who died in the same battle in which the ship was damaged.
The starship saw no difference between human conventions—the first officer and the captain were essentially the same to it. Commanders.
Those it must obey.
Those it is bound to serve.
Literally, physically, I could feel the current running through the power buses, the control signals racing along the thin cables of the communication and control systems. I could feel the afterburner chambers filling and the active material of the Superreactors accelerating.
This... This is incomprehensible.
I felt as if I were at the center of a vast information web, carrying billions and billions of data units from the periphery to the very core. Weak and fragile, compared to the power of the technogenic entity that had awakened from its long sleep.
You couldn't negotiate with this entity, built on the rigid laws of programming logic and the laws of war. It wouldn't open up to the weak and wouldn't submit to the arrogant. There is no consciousness, will, or emotion here.
There is only a clear understanding of its place.
Its purpose.
Its capabilities.
The ship opened its sensors to me, showing that one of the allied Nomad starships had lost its shields and its main engines were on fire. That the side of the second was destroyed by a precise hit, and decompression was occurring.
How four Nomad ships, having found the "Hippaforalkus"'s weak spot, were approaching from the stern, where only a couple of impulse cannons could fire at them. The battleship showed me how desperately and daringly Trebal was maneuvering to bring more guns to bear during the vector changes.
And how skillfully the Nomads operated, staying right behind the ship's stern as if tethered to it. Their goal was to destroy the engines, to deprive their brother-in-arms of maneuverability and finish off its shields, which were holding at ten percent.
Born for battle and destruction, this artificial embodiment of power didn't understand why a strike wasn't being made with the homing projectiles available in the "Hippaforalkus"'s arsenal. It caught my thought, understood that its brother-battleship was following my orders, and the combat analysis of the strategy ceased.
The commander had decided, so this was correct. No objections, no discussion.
That's it, finished.
We are diagnosed, we are operational. The power screens will contain the spread of deadly radiation for some time. Not enough to reach Atlantis.
Repairs are needed.
But not here.
Here... Here there are three more Nomad ships bearing down on the "Hippaforalkus."
Five percent shields. Significant failures across the ship. Systems old and unreliable. Civilians, which are imperfect.
We need to intervene.
Now.
Immediately.
Combat application calculation.
No, not projectiles. Yes, need to conserve. Cannons? That works. Forward ones? Oh, they'll be enough... We working? We're working.
One shot each? You think that's enough? Oh, you've calculated it all. Good, let's do it. Yes, combat solution six. Fire!
"By the forces of vacuum, what is that?!" Nevik exclaimed.
"We're shooting?!" Teyla? Why does her voice sound so scared?
"He..." it seems this is about us, "he destroyed the ships. Why?! Why did you do that?!"
The characteristic sound of a Nomad energy weapon activating rang out near my ear. Noise, a struggle it seems. Nevik cried out.
"Step away from him, Larrin!" came Teyla's voice. "Or I'll hurt your man. And then I'll shoot you."
"Stop it immediately," Larrin orders us. "Leave the ship on and don't you dare fire again. I won't let you kill another Nomad! Even if they are enemies, but..."
Ah, so that's it.
My consciousness gently slips out and I open my eyes.
It's disorienting. Very familiar, only... somewhat softer than what I experienced from prolonged contact with the "Hippaforalkus." Although, that's no surprise—this one is newer and excellently made.
With a slightly unfocused gaze, I looked straight ahead. Through the viewport, three clouds of debris were visible, through which the "Hippaforalkus" was passing, settling onto an opposing course relative to this battleship.
"Misha," Trebal's voice came from the communicator. "What exactly happened? I thought we were winging them, not destroying them."
"From the moment I got on the bridge, it seemed that way to me too," Larrin said, pressing her lips together, her Frequency Gun aimed directly at my head. "And you killed them. Three ships. Almost nine thousand lives! You killed them!"
"They're dead because they were trying to destroy the 'Hippaforalkus,'" I said, unable to tear myself away from the chair. It was so comfortable, so good here. "And after they blew the engines off one battleship, they would have finished off your other two ships. And landed additional troops against us. Do you want to die instead of them? I don't."
"They are my people!"
"Your people wanted to kill you," Teyla said softly. "And us along with you. Trebal asked them to lay down their arms, but they attacked her. I also mourn those who died in this battle, as I do all the fallen."
"Only, the bleeding people in the corridor are unlikely to appreciate your humanism, Larrin," I added, activating the communication channel. "'Hippaforalkus,' everything is normal here. It was a... necessary decision. Either them or us."
"Then I'm glad they died and not us," Trebal's voice came. "The 'Swift' and the 'Endurance' are heavily damaged, losing oxygen. I want to dock with them and connect them to my life support system. That'll give them time to patch the breaches and fix critical failures. Can you fly? I can send a couple of technicians."
"We'll make a short jump out of the system," I ordered. "Dock with one ship, we'll take the other. We'll need to temporarily reconfigure the shields to cover both starships during the jump. Otherwise, they'll just be torn off when we enter the hyperspace window."
"I'll take the 'Endurance,'" Trebal said. "Give me half an hour to calculate the program..."
"It's all ready," I assured her, pressing invisible keys on the snow-white panel to send the program code to the "Hippaforalkus." "Adapt it for your emitters."
"Okay," Trebal's voice sounded surprised. "Receiving the packet. I'll report when ready."
"I'll wait," I said, shifting my position on the console. The ship moved forward almost imperceptibly, arcing so that our lower docking bay would end up directly above the Swift. It was unlikely that our docking ports used the same system, but that part of a starship had the strongest electromagnets, strong enough to hold in the shield area of another ship. "Larrin, if you keep standing there like that, your arm will get tired. And we've still got your former friends to shoot at."
I turned in my chair, looking straight into the Nomad's eyes. Not even at the barrel of the frequency gun with its three emitters instead of a muzzle.
"So why not toss them out into the vacuum too?" She cursed and holstered her weapon. Teyla, receiving my nod of approval, stopped twisting Nevik's arm and let him get up. "It'd be so easy for you!"
"They were trying to disable the engines and reactors," I explained. "He showed me that. We couldn't wait any longer. Classic — us or them. The rest have been neutralized. I wouldn't want to kill them. Knocking them out and then handing them back to the Council, yes. But that depends on how it goes."
"Depends on how it goes," Larrin snorted irritably. "And what does 'he showed me' mean? Who showed you?"
"The God of War," I said. "'Ares.' That's the battleship's name."