When the doors slid open and Larrin staggered out, barely able to stand, Trebal smiled.
"How do you feel?" she inquired, watching the Nomad look around unfocused.
"This day couldn't get any worse, but you decided to make it worse with your presence, didn't you?" Larrin leaned her back against the wall. And slooooowly slid down until she sat on the deck. "You went through this too, didn't you?"
"The first," Trebal admitted, approaching her fellow thrill-seeker and squatting beside her. "And no, you're wrong if you think I came here to gloat. I just turned out to be the only one free enough and able to understand what you're feeling right now."
"I doubt you understand me," Larrin said, looking at her suspiciously, pulling her legs up so she could rest her elbows on her knees and cup her head in her hands.
"Oh," Trebal sighed and shuddered. "I understand perfectly. The same thing happened to me."
"I feel like I've been fucked, dried out, wrung out, diluted again, humiliated, used, deemed defective, thrown out the door, dragged from one end of the galaxy to the other on a tow line, then pumped full of hydrogen and let go to see how I'd behave afterward." Larrin's words sounded least like complaints, but... in fact, that's what they were. Delivered by a strong woman who had faced hardships more than once in her life.
Only this time, it had never been this hard for her.
"So you've got it a bit worse than me," Trebal admitted. "It stopped at the humiliation stage for me."
The woman started massaging her temples.
"Remind me to punch him in the face," she said.
"Who exactly?" the Dorandan smirked. "Misha or Ares?"
"And with whom do I have a better chance of seeing suffering?"
"If your own, then Ares; if male... Well, sometimes Misha enjoys it when we panic and act irrational," Trebal shared her observation. "I think it amuses him."
"Smug men never change, even when they're on a higher evolutionary level, do they?" Larrin smiled wryly. "I'm used to punching them in the face for that."
"I prefer the mas-tashi," Trebal shared. "It's a move where you run, drop down, do a handstand, lift your legs, and use inertia for an overhead kick."
"Punching in the face is more practical than all that gymnastics," Larrin grimaced. "This feeling like a hot plasma cutter was shoved into the back of my head—will it pass soon?"
"Not on its own," Trebal sighed, getting to her feet and offering a hand. "Let's go check out the Atlantis infirmary. Seliza will give you some medicine."
"Don't you have a closer clinic, instead of hundreds of light-years from Taranis?" Larrin grabbed the hand and, with some difficulty, managed to stand. "Ah, right, the report..."
"We could ask the Taranians for some medicinal roots," Trebal suggested. "I've tried a couple. If you're not afraid of hormones raging and your libido going into overdrive, you could use them."
"I'll pass," the woman grimaced again, and Trebal, out of sympathy, took her arm to help her walk. "I want to smash his face, not sit on it."
"Are you sure you're saying what you think in front of that girl?" Trebal smiled thinly, giving Larrin a threatening look.
"Oh, shit," the Nomad's gaze showed understanding of the subtext. "I thought you were just a bitch, not... Sar too?"
"I don't know, I don't care," Trebal said, and suddenly realized that she was indeed completely indifferent to the mention of the Proculusian woman in such a context. Rather surprising, even.
"Are there others?" Larrin winced. Apparently, she was really in pain after contact with Ares.
"Same answer," Trebal was even horrified that she felt absolutely nothing when she realized what she'd heard. She really had no desire at all to know the answers to such questions.
"It's... rather strange."
Two sentences ago, she had felt a pang of jealousy at the mention of Mikhail's face, but now... Or was her jealousy specifically about Larrin wanting to do it?
The Dorandan shuddered. Her psyche was giving her very bad warning signals. Unconventional for the stubborn and strong-willed daughter of Tribune Titus.
"Why are you trembling?" Larrin asked.
"It's cold here," Trebal lied. "Let's just be quiet for now, okay? We still need to go to the hangar for the jumper, fly to the Gate..."
"And? What does that have to do with whether I'll be quiet or not?"
"Directly. In one case, you'll walk on your own; in the other, you'll be carried."
"Fine, I've shut up," Larrin exhaled. "Carry me, big Dorandan, I'm almost your sister... Oh, you bitch!"
Larrin said those last words face-down on the floor.
"Oops," Trebal squatted beside her, putting on a fake apologetic expression. "It seems my hand slipped off your cute tight leather corset. I think if you wore our uniform, it would be much better..."
"I get the hint," Larrin said, lifting her face from the floor. "Now help me up, don't be a bitch. They're waiting for us! And my whole body is cramped up. Damn battleship..."
"I have a better idea," Trebal assured her, taking her hand and helping her roll onto her back. "Your clothes are very slippery, so..."
Larrin's first and last reaction to what happened came a minute later.
"I'll remember this!" she promised, as Trebal dragged the Nomad, who was lying on the floor, by the hand down two corridors.
"I hope so," Trebal replied. "And, by the way... there are inter-deck ladder stairs ahead..."
* * *
It's time to think about reducing the number of meetings to one per... say, never?
Too bad it won't work.
"So, what do we have?" I asked, not addressing anyone in particular.
Though there were important people around.
"I wouldn't say it's complex equipment, but it's unusual," Ihaar looked at the disassembled Frequency Gun lying on the table before him. "Given the state of the Nomads' technology, it's even surprising they can produce something like this at all."
"I'm more interested in whether we can produce such weapons," I admitted.
"We can," Chaya sighed. "But we'll have to use one of the workshops for it. And I'm not happy about it at all. We have enough problems and needs for each of them—both in Atlantis and on Taranis—to allocate complex equipment for producing this weapon. I was already against allocating one machine for making the hull parts they need, and now we'll have to do the same thing again. It's slowing us down."
"Or we could tell the Nomads to produce such weapons for us on their own," I voiced the idea after thinking. "Their ships have specialists and equipment specifically designed for that. Slower than if we did it, but still better than reorienting a whole machine to make the necessary parts."
"Reorienting isn't that hard," Chaya said. "With resources, we could create a necessary stock of each type of part in a week or so. The issue is that we'd have to divert our technicians from more important tasks to assemble the parts into weapons manually. And that's where the main time cost lies."
"Can't we modify the machine's program so it produces finished weapons?" I asked.
"Not the kind of technology I'd want to meddle with in terms of programming," Chaya admitted.
"The diamond rule of engineering: 'If it works, don't touch it,'" Ihaar pronounced a timeless truth. "Chaya's right — we can't manufacture finished aggregates and devices. Only spare parts. Then assembly later. Yes, this weapon is closer to our pulsars than to firearms, and thanks to its firing modes it can be versatile, but repairing two battleships, an outpost, a satellite, and a city is already hard enough for our technicians. We don't have enough people. And now we decide to rearm ourselves."
"Yes, because ammunition for Ermen weapons has a tendency to run out," I reminded him. "And it's easier to charge cells and crystals for Frequency Guns and Pulsars than to build a ammunition factory or set up a reloading press using makeshift powder and bullets, cases, and primers made by the machines."
Of course, we're still far from exhausting our supply of Ermen-made weapons and ammunition. But that doesn't mean we should relax and casually burn through our stocks.
Frequency Guns stun, kill, and incinerate almost everything equally well. Moreover, in the first two cases, they cause no wounds to either humans or Wraiths. In effect, in the first mode they replace our electroshock weapons, or ESW if we use abbreviations; in the third mode, they replace Pulsars, of which we also have few. You can literally count on one hand how many Ancient pulse pistols we have. ESW, of course, there are more; almost every member of the Atlantis crew had one.
However... a Pulsar's power is excessive for a simple firefight. And a Frequency Gun can easily replace it. It can also replace ESW. Or the Wraith stunners that we also have.
Not to mention that we can recharge the empty energy cells of Frequency Guns from any generator. Or on the wireless charging panels for equipment that are in every VIP residence. I don't know about the housing complex — I haven't made it there yet — but the fact remains.
We need more versatile yet simple weapons.
The Frequency Gun fits the bill. Especially since copyright is interpreted quite loosely in the Pegasus galaxy.
"We'll do it this way," I concluded. "We'll produce spare parts, then ship them in kits to Ermen for assembly. They'll keep a portion for themselves and send the rest to us along with shipments of Naquadah. At the same time, we'll take care of their security and gradually rearm our own forces with the universal weapon."
"As you say," Ihaar shrugged. "But I don't have any free people to constantly pull them away from retooling workshop equipment from producing crystals or hull plating for Atlantis to making spare parts for the Nomads."
"We won't even use new equipment," I said. "There's already a machine running on Taranis for the Nomads' benefit. We'll just add the schematics for Frequency Gun parts to that one. I think Fren, who's in charge of that project, can handle it."
"Ten more spare parts, ten less — makes no difference to her," Chaya admitted. "She's already happy that she's involved; she has something like her own project that no one messes with or criticizes. She's interested, and we know she won't make mistakes, so our agreements with the Nomads are fine. And we don't need to divert any more qualified personnel from their work."
"Good," I approved. "Ihaar, can you put this Frequency Gun back together so there are no leftover parts?"
The senior engineer's face showed the scowl of an offended professional.
"I don't doubt your skills," I assured him. "But this sample" I tapped the disassembled weapon — "is actually Larrin's personal weapon. And she'll already be out of sorts after her encounter with Ares."
"Give me ten minutes, and I'll put it back together," Ihaar assured me. "I hope I can return to my duties after this? Or do I need to take apart some other alien technology?"
"No, it's fine. After this, go back to setting up the virtual environment for the remaining crew members," Chaya ordered. "Then do the same for training those who have already recovered. It's important for us to combine physical rest with virtual training."
As it turns out, in a stasis pod, the body not only slows down all processes but also gets a good rest over the allotted time. Even despite activity in the virtual environment, a person is actually asleep.
And once Ihaar finishes the sensory program so that the real body doesn't feel pain from injuries sustained in the virtual world, it'll work perfectly.
A person works during the day, gets into the pod to sleep, immerses themselves in virtuality. The body rests, the brain is in a sleep state but active, so it also rests, and the sentient learns something useful. For example, how to shoot well.
Though, to avoid overloading the brain and ending up with "sleep-deprived people" in the morning, we also have to be careful when reprogramming Lantian technology.
"Will do," Ihaar sighed.
"Are you sure assigning Fren to produce parts for the Nomads was a good idea?" I asked, when the Proculusian woman and I left his lab and headed down the corridor toward the transporter booth.
I also have study time, by the way. Which Sar devotes all her free time to. Today, for instance, I'll be learning to repair jumper engines. And I'll learn something useful, and we'll finally fix a couple of jumpers in the underwater hangar at North Pier.
Someday. But definitely not today.
"She approaches work responsibly," Chaya said. "As well as self-improvement. If she hadn't studied Dorandan hand-to-hand combat techniques aboard the Aurora, your first meeting would have ended very badly."
"And why was she learning hand-to-hand combat as a crew member of a warship?" I asked for clarification.
"The same reason as Trebal," Sar answered simply. "You never know when a space battle will involve repelling a boarding action and a hand-to-hand fight with a ruthless enemy. Besides, it helps develop the body and improves circulation."
"I should ask Trebal to show me a few moves," I smirked.
"Hasn't she shown you yet?" Chaya asked innocently.
"And what kind of hints are those?" I sighed.
"No hints," Sar shook her head, stepping into the transporter booth. "I'm appealing to the fact that she attacked you on the Aurora, and you fought side by side on the rig. You've seen her in action. So... No, I certainly wasn't hinting at anything."
I slipped in after her and selected the destination on the display.
The light...
"I'm sorry," I said when we stepped out of another transporter booth onto the North Pier.
"It's fine," Chaya gave one of her usual polite smiles and slipped past me. "It's fine."
Yeah, right.
I caught the woman's hand and made her stop. Turning her toward me, I realized it really wasn't fine.
Usually she looked straight into my eyes, but now she was looking away. And the loss of eye contact was exactly what signaled discomfort between interlocutors.
"You know," I stated, sighing.
"It's not hard to figure out, seeing how she stopped acting like a wild animal and you stopped peppering her with cryptic jokes," Chaya looked toward the drinking fountain, where bubbles rose from the built-in aerator. "It was heading there eventually. It's as inevitable as a ZPM discharge. Sooner or later, depending on voltage and duration..."
I ran my hand along the woman's cheek, making her flinch and look at me in confusion. And she kept staring with wild eyes when our lips met.
"Not a bad way to shut a woman up," she said, bewildered, when the kiss ended.
"It doesn't always work," I noted. "Only with those who matter."
"And the latter depends on whether you crawled to her bed in an altered state of consciousness?" she asked, looking me straight in the eye.
"The mere fact that this girl saved me, helped me survive, took me into her apartment, didn't kick me out to sleep on the floor, and stayed by my side despite everything — that already makes me a huge pig," I sighed, realizing how cheap all this self-flagellation sounded. Like a naughty kid who broke his mother's favorite vase trying to prove he understood by humiliating himself and listing how awful he was. "I feel like I owed..."
Chaya pressed a finger to my lips.
"If it only seems so to you, then you didn't owe," she said. "And not just in this context, but in principle. Awareness of a debt to someone is a deliberate, balanced decision, a balanced impulse between the conscious and unconscious. When it 'seems' to you, it means the impulsive outweighs the logical. And in such a situation, you can't act on what 'seems.' Otherwise, whatever prevents you from being confident in your actions — any fears or other unaccounted factors that you haven't processed consciously but intuitively suspect will affect the consequences of your decision — will inevitably come to pass. It's a universal rule of the psychic influence of human behavior on circumstances."
"And in my world they say, 'Haste makes waste,'" I muttered. "Or just 'Sod's Law.' I'm not good at finding the right interpretation for your lecture."
A smile appeared on Chaya's lips. Taking her hand from my face, she leaned forward and rose slightly on her tiptoes.
A quick, almost imperceptible kiss that burned my lips as if I'd stuck them in a flame. My body literally shuddered from the unexpected sensations that should have been impossible in such circumstances.
And yet, Sar managed... One movement, one kiss, a glance from half-closed eyelids...
"And besides," she turned her back to me, putting her hands behind her, so that her beautiful figure, clad in a simple yet elegant dress, stood out distinctly in the darkness of the corridor. "Due to the excess of what you drank and my reluctance to clarify the situation, and also, skipping the vulgarity of words and meaning, I must still say that you made a mistake with the preposition when listing my 'merits'."
Clear as mud.
"And where?" The woman was walking away from me at a leisurely pace. "Don't forget I'm not smart enough to read between the lines!"
"'Took me into her apartment,'" Chaya turned on her heel and smiled. The pearl of her beautiful teeth seemed like a beacon in the darkness to me. "That phrase should have two identical prepositions."
Frowning, I started calculating in my head.
A sigh of regret was heard — Sar was already at the other end of the corridor.
"The last preposition is correct!" she called out mischievously, disappearing into an adjoining corridor.
So "into her apartment" is right. And the second preposition should be the same as the correct one...
Oh, you little minx!
"Sar!" I shouted, rushing after her. "I thought we'd forgotten this joke! It's time for you to pay the full price for my tortured memory!"
She wasn't in the adjoining corridor.
However, as I ran past an open door leading to a small room, I saw a familiar dress.
Chaya stood facing a giant, wall-wide angular porthole, beyond which only darkness could be seen. Here and there, the lights cast by Atlantis did break up the deep-sea gloom.
But because the lighting in the lab itself — judging by the equipment, it was indeed a lab — was off, after my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see the landscapes of the ocean floor a bit further away and below.
No corals, seaweed, or sea creatures. Only a rocky, silt-covered lifeless bottom.
Chaya gazed at it without moving.
Approaching from behind, I wrapped my arms around the woman's shoulders and kissed the back of her head. She was so absorbed in the sight that tearing her away even for a kiss felt sacrilegious to me.
"It's like this everywhere within the shield's radius," she said quietly. "When they sank Atlantis to the bottom, the Lantians didn't care that the shields create a waterless area that's lethal to marine life. With all its mass, Atlantis crushed everything that was here, destroying a beautiful coral reef. In ten thousand years, only sand and silt remain. The marine creatures they crushed died agonizing deaths. There were thousands of ways to avoid this, but they didn't give a damn about the consequences. They did what they wanted, and others' suffering didn't matter to them. You know, there was even a joke about it. Sad, really. 'There is no life beyond Atlantis's shield.' An old joke, but it perfectly explains the Lantian consumer approach."
I stayed silent, listening to her voice.
"Misha," Chaya tilted her head slightly, resting it on my arm. "They weren't bastards at heart. Just people who only wanted good for themselves. Noble goals — but for themselves. Achievements — for themselves. Ascension — for themselves. They weren't born that way. They became that way gradually. And I'm afraid that this is exactly what we'll come to — that beyond Atlantis, there really will be no life. But not just figuratively."
"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it," I said.
Chaya was breathing calmly, but I felt like I could hear her heart beating like a mad drummer.
"Well said," she whispered. "Your words?"
"From a philosopher and writer from my homeland," I didn't lie. "He died about thirty years before I was born. And he lived in a country whose government acted just like the Lantians. But, why hide it — that's probably how all governments act. Being good on Earth is dangerous."
"Why?" she asked softly.
"Kindness is mistaken for weakness," I explained. "And the weak get beaten."
"It's frightening to live on your Earth," Chaya shuddered. "Frightening to live, frightening to make way for new life... But where is it more frightening, Misha? On Earth, or here?"
"Living on Earth is frightening in a familiar way," I sighed. "For me. The locals here are used to fears in Pegasus, but on Earth, they'd go crazy seeing what people do to each other for such petty reasons. For Earthlings in my universe, there's no scarier enemy than another Earthling. For people in Pegasus, that's long been irrelevant. The Wraith taught them to value the humanity in people. It even united them, helped them understand who the real enemy is."
"Yes," Chaya agreed. "Sometimes I wonder what would have happened to the Ancients if the Wraith hadn't appeared. Would they have become noble explorers and altruists, helping other races? Or would they have turned into oppressors, holding other people under the threat of annihilation with the power of their technology?"
"I think we know the answer to that question," I admitted reluctantly. "But I'd prefer to believe in a more optimistic option."
"As do I," Chaya sighed. "Every day I hope tomorrow will be better than yesterday. And... I'm afraid."
"Of something specific?" I clarified.
"I hope we won't become like them. But I'm afraid we will," she turned to me, placing her hands on my chest. "It won't matter that we didn't want it, that we tried, if in the end we do everything wrong. The result doesn't justify the intentions. It only confirms what has happened."
"Everything," she said quietly. "But most of all, that I'm bringing a child into a galaxy where a trip to another planet could be a one-way journey. I'm afraid I'll never be able to let my child dial the address of a planet that doesn't have a shield or a warship overhead. I'm afraid that every friend my child makes could be a Wraith worshiper, a spy for our enemies, or just someone who'd want to kidnap them for ransom. I'm afraid my child will have to survive, to step over themselves, just to live another day. I saw it in Larrin. And it terrifies me, what will happen if we lose a war that has no goals. No declared enemies, no true friends. Only pragmatism and the search for mutual benefit. Nothing holy, lofty, spiritual. Nothing I've always valued in people. It seems that after the Wraith culled my people, there's no one left in this galaxy who can just live and enjoy a peaceful life without fear of dying for one reason or another."
"Tomorrow will be better," I said firmly. "And... forgive the personal question, but... while you're worrying about every sneeze your child makes, what will the father be doing?"
"I don't know," Chaya sighed. "Most likely he'll be standing there just as silently, not doing what he came for. Or else he's sleeping with Aunt Trebal. Or Aunt Teyla. Or Aunt Larrin. Improving the breed, so to speak..."
Gently but insistently, I turned the girl to face me.
Her gaze was downcast, her head bowed, her arms wrapped around herself... And a poorly hidden, barely suppressed smile.
My hands went down on their own, gripping Chaya by the hips, which felt surprisingly firm and elastic. Her arms instantly wrapped around my neck, pulling me forward. Taking a couple of steps, I pressed her gently against the thick glass, which wasn't cold at all to the touch. Slightly rough, non-slip...
"Little mischievous hamster," I said as we kissed again. "You know, this glass is really old. It might even have a leak somewhere..."
"You're not touching the right place to feel a leak," Chaya said passionately, kissing me. "And, one last thing before we start," she placed her hand softly on my chest, pushing me back just a little.
"Do you want to talk right now about how giving Larrin the Ancient gene was a bad idea?" I frowned. "It worked on her; she knows the specifics of space combat, and we need that. Besides, she joined our service, not the Nomads. And this way we show them that they're not just resource suppliers for us, but allies."
"No, that's not what I wanted to say," Chaya pursed her lips and hit me lightly on the chest. "I mean the consequences..."
"Well, sorry, I don't know anything about Ancient contraceptives, and my pockets are empty," I began, getting annoyed.
"Oh, Gravity, give me strength," Chaya implored, pounding on my chest even harder. "Let me finish!"
"Can it wait⁉"
"No!"
"Chaya, any more and I'm going to slip!"
She hit me with her fist again.
"It's rude to reproach a lady for how aroused she is!" she said with childish, feigned offense. "I want to say that after coitus, you shouldn't make any exceptions or allowances for me. I understand that your worldview will demand that you surround me with care, attention, show tenderness, but I don't want that! It's sweet, but we're not in a position to think about feelings. Work and ensuring our collective safety come first! And... I'm not ready for a relationship of that kind. We... Trebal is right, circumstances are such that we can't afford tenderness and all that. We have a certain duty to all of us. But that doesn't mean I don't like you as a person, a man, a lover. I just think that... Oh!"
Finally, I managed to get rid of the hated clothes. On both of us. I hope this barbarism will cost less than a sack of wheat. Well, and...
Chaya curled up, pressing against me as the lone spearman entered the dragon's lair to demonstrate just how good he was in single combat.
And though the spearman knew he wouldn't emerge from this fight full of strength and in the same vigor with which he began the battle, he still charged forward bravely. The valiant warrior had announced himself and had no intention of retreating.
"Is that all?" I clarified. "Are you done talking?"
"Yes," Chaya nodded. "No. Almost."
Drag on, damn it! Stop hesitating! Come to your mortal combat!
"What now?" I pleaded. How can anyone think about anything else in this situation?
"You'll have to go see Celise afterward," Chaya looked almost guilty. And embarrassed at the same time.
"Why?"
"I love to scratch," she said, looking down.
"Not fragile, won't melt," I assured her, pressing my lips to hers. "Though, it's even unexpected to hear that from you. And you call yourself the quiet one! Still, this is good! Just be yourself!"
Chaya pulled away again. That guilty look again.
Damn it, just shut up and kiss me!
"And... Please, don't judge me, but... Can I ask you for something?"
Dragon, damn you, stop sweet-talking me. You're still going to lose! And you'll be killed with extreme prejudice! Several times!
"Tell me," I growled.
"You see..." she swallowed, as if she couldn't find the words. Her of all people⁈ I'm afraid to imagine what Chaya is about to say! Go into the lab with the ionizing device? Do it on the particle accelerator? On the lab console? On the roof of the central spire? "We're all physiologically developed, our reason conquers hormones, but... There are instincts... When a female sees a suitable strong male, she just wants to be herself... For animals it's simpler, but our brain is such a complex thing, and the subconscious..."
"Just tell me already!" I leaned into her, pressing her into the glass so hard it seemed like I might crush the fragile girl. "Just... tell me!"
Her hot breath burned my ear.
"Hair," she breathed, her voice trembling with arousal. "Grab it as hard as... O-o-oh! Magnetism constant, yes! Yes-yes-yes-yes-yes!"