Well, hello, old-new friend.
The Ares greeted me warmly with a stream of data transmitted straight into my brain.
Hull status, generators, weapons, life support systems...
The starship reported that it was ready for battle, ready to return to where it left off due to damage.
The Ares's log revealed why the starship was damaged in its last battle. Too many strong enemies, too few systems the crew could use.
They didn't know how to make it operate at peak efficiency, so they suffered damage incompatible with further operation of the ship. Given that the Atlantis database had no hint of an experiment with the fourth generation of battleships, I suspect the Ares is a private project. A deep modernization of one of the third-generation ships.
But that hardly matters now.
We're going on a combat mission.
The magnetic anchors that held the ship in the hangar disengaged the moment the maneuvering and main engines came to life. Nothing else held the Ares in the embrace of this world.
Not even gravity.
Under normal conditions, relying solely on instruments, I wouldn't have risked taking the ship out of the dock. Even though its scanners and other systems report everything happening inside and outside, it's like driving a dump truck for the first time in the city.
But mental contact...
You become one with the starship. The operator feels the ship as an extension of their body. No need to press buttons for control, no need to monitor instrument readings to know which engine to feed more power to avoid a stuck cargo crane at the back of the hangar.
Connection with the ship... You are the ship.
And you know you need to edge forward just ten meters to avoid a collision with treacherous equipment. You do it automatically, without heavy calculations.
In that state, flying out of the hangar is as easy as walking through a doorway. Even easier, because gravity is nothing to you.
You have engines that ignore it.
Powerful, productive engines, many times more powerful than the Hippaforalkus's engines. There are four main engines, but compared to the younger sibling's engines, they are four times more productive. And Trebal's ship is many times faster than the unmodified Aurora...
So instead of spending two days on the Hippaforalkus to reach the system where the damaged Hive Ship is stuck, we'll be there in six hours. These engines are somewhat more powerful than what the Aurora crew came up with as an upgrade. Considering it took them ten thousand years, because they weren't allowed access to the Lantian main engine technology, it's a very interesting development of science.
And the Ares's onboard computer confirms that the installed engines are the final iteration of Lantian-designed main drives. Revolutionary. Cutting-edge. The limit of this technology.
The only way to make it faster is to install a more powerful energy source. For example, a ZPM. The ship is adapted for that.
But it was designed when ZPMs were no longer installed on Ancient ships. ZPMs were too scarce, so its super-reactor was developed, capable of producing up to half a percent of a ZPM's power at maximum.
That's colossal amounts of energy. The ship can only achieve this in afterburner mode, which is not recommended for long durations — overloads dangerous for the crew occur. Under standard super-reactor operation, the ship can produce a tenth of a percent of ZPM power. And that's with tons of nacahdah in its reactors. That power would be enough for Atlantis to maintain its shield and fire projectiles. But not enough for hyperspace travel. Only to maintain a very small number of standard systems.
The super-reactors are complex and took ten years to develop. Yes, the Ares used to be a third-generation battleship. But the Lantians changed it. Another experiment, a prototype, but very successful.
It had an intergalactic-class hyperdrive, so it could take us to Earth.
Catching my thought, the ship, surrounded by a shield for safe atmospheric sliding on Taranis, ran calculations. A couple of seconds, or even less, and I had a ready route for the Ares. From Taranis to Earth... With its current super-reactor load, it would be there in fifteen days.
How strange... Earthlings, using their Daedalus-class ships with ZPMs on board, did it in four days. And without them... in about a month. So their reactors were almost as good as the Ares's? Strange... Although, wait.
No, not strange.
The ship pointed out obvious gaps in logic.
Earthlings used a hyperdrive technology unfamiliar to it. Without knowledge of it, it couldn't calculate energy expenditure and so on.
The ship also indicated that the energy cost of hyperspace travel is directly proportional to the size of the ship and the size of the hyperspace tunnel it opens for travel.
Based on what the ship saw in my memories, for a Daedalus-class ship, Earthlings opened too large a hyperspace window. For the Ares, it would be small, like for Atlantis.
But that's energy waste.
The same energy that Earthlings drew from their reactors of an unknown model and output. And from ZPMs. And you can't take all the energy from a power source at once, just as you can't drink a lake in one gulp. Because energy consumption is like rivers flowing out of a giant lake. The more consumption, the wider the river and more water flows out.
If the ship had a ZPM, it would be at Earth in five days at the current calculated energy consumption from the module built in by the builders. And that's the maximum possible consumption allowed for the ship's engines and power systems.
Hyperspace afterburner, to be precise.
So much... new and not entirely clear.
The Ares readily provided me with calculations to understand its computations. I understood some of the most superficial aspects. Dimensions of hyperspace windows, energy expenditure... And I also understood what a large window is dangerous for — maximum energy consumption. A window too small — destabilization of flight.
The size of the hyperspace window, the diameter of the tunnel, is also important. There are astrophysical calculations for safe size that are complex and have been used for millennia for a reason.
The Ancients spent many hundreds and thousands of years of research to find the "sweet spot" for each type of ship and each type of hyperdrive. Interfering with such calculations is dangerous with unpredictable and lethal consequences. I wanted to learn more about it, because it's so simple. You just need to direct a thought. No commands or buttons — the ship does everything for you. On an intuitive level.
It's like breathing, like eating, like walking... You don't even need to think through each step, considering the speed to overcome air resistance, how hard to place your sole on the ground, how much weight to transfer to the supporting leg with each step... You just do it, and the body, your body, your ship, does it all for you.
But not now.
The Ares knew what its commander was capable of. It understood the level of my knowledge and degree of development. It was ready to talk to me directly, not ignoring me like others. But safety protocols, ranked by many criteria, prevented it from granting access to such data, let alone allowing changes.
I felt something vaguely like sadness. It regretted that I couldn't do what I was thinking. But at the same time, I realized I was getting more from it than anyone else who could have been in the commander's seat.
I initiated it, at the highest crew access level. I allowed it to work at maximum. Without that, the onboard computer would adjust its interaction level to the genetic development of another individual sitting in the Armchair.
Curious... It answered my question about why the Earthlings who initiated it in the events I knew didn't feel anything like this. Their interaction level, their development level, was insufficient for that.
The Ares compared what I knew about the best Ancient gene carrier and reported the estimated level of genetic match. At the level of Dorandans, maybe a bit better or worse.
That's service personnel level. No mental connection with the onboard computer was even possible. Mental control — yes, but no higher than using a jumper at maximum. I initiated it at the highest possible control level. And it will stay that way — until the onboard computer is destroyed or reset. So it evaluates others in the Armchair, taking my template as the standard.
This is... a very special ship. Concerned that it allows me much, but not everything. Simply because I don't know how to handle the programs, how to rewrite them correctly and safely. On the other hand, if I order, it will obey, open access to service protocols, and with a thought they can be rewritten, corrected, deleted as I wish.
But I won't do that. Because I don't understand what needs to be done to do it correctly and safely. That suited the Ares just fine. And me even more so.
I felt its wariness about my concern for its attitude toward Larrin, Trebal, and those technicians who sat in the command Armchair for diagnostics. It didn't insult them in the way we imagine. It just pointed out that they didn't match the template... And listed how exactly. Yes, it did what it was ordered, but also provided supporting information about how much better the testing and diagnostics would have gone if I had been their initiator.
"Chief Engineer Ihaar on board," came a voice at the edge of perception.
Why say that? I know his jumper has already entered the hangar. I myself closed the armored doors behind him, protecting the vulnerable part of the ship during flight. Why close the hangar if there's an atmospheric shield preventing decompression and harmful radiation?
Because armor does it better. And the atmospheric shield, the harsher the external environment, requires more energy to keep the hangar safe. Why waste extra?
"Are you meditating or piloting?" This voice was vaguely familiar. Female, slightly sarcastic. As warning-attacking as her thoughts.
The Ares provided data on who it was.
Larrin.
Appointed its commander. The battleship didn't like her. Too much defiance, too much desire to command, but no understanding, simplified representations. Her mind was underdeveloped, and what she considered good technology and its functioning horrified the ship. It wasn't ready to obey her thoughts, knowing she completely considered flying a falling-apart starship normal.
The Ares didn't want to lose its perfected functionality, not in combat operations. That contradicted its essence. The crew shouldn't act to the detriment of their ship.
I understood it.
The onboard computer picked up my thoughts and built procedures and protocols to implement them. Defense activated, power supplied to necessary systems. Course plotted, its equipment ready for flight.
"Opening a window into hyperspace," one of the technicians announced, stating the fact.
The Ares entered hyperspace.
The Ares received the command and readily executed it. The ship accelerated and pulled into the light green blotch opened in realspace.
With less readiness, it broke mental contact with me.
Slight dizziness, dry mouth, and a blinding white light before my eyes. Hyperspace, as it is.
Beautiful...
"Commander," the technician addressed Larrin. Which was correct actually. "All systems functioning normally, no glitches. Estimated time of arrival: five hours twenty-nine minutes."
On the first flight on the Ares, when we just took it from the Nomads, I didn't notice this... But now, when it's fully operational and all its systems are working normally, I do see.
Maybe it seems to me, but... The light streaks of the hypertunnel flash past much faster.
"Right on time," Larrin chuckled. "Good, excellent work."
"With all due respect, Lady Larrin," the technician objected. "It wasn't us. The jump was made using mental control, not instrument control."
View of the hypertunnel from the Ares's bridge.
"That's right," Larrin looked at me. "But in any case, you did great, guys. Those off watch can rest. Inform the crew. Shift change in three hours."
The technicians exchanged glances. And one of them headed for the exit, simultaneously relaying the commander's order to the other eighteen people on board the Ares. Half of them would go rest, the others would remain at their battle stations in case of emergencies.
No, the reason wasn't that they didn't trust the ship's condition. It was procedure. A malfunction is easiest to fix if noticed in time, not when you need to jog a couple of minutes from the berthing to your post. Damage control in space is a peculiar thing for everyone.
"Come with me," I said to the girl. "Let's talk privately about how you'll proceed after you drop me off the ship."
"We'll talk in the mess hall," Larrin corrected me coldly when we had left the bridge and no one could hear us. "I don't get along so poorly with this ship that I need instructions in bed."
Turns out you can trip on an absolutely smooth deck.
* * *
The plan to attack the damaged Wraith Hive Ship was being implemented.
Ihaar, with the jumper carrying the necessary spare parts, reached the Ares, and the ship went into hyperspace.
Trebal took almost all the technicians, including the Taranian outpost crew, to bring the Hippaforalkus to maximum combat readiness. Even though the Nomads didn't damage it severely, they did damage it. Some problems were already fixed, others could only be fixed in atmosphere. Or in spacesuits, spending weeks crawling around the ship in Taranis orbit.
Atlantis was depopulated.
There weren't many people left in the medbay — a significant portion of the revived Ancients had volunteered to help with the ship repair. Except for security personnel and two shifts of technicians, the city was empty.
And that somehow scared Chaya, watching the monitor of her laptop.
She wasn't so easily frightened, but she hadn't expected to get information on her queries as quickly as she'd hoped. Was there a trap?
Anything was possible.
The information was scant; it seemed the Lantians had shown little serious interest in this object. Nothing beyond general survey and comparative work before colonization. However, everything was scanned in great detail, samples of flora and fauna obtained...
Yes, all very routine and not worth attention.
No wonder it happened just this way.
Chaya double-checked the similarity against the databases.
Studying the Wraith transport ship and cruiser had yielded much that was interesting for understanding their enemy. And its technologies...
It was strange for a physicist to look at the genetic alleles of a Wraith cruiser. From the remains of the transport starship, they also managed to extract samples of preserved tissue and conduct a comparative analysis. With a very, very intriguing constant.
Earlier, she thought the genetics of Wraith technologies and ships in particular should be uniform. Standard templates, like programming identical tools. Repeating well-proven patterns.
But in reality... Everything was extremely convoluted.
The transport ship and the Wraith cruiser had a common genetic predestination. The biological programming of the organic parts that allowed them to be what they are.
But that was all they had in common.
In what she would call the ship's DNA, besides the programmed theses and protocols for the growth and development of ships and their parts, there were very cunning and interesting DNA markers.
In the first case — having no matches with the Wraith databases available on Atlantis.
In the case of the Wraith cruiser... Yes, she had expected something like that, but didn't think the hypothesis would become an axiom.
The Wraith ships contained the DNA of the Wraith themselves.
Yes, the Wraith had copied the DNA recognition mechanism that gave control over complex technology from the Lantians. But they went even further.
Just as a programmer has their own style of writing code, and a builder, even adhering to plans, can create a more convenient algorithm for their work, the Wraith essentially "signed" their ships.
The Wraith cruiser had a piece of replicated DNA from Koschei in its DNA. But not so individual as to account for his distinguishing traits that made him a personality within their society.
Something common to a group of Wraith, but allowing them to distinguish from each other.
It took her three minutes of intense mental work to understand what it was. Identifiers.
To recognize their ships and determine their class and name, the Ancients used subspace transmitters, embedding identification data into the starships' programming. One touch of scanners was enough to distinguish between two outwardly similar ships like the Hippaforalkus and the Ares. Each ship's onboard computer would simply transmit its main program and say what it was.
With the Wraith... it was somewhat different.
Their society was customized, divided into small social groups, Hives. Membership in a Hive was determined by service to a specific Queen. And it was she who gave the DNA to grow new offspring.
But not only for soldiers, scientists, or commanders.
Chaya was almost certain that the Queens also participated in the process of creating Wraith ships. At least ships.
So that Hives could distinguish their ships from others, the Queens, at the embryonic stage, implant into the zygotes of future starships the part of DNA responsible for differentiating one Hive from another. Insects distinguish each other by the smell of secreted substances and pheromones, which differ from one "family" to another.
So too the Wraith...
This couldn't be a natural, evolutionary change, because the ships and technologies the Wraith create and use are products of bioengineering. Consequently, this genetic agent of their creation is recognized by their scanners, which work on the principle of sensory organs.
Amazing... Where the Ancients relied on technology and its development, the Wraith used biological, natural sensory organs, enhanced to the necessary, possibly the limits of their development level and energy supply parameters.
And they managed to defeat the Ancients...
Chaya thought for a moment.
What if Mikhail's guess was correct? Especially since it was based on a number of facts that were hard to interpret otherwise... The Wraith were not an accident, but a deliberate experiment that got out of control. As often happened with them... But then... The big question remained: who were the original test subjects for this terrible experiment? The Ancients themselves, volunteers from among them? Or naive people who didn't even suspect what they would become?
Chaya looked at a set of files, medical data from Koschei's scans and the results of numerous analyses taken from him. The answer was there. The most superficial, given the circumstances.
And yet very categorical, if you think that the natural Ancient gene shouldn't disappear in long-lived Wraith.
If they have it...
Chaya opened the file on decrypting Koschei's genome.
Despite the abundance of data dedicated to each allele, she looked at specific sections of code... The grafted Ancient gene might not survive the transition to future descendants. Most likely, this was genetic protection and manipulation that allowed the Lantians to maintain the faithfulness of the Lesser Races. With each generation, they performed genetic interventions, possibly enhancing their gene in new generations of the Lesser Races. They uploaded their knowledge, their language, philosophy directly into their heads... And rejected those who did not intend to follow their instructions.
This was a behavioral experiment based on reinforcing correct, from their point of view, behavior. And punishment for incorrect, that is, disagreement.
How many generations of Lesser Races needed to be run through their processing program and genetic transformations for them to become close to the Lantians? Only the Ytranci or the Asurans could answer that. Those who had been closest...
The question was something else.
In the genetics of the Wraiths, there was not a trace of them ever having the Ancient gene. Koschei was one of the first Wraiths, and if he had the grafted gene, it should have remained. But it wasn't there.
So he was a test subject among ordinary humans. Ordinary in every sense, including genetically.
Chaya accessed the genetic database of Atlantis. With Tribune Titus's access codes, it was simple enough.
In her head, a thought matured that had previously never concerned her at all.
She could not find a genetic template of the Lantians in the databases available to her. Neither a template nor blood samples of anyone from Atlantis. Everything was strictly classified. Did that mean only members of the Citadel Council knew what was happening?
Perhaps.
But Chaya obtained access to the DNA of the Ytranci. Then she compared it with what Trebal had. Then with her own. With Celise. With Fren. And, of course, with the decoded blood of Mikhail.
And she felt uneasy.
If we consider Mikhail as an improved version of a Lantian, then there is a large gap between him and the Ytranci. A genetic pit that could be called a couple of steps on one flight of stairs.
Well, more correctly speaking — about a dozen steps.
The difference between her and the Dorandans was a couple of steps. Well, except that on certain alleles the steps were slightly bigger...
But between Fren and Celise... An abyss. A huge genetic abyss between an Epheons, a representative of one of the genetically weakest factions of the Ancients, and a girl from the modern world. Even Chaya was genetically stronger than Fren.
As if someone had broken out several flights of stairs between the floors of one tower.
And the same gap, even more colossal, existed between the Ytranci and the Dorandans.
Chaya felt sick.
If races in the galaxy became Lesser, having reached a certain level of development, then... Of course, not all could become them at once. Evolution in different worlds happens differently.
Consequently, different races must be genetically like that ladder — the earlier they became acquainted with the Lantians through contact, the more developed the former were compared to the latter. The Ytranci and the Epheons are an example of such a difference.
Chaya delved into data on other Lesser Races.
But no matter how much she searched, she could not find anyone who was more qualitatively developed than the Dorandans. At the same level, or lower, but not higher.
At some period of time, did races in the galaxy suddenly stop evolving?
Sar accessed the medical bay database and obtained a DNA sample of Saya. Then, using her modulation program, which she used to calculate the consequences of genetic enhancement of Celise, she ran a model.
The result did not keep her waiting long.
If the Salumai had agreed to the demands of the Lantians, whatever they actually were, they would have stood a step or two above the Dorandans. Yes, the genetic examination of Saya was conducted immediately after she was brought to Atlantis, but Mikhail forbade initiating her.
A cyborg is not the kind of subject-object that can be given access to Ancient technologies. At least not now, while not everything is clear with her yet.
The Ancients waged war with the Wraiths. What difference does it make, one might ask, that some make cyborgs and others don't? The Lantians committed deeds far more terrible than the cybernetic research of the Salumai. A compromise could have been...
But it did not happen.
For what reason? Was it because the genetics-obsessed Salumai understood what the Lantians were really doing with their genetic manipulations and grafting of the Ancient gene? Was it for this reason that the Lantians disabled their gate? For a race that was into augmentation using wires and microchips, it would take a long time to figure out the crystalline technology of the Ancients...
Chaya felt devastated.
The Salumai could have become the missing step in the development and evolution of the Ancients in this galaxy. But they did not.
The question is, who else in the entire galaxy refused to follow the Lantians' directions? And what happened to them after that?
Chaya suspected that the answer lay precisely in these genetic chasms that separated individual races. On their own or with the help of the Wraiths, the Lantians simply destroyed those who were smart enough to understand their eugenic schemes.
Just as they had done with the Wraiths. Used them, and when they got out of control, decided to destroy them. And they would have done it if the Wraiths hadn't gone to ground and built up strength for the fight.
If she was right, if the Wraiths place collective responsibility on the Ancients for what the Lantians did many thousands of years ago, then this war will continue until one side of the conflict is exterminated.
And it clearly would not be humans.
The girl opened her initial information, ran her eyes over what was written. Then she made up her mind.
Setting up the blocking program did not take much time. She spent more time choosing the correct password for the one for whom this thread was meant to remain in case of unforeseen circumstances.
Closing her laptop, she headed to the control room.
"Prepare a free jumper for takeoff," she ordered the technician on duty. "In half an hour, I need it fully loaded with ammunition and rations for several days. I need to go to a remote planet."
"It will be done, Lady Sar," the technician replied in astonishment.
He had not often heard such orders from the head of Atlantis. What am I saying — for the first time!
Meanwhile, Chaya Sar headed to the Arsenal.
She needed answers.
And she had a guess where she could get them.