I opened my eyes with a guttural scream of excruciating pain that pierced every cell of my body. Around me was the same darkness, but now I felt I was on something absolutely freezing.
And in the process of my awakening, I jerked, fell from somewhere, but, thank God, managed to put my hands out in front of me. Otherwise I would have smashed my face on... on something hard. And just as freezing, making everything numb—palms, feet, torso, butt...
Jumping to my feet, I hugged myself with my arms, trying to warm up at least a little and understand what was happening at all. My hand habitually brushed over the old scar on my forearm... Wait a minute!
"However," I muttered, feeling the trace of the injury from the distant past. "Is this how it should be?"
It seems the Voice isn't planning to answer me. Or help. Fine, I agreed myself, no point relying on others.
True, right now I really wanted to understand exactly what I had signed up for. I hope not for walks in the nude across cold, immense expanses. On the other hand, if the Voice fulfilled his part of the deal... does it matter?
Around me reigned pitch darkness, through which absolutely nothing could be seen—as if my eyes had been poked out.
And silence. Not a rustle, not a creak, not a breath of breeze.
But there was also cold. Bitter, brutal. It was felt by every cell of the body—my teeth reacted especially characteristically to it, finding it very difficult to touch each other. It felt like I had fallen into a huge freezer—and the steam escaping from my mouth with each exhalation only completed the picture.
Standing in one place without moving is pointless. One could get sick that way. And considering the ambiguity of the situation—the idea of catching a cold in the middle of nowhere isn't the most pleasant one.
"Hey!" I felt something elongated, metallic in front of me with my hands. Seems like a table. I can bet that's exactly where I fell from. "Anyone here?"
My eyes were gradually getting used to the new sensations, and the contours of the objects surrounding me began to emerge in the darkness. On one hand, my soul felt lighter when I realized I wasn't in an open field with a bare a... But on the other... Something tells me I don't like cold dark rooms too much.
From what I could see, this is definitely a small room with fairly high ceilings. Several pieces of furniture arranged on the floor. And not the slightest hint of lighting. Or of whoever could have dragged me here. However, he didn't promise anything either. Neither help nor advice... Only that I would end up in a familiar place.
And a heap of problems on top.
Life has beaten me in all sorts of ways, but I don't recall such places in my past. Nor when I was in such good physical shape. Probably since the times of my youth and sports clubs. Then... there was no time for that.
"Fucking jokes," the swearing seemed to give me strength.
What is the eternal Russian question there? "What to do?". That's what I'd like to know too. But let's add the questions "Where am I?" and "What is happening?". They could have given at least some introductory data, instead of throwing me straight into the ice hole in the hope that I'll swim out.
Or is this such a perverted sense of humor in cotton-wool-like bitches?
Alright, Misha, don't wake trouble while all is quiet. But can't see sh... Can't see anything, basically.
So, how do the blind walk in our world? Slowly, step by step, step by step, oh, damn mandolin, it's cold! Wouldn't want to catch a cold in the little bird, because a snotty little bird in a dark room is dubious pleasure.
Okay, let's hope everything went according to plan. And I don't want to think about whose plan exactly.
From memory, I began to perform sets of exercises to limber up my muscles and warm up at least somehow. Except this led to consequences quite different from what I expected.
No, it did get warmer. And brighter.
The pitch darkness began to dissipate little by little. The cause was numerous lights scattered in the corners of the room. Resembling somewhat vertical columns, with a thickening in the middle, they had many glass lamps arranged in a row one above the other.
Hmm, something familiar.
Like the uniformly rusty color of the walls, with geometric figures over the paint. Elements of swamp-green painting also evoked a sense of déjà vu. Something was spinning in my memory... As if you know a word but don't remember how it's pronounced...
The ceiling, the walls—they seemed to radiate light from dozens of lighting fixtures of the most diverse shapes. As if sparing my eyes, the sunny-yellow light was in no hurry to fill the entire room at once. Instead, its intensity grew with every second.
For a moment, I had to squint to allow my pupils to get used to the change in illumination. Covering my face with my palms, I stood in the cold, shivering like an autumn leaf in the wind. And only after realizing that the light penetrated even through closed eyelids and the fingers of my palms, I slowly opened them, looking around.
"This is something new," I muttered, looking around. The temperature in the room had noticeably risen—despite the fact that it was still cold here, I felt the light warming my body. Like sun rays on a clear summer day. It seems the local builders aren't very familiar with energy-saving lamp technology...
It became light enough to look around and examine every detail. Even if it's still cold, I have no one to make excuses to... It seems I'm basically alone here.
Unless you count a couple of oval panels, whose pedestals with the harsh strokes of a perfectionist reminded of the laws of geometry. The backlighting of indicators on the panels, executed in lifeless white light, flooded control devices unfamiliar to me. Glass, plastic buttons, tiny regulators, more glass... hmm... things...
"Oh, how I don't like all this," I grumbled, no longer doubting what was happening.
No need to rub my eyes or pinch my arm—this setting is well known to me. It seems I misunderstood the Voice. Yes, he sent me to a known place. But in my past life, I personally had never been here.
Only looked at something similar from a TV and laptop screen, watching an old (twenty years have passed since the release of the last episode⁉) series about another adventure of Americans in the vast Universe in the name of all good against all bad.
Thinking for a couple of seconds, I slapped myself on the cheek with a backhand swing. Painful. Not sleeping, then.
"Well we reveled and marveled," I muttered. "Sobered up—shed tears. There was no mermaid, but ashamed before the catfish... Well, well, well..."
I was standing in the middle of an Ancient laboratory—the characteristic geometric pattern of the interior, familiar control panels. Even the pattern on the floor—all this pointed to only one place where I could be.
Atlantis. No, nonsense! Nonsense!
"I hope this is a very, very bad dream," I muttered, approaching closer to one of the panels. Lots of buttons, small touch screens, regulators, miniature switches... "Okay, I agree to heady pre-death hallucinations."
There remained the option that it's cold here because this isn't the lost city of the Ancients in the Pegasus galaxy, but an outpost of the same race, but on Mother Earth, in Antarctica... Such a version would explain the cold. And in the series, they didn't tell in detail what is there besides a few locations. Understandable that sets are expensive, but... That was a series!
No, seriously, is this not a prank?!
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed some sections of the walls surrounding me begin to move. It took a few seconds—and monitors started working in front of me, continuously covering themselves with the characteristic squiggles of the Ancient language.
What the hell is going on?! Is the complex, whatever it is, reacting to my movements? Is that why more and more equipment is turning on? So, did Ancient technology react similarly in the series? Seems so, to all humans... Or so it seemed.
Taking a step back, I bumped the lower part of my back into the edge of an Ancient laboratory table, the center of which—a snow-white surface with quirks of geometric figures—I strongly disliked. And the point isn't even that the device looks like a laboratory slide on which experimental biologists apply the substance being studied.
But that this thing... It's hard even to describe it... At the base something like a truncated polygonal pyramid, the surface... Oh to hell with it! What kind of shit is happening here?!
I may have watched something on this universe quite a long time ago, but I perfectly remember that the "classic popadanets" is not found there. And here... I am clearly in my own, but very well-developed body. And this at my age? With a sedentary job?
I rushed to the nearest dark screen on the wall. No, not to figure out the symbols of the Ancient language flickering on the matrix. I basically don't know how these symbols are translated and how they are deciphered. I remember there was even a translator on fan sites, written by one of the avid ones, but... No, seriously, learn a fictional language?
I'm afraid that's for Tolkienists. Or Klingon fans. Or someone else.
In the monitor, only one of its properties interested me—the reflective surface. Poorly, but I distinguished my appearance in it. No, really my own! A simple Slavic face with slightly protruding cheekbones and deep-set eyes, a high forehead, short crew cut... I haven't looked like this since the army!
"Brave new world," I muttered.
So.
I am somewhere in territory settled by the Ancients—not necessarily Atlantis or an Ancient outpost. It's just that those are the very first associations that come to mind.
I am in a young and strong, and most importantly, my own body.
And... Now to understand in what time relative to the universe's existence I have ended up. The very fact that I ended up in the invented television and book-comic universe of "Stargate" at all has to be accepted as a fact. Of course, the option remains that all this is an evil joke or the delirium of a dying man, but...
Marina... If the Voice kept his word, if she is alive and her life has become happy, is it worth reflecting? No, of course not. I myself agreed "without looking." So, aside with soul-searching, let's start figuring things out essentially.
First—need clothes, otherwise I'll freeze to death here.
Then—look around the area and understand exactly where I've ended up.
Third—realize not only where I am, but when. And in what, damn it, galaxy. Because if I've been thrown into some Ori galaxy...
Hmm... It would also be nice to understand if I have any Ancient features, like their gene that allows controlling their complex technologies, or telekinesis, or...
Wait, stop. Calm, only calm.
Answers to questions will wait for the solution of urgent tasks. Clothes, reconnaissance, getting answers...
Ah, to hell with it!
Seeing some thing standing on the console and not being part of it, I reached out my hand to it, concentrated as best I could, sending the universe my desire to pull the piece of glass to myself... No, didn't work.
Alright, didn't live as a Jedi, no point starting. Time to start searching this little room, maybe there's something I need here.
Already in the process of rummaging through corners, with careful detachment from anything that resembled any Ancient device, I caught myself thinking that there are several more options for what is happening to me. I dismissed them immediately, as I felt cold, and seemed to have gotten hungry...
But this laboratory table... It spoils the whole picture.
The thing is, in the series, Replicators were created on such an installation in the Pegasus galaxy. And these guys are humanoid machines consisting of nano-robots, nanites. With a full set of abilities from a crazy Skynet—desire to kill their masters, ability to program machines with one touch, passing through walls...
Maybe I'm a Replicator?
That would explain a lot...
Although, who am I lying to, what will that explain at all? How do I check it? Look, slapped myself, felt pain. And when I woke up, it hurt too. Means, conventionally, of course, I am still human. Really, who would program a robot for human feelings?
No, of course, one could organize a radical checking method, to be sure... Replicators don't bleed, and wounds in humanoid form or organic, but with nanites inside, heal faster than on a dog. But! Enough fooling around! Cut myself with some old piece of iron found by chance to see if blood flows? To hell with such thoughts!
It seems that from an excess of emotions, the porridge in my head is starting to burn. Too many questions, too few answers. Can't allow myself to ask questions that don't relate to my current situation. Globally, right now, undressed and weaponless, without understanding what's happening around, I can change nothing in my fate.
And, if there was no one here when I woke up, no one came to my screams (and detecting a stranger on one's territory in an Ancient lair is as easy as pie), then I should think less and do more. Either I am completely alone in the area, or they might come for me soon. After all, from the darkness and the equipment turning on, it becomes clear that this laboratory-room-compartment or whatever it is, was not currently being exploited by the owners... of wherever I might be. Hmm... Or maybe I'm in that part of the city which hasn't been found and searched by members of the expedition from Earth yet? That would be a number...
Or, I might not be with the Ancients at all, but with the Asurans, those same Replicators from the Pegasus galaxy. And they don't particularly like humans. And, in certain periods of time, simply hate them. So...
I slapped myself again. Worked like a shot to the temple—all thoughts completely left my head.
Right, enough! Time to stop this bargaining with myself. Saving a drowning man is the work of the drowning man himself. And I am the only one drowning in the abyss of the unknown here.
Rubbing my palms against each other more to occupy my head with some tasks than crazy ideas from the "What if⁉" series, I suddenly realized that it wasn't that cold around. Yes, the floor, of course, is icy and feet are freezing, but the air... Not the Sahara in the daytime, of course, but steam isn't coming from my mouth either.
And that means, whatever this place is, it adjusts to comfortable conditions for me. Life support system, I think such a thing is called. Good. Now if some six-legged metal spider brought food and drink... No, to the devil's grandmother with all these metal-spiders. In this universe, seeing such a creeping bastard is a sure way to croak.
Having finished inspecting the room, I realized that the entrance, which is also the exit, is the only one here. And to the side of the door plate, three vertically arranged crystals glow with bluish light. As soon as you run your hand over them, the automation will work and... Something will happen.
Good, but that's for later.
To begin with, finding nothing lying freely on the floor or devices, I came to the conclusion that in the walls there is something like lockers with small such windows. There is something inside them. But climbing in there isn't worth it yet—what if some alarm goes off?
Looking over the room, I stopped opposite one of the monitors, which, unlike the others, continued to remain unactivated. Black screen, without the slightest signs of text, schemes, desktop wallpapers... Broken equipment?
Except... There's something wrong with this monitor. More precisely, the opposite. It is of perfectly regular shape—a rectangle elongated vertically. But if you look at the other screens, they are in the form of hyperbolically broken parallelepipeds, rhombuses, squares with beveled corners...
And this one is of a familiar shape... Hmm... This buz-z-z is not without reason.
Serenely black nothingness, in the reflection of which I could discern my own face. Without any doubt—this is my face. And my body. If the Voice created me like this here, then... I assume he is from the Ancients. Or even more precisely, from that part of them that Ascended—rejected human bodies and became pure energy.
Only there are doubts—the Ascended don't meddle with people. On their plane of existence, they have a set of rules, what can and cannot be done. And such tricks... I doubt they are among the permitted ones.
Alright, that's all for later. But the thought that I communicated with an Ancient and he arranged this tour into the unknown for me doesn't add joy. As far as I remember, the Ascended only pull off direct interventions in human affairs when there is no other way out except the coming of total Armageddon.
Shivers ran down my back.
Something is definitely happening here! Not to say I'm terribly upset, I agreed myself after all, but still! An "introductory word" wouldn't have hurt me! It wouldn't have hurt at all!
Looking at my reflection, I noticed that something was happening on the screen meanwhile. Some flash of light in the pile of darkness to the right of where I was located illuminated for a moment a small area around itself and immediately disappeared, generating a huge bubble of air rising upward. Through the water column.
In that moment that the light flashed, I managed to discern in the distance, hundreds of meters from me, many tall buildings of the most varied shapes and configurations. Towers round, square, polygonal, inclined... located on a platform in the shape of a "snowflake." And I... I seem to be in the part next to the flooding one... part... part... of Atlantis.
And right here I was thrown into a heat. This isn't a monitor at all!
It's a window! A porthole, if you like. Assuming that Atlantis is still a ship. And it makes no difference—space or sea. This city has served in both capacities. And it didn't get any better from that—I had to take on faith that I really, somehow, ended up on Atlantis.
And right now what I saw is clearly air escaping from a flooding room! City under water! And it is sinking!
***
So, the answer to one question has already been obtained by the method of exclusion—most likely I am on Atlantis. At the time when it was slowly sinking to the ocean floor on an ocean planet in the Pegasus galaxy.
And... There are two pieces of news here. I won't say that at least one of them is unequivocally positive.
From memory, I could recall only one episode in the series when expedition members saw something similar—a flash of light outside the porthole-window and bubbles of escaping air.
The very, damn it, first! The very beginning of the history of Atlantis! The arrival of the expedition to the city!
Flash of light, air bubble—these are consequences of the shield holding back millions of tons of water failing. Because there is no energy—the city's "batteries" discharged during the time it was here.
There are two probabilities for the development of events.
Probability one, which happened before the intervention of time jumps and the assistance of one irrepressible Ancient. The city exhausted its energy reserves and sank. All expedition members drowned. Finita la commedia.
Probability two. Everything is the same, but at the last moment, the heroes used a "crutch" so fortunately placed in the form of a time machine, returned to the past, found a helper among the Ancients still living in the city, and he helped save the city. And at the moment when the expedition arrived, the shield discharged and everyone was already preparing to die, the engines fired, pushing the city to the surface. Without energy, without protection, Atlantis survived. And almost didn't suffer.
And I don't like either of the options. It's stupid to die, having received a chance for a new life in a city built by people who developed hundreds of millions of years before the appearance of Homo Sapiens. However, these very first people, the Ancients, are the creators of Homo...
Pressing against the window, I tried to discern in the darkness of the buildings at least some hints of the presence of people in the city. After all, in the first impulses, the expedition members occupied a fairly large space inside the central spire, which led to the automatic activation of many systems—including in the central spire. I seemed to be on one of the piers, since I managed to discern the huge hulk of the city's main building in the darkness to the side of me. And in the huge structure, there wasn't a single glowing window—which is physically impossible if someone were there. If there was at least someone in the city.
I have a suspicion that the absence of even the slightest lighting throughout the city is proof that the energy sources feeding Atlantis are on the verge of exhaustion. If the energy counter reaches zero... Honestly, I don't want to check that.
Need to get out. If everything is as sad as I think, then I should get to the central spire—the tallest building in the city—as quickly as possible and use a Puddle Jumper. The latter is such a small ship intended for... intended for a lot of things. But, the main thing is that it knows how to fly through Stargates. And those are such a big thing that...
Oh to hell with it!
Everything in order!
The inevitable has already happened—I'm in deep shit. And the faster I find a way to get out of it, the better.
For some reason, the Voice's words came to mind that "the others" were not as compliant as I was. Maybe there are more like me here. "Popadantsy" who have pissed everyone off to bloody snot. Except, judging by the silence and darkness in the city, I doubt it...
Alright, head works, hands do.
Turning to the previously discovered lockers, I began looting. Even if there is an alarm here, I frankly won't mind if someone comes to my aid. In such a situation, it just doesn't matter who it will be.
There were three in total. And, not tormented by pangs of conscience that I might be digging through the belongings of the deceased, I proceeded to inspect the shelves.
The search lasted about ten minutes, and I piled everything found on the surface of the laboratory table on which I woke up.
My first catch was clothes and footwear. Comfortable half-boots with a high shaft on... Not laces, not a zipper, not "velcro"... Something like self-tightening regulators. Smelled of "Back to the Future." Fine, not for me to choose.
Uniform of a milky color with gray and brown inserts, resembling a military tunic—trousers, underwear, jacket, t-shirt with short sleeves. If the Ancients have the same approaches to the arrangement of buttons on clothes, then I came across a male version. The absence of a fitted waist inspires optimism.
It seems there is justice in the universe after all.
Good, clothes and footwear are available. Hmm, even a semblance of socks. True, they remind of stretched football knee-highs, but, as in the case with underwear, once put on—they immediately fit the figure.
Comfortable.
As a bonus came a belt with a thigh holster and straps for attachment. Fits, I'm taking it. Would be desirable to test luck to the end and find a weapon.
This, male, of course, uniform is being referred to. Screenshot from the series "Stargate Atlantis"
Another acquisition was a spacious backpack made of soft but extremely dense material. Really reminds of a backpack—two straps, a handle for vertical carrying... Only, instead of the usual zipper—a magnetic one.
The outer side, shining in the light, felt like plastic to the touch, but I'd give an arm to cut off, it's harder than it seems. Memory helpfully suggested that such backpacks flashed in the series—during the evacuation from the city, some Ancients left with them through the gate. And, inside it, surely, there must be something interesting. Like an experienced marauder, I didn't keep myself waiting long, immediately studying the contents of the find.
Examining almost a hundred small briquettes, the size of a small chocolate bar, wrapped in transparent packaging resembling polyethylene, I didn't guess long about the purpose of these appetizing-looking products. Quickly tearing the packaging off one of them, I bit off a small piece. In small doses I won't get poisoned, and if it's nasty—I'll get rid of it.
Of course, the Ancients might store rat poison like this too... But, somehow I doubt that.
Yeah, something between children's play-doh and hematogen. Not tasty, but satisfied hunger. Waiting a few minutes—whether what was swallowed would cause gag reflexes or some other reaction of the organism—practically without chewing, I sent three pieces into my mouth. The Ancients built ships and devices that lasted at least tens of thousands of years. Let's hope their food has a similar shelf life. The stomach reacted favorably to the product, and feeling satiety, I proceeded to search the last locker.
Unlike the other two, this one was divided into two parts by a horizontal shelf. On the upper one, I discovered what instilled confidence in tomorrow in me. Although, who among us knows what it will be, tomorrow's bottom.
However, a futuristic-looking energy pistol cannot fail to please. I remember humanoid Replicators had such...
God, I watched this series twenty years ago! Yes, rewatched the most interesting episodes a couple of times, but I can't remember such things after so much time⁉ I had more important things in life to concentrate on the like... Marina, family, work, friends... Achievements and failures...
But I remember them somehow quite vaguely, as if it was so long ago... Something I don't like about this. But right now there is no time to dig into myself—I'll figure it out when I'm safe.
If, of course, I will be.
Energy pistol.
Somewhat... unusual layout of the weapon, and all these crystals instead of the usual barrel... Alright, these are details and a matter of habit. Most importantly, on the weapon, in the area where a firearm pistol has a slide frame and chamber, here is a scale with square indicators. And this scale, like the crystal-barrel, is not illuminated. Whether you take it in hand or not.
Broken? Discharged?
The pistol lay comfortably in the hand, and the soft trigger literally urged the finger to press it. But I had no plans to conduct shooting in a closed room. Therefore, the weapon went into the thigh holster and settled comfortably in it.
I'm not complaining, but this is already starting to scare. Somehow everything fits too well. Or am I just, from shock, looking for a black cat in a black room?
The question that had flashed—where does this thing get energy from—resolved itself. On the holster there were several small pockets in which rested a couple of small—size of a pinky phalanx—blue crystals in the form of tiny octagonal prisms.
And in the butt of the pistol, I saw just such a little nest... Coincidence? I don't think so.
Shoving the crystal to its destination, I grunted with satisfaction—the weapon made a pleasant sound and the required elements lit up. Once again overcame the desire to shoot as a test. Stopped myself only with the thought that the consequences might definitely not please me.
The last find for me was a device which in the series was nicknamed the "life signs detector." A small device in a semi-transparent white case resembling silicone, and a touch screen from frame to frame, with several buttons in the lower part of the case. Resembling a grotesque PDA due to its shape and size. But, actually, this is a very advanced compact computer. I remember with its help they searched for life signals, radiation, energy sources... Useful thing.
And also, it has one unvoiced function. Although, rather "it's not a feature, it's a bug." The thing is that the "life signs detector"—is one of those very complex Ancient devices that worked...
Another beep, barely distinguishable to the eye, and the black screen came to life, drawing before me several schematic lines, partitions and... a blinking white dot in the center.
One life signal.
Mine.
Without noticing it myself, I sighed with relief.
The scanner worked in the hands of those who had the Ancient Gene. Yes, the ancestors of humans protected their best devices from use by enemies and other clumsy monkeys, configuring them so that only someone with a certain genetic sequence, the Ancient Gene, could work with them. For the rest, such jokes are no more than a monument to another, more developed civilization.
However, this did not always save from the mischievous little hands of the series heroes.
This is what the "life signs detector" looks like, aka Ancient Scanner, aka Ancient PDA.
Picture from the series.
So, the dilemma with the gene was resolved in minutes.
Either I have the Ancient Gene, or specifically this device works without it. Which I strongly doubt.
They say there is a principle of balance in the universe—somewhere trouble awaits you, and somewhere pleasant surprises.
I hope my white streak hasn't ended. And I really don't want a black one to follow it, and the end of the zebra after that...
So, without losing a minute, I dressed in the found uniform, fastened the holster on my right thigh, threw the backpack over my back, and holding the "detector" in my left hand and the weapon in my right, headed for the exit.
A slight movement over the three vertically arranged crystals in the panel to the right of the door leaf—and here I am, already out in the corridor.
It stretched for many meters to the right and left of me, but estimating that the contours of the central spire I had seen were still to the right of my current location, I decisively headed in the chosen direction.
Despite the clothes, which turned out to be quite light but warm enough, the cold in the other rooms still made itself known. Leaving a decent distance behind me, wandering through corridors and floors, I felt that, contrary to the city mechanisms coming to life at my approach, hidden in the depths of the walls, floor, and ceiling, my ears, fingers, and nose were still freezing. Surely, the city was still "warming up," reacting to my appearance.
No sense sitting on my butt evenly and waiting for rescue. I think the Voice didn't send me here for nothing—obviously, there are some serious problems in the lost city of the Ancients. Any doubts that I'm on Atlantis? No, none. Any doubts that I'm alone in the city? Also no.
The convenient interface of the "detector," intuitively understandable, after several trials and errors, helped me orient in space. Besides detailed plan-schemes of the small space around me, with deft and characteristic movements of two fingers on the screen, I managed to change the display scale. And, reaching maximum zoom-out, I confirmed my theory that I woke up on one of the outer piers after all. And more precisely—on one of the "small" ones. They are "narrower" at the base than the "large" ones.
Plan of the city of Atlantis.
The PDA obediently gave me the city plan. But it's just a map, like a device blueprint on drawing paper. No interactivity. Or I don't know how to launch such a function.
Right now it doesn't matter—need to get to the central spire to get answers to my other questions.
Having marched a considerable distance along corridors and stairs, I stopped to catch my breath at a huge window. Strangely enough, outside the window, it had become "brighter." With the naked eye, I could see the contours of dozens of buildings. Some—even in detail. Those closer, quite distinctly.
View of Atlantis buildings underwater. Approximately like this.
Contorting myself, I looked through the window from bottom to top. As I assumed—through the water column, and a considerable one at that, faded rays of the local sun were falling on the city... M-m-m, no, still not the Sun, not the sun, but a star. That would be more correct.
Practically indistinguishable against the background of the darkness of ocean depths, somewhere there, above the highest point of the city, was the transparent film of the energy shield. The only thing separating the structure from thousands of tons of water and destructive force, before which even the Ancients and their miracles of construction are unable to stand. At least in the series they didn't stand.
After all, the city is several million years old. And even though it is essentially a hermetic spaceship, for complete drowning, a few breaches in one part, failed sensors locking flooding compartments in another, loosely pressed doors in a third are enough...
Testing luck to the very bottom on my own skin is not something I want to do.
Thousands of questions in my head, but they will all wait.
I am on Atlantis.
In the Pegasus galaxy.
Something is happening here.
And the Voice considered that I could help fix it. Well, or I shouldn't flatter myself—I was simply "pressed into service" as the most compliant. Although, I myself didn't play innocent for long. I had a chance to save my beloved—and I used it.
Do I regret it?
Not a bit.
If I had to—I'd do it again. And again, and again, and again.
Atlantis under water looks approximately like this. The art is beautiful, but not quite correct—there is no shield here.
Damn, nerves are shot. Need to be calmer. Or I won't last longer than I want.
Finishing the respite, I checked with the PDA and jogged toward the city's transport cabin.
Time to get to the central spire faster.
There is something... someone... who can give answers to my questions. At least I should try asking them and shine with erudition and foreknowledge. Or, in the end, I can just start threatening.```