"A few minutes and it will be ready," Chaya said, extracting a thin, barely noticeable crystalline needle from Teyla's vein.
The transparent vial, the size of a pinky finger and filled to the brim with the Athosian's venous blood, was carefully disconnected from the sampling device and placed into the receiving compartment of the Ancient computer. The Proculus woman secured a healing bandage over the puncture site, then moved to the device's control console. Her fingers began to flutter over the glowing panel.
"Do you think it will be possible to give me the gene Mikhail spoke of?" Teyla inquired, watching the Ancient's actions closely.
Though she claimed not to be particularly skilled in medicine, she acted with confidence.
"It is unlikely that this will succeed," Chaya admitted. "Genetic therapy, even in the best of times, did not bestow this gene upon every sentient being. And the response rate was extremely low. It was only generations later that it could be strengthened through a combination of genes of varying strength and intervention. I want to examine your blood to check something."
"Do you think I am ill with something?" Teyla worried.
"No," Chaya smiled. "I scanned you and Alvar on the very first day. Your health is quite satisfactory, given the development of your culture."
"Then why do this?" Emmagan continued to be curious.
"In the time the Ancients were absent from the galaxy, much has changed," the girl said. "Including the biomes of the planets you and Jensen visited. New microorganisms, diseases, and so on, unknown to the Lanteans, have emerged. I suspect you have suffered from some of them. If antibodies remain in your blood, it will allow me to develop medicines in case Mikhail or I become infected."
"I see," Teyla said. "My people would be glad for such help. Our healers try their best, but with machines like these..."
She looked with ill-concealed awe at the numerous Ancient devices arranged throughout the medical bay.
"Many lives could be saved."
"Likely," Chaya agreed after a moment's thought. "However, one should not deify our technology. They can do much that your doctors cannot, but not everything. I doubt there is a cure for all diseases. For example, despite their entire history, millions of years of evolution and technical progress, the Ancients were never able to conquer the common cold. It would seem to be the most ordinary of ailments, yet it is precisely what allows our organism to strengthen its defenses against harmful objects."
"Among my people, there is a legend that the Ancients could heal people simply by touching them," Teyla recalled.
"Yes, that is possible," Chaya confirmed. "However, for such a thing, one must develop their body and mind far beyond the state I or Mikhail possess. Perhaps one day we will approach the Lanteans, but..."
She gave a strained smile, looking at the Athosian.
"Not today. And not tomorrow."
"The main thing is not to give up," Teyla smiled diplomatically.
For a while the girls were silent, after which Emmagan inquired: "Are there disagreements between you and Mikhail?"
Chaya, staring continuously at the monitor, froze for a moment, looking away as if trying to find the words for an answer. Then she looked at the Athosian and nodded in confirmation of the correctness of her guess.
"You do not like that he does not share his secrets with you?" Teyla suggested.
Chaya did not answer, pursing her lips and looking at her hands. It was unlikely she was interested in them specifically, but... it seemed she was simply uncomfortable and the Ancient was searching for the right words.
"I can keep secrets," Teyla assured her. "Especially since I know myself how much one sometimes needs someone to talk to."
"It is not about Mikhail himself," Chaya said, looking at her. "I do not remember what happened to me when I was Ascended, but the memory of living in a human body remains. And I remember well who I was and what I did. There are actions for which I am very ashamed, of which I am not proud. And I also know that Mikhail behaves exactly like a typical Lantean toward assimilated peoples. He places his plans at the forefront and gives orders. I fear that everything will repeat itself—and we will only learn the truth when it is too late."
"I do not think scandals can fix anything," Chaya said. "One could just sit down and discuss everything in private..."
The Ancient looked at her with a skeptical gaze.
"Or," Teyla sighed, "one should accept as a given that men in no community like to talk about their affairs."
"And the higher a man's position, the less he wants to share his plans with subordinates," Chaya sighed. "Sometimes we are nothing more than service personnel to them."
"I would not say Mikhail treats us like servants," Chaya countered. "He is not a paragon of virtue, of course, but he is no tyrant."
"Perhaps," Chaya smiled thinly. "But I think once he learns something about his genetics, he will drastically reconsider his attitude toward us."
"Is he ill with something?"
"If an immense ego and conceit can be called an illness, then I think he is at a nearly terminal stage," Chaya admitted. "You see... the gene for activating Ancient technology was not devised for no reason. It is a special part of our blood that many Lanteans and peoples close to them inherit from generation to generation. Though our descendants call all peoples close to the Lanteans 'Ancients' or 'Ancestors,' there is a great difference between us. Primarily in that the Lanteans were and remain the titular race of Ancients in the Pegasus Galaxy. All those who joined them..."
"Were slaves?" Teyla gasped in horror.
"No, heaven forbid," Chaya was taken aback. "The primary ideology of the Ancients is freedom of choice and the consequences that choice entails. But, shall we say... the Lanteans were not in a hurry to introduce the races they assimilated to all their knowledge. Yes, they revealed the secrets of the universe to us, but only those we could understand and grasp. Some races perished at the hands of the Wraith, never having managed to cope with the realization of even that basis. Of other races, like mine for example, only some understood the value of the gift granted to us. We sought to grasp Ancient knowledge in its entirety. But when it came to certain categories of knowledge, the Lanteans refused to reveal those secrets. They said we were too young for that."
"Was that knowledge dangerous?" Teyla clarified.
"Much of it—more than you think," the Ancient admitted.
"Perhaps they were doing the right thing after all?" Emmagan asked. "We, though not as developed as the Ancients, still do not give our children knives even for cutting meat until they understand how dangerous those objects are. Some understand it at a young age, some even as youths treat our warnings lightheartedly."
"They explained their decisions in much the same way," the Ancient smiled. "But not everyone understood and accepted their warnings. This led to significant problems within the Ancient community. And we, the younger peoples, saw that problems could have been avoided, but the Lanteans were in no hurry to listen to our ideas. In the end, almost all the younger races perished in the war with the Wraith, and the Lanteans themselves left this galaxy. Do you think Mikhail is just as deaf to reason and your advice as the other Lanteans?"
"Furthermore," Chaya sighed. "Genetically he is more Ancient than I am. The strength of his gene corresponds to a good value for one among the Lanteans. And I fear that this will play a cruel joke on him. Therefore, I do not want to tell him that he can interact with Ancient technology better than I can."
"Why? You said that the better the interaction, the easier it is to control. Is that not a good thing?"
"You see, a strong Ancient gene is a blessing in itself. Because it grants access to connection through the neural interfaces of the most complex Lantean equipment. For example, control over the command chair, or mental commands of the shuttles. He can do this with just a fleeting thought. Whereas I require concentration and attentiveness. Where he can do several things simultaneously using that same chair—for example, adjust shield parameters, control engines, weapons, hyperdrive systems, or lockout individual parts of the city—I would only be able to do one thing, maybe a couple of things. Yes, of course, I can turn on systems using the good old buttons on control panels, but... it is not quite the same as control by power of thought."
"So, in some areas he is stronger than you, and in others you surpass him," Teyla understood. "And you feel that he will refuse your help if he learns what is really happening?"
"The chance is there," Chaya admitted. "And I fear that in that case he will make an irreparable mistake. You know, I and several of my colleagues from the Younger Ancients even developed a theory that the quality of the Ancient gene affected brain chemistry as well. Because of that, the Lanteans were not as farsighted as they should have been."
"And you decided that Mikhail would be just as nearsighted," Teyla gasped.
"Yes."
"So, you decided that it would be right to protect him from this knowledge so he doesn't do anything foolish?"
The Athosian smiled bashfully, looking into Chaya's eyes. The Ancient nodded affirmatively, examining the images on her screen.
"It seems you were condemning the other Lanteans for this just recently," Emmagan innocently noted the flaw in the Proculus woman's logic.
"But I am doing it out of good intentions!" Chaya countered.
"Just as we on Athos protect our children from dangers," Teyla agreed. "But... could you not have thought that the Lanteans were doing exactly the same to you for the same reasons?"
"I did, of course, we spoke of it..."
"But you condemn their behavior and not your own," Teyla spread her hands. "You are angry with Mikhail that he does not share his plans with you. But... perhaps he does not see the same from you, and therefore is cautious?"
The Proculus woman froze, drawing her eyebrows toward the bridge of her nose, then looked at the Athosian in bewilderment. Teyla, in her usual manner, gave a conciliatory smile.
"Among our people, we say: 'Do not point a finger at one who looks the same as you,'" she shared an old Athosian wisdom. "You want to protect him from mistakes, he wants to help us all... I think you just need to tell each other of your hidden thoughts and concerns. On Athos, such talks and joint meditations help avoid family conflicts."
"I doubt he knows even one meditation pose," the Ancient suddenly grumbled. "He would likely just fall asleep as soon as he tried to achieve harmony of mind and spirit."
"Is it worth condemning him when you have not even begun?" Emmagan asked. "Try it; surely it is worth it."
Chaya was distracted by an audio signal coming from her laptop.
"The Gate has activated," the Ancient said. "Mikhail and Alvar are returning. It seems they found what they were looking for."
"I think we should meet them?" Teyla suggested.
"Your blood analysis is not yet complete," Chaya said.
She looked toward another computer, then spoke.
"And besides, data has come in from the scout drone I sent to the satellite... I need to study all this before informing the others..."
"Running from a problem and a conversation is not the same as solving it," Teyla prompted. "If the garden is not plowed in the warm season, then by the cold it will be too late to grieve for the ruined harvest."
"You know," Chaya stepped away from the computer and held her chin high. "I am not haughty like the Lanteans. And I am not arrogant like them. I will go and talk to him. Honestly and openly!"
"That's the spirit," Teyla approved.
"But," the Ancient returned to her computer, assuming an expression of concentration on her face, "tomorrow."
Chuckling, Emmagan stepped up to her companion and took her by the arm.
"Do not force me to remind you that the Ancients had many problems because of an unwillingness to listen to the younger peoples," she said, pulling Chaya lightly toward the exit.
"I shouldn't have told you about that," Chaya grumbled.
"On the contrary," Teyla smiled radiantly. "You are taking steps on a path different from the one the Lanteans walked. Perhaps on our path there will not be the mistakes they made?"
"I certainly hope so," Chaya darkened.
After arriving at Atlantis, two questions arose in my mind at once.
First: why was it necessary to meet us in the Gate Room if, in the end, we still went to the lab to connect the probe to the scanners?
Second: and just what did the girls talk about during our absence that made Chaya stop pretending I didn't exist?
One way or another, the probe we delivered—which, as I recalled, contained the knowledge of an entire alien race—turned out not to be so simple to connect to the Ancient computer. It needed time.
Actually, time was also needed to connect the server-like hard drives that Alvar and I had extracted and also delivered to Atlantis. Yes, the first run for weapons turned into us delivering a large amount of informational goods. True, rifles and ammunition were brought as well, but only a few crates. Two, to be precise. The others simply wouldn't fit in the Puddle Jumper.
Sitting and waiting while Chaya figured out the connection of the information sources would be foolish. Therefore, the most obvious solution would be to continue what had been started. But here, surprise surprise, it wasn't without initiative.
"The gathering on Athos is coming to an end," Teyla reminded us. "Chaya has already found a suitable planet for us that is safe."
"The scout drone provided such data," the Ancient clarified. "But it is unable to assess everything. I left it in orbit; it is scanning the planet. In all that time there has been no sign of the gate opening. A study of the dialing device indicates that the gate has not been used for at least a thousand years. No traces of settlements have been found, so you will likely be the first to settle on it in a long time."
"The Wraith might have forgotten about this planet for a time," Alvar said. "But that does not mean they face no threat in the new world. It would be better if I taught several people to handle rifles."
"That would help us protect ourselves in case of a threat," Teyla picked up.
"And the unlooted depots on your planet should just stay there?" I clarified with the Runner.
"You have a ship, you have free time," he shrugged. "I think if you try hard enough, you can fly to the storage right in the Jumper. It will be easier to load everything that way."
Teyla and Alvar took a crate of rifles with them, as well as ten magazines for each. The training of recruits on Athos was about to begin, yes.
So, everyone has particularly important things to do; only I am free as an asteroid falling on the heads of dinosaurs. But as it turned out, it wasn't quite that simple.
By my estimates, the Jumper could only fly into the tunnel with its engines retracted into the hull. That is, in the state it is in while parked or passing through the gate. And the ship cannot remain in that position for a long time—the automation won't allow it.
Therefore, from time to time one would still have to "spread the wings" to charge the anti-gravity cushion. Or whatever it is that allows the Jumper to fly in that position. I think corridor intersections will do for that; there's significantly more room there than in the tunnels themselves.
One way or another, even the thorniest path through the corridors to the storehouses is better than directly dragging dozens of weapons on one's back. Fortunately, Alvar dispelled my doubts regarding the explosiveness of the grenade and mine storage method. The locals made them of high quality, so there was no need to worry about corrosion or the tricks of physics.
Well, since we've decided to empty the storehouses on this planet, there's no need to worry about cloaking the complex. A couple of drones were enough to destroy the camouflaged entrance to the tunnel. Then, it was just a matter of technique—turning the Jumper stern-first and backing in. As foolish as that might sound. The main thing is not to say it aloud.
Had the ship not possessed a sufficiently advanced piloting system responding to mental commands, I fear that without rearview mirrors I wouldn't have been able to navigate the tunnels with surgical precision. Even so, I was practically skimming the walls on the turns.
Jensen explained to me how to find the other depots—they were located just a kilometer apart along the course of the tunnels. Estimating from the map of the complex compiled using the Jumper's scanners, I realized there were about fifty depots in total. Well, I hope Teyla and Alvar don't shirk their work as loaders long enough to help me.
Already on the second independent trip, I abandoned the method of loading weapons in crates. Even with Alvar, we hauled the weapons as follows: first we took a crate of automatic rifles, removed the inserts for careful storage of rifles and pistols, poured either loaded magazines or loose ammunition in to fill the empty space, after which we placed the crates in the Jumper's cargo compartment. The information carriers were stored in the cockpit then, but now I had no time for these logistical games.
I must say, the weapon manufacturers on Jensen's homeworld were quite inventive regarding safety. I realized this when I decided to scan the grenades and mines to ensure their safety. Generally, the mechanism is standard—a casing, explosive material inside it, with a detonator threaded through the center, set in motion by pulling a pin. A safety lever allowed for a delay, but checking exactly how long was not in my plans for now.
The highlight of the design was that inside, between the explosive and the detonator, there was a dielectric material that disintegrated only upon activation of the detonator. In fact, without pulling the pin completely, the dielectric could not be pulled either. That was why Jensen was calm about the safety.
However, I decided to test the dielectric's resistance to impacts and falls another time.
The dielectric itself was something like silicone—it was also used to protect the primers of rounds not loaded into magazines and clips at the depot. All this did the dead people credit—they were truly prepared for their weapons to lie for a long time and be used decades later.
There was little metal in the automatic rifles, pistols, and other small arms—only the key elements. The frame, forend, stock, grip, even the magazines, sights, adjustment screws, and attachments for accessories—everything was made of dielectric polymer. So strong that even a local knife wouldn't leave scratches or nicks without great effort.
An interesting material. The more I get to know the products of local industry, the more respect they command. Yes, there's a guess that neither they nor their ancestors reached this on their own, but still! This is colossal progress. I'll need to test this polymer for resistance to energy weapons later. If the test results are attractive, this material could be applied everywhere.
Otherwise, the sanity of the builders of Atlantis raises major questions for me. The thing is, the load-bearing structures of the city-ship, its foundation, are created from several types of metals. But the skyscrapers... their frames and floors are from something similar to the reinforced concrete I saw. Yes, lighter than metal of similar thickness and density, yes, the strength corresponds to the tasks at hand, as does the airtightness, but... no one has canceled metal fatigue.
Atlantis is several million years old. Yes, it was rebuilt and repaired, but... for the last ten thousand years, the metal foundation has supported a mass of millions of tons. It's no wonder that in some places the metal structures have simply yielded and deformed.
But these are all distant plans that are unlikely to be realized in a lifetime. Therefore, the priority was specifically the supply of the city and its inhabitants with everything the dead civilization could share with us.
First and foremost, I was interested in small arms and cold steel. Chaya inquired about the reason for such a choice when I delivered the fourth Jumper filled to the brim with weapons and ammunition. I generously scattered the latter among the lockers, each of which held an entire crate; I unloaded the automatic rifles and pistols, piling them directly on top of the lockers, the cargo bay floor, and the pilot's cockpit, hanging them by their included straps on the backs of the seats.
"We have pulse blasters," Chaya noted when I delivered the next batch of weapons to Atlantis.
On that note, by the way, all the small arms in that storehouse were finished. But it was still too early to relax—ahead were the neighboring storage rooms with uniforms, footwear, gear, medical preparations, and so on. If I can, I'll even haul a dynamo machine out of there. We have no need for it, of course, but the Athosians could use it. Put one in the middle of a settlement, dig in a dozen poles around the perimeter, run wiring, plug in borrowed lightbulbs—and voila, comfort. Not to mention that Jensen's kinsmen have equivalents of our diesel generators. True, barrels of fuel will also need to be delivered. And there are about a hundred of those barrels—I glanced into the room where they were stored. Each is about two hundred liters; many of those can't be moved at once. Not to mention that there are no loaders there. Only through one's own muscular strength.
"Yes, we do," I agreed, eyeing the next Jumper I would take to the ruins.
Logically, I could barely feel my muscles after loading the previous four Jumpers. And I didn't want to unload them at all. At least as long as there were flyable and empty machines.
"But throughout the city, in those areas we visited, we found only about a dozen. And even then, half will need servicing and repair. We have a supply of power crystals for them, and in battle they are destructive and lethal. It's just that I think the Wraith will have no problem detecting a connection between their dead soldiers, who will have scorched holes in their bodies, and Lantean weapons. We shouldn't highlight our presence in the galaxy even more than has already happened."
On the fifth run, I transported the entire supply of uniforms, ammunition, and other gear from that storehouse to Atlantis. Including coils with a couple of kilometers of that same wire that saved Alvar from a life as a Runner.
What can I say? Now at least we have a huge size range of boots, very similar to combat boots, but from fabrics and polymer that can withstand a knife strike. In these you definitely won't puncture your foot with a rusty nail while walking through the ashes.
I understand what Jensen was talking about when he asked about camouflage. There were about ten types of it in that storehouse—very similar to Earth versions not only in the formation of patterns but even in coloring. There were also solid-colored sets—black, dark gray, gray, dark green, and other colors. Without insignia, but with places for attaching patches and chevrons. True, not the Velcro I'm familiar with, but more like adhesive backings on sheets of soundproofing: peel off the protective layer and stick whatever you want.
For interest's sake, I tried sticking a scabbard case to a couple of attachment points... after half an hour I couldn't tear it off the formerly sticky spot. And I tried as hard as I could. It's just that I don't think they're for that, as such adhesive spots are scattered across the camouflage from torso to legs. They were present, besides the uniforms, on almost every element of gear or protection.
Helmets, backpacks with a frame that doesn't cause discomfort to the back, ballistic goggles with a relatively good tinting effect and night vision, pouches, web gear, knee, elbow, and shoulder protection, polymer body armor... I doubt the latter will protect against Wraith stunners, but who's stopping us from checking if the opportunity arises? Preferably by acquiring Wraith weapons without the Wraith themselves.
However, small tests showed that at close and medium range, the protective elements hold large-caliber bullets fired by the Ermen armorers. I have no particular desire to test the blunt force trauma on myself, but I think the camouflage suits themselves have a layer of porous but resilient material for a reason.
At first, the armor elements, pouches, and patch pockets caused bewilderment because if they had fastening and adjustment straps at all, they were only in a single instance. And then I realized that the adhesive spots are suspiciously close to the installation points of the additional elements. And everything fell into place—the spots are for fastening, and the straps are for adjusting the fit to the body parts.
I don't understand why the inhabitants of Ermen used polymer so little in their protection, but I suspect that, though broad in application, it is still not cheap. And covering a fighter from head to toe in armor is a certain kind of logic. On the other hand, all vital areas are covered.
The presence of such a uniform pleased me significantly. I immediately found myself a full set and equipped it according to my own discretion and understanding. And it's quite well designed, I must say. Comfortable, doesn't restrict movement, fairly light... I suspect this wonder-polymer, which Ermenian armorers used for making weapons and protection, would have been very well-received in the domestic armed forces.
And what couldn't fail to please me were the quite familiar zippers, pockets, and pouches with snap buttons. No futuristic magnetic fasteners or zippers similar in technology for you. Simple, cheap, effective, and most importantly for supplying an army—quite cheap to produce.
Yes, I didn't give up the personal shield, hiding it in the chest pocket of the gray-blue suit I chose for everyday wear. One thought—and the shield activates, sticking to the fabric and pressing against my body. Convenient, damn it: not to be lost in a closed pocket, and can always be used, always "at hand," so to speak.
I smiled when I dug out a kind of balaclava from a stretchy fabric material in one of the gear crates. It's unlikely to save from a bullet or a knife, but for preventing identification, wind, sand, and dust—it's perfectly suitable. "Mask shows" of the Pegasus Galaxy, it seems, are familiar. Or will become so in time.
My changing of clothes nearly cost me my life when, on the fifth run, I returned to the Jumper hangar, threw open the rear hatch, and headed through the piles of all the most necessary things toward the ship's exit, when I saw Chaya. The girl was rummaging through the contents of my previous Jumper, looking with interest at a handgun. Loaded with a magazine already, by the way.
My appearance in full combat gear led to unexpected consequences. I had only to step out of the shadows and call her, realizing that the membrane fabric of the balaclava distorted my voice, when a shot thundered.
In my past life, it happened a couple of times that bullets hit my body armor. I got away with broken ribs and bruises.
But there's a nuance.
The caliber of the Ermen armorers' rounds is ten millimeters, almost machine gun size. At the same time, the bullets are of different shapes, but having seen what they turn into after hitting a target, I have no desire to encounter them.
Expansion bullets, which increase significantly in diameter after hitting a target, are not what you want to test on yourself. Even if you have body armor made of super-strong polymer of alien manufacture. I think the Wraith, possessing enviable regeneration, also wouldn't particularly want to feel metal "roses" inside themselves.
"Subspace interference, Mikhail!"
Chaya's frightened face appeared over me, pulling the helmet and balaclava from my head.
"Why did you dress up like that!?"
Blinking a couple of times, I realized that I was actually lying on the hangar floor. And just a few seconds ago I was standing quite firmly on my feet. My chest hurt so much that I couldn't immediately draw a breath. Thanks to the Proculus woman lifting my head, I looked at the breastplate. Not punctured, but I must admit, the polymer failed the test for "uber-strong" material. The plate in the heart area, where the bullet hit, was covered in cracks, but did not lose its overall shape.
"Lie still, I'll scan you," Chaya pulled out an Ancient scanner from somewhere, snatched a thin white glowing strip connected to the main part by a transparent wire from the back wall, and began to pass it over me—from head to toe.
As for me, I not only lacked the words to comment on the situation, but even my thoughts had flown somewhere.
"A minor bruise," she said with a sigh of relief, helping me sit up. "Why did you put this on? I didn't recognize you out of your usual attire!"
"You're lucky I don't shoot when you change clothes," I said with a cough. "You're supposed to be in the lab! Analyzing data!"
"Almost finished; only the conversion remains," Chaya helped me to my feet. "No dizziness? Double vision? Pain in the back of the head?"
"No, I'm fine," taking a step to the side, I almost collapsed, but the girl caught me by the arm in time. "I take it for reconciliation, you just need to shoot me..."
"Primate!" Chaya winced.
Yes, calling a person a "primate" or "primitive" in the Ancient environment is considered an insult. Actually, even on Earth you can get punched in the face for suggesting your interlocutor is an ape. What an intellectual insult... Darwin would have appreciated it.
"And what if I had shot you in the head?"
"Then I would have brainstormed in the context of the consequences," leaning against the Jumper's entry hatch, I spent a few seconds coming to my senses.
Unpleasant sensations—like being hit in the chest with a sledgehammer. Unhooking the breastplate, I unzipped the jacket, looked around... well, there'll be a hell of a bruise, but no fractures. Basically a quite normal ratio of defensive and offensive technologies. If only the plates didn't shatter...
However, I don't think the inhabitants of Ermen thought they would use the weapons against their own. It's quite likely that these armored vests perfectly hold shots from firearms of smaller calibers. Well, and Wraith weapons don't kill anyway—puncturing food only spoils it.
"I am very sorry," Chaya said. "You could have warned me..."
"I'm warning you," I said honestly. "For the next test, you put on the armored vest. And I'll take a rifle. A sniper one. It seems to have a larger caliber bullet."
"Is that a joke?"
"Put on the armor and step back," I advised, zipping up the jacket.
Nothing, I'll live. Turning the plate over, I saw that the crack only went through the outer layer. The inner one was completely intact; there wasn't even an indentation at the impact point. Wonders, though. Considering that the local population of Pegasus predominantly has either bows and crossbows or firearms of about 5–6 millimeters caliber, I think the protection against natives is of excellent quality.
"I am very sorry that happened," Chaya repeated. "I came here to fly to Ermen with you."
"Decided to help in loading medical supplies and canned food?" I was surprised, starting toward the next unloaded Jumper in line.
Those were the goals I set for subsequent runs. Chaya followed as a silent shadow. Right up until I advised her to change into clothes more suitable for climbing through ruins. The girl, obviously still upset over her actions, silently ran into the just-parked Jumper. I went into a new one.
"Well, I don't have a couple of hours of waiting for the selection of combat boots to match eye color," I sighed, starting the ship after a couple of minutes of waiting.
Not that I particularly thought of taking her with me, I just tried to estimate if I had enough strength for a couple more runs. I suspect that for today it'll be enough, therefore, it's time to seal the hatch...
"Thanks for waiting," Chaya dropped into the navigator's seat.
Dressed in the same gray-blue uniform, in combat boots—laced up, moreover, and not just tied through the two middle loops—she "zipped" the jacket zipper, fastening it all the way to her neck.
"Sometimes we should go somewhere together."
"You should put the pistol aside," I advised.
Somehow my plan to use the personal shield in a moment of danger didn't quite pan out—I didn't even have time to think about it.
"I have put it on safety," the girl assured me at the moment I finished dialing the Ermen gate address and lowered the ship to the gate level. "You need not worry—Teyla and Alvar reported they are staying on Athos until tomorrow. The gate shield will activate automatically as soon as we leave."
"And did you definitely turn everything off?" I asked, still not understanding why she had tagged along. "The iron, the curling iron, the epilator, the alien probe..."
"Why are you asking this question?" Chaya asked.
"Well, I wouldn't want to return in a couple of hours to a burnt house..."
"I have thought of everything," the girl assured me a second before we flew into the gate's puddle.
After we slipped out on the other side, I directed the ship along the familiar route.
"Tell me," I requested. "Is there news of our finds?"
"A little," Chaya admitted, clearly pleased that we had moved on to talking about important things. "The probe you brought belongs to the Sekkari race. They are one of the few silicon-based life forms in Pegasus. Unfortunately, they perished about forty thousand years ago—there isn't even exact information about them in the Atlantis database."
"Sekkari?" I repeated. "Not Sithari?"
"No, the translation is accurate," it seems my memory failed me in the details. "The Lanteans were in contact with them, exchanged knowledge, proposed an alliance. But the Sekkari were isolationists. And as stated in the database, 'our paths of understanding the Universe were similar, but differed in methods and goals, which made joint research impossible.'"
"The Lanteans killed them?"
"No, of course not. They were simply forgotten. The Lanteans only learned that the Sekkari had become extinct during the war with the Wraith, when one of the ships retreated to their planet. It turned out that their experiments made the planet uninhabitable, due to which the race perished. But, as I understand it, they constructed these probes to seed other worlds."
"Why did they not use the Stargate to leave the planet?" I grew interested.
"There is no mention of them in the database at all. I suspect that there could not have been a Stargate on their planet at all—therefore the Ancients did not discover the Sekkari at the beginning of their journey."
As an option. The hypothesis is no worse than any other.
"And starships?"
"Unfortunately, they did not master interstellar travel. Likely they were only interested in near space and their own world. There are no details, and it's unlikely we will ever know the particulars."
"Well, why not? I recall that in the probe there is all the information about this race, as well as an artificial intelligence," I remembered.
"Oh," Chaya exclaimed. "Again your knowledge from the future?"
"Again it," I confirmed. "So what about this data and the artificial intelligence? I recall it was quite advanced."
"On the data carriers from Ermen, I found curious information," Chaya continued. "The forefathers of Jensen's people discovered the probe and over several generations managed to gain access to its information. This allowed them to make a qualitative technological leap in various fields. But at that time the Wraith were already active in the galaxy. The race was almost completely destroyed, as were the objects of their achievements."
"But they hid their work in the catacombs."
"And then the knowledge vaults were discovered by Alvar's direct ancestors," Chaya continued. "I think they were descendants of the miraculously surviving representatives of the preceding human civilization. Because they quite quickly figured out the information from the vault."
"Developed, prepared, but later the Wraith came," I lowered the Jumper into the crater and began a turn. "The Wheel of Fortune turned again. But, don't you find that they received somewhat too little knowledge from the encyclopedia of an entire race that even the Ancients were interested in?"
"They extracted from the probe all they could," Chaya said sadly. "At the same time, they damaged a significant part of the data, including the artificial intelligence. I found traces of repair attempts inside the probe, however..."
"They only made it worse?" I clarified, backing the Jumper into the tunnel stern-first.
"Yes. The forefathers of Alvar's people only received scraps of knowledge but used them. Then their descendants came and used their own developments."
"So we have the full database of Jensen's people?" I inquired.
"That is exactly why I am here," Chaya admitted. "A significant part of the data is damaged and can no longer be restored. But some hard drives still contain interesting data that we can use for our purposes. However... I still hope that there are other information vaults—at least the records state that the Ermenians fragmented their knowledge into specialized databases, which they dispersed throughout the catacombs. I found a mention of standard distribution schemes for such vaults. In each city there was one main and about ten secondary data vaults. They were divided by specialized purpose—aviation, weapons, industry, power, and so on. I don't think we'll find much new or anything at all. The Ermenians never managed to create data storage resistant to external influences. Either two or three thousand years have already passed... their chronicles are quite fragmentary. But I think if we find even other 'broken' databases of the preceding civilization, we will be able to restore more data. Including the historical chronicle."
"Wait," I interrupted the girl. "Are you saying the servers were created not by Jensen's compatriots but by a preceding version of the Ermenians?"
"Yes," Chaya said. "Jensen's kinsmen and direct ancestors only used that data. They understood something, developed something themselves. But they never managed to achieve superiority over their predecessors—those were exploring space in full force, even managed to build an interstellar state from their colonies and allies throughout Pegasus. But the Wraith woke up and destroyed those who represented a danger to them..."
Something clicked in my head.
An interstellar state of colonies and allies. It sounded very, very familiar. It seemed someone was parodying the Ancients.
And on the other hand, from whom else to take an example? From the people who surpassed you in everything, of course. And the Ancients here are clearly beyond competition.
"We need to inquire with Teyla if among her acquaintances or trade partners there are those who heard anything about this Ermenian confederation," I suggested. "I think the Wraith wouldn't have been able to destroy them all. Someone, perhaps, survived, or hid well. Since they had an interstellar confederation, then likely such servers might be on other planets as well."
"Perhaps," Chaya agreed. "However, I'm not particularly hoping for that. I am more interested in the local mechanisms and remnants of technology."
"For what purpose?"
"When you said that using firearms would be the best way to mask our Lantean origin, I thought that our scout drones are also a 'signature,'" Chaya explained at the moment the Jumper reached the fork.
I was finally able to deploy the engines and let the anti-grav recharge with energy.
"Actually, yes," I agreed after a moment's thought. "So far the Wraith have nothing concrete. Only a single case that can be written off as an accident. But if Lantean-design probes are flying through the gate, then it's high time to think about a new crusade to Atlantis. And from there it's not far to the full awakening of all Wraith in the galaxy."
"That is why I would like to assemble several scout drone equivalents from local technology," Chaya explained. "Also for the purpose of masking our affiliation. Lantean-made drones are too effective and too valuable to expend in this manner. With their help I can do much more for Atlantis directly in our home system."
Sending Lantean probes on missions, one way or another, you can run into the Wraith and get back scrap metal. Or get nothing back except a breach of cover. And while Lantean technology is to be pitied, the local stuff...
"Excellent idea," I agreed. "But we'll need a fair amount of local scrap metal to come up with anything worthwhile."
"Agreed. But first of all we need to look on this planet for databases on power generation. I found mentions of a compact reactor that could help us significantly."
"A ZPM equivalent?" I asked with doubt.
"No," Chaya shook her head. "It doesn't even come close. But it can help us start the Satellite."
"How?"
"I sent one scout drone to inspect it. The Wraith did not destroy the satellite because it represented no danger to them. During the assault they damaged the generator—the drone recorded that it is literally melted. However, thanks to the energy buffering technology, any even slightly powerful energy source, for example, a nuclear reactor, if it is a compact size, can power the satellite. I have several thoughts on how to rebuild it and make it more effective. But the problem is that it is far from Lantea, and we have no other power sources except for a single battery."
"ZPM," I prompted. "Let's call it that?"
"And what will change?" Chaya asked. "ZPM, battery, zero-point energy extraction device..."
"ZPEED," I put the first letters together. "No, let's better call it ZPM. It sounds more authoritative. Besides, the word battery gives me associations with heating radiators from my world."
"It makes no difference to me," Chaya shrugged.
"You're suspiciously benevolent," I doubted. "Did Teyla definitely not bite you?"
"...How can that even be connected?" Chaya wondered. "The qualities of one living being cannot affect another upon a bite. My physiology is more developed than hers, so my genetics dominate in the case of a conflict..."
"Shall I tell you the story of how several Ancients were bitten by Iratus bugs, and they turned into Wraith many years later?" I suggested, lowering the Jumper next to the entrance of the corridor with the things we were interested in.
"Thank you," Chaya laughed softly. "After such stories it will be difficult for me to fall asleep. Especially if you describe in all details the process of the bugs absorbing the genetic features of humans and the evolutionary changes of the Iratus bugs into the Wraith."
It seemed she had softened toward me after all. A wonderful chance to mend relations with an Ancient who had a tendency to take offense at someone else's lack of candor.
Eh, supposedly a higher race, and yet here are such human snot levels of "primates." It's a good thing we're not a couple, otherwise she'd be jealous of Teyla and that's it, goodbye Athosians.
Lowering the Jumper's ramp, I thought. Earth women, in retaliation against their men, hit their cars, burned them, drew obscenities, threw out things, and performed other small wonders. And what will a jealous Ancient do? Blow up the star system the ex lives in? Arrange a supervolcano eruption under his new flame's feet? Drop an asteroid on the planet? Collapse a star into a black hole?
"Mikhail," Chaya's puzzled voice came from the cockpit. "Life detector..."
Before the ramp lowered completely, I already understood what she wanted to tell me. Rushing to the tiny control panel, I pressed the key for the emergency closing of the bulkhead separating the pilot's and cargo compartments of the Jumper.
Figures hiding in the shadows of the corridor noticed my movements and opened fire. Dazzling shots rang out, and I was thrown back.
And after that—darkness.