The Jumper entered the atmosphere of the second and last planet in the Lantean system without much trouble. My fears that the ionized atmosphere (which the ship's scanners had warned about) might interfere with the communication systems were based on the fact that this was how it happened in the series.
But, in fact, things turned out a bit differently.
Yes, the ionization of the atmosphere was off the charts compared to Lantea. And yes, it indeed affected the stable operation of the Jumper's communication systems. While I had only those on board who weren't particularly well-versed in Ancient technology, I conducted some research.
"What is that?" Kiryk asked, spotting a blinking red dot on the virtual screen displaying a schematic of the planetary surface.
"A subspace transmitter operating on Wraith frequencies," I explained. Feeling my companions tense up, I added: "It's too weak to summon the nearest Wraith here. The ionized atmosphere weakens it so much that it doesn't propagate beyond this planet's low orbit."
"Otherwise, the Wraith would have arrived here already," Teyla realized.
"Exactly," I confirmed. "The other question is why they didn't discover their ship and the one who sent this message immediately when they attacked Atlantis."
"Good question," Kiryk agreed, pulling an Ermen pistol from his thigh holster and checking the ammunition in the magazine. The man walked into the aft compartment and began gearing up for the upcoming foray.
Like us, he didn't need the advantages of Ermen uniforms and body armor explained to him for long. Though, he didn't like the bulletproof vests and armor plates as much as the convenient tactical vests, pouches, and attached pockets, which he had packed to the brim with ammunition.
Мы вывезли с Эрмена достаточно большое количество оружия. And despite my expectation that it would be fairly uniform—one or two models for each type of firearm—it turned out not to be the case.
Weapon production in Alvar's civilization had flourished. A couple of state enterprises, small workshops engaged in small-batch production... It didn't quite tally with the idea of developing the economy of a planet whose population, even in its best years, likely hadn't exceeded the official population of Moscow in its prime.
But be that as it may, the Atlantis armories now held up to fifty different types and models of weapons. All that was missing were a couple of mortar batteries or multiple-launch rocket systems to form a separate assault battalion with attached heavy weaponry. Though, a couple of barrel-loaded cannons would have sufficed for me...
Except there weren't any.
How does the saying go? Supply follows demand? Well, in a galaxy inhabited by bloodthirsty Wraith, weapons are developed primarily to oppose them. Why create tanks, submarines, ballistic missiles, barrel artillery, or anything of the sort when the enemy has never had, and doesn't have, such weaponry?
What use is a tank or an IFV if a Wraith, flying over the "box" in a Dart, is able to whisk away the crew without blowing up the armor? What's the point of developing barrel or rocket artillery if the Wraith never attack in dense formations, never dig trenches, or turn houses into bunkers?
No, the Wraith have influenced the development of military affairs in the Pegasus galaxy quite significantly.
Small arms are needed because the enemy has plenty of infantry. And it can land on positions literally out of thin air, deployed by a Dart. Except it doesn't attack in waves, doesn't capture strongpoints, and so on.
Weapons are designed to counter the specific tactics of the enemy. And the Wraith, relying on their technological advantage, actually don't have that many strengths.
Their ships and the ability to conduct orbital bombardments can only be countered by one's own ships or guns capable of firing at orbital targets. The Ermen people only reached the point of creating fighters that were equally effective for combat both in the atmosphere and in near space. Logically, when based on spacecraft, they can serve as starship aviation.
But those are details.
The Wraith have plenty of infantry capable of withstanding a large number of wounds—which means large-caliber small arms and grenades are needed to destroy them. The Wraith don't act in large detachments, so the need for artillery and even mortars falls away. This approach justifies the extensive development of small arms and mine-explosive weaponry.
Realizing that their fighters were too few to repel a raid of even a hundred Darts, the Ermen people also emphasized the development of anti-aircraft artillery. But not in the field of high-speed automatic or semi-automatic cannons. I saw several damaged specimens—factually, they were something between Earth "Oerlikons" and large-caliber machine guns. Twenty-five-millimeter explosive rounds... Yes, a decent means of defense.
Alvar's people had only just begun developing man-portable air-defense systems, and they hadn't progressed beyond prototypes and small-batch production. In fact, Alvar had used the vast majority of what remained in the storehouse on Sudaria. Another fifty systems, very similar to American "Stingers" but the size of a "Mukha" grenade launcher, were unearthed and delivered to Atlantis.
As for the rest... Pistols, revolvers, assault rifles, battle rifles, sniper rifles, machine guns—both light and heavy—grenades... It would be a sin to complain, really. After all, the Ermen people followed the path of standardizing requirements and calibers for each type of weapon. A uniform appearance, as well as type and caliber for pistol, revolver (though these were mostly ceremonial and award weapons), rifle, machine gun, and anti-aircraft types.
So, rifle cartridges, for example, were equally useful and effective in Alvar's favorite "Ala-FAMAS" rifle and in the rifle Kiryk had taken a liking to, which resembled a product of the Swiss SIG Sauer concern.
Incidentally, the Ermen people didn't have a "pure" submachine gun as a weapon type. Not surprising, given that a single cartridge type was adopted for the assault rifle. Actually, their pistol wasn't just a pistol, but more of a submachine gun, or a pistol with an automatic fire function.
What was pleasing about Ermen-made weapons was their dimensions. Their "assault rifles" had the compactness of an assault rifle with a detachable stock and short barrels, yet they were equally effective for both medium-range and close-quarters combat. Of course, I personally wouldn't risk fighting with them in buildings, but as Alvar explained to me, that's what large-caliber (by my standards) pistols were created for. A large explosive round, excellent stopping power... What more do you need if you suddenly find yourself face-to-face with a regenerating Wraith? For Earthlings, for example, "standard" Berettas didn't handle the task at all. They could pump half or a whole magazine into a Wraith, and he still wouldn't fall... and wouldn't even stop.
But those were all details I didn't particularly delve into. For now, there was no reason to, as I was using an Ancient pulse blaster pistol. It perfectly turned a whole Wraith into a partial one at a distance of fifty meters. Yes, the fire rate was one shot per second, but with such destructive power... why would you need more?
What amused me was how similar the names of the Ermen weapons were to Earth ones. Alvar's FAMAS-like rifle was called the "Amas." And the one Kiryk chose was the "Alash." I was touched to the core by the fact that even here, people name weapons after their creator.
Kiryk explained his choice of the "Alash" by the fact that it felt quite good in the hand, was light, and compact. Yes, the magazine didn't hold forty-five rounds like the "Amas" preferred by Alvar, but only thirty. But this also increased the weight and handling of the weapon for him.
Teyla was of the same opinion after trying out the new assault rifle. By the way, the official name for this type is ARV. ARV "Amas," ARV "Alash"... Automatic Assault Rifle of such-and-such a model. And yes, no numbers for new generations or modifications—it was still the same rifle it had been. Or an entirely new one was created if the need arose.
Thus, for example, the "Amas" was a rifle of the previous generation—precisely because of its large mass when loaded, the excessive complexity of the design, and the large amount of metal in the body.
The "Alash" had replaced it, but it had never managed to completely displace the "Amas" from production. The army stayed with the former, while law enforcement and civilians favored the latter. And yes, perhaps the Ermen government was wise to allow the free circulation of weapons on the planet. After all, living in perpetual danger of a sudden raid disciplines people in the handling of weapons.
Indeed... and no frequent military attacks, robberies, and so on... unless Alvar was embellishing the stories about his homeland.
Kiryk's assault rifle, the "Alash."
In the events I knew, Earthlings preferred close-quarters combat, no more than a hundred meters. And for this, they used Belgian FN P90 submachine guns. I don't know why the Americans didn't impose their "best" automatic rifles, but such a weapon...
Perhaps I don't know much about conducting war against enemies from other planets, but... No, seriously! The "Belgian" has many merits, of course. But against the Wraith... The cartridge used by the "Belgian" has excellent penetrating properties, but...
Okay, I'm likely just nitpicking. It doesn't really matter to me now. To understand what Ermen weapons do to Wraith, I only need to recall the meeting with Alvar on Sudaria. He had chopped the Wraith into salad then. And that was with the "Amas," which is actually inferior to the "Alash" in terms of fire rate.
Things...
"Approaching the surface," I warned my companions. "The planet isn't one you'd want to return to. Sandy surface, sparse vegetation, dunes, plenty of open space. No signs of life detected."
"Are you sure a Wraith is present here?" Teyla specified, returning to the cockpit fully equipped. Glancing at her "Alash," I silently approved. The Athosian was the only one of my trio of "fighters" who always kept her weapon on safety outside of combat. Alvar and Kiryk preferred not to waste extra seconds before the start of a battle.
"Could the equipment be malfunctioning at such a distance?" Kiryk asked, sitting in the seat behind me. Hm, it seemed he was feeling better. Or perhaps the anticipation of a battle with a Wraith who had lived for over ten thousand years on this planet inspired him. "You said yourself there was interference."
"That was in the atmosphere," I reminded him. "We've already entered the lower layers of the atmosphere. The troposphere here is quite peculiar, about five kilometers from the surface, but there is far less interference here than in the stratosphere."
View of the landscapes of the second planet in the Lantean system.
"And did the Ancestors have a name for this world?" Teyla inquired.
"They weren't particularly interested in planets without Stargates," I explained. "And the technology of these devices itself doesn't allow for more than one to be installed in a solar system."
"Why?" Kiryk asked, interested.
"With close placement, the addresses of one gate overlap with another," I explained. "This is an almost irremediable 'glitch,' so when different gates are close to each other, you can dial the address of one planet but end up on another. Not the most pleasant surprise, actually."
But these were just my guesses. Whether it was so or not within a single star system, I could only guess. But within a single planet—yes, that is exactly what happens. Earthlings in the events I knew experienced this (as always) the hard way when, as a result of an accident, people were transferred from the gate Earthlings used to the one located in Antarctica, which had been installed by the Ancients millions of years ago.
But I think it wouldn't have been a great deal of trouble for the Ancients to place gates on every planet that interested them, even within a single star system. Provided, of course, that it didn't cause a certain paradox.
I'll have to talk to Chaya about this when I get a chance. Perhaps she knows the answer or can find a solution to such a problem, write some program or something like that.
"Since they had ships capable of traveling between the planets of a single star system, then yes, there is no great point in placing gates on every planet in the system," Kiryk unexpectedly approved of the Ancients' actions. "Have you already considered the version of building a backup base on this planet? Say, an underground shelter in case Atlantis falls?"
"And why would we need a base on a planet without a gate?" I asked.
"But if Atlantis falls, its gate will be lost too, won't it?" Kiryk specified.
And there, I had no counter.
The idea was actually not as superficial as it might have seemed at first glance. No, seriously, it was a brilliant idea!
If we could create a backup base here, and even equip it with a Stargate, secure it, then why not? And it wasn't even about creating a quiet spot for ourselves in case of Atlantis's destruction. This base and this planet could be used as a prison, for example, without worrying about prisoners escaping (you just don't leave a dialing device). And fly here, say, in a Jumper, where the dialing device is integrated into the ship's systems.
Or, this could be the laboratory outside of Atlantis that Chaya so desired. And we wouldn't have to spend fifteen hours on a flight between planets. Why, we wouldn't even have to tow the satellite from here to Lantea then!
In short, the idea was truly excellent.
Except there was a nuance.
By this point, the Jumper had already descended to an altitude of two hundred meters above the surface of the sandy planet.
"We don't have an interstellar ship that would allow us to deliver a new gate here," I explained. "To put one here, we'd have to take it from somewhere. And that clearly means another star system. We can't get there in a Jumper. Not in our lifetime, at least."
"Perhaps we might be able to make use of this ship?" Teyla asked, pointing to the landscape that had opened before our eyes. Extremely uncharacteristic for this planet.
"Boys and girls, I present to you a downed Wraith supply ship," I announced the identity of the colossus lying on the planet's surface. Only a small part of the ancient starship was visible; most of the ship was hidden under the sand. "It's been lying here for ten thousand years, shot down by the very satellite that Chaya and Alvar are repairing right now."
"And somewhere inside is a Wraith who hasn't died of hunger in all that time?" Kiryk specified. "I doubt that's possible. They are extremely resilient, but still dependent on food..."
The man trailed off, obviously catching the meaning of what I'd said.
"Usually, Wraith don't need supply ships," Emmagan said. "I have never heard of them ever using them. All their equipment is on the hive ships."
All, but not all. I wonder, does she really not suspect, or does she just not want to believe it?
"I think after the war with the Lanteans, the need for such ships vanished," I suggested. "Either they were all destroyed and no more were grown. For lack of need. After all, the siege of Atlantis was lifted, and there was no longer a need for food supplies for the blockade forces."
Downed Wraith supply ship. Frame from the series.
Teyla flinched.
"When you speak of food supplies, do you mean what I think you mean?" she asked quietly.
"Exactly," I nodded. "This ship was transporting humans to feed the tens of thousands of Wraith besieging Atlantis. Thousands upon thousands of people..."
"Feeding on them, the Wraith could survive," Kiryk said. "It would be foolish to attack such an object with only the three of us. They could set an ambush..."
I closed my eyes for a moment, activating certain Jumper systems.
"We're not planning to go inside," I explained the reason for the glowing lights racing toward the crashed ship. "We're going to knock on the front door and invite the Wraith out for a chat."
At that same moment, four of the Ancients' guided projectiles slammed into the upper part of the downed ship. Powerful explosions shook the entire structure down to its base. And they certainly woke up everyone who was sleeping there.
"I believe you said this would be a sabotage operation, a hunt," Kiryk reminded me. "And that implies following the prey covertly."
"Exactly so," I agreed, making the Jumper circle over the crashed Wraith ship without active cloaking. "But first, we lure the prey out of its lair and put it on the trail."
I noticed two interesting facts at once.
First—a red dot appeared on the Jumper's virtual screen. Directly in the remains of the crashed Wraith ship.
Second—Teyla fell silent and became more focused, as if she felt something invisible to us. Although, I already know what she's talking about.
And yes, both the events I noted were interconnected. A direct cause-and-effect relationship, if you will. I think Teyla will let us in on her little secret soon.
Well, if not, I have a backup plan for how to implement what I know about her and some representatives of her people without advertising my foreknowledge. One has to be more careful in such matters.
"Is that a Wraith?" the former Runner specified.
"One and the same. The sole survivor of the entire crew. And since we've awakened him, it's high time we directed him where he's needed most."
"Hunting the hunter?" Kiryk asked, interested.
"Exactly," I smirked, continuing to cut circles over the enemy's old starship.
* * *
Over the passing years, he had awakened from hibernation more than once.
The Wraith commander of the supply starship—one of many that provided feeding for his other brethren during the attack on Atlantis—broke free from the embrace of the stasis capsule. The barely functioning device had maintained his life for long centuries, millennia, which he had lost count of.
But never before had his awakening been linked to an attack on the wreckage of his ship. Some time ago, he would even have been concerned that such an incident might damage the cargo. Но the thousands of food storage chambers had long since been empty.
Just as his crew members were dead—the commander had fed on them and the transported human livestock throughout his long hibernation.
The surviving Wraith.
Through the breaches in the hull, damaged during the crash, he was able to see the reason why he had left the stasis capsule. A small Lantean starship was barraging over the wreckage as if searching for something.
The Wraith bared his teeth, feeling his blood begin to boil in anticipation of the upcoming feeding. The commander, grabbing a functional stunner pistol, rushed toward the exit of the crashed ship.
Hiding under a hanging projection of the ship, he discerned that the Lantean starship was heading toward a large dune half a kilometer from the crash site. Had they decided no one was here and so had gone in for a landing? Intending to inspect the starship?
Perhaps.
However, two circumstances were confusing. First—the sensation of a weak mental response from a fellow Wraith. Too weak, perhaps degenerate or dying. Second—Lantean ships could only be piloted by the Lanteans themselves or races they had assimilated. Like the Wraith, the Lanteans used a genetic lock for such complex technology, protecting it from use by other sentients.
The presence of a very weak Wraith piqued his interest. When his ship fell, Atlantis was under siege. The Lanteans could not possibly have won that war—they simply would not have had enough resources. But their ship was here.
Could it be that someone from his people had been able to capture such a ship? Perhaps. After all, thousands of years had passed.
He felt no other Wraith nearby, including in orbit. That meant no hive ship or cruiser was nearby. And no other brethren either. Then what were the ship and its intriguing passenger doing here?
For a moment, he thought the Lanteans had somehow managed to turn the tide of the war and now the Wraith were an extinct race. But he quickly dismissed that foolish thought from his head.
With giant strides, jumping over the sand rather than walking through it, the commander reached the crest of the dune and hid. A very interesting picture opened before him.
A Lantean shuttle with its ramp lowered. Two sets of tracks leading in different directions and disappearing beyond another dune. No sentries, no defensive structures. Why had the crew left? Perhaps the ship was damaged?
Looking closer, he saw that three sets of tracks were heading to his right, turning toward his downed ship. Had they gone to scout the wreckage? Perhaps. All the better.
Or, perhaps, an ambush had been set for him!? Perhaps. He would have done the same. But he felt the weak Wraith moving away.
He had to act.
But which of his guesses was correct, he didn't know. And guessing was pointless; he had to check everything personally.
Ensuring he could barely feel the presence of the weak Wraith within his mentality, the survivor stood up and rushed toward the ship. His stunner was ready to attack at the first hint of danger.
The survivor descended from his chosen dune in large leaps, steadily approaching the Lantean starship. When he closed to within fifty paces, he felt someone's presence inside the starship. And it was definitely not a Wraith.
A human voice. That meant he had to act quickly.
"It's good you fixed the main systems," the human seemed to be talking to someone in the cockpit. "What energy surplus are we getting from your generator?"
He didn't hear an answer—after all, the human was speaking on a personal communication device.
"So that should be enough to install shields, a cloaking or defensive field, and still connect the engines?" approval appeared in the voice of the young man standing in the cargo bay with his back to the open hatch of the Lantean ship. It seemed he hadn't expected to hear such a thing from his invisible interlocutor. It was unlikely he was talking about his own ship—it was beyond restoration. It turned out, something in orbit? Perhaps the very satellite that had shot down his ship thousands of years ago? Interesting. He should interrogate this sapling before drinking the life from him. "Excellent. That really is good news. As soon as we're finished with the Wraith ship on the surface, we'll return and fly to Atlantis."
Atlantis! The Lantean city-ship! It had survived!?
More questions than answers.
And the survivor already knew who would give him the information he needed.
Running, he pushed off from the loose soil half a dozen meters from the entrance hatch. Soaring into the air, he intended to perform his signature move—attack the enemy from above, knock him off his feet, and pin him with all his weight before drinking his life.
This would be the most magnificent feeding in all his years! He would taste a Lantean once more! This human inside an operating ship from Atlantis could be no one else...
Just as the survivor was imagining the sensation of euphoria from the feeding, he felt an impact. As if he had run full tilt into an invisible wall with his whole body. Pain flooded his torso, throwing him onto the sand.
For an instant, he saw a white-blue shield surrounding the Lantean ship before him.
Snarling, the survivor lunged forward, springing to his feet.
"Hello," the same young dark-haired man said with amusement in his voice. He was looking at the survivor without the slightest fear in his eyes. And he had a weapon in his hands.
The Wraith raised his stunner, firing at the energy field. Though not strong, the charge would weaken it. These ships didn't have such strong barriers; it would be possible to break through...
The weapon in the Lantean's hands spat fire and thunder.
At that same moment, the survivor's armor shrieked, catching a metal charge on its surface. Inertia threw the Wraith onto his back. Feeling pain in three or more places on his torso, he stood up as quickly as the first time.
"You won't kill me, punk!" he growled, moving out of the Lantean's line of fire. "I drank life from the Ancients! I fed on thousands of people and hundreds of my own crew members!"
"I know," the human walked out of the ship, but remained protected by the shield. "That's why I'm here."
The weapon in the human's hands clearly had nothing in common with an energy weapon. Because it vomited bits of metal that tore the survivor's flesh to pieces. But it wasn't the kind of pain that could stop him from fulfilling his own plan.
He lunged to the side, circling the ship in an arc. His stunner fired at the shield at its maximum rate, gradually draining it. He only needed fifty, maybe more charges, for the protection to collapse and give him access to the ship's interior. Without protection, this punk wouldn't be able to do anything to him!
The human, as he had expected, followed him, continuing to fire. But the surviving Wraith commander was too fast for his clumsy opponent. The bullets kicked up large fountains of sand behind him but caused virtually no harm. And how could they, for the lives of thousands of living beings were in his body? And that strength, though not long-lasting, was still present in him.
Running around the cockpit, the Wraith roared when his next shot splattered not on the shield but on the ship's hull. Through the viewport, he saw lights burning inside the Lantean small shuttle. That meant he could launch it even without the Lantean gene!
In one leap, the Wraith was on the ship's roof. Instead of running around the other side, he continued across the roof.
A burst of ammunition bit into his back, causing the survivor unimaginable pain. The force of the impacts tore his clothing and rendered the back of his armored cuirass useless. The Wraith went tumbling onto the sand.
But he fell luckily—near the wide-open entrance.
Prevailing over the pain, leaving his own healing to the mercy of regeneration, the surviving commander rushed inside the ship. He had been on such starships many times, so his hand fell habitually on the rear hatch lock button. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed huge bruises on his greenish skin—the spots where he had been wounded by the opponent's bullets.
But the damage was closing before his eyes.
Behind his back came the sound of the actuators lifting the ramp and sealing the small ship. The survivor, limping on a leg mangled and damaged in the fall, reached the cockpit. The instrument panel glowed with internal lighting... He lunged for the flight stick, intending to lift the ship into the air.
"R-A-A-A-A-A-A-A!!!" he roared in a hoarse bass the moment the control panel went dark before his nose.
The same surviving Wraith.
Powerless malice passed with the cry of impotence. He looked at the dead control panel once more, then heard the hatch unlocking mechanism start up behind him.
Rushing back to overwhelm the opponent, he spread his arms to seize him and knock him off his feet. Once they rolled on the sand, it would cost the Wraith nothing to tear the clothing on the Lantean's chest and begin feeding. First, he would restore his strength, then he would learn everything he wanted.
Before taking the human's last bit of life.
For the second time in the last five minutes, the survivor hit a wall. His face splattered against the white-green glow surrounding the mockingly smiling human. A punch to the face threw the Wraith away from the human.
"How!?" a bit slower than the first time, the survivor stood up, looking at the being with hatred.
"Magic, man, exists," the human answered. His weapon was back in his hands and thundered before the survivor could move aside.
Bullets riddled the survivor's body, tearing chunks of flesh from him. Collapsing onto the sand, the Wraith realized it wasn't his torso that had suffered. The human was shooting at his legs and had actually shattered both his shins. What remained and was slowly regenerating was unable to hold his body in a vertical position.
"I will get to you, human!" the Wraith assured him. "You won't kill me! My supply of strength is enormous!"
"Perhaps," the young man agreed, picking up the stunner pistol that had fallen from the survivor's hands. "But it was exactly for that supply that I decided to capture you, Koschei. I hope you don't mind the name? You have something in common—pallor, immortality..."
Gathering all his strength into a fist, the survivor lunged toward the human. But he flew aside when the butt of the Lantean's firearm smashed into his face. Rolling over, the Wraith, dubbed Koschei, bared his teeth and bolted away.
He just needed to hide behind the dune to...
Before the survivor could finish his thought, two more humans appeared on the crest of the dune from which he had watched the ship. A man and a woman, in whose hands were the same small arms as those of the owner of the small Atlantis transport ship.
Trying to attack them, Koschei caught several charges directly in the chest. His armor plates shrieked, but the pain throughout his body never allowed him to escape from here.
The light in the survivor's eyes went out.