I had to work up quite a sweat to get Kirik on board the Aurora. And "work up a sweat" in the literal sense of the word. By the time the former fugitive's feet touched the ship's floor, a lot of time had passed. And with it, precious oxygen was leaking away, not to mention the energy in the suit.
It took us almost an hour to reach the ship's auxiliary control center, hidden deep in the starship's bowels and closer to the stern. We had to strain our already exhausted bodies to pry open every bulkhead on board the ship and continue our journey. All the way to the next bulkhead. The only saving grace was that the starship is a finite location. And the ship's map allowed us to take the shortest and most intact route.
By the time we reached the Aurora's auxiliary control center, we were literally collapsing. Because, damn it, the ship reacted with some sixth sense to the fact that humans had arrived on board. Living, real humans, and even with the Ancient gene. Well, why should they float in weightlessness, saving their strength as they move through the ship? Let me turn on the gravity for them! At half-strength! Well, so that flying would be problematic and running wouldn't be too fast.
Fine, that's just grumbling. The presence of even some gravity allowed us to move through the corridors quickly enough. If only this magnificent and unprecedentedly helpful ship would start the life support systems itself... But no, the Aurora knew the difference between helpfulness and servility.
The auxiliary control center was not much different from what I had seen in the show.
A room without portholes, displays and consoles built into the walls, several control panels in the center of the room... And a massive door, more like the wall of a bunker built to survive a nuclear bombardment.
Overall, it very much resembled the room with the stasis chamber on Atlantis. Throw out the control terminals, put a chamber with a prisoner here—and it would be identical.
As soon as we crossed the threshold, the lighting fixtures came on, and the control panels and monitors slowly began to come to life. The ship was beginning to wake up, reacting to the presence of the right person in the right place at the right time.
"Can you handle it?" Kirik asked as I removed one of the panels from the main console and connected my scanner to it.
"One minute," I requested.
The device came to life. The translation programs uploaded by Chaya were sent into the ship's depths. The onboard computer accepted them without the slightest problem.
And then the lights went out, and the panels shut down.
Bitch...
"If this is a joke, it's a bad one," Kirik approached me. "Did you break something?"
"I don't think so."
"Mikhail, our people are out there!" Kirik pointed toward the deactivated Hippaphoralkus. "They'll run out of oxygen soon and..."
"Yes, and so will we!" I exploded. "Except they have a whole ship full of air, and we only have a limited reserve! So, why don't you keep your opinion to yourself while I try to save our lives!"
As if in mockery or in confirmation of my point, the auxiliary bridge came back to life, glowing with instrument backlighting and monitor screens. Only this time, the inscriptions on the screens were translated into my native language.
Mentally thanking Chaya once again, I approached one of the panels responsible for the ship's life support systems and... This console was responsible for a good hundred different systems. For example, for controlling bulkheads in case of decompression. Temperature on board, oxygen content and other gases on board, lighting throughout the ship, armored shutters on the portholes, temperature of liquids, including drinking water, hygiene... Oh, I don't care!
What do I care about the composition of the aerosol used for cleaning the crew's bodies, or the liquid recycling system? Yes, everything in the best traditions of science fiction—liquids coming out of the crew were processed into what that same crew then drank. Or washed with... Honestly, I don't want to know about it.
Obeying my will, the armored door of the ship's auxiliary control center closed, sealing us in and cutting us off from the rest of the ship. Kirik was already prepared to shoot (well yeah, ricochets are such a minor thing, really!), but seeing my sign that everything was fine, he relaxed.
"Let there be air," I said, activating the Aurora's life support systems. For the first time in ten thousand years, one could breathe with their own lungs on board the ship.
Thanks to the translator, finding the necessary systems didn't prove to be a big problem. Much worse was the fact that the ship showed me a diagram of its beloved self. In terms of damage.
Yes, I had assumed that only the inner sections survived. And, thank God, they were all interconnected. The problem was that a third of the crew was in the damaged compartments. And getting them out of there would be, if not a major problem, then a very serious one.
"Can we take off the suits?" Kirik asked warily.
Before answering him, I checked the information first with the ship's systems, then with the handheld scanner. An old onboard computer on a damaged battleship could still make a mistake, but my device—never.
The Aurora was indeed quite quickly adapting its rooms to make it comfortable for a human to be inside.
"Yes," I clicked the fastener under my throat, depressurizing the suit. Lifting the helmet slightly, I was ready to snap it back at any second if I heard the hiss of air leaving the suit... But no. The onboard computer had indeed pumped the necessary breathing mixture into the auxiliary control center. And it wasn't even that cold anymore—warmth was noticeably wafting from the ceiling. Well, yeah, the Ancients, like Americans, don't have radiators or anything like that. They have a ventilation system that circulates air and the required temperature through the rooms.
Anyway, what the hell difference does it make? It's not absolute zero here, and it's not even Oymyakon. And not even those vaunted "minus two hundred and seventy" that I remember should be in a vacuum. The ship spent ten thousand years in a state of minimal power consumption, the life support system wasn't working... In a vacuum, of course, there is no medium that would cool or heat in familiar criteria, but... Damn it!
Only now did it occur to me that I hadn't seen snow or a crust of ice on any part of the ship. In theory, over such a time, many changes should have occurred here... But there are none. Either more tricks of the Ancient systems, or I just know physics too poorly. I bet it's the second.
Fine, that's not the most important thing right now.
And it's not even the question of how oxygen is generated on the ship if it was vented into open space after the crew went into stasis pods. Yes, that's right. The Aurora didn't pump the oxygen out of the rooms into special tanks or anything like that. It just opened the compartments from bow to stern and threw out all the air. As well as all the liquids from its tanks.
An old saying flashed in my head: "Vacuum is the ideal thermos." It seems I just wasn't interested enough in the secrets of space to authoritatively state that some terrible sorcery is happening on board.
If I dig through my memory, in the events I know, humans never found Ancient technology frozen in the middle of space. I think it wasn't just saving on props.
One can also remember how humans showed up at an Ancient outpost buried under solidified magma. It was completely impossible to breathe inside, but as soon as all the systems were started—the suffocating gases were immediately replaced by a breathable atmosphere. Technology of another, more advanced civilization at its best, so to speak.
"Cold," Kirik's teeth chattered after he got rid of the helmet.
"It takes time for the ship to restore comfortable conditions for humans," I explained, checking the indicators. "It's minus five now. In a minute, it will be twenty degrees throughout the ship."
Cool, though... I think on Earth, one could be showered with gold for such a life support system. Except... Why the hell should I even think about Earth? Or measure by old criteria?
Well, I assumed that everything is relatively fine on Earth. Suppose I even give them this stump of a warship. And... what next? Will they make me some kind of prince? A king? Give me all the money on the planet?
It sounds "tasty," but... why the hell do I need all that? I have, damn it, a spaceship (well, one and a half), a city-ship, and a completely different level of needs and criteria for evaluating utility.
Shaking my head, I threw out the empty thoughts.
At the same time, I freed myself from my suit and set it aside. It might still come in handy.
"We need to contact our ship," Kirik said.
"As if I don't know," shaking my head, I approached another console, checking the indicators that interested me. "The Hippaphoralkus is de-energized. Every single system. Even if we wanted to, we couldn't contact them. The only way to help them is to fix the transporter."
Auxiliary control center of Aurora-class battleships and their ilk.
"What about the plan with the Jumpers in the hangar?" Kirik asked.
"As before, it remains a last resort," I replied. "The integrity of the sections inside it is compromised. To get there, we'll have to break through several doors whose control mechanisms are damaged. Immediately after that, decompression of the hangar and the entire Aurora will begin. When we were getting here, we pried open quite a few good doors. And a couple of them," I pointed to the bulkheads blinking red, which could be used to trace our path to the bridge, "we did break."
"A couple?" Kirik clarified.
"Well, a dozen," I sighed. "Due to the malfunction of the locking mechanisms in the compartment through which we entered, several decks had to be cut off to prevent decompression."
"So that the escaping air doesn't move the Aurora?"
"I doubt even the ruins of the ship can be moved so easily," I admitted. "But it's better not to study astrophysics by the method of trial and error. We don't have that many spare parts to fix what's broken. So it's better not to break anything else unnecessarily. And yes, oxygen should also be valued."
"Can't the ship create an atmosphere in the required volumes itself?" Kirik was surprised. "Chaya said it's simple work for ship systems."
"With a functional power system—yes," I confirmed, continuing to read what was written on the screen. A logbook is an engaging thing. Especially if you read from the end to the beginning. But out of thousands of entries, I was interested in only a few hundred. "But the problem is precisely that the Aurora is powered by the remains of its ZPM's energy. The generators are damaged and not functioning. So, we don't have time to enjoy the local scenery and appreciate the classic Lantean interior."
Matching the ship's plan with the one I already had, I mapped out a path to the transporter booth. I'll have to cross half the ship because it's located in the central part. And in terms of size, it's no bigger than that little room on Atlantis.
I wonder, how many trips did the crew members take to get here? A hundred or two?
If I interpreted the data on the number of people in the crew correctly, there are five hundred of them on the Aurora. According to the complement. According to the stasis pods used—a little over three hundred. What happened to the rest—died in battle, during the journey, or the starship went on a raid with an incomplete crew—remains a mystery for now.
One way or another, three hundred and twenty Ancients are three hundred and twenty Ancients. Not two and a half Atlanteans anymore.
The suits, of course, we left at the auxiliary control center. Carrying them with us would be foolishness—the ship, at least the sections we were to work in, had full integrity. So, if we don't have to take a walk into open space, then everything is fine.
And now to the details I found out while the ship was restoring the required temperature, atmosphere quality, humidity, and other settings vital for the crew's functionality in its compartments.
The Aurora, despite all its damage, is not going to fall apart. Thanks to the builders.
The starship took damage while escaping the Wraith. They were able to complete their mission and jumped into hyperspace. But it turned out that the ship's destruction was too great. Therefore, to avoid dying from the deadly radiation emitted by the damaged hyperdrive, it was decided to send the ship on a sub-light journey. The crew went into stasis pods, contacted Atlantis, and requested help.
But there's a catch. The ship's course lay in an area where there aren't many Stargates nearby. The Aurora was directed in such a way that it would arrive at the nearest planet with a gate, where repairmen from Atlantis were supposed to be waiting for it in a hundred years. And... only a short time later, the Lanteans left the galaxy. And they didn't give a damn about their brethren.
To finally make my brain explode, it's enough to understand the fact that it was from Atlantis that the signal was sent that deactivated the ship's systems, except for the stasis pods. Apparently, they made sure the starship didn't fall into the hands of the Wraith. And the ZPM on it, presumably. And the fact that more than three hundred people were in a death trap...
Holy hell, I just don't have the words to explain all this politely even to myself. And, most importantly, without the desire to drag the Ascended by their energy genitals. They simply abandoned their kin to die slowly! Exactly to die!
Because if there was any plan for a triumphant return to Atlantis, the Ancients clearly didn't implement it.
For God's sake! None of the Ascended even thought about saving their comrades! They simply placed the big, thick rules of Ascension over everything that was happening!
And yet, from what Chaya told me and what I knew myself, to Ascend, you don't necessarily have to strain yourself. From the higher planes of existence, they can simply extend a "hand of friendship," provide "brotherly help," and all that. I'm sure that even nine, eight, or a few thousand years ago, it was certainly possible to defrost and Ascend them all.
No words, only emotions. Although... I should stop being surprised by something like this. These are the Ancients, after all... "Everyone has the right to choose, and we cannot interfere." Spit and rub on such a philosophy.
I don't even want to think about it anymore. I need to distract my head with more tactically important information.
The ship is not capable of intergalactic travel because it has (like the Hippaphoralkus, by the way) only an interstellar drive installed. But, I remember from the show, converting them is not a problem.
The starship has an arsenal for self-guided projectiles—the Ancients' main weapon. But the crew fired every last drone in their final battle with the Wraith.
There is indeed little energy in the ZPM—at most half a percent or something close to that. In the categories of the ZPM that Atlantis possesses, these are tears. In the categories of the energy of the rest of the galaxy—this module will be enough to power an entire planet... for a while.
From the logbook, it's clear that the starship received a secret mission from the High Council of Atlantis. The documents don't say exactly what they were tasked with, but I know that anyway: to discover weaknesses in Wraith technology. And in the show, it was said that this information is capable of turning the tide of the entire war. Tasty, give me more.
But the data is encrypted with the ship captain's code, and hacking such protection without Chaya or clever hacking programs is completely impossible. But I think if we revive the captain, we'll be able to reach an agreement. Not that I desired to start exterminating the Wraith right now. But sooner or later, we will definitely clash in a life-and-death struggle. And that will become a big problem. For us. The Wraith don't care if they all die except one. He will be happy that there are more humans left for him to feed on.
How, where, and in what way the crew collected such valuable information is also not clear—there is no information about this in the logbook. I don't think, of course, that they tracked the Wraith and dissected them somewhere in a local dungeon until they revealed their most terrible secrets. I suspect that somewhere in the galaxy there is something like a secret laboratory or a tracking center that collected this information. And the Aurora was just the courier that delivered it.
It's just not clear why the starship was sent for such secrets when Atlantis was already under the waters of the Lantean ocean. Why not earlier? Why the Aurora specifically? Were there no ships more combat-ready and capable? In the end, they could have stripped the Aurora for parts and restored the Hippaphoralkus! They wouldn't have had to break through the entire Wraith fleet blocking Lantea!
It seems the Ancients never looked for easy ways.
After all, it's so great to create problems for yourself out of thin air, and then heroically overcome them. And not overcome them, shamefully fleeing to Earth and leaving an entire galaxy of people to be torn apart by the Wraith.
By the way, studying the ship's logbook gave me another indirect confirmation of what I already suspected: Atlantis is capable of receiving starships on its piers. For the Aurora took off from "Atlantis Pier Number Two." I suspect we're talking about one of the "large" piers; the other three don't inspire confidence and are built up very, very densely. But the "large" ones have a cavity in the central part, very much fitting the dimensions of the ship in shape. Or very close to them.
Or my imagination is running wild.
Something else is important.
This ship is not only a source of valuable specialists but also rich in the most valuable information. If only it hasn't become obsolete by ten thousand years, otherwise it will be inconvenient.
"Look!" Kirik grabbed my arm, stopping in the middle of the corridor. I was so deep in thought that I didn't notice we had almost arrived. "Are these the stasis pods you were talking about?"
For a second, I was still floating in my thoughts, after which I looked in the direction he pointed.
"Exactly," the answer made Kirik huff and approach the structure protruding from the wall without much fear. "They allow human bodies to be preserved by slowing down the life processes in them to an absolute minimum."
Somewhat resembling a highly technological Alien egg, the stasis pod on the Aurora was a horizontal platform built into the wall. And there were dozens of rows of them—to the very ceiling of the corridor. And they are by no means small here. I don't know why the Ancients built corridors and compartments three to four meters high, but I think when you don't have to worry about saving space on ships, cramming a useful mechanism into every corner, you can afford comfort even on a research ship.
Stasis pods on board the Aurora.
According to the beginning of the logbook, the Aurora was precisely a research starship. The flagship of its series. And its tasks, like those of its classmates, included exploring the darkest corners of the Pegasus Galaxy. Where there are no Stargates.
The ship is very old—it's much more than ten thousand years old. At the time of its construction, it was considered advanced technology. And the stasis pods are installed here precisely so that great minds and the most valuable representatives of their race do not waste precious days, months, and years flying around the galaxy.
Yes... that's another problem. The hyperdrive on the Aurora is much older than on the Hippaphoralkus. And a journey from one end of the dwarf Pegasus Galaxy to the other could take... at best, several months. And even then, only thanks to the ZPM.
My battleship, on the other hand, flies faster and on generators alone—we reached the edge of the galaxy where the Aurora was located in a week. The Aurora, however, required months...
But even so, the technology of this ship far surpasses what even the most advanced civilizations in the galaxy have. Including the Wraith. Probably including the Wraith.
Kirik, meanwhile, approached the nearest pod and wiped a small frost deposit off the glass lid over the upper body of the person resting inside with his sleeve.
"If this is such an excellent technology," he looked at me, "then why do you need the help of a Wraith?"
I also approached the pod, activating the scanner and passing it over the person lying inside. The scanner beeped, displaying data on the screen.
"Take a closer look," I advised, reading the inscriptions on the screen.
Kirik, frowning, looked through the glass of the pod and recoiled, looking at me with wide eyes.
"There's an old man in here!"
"The technology is good, but it's imperfect," I explained, pointing to the elderly man lying inside the stasis pod. "This guy was in the prime of his life when he went into the pod. Now he's already a frail old man who will hardly survive us taking him out of here without resuscitation in the form of reverse feeding by a Wraith."
"I don't think they'll be thrilled," Kirik shook his head. "After all... for them, the war was only yesterday, and here... to wake up and find out that ten thousand years have passed, your race is practically extinct, and you yourself were saved thanks to a Wraith..."
"It's not that simple," I said, running the scanner over the neighboring pods. "The Ancients are quite inventive guys. The people in these chambers aren't just sleeping—their minds are active."
"How is that possible?"
"Something like a dream," I tried to explain. I think if I told the former fugitive that the minds of the crew members are united in a virtual reality in which they are on board a copy of the ship and living a life... I think this explanation would also have to be explained. And we don't have much time. Even if we have plenty of ZPM reserves, but... I have one devious little thought... But I won't be able to pull it off myself; I'll need help.
I hope the crew members will provide it to me. Well, and if not... then to hell with them, I'll turn off the pods if the jerks don't recognize me as their leader and swear eternal service. Figuratively speaking, of course. And I'm talking about the oath, not about turning off the pods.
I've had enough of Chaya's demarches. If three hundred and twenty more freeloaders are added to her, looking at me like I'm dirt, then it's better for them to die peacefully in their sleep. I'm not going to heroically tear myself apart for the Lantean flag just because these guys are who they are. I have no desire to enthusiastically hang on their every word and catch every spark of great (not) wisdom.
And anyway, we don't have a democracy here at all.
"And in their sleep they... are awake?" Kirik was suspicious of my words.
"The body sleeps, but the mind lives in a fictional world, one for all," I explained as best I could. "It seems to them that they are still on board the Aurora."
"And what are they doing there?" the former fugitive asked, looking around. "Are they watching us?"
"I hope not."
In the show, it was said that from their virtual reality, the crew could not influence the physical world in any way. Consequently... this does not exclude the fact that there may be surveillance means in the room, with the help of which the crew can know about our presence and peek.
In the events known to me, it was never possible to establish exactly what the crew perceived as reality. Before the humans landed on board, the Wraith arrived on the Aurora, after which they were able to connect to the virtual reality and make the crew "forget" that they had gone into stasis chambers.
Fortunately, that didn't happen with us—the Aurora's logbook notes the appearance of starships of any type in its immediate vicinity, as well as the landing of living and non-living objects on board. We are the first to be here in all this time.
It seems that Chaya was right here too: the humans were unlucky not to make it to the party because they had prematurely woken up all the Wraith in the galaxy. That's why they only managed to briefly communicate with the crew, find out that the Wraith who had infiltrated the virtual reality had deleted the secret message. And then, the humans vanished into oblivion, blowing up both the Aurora and a couple of arriving Wraith ships with the consent of the ship's commander.
A perfect story of how to mess up without taking off your pants.
To be honest, both the Ancients themselves and their descendants from the show... Oh, and I promised not to judge. I'm not without sin myself. Why, just an hour ago I almost died in open space.
"Do you think the Wraith is really capable of reviving them all?" Kirik asked, looking at the chambers.
"He can certainly handle a few," I assured him, orienting myself by the map. This conversation was starting to bore me. "So, I suggest we split up. Do you have your radio and weapon with you?"
"Of course."
"Then your task is to go around all the accessible rooms—the doors to them will open as soon as you approach them. If they don't open, it means the compartment is damaged and there's nothing to do there."
"And what should I do on this patrol?" Kirik asked, glancing at my energy pistol in its thigh holster.
"Check the pods," I ordered. "There should be a person in each one. If there's anyone besides them, or if you find empty ones—let me know. And I, meanwhile, will restore the transporter."
"Who else could be on board besides these people?" Kirik became alert.
"No one, but your chatter is getting in my way," I thought.
"Ideally—no one. Но anything can happen. Better to be safe. However, I don't think every pod needs to be inspected—at most the first and second rows from the floor. If someone wanted to connect to this system, they wouldn't climb into a chamber near the ceiling."
"Logical."
"That's the plan."