I had two scanners, seventy-five "blank" crystals, five bundles of something between heat-shrink tubing and glue sticks for a DIYer's favorite gun, an ancient crimper that functioned more like a wire stripper, wire cutters, a soldering iron, and a whole sea of coils of something resembling fiber optics used as standard wiring, as well as a ruby crystal, a sapphire crystal, an emerald crystal, a box of diamond crystals, and a dozen crystals resembling clouded amber. Not that all of this was strictly necessary for repairing the transporter, but if you've started repairing Ancient technology, you have to approach the matter seriously.
Curiously, most of the Ancients' wiring consists of a material similar to fiber optics. Of different cross-sections and different energy conductivity. Standard wiring, like the kind that uses the equivalent of "two hundred and twenty volts," consisted of thin, translucent white optical fibers about a millimeter thick. Connected to power at only one end, they reminded me of a Soviet "dandelion" lamp with the main light in the box and tiny points of light at the end.
As on Earth, different wiring is used for different tasks by the Ancients as well. With the only difference being that they differ from each other in cross-sectional thickness and transparency. The higher the voltage intended to be transmitted through the wires, the greater the wire thickness and its degree of transparency, and, therefore, the purity of the material from which it was created.
That's how Chaya explained it to me. In practice, I could only distinguish the wires from each other by their thickness. Both thin transparent and thick transparent. Although no, that thick one seems cloudy, like frosted glass... Oh, no, not frosted, it's just lying on a pair of crystals.
The longer I worked with the wiring, like a robot, using the ancient crimper to snip out damaged sections of wiring, the more I felt like that guy installing home internet in an apartment after a fire. Snip the melted ends here, then select the required coil of wiring, snip it with the crimper, insert a special fiber-optic bundle into the latter's receiving socket, heat it, connect the stripped end of the old wiring and the new one in the device, solder them with a piece of a third... And so about forty times. Then move on to the next panel. Oh, only about a hundred wires burned out here and a dozen crystals.
And the more I understood what Herculean labor Chaya was performing. Ancient wires didn't use insulation—when a voltage higher than they were capable of transmitting appeared in the circuit, one of two things happened. Either the crystal closest to the point of overvoltage burned out, turning black inside like my thoughts. Or, throwing out a fountain of sparks, the wire dried out and burned through. In the third niche with damaged wiring, I came to the conclusion that sometimes this led to the burning out of an entire section of crystals and wires.
Insulation? No, never heard of it. Color coding? Psh, for God's sake, mother of pearl! I think if the Ancients had built a bomb and sent someone like John McClane to defuse it, he would have been floored. Just listening to the radio: "John, John, cut the red wire!" and realizing there are no red ones here... Unpleasant.
By the way, McClane would have liked Ancient architecture. The ventilation ducts are wide, convenient, and strong. You can crawl in them and not worry about being shot by "evil Russians."
Well, unless they have an Ancient pulse pistol, of course. If McClane's enemies had such a weapon, he wouldn't have survived even half of the first part of his adventures.
Karma, she's a mean, hunchbacked dog.
On the fifth panel, I ran out of the necessary crystals. There were two more panels ahead, so, without further ado, with the scanner's prompts, I cannibalized everything necessary from the nearest lighting panel. I'm starting to understand why the Ancients installed five to ten of them, and of different designs, for every square meter of corridor. It's an excellent source of spare parts for more important systems and mechanisms!
Twice I got an electric shock. Sad, but I had to redo one of the sections and say goodbye to the protection of the personal shield. On the other hand, I remembered that electricians are actually paid extra if they work under voltage. Besides, that thing is good. As soon as the hair all over your body stands on end, you remember such a necessary mechanism as a relay or a circuit breaker.
It turns out it's even on the same deck as you. Here, literally in the corridor. There's even a decorative cover that says for idiots: "Distribution Board." Well, it's not written like that—there are several symbols there, looking like stoned printed letters that violated mushroom-gorged Arabic numerals. Right. Of course, a warning and explanation in the Ancient language.
"You're my clever girl," I almost burst into tears, connecting to the board with the scanner. It turns out the Aurora is such a caring lady that she herself turned on the switches that tripped ten thousand years ago as a result of a short circuit. How good it is that I was repairing from the transporter booth toward the source of the short circuit, and not vice versa. Otherwise, I would have been jolted sooner. And, most likely, jolted to a state of cremation.
"Misha, I've gone around the decks," Kirik informed me. Hmm, he was fast. Ah, I've just been messing around here for three hours! "There are empty chambers. I didn't find anyone but humans in the pods."
"Good news," I reported, snipping a bundle of wiring that powered the lights on the side opposite the transporter. Well, as if on the opposite side... Half the lights in the corridor went out. So... it seems I have problems understanding electrical diagrams... Oh, no, it's not me—it's a crystal fuse that burned out. In that niche I didn't open.
"Are you finished yet?"
"Sort of," I double-checked that power was not being supplied to the transporter circuits I was working with.
"A lot of time has passed!"
"Tell me something I don't know," I advised him.
Interesting... I've become more phlegmatic in the process of repairing the transporter booth. I don't even want to swear as much as usual.
I can really feel my "poker face" in the process of doing important work. I wonder if the Ancients' problems with facial expressions and humor were precisely because they were often shocked by electricity?
"I'm coming to you," Kirik said after a thought.
Interesting... I wonder how he'll do that if he doesn't know the ship's plans.
As it turned out, I had wrongly suspected the former fugitive of topographical cretinism. He found me in about thirty minutes.
"You still haven't fixed this thing?" he asked, seeing me rearranging crystals in the control panel. "A lot of time has passed. Our people..."
It seems there was something about my face he didn't like, as Kiryk muttered with a frown:
"Sorry. I'm worried about our people."
Right. As if anyone was worried about us.
"Is it working?" He pointed to the open doors of the transporter chamber, on whose wall two outlines of Ancient battleships had appeared. One, the one in the center, was presumably the Aurora. The second, positioned flush against its non-existent bow, was the Hippaphoralkus. In the center of each, a transporter dot glowed red. One only had to press the one on my more intact ship, and voila, you'd be where you needed to be.
"At least it's glowing," I sighed, looking around. "Whether it works as it should or not, we're about to find out."
Taking several damaged crystals, I placed them in an empty box and set it on the floor of the teleportation chamber. Waiting a second, I tapped the dot on the hull of the Hippaphoralkus. At the same time, I bolted out of the chamber as its doors began to slide shut.
I believe in my skills as an electrical engineer, of course.
But I have no desire to join the list of inventors who died testing their own handiwork.
The doors closed, and a snow-white radiance flared behind the small colored glass panes. Well, at least it glows nicely...
The cabin doors slid apart. The box of crystals was gone. In its place stood a lowering Alash and Teyla, who exhaled in relief at the sight of us.
"We were starting to worry," she said, handing the weapon back to a delighted Kiryk.
"Us too," declared the former runner with a smile, openly but reservedly admiring the Athosian. Eh, kid, are you unaware she has a boyfriend among her own kind, or what? Although... who even knows about that besides me? And even then, if not for the notorious meta-knowledge...
Slipping the straps off her shoulders, she set a massive black backpack on the floor by the wall.
"There is food, water, crystals, spare parts, and ammunition here. Alvar said everyone should take as much as they can carry. We did not know if there was an enemy on board who was not initially visible, so..."
They played it safe. That's good.
"Are there problems on the ship?" I asked.
"It is becoming cold," Emmagan admitted. "And dark. Alvar ordered us to gather in the teleportation section, as that is our most likely means of escape. We take turns on watch every half hour in the hope..."
She smiled modestly.
"I see you succeeded after all, and death by hypothermia does not threaten us," she added.
Behind her, the doors of the teleportation chamber closed, light flashed, and two more Athosians stepped out. Loaded down like pack animals, they lowered their weapons with visible relief upon seeing us and began removing their rucksacks.
"Alvar Jensen sent us to scout and provide assistance to you, Teyla," said one of Emmagan's kin. His face looked familiar... I think this guy is her beloved. In the established timeline, he becomes the father of her child. Kanaan, I believe, was his name. "Michael, you must come to the Ancestors' ship. The sooner, the better. Teyla took a great risk volunteering to come save you."
Oh, is that so?
I noticed Emmagan averting her eyes. Kiryk also caught a hint of deception in her words. But, I give him credit—the former runner, like me, realized it wasn't worth making a scene. No point in interrogating Teyla about why she had fibbed about being sent here.
Seems the guy is hot-headed and a bit jealous.
Well, it happens. But as the Jedi say, jealousy leads to the Dark Side. Better deal with this immediately.
Right here and now.
"Kanaan," the guy introduced himself, a bit more sharply than necessary. Apparently, my "Who the hell are you?" look didn't please him much.
"So, Kanaan," I addressed the Athosian. "Want some advice?"
The man, who kept casting jealous glances at Teyla, looked at me with displeasure. Is he jealous? Oh... he's jealous of her with me!
Well, that's just what we needed!
"You need to return to the ship immediately!" he repeated, grimacing.
"Let's step aside for a moment." Smiling like a friend, I slung an arm around the shoulders of the guy, who was stunned by my audacity, and led him away from the others against his will. I positioned us so our backs were to the rest. Teyla and the second Athosian exchanged looks, clearly not understanding what was happening. Kiryk, however, caught on instantly. "So, the promised advice..."
Without a wind-up, I struck him in the solar plexus.
Kanaan gasped, breathless, and doubled over. Grabbing him by the scruff of the neck, I forced the man to stand more or less upright.
Kanaan, the Athosian.
"I don't know what you've imagined for yourself," I said in a near-whisper. "But learn a few simple truths. First—it's not for you to speak to me in that tone. And it's not for you to tell me what I should or shouldn't do. Who are you in this life, anyway?"
"Don't... understand..." he wheezed.
"What do you do in your spare time when you're not flying through space, warrior?" I clarified.
"Brew... er..." He was trying with all his might to regain his breath.
"And here I thought you were a chicken-herder," I sighed, patting Kanaan on the back. "So, brewer. Your opinion is of interest to me exactly when I'm choosing between a light or a dark ale. Otherwise—keep your mouth shut. Do you understand me?"
"Y-yes," the man said hoarsely.
"Wonderful," I assured him. "Now, the second bit of wisdom. I don't know what you've imagined regarding me and Teyla, but for my part, I can assure you: I have no feelings for her. Nor intentions. She is my..." I paused. Truly, what was she to me? "Ally. I don't mix business and personal life. You don't engage in indecencies with a beer keg, do you?"
The Athosian looked at me with wild eyes.
"I hope you don't," I said, making a mental note for the future: don't drink beer, or Athosian wine, ever again. "Do you understand the wisdom of the Ancients I have just shared with you?"
"Y-yes," he seemed still unable to catch his breath.
"Splendid," I patted his back again. "Questions?"
"No," he shook his head.
"Good man," I praised. "If you decide to stop playing the jealous type, just ask yourself: if you have to keep darting your eyes around trying to figure out if your woman intends to leave you for another, you should consider if you even need such a woman. Understand?"
"I... think so," he said.
This guy is really weak. The blow was nothing, yet he still can't pull himself together. Seems this "alpha" is an "omega" at best.
"Good lad," I patted his back once more. "Now, let's return to our comrades. I'm heading back to the ship. Kiryk is in charge. And don't let..." I wanted to say "God," but then realized that in this reality, the expression wouldn't have the necessary weight, "...the Ancestors catch you trying anything while I'm gone. Believe me, you wouldn't like my wrath. Is that clear?"
"Yes," well, he seemed to have recovered. "I apologize."
"For what?" I asked, surprised.
Kanaan straightened up and looked me in the eye. Hmm... I respect that.
"Teyla is my comfort," he said quietly, looking toward the Athosian leader, who was watching us impatiently. "When the Wraith culled my wife and son... shared grief brought us together... But when you came to our world... I thought that she and you... She has lived among you for so long, rarely appears on New Athos, no longer listens to our advice, listens to you instead... I thought that you..."
"Did Teyla lose someone during the last Wraith culling on Athos?" I asked.
"Earlier," Kanaan said, embarrassed. "Her father and mother were taken by the Wraith when she was young... Those losses brought us closer after the loss of my family..."
"Is that what she said?" I inquired.
"No," Kanaan was suddenly flustered. Yes, his name was different, but... in my head, I could call this grown-up teenager whatever I wanted. "But I understood it so from her words and actions..."
I wanted to swear.
"Love and Secrets of the Pegasus Galaxy." "Athosian Santa Barbara." "Teyla: The Wild Angel"... In a word—a soap opera.
One didn't realize she should explain things clearly to her people; the second, instead of asking directly, decided to make things up in his head...
Good grief...
"Exhale," I slapped his shoulder. I wanted to advise the guy not to put his soul into this relationship. I could be wrong about the Athosian woman, but... this is a classic! The lady found herself a grief-stricken widower for an informal relationship. And his psyche played a trick on him, making him think he was something more to her than just a friend for exercises in the hayloft. "I repeat—there is nothing between me and Teyla. And," seeing his eyes widen, "there won't be. She is only my comrade-in-arms. Nothing more. You can rest easy."
"Thank you," the man (though, what kind of man? He's thirty at most. With the brains of a twenty-year-old) extended his hand. "I believe... this is how you demonstrate trust between two men?"
"It's only the first step," I replied to the offered handshake, squeezing the brewer's hand. "Whether I can turn my back to you in the bathhouse, only time will tell."
***
"Finally."
Those were Alvar's first words when the doors of the teleportation cabin on the Hippaphoralkus opened, letting me out.
"I was already starting to prepare an assault team," the Erman admitted.
Judging by the way the five Athosians exhaled both militantly and with relief. The guys were standing near the cabin in the corridor. They, apparently, constituted that very assault team.
"Cancel the migration of peoples," I said, looking around. "Where is Koschei?"
Steam escaped my mouth. The temperature on board was far from comfortable. Well, at least here Teyla hadn't "corrected" the actual circumstances.
"In the brig," Jensen replied. "I planned to send him in the last group. Along with the second prisoner..."
"Are they frozen solid yet?" I asked.
"The guards say no," Jensen patted the radio mounted on his suit. "Did it work?"
He asked the last part as we headed toward the bridge. A dim light flickered on in the corridor—the starship was reacting to the return of an Ancient gene carrier. And I was glad for it. To be honest, I had thought the Hippaphoralkus was broken, not just in "hibernation mode." I really didn't want to be repairing systems I knew nothing about in open space.
"Power is restored, the teleportation cabin is working," I replied, turning at the right spot. Hmm, I'd walked through here maybe twice. And, as it turned out, I wasn't getting lost. That hadn't happened before. "Kiryk checked—the crew is still in stasis, but some are outside the ship's pressurized sections. We'll deal with those problems last."
"Smells like serious EVA work," Jensen noted. "Judging by what was visible from the viewports, depressurization can only happen in the case of hull breaches. I have no idea where we'll get enough metal to weld everything shut."
"At the moment, that's not a primary concern," I replied. "Our plans are as follows. There are empty stasis pods on board. I'll get into one of them and establish contact with the crew. I'll explain to them what's happening outside their virtual world. And then, we'll pull them out one by one and bring them back to life."
"Are you sure you can manage before the Hippaphoralkus goes back into power-save mode, or whatever you call it when it shuts down?" Jensen asked. I had explained to him during the journey that the Aurora's crew was in a virtual reality linking their minds while their bodies remained in stasis. In this excursion, he was effectively my second-in-command, so he needed to know the necessary information, at least in general terms.
"I don't think a conversation with the Aurora's crew will take several hours straight," I said.
In reality, how the communication with the frozen Ancients would go was impossible to predict exactly. All my plans were built on the hope that I would have the ability to mentally control my entry and exit from the stasis pod. If the Ancients want to join me—great, then we work according to plan. Defrost them, gradually bring them back to life.
The data obtained from feeding Koschei a Genii was quite interesting. The Wraith is quite strong and contains a lot of life force, which he could use to resurrect the Aurora's crew.
The catch was that we wouldn't be able to revive absolutely everyone. I was sure of that. Even though I couldn't come up with a plan where Koschei would use reverse feeding to restore life, I suspected he was right when he said resurrecting Lanteans would require more strength than normal humans.
But even so, I think he can bring at least a few Ancients back to life. And here, I should use Chaya's advice—awaken those who can actually be useful "as of tomorrow." The Captain, the First Officer, engineers, technicians... The last two categories are as necessary as air. The first two—to command the battleships.
Until I find a way to become "smarter," I'll have to rely on outside help. No one disputes that fact, of course...
At the moment, for a "snack," the Wraith only has the redhead Genii girl. And whatever reserve of strength he had before. I really hope he can "revive" at least five to ten Ancients.
Even such a small increase in personnel would help us, and very, very significantly.
Of course, there remain various questions regarding interpersonal conflicts, the interference of the Ascended, or the stubbornness of the Aurora's crew members.
But that's where the second postulate kicks in: if they turn out to be complete assholes, no one will save them. I don't think, of course, that every single crew member would be happy to stay in stasis pods and die, but one should never underestimate Ancient stubbornness out of nowhere.
After all, in ten thousand years, these frozen folks, having the ability to leave stasis of their own will, simply couldn't have failed to do so. It's logical—you wait and wait and wait, you aren't saved. You exit the chamber, check if you're dying. If you have the strength, you get to the bridge, check if there's a Stargate nearby and what can be done, and then...
And then, preferably, don't think you're the smartest person in the room. Life support on the ship was turned off. And it can only be turned on from the auxiliary bridge. From the nearest stasis chamber, that's half a kilometer in a straight line. Not to mention that a dozen doors must be opened, half of which won't give in without a crowbar and brute physical force. No energy, no air, no heat, not the slightest understanding of whether there's a vacuum behind this specific bulkhead or if everything will be fine.
Ancients are physically, mentally, and intellectually superior to ordinary humans. But they also need to breathe. And flying out into a vacuum because you opened the wrong door is hardly pleasant.
In short, whether the Aurora's crew sat idly by or tried to save themselves is useless to guess. Only communication with the Ancients can shed light on what's happening.
The bridge of the Hippaphoralkus was deserted. Panels and monitors were already glowing by the time I crossed the threshold.
The command chair met me with a fair amount of chill, but I tried to ignore it. Closing my eyes, I gave the starship a mental command...
"You've started the inertial dampeners," Alvar noted. "Power is being fed to the engines and shields..."
"Correct," I said, mentally commanding the ship to "go higher." The smart machine only understood me on the third try, once I explained that I didn't intend to ram the Aurora. But I did intend to get out of its path and position ourselves "above" it, so as not to create an emergency situation just in case. "No telling what might happen while I'm in the stasis pod. Let the Hippaphoralkus drift near the Aurora, rather than poking at its wreckage."
It took about half an hour to take a position near the damaged ship. Twice I nearly rammed the battered starship trying to place us closer. After all, the teleportation chamber has its own range. If we fly too far—that's it, we won't be able to move quickly between the starships.
"The Wraith was better at piloting," Alvar blurted out. Not as a complaint, not as a mockery.
Just stating a fact.
"I thought it was you who collided the starships," I said.
"When I tried, we almost exposed our flank," Alvar admitted. "So, even though I didn't want to, I asked him for help."
Braking with the maneuvering thrusters, the Hippaphoralkus took a position ten kilometers from the Aurora, off its starboard side. Imagine that, I even managed to keep the ships relatively in the same plane. Shutting down the engines, I made sure the starship wasn't moving even by inertia.
Then, turning in the chair, I looked at Alvar. A realization dawned on me:
"Did the systems start shutting down after the Wraith took control?"
Jensen thought for a moment and nodded in agreement.
"We barely made it. The hyperdrive was the first to go, then subspace communications," the Erman pointed to the panels in the cockpit, listing them in the order they went dark while Koschei was on the bridge. "Then the sublight engines. The Wraith used the maneuvering thrusters and inertia to correct the flight and collide the ships. Somehow he managed to reroute power from the shields to the sublight engines to slow the Aurora down. After that, auxiliary systems started failing, including the comms we were using, life support, and shields. Bulkheads were locking—we had to pry them open manually..."
I think I'm starting to understand.
Either everything that happened was a massive coincidence, or the starship has "Wraith protection" installed. If you think about it, it's quite logical: he can be on board, no problem there. Especially when he's unconscious and in the brig. But if he gets to the controls...
Hyperdrive—so he can't fly back to his own kind.
Subspace communications—so he can't call for help.
Sublight engines—so he can't even reach the nearest gate at sublight speeds.
The shields held to prevent boarding. The Wraith rerouted power from them to the sublight engines, and the engines and systems failed too. Because they sensed that Koschei wouldn't give up easily. The shields likely failed because the generators were cut. The ship realized the hypothetical enemy could transfer power from one system to another. Which meant he could provide power to the hyperdrive, long-range comms, and so on. It's logical to shut down the power supply for the entire starship.
Short-range comms, life support, bulkhead locking—the Hippaphoralkus was doing everything in its power to make life difficult for the Wraith who had taken command. It likely would have vented the compartments too, but it sensed there were living humans on board. It probably hoped the humans could stop the bastard.
Of course, the ideal scenario would have been for it to restart the systems after Koschei was returned to his cell. But I suspect the computer either decided the Wraith had managed to escape the brig and could do it again, or that he had taken control of the crew.
Or, which is also logical, only a human with the Ancient gene can restart the ship.
I don't want to cast aspersions, but... something tells me this magnificent program was written by one troublesome but very far-sighted former Ascended being. Because in the events I knew of, nothing of the sort happened in principle.
There were several cases where Wraith appeared on ships and in the City of the Ancients, even connecting to systems, but the Ancient equipment didn't behave this way... either this function wasn't in the show, or it had been disabled.
I'd bet anything the first option is correct.
It's also strange that we aren't sending out a distress signal... Checking the subspace transmitter, I confirmed we weren't. Not anymore.
"Misha, is everything okay?" Alvar asked me as I activated the ship's long-range sensors. Nothing... Thank Go...
At the very edge of the sensor range, four red marks appeared: one large and three small. The onboard computer helpfully displayed a red line connecting us and the Wraith ships. Along with a small inscription in the Ancient language...
"Is that what I think it is?" Jensen asked quietly.
"If you're thinking of a Wraith Hive ship and three cruisers heading our way, then yes," I said, my voice suddenly raspy.