"The reconnaissance drone didn't detect any Wraith ships or any other threat on the other side," I said, receiving an update on my virtual display. "So, it's time for us to go."
"It's long overdue," Alvar said at the moment I placed my hands on the ship's controls.
The bluish "puddle" of the gate inexorably approached as the light control stick shifted. The ship entered the hyper-tunnel.
"Well, what's the problem?" I asked on the other side. I found myself thousands of light-years from Lantea. Sometimes it takes your breath away—just a couple of moments, and that's it, Neil Armstrong can repeat his phrase about a step... And go to hell. "I would have gone back to my homeland myself long ago. Although," I looked at the landscape that opened up before me, "I understand why you weren't in a hurry."
The picture that appeared before me was not just depressing.
It evoked a gnawing sense of pity and compassion for the population of an entire world.
The gate to Jensen's homeworld was located in the center of the city, where the central square, enclosed by massive buildings, used to be. Now, here... Here there are only long-abandoned ruins.
*Landscapes of Alvar Jensen's homeworld.*
"I see you're unfamiliar with this, but soldiers obey their commanders' orders," the former fugitive grumbled. "It would be extremely foolish and ungrateful of me to agree to cooperate with you and then act on my own. That's not how cooperation works. At least—not in the long term."
"Sounds logical," I agreed, gaining altitude over the ruins of houses.
I read somewhere that the nature of destruction can determine what weapon was used, at what angle, and at what part of the building the projectile struck. I don't know if this statement applies to Wraith energy weapons, but their diligence is admirable.
"This was the capital of Ermen," Alvar said with sadness in his voice. "More than fifty thousand people lived and worked here."
At first, I almost blurted out that it seemed a bit small for the capital of an entire planet's population. Then, scolding myself for my thoughtlessness, I remembered that for this galaxy, there was its own "Spanish expedition."
"So, your planet is called Ermen," I said instead.
"Yes," Alvar looked straight ahead, but as if he didn't see what flashed before the windshield.
The man was silent, lost in his own thoughts. It was clear from his face that returning to his roots didn't particularly please him. At least not because he had to witness the pain left behind by the Wraiths.
I raised the "jumper" higher, to an altitude of half a kilometer, reasonably deciding that it was not yet time to disturb the fugitive. Without his instructions, I would be searching for what we needed until the second coming of the Ancients.
"We're going there," Alvar pointed towards a massive crater ahead and to the right of our location.
"Straight into the hole?" I clarified, directing the "jumper" to the indicated spot.
"There was a military base there that defended the city," he explained. "Our people have been attacked by Wraiths more than once throughout their history. So, there are tunnels under the city leading from the base to various parts of the city. They were discovered about twenty years ago precisely for such an occasion."
"You didn't build them?" I asked, on alert.
"Our ancestors, as I understand it," Jensen explained. "For several centuries, the Wraiths hadn't visited Ermen. According to the chronicles, in their last selection, they almost wiped us all out."
"Gave them time to multiply," I surmised.
"Correct. A couple of hundred years ago, we were simple shepherds and farmers, until the Wraith raids forced our leaders to move away from the foothills. There were so few of us left that it was decided to use the Ring of the Ancestors, about which legends circulated."
"They wanted to escape."
"Yes. Our chiefs remembered the legend of where to find them, and on the rock drawings, they saw several addresses. We were driven by despair. But, in the end, we came to the ruins of the Capital. We discovered the Ring of the Ancestors here, the ruins of cities built before us."
"And you decided to stay," I brought the "jumper" to the spot indicated by the fugitive. At a rough estimate, it was about fifteen kilometers in a straight line from the gate to this place. Alvar had been to his homeworld several times—he returned for ammunition and equipment. I think the Wraiths picked a worthy fugitive candidate. "If I were you, I probably would have done the same."
"Even though the city was in ruins, there was shelter, and nearby there were forests where we could hunt, and fields for cultivation. We never left. Especially when we discovered the catacombs."
"I don't want to interrupt you, but how will an excursion into history help us?" I asked. "We came for weapons, not for a digger's tour."
"Interesting words," the fugitive's mouth twitched. "Come on, you'll see for yourself."
"I hope you won't hide the secrets of this technological marvel," I muttered, heading towards the stern of the "jumper." "Because in a couple of hundred years, to go from herders and farmers to a civilization that, according to you, was exploring near-planetary orbits, you have to try very hard."
"That's exactly why I suggested that Chaya go with me," Alvar chuckled. "No offense, but as a technician and scientist, she'll give you a run for your money. And yes, there's something in the tunnels that she might like."
"Who's arguing?" I asked as we exited the "jumper." Looking around, I grimaced at the fact that every meter of the area was covered with decayed human bodies. Bones, bones, parts of skeletons... All these people died during the bombardment. But no one was there to bury them properly. "Only, when you were thinking about your gallantry, did you consider how grateful she would be to you for having to carry boxes of weapons?"
"I would have managed myself," Alvar snorted. "This way."
The former fugitive raised his weapon and, bending his knees slightly, walked quickly towards a particularly large pile of debris on the slope of a large crater.
At a rough estimate, the crater was about fifty meters deep, and the entrance to the tunnels Jensen mentioned was slightly above it. If I remember anything about explosives, detonation usually throws material from the inside out, scattering debris and fragments around.
The crater itself was completely covered with fragments of walls, ceilings, mangled rebar, and much more.
"I assume there was a large underground base here," I suggested, catching up with Alvar as he climbed the ruins.
"A complex built by our ancestors," he explained.
"And you kept silent all this time?" I was stunned. Because the Ancients in the Pegasus galaxy were known among humans as the Ancestors.
"Does that change anything?" the fugitive asked, surprised. "We're all here anyway. Help me move this piece of wall. There's a passage to the tunnel behind it. I covered it when I left here last time. So the Wraiths wouldn't find it."
He pointed to an uneven fragment about a meter and a half high, about twenty centimeters thick. About a meter and a half wide, so you could crawl through without any problems.
Looking at the edge of the wall, I shook my head. Reinforced concrete. If you think about it, concrete in its usual sense was invented in my universe around the early 1800s. Plus or minus fifty years or so.
Roman concrete, yes, existed long before that, but here, as far as I can see, it's the notorious "Portland cement." Reinforcement of concrete also appeared around the 19th century. Well, plus or minus, with a margin for my forgetfulness.
And this is despite the fact that we weren't attacked every couple of hundred years by creatures who, simply out of hunger, could devour the entire population of a planet. And here, as Alvar says, something like that has already happened. It must be assumed that the locals knew a lot about the civilization preceding them.
"Are these debris from the base?" I asked.
"No," Jensen replied. "The base had a warehouse of ammunition and weapons, powerful energy sources, including a couple of nuclear reactors. When the Wraiths attacked the base, everything here exploded, causing a collapse. The debris we're walking on is mostly the upper floors of nearby buildings in the Capital."
"Buildings you built?" I clarified.
"We demolished the old ones down to the foundation," he admitted. "Otherwise, we couldn't have built a new city."
So, in two hundred years, shepherds learned to build spaceships, nuclear reactors, and reinforced concrete. A moment of humor, or am I missing something.
"And how did you move it yourself before?" I asked, bracing my feet against one part of the debris and my hands against the desired spot. Alvar did the same. And just as I prepared to strain all my muscles, the piece of wall easily tipped over a meter or so towards the center of the crater.
At the same time, a part of the debris sprang up beneath us. Looking closely, I saw that a thick rebar, as thick as my forearm, passed through the base of the moved fragment. And its free ends disappeared under other debris.
Beneath the lower edge, hidden by other slabs, a recess was visible, allowing this "lid" to rotate freely around its axis.
"This is the first time I've seen building material of such density and lightness," I admitted.
"The Ancients knew how to build," Jensen chuckled. "We do too."
"I don't doubt it for a second."
Pointing into the opening, which was too dark for daylight to penetrate, Jensen, still in a combat stance, dived down, assessing the situation. I, lingering for a moment, activated the "jumper's" cloaking device with the scanner. Even though we were alone on the planet, and the equipment detected no signs of other life, it's better to be safe. They say problems arise when you become overconfident and carelessly leave valuable equipment in plain sight.
Stepping over pieces of walls and ceilings that formed the collapse, I descended to the general level. Here, Alvar was already waiting for me, illuminating the almost perfectly round arches of the tunnel with the tactical flashlight of his rifle. Lined with metal plates, fastened with massive rivets, they stretched far ahead.
I looked closely at the floor, but didn't find the rusty rails I expected. Nor any traces of their installation.
"What's wrong?" Alvar asked, seeing my interest.
"I thought you had a subway here too," I explained.
"What's that?"
"Something like trains that run in such tunnels underground," I explained.
"No, we didn't have that. And the Ancients didn't seem to have it either."
"So, let's make an agreement," I proposed. "There's too much confusion with your 'Ancients.' You generalize too much, which makes me strain quite a bit."
"I don't understand."
"When you say 'Ancients,' I can't understand whether you're talking about your distant relatives from the past or about the Ancients. It's sometimes very annoying, you know. I was expecting to see Lantian design here."
And instead—a horror version of the Moscow Metro. Ah, if only they had tiled it all here...
*One of the tunnels under the Capital of Ermen.*
"Well, I'm sorry I disappointed you," Alvar shrugged. "So, shall we go?"
"Far?"
"A couple of kilometers," the soldier estimated. "There's a warehouse of weapons, equipment, medicine, and everything needed for one of the districts. I inspected the others last time, they were empty. It seems someone from the infantry opened them during the fight with the Wraiths."
"And you didn't decide to find out why?" I asked.
"I'm a pilot, not an infantryman," Jensen reminded me. "When the invasion began, my fighter was shot down. I had to make an emergency landing, and then I fought my way to the Capital for several more days. And when I arrived, the Wraiths were already in full swing. I fought them commando-style for a couple of days, but in the end, I was stunned and taken to the Hive Ship. They released me on another planet, and when I returned here, there was no one alive. Just like that Wraith who made me a fugitive said. Since then, I haven't found a single one of my kin, although I left signs, messages, when I came here for supplies."
"I think we can look for someone from orbit on the way back," I suggested. "Maybe someone survived in the forests, mountains, and so on."
"If they're not idiots, they left here long ago," Jensen countered. "In any case, what will I tell them when we meet? 'Hello, let's rebuild our civilization?'"
"And why not?" I asked, surprised. "It's not the first time for this galaxy that people have started over."
"And you'll let all my kin onto Atlantis?" Alvar laughed, stopping at a crossroads of several tunnels. Orienting himself, he waved his hand in the one to our right.
"Chaya and I are not against helpers, but not freeloaders," I said. Walking last, I habitually kept my personal shield active. Yes, as the Proculucian established, this technology is experimental, energy-hungry, but indispensable in my opinion. However, she agreed with this. But she didn't know if she could replicate it. To do this, the existing sample had to be disassembled and thoroughly studied. Or, through trial and error, develop an analog based on the data available in the laboratory where I found it. The problem, however, was that the shield, like similar Ancient technologies, required rare-earth elements. Which we don't have that many of. I'm starting to understand why, in the series, the expedition preferred not to repair serious damage to key systems, but to bypass such places using backup systems.
"Are you sure?" Alvar asked. "Something isn't quite smooth between you two lately."
"What makes you say that?"
"Then why aren't she and Teyla with us?"
"They have business on Atlantis," I shrugged.
"Uh-huh," Alvar chuckled. "One is scrubbing ancient food tanks, and the other is pretending you don't exist."
"And you can't even guess who is who in your comparison," I returned the joke. "Chaya has something to do—she wants to send a second reconnaissance drone to the combat satellite to find out in advance what damage it has and whether it can be repaired with available means."
"That's exactly where it all started," Jensen noted. "You offended Chaya somewhere."
"I don't recall the trip for weapons including a course in domestic psychotherapy."
"I don't know what happened between you," Jensen continued as if nothing had happened, "but you shouldn't have done that to her. She's a good woman, kind and smart. Such people should be cherished and pampered, not brought to tears."
"And who brought her to tears?"
"You. Teyla said that Chaya ran out of her laboratory in tears after that conversation. That's not right."
Well. I didn't know anything about that. And I didn't even notice. However... Attentiveness to others is not my strong suit. I noticed Marina's health problems too late.
That's my nature—if I dive into something headfirst, I don't notice anything around me. Prioritization is important—what's important should be done as quickly as possible, and the rest doesn't require much attention at the moment. Concentrating all efforts on one task, in my opinion, is the most optimal way to solve existing problems.
"I don't think it's about me. It's more about what I said."
"And isn't that the same thing?" Jensen stopped at the entrance to a wide corridor, on both sides of which were metal doors covered with a brown substance. There were traces of dust and dirt on the floor, and water dripped from old pipes from the ceiling in some places.
"Apparently not," I concluded. "I suppose you're not just showing attention to Chaya for no reason?"
"She's done a lot for me," the former fugitive didn't deny. "You, although you disabled the transmitter, she removed it. It's calmer that way. She helped me get used to the wonders of Atlantis. She even tried to make me like you and her."
"Yes, I know about the attempt to implant the gene in you. It's a shame it didn't work out. We're short on pilots."
"Agreed," the man said. "To say that half of Atlantis's inhabitants can pilot 'jumpers' is proud. But the fact that there are only four of us is not so great. We've arrived, by the way. This door."
Approaching the indicated opening, I noticed that the door was partially warped. But at the same time, there were traces on the stone floor indicating that the door had jammed when opening.
"Can you shoot the door with your blaster?" Jensen asked, shifting from foot to foot.
"And behind it... An armory? With rifles, ammunition, grenades, and so on down the list. Isn't that right?"
"Naturally," Alvar gestured around the room. "This is an operational warehouse for recruits or mobilized personnel. It's our duty to arm and equip them with everything they need."
"Yes, but I won't shoot the door," I had to warn. "It's too flimsy for that kind of weapon. I'm afraid our emergency supply might detonate. And it, as you know..."
"I know," Jensen interrupted me. "Alright, help me open the door. We can't stand here forever, can we!?"
The door, unlike the reinforced concrete, was not light. It took a couple of minutes to swing it open—otherwise, it would be problematic to carry out weapons. Jensen swept his flashlight over the numerous structures inside, then approached a strange-looking panel with wires coming out of the device. Grasping the wheel handle at the front, he began to turn it vigorously.
The quite recognizable whine of a dynamo machine sounded.
A dim light flickered under the ceiling, as well as in the front part of numerous rectangular structures seen earlier. Jensen kept turning for a few more minutes until the snow-white light from something resembling fluorescent lamps dispelled the darkness.
The warehouse didn't look futuristic, but at the same time, it didn't look depressing either. Approximately one hundred to one hundred and fifty square meters of space were filled with numerous stand-boxes. In some, you could see neat rows of firearms—pistols, submachine guns, and rifles. In others, there were neat rows of ribbed and smooth cylinders, equipped with a safety pin and a narrow trigger lever. One must assume, this is a local analog of grenades. But... Why store grenades assembled? There's a simple rule—shirt with contents separately, detonator separately. If you need to use it—screw it in and work.
Yes, in some circumstances, when battles don't cease, there's indeed no need to have grenades at hand, prepared for long-term storage. During combat, yes, grenades should be armed, because you never know when you'll need them.
But here, obviously, there were no battles. This is a long-term warehouse. There should be different rules here. And, if you look closely, you'll see: hundreds of magazines and clips loaded with cartridges, loaded grenades, mines... Yes, it's convenient—just walk in and take, don't waste time. But that's not how it's done! Springs can get tired, and then there's no question of feeding cartridges into the mechanism. Either these guys are more advanced and aren't afraid of metal corrosion, or they're unaware of what such carelessness can lead to.
I have no desire to touch their grenades anymore — they might detonate in my hands. Or during transport.
The ammunition depot under the Capital.
"How many soldiers is this depot designed for?" I asked. Some of the weapon cabinets had already been opened. I presumed the fugitive was taking as much as he could carry.
"This particular one can arm a battalion of soldiers," Alvar said, wasting no time. He approached one of the massive cabinets and began to pull out loaded magazines, belts with grenades attached. "The doors you saw — behind each is a storage for medicine, canned food, uniforms, and equipment. There are many similar ones in the tunnels with everything needed for waging war behind enemy lines. Or for a quick evacuation with what might be useful in case of escape. But this is the central storage. The first place after the base that is guarded in the best possible way. In other, smaller storages, there are far fewer supplies — enough for a company at most."
"I didn't notice any particular problem with security."
"Because I disabled it on my first return," Jensen said. "And I couldn't turn it back on."
"Did you inspect the others?" I asked, examining the ammunition and weapons, perfectly prepared for long-term storage. Even if they weren't in oiled packaging, it didn't mean they lacked a preserving solution: it was visible upon closer inspection, somewhat like solidol, but only in consistency.
Curious.
"I didn't have time for tours," Alvar admitted. "I went in, took what I needed, and left as quickly as possible, before the Wraiths realized I was underground and how I was getting in."
"Yes, they have problems with scanning underground communications," I agreed.
The presence of large quantities of supplies made fulfilling the promise to the Athosians much easier. If this storage alone had enough weapons and equipment for a battalion of soldiers, that would be enough to arm a small army. And there were other, albeit smaller, storages!
We wouldn't have to produce anything ourselves at Atlantis. At least not for a while. Not to mention that we could acquire our own arsenal and much more.
However, something was bothering me.
"You've thought of everything wonderfully," I praised. "But that doesn't answer my questions."
"Let's go," Alvar waved his hand towards the exit. "There's another storage. You'll understand everything there."
The other storage turned out to be behind the next door. It was also brighter in the corridor. And, more interestingly, the metal doors had a combination lock. Alvar had likely not locked the storage with it when he left last time.
"When there's no power, these locks are a real pain," he explained. "I had to resort to tricks to open it and get the weapons."
"I assume the trick involved an external power source?" I asked.
"Yes," Jensen made an effort to open the new door. It turned out to be at least three times thicker than the previous one. I couldn't miss the numerous cylindrical locking mechanisms. Just from the end I saw, there were about five, each as thick as my leg. "I have some understanding of how to create a short circuit and blow the lock with a directed explosion. Fortunately, access to the weapons depot is weaker than to the memory storage."
"Memory storage?" I repeated. Jensen made an inviting gesture with his hand.
Inside, everything was repeated — a dynamo, flickering lights, unknown structures...
Only instead of arrays of weapon pyramids and ammunition depots, I was presented with something resembling server racks known from my past life. Massive, about three meters high, they were arranged in two rows of five units each. Blinking with multi-colored lights and filling the room with the hum of working mechanisms, they sparked an unprecedented interest in me.
"Let me guess," I said, seeing Alvar head towards the far corner of the room where several workbenches and trolleys with various equipment were located. "Besides the tunnel network, you also found server rooms left by your ancestors. Didn't you?"
"Memory storages," Alvar confirmed. "The ancestors were quite intelligent to have taken care to preserve their knowledge for future generations. I understand that our planet has been attacked many times in the past, and after the Wraith raids, everything started from scratch. However, this storage contains something that doesn't belong to our technology. It doesn't resemble anything we've seen from the ancestors' legacy. That's why I asked Chaya to come with me — maybe she could identify this item."
"The technology of the Ancients is quite specific and has a characteristic design," I chuckled. "So..."
I fell silent when I saw what Jensen was rolling towards me on a small trolley.
Resembling an artillery rocket projectile, equipped with six short, ribbed fins in the middle section, the object stirred something in my memory from the less informative pages of history of events I knew.
"The language of the ancestors is somewhat different from ours," Jensen explained. "But the command said that according to the chronicles, the ancestors indicated that it was with the help of this object, which they called the 'legacy of the Sithari,' that they were able to reach the peak of their development. We were only able to understand what they left us on these servers," he pointed to the glowing cabinets. "But not with this thing. Maybe Chaya will understand what this device is for..."
"I can tell you what it is without her," I looked around for something that might resemble a hologram or a controlled vision. No, nothing. The scanner showed that the object emitted no radiation at all, nor did it have any traces of energy. If it ever worked, it certainly hadn't in the last few years.
"And?"
"It's a probe with all the information and technical achievements of the Sithari race," I said. "It seems your ancestors hit the jackpot."
The Sithari probe.