"Not Sheregesh, of course, nor an elven forest, but it's quite picturesque."
That's how I commented on the landscape that opened up to me after the "jumper" emerged from the stargate. It had become a habit to instantly activate camouflage and ascend sharply to change the possible trajectory that could be tracked.
Paranoia doesn't mean no one is watching you. Especially when you've flown halfway across the galaxy to find one person.
Landscapes of a new world.
"I thought we agreed to avoid words that might be incomprehensible," Tayla said. The girl was sitting next to me, while Alvar lounged in the chair behind her, enjoying the view.
"And I have nothing against it," the Ermen said. "It's sometimes pleasant to hear about distant worlds where no one has ever heard of Wraiths."
Oh, how surprised you would be, brother, if you knew that in my Earth, they also knew nothing about stargates, Atlantis, and human life in other galaxies.
"So, let's start searching," I activated the scanner program that Chaya had written.
The intelligent being we were looking for, marked by a pulsing blue dot, was far to the north. I suspect he's either in a forest belt at the foot of huge snow-capped mountains, or running across the rocks.
Well, not everything is as bad as it seemed at first. I hope he's at least not lurking in the catacombs.
But after only ten minutes of flight, when the stargate was barely within the "jumper's" scanning range, fate made its decisive word in our leisure.
"Is that what I think it is?" Alvar leaned forward, seeing a dozen red dots far behind us. Some of them were moving faster than the others, and that was a signal that the day was about to get interesting.
"Wraiths," Tayla said grimly.
"Correction," I sighed. "A bunch of Wraiths. Including 'arrows.' Judging by their course, they're also good at pinpointing our unknown friend's beacon."
"So, there will be a fight," Alvar got out of his chair and headed to the stern of the ship, preparing for battle. "I have a suggestion, Mikhail."
"Do you think we should first observe how good he is, and only then intervene in the fight, coming to the rescue at the last moment?" I clarified with the Ermen.
"Exactly," he said. "In my planet, they say: 'Wise men's thoughts converge.'"
"We have that too," I agreed. "Only the saying isn't about wise men."
From Tayla's expression, it was clear that she was interested in Earth's epic, but the girl decided to postpone her curiosity to better times.
An energy pulse with a sharp sound crossed the clearing, spreading like a flash across the Wraith soldier's body. For a moment, he froze, took another step, but then ran into a second charge.
And only after that did the enemy fall to the ground like a sack.
Another soldier, following him, rushed in pursuit of the man fleeing through the bushes. Too foolish to recognize an obvious ambush, he ran a few meters along a barely visible trail leading to the foothills before his leg gave way.
Sharpened stakes, inserted into parallel wooden drums, pierced his limb through, preventing him from getting out or taking a convenient defensive position.
It was at this moment that the man in attire that looked more like rags sewn from different pieces of fabric and leather strips, jumped from the crown of a nearby tree. The Wraith soldier clearly heard the sound of landing and a couple of quick steps behind him. But no matter how he tried, he couldn't turn so as to aim at the enemy. Well, the latter turned out to be an experienced enough creature and gave no quarter.
Seizing the moment when the Wraith posed the least danger to him, the man got behind him. His hands went to the enemy's neck, and in the next moment, a characteristic crunch was heard. The soldier went limp, falling to the ground in an unnatural pose.
The fugitive, tucking an energy pistol into his hip holster, pulled the dead man's massive energy rifle from under him. Now he needed any firepower available.
And the shock rifle, standard equipment for Wraith soldiers, wouldn't hurt.
The Wraith rifle-stunner, like their other firearms, was not designed for killing. In practice, it was easy to see that it fired an energy pulse that caused all the muscles in the victim's body to tense and relax simultaneously. This resulted in temporary paralysis, which was enough for the Wraiths to either take the victim to their ship or feed on them on the spot.
For an ordinary person, one hit would be enough, but for a Wraith, and for a person who had already been hit by such charges more than once, at least two hits would be needed.
The time to regain consciousness also depended solely on the victim's endurance. However, like many other things.
But it's better to have at least such a weapon at hand than not to have it at all, or too little.
Only his hearing, honed during his time as a fugitive, reacting to the barely discernible crackling of branches behind him, saved his life. His trained body instinctively threw itself into the bushes, away from the corpse.
A white-blue energy charge flashed past where he had stood a moment ago. But, as expected, it brought no result to his enemy.
Jumping to his feet, the fugitive managed to get a look at his new enemy. It was a hunter Wraith. And that was bad.
Firing at the enemy with the rifle and waiting for him to take cover and be unable to shoot him in the back, the man started running. Confusing his tracks and not moving in a straight line for more than a couple of seconds to prevent aiming, he delved deeper into the forest. Unlike most people living in the galaxy, the fugitive knew perfectly well that the charge of Wraith firearms became useless even with a small obstacle between it and the target.
Leaves and tree branches would do just fine.
The hunter knew this too and chose to give chase rather than shoot pointlessly at his back.
Among the Wraiths he had encountered over the years of his escape, hunter Wraiths were the most dangerous. They understood the art of reading tracks, were excellent at navigating the terrain. Sometimes they even had physical enhancements that allowed them to better tolerate radiation on planets, see in the dark, run and jump better than ordinary Wraith soldiers.
At first, he mistook them for Wraith commanders, who were also usually armed with no more than a hand-held stun pistol, and wore more refined clothing than the soldiers. But the differences were clearly visible to those who had already encountered both categories.
Wraith commanders usually did not cooperate with each other, did not form squads of several individuals to track down a single fugitive. They had numerous squads of ordinary soldiers for that.
But the hunters... They acted in groups, were well acquainted with ambush tactics, pursuit of prey, and much, much more. Where there was one, there would definitely be others.
And this was also proof that he had given them a good beating on the previous planet. Usually, hunter Wraiths were sent out only after he had destroyed a dozen or so dull-witted soldiers on a particular planet. But by then, he had already managed to move on to another planet, leaving behind several deadly "surprises" on the approach to the Ring of the Ancients.
This had to be taken into account when planning his actions. Under no circumstances should he allow the Wraiths to discover the cave where his shelter was located. And, therefore, he had only one chance of salvation: to kill them all.
Lost in thought, he almost missed the Wraith tracker who jumped out to intercept him. He also hesitated, but his right hand was already rising, clutching a stun pistol...
The Wraith's hand-held stun pistol.
Apart from its shape, compactness, and the ability to fire with one hand, this weapon was no different from the enemy's other firearms. One or two shots, and he would be paralyzed.
And this hunter Wraith would gladly feed on him.
Perhaps, but not today.
"Catch!" he shouted, throwing the trophy rifle at the Wraith.
Naturally, he didn't react like a human, instinctively deciding to catch the thrown object. The hunter moved aside, but that was enough for him to miss: the fugitive dodged the shot and pulled a short blade from its sheath, which he never parted with, even in his sleep.
The first lunge hit the tip of the stun pistol. The perfectly sharpened blade damaged the weapon's glowing energy cells, making it useless for the next shot. The hunter understood this too.
Throwing the damaged weapon at his prey, he attacked without the slightest delay. Except that besides his hands, the touch of one of which was deadly to any living creature, he had nothing else. He hadn't managed to draw his dagger.
The hunter Wraith attacked in the classic way for his race – spreading his arms and raising them slightly above his shoulders, he rushed at the fugitive. The latter, slashing at the right arm, on the palm of which the dangerous contraption was located, moved aside, smiling at the fact that he had cut off the arm right at the wrist.
A grimace of pain flashed across the Wraith's face. But for his race, serious injuries were not particularly dangerous – Wraiths' regeneration was hundreds, if not thousands, of times stronger than that of ordinary humans. The fugitive had seen wounds heal before his eyes more than once.
The hunter rushed at him again. But this led to a swift resolution.
The man retreated to the side, letting the opponent pass to his right. At the same time, he delivered a slashing blow to the Wraith's torso from the right, from the side of the severed arm. The blade easily passed through the Wraith's insides, making him slow down to realize the gravity of his situation.
At the same moment, the man, with one movement, cut off his opponent's head. Piercing bodies or maiming them was a waste of time. To gain a little time, you need to kill the enemy, not wound them.
The fugitive examined the damaged stun pistol of the killed Wraith and came to the conclusion that the weapon was damaged beyond repair. Throwing it aside, the man started running again.
With every kilometer he covered through the forest, he led the enemy further and further away from the caves he had chosen. Over the years of his escape, he could hope that he had studied his enemy well.
Wraiths followed the trail, but they didn't know the fugitive's exact location on the planet until they came through the gate. This gave him a good head start – he could set up several traps, equip ambush sites, and even rest a little. After all, the farther a new planet is from the previous one, the greater the chances that the Wraiths won't come after him immediately.
That's what happened this time. He got a respite of several days before they came again. The fact that the Wraiths quickly sent hunters after him indicated their impatience. And this had never happened before.
When chasing fugitives, Wraiths do not take hasty steps. He didn't know the exact reason why beings like him existed. Sport, hunting, training, entertainment, self-affirmation?
In essence, none of this mattered. Only survival – his own and that of other people, without whom it was very difficult to live. Ammunition, food, and medicine were always needed.
But most needed were doctors, healers, capable of at least trying to remove the tracker implanted in his back. But so far, he hadn't met a single doctor capable of doing it.
However, after recent events, he didn't even try anymore. Too many victims were left after each request for help from people. Wraiths were not inclined to simplify the lives of their fugitives.
A month ago, he stumbled upon a settlement in another world he had never been to before. The address was given to him by one of the doctors who had tried to cut out the tracking device from his back. Almost two thousand people inhabited the town where, he hoped, he could rest and regain his strength. The locals – open, friendly people – accepted him, fed him. Their healer, a funny old man, who was renowned as a wonderful specialist among his own people and in many other worlds, with his tiny glasses on his face, turned out to be caring and talkative. And when he learned about the device installed in the guest's back – the reason for the fugitive's appearance in his home – he readily responded. But despite all attempts, like dozens of doctors before him, he was powerless to remove the Wraith transmitter from the fugitive. And another scar was added to his back.
The fugitive stayed only for one night – to regain strength after the operation. Sleeping on a regular bed, in soft bedding, without fear of falling into the enemy's hands, seemed like a true gift from the gods. For the first time in many years, he was able to rest fully. And he left in the morning, hoping to confuse the Wraiths who were following his footsteps. Traveling through dozens of worlds devastated by Wraith scouts, he still returned to that city – to replenish supplies, as the locals had been kind to him last time. And he saw with his own eyes what had come of it. All the inhabitants had disappeared, and their homes were reduced to ruins. No one survived – even though he didn't find a single corpse, there was no doubt about their fate. Wraith fighters circled in the sky – either finishing collecting people or waiting for the fugitive himself. Only by a miracle, setting up an ambush at the Ring of the Ancients, was he able to escape.
He stumbled upon this planet recently. Untouched by human or Wraith hands, it had lush vegetation, in which it was easy to get lost from ground pursuit squads. The dense crowns of the trees prevented enemy fighters from finding him and taking him aboard – they wandered in the vicinity for several days while he hid in a cave. And, judging by the fact that the ships left, and a large squad arrived – the Wraiths had not been able to find him. And if so, the fugitive concluded that he could stay here for a while – to sleep, to regain his strength.
And now he didn't stop, changing worlds one after another, not lingering anywhere for long.
Noticing two Wraith soldiers walking ahead and slightly lower down the hill, he didn't hesitate. They – intentionally or accidentally – had come out onto the path that led to his shelter in the mountains. This could not be allowed.
With a good run-up, he leaped at the enemies. The Wraith soldiers noticed him only at the last moment. With a two-legged kick to the body of the first, the fugitive knocked them both over, and then, instantly on his feet, slashed the first soldier's neck with his blade. The severed head flew into the bushes.
The second grabbed for his weapon, but the man was faster. A thrust of the sword into the shoulder, a circular blow across the chest, a kick in the stomach, and a finishing blow to the fallen enemy. The tip of the blade entered precisely under the jaw, piercing it and reaching the brain. The enemy fell silent, unable to offer any resistance.
"That's better," the breathless fugitive gasped, looking around. There were no other Wraiths nearby. So he pushed the bodies off the path further down the slope, and hid the two rifles among the roots of a large tree.
He had to keep running. Soldiers don't walk on their own – there should be a commander or a hunter nearby. Wraith warriors are too stupid to act independently. So there should be at least one nearby...
A couple of minutes later, he found out the reason for the absence of a Wraith commander near his soldiers. This also explained their sluggish behavior when encountering the fugitive.
A barely visible forest path, used by local animals to reach a clearing with tasty berries, caught his eye, and among the bushes, a full-height Wraith commander could be seen. His snow-white long hair, black clothing, the length of his cloak reaching his ankles, were unmistakable.
And the stun pistol lying on the ground under his right hand, along with a couple of noticeable stones near the road, suggested to the fugitive the reason why the Wraith commander didn't even think of moving from that spot.
"You should at least watch your feet," the man muttered, picking up the weapon of the enemy killed by the trap. But his mouth, contorted with pain, and his glassy eyes betrayed a Wraith who was not too inclined to conversation. The dead do not communicate with the living.
And the Wraith commander's life was lost thanks to another trap the fugitive had set here. And the enemy stepped into it with one foot. At the same time, he pressed the flat base of a primitive lever mechanism, on the other side of which was a platform studded with numerous stakes. Sharpened wooden spikes entered the enemy's chest and neck, inflicting numerous internal injuries.
Even a Wraith who had just fed wouldn't recover from this.
Taking the stun pistol and searching the corpse, the man turned to continue his hunt. And at the same moment, he received a sharp but strong blow to the face, which threw him off the path several meters.
Before he could get up, a hunter Wraith was already in front of him. Kicking the fugitive in the face, he knocked him onto his back, then knocked the stunner out of his hand. Spinning around, the hunter Wraith sent the fugitive flying with a kick to the chest.
Falling onto his back, the man could barely breathe when a painfully familiar spasm seized his body. And when I say pain, it should be understood that it was completely real.
But he had been paralyzed by a stunner more than once, and therefore, albeit slowly, overcoming the pain throughout his body, he began to get up, drawing his blade from its sheath. Ingloriously, but he had only one chance to kill this monster and give hope for salvation.
"You've been elusive for too long," the hunter rasped into his face, aiming the stunner at his victim.
The fugitive managed to miss the first shot to his right, closing the distance to the hunter by a couple of meters. Stunners have big problems with rate of fire, but... This hunter was clearly a veteran of many battles and had learned his moves. Breaking contact and avoiding a blade strike to the heart, the Wraith shot him in the chest with the stunner.
As if struck down, the man collapsed to the ground, watching with fading consciousness as the hunter bent over him. Tearing the rags on his chest, the Wraith raised his right hand over the defeated, revealing the feeding organ on his palm – a narrow slit that allowed him and other Wraiths to feed on humans.
"Of all the fugitives from our hive, you are the sweetest and most worthy prey," the Wraith said, bringing his hand closer to the man's body with a jerk.
Already losing consciousness, the fugitive felt his eyes hurt – a flash appeared before his eyes, obscuring the Wraith and the rest of the world from him.
"I see they don't like to chat, do they?" someone's voice was heard at the edge of consciousness. "We'll take this one."
The man's face burned with cold, which pierced his body like a stunner discharge. The man, letting out an inarticulate sound, flinched, trying to strike the dark figure in front of him. His vision hadn't fully focused yet, but his last memories demanded that he fight for his life.
But his fist met only an impenetrable wall. And it seemed like a couple of fingers definitely broke.
"And you're not much of a talker, from what I see," a voice, somehow familiar, said. The fugitive, on pure reflex, threw another fist, but it too hit an unknown barrier. Which, for some reason, flashed green. "Calm down, guy, only your friends are here."
Pain finally cleared the fog in my head and before my eyes, after which the fugitive realized he was not in a forest at all. He had been to developed worlds a couple of times – until the Wraiths destroyed them. And he perfectly understood what a space or atmospheric ship was. Now he was inside one such ship. And for some reason, he was without his jacket, with his torso bare. And his back hurt a lot…
As did the two men and the woman, dressed in identical gray-blue suits, reinforced on their limbs and torso with something like thin armor. One man was middle-aged, like himself. But the dark-skinned woman with chestnut hair and the man with short, clearly recently grown-out dark hair were ten to fifteen years younger than him.
What was alarming was not even that they were on the same planet as the Wraiths, but that they had no weapons in their hands. Although there was one in the compartment of the small ship, at the stern of which the four of them were. Not only the firearms unfamiliar to the fugitive, which he had used some time ago – until he ran out of ammunition. The weapon lay on the seat, next to his blade. As well as several Wraith stunners – a couple of pistols and rifles. Something told him that this was precisely the weapon he had with him and which he had obtained in battle as trophies.
"Who are you?" he tensed, trying to leave as much space as possible between himself and the strangers. This was necessary to have room to maneuver. "What do you want?"
"Straight to the point," the older man chuckled. "Alvar."
"Teyla Emmagan," the girl introduced herself.
"Mikhail," the third man gave his name. Looking closer at him, the fugitive noted with surprise that a translucent greenish haze swirled around him. It seemed to be him that the fugitive had tried to attack upon waking. And the guy's voice was very similar to the one he had heard before passing out.
Mikhail. A Lantean, so to speak.
"What do you want?" the fugitive did not react to their attempt to be friendly. He had already thought of at least three ways to escape from here. But if only he knew how to leave the ship…
"We need your clothes, boots, and motorcycle," Mikhail said calmly.
"What?" the fugitive frowned.
"Ah, they don't know about the classics in this galaxy," sighed the youngest of those present. "Alright, jokes aside. We saved you, and we won't play noble. Honestly, you're not quite the guy I was looking for. But, I think, you can be useful to us, and we to you?"
"That brings us back to my original question," the fugitive made a quick move to the side and seized his blade. Retreating towards the cockpit (at least it was the only place from which the forest was visible, and therefore the exit), he pointed the weapon at Mikhail, who had appeared before him. "What do you want from me?"
"You'll laugh, but help," Mikhail replied.
"Don't come any closer!" the fugitive warned.
"Or what?" the young guy, without the slightest hint of fear, took a step forward and impaled his chest on the tip of his weapon. But instead of a terrible wound in the center of the approaching man's chest, the blade bounced off his figure. His injured arm hurt again. "I think you already realized that you can't harm us. And is it worth doing so to those who rid you of the Wraith beacon in your spine?"
"What are you?!" the fugitive, stunned, reached behind his back, feeling many old scars… And a sticky bandage in the center of his back. Exactly where, as a couple of doctors claimed, the Wraith beacon was located. "How is this possible?! Not a single doctor I know could remove it…!"
"That's why I'm offering cooperation," Mikhail extended his hand to him. "You're a fighter. The way you dealt with the Wraiths impressed all of us. And we wouldn't mind if you joined our team…"
"Thank you for your help, if you're not lying, of course. But I don't work in a team," the fugitive cut him off. "I'm a loner. And I intend to leave. Now."
"It's your right," Mikhail agreed. "You're seeing us for the first time, it would be foolish to trust us in such a situation, but… In a way, I know you. You're a good person. And you're definitely not alone, Kilrik."
The fugitive felt everything inside him tighten into a taut spring.