Trebal looked at me with a focused gaze. I would say I felt like prey to a falcon diving from the sky, but...
"We have to do this," she said.
"You know," I said, looking around the empty compartment, forcing a slight smile. "I'm flattered that you brought me somewhere without prying eyes..."
"Why are you hesitating?" she asked. "Didn't I promise you that everything would be fine?"
"No," I reminded her. "You said, 'You'll like it!' And we clearly have different ideas about categories of pleasure..."
"You have developed Lantian genetics," she said. "You said so yourself. So it will be easy. You don't need to do anything – I'll do it all myself. We both need this... It will help distract us, relieve accumulated stress... Shift our focus from problems to something... more... interesting for both of us..."
"I wish I could hear that in different circumstances," I muttered. And why is it that in the company of a beautiful woman, we men sometimes lose our heads?
"In what circumstances?" she asked, looking at me with confusion.
"You know..." I caught myself. What are you thinking? She just lost... a close person, with whom she clearly didn't just serve side-by-side. If she allowed herself such a thing, she was certainly closer to the deceased commander of the 'Aurora' than the other three hundred and nineteen crew members. "I'm not feeling very well... And anyway, I think we'd be useful to fix a couple of burnt-out relays, or replace wiring... By the way, I was pretty good at it and..."
Trebal came almost close enough to touch me.
She's half a head shorter, so she looks up at me... A rather... piquant look. I know what she wants, but I don't really feel like it...
"Alright," she said in a husky voice, placing her right hand on my chest. "Then let me play on your guilt... Let's start with the last one."
"Let's not?"
We are in that part of the ship where, even if she were to cut me with a pipe, no one would hear my screams.
"No, we will do it," she said. Why does her 'intimate whisper' sound more like a snake's hiss? "So... You violated my personal space..."
"I'm not to blame for falling face-first into your uniform's neckline," I retorted. "You started the maneuver, I wasn't ready..."
"So you don't deny guilt," she concluded, drawing on my chest with her finger. "And before that, you hit my head against the bulkhead. You know, it still hurts. A lot."
"I apologized."
"I don't remember that moment very well."
"You were unconscious."
"Exactly," she smiled. "And you also left me unconscious on a ship where a Wraith hadn't yet been locked in a cage."
"I don't think he was interested in your chest," I said. "Especially since during the reverse feeding he already... Violated your personal space... By my order, of course..."
Trebal looked me straight in the eye.
"If given the chance, you'd drown yourself, wouldn't you?" she clarified. "And no pressure is needed... I was already figuring out how to force you, I was even thinking of threatening you... And then I realized – you're just a man."
"That sounded extremely offensive," I admitted. "You're not a feminist, are you?"
The girl thought for a moment...
"I'm not sure I understood the term correctly, but I don't think so..." So, are we going to do this?"
"How about another time?" I suggested.
"No, right now," she replied. Her fingers pressed the end of her finger into my sternum, after which her hand resembled the head of a king cobra...
And then I felt pain in my chest, a sensation of flight, and... pain in my back and the back of my head.
"Damn it!" I cursed, instinctively placing my hands on the surfaces designed for this. My fingers touched what felt like silicone pads filled with gel.
And a white-blue light began to glow around my body. On the wall in front of me, a panel slid aside, revealing a control screen that looked like a slightly altered rhombus. Color markings flashed, and notations in the Ancient language appeared...
"This, by the way, hurts," I said, coughing.
"You shouldn't have tested my patience," she said dryly, approaching the monitor and a small keyboard that slid out of the wall. "You wouldn't have had to use force."
"We won't build a relationship this way, you know," I warned. "You can't achieve much through intimidation and violence..."
"You can achieve much more from a man through flirtation and hand-to-hand combat skills than through simple requests," she replied calmly, studying the readings on the monitor.
And there was no longer even a hint of what had been between us a minute ago. If there was any chemistry between us, it was clearly inorganic, artificial, false...
"And why all this?" I asked, still in the Ancient control chair.
"I need the output data," Trebal said. "It can only be obtained when someone is in the chair."
"Then sit in it yourself! It works based on the Ancient gene... You have it..."
"Yes, but not as strong as in a Lantian organism," the girl said. "The stronger the gene, the closer it is to Lantian, the more systems and functions are opened using the chair."
"Including...?" I asked meaningfully, looking at the monitor readings when Trebal moved aside.
Ancient Control Chair.
Trebal hid the console in the wall, then came up behind me. Judging by the sound, she removed some panel...
"What do you know about this device?" she asked me.
"I know it consumes a lot of energy," I recalled. "It's also installed on outposts and in Atlantis to control homing missiles."
"Is that the extent of your knowledge as an alien from another universe?" Trebal inquired.
"Did the Commander tell you about this too?" I asked, becoming wary.
"We had no secrets from each other," she replied. A melodious sound rang out, usually accompanying the extraction of main crystals in Ancient systems. The white-blue backlighting of the chair disappeared. "And he told me who you are and what you represent."
"And... what do I represent?" I inquired.
"A hollow shell that got an improved genetic casing," Trebal said. The crystal clicked into place, and everything returned to how it was. "No knowledge, no skills, no aptitude for higher sciences. Not even at our level..."
Ten years ago, being younger, I would have simply stood up and left, not tolerating insults on my own ship. But Trebal clearly possessed some interesting information. And she understood Ancient technology. At least – the control chair.
"Tell me, were you born a bitch, or is it acquired?" I asked, watching the monitor readings change.
Now, a map of a whole piece of space opened before my eyes. In one part was the marker of our ship, in another – the enemy Hive Ship. And further away – another marker. And it was more massive than a regular Hive Ship.
I don't like all this...
"It's easier to live that way," she replied. "I'm done."
"Good. Wipe the machine."
The girl walked around the control chair, ignoring my words, and approached the monitor again.
"So, we have more data," she said. "The chair, as always, does its job perfectly."
"I'd also like to know what you're doing," I admitted. "I feel somewhat superfluous here..."
"The control chair functions by creating a neural interface between the mind of the operator subject and the corresponding device, allowing the user to control any technology it is connected to with a mere thought," the girl said. "The chair contains equipment that interprets the mental commands given by the user and executes them, then transmits the information back to the user for confirmation. A looped mental control. You flew on... what did you call them?"
"Jumpers," I explained.
"Jumpers," she repeated. "Interesting name... Why exactly?"
"Because the event horizon of active star gates looks like a puddle of water," I explained. "And the ship 'jumps' into this very puddle..."
Trebal pondered for a few seconds.
"A primitive analogy, but accurate enough," she concluded. "However, I didn't expect anything else from representatives of primitive races. Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Tell me, have you ever considered that calling people who haven't developed to your level, which, by the way, was provided by the Ancients, 'primitive' is somewhat insulting?" I asked.
"It's a scientific term," she said. "You are primitive, in relation to us. Even to the junior races of the Ancients."
"Interesting, did the Ancients also call your race primitive?" I asked. No, it's really interesting, where does this snobbery come from in the end?! Yes, she turns out to be quite a bitch, changing masks depending on the situation, but there must be a limit to everything⁈
"I was born much later than we overcame the primitive stage," she replied calmly. "We became a junior race, part of the Ancient confederation."
"But, compared to them themselves, you were primitive, weren't you?" I insisted.
"Yes," she said imperturbably. "But less primitive, for example, than your friends from Athos. Or your base race."
"What makes you say that?"
"Because I can work with Ancient technologies," Trebal countered. "And you couldn't even set up the ship's systems yourself. If it weren't for my trained organism, you would have died under the Wraith's fire. However, I think you would now be crawling at the queen's feet, spilling all the secrets she would want to know."
Ruthless, absolutely tactless bitch. I'm starting to regret saving her. Maybe I should knock her out again and hit her with the other side of her head, even harder? Will that help, or will it only make things worse?
"Shall we continue our conversation about the control chair?" I suggested. "For example, I'm interested in why this particular method was chosen for controlling homing missiles?"
"This control method prevents unauthorized access to the system by other means, serving as a security measure that prevents anyone who cannot use the chair from easily controlling the system without it," she explained. "Control chairs are genetically linked to a specific biological species to prevent unauthorized access. In our case – to the Ancients. Their descendants and their junior races."
"Why not use good encryption then?" I asked. "Passwords, eye scans, biometrics, and all that?"
"The chair uses all of that," Trebal replied confusedly. Then, as if remembering, she answered. "Passwords can be learned, a biometric carrier can be forced, compelled, their mind subjugated. But the chair... The chair cannot be deceived. It scans the one trying to operate it, reacts to changes in the secreted sebaceous material of the operator, analyzes brain frequencies, its radiation, internal organ rhythms... If the operator is affected by biological, chemical, mental, or other radiation, substance, their will is broken, or they are otherwise subjugated – the chair will not work."
"So, it's not just the gene that's needed," I understood. "The person themselves is a kind of master key."
"An elegant solution, isn't it?" Trebal smiled. "Now I can believe you."
"And before that?" I clarified.
"And before that moment, how should I have treated a person who arrived from another universe with unknown intentions, claims to be one of the most heroic Lantians and Ascended, went against all imaginable and unimaginable rules, and gave Atlantis to your disposal?" she asked. "You and your people do not possess the knowledge of the Ancients, but you have restored the ship. You have a Wraith with you, who is older than he might seem."
"What makes you say that?"
"By the end of the war, there was stratification among the Wraiths by hives," Trebal said. "They began to break up into collectives due to the destruction of their commander-in-chief – the Queen of Death. Among them, a custom appeared – to tattoo themselves in honor of their hive's signs. This one has nothing like that. Either he is too young, or too old. He doesn't look young. From which I conclude that he is one of those we fought ten thousand years ago. I wonder how you managed to find and capture him? And why is he not yet in one of the hives? Which queen does he serve?"
The girl looked at me with interest, waiting for an answer.
"Let's continue our lecture on the chair," I suggested.
Realizing that her questions would not be answered, Trebal's expression did not change. I bet she will try to extract this information from me later. With her cunning methods...
"As I said, the chair interacts with the brain," Trebal said. "It's a wireless connection, and it's impossible to interfere with it. The chair is just the pinnacle of all the technology involved in the entire process," the girl approached the monitor and pressed a few icons on it.
The picture changed again.
Ancient Control Chair.
"Although they all look similar, the design and peripheral systems of the chairs in Atlantis or on ships are different," she explained. "Before you is a chair from Atlantis. This is a basic version for city-ships, outposts, and so on. The elements you see inside are the primary control system for the city or outpost, and they are also connected to all parts of the settlement. There is no point in using them on a ship, as they simply take up too much space and are redundant for a military starship. Only the chair itself and its platform are used," she pointed to the platform on which the chair stood, "and the equipment is connected to the ship's systems."
"Is it all about saving space?" I clarified.
"And energy," the girl added. "The chair is supposed to use MNT for its operation by default. But this power source is not easy to produce. And for some time before the war, just before the production of ships like this, it became impossible."
"Why?"
"The Lantians did not explain the reasons," Trebal said. "And the junior races do not ask questions."
"And there were no rumors?"
"Are they important?"
"Rumors sometimes contain a grain of truth," I noted.
"In that case, you'd better talk to someone else," Trebal said. "I haven't been collecting rumors."
"All right, let's assume so. But the 'Hippaphoralkus' doesn't have an MNT. But the chair works," I noted.
"Because on this ship and subsequent ones, they started installing super-reactors as ship power plants," Trebal explained. "When they're running, they provide enough energy to power the chair. But it significantly depletes the ship's energy resources. That's why ships going into battle were usually equipped with MNT. On this ship, it seems it was taken during the evacuation. Or it wasn't there at all. That could happen if there were none left by the end of the war."
"Let's assume so," I nodded, getting up from the chair. No point in wasting energy. "So, they installed a simplified version on the ships, without all these," I pointed to the monitor, "additional systems?"
"I didn't explain it quite correctly," Trebal winced. "The platform with the chair and the systems indicated on the diagram are not a single unit. The platform with the chair can be detached and moved. That's what they did with the ships – they simply didn't build the 'lower' part, as it uses very rare resources and difficult-to-produce systems."
"And where a city or outpost has its own tracking, targeting, and other systems for the chair, on more or less modern ships, they are practically absent as separate technologies. Chairs on ships are essentially the gunner's and shooter's stations."
"And now Trebal has reconfigured it, connecting it to all the starship's systems. That is, besides the chair on the bridge, the ship can also be controlled from here?"
"Correct," said Trebal. "We conducted simulations of similar improvements on the 'Aurora.' But in virtual reality, changing the crystal arrangement and accessing the main functions without a Lantiian in the chair wouldn't have worked in reality..."
"And... weren't you afraid it would explode?"
"No," the girl answered confidently. "In the worst case, some circuits would have burned out. But we have backups – Ihaar pulled a full set from the 'Aurora.' The main crystals, by the way, will fit Atlantis – the 'Aurora' had the same chair as the city. But the spare ones are for the 'Hippaphoralkus' chair."
"Alright... Let's assume. But let's make a note of it – it's time to sort out the hierarchy. We can't let the Ancients do whatever they want. It seems Trebal is simply testing my limits, looking for the boundaries of what's permissible."
"Well, this game can be played by two."
"Now much becomes clear."
"For example, the appearance of the Atlantis control point. Why are terminals needed if the city can be controlled from the chair? It's all about energy saving. Why waste it on routine procedures?"
"Therefore, despite the basic, not a cut-down model of the chair, the city also has a set of all the main sensors and programs that can be controlled from the consoles. I think somewhere there's also a system for firing from a terminal, not from the chair – something like that happened in a series. The replicators who captured Atlantis were shooting at the heroes then. And they didn't have the Ancient genes because they lacked flesh."
"It's not the chair itself that uses a lot of energy, is it?" I voiced my guess.
"Why do you think so?" the Ancient frowned.
"Our reactors are not in the best condition," I reminded her. "And yet, starting the chair didn't affect the ship's power supply. Not even the lights flickered. I don't think these reactors produce enough power to replace the MNT – otherwise, they would have installed them in unlimited quantities in the city. And I didn't notice any there."
"You're right," Trebal replied with a hint of respect and surprise. "Such enormous energy was needed to supply the entire complex of mechanisms connected to the basic version of the chair."
"Hmm... the pot is brewing the right porridge, that's good."
"Are these consoles?" I asked, pointing to the silicone panels with gel located at the ends of the chair's armrests.
"Manual interface," explained Trebal. "It's used for those who don't have very good genetics. But at the same time, it reduces the brain load when working with the chair. This is important for long-term operation. For example, piloting or engaging in prolonged combat – it's better to issue a command by pressing a button than to overload your mind. From experience, I can say that even Lantians didn't shy away from this approach – after an hour or so of contact with the chair, a person could be sent to the infirmary for recovery. Mental exhaustion..."
"So much for advanced technologies that drain brains and thoughts."
"The chair can connect me directly to the ship's database now, can't it?" I asked.
"Why do you need this information?" Trebal asked suspiciously.
"Let's say I want to download the necessary information from the database directly into my brain... Is that possible? The Ancients have such a technology."
"Yes, I've heard about that. They downloaded knowledge using such installations, and the reverse interaction with the brain is similar to what's in the chair. These are identical or related technologies. But Knowledge Vaults are barbarism! They were created for training younger races and haven't been used since the escape from the Milky Way. At least, that's what the commander said..."
"Interesting. So, those things have a very practical purpose. Not just crumbs for descendants."
"So, it's still possible to download information directly from the database into the brain through the chair?"
"With your level of genetics and training, you don't need such dangerous methods," Trevel warned.
"Yes or no?"
"I won't say until you answer my question."
"You've already said everything I was interested in."
"I wasn't going to say anything. After all, changing gender and social roles is not my style. And, since she's turned on the 'man' mode... Will a punch to the jaw count as an answer?"
I was saved from the necessity of answering in the strict understanding of a caveman about dialogue by Ihaar's voice.
"Mikhail, Trebal, can you hear me?"
"Loud and clear," the girl said into her transmitter brooch, without taking her eyes off me.
"We've surveyed the external damage and started repairs."
"How bad is it?" she asked.
"The main power bus has melted, and we don't have enough spare parts to restore it," Ihaar explained. "The secondary circuit isn't in great shape either after your stunt with switching to near-light speed, but there's a pretty good chance we can partially restore it, partially bypass the damaged sections using other systems. It'll be cold somewhere on the ship, gravity will be gone somewhere, and somewhere it's better not to open doors at all, as we'll cut off part of the hull to extract the necessary elements..."
"Will it fly?" I asked.
"Oh," Ihaar said, puzzled. "I didn't know you were nearby... There are decent chances."
"How many?"
"Fifty percent chance we can accelerate using sub-light engines and open a hyperspace window, fifty percent chance the reactors will just burn everything to ashes, and our hull will start to fall apart from overload," the senior engineer reported.
"I hope that was bad news?" I clarified.
"Actually, it's good news," the guy sighed. "The bad news is that the Wraiths clearly know the ship's schematics – their hit damaged the launch shaft for guided missiles. So, if we decide to fight, then... Well, we'll have to puncture our own hull. The problem is that the main control and power buses run very close there... A meter to the side, and we'll lose control of the ship."
"Missiles are very accurate weapons, aren't they?" I asked Trebal.
"An error of five to six meters is quite normal even for an experienced chair operator," she said. "That's why they're launched in swarms – to destroy the target with certainty."
"Let me guess – those missiles that were launched but not destroyed by the target won't return to the silo?" I asked.
"If you're suicidal – try it," the senior officer of the 'Aurora' shuddered. "But without my people on board."
So, we can't win a fight. We simply have no weapons – pulse cannons won't protect us from the fire of a hive ship. And certainly not from a second, larger one.
It seems the secret of Atlantis's restoration won't remain a secret for long.
"Are you still there?" Ihaar's voice came. "If I've suddenly interrupted you from something important..."
"I've connected the chair to the long-range sensors," Trebal replied into the brooch. "They show that the approaching ship looks like a hive, modernized with MNT."
"Oh, may the Ashes of the Void be short-lived!" Ihaar cursed. "You think they have MNT?"
"Nothing terrible," I interjected. "Continue talking as if I'm not here. You won't forget to describe this incident in your diary, will you, gossip-Trebal?"
The girl looked at me without the slightest hint of understanding.
"Yeah... I need to fly to Earth at least to find someone who understands my jokes. However, it's not worth it."
"The key problem of the Wraiths is the lack of energy."
"I know that."
"Let me finish! During the War, they managed to capture several of our ships. And MNT on them. After which their numbers inexplicably increased thousands of times. They got ships that could be called super-hives – it seems that's how in your dialect a subject's overwhelming superiority over another is denoted. In general, such a ship dominates others. It has more weapons, more 'arrows,' a larger crew, it flies without short stops to repair the hull from radiation. Oh yes," Trebal smiled mockingly. "And it also has a super-hull that cannot be penetrated even by the full arsenal of a battleship like the 'Hippaphoralkus'."
"Why?" I asked. "Don't the projectiles pierce any barrier?"
"It's about their quantity," Trebal said. "On the 'Aurora' and the next generation, to which the 'Hippaphoralkus' belongs, there are only a thousand projectiles each. When subsequent generations were created, specifically for the war, they had three thousand projectiles. That was enough to destroy such a ship, developed to its maximum."
"And how many projectiles are on Atlantis?" I inquired.
"I don't know if they've replenished them, as the factory was destroyed," Trebal said. "When we broke through, the 'Aurora' was given a set of projectiles from the city. And it was practically empty there."
"I meant, how many projectiles should be in the city's arsenal in total?" I had to clarify.
"I've never been interested in the size of the Atlantis arsenal or other ship-cities."
"Excellent... So she knows about other similar cities. Excellent! We just need to get out of this mess, and life will get better."
"Do we have shields, Ihaar?" I asked.
"The emitters have burned out or cracked," he announced. "I'll give it five percent, maybe ten, but no more than that."
So our options are rapidly shrinking.
Our gazes met with Trebal's.
"Are you thinking about the same thing I am?" she asked.
"If our thoughts are similar, then I don't know whether to be happy or sad, because I'm primitive," I reminded her.
The girl silently swallowed the jab.
"We won't survive a fight."
"Yes, it's directly contraindicated for us," I remarked. "We need to leave. And preferably in a way that we're not detected or tracked by the Wraiths."
"Contacting Atlantis and asking Chaiya for help or to raise the city to the surface, fly over and pick us up would be a good idea. If not for the very limited time we have left before the second ship arrives. And there are no projectiles in the city."
"If the ship doesn't have a Wraith transmitter, they won't find us," Trebal stated confidently. "Tracking us in hyperspace is definitely beyond their capabilities."
"So, it's time to think about escape," I concluded.
"Work on repairing the engines," Trebal ordered into the transmitter brooch. "Sub-light, hyperdrive..."
"And the maneuvering thrusters?" Ihaar asked. "We've already started repairing the others."
"Logically, we wouldn't need a command for that either – without sub-light engines, we won't accelerate for the hyperspace jump. And without the hyperdrive – we won't leave this part of space."
"Did the maneuvering thrusters also get damaged?" Trebal clarified.
"Did you think that by sending ten times more power than their maximum absorption capacity through them, they would remain like new?" Ihaar exclaimed. "They've fused! They worked during braking after acceleration, and even then, we only reduced the speed by ninety-two percent..."
"Work with what you have," I ordered, seeing that the girl was still holding down the transmitter brooch. "We have no other options anyway."
"Understood, continuing restoration," Ihaar said, disconnecting.
"This is bad," Trebal said, fiddling with the transmitter on her uniform. "Inoperable maneuvering thrusters are a big problem. Fatal, I'd say."
"Don't tell me," I agreed. "Because without them, we..."
"Maneuvering thrusters provide deviation from the course when moving at sub-light speeds," Trebal answered (surprisingly!). "They are needed for atmospheric entry. But, most importantly – thanks to them, the impulse is dampened after exiting a hyperspace window."
"And if they burned out..."
"Then we'll enter the space object in front of us at full speed, if there is one at the end of the path," Trebal added grimly. "If we exit a hyperjump in open space, the ship will simply continue to move by inertia."
"Can we turn the ship around with the sub-light engines forward, use them to dampen the impulse, and drift?" I inquired.
"Without maneuvering thrusters – no," Trebel said. "Without them, we fly in real space simply in a straight line..."
"And in hyperspace?" I asked, catching a dangerous idea by the tail. "We don't steer with them there, do we?"
"No," Trebal frowned. "It seems you've got an idea?"
"I have a couple," I admitted. "But we'll need a damn good pilot. Do you happen to know one?"
The girl gave me a piercing look.
"Sarcasm?" she clarified just in case.
"What are you talking about!" I waved my hand. "How could we, primitive species..."
"Sarcasm," the girl stated. "All right, let's assume I can pilot the ship at the required level. But I'd like to know for what specific purposes..."
"And here you'll have to hear something you won't like," I said, getting up from the chair.