"You know," the young woman, who introduced herself as Trebal, lifted his chin. "I can cause you a lot of pain if you don't cooperate. What he did," she nodded towards a man named Alvar standing by the door, who had been beating him for some time, "will seem like a mere sweet prelude if I wish."
Kaspar laughed.
He had already despaired of understanding what was happening.
He had been knocked out in one place, and woke up tied and helpless, stripped to his underwear, in a completely different one. And the warehouse, restored for use as a hangar, was clearly inferior to this place.
Around him was a room, clearly built by the Ancients.
He had once been aboard a ship that Larrin found, and saw how clean, spacious, and tastefully the interior was designed. It was the same here – the general impression was recognizable.
Except… Where could an Ancient base be located on Athos? Certainly not in the Old City – the ruins there least resembled anything that could have possibly remained intact. Not to mention the design.
Most likely underground… And the annex, which he thought was just a sleeping place for those two scavengers, actually served as the entrance to the bunker. But he hadn't heard anything about the Ancients building their outposts underground.
On the other hand, after so much time, the structures could have sunk below the surface…
"I think it's time to knock out some teeth," Alvar said, stretching his fists. "Broken kidneys and a couple of cracked ribs are clearly not new to him. Let's see how he talks when he has to eat through a tube."
"You'll have to try harder, strongman," Fry put all the sarcasm he could into the last word. At least because Alvar wasn't as robustly built as he was.
"But we can do without it," Trebal whispered in his ear. "For example, I can start breaking every bone in your body."
The scout turned to her and smiled.
"You'd better get undressed and give me a caress," he advised. "And I'll consider if you're worth me starting to talk."
And the next moment, he noticed movement from the entrance out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he saw another player.
And the textured sole of a boot, which pressed into his chest, throwing him back. Hitting his head hard on the floor, Kaspar closed his eyes for a moment and hissed, trying to overcome the unpleasant sensations.
What a pity the chair was metal and didn't break when he fell.
And in the next second, he felt someone's hand grab his not-so-long hair. Pulling his body forward, the newcomer returned the prisoner to his original position.
And immediately punched him in the face.
His head jerked, his jaw cracked, and a couple of teeth flew to the floor. Returning his head to its original position, the young dark-haired guy, about twenty-five to thirty years old, no more, smiled at him.
"Hello. My name is Mikhail."
"Except I didn't call you," Kaspar coughed, for which he received another blow, but from the other side.
And again he was lifted from the floor by his hair.
"I can do this all day," the guy assured him.
"What a coincidence," Fry laughed, touching the bleeding wounds on the place of his knocked-out teeth with his tongue. "Let me guess – my offer to this lady offended you?"
He nodded towards Trebal, standing by the wall. The girl leaned against it, crossed her arms, and watched with a raised eyebrow what this Mikhail was doing.
"Don't advise speaking rudely to my woman, Nomad," Alvar brought another chair and Mikhail sat on it, placing it with its back forward. "Otherwise, you won't get away with broken bones and knocked-out teeth. Got it?"
"And what am I supposed to get from that?" Kaspar asked, slightly confused. The fact that Mikhail so easily and casually called him a Nomad was, of course, a coincidence, as his people were not well-known in the galaxy. Just rumors. And the only thing that could give him away was…
"A nice toy," Mikhail pulled his "frequency scanner" from his belt. "I've always wondered, do you make them on your ships, or is there still a workshop somewhere on some distant, distant planet?"
Now this was no coincidence.
Fry remained silent. Right now, it was the best tactic.
"Nomad?" Alvar asked. "Who are they? Something like 'fugitives'?"
"Not exactly," Mikhail said, looking him in the eyes. "Well, my little fly-by-night friend, don't you want to tell us anything?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Kaspar said, adding confidence to his voice. He had been in similar predicaments before. Only then his captors didn't know who he really was. And there was always a support group nearby.
Now… Everything was different. He went on this mission alone, because if the opportunity arose, he could explain himself to Emagan. But if he had a whole squad, it would have become a big problem. No one would have been able to explain how he brought a whole group of people onto the planet unnoticed.
But a legend like "I hitched a ride, covered my face with clothes, and as soon as I passed the gates, I hid. You have to understand me – too many questions have piled up" worked almost always. Athosians were not very smart, so they would have bought it, even if they became suspicious.
But these three, plus at least two others he had seen all this time, were clearly not Athosians. And, most likely, not simpletons.
"Well," Mikhail grinned, "then I'll start, and you correct me where I'm wrong."
"You made a mistake choosing your prisoner," Kaspar warned him good-naturedly.
"Oh no, my friend," the interrogator's eyes were like ice. "You've landed on the wrong planet. Trebal, how long has our 'jumper' been tracking him?"
"Since the moment his ship appeared in orbit around Athos," the girl by the wall said. "Their scanners detected it, but I decided not to shoot it down until everything was clear."
"But you did install a beacon?" Mikhail asked.
"Yes," Trebal replied with some hesitation.
Kaspar felt his mouth go dry.
Asan, immediately after landing, went to the system where the Ancient starship was stationary. There he was supposed to meet Larrin, as well as the Council, to convey the information Kaspar had gathered. Until now, that system had never been visited by wraith ships or anyone else. Of course, if there were other races in the galaxy capable of space travel.
And now… If Asan's starship had indeed been fitted with a tracking device, then… At least these people would know exactly where the Nomad ship goes and is.
But… Why would they want that? Do they want to capture Asan's starship by storm to get the ship? Probably. He hadn't seen any starships from them (which doesn't mean they don't exist, of course). But in this galaxy, a spaceship capable of not only flying between gates but also between stars is literally priceless.
A shitty sortie.
"Excellent," Mikhail smiled. "Well, now a short briefing on the Nomads. A long time ago, this race was attacked by wraiths. And it occurred to them that the best way to hide from them was to move onto spaceships and be constantly on the move."
"Without stopping on planets?" Alvar clarified.
"At least they need supplies and minerals to repair ships," Trebal added. "Judging by the condition of the starship, they clearly have problems with dry docks."
Kaspar remained silent. Any answer from him now would only make things worse. But silence… Mikhail seemed to be the only one who knew more than the other two. It would be useful to listen to what information this man possessed.
"That's what they do," he said. "And they also land people on planets to avoid overpopulation on their starships. Since the ships are long past their prime, the systems work terribly, and there isn't even enough space for everyone. They are afraid to establish colonies on planets because of wraith raids."
"Their ships have energy weapons," Trebal said. "And it's unlikely they have only one ship. They could have fought back."
"Agreed," Alvar said, looking at Fry. "But if they repel an attack from one ship, or scouts sent for collection, then a hive ship with cruisers will follow. And, most likely, not just one. If the gates are blocked, as wraiths always do before an attack, then the ships will have no opportunity to accommodate a colony that has grown on the planet. Especially if they don't have the ability to build new ones or properly maintain old ones."
"And they don't have those capabilities," Mikhail continued. "They need foundries to produce hull parts. They need factories to manufacture quality equipment to replace damaged ones. They improvise to keep the fleet working and existing. Thus, they cannot build new ships, and those that remain are often repaired using unsuitable components and unsystematic reconstruction."
Either this man is well acquainted with someone from the Nomads and that person opened up to him, or… No, that's impossible. Every Nomad, even those left on planets, knows that the secret of their race must be preserved. Everyone understands how important such secrecy is. It's hard to imagine that any of his kin would reveal the secrets of the Nomads.
"Their system of government is also very interesting," Mikhail continued. "There is a Council that makes all important decisions concerning the race as a whole, such as alliances and decisions on war. However, the captains of individual ships make separate decisions, for example, whether to engage in battle or not, independently. Besides, do you think our friend is so calm during interrogation? Because he knows – his friends will come for him? No. For him, torture during interrogation, even by a supposedly friendly sentient, is a perfectly normal procedure. So we are not doing anything that he himself would not do to us."
But this was too personal information for some guy from outside to know. Interrogations are conducted by ship commanders, as well as their close associates. And these people do not spread information about how they obtained the information they are interested in. And even less do they leave traces and witnesses.
Fry looked at the man again.
No, he had never seen him as part of the Nomads. Too clean, no signs of malnutrition, exhaustion, lack of sleep, radiation damage to internal organs – he couldn't be from a Nomad ship. And he looks too well-fed and well-dressed to come from any of the typical human settlements of Pegasus. Even the most advanced races cannot maintain their bodies in absolute cleanliness. And this one, like the others, doesn't even have a hint of any dirt under his fingernails or traces of dirt, oil, or anything technical on his hands, body, uniform…
Where did these clean freaks come from? Even the scavengers look much dirtier than them. Because in such an environment, the fewer people, the more they get. Even commanders work.
And these guys…
Everything is too strange. They can't be wraith helpers either – they only recruit fans from underdeveloped races, understanding that they will never bring a bomb or nuclear weapon to their ships. And these guys… Having access to Ancient technologies, they would rather become lab rats for the wraiths than allies or servants.
Simply because the wraiths would not allow them to take on more significant roles.
"How dangerous are they?" Alvar asked.
"They collect this weapon and use it as standard issue," Mikhail said, intercepting the barrel and passing the "frequency scanner" to his accomplice without looking. "Their ships have hyperdrives, shields, energy weapons, life support systems, power sources. This is enough to cause a lot of headaches for everyone around."
"They are no match for us," Trebal said confidently. "We have partial data on their ship. If it has a typical design and technological development for all of them, then one or two shells will be enough to blow it up and forget about it."
"Don't look for identity on their ships, after all, they are more like crude crafts now than factory-made ones," Mikhail said. "But for the most part, in terms of technical capabilities, they differ little from each other. However, their technologies are not based on crystals."
"Really?" Trebal asked, looking anew at Kaspar, who continued to remain silent. "Well done, nothing to say. Now it's clear why their shields are crap, their engines barely reach our oldest versions… And everything else is of the same quality, I think."
"They have reached the limit of their technological evolution," Mikhail said. He continued to look at the prisoner, as if the answers were written on his face. And… What if he is one of the descendants of the Taken? They could read minds and do various tricks with consciousness. What if he is getting all the answers directly from Kaspar's head?!
"Except this instructive lecture doesn't explain what he's doing on Athos," Trebal said.
"Oh no, that explains a lot," Mikhail said. "Remember when Teyla told you that one of their long-time trading partners warned her after an argument with the Jenai that they don't forgive trade insults?"
"Of course," Trebal frowned. "You mean to say that this representative is a Nomad?"
"I mean to say that this is the mysterious guy who has been buying products cheaply from anyone he can for years and delivering them where no one knows," Mikhail looked him straight in the eyes. "A trade agent or diplomat, of whom there are hundreds and thousands throughout the galaxy from different worlds. Who would suspect him, especially if he is a regular buyer? After his appearance, the Jenai don't come, the wraiths don't raid. And people in the galaxy are very sensitive to such matters. If you don't bring problems immediately, you are trusted more. And it's not in the Nomads' interest to harm their trading allies – otherwise, at best, they will have to find new ones. And why bother if, in fact, none of the races they trade with can harm them personally?"
"Sounds reasonable," Alvar agreed. "Do you think the Nomads are interested in redirection?"
"Anyone who encounters the fact that wraiths cannot come through the gates will be interested in such technology," Mikhail said. "Everyone needs protection if it is effective. And protecting the gates from wraith recruitment is already a victory. This means that if a colony is established on a planet, there will always be an opportunity to evacuate people while the ships hold back the cruisers and hive ships. They are unlikely to win in open combat, but they can certainly delay them, allowing their own to escape. Am I right, Nomad?"
"Probably," Kaspar shrugged.
Under no circumstances should a scout reveal himself or give the enemy even a chance to learn more about himself and the fleet than they already know. This is the rule thanks to which they survive.
One of many, to be honest.
"He was interested in our 'jumper'," the woman said. "Do you think they have someone with the Ancient gene to operate it?"
"No, dear, they have something of ours," Mikhail grinned, seeing that Fry reacted involuntarily to the last word. "That's right, Nomad. Spin your gears. You know what I'm talking about. Such a big, beautiful, almost undamaged one, orbiting a dwarf star."
"A dreadnought," Trebal beamed. "The very one you were talking about!"
"Exactly," Mikhail continued. "Until now, I had doubts whether they had found it yet, but you see how our guest's eyes darted? He looked away slightly, trying to understand if he was the one who led me to this conclusion. No, you can relax, it wasn't you, Nomad."
Kaspar licked his dry lips from excitement.
The beacon… It seems to work on the same principle as spy satellites, which the Nomads, whenever possible, install in star systems they need to know in advance if someone is waiting for them at the end of their journey. And, if so, then everything is very bad.
There are no star gates near the dreadnought's location, but if these people have a spaceship capable of interstellar travel…
Or, if they intend to capture Asan's starship, then, along with the existing coordinates, they can easily fly there and launch the systems. Even if the starship doesn't move, then, according to Larrin, it has weapons capable of destroying the entire Nomad fleet.
The scout broke out in a sweat.
These people directly use Ancient technologies. They know the locations of their outposts, can track Nomad starships without revealing themselves…
And Mikhail also said that the Nomads have "something of ours." And he meant the Ancient dreadnought.
"Gate redirection," the Ancient dreadnought, which belongs to "them," piloting small Lantian ships, energy weapons of Lantian design, personal protection capable of withstanding a "frequency scanner" shot…
These technologies are an order of magnitude, or even higher, better than what the wraiths, the Nomads themselves, and everyone his people know about have.
And these people handle them without any problems, as if they know every tiny detail of their functioning. As if… they themselves build something similar.
Or, at least, are descendants or close acquaintances of those who built the Ancestor rings, all these magnificent ships…
"Do you see how the pupil is narrowing?" Mikhail asked Trebal. "The lighting here hasn't changed, so the body is reacting to the adrenaline surge in the blood. It seems he's starting to think in the right direction… Well, Nomad, will you tell me yourself, or should I do it for you?"
Kaspar licked his dry lips with his dry tongue.
"Are you the Ancestors?" he asked cautiously.
Alvar, snorting, laughed quietly.
Trebal smiled, but remained silent.
Even Mikhail, closing his eyes, laughed restrainedly.
"The guy is thinking," he said. "And how do I explain all the subtleties of self-naming to him?"
"Do we need to explain anything?" Trebal asked. "I think he's not in a position for us to give him answers. Especially since he hasn't voiced a single one himself."
What was said was a reproach, but Kaspar was not going to lose his composure from the heap of information that had fallen on him. There was always a chance that he was mistaken, that he was wishful thinking.
After all, the Ancestors had lived in this galaxy for millions of years. They had seeded it with life, given rise to the human race on all available planets. Could it be that these people are simply descendants who found Ancient technologies just as the Nomads discovered the Ancient dreadnought?
Only they were lucky, and one of them has the gene to control these technologies.
Everything is too chaotic.
And, most likely, he is right – the right to control Ancient technologies does not make them Ancestors. Millions of people live in the galaxy with the thought that the Ancients will return, that they will demonstrate their power and rid Pegasus of the wraiths.
His thoughts are probably just a wish that goes against the facts. This… Yes, probably, everything that is happening should be explained this way.
It's unlikely the Ancients needed to beat him to get information. They are the progenitors of humanity! Who beats their children to get what they want?
Only…
"We are Lantians," Mikhail said, without flourish, solemnity, or any pride. "And we are those whom you call Ancients."
Too… No, it can't be. They are some kind of swindlers who use what they were told… However, practically everything Mikhail said, Kaspar did not say.
But, perhaps, one should assume that someone from other Nomads turned out to be more talkative? Under such torture, it's possible.
"And no reaction," Alvar noted. "Maybe a couple more teeth on the floor will sober him up?"
"No," Mikhail objected resolutely, getting up from the chair. "I have a more successful idea. Return his clothes and prepare him for transport."
Apparently, he is their leader, since he can behave like this and has the right to give orders.
Trebal and Alvar exchanged glances.
The man, twirling the "frequency scanner" on his finger, handed it to the girl, who, along with Mikhail, headed for the exit.
Apparently, Alvar holds a not-so-high position in their society. At the level of senior executor or something like that.
"Well then," the captor easily drew a clearly factory-made blade from the sheath on his belt, cut the ropes that held the Nomad scout, and then, without fear of an attack from behind, walked to the corner of the room, took a pile of clothes from there and threw it at Kaspar's feet. "Get dressed, guy, we're going for a ride. And, I beg you – do something stupid."
But Fry had completely different plans.
***
The hyperspace window split with a colorful flash, and Asan's ship found itself in orbit around the planet known as Athos.
"Systems are normal, Commander," he was informed from behind the control panel of the bridge, which had not had panoramic windows for hundreds of years, hermetically sealed with ship armor. It's easier than wasting time and resources on smelting strong glass suitable for interstellar travel. "No other ships detected, no signals from the surface either."
"Not surprising," the starship commander grumbled. "We're two days late. Fry is a tough guy, but if he got ambushed or had to retreat under fire… It's unlikely he set a docking beacon."
If the scout is even alive.
Asan hated it when someone interfered with his plans. Especially when that someone was late.
"Be ready to raise shields," he ordered. "If a trap awaits us here, we'll leave as soon as…"
"A hyperspace window is opening," the navigator reported.
"Shields raised, Commander, guns locked!"
"Hyperdrive ready for jump!"
"Stand down," he only needed to glance at the monitor to understand – the very reason for the delay had arrived. "It's Larrin's ship."
The second Nomad starship jumped out of hyperspace a couple of dozen kilometers from the first. They didn't enter orbit, but after a minute, Asan was informed of an open communication channel from it.
A model of a Nomad ship.
On the monitor, which had seen better days, appeared the image of a fair-haired girl with beautiful features and a frankly disgusting character.
Asan tried to look her in the eyes and ignore the twin brother behind the commander of the second ship.
"My scanners show that there are no energy sources, signs of life, or even a landing beacon that your man was supposed to place on the planet," Larrin's voice sounded ordinary, but there was a reproach in it.
"When I was here twelve days ago, we detected a brief energy source pulse in the ruins of the Old City," Asan explained. "That's why I finally agreed to send a scout."
"Except there's nothing here," Larrin said, as if in passing. "And for 'nothing,' you've pulled my crew away from important work!"
"Not me, but the Council," Asan corrected. "And you volunteered to fly, even though there was no need for it."
"You described the situation with the Athosians so colorfully that I even had hope that this wasn't a delusion," Larrin chuckled. "And in our assets, we have a missing scout and..."
"A hyperspace window is forming!" the navigator shouted.
But by the time he uttered that phrase, it had already happened.
The monitors displayed an image of a starship, huge by the modest standards of the Nomads' ships. It unequivocally took a position so that both their ships were between it and the planet.
"Prepare for battle and retreat!" Larrin commanded. "Shields to maximum, spread out..."
"Wraiths!" Asan hissed. "Emergency jump and..."
"No, wait!" his twin, who had been staring at his portable computer all this time, shouted. "The engine signature is wrong! The nature of the hyperspace window is different and..."
What he wanted to say next remained a mystery.
First, Asan saw it on the open communication channel monitor – a glowing figure appeared next to Larrin, startling her considerably.
And a moment later, he discovered the exact same thing on his bridge.
Synchronously, the Nomads on the bridges of both ships raised their "Frequency Scanners," aiming them at the aliens...
Asan, aiming at the head of the young woman in the gray uniform himself, realized only a second later that the same passenger had appeared on the bridges of both ships.
"Who are you?!" Larrin approached her almost closely, almost poking the "frequency scanner" in her face.
"It's a hologram!" Nevik said quietly. "They've established a forced communication channel with us from the arriving ship."
"And whose ship is it?" Asan asked, holstering his personal weapon. It was useless against a figure made of light particles. But it could easily destroy valuable equipment with a shot that would pass through the hologram.
"Nevik!" Larrin snapped at her scientist. "Whose ship is it?!"
Confusion bordering on panic appeared on her twin's face.
"The Ancients'. It seems we dragged their ship with us during the jump and..."
"I am Trebal," the hologram came to life. "Commander of the warship 'Hippaphoralkus,' Atlantean space forces. I think you've already figured out that making unnecessary moves is not advisable, as starting negotiations with a shootout is not the most pleasant part of my job."