Nothing could be seen through the thick layer of water. No matter how long she stood with her head tilted back, everything seemed so... so... opaque. And she had so wanted to see the Ancient ship depart! Several times she had seen the Wraith ships do it.
A faint glow would appear in the sky. Only for a brief moment, but it was beautiful. Though after such a thing, Kiryk always said they should hide quickly, for they would soon come for them.
Now they were safe. He said so. And the girl was used to believing her savior.
It was cold on the balcony adjacent to the Atlantis control room. So, to keep from freezing, Seliz wrapped herself in a warm blanket. She didn't think Kiryk would be mad at her for taking an item from his room. He rarely got mad at her at all—only when her actions could lead to mortal danger. Primarily for herself.
So, he would more likely scold her for going out onto the balcony than for snatching the blanket from his bed...
She didn't have time to finish the thought—behind her, the door leading to the city's control level slid open with a soft hiss. The girl, even though she knew it was impossible, couldn't hold back a joyful, hope-filled cry:
"Kiryk!"
However, as soon as she turned, she realized she was mistaken.
"Not quite," Chaya said, approaching the girl. The Ancient stood beside her, mirroring her stance.
Seliz watched as the beautiful young woman she quietly admired now stood with her head tilted back, exactly as Seliz herself had been doing a minute ago.
"When I was little, I loved coming here and looking at the night sky," the Ancient said unexpectedly. "It would seem... what could be unusual about it? The light of distant clumps of hydrogen and helium compressed by magnetic fields, and an infinite vacuum... From the perspective of physics, admiring them is absolutely meaningless. And even more so to enjoy them up close without protective gear. In a vacuum, you would die from lack of oxygen, and the stars... approach them without powerful shields, and you would die even faster from stellar radiation... But for thousands of years, they have drawn inquisitive and adventurous minds to themselves. I remember looking at the stars on Proculus on the day the Lanteans came... I knew much about science, so I wasn't too surprised when a pair of symmetrically placed 'stars' suddenly began moving toward me, growing in size..."
Seliz remained silent, listening to the revelation. She didn't understand why the Ancient was sharing such information with her, but... she didn't even intend to interrupt the story. And who would refuse to hear a story from the life of an Ancient?
"They came to Proculus," Chaya smiled sadly. "I remember how I couldn't say a word. For I had only just assembled and launched a super-powerful transmitter—by my then-conceptions, to contact other civilizations. I managed to connect to the Stargate in the planet's orbit. As it turned out, that was exactly what they were waiting for to deem a race worthy of first contact. And so, they arrived... just like us. They were led by General Hippaphoralkus. He was so happy with what he saw. I remember how joyfully he informed me that our species had reached such a level of development that the Lanteans wanted to get to know us, to introduce us to their high culture and the knowledge accumulated over millions of years of development. At that time, the war with the Wraith was in full swing, and... I didn't realize it then, but the Lanteans needed soldiers. And based on my example, they decided we were a perfect fit. And I... I was so impressed by his story of Atlantis, the Ancients, and the rest, that I didn't even think it necessary to explain to him how cruelly mistaken he was. He wanted an entire highly developed race, but he only got me... and deep distrust from the other Ancients. I will forever remember his words: 'You are my greatest achievement. And my biggest mistake.'"
"Mistake?" the girl gasped. "But you're so... so... good! How could they think you were bad?"
"Good, bad," Chaya smiled sadly. "There is no difference. All that matters is who has the best technology. That rule was observed before the war. And it became absolute after the Lanteans got burned by my people."
"Got burned?" Seliz echoed.
"I was the first they met on Proculus," Chaya said. "General Hippaphoralkus was so impressed by my knowledge, judgments, and views not only on science and the world around us, but also on the spirituality of the human race, that he immediately established an outpost on the planet. He listened to none of his subordinates, occupied with conversations with me. We went to Atlantis, where, to universal acclaim, he told them of my achievements. He was their hero, the best at everything. They believed him unconditionally. It's no wonder they were so inspired by his story then. After all, I was one of the first to join them as part of the younger races. They made me an Ancient and expected the arrival of more and more Proculusians who could join their dwindling ranks... And imagine their disappointment when, out of thousands of my compatriots, only I met their criteria for advancement. They were furious, but there was nothing they could do. They had broken their rule—not to interfere in the development of primitive races—and they couldn't take it back. The Lanteans dreamed of an army, but they only got me."
"But... why were they angry at you and not themselves? They were the ones who made the mistake."
"When you live a thousand years or more, it's hard to admit your mistakes," Chaya sighed. "Especially when you are the most highly developed race in several nearby galaxies. I tried to show them that my people were worthy of following the path I had blazed... But nothing came of it. I did much to make them understand—the weak development of a civilization is not a death sentence. That other humans were also worthy of joining the ranks of the younger races. But they were adamant. Because of my persistence, I was exiled from Atlantis. I joined a younger race and tried until the very end to show that I was not a black hole among young stars..." Chaya darkened. "But I only made it worse. I was exiled a second time, without the possibility of leaving Proculus. I could do nothing when the Wraith came. And no one helped me to stop all of it..."
"And the General... Hippo... Hippa... Grippa..."
"Hippaphoralkus died in the heat of the war. His ship was lured into an ambush and captured. Because of that, the Wraith obtained Lantean power sources, which allowed them to build a new tactic. He managed to ascend, to become pure energy. And he helped me do the same when my world was attacked. I gained the power to destroy the Wraith... and I did it, even though I was warned. I saved only a few... and found myself isolated from everyone. I was exiled a third time..."
"You remember this?" Seliz was surprised. "Kiryk said you didn't remember anything since the Ancients disappeared."
"I don't," Chaya admitted sadly. "But I know how to encrypt large packets of data in simple-looking text. Perhaps that is my fate—to create false impressions. Very soon the others will realize this... and they will hate me."
"That's not true!" Seliz declared. "You're good!"
"Maybe," Chaya smiled, stroking her head. "But no matter how hard I try, it will happen... Very soon other Ancients will arrive here... and they will want to settle scores with me... Now nothing will stop them..."
"Misha will protect you!" Seliz said confidently. "And Kiryk! And Alvar!"
"I'm afraid that will be the last thing they do," Chaya sighed. "Even if I don't remember everything that happened to me during Ascension, but... some things are constant. I won't be forgiven for what I did. Back then, they took pity on me because there was a war and scientists were needed. But now... compared to those arriving, I mean nothing. Mikhail and the others simply won't have the chance to save me. That is why I must leave."
"Leave?!" Seliz's eyes went wide. "No-no-no! You mustn't leave! Kiryk said you would take care of me!"
The girl threw herself at the young woman, hugged her, and pressed her whole small body against her.
"Don't, don't leave! I'll tell them not to touch you! I'll tell them how good you are!"
"My little one," the girl felt a soft, warm hand pass over her hair. "In life, there are moments when one must make a decision upon which the well-being of others depends... Now I must leave. And then Mikhail, Kiryk, Alvar, and even you won't have to make a choice—future well-being or me."
"Don't leave! I promise I'll never-never-never touch anything in your lab again! Honest-honest!"
Seliz felt her hands being gently but firmly unclasped. Chaya knelt in front of her and kissed her tear-stained cheeks.
"Don't look for the problem in yourself," Chaya asked her. "You are not to blame. No one is to blame but me. I thought I could keep my secret, but... it turned out I wasn't smart enough to overcome the stubbornness of one man. Therefore, to avoid negative consequences, I must leave."
"I'll go with you!" Seliz declared. Not so much out of great love for the Ancient, but because staying alone in the empty city terrified her to the point of animalistic dread.
"I'm afraid that's impossible," Chaya said.
"But I'll be alone!"
"Only for a very short while," the Ancient assured her. "I understand that you're afraid. But I will make you strong, and that will pass."
"Make me strong?" Seliz blinked.
"Exactly," Chaya stood up and offered the girl her hand. "Come. There is much you need to learn before I go."
Kiryk's ward, sobbing, grabbed the Ancient's hand like a lifeline. And silently trudged into the city, which now seemed even more frightening and repulsive to her.
***
By the second day, all the gloss and euphoria of flying in hyperspace had vanished. The enthusiastic attitude toward the fact that I was traveling faster than light on a ship built by an ancient civilization, in a universe I had previously considered a mere fictional invention, was gone.
And it had turned into routine.
A hard bunk in the captain's quarters. A confined space, imagining myself as a sardine in a tin can...
This wasn't how I had imagined humans traveling through the stars.
However, the others didn't share my pessimism. Except for Alvar, for whom flights in the vacuum of space were nothing out of the ordinary, the crew wouldn't peel themselves away from the viewports. The Athosians argued about exactly what they were seeing outside the ship: divine light or non-divine?
I chose not to explain the Doppler effect.
The ship and its automation worked perfectly, and I felt a surge of respect for Chaya for the work she'd done. Yes, the Ancients were great too, building a magnificent ship that still functioned after ten thousand years. But it was through Chaya's efforts that this battleship had returned to life.
Out of the seven days of flight, the last five turned into a personal purgatory for me. Wake up, hygiene, a jog through the decks of the Hippaphoralkus, thoughts about how fed up I was with this long and hard-to-pronounce ship name, push-ups, jumping from the deck to the edge of the bed, another jog... I never thought I'd start exercising solely because I was bored.
By the fifth day of the journey, everyone was tired of it except for a few Athosians. On my jog, I was now joined by both runners and Teyla... For variety, I practiced combat moves that Kiryk and Alvar could show me.
I tried practicing the Athosians' folk martial arts. Something between the ceremonial-demonstrative bouts of the Japanese and Aikido. I don't know why they decided that in a real fight, a piercing gaze and total emotional detachment are valued, along with ritual circling with the opponent, but everyone goes crazy in their own way.
Kiryk and Alvar's skills were much closer to my heart. Strength, agility, strikes to pressure points, a hundred and seventy-five ways to break an opponent's arms and kill him with his own fingers. Short and manfully simple. Similar to Sambo or Karate, which I had practiced in my childhood and youth. Just without all the "ki-ya!" shouts and leg strikes that make your dad's heart sink into his boots.
Toward the end of the flight, I even started getting quite good at... falling on the floor without hitting my head on the bulkheads. However, Alvar said that against an untrained person, I had decent chances. Kiryk was less sarcastic in his teaching, more focused, and so in his martial arts—which indeed resembled the Sambo I felt close to in spirit—I made some progress.
The audio signal indicating we were approaching our destination sounded just as I was almost able to catch the runner and throw him over my back. But I got distracted—as a result, I was the one thrown over a shoulder.
"Siren," Kiryk identified, freezing with a pair of fingers in front of my eyes. According to his philosophy and experience, these organs were the ones that took the longest to regenerate in Wraith. And in humans—they didn't regenerate at all. So, no matter how you look at it, a "finishing move" with blinding is a universal technique. "Did something break?"
"No," I stood up and arched my back, which was sore from the fall. "We've arrived at the Aurora. Half an hour—and we'll exit hyperspace."
"We need to get ready," Kiryk said.
Agreed.
I managed to pull myself together and change clothes before the second siren sounded—the five-minute warning. By this point, I had already taken my place in the command chair on the bridge.
Located on a small podium, elevated above the other workstations, it provided an excellent view through the viewports. And from here, I could launch almost any system of the Ancient warship.
But primarily, I was interested in the scanners.
Long-range ones like those on Atlantis or the Taranian outpost weren't on board the Hippaphoralkus. But the ship could still identify objects within a decent radius of itself.
And... Chaya turned out to be right.
There wasn't even a scent of Wraith ships here. We could relax and not prepare for a sprint to the compartment from which self-guided drones could be launched.
"Exiting FTL," I announced a minute before it was due to happen.
Besides Kiryk, Alvar, and Teyla, all the Athosians had also gathered in the wheelhouse. Thanks to the ship's systems, I could track Koschei's location on board the starship. And, thanks again to Chaya—his life signal was perfectly distinguishable from human ones. As far as I remember, neither the scanners nor similar systems on Ancient starships in the events I knew of could boast such quality.
A slight vibration through the entire hull was barely felt. But it was this, as well as the white-green energy cloud appearing in our path at the end of the light tunnel, that became the indicators that the Hippaphoralkus had finally reached its goal.
The Hippaphoralkus exits hyperspace.
The battleship returned to real space several tens of thousands of kilometers from its target. I assume Chaya specifically programmed the ship this way so it wouldn't "sideswipe" the already battered Aurora. But, I think, she perfectly understood that I wouldn't be able to bring the ships together myself without one falling apart from a collision with the other.
Caring lady...
"I don't see anything," Kiryk admitted.
"Me neither," Teyla was practically jumping out of her boots, trying to spot something against the backdrop of the impenetrable black space. Unfortunately, the Athosian didn't realize that a ship isn't a star, and it's not that easy to spot in open space.
"We're still quite far from it," I explained, bringing up a small map with a mental command. Actually, I wanted to do it on the monitor closest to the other sentients, but it only worked on one of those built into the wall near the auxiliary panels. "We'll close in ten minutes. Initiating approach program."
The display wasn't rich in detail. Something like a radar screen, just without the clockwise sweep. But the space between the "Hippaphoralkus" marker in the center and the approaching small icon labeled in Ancient as "Aurora" was divided into squares.
Hmm... I'd seen radar screens a couple of times. Very similar. Was it a coincidence that our technology is so similar in its implementation and design to the Ancients', or is that how it's supposed to be, considering humanity was created by the Ancients?
The Hippaphoralkus moved toward the Aurora. A physics problem about two cars racing toward each other at different speeds came to mind. In our case, it was the maximum sub-light speed the Ancient engines could squeeze out, powered only by the ship's generators. But the Aurora was flying on inertia. Once it received a movement impulse ten (or so) thousand years ago, it hadn't had time to slow down. And how could it, if the ship wasn't being controlled by a crew, and the medium resistance in a vacuum is so negligible it can be ignored?
Within nine and a half minutes, we were close enough to see the ship in all its "glory."
"Oh, Ancestors!" the Athosians exclaimed almost simultaneously. But to the credit of their men, the only one who covered her face with her hands was Teyla.
"What happened to it?" the leader of the people from New Athos managed to say.
"The battle it escaped from was clearly intense," Alvar said with a hint of admiration. "So much destruction... and it hasn't fallen apart over all this time."
"And it keeps flying," Kiryk added quietly. "The Ancestors certainly knew how to build!"
I couldn't help but agree—despite its frankly pathetic appearance, the Aurora was impressive. For ten thousand years, the ship had moved through space and time, having suffered in a brutal battle. Yet, as far as I know from the events I'm familiar with, it continued to hold hundreds of its aged crew in stasis. If they were taken out of the stasis pods, they would likely not even have time to understand what had happened in all that time.
"It's very different from our ship," Teyla said, looking at me.
Well, look at that, Captain Obvious in action. She might as well have added "So there!" at the end. It would have been very close to the original.
"Did you figure that out because the Aurora is missing its entire front section?" Kiryk asked. "Or because our ship is intact and she," he pointed at the mangled behemoth, "is not?"
Teyla, her dark eyes flashing, remained silent. She had a decent relationship with Alvar, but with the other former runner... yeah. Still, she was a good girl in every sense. But sometimes it seemed like she was secretly drinking brake fluid.
Anyway, all that later. Right now, there's a more suitable task for us.
The Aurora... You couldn't look at it without tears. Warships are built with a pre-planned margin of safety. And it's several times greater than that of research ships. In the case of this starship, I'm more than certain no one rebuilt it after its reassignment as a combat vessel.
The bow of battleships of this type was something like an angular sphere or a teardrop attached to the main part of the ship. On the Aurora... there wasn't a single intact spot on it! The bow section was missing, as if it had been torn from the hull by a large and angry child! The plating was shredded, pierced in many places. I even noticed through-and-through holes in some spots. Construction trusses and metal beams sticking out in all directions turned it into a hideous flower. Like those sculptures and compositions made of rebar I'd seen in my former life.
In some places, the dark red cladding remained on the hull. As far as I had managed to familiarize myself with data on the Ancient fleet, ships intended for military use were painted this way. Well, not exactly painted... the hull metal itself had a reddish tint. And it was used where the most important areas of the starship needed to be armored.
The neural link with the Hippaphoralkus's systems gave me the understanding that docking was essentially impossible. I tried to launch the algorithm Chaya had written, but the onboard computer refused me. At least it performed the approach maneuver and allowed the ships to settle on parallel courses. Well, at least it didn't tell me to go to hell while I tried to initiate docking five times.
Life is simultaneously hard and simple in times when spaceships are smarter than their crew. I'll have to put an end to this upon our return. Period. I have enough dead weight in the team.
And the last thing I want is to be dead weight myself. This expedition has already shown me that the best I can hope for, if it doesn't involve shootouts, is to "assign tasks" to Chaya. Only now did it occur to me how stupid it all looked.
I am more genetically advanced than she is, but the girl knows and can do more than I can. And she simply obeys me as a representative of a less developed, younger race would a Lantean. A kind of genetic authority.
My soul felt foul. A leader should be the best among his people—at least in my understanding. At least in something. And not just because his genetics are better than others'.
"Is docking impossible because of the Aurora's damage?" Teyla clarified.
"Yes," I didn't go into details.
"We should contact Chaya and ask for advice," Kiryk suggested.
Ancient battleship Aurora.
"A decent option," I approved, thinking through how best to implement my idea. "Except that subspace communication will give us away immediately. We can fight off one wave, maybe a second. But what will we do then? We have tasks here for more than one day, so it's not worth attracting the Wraith's attention prematurely."
"And what do we do then?" Teyla asked. "Return to Atlantis and ask Chaya to solve the problem, and then come back?"
That was exactly what I was pondering. I had shifted too much onto the shoulders of the only Ancient. No wonder she snapped. I treated her not as a comrade, but as a subordinate who should follow orders and not ask questions.
Girls are girls, even among the Ancients. What she told me—about the rejection by other Ancients, plus my consumerist attitude. How long had she been living with the thought that as soon as other Ancients appeared in the city, she would be "erased" and sent somewhere to Athos to deal with the outpost left there? Or somewhere else to the Wraith's back of beyond?
"No," I replied after some thought. "We don't have that much time to go back and forth across the galaxy. The ship could be discovered. We solve the problem ourselves."
"I wonder how, if we can't even dock with the Aurora?" Alvar asked.
"Well, what are our spacesuits for, decoration?" I asked. Judging by the Ermenian's face, I had planted far from the most positive thoughts in him.
The best is yet to come...