"You want to cloak the satellite in orbit?" Kirik asked a bit quieter. "Make it invisible, like the 'jumper'?"
"Chaya says it's possible considering the new reactor's power and the parts she removed from irreparable 'jumpers.'"
We had several such. And even with the workshop, restoring them was too "expensive" in terms of energy costs and necessary resources to produce parts instead of irreparable damaged ones.
"There's no sense keeping it here on the edge of the Lantean system," I explained. "When there were hundreds of 'Satellites' throughout the system, it had practical purpose. But now when it's only one and damaged... It would be more expedient to drag it to orbit—we simply won't spend thirty hours on the road to it and back to deliver parts."
Because takeoff from Atlantis, passage through the ocean thickness, flight through the atmosphere, and exit to the calculated orbit where we intend to leave the satellite for city protection requires only fifteen minutes. And thus all necessary parts for further repair and modernization will be delivered much faster.
Which, accordingly, will affect the satellite repair speed.
"Finished with external repair," Chaya spent about eight hours in open space. Oxygen reserves in her spacesuit are depleted by two-thirds. But that's not a big problem—now the girl will return to the cargo compartment of "jumper-2," hermetically seal it, restore atmosphere, and launch the "on the knee" system she assembled for refilling spacesuits with air mixture. While bringing her ship to the docking port, she'll finish. "What pleases— I didn't notice hermeticity violations in the control point. If there are no breaches, life support can be restored in the dispatch room."
"Sounds like a plan," I appreciated. "You're great."
"Trying," the second "jumper" headed to the docking port. "We won't refuel the spacesuit now, it'll take longer than I need to connect the satellite's power from our reactor."
"Good," I approved. "Be careful."
"As always," the girl responded.
"And what if the Wraith fly here before Chaya fixes it?" the former runner asked. "They'll see the satellite on planet orbit and destroy it."
"There's danger," I admitted. "But I think on this business trip Chaya and Alvar can bring the satellite to combat-ready state. And on orbit it'll already be ready to smash a couple-three Wraith ships. And I don't pin hopes on more, honestly."
Essentially, the satellite is needed only to rid us of the enemy without resorting to projectiles or the like. It clearly won't save us from the entire Wraith fleet—will lose in quantity. Only a way to hold the first wave. And the second, third, and subsequent will definitely be when the first's efforts don't crown success. Such are the Wraith—when something doesn't work out for them, the plan goes downhill, and they lose, they throw a general call among their own, saying enemies are here, they interfere, need to hit hard so the whole Universe trembles.
Considering that the Ancients and their technologies, including Atlantis, undermine the Wraith monopoly on ruling the galaxy, if they bite us, they won't let go until we die. Well, or we escape like the Lanteans ten thousand years ago. But somehow evacuating to Earth doesn't seem a good idea to me—there are enough problems of their own.
"I think that despite the difficulties, the satellite until its full repair and transformation needs to be left here," Kirik said decisively. "After all, here the Wraith won't see it. And on planet orbit, it can be spotted in any porthole against the planet."
"And here you made a mistake," I yawned. "Wraith ships have no portholes. They navigate by scanner readings. And if the satellite doesn't stand in their way or nearby, isn't active and doesn't emit energy, there are good chances they'll simply fly past."
"You always rely only on hope?" Kirik asked.
"We stand on that," I sighed. "Well, and on having access to big guns."
"I didn't notice a big arsenal," the former runner said.
"It's a figure of speech," Teyla, more familiar with my manner of speaking, prompted. "Mikhail means that after the Ancestors left, their technologies remained in the galaxy. Like this satellite. If we're lucky, we can find the necessary weapons for protecting Atlantis and its allies."
"And again— it would be better to have something more than simple hope," the runner grumbled.
What I liked and at the same time irritated about Kirik was that he wasn't at all shy about asking questions that interested him. Says what he thinks. The guy is used to acting surely and thinking through the consequences of his actions. That's a useful skill.
But it also demonstrated that despite our cooperation agreements, he doesn't fully trust. Due to his distrustful character or fears that we might miscalculate somewhere like the Ancients in their time, he tried to learn our plans entirely.
Unlike Teyla, who was content with generalized answers to the rare questions she asked. But the Athosians in principle have almost religious adoration of the Ancients. And Chaya and I, no matter how you look, fit that definition.
Alvar also asked minimum questions—only those concerning his work directly. Such a guy with good understanding of subordination: subordinates don't ask questions of command.
And he considered me and Chaya as the latter. And we have something like dual power with her. And sometimes I was tormented by questions why the Proculian doesn't send everything to hell and declare herself head of the city.
Without knowledge of Ancient technologies, without a post in their hierarchy, without any authoritative influence on the city, the fact that I give orders is in principle ephemeral in terms of my authority. But for some reason Chaya doesn't stand up (and her character shows she can and loves to swim against the current) and doesn't take the blanket entirely.
I have no direct answers, but I suspect the answer lies precisely in the fact that, according to Chaya, the genetics of my body created by General Hippaforalkus in this universe surpasses her own. Like, I have Lantean genetics, and she has close to it but still belonging to junior races.
I remember in the known events, more than once or twice there were cases when in the matter of controlling key city systems, for example for flight, launching projectiles and much else, the "strength" of genes played an important role. Whoever has stronger Ancient genes is "daddy." And the rest had to "strain," while possessors of strong Ancient genes performed most operations with a yawn and picking their nose.
Figuratively speaking, of course.
I need to think about all this in more detail. After all, if the city main computer really determines seniority among those present solely by gene strength, this is simultaneously insurance and a problem.
In the first case, there's an un firm confidence that the city will close access to controlling its key systems if there's no Lantean in the form of me inside Atlantis.
In the second... Well, and what will happen if dozens or hundreds of Lanteans I returned to life come to Atlantis? They'll take power from me and say: "Beat it, boy. We'll handle further ourselves." Quite possible option, considering something similar happened in the known events to me.
And if you consider the fact that the Ascended don't like me too much, it's not hard to lose everything acquired by backbreaking labor. Chaya cooperates with me partly because she literally has nowhere else to go—the Ancients who transitioned to pure energy state, i.e., the Ascended, don't like her either. Less than me, of course, but still...
Curious that the thought "And won't I lose everything acquired by backbreaking labor when I return the living Ancients remaining in the galaxy to the city?" visited me only now. Right on the step before I started the "quest chain" for their salvation and return to life.
Maybe spit on them and not waste time on saving? After all, they're not relatives or even friends to me. Moreover, their comrades generally planned to finish me off...
Yeah, dilemma...
"Did you finish there?" Chaya's voice sounded. "I understand extra movements and disconnecting the communication channel aren't interesting to you. But enter my position—I'm falling from fifteen meters height here..."
*
Not that often in her past life, the one before Ascension, she had to work in zero gravity. After all, she was one of the smartest representatives of a junior race. Specialists worked in the laboratory.
And such work was done by less qualified technicians. But there was no technical team at hand, so everything herself, herself...
Transferring power from the "jumper" to the docking airlock was enough for the armored doors to swing open and open the way inside the combat structure. Chaya had never visited "Satellites" before and didn't know much about their design.
Detailed information in the database was little, but for what she saw, the girl was ready. The narrow neck of the docking airlock smoothly transitioned into the expanding throat of the main dispatch room levels. The walls had simple ladders for movement—after all, the satellite's internal space was small. Just enough to accommodate several technicians and equipment for launch and diagnostics.
The "Satellites" were conceived as remotely controlled weapons, so the presence of at least one intelligent on combat watch wasn't provided for. And the dispatch room was needed only for maintenance and repair.
Entry inside the satellite. Frames from the series.
The Ermenian scientific skaf gleamed with the whiteness of its outer hull. And credit where due to its creators, the flexible shell materials hardly restricted movement. So, estimating the descent angle and other physical parameters in her mind, the girl pushed off from the docking compartment throat and slowly floated to the dispatch room floor.
The shoulder flashlight flashed, illuminating the pale blue color of the internal spaces and the geometric patterns of the interior so beloved by the Lanteans.
The unhurried "fall" in zero gravity allowed her to examine the satellite's internal furnishings in all details. Two-level dispatch room, where the lower level is main, and the upper one closer to the docking node is auxiliary. Connected by the same ladders for construction simplicity. Following the files found in the Atlantis database, the girl already knew on which levels the control consoles interesting her were located.
Extending her hands forward, the girl softly touched the main level floor surface with them, then activated the magnetic grips built into the gloves. A soft but irresistible force pulled her to the floor, not letting her drift away.
Pulling up her legs, she turned on the magnetic grips on them too.
Ermenian scientific skaf.
Restoring a more familiar position, the girl sighed, thinking she hadn't in vain familiarized herself in advance with this spacesuit's capabilities. Unlike the pilot one, it had many useful functions. Like the same magnetic grips or a super-powerful lighting source connected to the spacesuit's main power plant. Or protective polymer coating covering all vulnerable spots of the skaf.
"I'm on the main level," she reported to her comrades.
"Everything okay?" Mikhail asked. There was no alarm in his voice. And understandably—the man knew the satellite should be in relative order. They discussed everything he knew about it before flying out. Let his memories be mostly not specific, they still allowed the girl to determine in advance
"Do you need my help?" Alvar asked. The Ermenian stayed in their "jumper's" cargo compartment to transfer the necessary equipment to the dispatch room.
"In two minutes, you can lower the generator on the tether," Chaya said, unclipping the tether from her belt and securing it with a super-magnet to the dispatch room floor. "Ready, expecting the generator."
The massive construction of her invention appeared in the "throat" a few seconds later. Attached to the tether, the generator slid along it using a special device. Generally, it was used for quick movement along various ropes, but it suited the current situation.
At a distance of two meters from the generator's upper part, on the same device for descent and ascent, three hermetic bags moved—with tools, with parts, and with wiring of all kinds. You never know what you'll need in the next second.
The white-blue glow of the active naquadah core nicely dispersed the darkness, but creating this equipment, Chaya thought least of using the generator as a lighting source.
Two minutes later, resembling gray stone slabs combined into one construction, the reactor base reached the dispatch room floor. Chaya's fingers slid over one of the auxiliary panels. The systems responsible for the magnetic installation reacted nominally.
Without the slightest sound capable of propagating in vacuum, the reactor base pulled to the dispatch room floor, securely fixed in the middle of the main level.
"Reactor in place," Chaya reported, opening the panels hidden in the device's sides. "Starting connecting the power source to the satellite systems. Alvar, you can descend. Now I need your help. We're ready to launch the entire system."
By the time the Ermenian, clinging to the tether, reached the main dispatch room level, Chaya had already found the external power outputs behind the decorative interior panels of the satellite and connected cables to them, linking the "Satellite" with the naquadah generator.
"Sure it won't explode?" Mikhail asked.
"Fully," Chaya replied, seeing that Alvar had magnetized to the floor. "First supplying energy to internal auxiliary systems, then, after diagnostics, to external."
"Good. Just in case, we'll fly farther away," Misha said.
"Reasonable," Chaya agreed, activating the energy transfer from the reactor to the "Satellite" systems.
At that very moment, dozens of monitors on both levels came alive, crystals that seemed simple decorations lit up. In fact, it turned out these were one of the types of lighting fixtures used in Ancient technology.
"Power is on, the satellite is accepting energy from the new generator," Chaya reported, looking at the floating in zero gravity laptop, as Mikhail called her portable computer. "Repaired circuits are working under load, energy surge warning system is active, diagnostics indicate a number of malfunctions, but I can fix them from inside."
"Chances to restore this thing?" Kirik's voice sounded. Looks like Mikhail continues using his ship's intercom on the general frequency. "Thousands of years have passed."
"Turning on life support," the girl activated several command sequences on the laptop. Inside the "Satellite," systems coming to working power hummed. "So... Temperature will soon normalize, oxygen is supplied from the 'jumper' board, but the independent system will soon work..."
"And the weapons?" Mikhail asked.
Chaya ran her eyes over the monitor data. "It's designed to feed from weak energy sources. Uses energy accumulation in a special buffer for firing... Oh!"
"And what does that mean?" Mikhail worried.
"The new energy source is much stronger than the previous one. Moreover, I think we can fire with short recharge quite a while. Well, until we're shot down."
"Sounds optimistic," the man with Lantean genetics appreciated. "So can we leave you alone?"
"Yes," Alfhar replied, with Chaya's permission removing the skaf helmet from his head. "The air here... of course, it's thin, but soon it'll be better. And working will be more comfortable, right?"
"Right," Chaya nodded in response, approaching one of the panels with the scanner and laptop. "Here burned relay and fuses of the auxiliary system. Starting replacement with analogs. Oh, confirmation came from 'Satellite' systems—dispatch room hermeticity not violated. So spacesuits won't be needed at all—and that's for sure."
"We'll return in five hours," Mikhail reported. "Time to hunt Wraith!"
"Now that's to my taste," Kirik seconded him. "Absolutely sure you don't want to kill him?"
"Absolutely," Mikhail said firmly. "Chaya, Alvar, the planet's atmosphere is heavily ionized, so there'll be communication problems. If we don't contact in five hours, fly to Atlantis. Abandon us—if the three of us can't handle it, you two have nothing to do there at all. Alvar, how do you copy?"
"Clear and loud," the Ermenian looked at the Proculian. "Good hunting."
"And good repair to you," Mikhail replied. "Well, team?! How about hunting some Wraith?"
***
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