It's hard to find a planet in this galaxy that hasn't suffered from wraith invasions over the centuries. It so happened that the descendants of bugs and humans visited almost every inhabited planet in the Pegasus galaxy to taste the local inhabitants.
They came to this world too.
But instead of feasting on human flesh, they choked on their own blood.
And the enormous number of wraith ship wreckage in orbit around a planet, whose existence I knew about but desperately didn't want to fly to, only confirmed this fact.
In the series, upon arriving here via a "jumper" through the stargate in orbit around the planet, the Earthlings, according to them, discovered the wreckage of one hive ship. Or the translation was too clumsy, and I was too young to bother checking the original.
One way or another, the Earthlings discovered an orbital battlefield, which piqued their curiosity to venture where they shouldn't have. All of this led to a series of events that I intended to avoid…
"Jumper" in the debris field.
However, since I found myself here, it was worth satisfying my curiosity. Especially since there was no danger—at least I hoped for something like that.
The "jumper's" onboard computer dutifully scanned the orbit while I stalled for time before a conversation that might not have happened. But something told me that a conversation would still take place.
After schematic images of the hive ship and a wraith cruiser appeared on the virtual screen, I realized that there was no point in delaying any further. Especially since I absolutely did not want to join the list of eight hives and thirty cruisers that met their death in orbit around this planet.
Landscapes that provide an understanding of what exactly needs to be done with wraith ships.
Even though ten thousand years had passed, the vacuum had perfectly preserved the wreckage of the wraith fleet. Large and small, parts of once formidable starships still bore marks from high-energy weapons that literally tore them to pieces during the attack.
On a massive piece of a hive ship's stern passing by, a spot of a critical hit was visible. The stern was burned through by an energy hit. And it was along the length.
Doubts began to creep into my mind about my search mission. Even though the scanners were silent, not indicating any energy traces on or near the planet, my gut feeling was uneasy.
I thought I wouldn't worry about this, but the wreckage… it's sobering. A unworthy thought was pounding in my subconscious—to abandon my intentions and flee without leaving a trace. Because even an amoeba would understand that a "jumper," even with its cloaking device switched to energy shields, wouldn't withstand even one hit from the weapon that destroyed an entire armada of wraiths.
A sound signal from the control panel gave me a not-so-subtle hint that it was time to stop looking for excuses: an energy source had been detected on the planet.
And vital signs.
Which had not been detected until now.
What is this, if not a hint to stop messing around and go for negotiations? So I did.
The atmosphere of this planet is not too heavily polluted, but the dust content in the air is high. It's better not to stay here for long without a respirator. Of course, I'm talking about open space…
But a single glance at the planet's surface near the energy sources and the life signal was enough to completely eliminate the desire to walk across the continents of Dorandan.
The surface of Dorandan.
There are different types of development in advanced civilizations… But for Dorandan, the term directly from another space opera fits—"ecumenopolis."
As far as the eye could see and the "jumper's" sensors could reach, the planet's continents were a continuous development. Not huge skyscrapers of stone and glass, of course, but sufficiently tall buildings were found among the vast number of ruins of ordinary buildings. Of all shapes and sizes, different heights, lengths, areas… The "jumper" flew over them, but all the buildings had only one thing in common—they were all ruins.
Dorandan is a dead planet, with dead cities. The fact that mountains were visible somewhere in the distance, and even snow caps on them, that rivers, once clad in man-made stones, ran through the ruins, that gray-green strips of grass and trees ran between the destroyed buildings, did not soften the picture of general desolation.
This world is dead.
And only one building—the source of the signals—remained intact. It was to this one that I was most afraid of approaching, seeing a massive multi-barreled turret stubbornly staring into the gray sky.
It was the top of a huge complex, resembling a multi-level concrete bunker, grown to truly colossal proportions. And, unfortunately, I knew what this complex was.
"Project Arcturus." Notoriously known for the prospects and consequences of its launch by the Ancients.
The complex of Project "Arcturus".
Upon approaching the only building that survived on the planet, the "jumper" received telemetry for approaching the complex's only hangar. And the fact that it exists pleased me.
I recall that the Earthlings penetrated the complex through some hatch in the roof. In my case, I can hope for a comfortable entrance. Of course, if the automatic landing system, pushing the "jumper" into the corner of the hangar, doesn't intend to crush me.
However, this was the only good news out of everything that was happening. As soon as the hangar door closed behind the stern, I was already standing before the descending ramp.
"You shouldn't have come!"
"Well, I got a new dress!"
Our greetings merged into one. As did the reproaches in each other's eyes. But Chaya's new dress—a simple straight white one, with semi-transparent piping, reaching mid-knee, like her hairstyle—was worth attention.
Is it fashionable now to have large curly locks?
Chaya Sar.
The girl looked at me for a couple of seconds, then averted her gaze.
"How did you find me?" she asked.
"You were searched for on Proculus, on Athos, on several other planets, but without success. It's logical to assume that you locked yourself away on a planet where a tragedy occurred and where Atlantis's gates cannot connect," I explained, watching the girl's mimicry. "And then, it seemed strange to me that Trebal couldn't connect to her homeworld's gates. She thought they were destroyed during the catastrophe, but… I know that's not the case."
"Did you tell them?" Chaya asked quietly.
"No," I replied. "I flew first to Proculus, and from there—to Dorandan. Although, there were assumptions that you wouldn't leave a loophole for the wearers of the recognition bracelet."
I wasn't afraid that the Ancients, if they suddenly got an idea, could track my travels. The last fifty dialed addresses of specific gates are saved in the dialing device. And I already know how to delete them from the "jumper's" dialing device—thanks to mental control.
Chaya looked at the device she had created for the security of the passages to Atlantis.
"You used a ready-made gate protection option against unwanted visitors," she said.
"You wanted me to find you," I said, showing her that this game wouldn't work. "It's impossible to reach Dorandan without a ship, and the gates are in space. No one else with these devices could have flown to you. And the question arises—why?"
"I wanted to talk in private," Chaya said barely audibly, continuing to avoid my gaze.
"And that's why you left your notes on my idea in the most visible place in my bedroom—to intrigue a fool."
"I don't feel that way about you…"
"Well, it wasn't me who found them, but Trebal."
The Proculucian flinched.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't think you would get along so quickly and…"
"She was looking for clothes for me while Seliza was bringing me out of a coma in Atlantis's infirmary," rumors and speculation must be stopped immediately. "Curiosity, of course, is not a vice, but she will answer for digging through other people's things. But, perhaps, instead of worn-out phrases, you'll give me a tour of the facility?"
Chaya made an inviting gesture with her hand.
"As if you don't know what's what here," she said quietly.
"In general terms—I know," I confirmed, as we left the hangar and entered a web of numerous concrete corridors. Simple gray walls, a few long-inoperative rectangular monitors embedded in them, stairs with railings… Not the slightest hint that the Ancients had once ruled here. "But it's much more interesting to hear everything from the perspective of the head of the entire failed project."
"Trebal told you everything," Chaya concluded.
"She shared her thoughts," I confirmed. "And it was very easy to guess that you knew perfectly well who was part of the 'Aurora's' crew. And why you left…"
Actually, I'm starting to feel nauseous from these smart, provocative women.
Trebal, as well as most of the "Aurora's" crew, were from the planet Dorandan, where we were now. And they blamed Chaya for the planet's demise.
The Proculucian, accordingly, understanding that few would dare to stand up for her now and replace execution with exile to her homeworld, was slowing down our flight to the "Aurora" with all her might. She was afraid that the truth would surface. And when she realized it was inevitable, she left.
You could say she chickened out… But if she had wanted to prevent me from reaching the "Aurora" by any means, she would have simply reactivated it secretly and not turned off its transmitter. The wraiths would have arrived, and it's unlikely I could have saved the battleship's crew.
So, one shouldn't forget that, despite Trebal's description of Chaya, the latter is not such an "egoistic crazy bitch who will do anything for her plans."
"Is Seliza alright?" she asked.
"She's enjoying her youth instead of her adolescence," I shrugged. "She's setting records in medicine. She's building a conveyor and a bioreactor. In short, she's entertaining herself as best she can."
"Isn't she angry?"
"Her? No. I'm furious that you turned a child into an adult, depriving her of her youth."
"I wouldn't have done it if she hadn't agreed," Chaya said. "Seliza really wanted to return to Kirik what the wraiths had taken…"
"You just used the girl," I interrupted. "So that after you left, someone with the Ancient gene would remain in the city. Were you afraid that the systems would shut down after you left?"
"I decided to play it safe," Chaya said dryly, pointing me to the correct corridor at one of the turns. "Returning the girl to the Athosians would have been foolish—information about her initiation would have spread faster than necessary. If," she looked at me, "it was necessary at all. And this way, she had time to study the sections of the database that interested her. She didn't even notice when I left—she was so impressed by the knowledge that opened up to her."
"Okay, let's assume. But why didn't you decide to stay? Were you afraid I couldn't protect you? Or that I would believe the stories of Trebal and the other crew members, who themselves saw nothing, but only know from the Council members that you are to blame for the death of their people?"
"And you didn't believe?" Chaya asked.
"I listened to their version. And I would very much like to hear yours before drawing any conclusions."
"Good logic," the Proculucian said. "But… I have nothing to add, Mikhail. I am the most famous mass murderer of people at the sunset of the Lantian civilization. The death of twenty-two million Dorandans is my doing. As well as billions of other sentient beings across the galaxy…"
Judging by her intonation, Chaya Sar wasn't joking at all.
"Tell me something I don't know…"
Few things can make a seasoned warrior and leader of the Athosian people stop being vigilant.
But returning to her people and, in particular, the tatlroot soup cooked by Charin, worthy of the highest praise, even those not yet invented by her people, were among them.
Teila and tatlroot soup.
"You've changed, Teila," Charin said, not hiding her smile as she watched Emagan wield a wooden spoon, reducing the amount of soup in her bowl.
"I trimmed my hair a bit and put on clothes more suitable for missions, Grandma," the leader of the Athosian people replied. "But your soup, as it was, remains the best food I've ever tasted in my life."
"Do they feed so poorly in the City of Ancestors?" Charin frowned her gray eyebrows. "I had a better opinion of the Ancestors!"
She was not a blood relative of Teila, but she played an invaluable role in raising the girl who had lost all her relatives for many, many years. Even after the young Emagan grew up and became the leader of her people, she did not forget her grandmother, visiting her at every opportunity.
"Their food is strange," Teila said with obvious reluctance, setting aside her soup plate and looking at her grandmother. "Let their machines cook from our vegetables and root crops, but they do it without soul. Every morning before breakfast, I try to find the words to ask Mikhail or Trebal to make you the cook on Atlantis. I'm afraid they'll live their lives without ever knowing that food can exist as more than just porridge…"
"You never liked porridge," Charin sighed, shaking her finger. "I don't think your friends need to see an old woman like me as a cook. The years take their toll… Though my memory is strong, and I still remember how you used to draw pictures for me and sing old songs… But my hands are not what they used to be, my dear. And, believe my experience—you can't become useful to such great beings as the Ancestors by just cooking."
Charin.
"I hear fear in your words, Charin," Teila said, worried. "Are the Athosians afraid of people from Atlantis?"
"Afraid?" the old woman chuckled softly. "Not at all. Impressed, amazed, bewildered to see the Ancients with their own eyes—yes. To see how living Ancients improve the barriers in our fields so that not a single rodent gets to the root crops, that's worth a lot. As well as to visit their flying machines while they transport bags of harvest from distant fields. For us, this is new and unusual, Teila. Just think—the whole village would spend a week transporting the harvest of early-ripening root crops to the granaries, and those two Ancients with their machines transported everything in a couple of hours."
"Yes, they have amazing technologies," Teila said, embarrassed, remembering how long she had prepared to ask Trebel for help for her people in transporting the harvest. On the new planet, the land was more fertile, and the star that dispelled the night was hotter. The harvest was planned for only a month later. But the root crops, which Mikhail, after seeing the very first tuber, somehow called "partoshka" (or something like that), ripened much faster than expected, catching all the Athosians off guard.
The resurrected Ancients worked tirelessly at Atlantis, on the starship, at the Taranis outpost, and even in the old city on Athos, where, according to Ihaar, there was some old Ancient technology. A couple of Ancients arrived on Ermen, studying the old mines. At least two Ancients and a dozen Athosians worked on Lantea-2, preparing the resources necessary for the repair of the city and the ship…
There was a lot of work to be done.
It was all the more surprising that while Mikhail was in the infirmary, Trebal, who had taken unofficial command of the city, agreed to Teila's request without further questions and allocated the required number of pilots and precious "jumpers." Kirik and Alvar gladly agreed to help her with the loading… And for a day and a half, they had been resting in their cabins on Atlantis, having strained their backs.
It seems they both wanted to show off in front of the Athosian girls, but they didn't expect there to be too many bags.
"I doubt you parted with your new friends just to talk about them with me," Charin smiled good-naturedly, sitting down at a table as old as she was. She covered a teapot she had brought with a thick cloth, from which a fragrant herbal tea—another favorite drink of the Athosians—wafted.
"You've always been perceptive," Teila smiled, taking her grandmother's hand. Indeed, her visit was not a mere courtesy. She needed to learn more about her abilities—to confirm or refute what Mikhail had said. And only Charin could help her with this. The only Athosian who had lived so long among her people.
"I am the oldest of all the Athosians who are still alive," Charin replied to the girl's smile. But in her execution, it was much sadder. "It would be unforgivable not to learn the real motives behind the words. What troubles you, my child?"
Teila looked sadly at the remnants of the soup, realizing that it was time to get to the point of her visit.
"Charin, do you know why I can sense wraiths?" she asked quietly. It is not customary among Athosians to discuss their secrets loudly. Especially such sensitive ones.
The old woman, growing sad, nevertheless did not hesitate to answer.
"In every generation, several gifted children are born," she said what she had told Teila hundreds of times throughout her life. "A heavy burden… But it helped our people survive."
"I remember what you told me about my gift, Charin," Teila subtly hinted that she didn't want to hear the old fairy tale again. "I would like to know more about my gift… For example, where it comes from."
The old woman averted her eyes. Teyla felt in her gut that Charin knew far more than she had told her all her life. But she couldn't force her grandmother to speak against her will.
"Some believe this gift came to us from the Ancestors many, many years ago, when they fought the Wraiths," she repeated what the girl had already heard more than once. It seemed that Charin knew much more, but didn't want to say it.
"I know it wasn't them," Emagan said softly but categorically, looking her grandmother in the eyes. "We've reviewed all the records from the Atlantis chronicles. If it had been one of the Ancestors, he would have reported it."
Though she didn't want to, she was consciously cornering Charin into a verbal trap. Inside, her heart was breaking to treat the person she loved like this. But the girl knew that if she asked directly, Charin would cling to legends and rumors until the very end.
It had happened many times before.
"Perhaps one of them still didn't do it..."
"Charin," Teyla looked the old woman straight in the eyes, squeezing her hand firmly but gently. "I know it was the Wraiths who did this to our distant ancestors."
The grandmother flinched – barely noticeably, but still.
"I gave your father my word not to tell you about this," she confessed.
"My father is no more," Teyla shook her head. "But I'm sure he wouldn't mind revealing this secret. The Ancestors have returned to Atlantis. And they need allies to regain their former strength. What kind of allies will our people be if we possess a gift without understanding its nature?"
Charin nodded in agreement. She glanced towards the open flap of her tent, making sure no one was eavesdropping.
Then she lowered her voice to an almost inaudible whisper.
"None of the Athosians know this," she warned.
"I will keep your secret," Teyla promised.
"When I was little, my grandfather told stories that no one had ever heard," Charin said.
"About what exactly?" Teyla asked, interested.
"About those who managed to return," the old woman said.
"Return...?" Teyla repeated. "Return after the Wraith harvest?"
"On one planet, the Wraiths also came and took people," it was clear that Charin did not enjoy talking about such things. "But some of those taken... They returned after the Wraiths had taken them."
"Why were they released?"
"There were rumors that they had a gift that allowed them to defeat the Wraiths and forge their own path to freedom. At first, they were seen as heroes, but soon everything changed."
"What caused that?"
"Some of them heard voices warning them of the approaching Wraiths. Others behaved strangely, became cruel... Those who lived side-by-side with them began to fear them. In the end, the inhabitants of that planet killed them, but some managed to escape," Charin recounted. "My grandfather believed that the survivors had changed, began to hide their abilities, and thanks to this, they saved their lives. Since that massacre, no one has ever returned from the Wraiths..."
"Except for the escapees," Teyla reminded her. "You told me stories about them."
"From those who returned after being in the Wraiths' hands, everyone expects only trouble," Charin admitted bitterly. "Because the Wraiths are on their heels. But those who returned... I think one of them was your ancestor."
"There are others among the Athosians who have a gift similar to mine," Teyla noted. "So our people have sheltered more than one returnee."
"I don't know about that," Charin assured her. "But in all the time I've lived in this world, those who hear the Wraiths have never harmed the Athosians."
"I need to visit the planet where the first returnees appeared," Teyla decided.
"That village is long gone," Charin said. "And that people ceased to exist many years ago..."
"I want to go there," Emagan said with emphasis. "I think the least I can do for my ancestors is to find out the truth."
"You don't need to get involved with this, my child," Charin pleaded. "That world is forgotten and cursed..."
"And yet," Teyla was full of resolve. "I need this, Charin. Will you help me?"
The old woman looked at her, then smiled sadly and nodded in agreement.
"How can I refuse you?" she said with a sigh.