The continuous, albeit melodious, buzzing in my ear was annoying.
And even the smell of appetizing pieces of meat cooking on wood shavings couldn't drown it out.
"Seliza," I said, turning the improvised skewer.
"One second," Kirik's pupil giggled childishly. "I need to make sure your brain is okay."
"You don't need a scanner for that," a voice came from the door connecting the open terrace and the dining room. "He's grilling meat of a feed animal over coals in a city that's thousands of years old, located hundreds of meters underwater, at the bottom of the ocean, and under a shield that hasn't been maintained for at least ten thousand years. Of course, his brain isn't quite right."
After listening to the caustic-sounding, but essentially correct, remark, I tore my gaze away from the browning improvised shashlik.
"Trebal."
"Mikhail."
"Trebal!"
"Seliz."
"Seliz."
"Mikhail?"
"Go inside!"
"You're mean," the chief and only medic of Atlantis pouted. "Your brain is fine, but your body's biochemistry is definitely non-standard. Lots of stress hormones. I'd advise you to have some fun and..."
"Seliz!"
"What?"
"I'll tell Kirik you're interested in the wrong things!"
"And I'm not talking about going out with girls," the big child stuck out her tongue. "Swimming pool, sleeping, physical exercises!"
"On my planet, disobedient and naughty children are put in the corner," I recalled. "As punishment."
"And what's the punishment in that?" both... girls wondered.
"And behind their backs, they rustle candy wrappers. And don't share."
"Well, that's beyond good and evil!" Seliz exclaimed, running off the balcony. Only her heels flashed.
"You're mean," Trebal sighed. "You offended a child... And how do you sleep peacefully after that?"
"With my teeth to the wall."
"Alone..."
"Are you starting again?!"
We stared at each other for a few seconds, after which I returned to my task. I couldn't let the meat cook longer than it should. It already looked like beef. If you miss the moment, overcook it, and you can just throw it away – it will become tough as rubber.
"It's cool here," I noted. "And you still refuse to wear the Ermenian uniform."
"The men's version hangs on me like a sack, and the women's," Trebal paused meaningfully. Seeing that I wasn't reacting, she added:
"It's tight in the most indecent places."
"Find yourself a man already," I sighed.
"That's boring," Trebal moved a chair from the nearest table, threw a blanket on it, sat down, and wrapped herself in it like a cocoon. "Watching how you react is much more interesting."
Seems ready... No, the blood is still running.
"And is it more fun to tease me, especially in front of Chaya?"
"Incredibly," Trebal assured me. "She gets into such a funny stupor... And stays silent. Typical victim behavior. She's afraid to confront me because she hasn't worked through her trauma of complicity in the death of my people. So, this won't end for a very, very long time..."
"Remind me, what's your ranking on the 'Atlantis Bitch' list?"
"I created it," Trebal laughed.
I could only sigh.
"What do you think, if I throw you off the balcony, will you crash into the city's construction structures or into the water?"
"In either case, you'll suffer the most," Trebal assured me. "And no, not because the Ancients will cause a commotion. You'll just die of boredom."
"And I thought you'd become a ghost and haunt me at night..."
"Oh," Trebal laughed. "So those are your desires... You know, if you add me to the list of trusted persons on your apartment's control panel, then I might come to you at night..."
"Let me guess. And before you come into my room, you'll knock on Chaya's room, since she's on the way?"
"Fie, how rude," the commander of the 'Hippaphoralkus' grimaced. "I would never stoop to such barbarism. I would activate her control panel so the sound would wake her up."
"Bitch," I exhaled resignedly. I'm starting to understand why the Ascended don't visit me. Why bother, if there's already a personal hell⁈
"Did you come here to mock me or on business?"
"On business," Trebal's voice became serious. "I heard you were grilling meat in the attic, didn't see Chaya, put one and one together..."
Damn it all...
"Tell me," I looked at the girl. "What great evil did I do to you that you're behaving like this?"
"Was I born?" the Dorandan suggested.
"In this universe or at all?" I asked.
"It doesn't matter here," she smiled, showing off dazzlingly white teeth. "I'm sure you were just as amusing in your universe."
"What makes you say that?"
"They created a body for you, not a new consciousness," she said. "Your character remained the same. A little analysis... You have a bitch and a victim under your command. You spend a lot of time with the latter and are comfortable with her. But when the bitch gets on your nerves, instead of scolding, insulting, humiliating, setting you straight, possibly even using physical force – all in the best traditions of primitive species gender disputes – you obediently picket with me. From which I conclude that you actually enjoy our exchanges of barbs and are perfectly willing to continue them. You know, actually, I suspect you like feeling dominated. Even strong men sometimes want to shed the burden of power..."
I took one of the half-meter skewers from the improvised grill, twirled it in my hands, and thought...
"And are stab wounds part of the traditions of primitive species gender disputes?"
Trebal smiled even more.
"There's a very interesting study according to which human relationships, if they have a persistent conflict orientation, actually favorably affect the mobilization of their internal reserves of body and mind," she said.
"You're implying that you motivate me with your antics?"
"You said it yourself," Trebal wagged her finger. "I'm just a slave to my female physiology and... Hmm, that's some accuracy."
The girl, shedding her frivolous demeanor, looked with a hint of delight at the skewer that had landed precisely on the end of the tabletop. It wasn't made of metal or plastic, but of a material resembling cork. Except it didn't absorb moisture. At all. Smart on the part of the Lantians – the city, by default, should be in a high-humidity area.
"I was aiming for your eye," I lied.
Actually, I wanted to throw it on the table, hoping she'd pounce on it like a dog on a bone.
"And forget about that," Trebal's voice turned cold. "I don't like damaged or glued eyelashes."
Damn, why did I leave the impulse rifle in the cabin⁈ I've already come up with a dozen mitigating circumstances.
"Hmm," on the third attempt, Trebal managed to pull the skewer out of the table. "Strong, though. Developing your physiology?"
"Just put a piece of meat in your mouth and chew it for a couple of hours," I asked. "Otherwise, I'll definitely take a sin upon my soul."
"Rape isn't a sin if everyone enjoyed it!" Trebal said, biting into a piece of meat on the skewer. "Hot... But tasty. I've never tried it."
"Did the Ancients not grill meat?" I wondered.
"It's an irrational waste of food," Trebal said, continuing her feast. "When grilling, a lot of useful juices and substances are lost. It's better to process it into a nutritious porridge in the kitchen appliance."
"Without salt, without flavor, without spices... And all consistently brown..."
"But you can get full from one small portion," the Ancient brought forward her argument. "Tribune Titus once treated me to meat cooked on one of the wild planets. According to him, the meat was simultaneously roasted, steamed, cured, and smoked... It was delicious."
"Congratulations, it seems there's a 'sharabán' in your galaxy."
"Can you do that?" the Ancient asked.
Estimating my capabilities, I had to tell the truth.
"I don't know its device. I've never even been interested."
"Too bad," Trebal, to my surprise, had already finished the skewer. "You cook well. Did you have any training?"
"Something like that," I replied dryly. "Until a certain point in my life, the only thing I knew how to cook was slightly burnt scrambled eggs and stuck-together dumplings."
"Sounds disgusting."
"Tastes almost always the same. Especially if you undercook it."
"And what's the reason?" Trebal asked. "You didn't have a kitchen appliance at home? Or was it broken?"
"My wife did the cooking. And I only worked my whole life," the memory of the past brought no joy. As, in fact, it always happens when you've messed up badly. You don't really want to remember your mistakes.
"So you were married," Trebal drawled. "So that's it... You probably think you'll go back to her?"
"If I'm lucky," I said.
"You won't be," Trebal cut off.
"What makes you say that? There are devices in the Milky Way that allow you to travel between realities..."
"And what are the chances that out of an infinite number of universes, you'll find yours?" she asked. "You weren't just transferred to a new body. Extracting consciousness is probably no easier than a whole person. So, there must have been some reason for this..."
"If they had transferred me to my body, I would have died immediately," I said. "In my world, I almost died in an accident."
"If consciousness isn't dead, the body can be restored," Trebal noted. "No, I think the choice was made precisely to make it difficult for you to find your home universe. There are probably thousands of alternative realities where you survived a similar accident and died. How will you figure out which one is yours? You won't live long enough to figure it out..."
"Are you mocking me?" I asked.
"No," she said seriously, wiping her greasy lips with the blanket. Well, hello, high culture of developed races. "I'm trying to help you. You can't do important work while thinking about another important task. Thoughts should be focused on a specific task. And then there will be results. Otherwise, extraneous thoughts won't help you find the answer."
"Thanks for the advice," I grumbled. I don't like it when people try to teach me how to act "correctly." Especially when it's done by those who haven't achieved anything in such a field. "I'll figure it out."
"I have no doubt," Trebal's voice regained its former lightness. I would even say flippancy. "Can I ask one more question?"
"Three-seven-five-six-one-one."
Trebal paused for a second.
"And what is this set of numbers?" she asked.
"The code to my cabin door. You were interested. Try it, maybe you'll surprise me."
"M-m-m," the Ancient drawled. "You're joking. You know that access to the room is not based on a digital code, but on genetic scanning?"
"I know," I confirmed. "I hoped you didn't."
"Funny," a smile appeared on her face. Not a smirk, not a grimace. A real smile. Genuinely kind. "But I wanted to ask another question. A personal one. Don't answer if you don't want to."
"I always use that disclaimer, even if I'm not allowed," I said. "Ask already. And, preferably, do it in such a way that I don't feel like throwing a second skewer."
"Why did you agree to come here?" Judging by the absence of playful, mocking, sarcastic, and other intonations, this question is not from the category: "Everything said may and will be used against you." "I understood correctly – for you, all this was like a fairy tale. Stories from the theater. Fiction."
"The Hippaphoralkus didn't specify who he was or where he intended to send me," I informed her. "It was a surprise for me."
"It's doubly unclear why you agreed. A step into the unknown and... It's not rational."
"It's rational when you're offered to save the life of a loved one in exchange," I objected. "For that, you'd rush into fire and jump into an acid bath. Especially if you've lived like me, seeing nothing but work."
"Who was it?" Trebal asked. "Whom did you save? A child? A parent?"
"Wife," I replied, feeling a bit annoyed. For some reason, I didn't want to talk about it with Trebal. And not just with her, actually... Though, it wasn't like there was a long line of people eager to ask such questions. Up until now, I'd been quite comfortable.
"She was mortally ill. I didn't notice it for too long, until it was too late. That day I was taking her medicine that was supposed to help, ease the pain, maybe start remission and recovery..."
"And you got into an accident."
"I overestimated my driving skills," I confirmed. "There were no chances of survival... That's why, when the offer was made, I agreed without a second thought. It was only here that I thought I could have asked to bring her here with me, but... Back then, I just wanted her to live. Perhaps I wanted to compensate for my mistakes, for not noticing in time, for not paying attention, and... Anyway, it doesn't matter. I did it, and I did it. She deserves it. Deserves a better life."
"And... Would you have done it for someone else?" Trebal asked quietly. "For another loved one."
"I had no one else besides her."
"I... It was a hypothetical question."
"I'm not interested in hypotheses. There was an opportunity, I took it. Nothing more, nothing less. Is that all?"
"Yes," the Dorandan replied, getting up from the table and wrapping herself in a blanket. "Thank you very much for the grilled meat. It was delicious."
"You're welcome. Wait until the whole batch is done, there'll be more, and... Ah, damn it! Burned to hell!"
"Sorry," Trebal's voice sounded somewhat colorless, as if lifeless. "I'm going. I'm a bit cold..."
"Go on, go on," I waved, examining one side of the skewers. The black char clearly didn't speak of culinary mastery. "Or did you have something important?"
"No," Trebal replied. "Just... " She gave her usual impudent smile. Though, it looked somewhat... Forced, perhaps. "I decided to get on your nerves a bit. It seems I succeeded, and it's time to retreat before you decide to cook me in this brazier."
Looking at the burnt shashlik, I shifted my gaze to Trebal retreating backward towards the exit... And because of her, almost a kilogram of shashlik burned!
"You'd better run," I advised. "Even though my homeland isn't the Caucasus, and this isn't lamb, spoiled meat still demands blood vengeance."
"If it's virgin blood, then I'm safe!" the girl shouted, disappearing through the doorway.
Or maybe I really died, huh? And this is actually hell?
So, why did she come? To beg for a piece, distract me with conversation, and ruin the rest? So that I'd make a fool of myself in front of the hungry Ancients waiting for shashlik?
If so... Well, what a bitch! Where in this galaxy can I get mounting foam? Or a perforator, at least...
***
"It's very tasty," Chaya said, dabbing her lips with a napkin. "Can I be frank?"
"Can you not ask such questions? I hope you're always frank with me. Or is our agreement a one-time thing and I need to renew my subscription?" I inquired.
"It's basic politeness," the Proculucian said with a slight reproach. "Sorry, I forget that your people have different speech and communication structures. I'm trying to adapt..."
"No need," I waved my hand, contemplating whether to try chewing another piece of "beef rubber." No, it's not that it's as tough as the soles of a кирзовый boot, but... It's still hard to chew. Considering the lack of sauces that would even remotely suit the meat, it's a disaster. Good thing there's salt, pepper, and something resembling onions, at least it made some kind of marinade. The Athosians eat only plain meat. They tamed fire, but their rock salt is as popular as garlic in a vampire dorm. "It's unnecessary. I feel like some kind of tyrant, forcing everyone to adapt to me."
"Two rules of behavioral paradigm," Sar declared. "Either you adapt to circumstances, or you adapt them to yourself. Everything is logical and standardized."
Ah, yes, exactly. I forgot what company I was in.
"You wanted to ask something," I reminded her.
"To say," the girl clarified. "The first batch is tougher than the second."
"I know. I overcooked it," I admitted.
"See," Chaya's eyes widened slightly, and she looked away, biting her lip. "That's what I wanted to talk about..."
"Intermission is over, second act," I sighed. "Will you two keep taking turns conversing with me on abstract topics?"
"M-mm... We have rather tense relations," Chaya reminded me. "And, except for general meetings, we try not to meet... And then I saw her running out of the balcony... She looked distraught. Did you fight?"
"I wanted to stab her with a skewer."
"Radical," the Proculucian assessed. "If you need help holding her next time, you have my comm number. Don't let her run away again..."
Unable to help myself, I burst out laughing. Chaya also started smiling.
I don't know if she pictured this scene, but I did... Horror in Lantian scenery. Ascended, hold my beer! You certainly didn't expect this!
"And if we're not joking?" I asked.
"If we're not joking, then I'd like to say that the testing of the new mental ability suppressor is complete," Chaya said innocently. "And I'd very delicately like to hint that it would be good to take care of the Queen of Death, her ship, and the drilling platform... We've been so engrossed in missions outside the city that we've forgotten about our rear."
"Honestly, I'd like to train Tayla in mental tricks," Chaya looked at me with interest. "We have a very old and very skilled wraith, so... Why not?"
"Reasonable," Tayla agreed. "You said that in known events, the queen left her ship, initiating self-destruct. If the cruiser explodes, it will disrupt the earth's crust, lead to instability, and so on... Do you think Tayla can, if necessary, get into her head and find the correct sequence to cancel the explosion?"
"I don't think so," I sighed. "I really hope we can board the cruiser and find her before the queen does something nasty. Or disarm the self-destruct."
"It's unlikely that can be accomplished," Chaya admitted. "I'm not familiar with wraith technologies... And I don't think I can figure them out anytime soon, especially under the threat of an explosion."
"We have a wraith... Though its loyalty is very questionable. And with these thoughts, I come to the conclusion that the situation is a dead end. Either we can kill her immediately, or there will be a big explosion. And our drill, our trophy wraith ship, the Lantean biome will all be gone..."
"I'm currently modeling the situation," the Ancient assured me. "Perhaps the consequences of the explosion won't be so destructive for the planet... But I'm not sure about the drill. I haven't managed to find it yet, so for now, this is all very superficial theory."
"And how many such theories do you have?" I asked. "Right now..."
Chaya thought for a moment.
"Approximately two hundred to two hundred and fifty different models and simulations are running at this very moment," the Ancient replied, calculating in her head. "Plus or minus fifty more."
"Plus or minus?" I clarified. "Such a large spread. It doesn't seem like you have trouble with exact numbers."
Sar sighed.
"Four hundred and seventy-one," the girl admitted.
"Well, that's tolerable," I agreed. "If it were four hundred and seventy-two, I would immediately order you to go on vacation."
The Proculucian laughed, covering her face with her hand.
"My work is my vacation," she reminded me of her credo. "Truly. Rack my brain, look for solutions to problems – that's what I like."
"You can blow up the planet if you get too bored," I suggested. "A girl should have an unforgettable fireworks display in her life."
Chaya gave me a disapproving look.
"What?" I asked, not understanding. "Is it ten thousand years too early for such jokes?"
"A little," she agreed.
"I'll set an alarm for five minutes before five thousand years from now," I said. "We'll check again."
"Deal," she smiled. "So?"
"I was told you sent scout probes and teams to some planets. Any news?"
"Unfortunately," Chaya grew sad. "We surveyed six planets where there were previously Ancients' outposts. Now there are only ruins. True, on one planet, we found a severely damaged 'jumper.' We dismantled it for parts."
"Looting is good," I approved. "What about the ships I mentioned?"
"I have nothing to cheer you up with yet," the girl grew sad. "The city-ship you called 'The Tower' is most likely the homeland of the Ytranci. But there are no mentions in the database of where it might have been shot down or crashed. Unfortunately, this city didn't have its own stargates and depended on the gates on the planets. Consequently, it's impossible to track its position, last course, and so on."
"Why is that?" I became interested. "Wasn't it built from Atlantean blueprints?"
"In general terms," Chaya agreed. "But it's very, very far from standardization. The main systems and most auxiliary ones are the same, but in detail... It's definitely different."
"To put it simply – we don't know where to look for it," I concluded.
"Seventy of my simulations are dedicated to searching for this city," Chaya assured me. "Unfortunately... Its inhabitants acted separately from Atlantis, fought in the enemy's rear, and therefore sent reports very rarely. It will take a lot of time to find it. But we are doing everything we can. It's good that we have six new technicians," she smiled. "We have extra hands for assembling drones for reconnaissance."
"Ah, on the other hand, we can search for the last survivors from that city," I said. "They are somewhere out there, between the Milky Way and Pegasus, flying on a damaged warship at near-light speed..."
"One hundred and eighty-four simulations are dedicated to calculating the course of this starship," the Ancient shared. "Thousands of variables, millions of minor factors. Unfortunately, the phrase 'They were in battle, news of evacuation came, they retreated, but the hyperdrive broke, so they flew on impulse engines at near-light speed all the way to Earth' is too vague. Because of it, finding a starship in interstellar emptiness is problematic. And here we're talking about intergalactic... It's difficult," she repeated.
"Hmm... And that ship drifting around a dwarf star?" I inquired.
"We have seventy-one possibilities of which ship could have been near the star during the battle or abandoned by the crew," Chaya smiled, seeing my reaction. "And a little over two thousand stars where this could have happened."
"A dead end?" I grimaced.
"You didn't think it would be so simple, did you?" the Proculucian asked.
"Actually, I expected it to be simpler," I admitted. "In the series, such adventures happened almost twenty times a year."
"A year," the Ancient seized on this time. "A long time. Maybe in a year, we'll get lucky in such matters too."
"Perhaps," I agreed. "Any good news?"
"You'll be surprised, but yes," Chaya said. "The repair of the 'Hippaphoralkus' is going quite smoothly; a new super-reactor is being assembled – it will replace one of the non-working ones. So, there will be more energy... But... For now, that's all we have in terms of modernization."
"We need Naquadah," I remembered.
"The more, the better," the girl agreed. "The plans include surveying several planets with old mines. Perhaps we'll be lucky and there's something not too deep beneath the surface."
"And the satellite?" I inquired. "You wanted to develop some modernization for it, if I remember correctly."
"That's exactly what I wanted to talk about as a pleasant thing," Chaya shared. "So, we have a generator that produces more than enough energy for this satellite. Its only weapons are beam cannons, and very powerful ones. But they are not effective enough against 'arrows' or a large number of targets. When you asked me to look at the 'jumpers' to replace their cloaking field with a defensive one, I had an idea. But, first, tell me – who did the same trick in the known events?"
"Koshchei."
"Not surprised," the girl remarked. "So. We have accumulated some spare parts from the 'jumpers.' In particular, invisibility generators, engines... I thought, what if we install them on the 'Satellite'? Calculations show that my generator can quite well provide power for both the weapon systems and the shield. By analogy with the 'jumper,' it can be either invisible or energetic. Additional protection and camouflage."
"Good idea," I approved. "But I'd like the satellite's weapons to fire not just a single beam that cuts the hive ship in half and continues to bore through the vacuum after the enemy has already exploded, but something more... Economical, faster firing."
"I thought about that too," Sar assured me. "I'm currently writing a program to optimize the power and length of the beam. Ideally, it will save us up to half the energy per volley. This means that with one buffer charge, the satellite will be able to fire twice. Then recharge, and so on."
"Haven't you thought about installing rapid-fire cannons on it, like the pulse cannons on the 'Hippaphoralkus'?" I inquired. "Especially since we have a turret from the Dorandan."
"I'm afraid for a satellite that can't withstand a battle with an entire wraith fleet, such an installation would be excessive," Chaya objected. "But pulse cannons... I thought about it," she sighed. "But, unfortunately, the satellite's design won't allow it. We'll lay the necessary power conduits, put the necessary programs into the onboard computer. And even thanks to the installation of engines from the 'jumpers,' the satellite will move in orbit. Slowly, but it will. But rapid-fire artillery, unfortunately, won't help it. To protect it, we'd need fifty pulse cannons. I'm afraid it won't last too long under the fire of the wraith ships. Ten shots from the main caliber of a hive ship, and even my generator won't cope with discharging the shields. And installing more generators there is simply wasteful."
"Well," I concluded. "So, there's good news, but not excellent. On the other hand, it could have been worse, couldn't it?"
"Of course," the Ancient confirmed. "And, by the way, about 'worse'."
"Just say it," I sighed. "Finish me off, merciless girl. What else has happened?"
"I reviewed the 'Aurora's' onboard computer," she said. "And, in particular, the red crystal... I'll tell you this, combined with the fact that resurrected Ancients are dragging things out of the virtual environment... We have some problems. I'd even say: fundamental ones."
"That serious?" I clarified, feeling my mood disappear.
"More than," Chaya said in my tone. "These ideas fundamentally diverge from your policy, Misha. And we need to do something about it urgently."