Darkness.
The transport cabin activated, but it was impossible to see anything inside. Only a second later, spot lights lit up above our heads. Emergency lighting in action.
And that's not very good. At least because the transport function of the device we found ourselves inside is the main one. And there are primary and secondary ones. Judging by how hot it's getting, the life support system here is clearly lacking. And that's a primary function.
And yes, the gradation of the Ancients' technology is a real mess. That's why they load basic ranks into the heads of young people—it's simply impossible to learn it on your own! I know, I'm trying.
"Are we blocked?" Tayla asked.
"It seems the motion response mechanism is damaged," Ihaari blurted out, taking an Ancient scanner from his hip pocket. "Ventilation too… It seems there are damages in the control channels. But why, if we were transported and…"
As if in response to his question, on the other side of the colorful stained-glass doors, flashes of scarlet energy streaked through the corridor in both directions.
"Oh," the engineer exclaimed. "Now I understand."
"We need to get out," Kirik voiced the idea, putting the scanner back in its holster. "There's a small gap between the doors."
"The cabin was about to open, but it was damaged in the process," Ihaari chattered. "It's good that we were transported and materialized, rather than getting stuck in the energy buffer!"
"Mikhail," ignoring the engineer's lamentations, the former "fugitive" said, "I'll push one half, and you the other…"
"Yes, of cour—" I moved forward, slinging my assault rifle over my back, but Saya approached the door before me, "—but?"
The cyborg, whose blue eyes glowed particularly brightly in the semi-darkness, looked intently at the sealed seam of the doors. Then, in the best traditions of terminators, she stuck her fingers into the barely visible gap.
"Oh, well, that's just stupid," Ihaari shook his head. "The control mechanisms are pressing with force…"
With a screech, the doors moved sideways as Saya began to spread her arms apart. And the energy charges didn't stop flying in both directions of the corridor, occasionally leaving black scorch marks on the inner lining.
"Well, or not stupid," the engineer squeezed out, commenting on the cyborg's work. She left them without comment.
The cyborg spread both doors wide enough for a person with equipment to squeeze through.
"The problem is solved," she announced, taking her rifle in her right hand. "The optimal option is to let me go out first and provide suppressing fire. You will have a short time to change position."
"They're shooting from both sides," Kirik noted. "Which side are ours on?"
"Are there any of ours here?" Ihaari snorted, seeing how on the dark brown wall directly opposite the cabin, a red charge melted part of the material. Sparks sprayed from the wall. The already dim lighting in the corridor disappeared completely. "These barbarians will wreck the dreadnought!"
"Not going to happen," I activated the communicator, tuning it to the device that should have been on this ship. "Larrin! Respond!"
It so happened that my voice sounded in a short pause between the mutual shelling. And immediately the fire resumed from the right. Only now they were shooting at us, clearly assessing us as not brothers in arms.
"Mikhail?" Larrin's surprised voice came from the radio. "How are you?! We're pinned down near the bridge. We have many wounded!"
And our bridge is to the left.
"Saya," I addressed the cyborg, who was devouring me with an attentive gaze. "Enemies on the right. Eliminate them."
"Working on it," the product of Salumai-Lantian technology stated crisply. "Wait here."
The iris of her eyes instantly changed color from blue-cyan to blood red. The girl immediately went to the gap in the cabin, stuck out her rifle, and fired a burst into the corridor, forcing the shooters on the right to either take cover or scream in agony.
And she wasn't even aiming… Although the Nomads' reaction is understandable—no one expects a brave soul to rush into an attack under heavy fire.
And Object-41, asking her self-preservation instinct to hold her beer, did just that.
Darting from her spot, she rushed towards the wall opposite the transport cabin. The cyborg slid on her feet across the floor, falling to her knees and letting several enemy shots pass over her head while firing her rifle. Reaching the wall, she kicked herself back and sideways, shifting towards the cabin, but much further to the right of our position.
Her rifle fired short bursts, and every second one ended with screams of such pain as if the enemy was being cut alive. I haven't checked it myself, but I think Ermen assault rifle rounds, that is, automatic rifle rounds, certainly don't add health when they hit.
From the sound, it became clear that the cyborg had gotten up and moved to flanking maneuvers, quickly advancing down the corridor. I, Ihaari, Tayla, and Kirik looked at each other in bewilderment, not quite understanding why we were needed at all if she was there.
"Should we help?" the former "fugitive" suggested when the short bursts from the assault rifle were replaced by pistol shots. It seemed that the extended magazine of the "Amas," which she, like Alvar, preferred over the lighter "Alash," had run out sooner than the enemies.
"Do we have to?" I asked when I heard a desperate male wail:
"No! You don't have to! I…"
And a single shot. And then four more.
After that, Saya's voice came from the corridor: "Cleared and secured. You can leave the shelter."
From the left, something came from the Nomads: perhaps admiration, perhaps a curse. It sounded too similar.
Exiting the transport cabin, we looked at the battlefield.
Although, it looked more like a slaughterhouse.
Starting from a few meters from the cabin on the right and further, all the way to the hermetic corridor doors, everything was covered in black scorch marks. It seems they were both snipers. But there weren't many bullet holes. Literally, about four… At the end of the corridor. And each hole was framed by bloody splashes.
And on the floor lay two Nomads, whose bodies were neatly filled with Saya's expanding bullets. The cyborg stood in the doorway, peeking out from time to time, controlling the situation.
And at the same time, she was reloading the "Amas," changing an empty magazine for a loaded one, and dropping the first into a hip pocket pouch. Very convenient and, it seems, tailored precisely for these targets.
At the end of the corridor, behind the hermetic door, which had been opened by brute force, four more bodies were visible on the floor. Completely lifeless. As far as I could tell, the cyborg had fired a kill shot at each of the Nomads. And… Actually, I agree with her—it's faster than checking for a pulse and more effective than leaving potentially living enemies behind.
"Mikhail!" Larrin's shout came from behind me. Turning around, I saw a Nomad woman walking from the other side of the corridor. Bandage on her right shoulder, bandage on her thigh. She was hit. "This…"
She looked at Saya. Saya looked at her with red eyes.
The daring Nomad turned away first. Waving her hand, she signaled three Nomads who held positions at the hermetic door to the left of the transport cabin to advance.
"Kirik," I addressed the former "fugitive." "Hold positions here. I'll inform you of new orders as soon as we figure out what's what on the ship."
"Understood," he nodded.
"Ihaari," the engineer looked at the corridor and the traces of battle covering it like a parent sees a child beaten up by classmates. "Fix the cabin. We might need it. Don't forget about time," I looked at my scanner. "We have a little over ten minutes to restart the systems."
"If I can fix it," he said, taking his equipment backpack off his back. "They shot here like they were at a training ground."
"Would it have been better if we surrendered the ship?" Larrin threw an angry remark, but in the next second, grabbed by the elbow, she moved with us towards the bridge.
"I'll hold back everything I think about your appearance at a very opportune moment, but I'm glad you're here," the girl said, limping, but. "Almost all my people are killed. Several wounded by firearms. We've been cut off from most of the ship. The hyperdrive, the engine room, the living quarters—all under the control of detachments loyal to the Council. I have too few people to control the entire ship."
"There are about two and a half thousand people on your ships," I recalled as we crossed the line of hermetic doors. The ship, although it felt the appearance of carriers of the Ancient gene on board, was still in no hurry to reactivate. "Even if you armed half of them, you could have held them. The only places they could have entered were the emergency airlocks and the hangar."
"My supporters and I disembarked people from our ships," Larrin explained, grimacing as we passed two Nomad corpses. No trace of physical damage—they were killed by Nomad weapons. Killed, not incapacitated, which would have been logical. "Three hours of flight from here at hyperspeed is a planet with gates. We landed people, except for the minimum necessary to control the ships and seal the breaches, on the planet so they could go to one of the worlds we trade with. There they will wait out the outcome of this battle. Other allied ships did the same on other planets on the way here."
"Smart of you to save yourself from unnecessary casualties," I agreed. "Outside, when we arrived, only two ships contacted us—Asan's and some Labrey's. Nothing about the others."
"Two ships surrendered and left, the rest we lost," Larrin said bitterly.
"A bloody price for disagreements," I winced.
"I had only a hundred people on each of the allied ships," Larrin said. "From my flagship and other destroyed ships, only sixty managed to get here. Half are already dead, another twenty-five are seriously wounded or stunned. The three I sent to defend the corridor, and Nevik—that's all that's left of the crews of four people. At best, thirty out of four hundred! That's what the deal with you cost me! Me and those who believed me!"
"If you haven't forgotten, I offered you to skip the step with the Council's discussion and give the ship to me directly. That way we would have avoided casualties. You wanted to do everything right and take care of all members of Nomad society. So don't try to make me feel sorry for you."
The girl grabbed my arm as we approached the bridge. The corridor in front of it was literally littered with wounded Nomads. Some unconscious, apparently stunned, as I didn't notice any wounds. Others with bandages. And for most of them, they were already soaked with blood.
"There's no turning back," she said. "I and those who wanted to live on the planets have been annoying the Council for too long. Whether we leave here with the ship or not—my people need their own world. And your help."
"Deals are not renegotiated in progress," I noted.
"Mikhail!" Larrin hissed, lowering her voice to a whisper. Apparently, so that the few conscious wounded wouldn't hear her. "We are outlaws! We have nowhere else to go but Atlantis! Any Council ship, if it finds my people on the trading planets, will kill them without a twinge of conscience."
"If," Tayla reminded of her presence, "your people share your point of view and have not left the planets where you left them."
"Well observed," I said, shaking Larrin's hand off me. "First, we'll return the ship to our territory, and then we'll discuss how quickly we can help your people. And that's not up for discussion."
"Understood," Larrin gritted her teeth.
Running my hand over the control panel, I slipped through the barely opened doors of the bulkhead.
"Larrin," Nevik, that same scientist twin, tore himself away from the control panel. The top cover removed, crystals pulled out, wires cut… And the communicator I gave Larrin, lying nearby. "I couldn't… Oh! You're already here⁈ Ah, how…?"
"Get away from the equipment, technofascist," I asked, climbing into the command chair. "And don't touch anything here anymore."
The bridge of this starship looked more like the one on the "Aurora" than on the "Hippaphoralkus." Despite the fact that all three belonged to different generations of dreadnought modernization.
Although, in fact, the overall layout and execution of all three types were identical. A central platform with a command chair in the center, rows of consoles arranged in a semicircle in front, as well as consoles and monitors to the sides and behind the captain's chair.
The devil was in the details.
The control panels for the main systems on the "Aurora" and this dreadnought were on the same podium in front of the commander, which allowed him, if the ship was functional, to control it practically alone. Well, of course, if he didn't want to fire projectiles.
On the "Hippaphoralkus," these consoles were moved beyond the podium and, with the presence of standard anti-gravity seats, it was assumed that the watch members, not the ship's commander, would use them.
Obviously, on the third generation, the Lantians decided to return everything as it was, realizing that the first option was good enough.
A distinctive feature of the command chair, largely similar to the one I saw on both the "Aurora" and the "Hippaphoralkus," was a touch panel built into the armrest of this dreadnought, somewhat resembling the manual control in the armrest of the control chair.
Only under my palm, I felt not a silicone-like material, but a perfectly strict touch panel.
The semicircular front porthole, segmented by vertical sections, making it look like a peeled mandarin from the outside, provided a stunning view of how the "Hippaphoralkus" and the two Nomad ships docked to its sides were holding their defense slightly ahead and "above" us.
Trebal, as promised, did not use projectiles. But the pulse cannons, distributed across the front hemisphere, sides, and stern of the Ancient ship, relentlessly fired at the nimble Nomad starships.
"Ihaari," I touched the communicator key. "Initiating launch of all dreadnought systems. Prepare yourselves."
What exactly to prepare for here is dangerous to say—the starship had been drifting for ten thousand years and was clearly not abandoned by the crew for no reason. In known events, the Nomads claimed that the Ancients abandoned the ship because its power unit or engine emitted deadly radiation. And no one returned to repair it.
Given the battle that had erupted on board, anything could have gone wrong. And the last thing I would want is for my chief engineer to get a corneal burn or a spark shower in the face when power from the super-reactors goes through the wires to all the ship's systems.
"Understood," he replied. "I can't fix it anyway. They melted the relay box. Power, life support systems, and so on—everything here is ruined."
But I was no longer listening to him.
Closing my eyes for concentration, I sent a mental command to the dreadnought's main computer. "Wake up."
It felt as if time had stopped.
I remember my contact with Trebal's upgraded control chair. I remember interacting with the "Hippaphoralkus'" systems during the flight to the "Aurora." I have interacted with the mental control of the "jumpers" dozens of times.
But this… This is something completely different.
My mind, like water moving under pressure through pipes, darted into a stream of consciousness that carried me in fractions of a second from the starship's bow to its stern. Returning my consciousness to the bridge, I felt as if I had bumped my mind against a film that enveloped me…
And I didn't like this feeling. I had never felt anything like it before, and therefore instinctively sought to get rid of it. But not by breaking the mental contact, but by breaking the film. And the latter, like fetters, enveloped the ship, interfering with its systems.
Something was binding its systems, making them work slowly, with errors, incorrectly. Like a leash on a fighting dog.
I didn't feel the presence of another mind nearby, but something similar, as if someone was trying to catch your thoughts, desires, interpret them, convert them into electronic signals… This is not an artificial intelligence.
This is a more advanced onboard computer system, which I had already encountered on the "Hippaphoralkus" and the "jumpers." Only there it was more like a smart dog that understood your commands, but here…
This is clearly not a dog. Something much more powerful, majestic, weighty.
If the "jumper" felt tiny, and the "Hippaphoralkus"—simply large and understandable, comfortable, like a favorite worn-out sweater, then this dreadnought…
Not a dreadnought. Not just a dreadnought. It had a name, embedded in all its programs and subprograms. In every electrical circuit, in every crystal, armor plate, or bulkhead.
Not consciousness… There is no mind here in the classical sense.
Only… It's hard to describe. It's like looking at a work of art by the greatest artist of all time. You notice every brushstroke, every play of colors, every tiny detail… You see every component of the canvas and know that it has its own meaning, which adds up to one global design of the creator…
But you see this design unclearly, as if blurred. It's all because of this leash, this veil, which is like part of the painting, related to it, but not quite… Like modern parchment that hides the original image…
And you understand with all your senses that this is wrong.
This painting should not be hidden, even if you put parchment over it for protection. Because it is blasphemy, distorting the essence of creation.
Reaching out with an invisible hand, with the power of thought, I grabbed this veil and tore it, intending to make the work magnificent again.
It was strange, but it worked.
"Astonishing," I heard Nevik's voice. "Systems… Larrin, the ship is working! I couldn't even turn on the lights here! And now, as soon as it landed, everything started working! Consoles, lighting, life support, diagnostic consoles, and monitors…"
As soon as it landed? That's strange. I've been here for so long. Or does time just flow differently for me?
If so, then… I have an opportunity to understand the ship, don't I? So I must use it. Time to access the onboard computer.
And at that very moment, I felt what it was like to be a ship that was simultaneously around me and inside my mind.
It was as if I had been doused with a bucket of cold water, a torrent of information crashing down on my consciousness, as soon as I looked at the masterpiece of military genius, freed from the veil-leash of conflicting computer code.
This is not a domestic, obedient dog, like a Yorkshire terrier or a pinscher, like the "jumper."
This is not a trained predator, a domesticated manul or puma, as it seemed when controlling the "Hippaphoralkus."
From ten thousand years of sleep, a power was awakening, which spoke to me openly, indicating its problems and capabilities. Every malfunction, every failing system, every working mechanism.
Every person on deck is visible to me. Many people. Two hundred and fifteen, not counting those who are now near the bridge.
All the others are not our friends. Do you understand me? You do. You see for yourself that they are not friends. Harmful people, who are cutting through the inner hull and want to cause harm. And they want to move this harm to other parts of the ship. Oh. This is bad. It seems they want to break our reactors.
This won't do.
"Nevik, what is this?"
"The shields and weapon systems have activated," I heard the annoying whisper again. "On that screen, they are tracking the people on board the ship."
"The ship's schematic shows the engine room highlighted in red! And the engine compartment control room."
"I… I don't know, Larrin. It seems there are breaches in those areas. The Council's soldiers ended up in space and… I don't understand anything."
"But I understand," Larrin's voice sounded bewildered and, at the same time, embittered. "The breaches don't close on their own. Someone opened the emergency airlocks nearby and threw them into space!"
Not someone, but us. We don't like it when they try to immobilize us.
The problem is solved. Now, let's close the bulkheads and raise the internal ship energy shields.
Excellent.
Now the saboteurs are locked in separate compartments and cannot move around the ship. Yes, they can still cause damage, but that's minor stuff now.
We'll get rid of them soon.
Right now, other information is important.
The exact output power that each of the four super-reactors could provide.
The percentage of armor wear and data on where it is damaged.
Instantaneous response on engine operation, hyperdrive, arsenal status, and malfunctions in the control chair systems.
That very engine damage sustained in battle with the Wraiths, which caused deadly radiation to spread through the ship's corridors.
The ship was awakening and simultaneously speaking to me.
A dry language of numbers, which it could only tell me, because it only recognized me as the one to whom it had to answer. Only to me could the battleship tell how badly it was damaged and how long it had been waiting for the repair crew promised by the previous captain.
And not only that. A brief report on what it is. God… That's why we couldn't find it in the database! It's the fourth one!
Only to me could the warship tell about the mistakes of the previous commander, a Ytrancian, who couldn't feel the same way I do. He was close, but still not good enough compared to the very first commander, who died in the same battle in which the ship was damaged.
The starship saw no difference between human conventions – the first officer and the captain were essentially the same to it. Commanders.
Those to whom it had to obey.
To whom it was obligated to serve.
Literally, I could physically feel the current running through the power conduits, the control signals rushing through the thin cables of the communication and control systems. How the afterburner chambers were filling up and how the operation of the active substance of the super-reactors was accelerating.
This… This is incomprehensible.
It was as if I found myself at the center of a vast information web, carrying billions and billions of data units from the periphery to the very brain center. Weak and fragile compared to the power of the technogenic being that had awakened from a long sleep.
You can't negotiate with this being, based on the strict laws of programming logic and the laws of war. It will not open up to the weak and will not obey the arrogant. There is no consciousness, will, or emotions here.
There is only a clear understanding of its place.
Its task.
Its capabilities.
The ship granted me access to its sensors, showing that one of the allied Nomad starships had lost its shields and its main engines had caught fire. That the second one had its hull destroyed by a direct hit, causing decompression.
How four Nomad ships, having found the weak spot of the "Hippaphoralkus," were approaching from the stern, where only a couple of pulse cannons could fire at them. The battleship showed me how desperately and boldly Trebal maneuvered to bring more cannons into play by changing the vectors of movement.
And how skillfully the Nomads acted, staying strictly behind the stern of the ship, as if tied. Their goal was to destroy the engines, to deprive their comrade in arms of maneuverability, and to finish off its shields, which were at ten percent.
Born for combat and destruction, this artificial embodiment of power did not understand why self-guided missiles, which were in the "Hippaphoralkus" arsenal, were not being fired. It caught my thought, understood that its fellow battleship was carrying out my order, and the combat analysis of the strategy ceased.
The commander decided so, so it was right. No objections, no discussions.
That's it, we're done.
We have been diagnosed, we are capable of working. The force screens will contain the spread of deadly radiation for some time. Not enough to reach Atlantis.
We need repairs.
But not here.
Here… Here are three more Nomad ships that are pressing on the "Hippaphoralkus."
Five percent shield. Significant failures throughout the ship. The systems are old and unreliable. Civilian, which are not perfect.
We need to intervene.
Now.
Immediately.
Combat application calculation.
No, not missiles. Yes, we need to conserve. Cannons? Suitable. Bow? Oh, that's enough… Are we working? We are working.
One shot at a time? Do you think that's enough? Oh, you've calculated everything. Okay, let's do it. Yes, the sixth combat solution. Fire!
"Forces of the vacuum, what is this?!" Nevik exclaimed.
"We're firing?!" Teyla? Why does her voice sound so scared?
"He…" it seems to be about us, "he destroyed the ships. Why?! Why did you do it?!"
A characteristic sound of energy weapon activation from the Nomads rings out near my ear. A noise, a struggle, it seems. Nevik screamed.
"Get away from him, Larrin!" It's Teyla's voice. "Or I'll hurt your man. And then I'll shoot you."
"Stop immediately," Larrin ordered us. "Leave the ship powered on and don't you dare shoot again. I won't let you kill another Nomad! Even if they are enemies, but…"
Ah, so that's the deal.
Consciousness gently slips away, and I open my eyes.
Disorienting. Very familiar, only… A little softer than what I experienced from prolonged contact with the "Hippaphoralkus." However, it's not surprising, this one is newer and excellently made.
With a slightly unfocused gaze, I looked straight ahead. Through the porthole, I could see three clouds of debris, through which the "Hippaphoralkus" passed, turning on a counter-course relative to this battleship.
"Misha," Trebal's voice came from the communicator. "What happened? I thought we were shooting them down, not destroying them."
"From the moment I was on the bridge, I thought so too," Larrin said, clenching her lips, her "frequency scanner" pointed directly at my head. "And you killed them. Three ships. Almost nine thousand lives! You killed them!"
"They are dead because they tried to destroy the 'Hippaphoralkus'," I said, unable to tear myself away from the chair. It's so comfortable here, good. "And after they had destroyed the engines of one battleship, they would have finished off your other two ships. And they would have landed additional troops with us. Do you want to die instead of them? I don't."
"This is my people!"
"Your people wanted to kill you," Teyla said softly. "And us along with you. Trebal asked them to lay down their arms, but they attacked her. I am also sorry for those who died in this battle, as for all who died."
"Only the bleeding people in the corridor will hardly appreciate your humanism, Larrin," I added, activating the communication channel. "'Hippaphoralkus', everything is normal with us. It was… a forced decision. Either you, or them."
"Then I'm glad they died, not us," Trebal's voice said. "'Swift' and 'Endurance' are heavily damaged, losing oxygen. I want to dock with them and connect them to my life support system. This will give them time to seal the breaches and repair critical malfunctions. Can you fly? I can send a couple of technicians."
"We'll make a short jump out of the system," I ordered. "Dock with one ship, we'll take the other. We'll need to temporarily reconfigure the shields to cover both starships during the jump. Otherwise, they'll just be torn apart when entering the hyperspace window."
"I'll take 'Endurance'," Trebal said. "Give me half an hour to calculate the program…"
"Everything is ready," I assured, sending the program code to the "Hippaphoralkus" by pressing invisible keys on the snow-white panel. "Adapt it for your emitters."
"Okay," Trebal's voice sounded surprised. "We're receiving the package. I'll let you know when we're ready."
"I'll be waiting," I said, slightly changing my position on the console. The ship moved forward almost imperceptibly, making a curve to position the lower docking bay directly above the "Swift." It's unlikely that our docking bays are of the same system, but this is the only part of the starship where there are strong enough electromagnets to hold it within the other ship's shield area. "Larrin, you'll stand like that and your arm will get tired. And we still have to shoot down your former friends."
I turned in my chair, looking directly into the eyes of the Nomad. Not even at the barrel of the "frequency scanner" with three emitters instead of a muzzle.
"And why don't you throw them into the vacuum?" she cursed, tucking her weapon into her holster away from my face. Teyla, having received my approval, stopped dislocating Nevik's arm and allowed him to get up. "It's so easy for you!"
"They wanted to disable the engines and reactors," I explained. "He showed me that. We couldn't delay any longer. The classic – either us, or them. The rest are neutralized. And I wouldn't want to kill them. But to disable them and then return them to the Council, yes. But that's how it goes."
"'How it goes'," Larrin snorted irritably. "And what does 'he showed me' mean? Who showed you?"
"The god of war," I said. "'Ares'. That's the battleship's name."