When the doors opened and Larrin stumbled out, barely holding herself up, a smile appeared on Trebal's face.
"How does it feel?" she asked, seeing the Nomad look around with a unfocused gaze.
"This day couldn't have been more disgusting, but you decided to make it worse with your presence, didn't you?" Larrin leaned her back against the wall. And sl-o-o-o-wly began to slide down until she sat on the deck. "You went through this too, didn't you?"
"The first time," Trebal admitted, approaching her fellow thrill-seeker and sitting down next to her. "And no, you're wrong to think I came here to gloat. I just happened to be the only one free enough and able to understand what you're experiencing right now."
"I doubt you understand me," Larrin said suspiciously, pulling her legs up so she could rest her elbows on her knees and cup her head in her hands.
"Oh," Trebal sighed and shivered. "I understand perfectly. The same thing happened to me."
"It's like I was screwed, dried out, squeezed, diluted again, humiliated, used, deemed defective, thrown out the door, dragged from one end of the galaxy to the other on a tow rope, then pumped with hydrogen and released to see how I would behave after all that," Larrin's words were the least like complaints, but... In fact, they were. Performed by a strong woman who had faced difficulties in her life more than once.
Only until now, she had never felt so bad.
"So, you had it a little harder than me," Trebal admitted. "For me, it all ended at the humiliation stage."
The girl began to massage her temples.
"Remind me to punch him in the face," she said.
"Who exactly?" the Dorandan chuckled. "Misha or 'Ares'?"
"And with whom do I have a better chance of seeing suffering?"
"If your own, then with 'Ares', if male... Well, sometimes Misha enjoys it when we freak out and behave inadequately," Trebal shared her observation. "I think it amuses him."
"Self-satisfied men don't change even when they are at a higher stage of evolution, do they?" Larrin gave a crooked smile. "I'm used to punching people in the face for that."
"I prefer a mas-tashi," Trebal shared. "It's a move where you gain speed, go down, do a handstand, raise your legs, and use inertia to kick from above."
"A fist to the face is more practical than all this gymnastics," Larrin grimaced. "Does it feel like a red-hot plasma cutter was shoved into the back of my head? Will it pass soon?"
"By itself - no," Trebal sighed, getting to her feet and offering her hand. "Let's go, we'll check out the Atlantis infirmary. Selisa will give us medicine."
"And are there no infirmaries closer than hundreds of light-years from Taranis?" Larrin grabbed her hand and, with some difficulty, but still managed to stand up. "Ah, yes, the report..."
"We can ask the Taranian for medicinal roots," Trebal suggested. "I've tried a couple. If you're not afraid of hormones going wild and libido kicking in, you can use it."
"I'll pass," the girl grimaced again, and Trebal, out of sympathy, took her by the arms, helping her walk. "I want to smash his face, not sit on him."
"Are you sure you're saying what you think to that girl?" Trebal gave a strained smile, looking threateningly at Larrin.
"Damn it," understanding dawned in the Nomad's eyes. "I thought you were just a bitch, not... Sar too?"
"I don't know, I don't care," Trebal said, and suddenly realized that she was indeed completely indifferent to the mention of the Proculucian in such a context. It was even surprising, somehow.
"Are there others?" Larrin grimaced. It seemed she was really in pain after contact with "Ares."
"The answer is the same," Trebal was even horrified by the fact that she felt absolutely nothing when she realized what she had heard. She really didn't want to know the answers to such questions.
This is... somehow strange.
Two phrases ago, she felt a pang of jealousy when Mikhail's face was mentioned, but here... Or did her jealousy extend precisely to the fact that Larrin wanted to do it?
The Dorandan shivered. Her psyche was giving her very bad signs and signals. Uncharacteristic for the stubborn and strong-willed daughter of Tribune Titus.
"Why are you shivering?" Larrin asked.
"It's a bit cold here," Trebal lied. "And let's just be quiet, okay? We still have to go to the hangar for the 'jumper', fly to the gates..."
"And so what? How is that related to whether I'll be silent or not?"
"Directly. In one case, you'll walk yourself, in the other, you'll be carried."
"Okay, I'll shut up," Larrin exhaled. "Carry me, big Dorandan, I'm almost your sister... Oh, you bitch!"
Larrin uttered the last words lying face down on the floor.
"Oops," Trebal sat down next to her and feigned regret on her face. "It seems my hand slipped off your cute, form-fitting leather corset. I think if you wore our uniform, it would be much better..."
"I got the hint," Larrin said, lifting her face from the floor. "Now help me up, don't be a bitch. They're waiting for us! And my whole body is cramping. Damn dreadnought..."
"I have a better idea," Trebal assured her, taking her hand and helping her roll onto her back. "Your clothes are very slippery, so..."
Larrin's first and last reaction to what was happening was said a minute later.
"I'll remember this!" she promised when Trebal dragged the Nomad lying on the floor by the hand through two corridors.
"I hope so," Trebal replied. "And, by the way... We have inter-deck ladders ahead..."
It's time to think about reducing the number of meetings to one in... say, never?
It's a shame it won't work out.
"So, what do we have?" I asked, not addressing anyone in particular.
Although there were people present, and not insignificant ones.
"I wouldn't say it's complex equipment, but it's unusual," Ihaar looked at the disassembled "frequency converter" lying in front of him on the table. "Given the state of Nomad technology, it's even surprising that they can produce anything like this."
"I'm more interested in whether we can produce such weapons," I admitted.
"We can," Chaya sighed. "But we'll have to use one of the workshops for it. And I'm not happy about that at all. We have enough problems and needs for each of them—both on Atlantis and on Taranis—to allocate complex equipment for the production of this weapon. I was against us allocating one installation for the manufacture of the hull parts they needed, and now we have to do the same thing again. It slows us down."
"Or we could tell the Nomads to produce such weapons for us themselves," I suggested after a moment's thought. "Their ships have both the specialists and the equipment designed specifically for this. It'll be slower than if we did it ourselves, but still better than re-tasking a whole installation for the manufacture of the necessary parts."
"Re-tasking isn't that difficult," Chaya said. "With the resources, we can create the necessary stock of each type of part in a week or so. The issue is that we'll have to pull our technicians away from more important tasks to assemble the parts into weapons manually. And that's where the main time expenditure lies."
"Can we really not just tweak the installation's program so they produce the finished weapons?" I asked.
"It's not the kind of technology I'd want to tamper with the programming of," Chaya admitted.
"The diamond law of engineering: 'If it works as intended, don't touch it'," Iha'ar declared, a wisdom that is undeniable at all times. "Chaya is right—we can't manufacture finished units and devices. Only spare parts. Then assembly. Yes, this weapon is closer to our pulsars than to firearms, and thanks to its firing modes, it can be versatile, but repairing two battleships, an outpost, a satellite, a city is already difficult enough for our technicians. We're short on people. And here we are, deciding to rearm."
"Yes, because the ammunition for Ermen weapons has a tendency to run out," I reminded him. "And it's easier to charge cells and crystals for 'frequency guns' and 'pulsars' than to build an ammunition factory, or set up a machine for loading cartridges from crudely produced gunpowder and bullets, casings, and primers made in the installations."
Of course, it was still a long way off until the reserves of Ermen-made weapons and ammunition were depleted. But that didn't mean we should relax now and calmly shoot through our supplies.
"Frequency guns" equally stun, kill, and incinerate almost everything. Moreover, in the first two cases, they don't cause wounds to people or Wraiths. In fact, in the first mode, they replace our stun weapons, or stunners, if we use abbreviations, and in the third mode, they replace "pulsars," the number of which is also small. You can count on the fingers of one hand how many Ancient pulse pistols we have. We have more stunners, of course; almost every crew member of Atlantis had one.
It's just... The power of a pulsar is excessive for a simple firefight. And a "frequency gun" can easily replace it. Just as it can replace a stunner. Or the Wraith stunners, which we also have.
Not to mention that we can recharge the depleted energy cells of the "frequency guns" from any generator. Or on the wireless charging panels for equipment, which are in every VIP dwelling. I don't know about the residential complex, I haven't gotten around to it yet, but the fact remains.
We need a more versatile, yet simple weapon.
The "frequency gun" is suitable. Especially since, in principle, copyright interpretation in the Pegasus galaxy is quite broad.
"We'll do it this way," I concluded. "We'll produce the spare parts, after which we'll send them in kits to Ermen for assembly. They'll keep some for themselves, and some they'll transfer to us along with the shipments of nacadah. Simultaneously, we'll take care of their security, as well as the gradual rearmament of our forces with universal weapons."
"As you say," Iha'ar shrugged. "But I don't have any free people to constantly distract them from reconfiguring the workshop equipment from producing crystals or hull parts for Atlantis to spare parts for the Nomads."
"We won't use new equipment," I said. "An installation is already working on Taranis in the interests of the Nomads. We'll add the schematics for the 'frequency gun' parts to that one. I think Fren, who is in charge of this project, will manage."
"Ten spare parts more, ten less, it makes no difference to her," Chaya admitted. "She's already happy that she's occupied; in fact, she has something like her own project that no one interferes with by giving advice or making remarks. She's interested, we know she won't make mistakes, which means our agreements with the Nomads are in order. And there's no need to distract any of the more qualified personnel from their work."
"Good," I approved. "Iha'ar, can you reassemble this 'frequency gun' so that there are no spare parts left?"
A grimace of an offended professional appeared on the senior engineer's face.
"I don't doubt your skills," I assured him. "But this sample," I tapped the disassembled weapon with my finger, "is actually Larrin's personal weapon. And she'll be beside herself after the encounter with 'Ares'."
"Give me ten minutes, and I'll reassemble it," Iha'ar assured me. "I hope after this I can return to my duties? Or will I have to disassemble something else from alien technology?"
"No, everything is fine, after that, return to setting up the virtual environment for the remaining crew members," Chaya ordered. "Then do the same, but for training those who have already recovered. It's important for us to combine physical rest and virtual training."
It so happened that in a stasis chamber, the body not only slows down all processes but also rests well during the allotted time. Even despite activity in a virtual environment, a person is effectively sleeping.
And as soon as Iha'ar finishes working on the program for the sensory organs, so that the real body doesn't perceive pain from injuries sustained in virtual reality, everything will be simply perfect.
A person worked during the day, got into a capsule to sleep, immersed in virtual reality. The body rested, the brain, while in a state of sleep, is active and also rested, and the mind learned something useful. For example, how to shoot well.
However, in order not to overload the brain too much and not to have "sleep-deprived people" in the morning, one also has to be careful when reprogramming Lantian technology.
"I'll do it," Iha'ar sighed.
"Are you sure that assigning Fren to produce parts for the Nomads was a good idea?" I asked, as Chaya and I left his laboratory, heading down the corridor towards the transport cabin.
I have my own study time too. Which Sar spends all her free time on. Today, for example, I'll be learning to repair the engines of a "jumper." I'll learn something useful, and we'll finally fix a couple of "jumpers" in the underwater hangar at the North Pier.
Someday. But definitely not today.
"She approaches work responsibly," Chaya said. "As well as self-development. If she hadn't been studying the techniques of Dorandan hand-to-hand combat on board the 'Aurora,' your first encounter would have ended very badly."
"And why was she learning hand-to-hand combat as part of the crew of a combat starship?" I clarified.
"For the same reason as Trebal," Sar replied simply. "You never know when a space battle will involve repelling an abordage and a hand-to-hand fight with a ruthless enemy. Besides, it helps with physical development and improves blood circulation."
"I should ask Trebal to show me a couple of tricks," I grinned.
"And she hasn't shown you yet?" Chaya asked innocently.
"What are those hints?" I sighed.
"No hints," Sar shook her head, entering the transport cabin. "I'm referring to the fact that on the 'Aurora' she attacked you, and on the drill rig, you fought side-by-side. And you saw her in action. So... No, I'm definitely not hinting at anything."
Slipping in after her, I selected the desired point on the display.
Light...
"Sorry," I said when we got out of a different transport cabin, at the North Pier.
"It's okay," Chaya gave one of her usual polite smiles and slipped past me. "It's okay."
Yeah, right.
I caught the girl by the hand and forced her to stop. Turning her to me, I realized that things were indeed not okay.
She usually looked me straight in the eye, but now she averted her gaze. And the loss of eye contact is precisely what signals discomfort between interlocutors.
"You know," I stated, sighing.
"It's not that hard to understand, seeing that she's stopped behaving like a rabid animal, and you've stopped showering her with incomprehensible jokes," Chaya looked in the direction where bubbles were rising from the built-in aerator in the drinking column. "After all, it was all leading to this. It's inevitable, like the discharge of an MNT. Sooner or later, depending on the tension and duration..."
I ran my hand over the girl's cheek, which made her flinch and look at me bewildered. And she continued to widen her eyes in astonishment as our lips met.
"Not a bad way to shut a woman up," she said, confused, when the kiss ended.
"It doesn't always work," I remarked. "Only with those who aren't indifferent."
"And does the latter depend on whether you crawled to her bed in an altered state of consciousness?" she asked, looking me straight in the eye.
"The very fact that this girl saved me, helped me survive, took me in at her apartment, didn't kick me out to sleep on the floor, and stayed by my side, no matter what, already makes me a very big pig," I sighed, realizing how cheap all these words about self-flagellation sounded. Like a naughty child who broke his mother's favorite vase, trying to prove he's realized everything by listing how nasty he is. "I feel like I owed her..."
Chaya touched my lips with her finger.
"If you just feel like it, then you didn't owe her," she said. "And not in the context of this situation, but in principle. The realization of a debt to someone is a deliberate, considered decision, a balanced impulse between the conscious and the unconscious. When it 'seems' to you, it means the impulsive prevails over the logical. And in such a situation, you shouldn't act as it 'seems.' Otherwise, what prevents you from being sure of your actions, any fears or other unconsidered factors that you haven't processed consciously, but intuitively guess their influence on the consequences of your decision, will inevitably materialize. This is a universal rule of the psychological influence of human behavior on circumstances."
"And we have a saying, 'Haste makes waste'," I muttered. "Or simply 'Murphy's Law.' I'm not good at the correct interpretation that fits your lecture."
A smile appeared on Chaya's lips. Taking her hand from my face, she leaned forward and rose slightly on her tiptoes.
A quick, almost imperceptible kiss that burned my lips as if I had stuck them in a flame. My body literally shuddered from the unexpected sensations that couldn't manifest in such circumstances.
And yet, Sar managed... One movement, one kiss, a look from half-closed eyelids...
"And besides," she turned her back to me, clasping her hands behind her, so that her beautiful figure, clad in a simple yet elegant dress, was clearly outlined in the dim corridor. "Due to excessive drinking and my unwillingness to clarify the situation, and also, omitting the vulgarity of words and meaning, I must still say that you made a mistake in the preposition when listing my 'merits'."
It's clear that nothing is clear.
"And in what way?" the girl walked away from me at a leisurely pace. "Don't forget that I'm not smart enough to understand you at half a word!"
"'Take me in at her apartment'," turning on my heel, Chaya smiled. The pearls of her beautiful teeth seemed like a beacon in the darkness. "This phrase should have two identical prepositions."
Frowning, I began to calculate in my mind.
A sigh of regret was heard—Sar was already at the other end of the corridor.
"The last preposition is correct!" she shouted with mischief in her voice, disappearing into an adjoining corridor.
So, "in the apartment" is correct! And the second preposition should be the same as the correct one...
Oh, you little rascal!
"Sar!" I shouted, rushing after the girl. "I thought we'd already forgotten that joke! It's time for me to respond with all the severity of my tormented memory!"
She wasn't in the adjacent corridor.
However, running past an open door leading into a small room, I saw a familiar dress.
Chaya stood facing a giant, wall-sized, angular porthole, beyond which only darkness was visible. Here and there, the lights cast by Atlantis still broke up the deep darkness.
But due to the unlit lighting in the laboratory itself—and judging by the equipment, it was indeed a laboratory—I managed, having accustomed myself to the darkness, to see the landscapes of the ocean floor located further and lower.
No corals, algae, or marine life. Only a rocky, silt-covered, lifeless bottom.
Chaya looked at it without moving.
Approaching from behind, I hugged the girl by the shoulders, kissing the back of her head. She was so engrossed in the spectacle that tearing her away even for a kiss seemed sacrilegious to me.
"And it's like this everywhere within the radius of the shield," she said quietly. "When submerging Atlantis to the bottom, the Lantians didn't care that the shields formed a waterless area that is deadly to marine life. With its entire mass, Atlantis crushed what was here, destroying a beautiful coral reef. In ten thousand years, only sand and silt remained of it. The marine life they crushed at that moment died a torturous death. There were thousands of ways to avoid this, but they didn't care about the consequences. They did what they wanted, and the suffering of others didn't concern them. You know, there was even a joke about it. Sad in its essence. 'There is no life beyond the shield of Atlantis.' An old joke, but it perfectly explains the Lantian consumerist approach."
I remained silent, listening to her voice.
"Misha," Chaya tilted her head slightly, resting it on my arm. "They weren't bastards by nature. Just people who wanted good only for themselves. High goals—but for themselves. Achievements—but for themselves. Ascension—for themselves. They weren't born that way. They became that way gradually. And I'm afraid that's exactly where we're heading—and there will truly be no life beyond Atlantis. But no longer in a figurative sense."
"'He who does not remember his past is condemned to repeat it'," I said.
Chaya breathed calmly, but it seemed to me I could hear her heart beating like a mad drummer.
"Well said," she said quietly. "Your words?"
"Of one philosopher and writer from my homeland," I didn't lie. "He died about thirty years before I was born. And he lived in a country whose government acts the same way the Lantians did. However, why hide it—all governments probably act like this. It's dangerous to be kind on Earth."
"Why?" she asked quietly.
"Kindness is mistaken for weakness," I explained. "And the weak are beaten."
"It's scary to live on your Earth," Chaya shivered. "It's scary to live, it's scary to make way for new life... But, where is it scarier, Misha? On Earth, or here?"
"Living on Earth is habitually scary," I sighed. "For me. The locals are used to the fears in Pegasus, and on Earth they would simply go mad seeing what people do to each other for such petty reasons. For Earthlings of my universe, there is no enemy more terrible than another Earthling. For people in Pegasus, this is no longer relevant. The Wraiths taught them to value the human in humans. It even united them to some extent, helped them understand who the real enemy is."
"Yes," Chaya agreed. "Sometimes I wonder what would have happened to the Ancients if the Wraiths hadn't appeared. Would they have become noble explorers and altruists who helped other races? Or would they have turned into oppressors, holding other people under threat of destruction by the power of their technology?"
"I think we know the answer to that question," I admitted reluctantly. "But I'd prefer to believe in a more optimistic scenario."
"As do I," Chaya sighed. "Every day I hope that tomorrow will be better than yesterday. And... I'm afraid."
"Of something specific?" I clarified.
"Of everything," she said quietly. "But most of all—that I will bring a child into a galaxy where a journey to another planet could be a one-way trip. I'm afraid I'll never be able to allow my child to dial the address of a planet that doesn't have a shield or a warship above it. I'm afraid that every acquaintance of my child could turn out to be a Wraith worshipper, a spy for our enemies, or simply want to kidnap him to exchange for something valuable. I'm afraid that my child will have to survive, to overcome himself, to live another day. I saw this in Larrin. And I'm afraid of what will happen if we lose a war that has no goals. No declared enemies, no true friends. Only pragmatism and the pursuit of mutual benefit. Nothing sacred, noble, spiritual. Nothing that I have always valued in people. It seems that after the Wraiths gathered my people, there is no one left in this galaxy who can simply live and enjoy a peaceful life without the fear of dying for one reason or another."
"Tomorrow will be better," I said firmly. "And... Forgive me for the indiscreet question, but... While you're worrying about every sneeze of your child, what will his father be doing?"
"I don't know," Chaya sighed. "Most likely, he'll stand by silently and not do what he came for. Or he'll screw Aunt Trebal. Or Aunt Teyla. Or Aunt Larrin. To improve the breed, so to speak..."
Gently but persistently, I turned the girl to face me.
Her gaze lowered, and her head bowed, her arms hugging herself... And only a poorly concealed, barely restrained smile.
My hands instinctively went down, scooping Chaya by her hips, which felt surprisingly firm and supple to the touch. The girl's arms instantly wrapped around my neck, pulling me forward. Taking a couple of steps, I gently pressed her against the thick glass, which was not cold to the touch at all. Slightly rough, non-slip...
"You little mischievous hamster," I said, as we kissed again. "You know, this is very old glass. A leak could start somewhere..."
"You're not touching the right spot to feel a leak," Chaya said fervently, kissing me. "And, one last thing before we start," she gently placed her hand on my chest, pushing me back slightly.
"Do you want to talk right now about how implanting the Ancient gene in Larrin was a bad idea?" I frowned. "It worked for her, she knows the specifics of space combat, and we need that. Besides, she switched to our service instead of staying with the Nomads. And in this way, we show them that they are not just resource suppliers for us, but allies."
"No, that's not what I want to say," Chaya pursed her lips and lightly hit me in the chest. "I'm talking about the consequences..."
"Well, sorry, I don't know anything about Ancient contraceptives and my pockets are empty," I started to get angry.
"Oh, gravity, give me strength," Chaya implored, pounding her chest even harder. "Listen to me!"
"Maybe later?!"
"No!"
"Chaya, just a little more, and I'll slip!"
The girl hit me with her fist again.
"It's impolite to reproach a lady about how aroused she is!" she said with childish, feigned offense. "I mean that after coitus, you shouldn't make any exceptions or concessions for me. I understand that your worldview will require you to surround me with care, attention, and tenderness, but I don't want that! It's sweet, but we're not in a position to think about feelings. Work and ensuring general safety are paramount! And... I'm not ready for relationships of this kind. We... Trebal is right, the circumstances are such that we cannot afford tenderness and all that. We have a certain duty to all of us. But that doesn't mean I don't like you as a person, a man, a lover. It's just that I believe that... Oh!"
Finally, I managed to get rid of the hated clothing. On both of us. I hope this barbarism will cost less than a bag of wheat. Well, and...
Chaya curled into a ball, pressing against me, as a lone spearman entered the dragon's lair to show it how good he was in a solo fight.
And although the spearman knew that he would not emerge from this battle with full strength and in the same vigor with which he began the fight, he still bravely rushed forward. The brave warrior announced himself and had no intention of retreating.
"Is that all?" I clarified. "Are you done talking?"
"Yes," Chaya nodded. "No. Almost."
Dragon, damn it! Stop hesitating! Go to a mortal combat!
"What else?" I implored. How can one think about anything else in such a situation?
"You'll have to go to Selise later," Chaya looked almost guilty. And embarrassed at the same time.
"Why?"
"I love to scratch," she lowered her gaze.
"I'm not fragile, I won't melt," I assured her, pressing my lips to hers. "Although, this is even unexpected from you. You, the quiet one! However, this is even good! Just be yourself!"
Chaya pulled away again. Again that guilty look.
Damn it!
"And... Please don't judge, but... Can I ask you for something?"
Dragon, damn it, don't distract me with talk! You'll lose anyway! And you'll be killed with particular cruelty! Several times!
"Speak," I growled.
"You see..." she swallowed, as if she couldn't find the words. She?! I'm afraid to imagine what Chaya is going to say now! Go to a laboratory with an ionizing device? Do it on a particle accelerator? On a laboratory console? On the roof of the central spire? "We are all physiologically developed, reason triumphs over hormones, but... There are instincts... When a female sees a strong male suitable for her, she wants to simply be herself... It's simpler with animals, but our brain is such a complex thing, and the unconscious..."
"Just tell me already!" I lunged at her, pressing her against the glass so hard that it seemed I could crush the fragile girl. "Just... tell me!"
Her hot breath burned my ear.
"Hair," she breathed, her voice trembling with excitement. "Grab it as hard as... Oh-oh-oh! Constant magnetism, yes! Yes-yes-yes-yes-yes!"