Walking through the corridors of Atlantis, I noticed no major changes despite the city's population having almost doubled.
People were still rarely encountered, and even when they were — whether I knew them or not — no one offered a hand, no one gave more than a perfunctory greeting, no one stopped for a chat. Everyone had their own business, and it mattered more to them than conforming to the earthly culture I was used to.
Declaring a general assembly and giving a speech like Lenin from an armored car, announcing that from now on we're all one big happy family and should act the way I find proper, familiar, and more humane — that was absolutely not in my plans.
To a certain extent, what was happening in the city now was me imposing my own rules in someone else's monastery. All these people — whether in Ermen uniforms or still wearing Aurora crew gear — were far closer to each other than to me. They had their own culture, their own worldview, their own rules of politeness.
I was perfectly fine with the fact that now and then, some of the "old-timers" would give me a brief but genuine smile when they saw me, or just nod. They were almost always dressed in the gray Ermen uniform.
As far as I could tell, there was currently an unspoken struggle among the Ancients, where some were trying to explain to others that things really weren't as bad as they might seem. And that there was no need to reach for a weapon every time you saw a person from another universe or a lady who had caused the death of an entire race.
.".. and what would have been better?" a voice came from a doorway I was passing. "Dying at the hands of the Wraiths during the harvest — in agony and suffering, with no way to hide or protect themselves? Or the way it happened? Yes, both options are unpleasant, but because of her actions, the Dorandans died without becoming a Wraith meal. Yes, she's not an Ascended being, but at the same time she's a person, an Ancient, who cares for us and is trying to fix her mistake. Here, look at the database info — it's a transcript of Mikhail, Trebal, and Chaya's conversation about what happened on Dorandan..."
"I don't believe in their good intentions!" a stubborn male voice from the same spot retorted.
"And do you find the good intentions of the Lantians who left — whether to Earth or Ascended — but abandoned us in stasis aboard the drifting Aurora more relatable?"
I didn't bother finding out who was conducting door mechanism repairs in that section while simultaneously explaining party policy.
After all, this wasn't the first conversation I'd overheard between "old-timers" and "newcomers."
Ten days had passed since I woke up in the infirmary. Again.
The hive ship under Alabaster and Teyla's command, guarded by Saya and two dozen Athosian riflemen, was now completing its second run along the route "Dead planet system — system borders fifty light-years from the Ermen system" to deliver the last Nomad ship to its new home.
Yes, maybe we trusted Alabaster more than before the battle, but that didn't mean she'd just be given the coordinates of worlds allied with Atlantis for free, without thought. So the original plan, which called for a direct jump at my insistence, had been adjusted.
The queen didn't react at all. Like, what do I care? You're covering your tracks by setting up coordinates at the route's endpoint from which your subordinates' ships, held together with welding, superglue, and unreliable black electrical tape, can jump in any direction to any of the nearest thousand systems — that doesn't bother me.
What bothered Alabaster much more was that two other Wraith ships she had her eye on were drifting in the dead system, barely regenerating. And even that was only because Chaya's Lantian power plants had been installed on them. Once the organic reactors recovered, our generators would come back.
"Mikhail!" I passed a side corridor where I'd glimpsed a group of people out of the corner of my eye, but I didn't stop, as usual.
I shouldn't have.
Teyla ran up to me, giving me one of her welcoming smiles.
"I thought you and Alabaster were moving the Swift," I recalled, glancing at my wrist chronometer. "And you wouldn't be back for almost another day... Hmm... My watch stopped. Today's Monday, right?"
Damn Nomad watches. They seemed like a convenient device with a calendar, familiar hands, and didn't even look like some Steampunk fever dream. But they broke constantly. Still, extremely convenient, considering that most inhabited planets had roughly the same distance from their stars, roughly the same rotation period, and roughly the same divisions of seconds, minutes, hours...
Though the Ancient scanner was much more convenient in that regard. A super-smart handheld with a multitude of functions, so advanced it could determine local time based on changes in a star's light and... Well, anyway, it was a great device on which you could set up to fifty different time zones to know exactly what time it was on any of fifty planets.
But constantly digging into my pocket to check the chronometer synchronized with Atlantis's central computer irritated me. Wildly irritated me. I hated doing that on Earth, and here I had to use the scanner for it. The irony was that this gadget, by Pegasus Galaxy standards even ten thousand years after its manufacture, was as tough as a Nokia 3310 and as beloved by users as an always-relevant smartphone with a bitten-fruit logo. Though I think the scanner was still better than the latter.
Well, at least because... Actually, because of everything, to put it simply. It really wasn't just a tool, it was a multi-profile gadget! And I'd called it a "scanner" based on what I'd heard in the show, but in reality it was a "portable personal computer with a wide range of applications." Which had, damn it, even a communicator function.
Why hadn't anyone told me that before? Well, they thought I knew. And if not... "You said we'd use Ermen radios. Not all our people can use the PPCs, so we assumed you'd made a reasonable generalized decision.".. I couldn't tell if Chaya was still holding a grudge against me for risking two ships and their crews to save one person and Trebal, or if the conservative "Lantians know best" idea just wouldn't fade on command.
Anyway, I asked Larrin to get me a Nomad watch. She did. In principle, for everyone on Atlantis, these watches should become one of the export items of a renewed Ermen to other worlds. But the trial batch was clearly far from spec and broke almost constantly.
Mine apparently had lasted a very long time.
"Tuesday," Teyla corrected me with a wider smile. "And yes, we delivered the Nomad ship to its destination. I was on Ermen, helping with fertilizing the fields when Captain Labrea landed the starship on the surface. Now they're both on the planet and can be repaired."
"Good news," I nodded. "By the way, are you busy? I was thinking of grabbing a bite."
"I'd be happy to join you," the Athosian confirmed, falling into step beside me. "How are you feeling?"
"That was exactly the question I was going to ask you." Teyla smiled back at my smile.
"I'm fine," she assured me. "At first I had a headache and noise, but it passed quickly. A little later, Alabaster explained that this happens when a Wraith stops being a child and receives a name. Growing up."
"Oh," I was impressed. "Our girl has grown up."
"I don't understand," Teyla admitted.
"That's what we say on Earth when we want to emphasize that someone has grown qualitatively compared to their recent past," I explained. "You took a step forward, developing your abilities."
"Alabaster is helping," Teyla said shyly. Funny, she wasn't even twenty-five yet, as far as I remembered, but she acted like a teenager who'd ended up in a group of adults she admired. "I have news..."
"Going on maternity leave?" I asked.
"Um... I don't know what that is," Teyla said.
"That's what we call the time on Earth when a working girl or woman stops working to undergo medical checkups and have children," I explained.
"On Athos, even in late pregnancy, women work," Teyla explained. "Carrying a child is not a burden, it's a joy... Are your women so weak that they can't do anything during pregnancy?"
"No, our women are quite strong, but the world is different," I explained. "There are many factors where you could lose the child or need to be monitored by a doctor. Anyway, it's a long explanation. Sorry if I offended you."
"It's nothing," the Athosian assured me. "No, I'm not planning to go on di-pret."
"Maternity leave."
"Mat-tur-ni-ty leave."
"Maternity leave."
"Mat-ter-ni-ty leave."
"Close enough," I sighed. "So what's the news?"
"Seliza ran genetic analyses on Alabaster and Koschei, and also compared them with mine..."
"I hope you're not long-lost siblings separated by evil Ascended beings in the past?" I clarified.
"Koschei is not our brother," the girl assured me as we entered the transport booth.
"Let's..."
A flash of light.
.".. see," I finished as we exited the booth on the right level. "Are you trying to say that...?"
"I have Wraith genes from the Osprey clan, just like Alabaster," Teyla said. Her voice was quite low, so that only I could hear her in the cafeteria we'd entered. Even though it wasn't as crowded as it could be — only ten or twelve people were sitting at tables, but most of them wore the snow-white uniform of the Lantian armed forces. Which kind of hinted — these guys weren't entirely "with us."
Among the resurrected Ancients, as initially expected, there was a certain split. Some people, despite everything that had happened, despite what had been communicated to them through the virtual environment during training and so on, categorically refused to join us.
They hadn't started an uprising to seize Atlantis, and it would have failed before it began anyway. Despite initial fears that the Aurora security personnel would be categorically opposed to serving me as a violation of cosmic rules, and Chaya as the one responsible for the deaths of everyone on Dorandan, these guys were the ones who seriously surprised.
They either lacked or had a weak Ancient gene, which had predetermined their low status in Lantian military service. The so-called "meat" meant to serve as muscle in battles. The guys were actually quite motivated and ideologically prepared — no one else was allowed to carry weapons on Lantian warships.
But contact with Kirik, Saya, Ihaar, Fren, and other "old-timers" of ours, who periodically connected to the recreated virtual environment, bore unexpected fruit.
Except for a few individuals, all of the Aurora security personnel unanimously decided to stay on Atlantis under the current command. The logic was incredibly simple: "What will you do if you leave Atlantis? If all you know how to do is fight according to Lantian doctrines."
Some simply didn't care, given that "the Ascended won't be happy with such an action on our part." Others hoped to find themselves by seeking out some of the old Ancient technologies.
Though we had to explain to the dissatisfied that there was no way they were getting Ancient technologies scattered across the galaxy. This was all discussed privately, of course, because not all of our people were back in the city yet from their assignments.
Some were doing repairs on the Hippaforalkus so it could return to Taranis for a full overhaul, some were standing watch on the Ares protecting our hive ship and cruiser, some were working on the mining rig, some on the sunken cruiser, some on the lab planet extracting naquadah... The time was approaching when all of Atlantis's inhabitants would gather together, and there would be a general meeting.
Which I was effectively preparing for, and, thank the heavens, I'd finally managed to find a solution to the "separatist" problem.
Among the Aurora crew were about three dozen people from other worlds — representatives of other minor races besides the Dorandans. Like Fren, from Epheon. They were refugees from their home planets that had been attacked by the Wraiths. And the only thing they could claim rights to was their race's technology, limited to the old worlds.
The problem was that two of the four planets had become uninhabitable, one had become a Wraith base, and another was in the process of being consumed by a black hole. The eugenicist worldview that the Lantians had instilled in the minor races was firmly embedded in these people's heads, so they weren't exactly rushing to "fit in" with the "primitive race" collectives. And a population of just over thirty people, only half of whom knew anything about technology but not about planting fields, building houses, or anything of the sort, was unviable. Narrow professional specialization among a population is fine, but as practice shows, in a situation like this, that approach doesn't help survival.
And also, all of them, without exception, were men. And such groups only reproduce in certain kinds of twisted fairy tales. Although, they say there's a saying in the US and Western Europe that men can do the same things as feminists. But none of them have won the Charlie Chaplin Prize yet.
So far.
The "non-aligned" guys had some idea — to go to Athos and "forcibly" mix with the locals — but so far nothing had come of it beyond talk. Especially after they'd been to Athos and learned that we'd pulled both the outpost and the geothermal reactor off the planet. So they had neither comfortable living conditions nor protection against the worst-case scenario — an attack from space.
That sobered them up.
So for now, these guys were settled on Atlantis under enhanced but unspoken observation, occupying one level of the residential complex. They had nowhere to go, so either they'd soon join us out of desperation, or they might accept my future proposal.
"So," I said, picking up trays with a light snack of fruit and fruit juice, Teyla and I took a seat free from the stares of the nearby Ancients. "Your DNA matches."
"Exactly," Teyla smiled absently. She frowned when she met an unfriendly look from an Ancient sitting five tables away from us. Hiding the fact that Teyla had Wraith genes in a city with a population of just over three hundred was a priori impossible. And was it even necessary? Anyone who didn't like such allies of Atlantis could step through the gate to their home planet. Provided Trebal, the highest-ranking Dorandan by position, would allow them to return to Dorandan. Without a jumper, of course.
There was no open hostility toward the girl — after one of the Ancients, a "security" type from among the "non-aligned," called her "Wraith spawn," Teyla didn't mince words and beat the bastard right in the corridor, breaking a few things on him. Since then, no verbal aggression toward the Athosian had been observed.
But sideways glances were still thrown. Mostly from the "non-aligned." The Dorandans were easier. Those guys were more developed than most of our dependents and understood the girl wasn't to blame. Yes, there were those who treated her warily, but those were isolated cases among the "newcomers."
A giant from some minor race that in its best years barely had a population of a couple hundred thousand was glaring at Teyla with hostility. The girl ignored him.
"What's your problem, pal?" I asked. My mood was bad toward evening. Work on preparing the city's surfacing had to be postponed because we needed to repair and return the ships to protection.
And the ocean above my head was pressing down on me unbearably.
"I don't have a problem," he grunted, grimacing as he looked at me.
"Looks like you came to someone else's house and you're upset they won't let you put your feet on the table," I continued. "If you're not happy with the bunk you chose yourself, or the food that's the same for everyone, you can always leave."
"My world is dead," he said hollowly. "My people are dead. All because of the Wraiths." He threw an angry look toward Teyla.
"Careful, pal," I advised. I had no particular desire to learn his name.
He was about two meters tall, slightly larger built than me. If I remembered his personnel file correctly, he was a hand-to-hand combat and shooting specialist. Wonderful. While Kirik and Alvar were on reconnaissance, I could always stretch my fists.
"Or what?" He dropped his fork onto his plate, drawing the attention of the other Ancients. "You'll call your disgusting cyborg? Or your pet Wraiths, or..."
"Well, or the 'Runners' will come and spank your arrogant ass," came Kirik's voice as he entered the cafeteria. Oh, how about that. Looks like the reconnaissance team was back. Interesting.
"I can handle myself," Kirik said, ignoring my warning, stepping right up to the table and drilling the troublemaker with a heavy glare.
"I know, commander," said the former Runner. "But dirtying your own hands on the likes of him is beneath the position of Lantian leader."
"Lantian leader.".. Chaya was inventive in her revenge and demonstrations of displeasure. For example, by creating a position for the leader of all Atlantis's inhabitants without exception.
For me.
"Lantian Leader." Short, to the point, annoying... And I couldn't even smack her for spreading that term among the Ancients before I'd even crawled out of the infirmary bed. New things catch on fast among the Ancients — the words of senior officials are taken as orders.
And yes, Ancient society doesn't have any military or special ranks or titles. There are positions. Ship Commander, First Officer, Second Officer, Third Officer, and so on.
There's a lot of strange stuff in this society, actually. No money, for example, and you can barely call anything private property, since everything is produced from communal resources. If you need something from other members of society — well, offer something in return.
At least, that's how it was with the living Lantians. I haven't found a replacement for this system. Yes, Lantian Nazism frankly pisses me off, and their version of communism makes me both admire and twitch nervously, but... What the hell kind of commodity-money relations can there be when we can't even produce a sufficient surplus of simple crystals or wiring? And that's despite the fact that the "non-joiners" are working (it's not like we're feeding and housing them for free!) on clearing out cluttered hangars, freeing up our people for actual work.
"You got a problem, 'Runner'?" the bruiser's face twisted into a grimace and a cocky smirk when he saw the other "non-joiners" moving away from the tables.
The guards on duty in the mess hall were already approaching, ready to use ESW to suppress a potential riot. Silent and efficient.
I walked over to the table and put my hand on Kirik's shoulder.
"Don't," I advised. "He's clearly got some issues."
"I don't have any issues," the bruiser snarled, getting up from the table so fast and sharply he nearly knocked it over. "You're the ones with issues! You live in a Lantian city like it was made for you! You act like you're the Lantians. You obey a man from another universe, a consequence of violating the laws of reality. Someone who buddies up with the Wraiths and their bastards, who gathers up all kinds of genetic garbage from primitive peoples across the planets..."
"I suggest you calm down," I said in a flat voice. "Right now, you're on the verge of sitting in the brig or getting a bullet in the back of the head."
The other Ancients and the guards moved closer. The faces of the first group showed some agreement with what their friend was saying; the faces of the second showed the desire and ability to put everyone who supported this guy on the floor and have them drooling.
"We should be above dealing with such..." the raging bruiser continued.
Sigh... And we wasted the lives of several of Alabaster's Wraith soldiers on this asshole. I'm sure those simple-minded soldiers could have been a lot more useful than this misunderstanding in an Ancient's body.
"Such as?" came a strong, low voice from somewhere behind the guards. Turning my head, I saw Alvar approaching the "security" personnel, watching the troublemaker intently.
Except that wasn't his voice.
Seems like one of the guards decided to clarify things before knocking the bastard out: insulting someone for the "lowness" or "primitiveness" of their origin is forbidden here. Strictly forbidden.
"Primitives," the bruiser said, jumping onto a chair and clearly spotting the one who'd asked, deciding to address his words to him. "Like you, you savage, who probably doesn't even know what the coefficient of air resistance is!"
"I don't," confirmed the same voice. Hell, whoever's so talkative back there. Damn genetics, the Ancients bred tall and sturdy men, you can't tell who's talking behind their backs. "And I don't care."
"Because you're primitive bio-trash who doesn't realize how primitive you are!"
"Probably. But that doesn't stop me from doing what I do."
"And what is it you do?" The bruiser stepped off the chair and moved towards the one speaking to him. The crowd parted, some even moving further away from the conflict zone.
"We need to stop the fight," Teyla whispered to me.
"No," I shook my head. "Boys need to let off steam sometimes. Sitting around these four walls, idling around... But the blood's still hot."
I could try to stop all this right now, but... Why? If a riot breaks out, the mess hall will be sealed from the control room, all nearby guards will be here in a minute and knock everyone out cold.
Besides, I wouldn't mind a fight myself. We can also see what our own "security" can do against their former colleagues.
The small crowd parted, and Alvar Jensen appeared opposite the bruiser.
The Ancient was a head taller than him and looked at him with contempt. That's it, kid, you're done. No matter the outcome of this "event," you're a dead man walking.
"So where's your cocky little friend?" the bruiser snorted, reaching out to grab Jensen by the collar of his jacket.
He didn't make it.
Something dark, shaggy, and seemingly woven from scraps of cloth suddenly appeared beside the Ancient. He reacted fast, but not fast enough.
The man in rags yanked his arm aside, swept his leg, and simultaneously struck him several times in the ribs.
On the floor, the Ancient started gasping from the pain, unable to move or say anything.
The other "non-joiners" intended to continue their friend's work, but facing the guards' ready weapons, they chose not to even start.
But the shaggy guy in torn clothes looked at his potential opponents with clear interest, not opposed to continuing.
Impressive. Time to get acquainted.
Which is why I headed over to this tall guy with the wild manners.
"Leader," Alvar mock-saluted, meeting my eyes. "We were just about to call you to see the new recruit. Met him during a reconnaissance mission for Governor Sar. This is..."
"Sergeant Ronon Dex from Sateda," I extended my hand to the man, who was half a head taller than me. "We've been looking for you for a while, kid."
Ronon Dex, a Satedan.