"The scout drone did not detect Wraith ships or any other threat on the other side," I said once the updated information appeared on my virtual display. "So it's time for us to go."
"Long past time," Alvar said just as I put my hands on the ship's controls.
The bluish "puddle" of the gate drew inexorably closer as the light control yoke shifted position. The ship flew into the hyperspace tunnel.
"So what's the problem?" I asked already on the other side. In that moment, I was several thousand light-years from Lantea. Sometimes it took my breath away—just a couple of instants and that's it, Neil Armstrong could repeat his old line about a step... and go to hell. "You could have gone home long ago already. Though," I glanced at the landscape opened before me, "I understand why you didn't hurry."
The view before me didn't just depress.
It provoked a hollow, gnawing pity and compassion for the population of an entire world.
The gate on Jensen's homeworld had been installed at the center of the city, where the central square, ringed by massive buildings, had once been. Now… now, there were only long-abandoned ruins.
Landscapes of Alvar Jensen's homeworld.
"I see this is unfamiliar to you, but soldiers obey their commanders' orders," the former Runner grumbled. "From my side it would have been extremely foolish and ungrateful to agree to work with you and then go off on my own. That's not how cooperation works. At least not for long-term cooperation."
"That sounds logical," I agreed, gaining altitude over the ruins of the city.
I had once read that by the nature of destruction one could determine what kind of weapon, at what angle, and in which part of the structure a projectile had hit. I didn't know if this applied to Wraith energy weapons, but one could only envy their thoroughness.
"This was the capital of Ermen," Alvar said with sadness in his voice. "More than fifty thousand people lived and worked here."
I nearly blurted that was a bit scant for the capital of an entire planet of humans. Then, cursing myself for frivolity, I remembered that this galaxy had its own "Spanish expedition."
"So your planet is called Ermen," I said instead.
"Yes," Alvar stared straight ahead, but seemed not to see what flickered past the viewport.
The man kept silent, lost in his thoughts. From his expression it was clear that returning to his roots didn't exactly thrill him. At the very least because he had to see the pain the Wraith had left behind.
I took the Jumper higher, to an altitude of about half a kilometer, reasonably deciding not to disturb the Runner yet. Without his directions, I would never find what we needed until the second coming of the Ancients.
"We're heading there," Alvar pointed toward a massive crater ahead and to the right of our position.
"Right into the hole?" I asked, steering the Jumper toward the indicated spot.
"There used to be a military base there that defended the city," he explained. "Our world had come under Wraith attack more than once in our history. So there is a network of tunnels under the city, leading from the base to different parts of the capital. They were discovered some twenty years ago, specifically for a situation like this."
"You didn't build them?" I grew alert.
"Our forefathers, as I understand it," Jensen clarified. "For several centuries the Wraith did not visit Ermen. According to the chronicles, in the previous cull they nearly wiped us all out."
"They gave you time to breed," I realized.
"Exactly. A few hundred years ago, we were simple shepherds and farmers until, because of the Wraith raids, our leaders decided to leave the foothill plains. So few of us remained that it was decided to use the Ancestors' Ring, of which legends were told."
"You wanted to flee."
"Yes. Our chieftains remembered the legend of where one could find it and discovered several addresses in the cave drawings. Desperation drove us. But in the end, we came to the ruins of the Capital. We found the Ancestors' Ring here, and the ruins of cities built before us."
"And decided to stay," I brought the Jumper down to the place the Runner had indicated. By eyeballing it, it was about fifteen kilometers in a straight line from the gate. Alvar had visited his homeworld several times, returning for ammunition and supplies. I got the impression the Wraith had chosen a very worthy candidate for Runner. "In your place, I probably would have done the same."
"Though the city was in ruins, one could find shelter there, and nearby there were forests for hunting and fields for growing crops. So we never left. Especially once we found the catacombs."
"I hate to interrupt, but how is the history lesson going to help us?" I asked. "We came for weapons, not on a tour for urban explorers."
"Interesting little turns of phrase," the corner of the Runner's mouth twitched. "Come on, you'll see for yourself."
"I hope you're not going to keep the secret of this technological miracle from me," I muttered, heading toward the Jumper's rear. "Because to go in a couple of centuries from goat herders and farmers to a civilization that, by your words, was reaching for orbit—you'd have to work hard."
"That's precisely why I suggested Chaya come with me," Alvar smirked. "No offense, but as a tech and scientist she'd put you to shame. And yes, there are things in the tunnels she might like."
"Who's arguing?" I asked as we stepped out of the Jumper. Looking around, I wrinkled my nose at the sight of every meter being strewn with decayed fragments of human bodies. Bones, bones, pieces of skeleton... All these people had died during the bombardment. But there had been no one to bury them properly. "But when you were thinking of your gallantry, did you consider how grateful she'd be for having to haul crates of weapons?"
"I could have handled that myself," Alvar snorted. "We're heading there."
The former Runner raised his weapon and, with his knees slightly bent, moved in a rapid walk toward a particularly large spill of rubble on the slope of the big crater.
Eyeballing it, the crater was about fifty meters deep, and the entrance to the tunnels Jensen had mentioned lay just slightly above its base. From what I remembered of explosives, detonation usually blew material from inside outwards, scattering debris all around.
But this crater was entirely filled with fragments of walls, ceilings, mangled rebar, and much else.
"I take it there used to be a large underground base here," I suggested, catching up with Alvar as he climbed the ruins.
"A complex built by our forefathers," he clarified.
"And you kept quiet this whole time?" I was stunned. Among the people of Pegasus, the Ancients were known as the Ancestors.
"Does that change anything?" the Runner asked in surprise. "We're here anyway. Help me move this slab. Behind it is a crawlway into the tunnel. I closed it off the last time I left. So the Wraith wouldn't find it."
He pointed to an uneven slab about a meter and a half high, about twenty centimeters thick. About a meter and a half wide as well, so one could crawl through it with no problem.
Looking at the edge of the slab, I shook my head. Reinforced concrete. In my universe, concrete in its usual form appeared somewhere in the early 1800s, give or take fifty years.
Roman concrete had indeed existed long before that, but from what I could see, this was the notorious "Portland cement." Concrete reinforcement appeared around the nineteenth century as well. Again, plus or minus depending on my less-than-perfect memory.
And this was despite the fact that in our case nobody had attacked us every couple of centuries, people who could easily devour a planet's population purely out of hunger. And here, as Alvar had said, something like that had already taken place. I had to assume the local people knew much about the predecessors of their own civilization.
"Are these fragments of the base?" I asked.
"No," Jensen replied. "The base had an armory, an arsenal, powerful power sources, including a couple of nuclear reactors. When the Wraith hit the base, everything blew and caused a collapse. The fragments we're walking on are mostly the upper floors of the nearby buildings of the Capital."
"Buildings you built?" I clarified.
"We tore down the older ones to the foundations," he admitted. "Otherwise we couldn't have built a new city."
So in two hundred years, shepherds had learned to build spacecraft, nuclear reactors, and reinforced concrete. A joke of the minute, or I was missing something.
"And how did you move this on your own before?" I asked, bracing my feet against part of the pile and my hands against the slab. Alvar did the same. I was just getting ready to strain all my muscles when the chunk of wall easily tipped about a meter toward the center of the crater.
The pile beneath us flexed slightly. Looking closer, I saw a thick rebar rod, as thick as my forearm, going through the bent slab's base. Its free ends disappeared beneath other debris.
Under the lower edge of the slab I saw a recess masked by other slabs, allowing this "lid" to rotate freely on its axis.
"This is the densest, lightest building material I've ever seen," I admitted.
"The Ancestors knew how to build," Jensen smirked. "So do we."
"I don't doubt it."
Jensen, still in combat stance, slipped into the gap that was too dark for daylight to reach. He assessed the situation. I paused for a moment to activate the Jumper's cloak from my scanner. Though we were alone on the planet—the equipment had found no signs of any other life—it was better to play it safe. They say problems show up the moment you're full of confidence and casually leave valuable gear out in the open.
Stepping over fragments of wall and ceiling that formed the collapse, I went down to the main level. There, Alvar was already waiting, lighting the nearly round tunnel vaults with his rifle's tactical flashlight. Plated with metal sheets and held together by massive rivets, the tunnel extended far ahead.
I looked at the floor but didn't find the rusty rails I'd expected. Nor any traces of their installation.
"What is it?" Alvar asked, seeing my interest.
"I thought you actually had a subway here," I explained.
"What's that?"
"Something like trains that run in such underground tunnels," I explained.
"No, we never had that. And I don't think the forefathers did either."
"Alright, let's make a deal," I suggested. "There's too much confusion with your 'forefathers.' You generalize too much, and it's making me very nervous."
"I don't understand."
"When you say 'forefathers,' I can't tell whether you mean your distant ancestors or the Ancients. Sometimes that's really annoying, you know. I already expected to see Lantean design here."
Instead, it was a horror version of the Moscow Metro. Ah, if only we could tile this place...
One of the tunnels under the Capital of Ermen.
"Well, sorry to disappoint you," Alvar shrugged. "So, shall we go?"
"Far?"
"A couple of kilometers," the soldier estimated. "There's an armory, uniforms, medical supplies, and everything needed for one of the districts. I inspected the others last time, they're empty. I think the infantry pried them open during the fight with the Wraith."
"And you never tried to find out why?" I asked.
"I'm a pilot, not infantry," Jensen reminded me. "When the invasion began, my fighter was shot down. I made an emergency landing, and for several days I fought my way back to the Capital. And when I arrived, the Wraith were already in full control. I fought them by commando methods for a couple of days, but they eventually knocked me out and took me aboard a Hive. Then they dropped me on another world, and by the time I came back, there was no one left alive here. Just as that Wraith who made me a Runner said. Since then, I haven't found any of my own kind, though I left signs and messages when I came here to restock supplies."
"I think we can look for survivors from orbit on our way back," I suggested. "Maybe someone made it to the forests, the mountains..."
"If they aren't idiots, they left long ago," Jensen objected. "In any case, what am I supposed to say to them if we meet? 'Hello, let's restore our civilization?'"
"Why not?" I wondered. "For this galaxy, starting over is nothing new."
"And you'd let all my countrymen onto Atlantis?" Alvar laughed, stopping at a junction of several tunnels. After orienting himself, he pointed to the one on our right.
"Chaya and I aren't against helpers, but not freeloaders," I said. Being last in line, I kept my personal shield on out of habit. As the Proculus woman had established, this tech was experimental, very energy-hungry, but in my view irreplaceable. She agreed with that. She just didn't know if she could reproduce it. To do so, we'd have to take the existing sample apart and research it thoroughly. Or else develop an equivalent using the data in the lab where I'd found it. The problem was that, like many Ancient technologies, it required rare-earth elements to build the shield. And we didn't have that much of those. I'm beginning to understand why in the series the expedition preferred to get around serious damage to key systems with backup ones instead of repairing them.
"You sure?" Alvar asked. "It doesn't look like everything is smooth sailing between you two lately."
"What makes you think that?"
"Then why aren't she and Teyla with us?"
"They have things to do on Atlantis," I shrugged.
"Right," Alvar smirked. "One's scrubbing ancient food tanks, and the other's pretending you don't exist."
"And I can't even guess which is which in your comparison," I shot his joke back. "Chaya does have things to do—she wants to send a second scout drone to the combat satellite to find out in advance what damage it has and whether we can repair it with what we have."
"Well, that satellite is what started everything," Jensen pointed out. "You upset Chaya somewhere along the way."
"I don't recall the run to the armory coming with a free course in home psychotherapy."
"I don't know what happened between you two," Jensen calmly continued, "but you shouldn't have. She's a good woman, kind and smart. Women like that should be cherished, not driven to tears."
"Who drove her?"
"You did. Teyla said Chaya ran out of her lab crying after that talk. That's not right."
Huh. I hadn't known that. I hadn't even noticed. Then again… paying attention to those close to me was never my strong suit. I had noticed Marina's health problems too late.
That's my nature—when I dive into something headfirst, I don't notice anything around me. Priorities: do the important thing as quickly as possible, the rest isn't as urgent. Focusing all efforts on one task is the best way to solve problems, as far as I'm concerned.
"I don't think it's me," I said. "More likely what I said."
"Is there a difference?" Jensen stopped in the doorway to a wide corridor with metal doors on both sides covered in brown stains. There were dust marks and dirt on the floor, and water was dripping from aged pipes in places.
"Apparently there is," I concluded. "I guess you aren't paying so much attention to Chaya for nothing?"
"She did a lot for me," the former Runner didn't bother to deny it. "You may have disabled the transmitter, but she removed it. Feels safer that way. She helped me get used to Atlantis' wonders. She even tried to make me the same as you two."
"Yeah, I know about the attempt to graft you the gene. Shame it didn't work. We're short on pilots."
"Agreed," the man said. "Saying half of Atlantis' residents can pilot Jumpers sounds grand. But the fact we're only four of us... not so much. Oh, and we're here. This is the door."
As I stepped up to the indicated opening, I noted the door was partially skewed, and there were marks on the stone floor showing where it had jammed when opened.
"Can you blast the door open with your blaster?" Jensen asked, shifting from one foot to the other.
"And behind it... the weapons room? With rifles, ammunition, grenades, and so on?" I asked.
"Naturally," Alvar spread his arms, encompassing the room. "It's an operational depot for recruits or mobilized citizens. Our duty is to arm and supply them with everything necessary."
"Yes, but I'm not shooting the door," I had to warn him. "It's too flimsy for weapons like this. I'm afraid we'd detonate our emergency reserve. And as you know..."
"I know," Jensen cut me off. "Fine, help me get this open. Can't stand here all day!"
Unlike the reinforced concrete, the door was not light. It took a couple of minutes to swing it open wide—otherwise hauling out weapons would be a problem. Jensen swept his flashlight beam across the numerous structures inside, then went to a strange-looking panel with wires running out of it. Grabbing the wheel handle on its front, he began cranking it vigorously.
The familiar howl of a dynamo machine echoed through the room.
A dim light flicked on under the ceiling, and on the fronts of many of the rectangular units I'd noted previously. Jensen kept cranking for several more minutes until the bright white light from something that resembled fluorescent tubes finally drove the darkness away.
The depot didn't exude futurism, but it didn't look grim either. Around a hundred to a hundred and fifty square meters of space were packed with numerous rack-boxes. In some, I saw neat rows of firearms—pistols, automatic rifles, and long guns. Others held neat rows of ribbed and smooth cylinders with safety pins and skinny trigger levers. I had to assume those were the local equivalent of grenades. Except… why store grenades fully assembled? There's a simple rule: casing with filler separate, detonator separate. Need to use—screw and go.
Sure, in some circumstances, when fighting is constant, you don't need long-term storage grenades. In active combat, yes, grenades should be ready, because you never know when you'll need them.
But this was clearly not a battlefield. This was a long-term depot. It should obey different rules. Yet here we were: hundreds of loaded magazines and clips, primed grenades, mines... Yes, it's convenient—walk in and grab, no time wasted. But you don't do that! Springs can fatigue, and then forget about feeding rounds into the mechanism. Either these guys are way ahead and don't fear corrosion, or they simply have no idea what this kind of laxity can lead to.
I suddenly lost all desire to touch their grenades—any moment and they might go off in my hands. Or during transport.
Ammo depot under the Capital.
"This depot is for how many fighters?" I asked. Some of the arms lockers had already been opened. I assumed the Runner had taken as much as he could carry.
"This one can arm a battalion," Alvar said without wasting time. He went to one of the heavy cabinets and began raking out loaded magazines, belts with grenades clipped into holders, and so on. "Those other doors you saw—behind each is storage for medical supplies, canned food, uniforms, and gear. There are many such depots in the tunnels, with everything needed for waging war behind enemy lines. Or for a quick evacuation with what would be needed if we had to flee. But this is the central depot. The first place after the base itself, which was guarded most strongly. The others, smaller ones, have far fewer supplies—enough for a company at most."
"I didn't notice anything special about the security."
"Because I switched it off on my very first return," Jensen said. "And I couldn't get it back online."
"You checked out the other ones?" I asked, examining the small arms and ammunition that were very well-prepared for long-term storage. Even if they weren't in oiled wrapping, that didn't mean there was no preserving solution on them; it was visible on close inspection, somewhat like grease, but only in consistency.
Interesting.
"I wasn't in the mood for sightseeing," Alvar admitted. "I'd come in, grab what I needed, and leave as quickly as possible, before the Wraith realized I was underground and figured out how I was getting here."
"Yes, they do have issues with scanning underground infrastructure," I agreed.
The abundance of supplies made fulfilling the promise to the Athosians much easier. If just this depot had enough weapons and kit for a battalion, that alone was enough to arm a small army. And there were other, smaller depots too!
We wouldn't need to produce anything with Atlantis's resources. At least for a while. Not to mention we could build up a private arsenal and much else.
Yet something still nagged at me.
"You've arranged things very nicely here," I complimented. "But the questions haven't gone away."
"Come on," Alvar waved toward the exit. "There is another depot. There you'll understand everything."
The other depot turned out to be behind the neighboring door. The corridor got brighter as well. And, more interesting still, it turned out the metal doors had code locks. Apparently, Alvar hadn't used the lock when leaving last time.
"When there's no power, these locks are a curse," he explained. "I had to get creative to open it and get to the weapons."
"Let me guess, the creativity had something to do with an external power source?" I asked.
"Yes," Jensen grunted as he opened the new door. This one was at least three times thicker than the last. I couldn't help but notice the many cylindrical bolts. I counted at least five just on the edge I could see, each as thick as my leg. "I know enough to rig a short circuit and blow a lock with a focused blast. Lucky for me the armory didn't have the same level of access restriction as the memory vault."
"Memory vault?" I repeated. Jensen gestured for me to enter.
Inside, everything played out the same way—dynamo machine, flickering light, unfamiliar structures...
But instead of weapons racks and ammo crates, I saw the likes of server racks I knew from my previous life. Massive, three meters tall, they were lined up in two rows of five each. Their multi-colored indicator lights winked, and moving parts filled the room with a mechanical hum, igniting an unprecedented curiosity in me.
"Let me guess," I said, watching Alvar head for the far corner of the room where several worktables and carts of assorted gear were arranged. "Besides the tunnel system, you also discovered server rooms left by your forefathers. Am I right?"
"Memory vaults," Alvar confirmed. "Our forefathers were smart enough to preserve their knowledge for future generations. I gather our planet had been nearly destroyed more than once, too, and after Wraith raids everything had to be started from scratch again. But in this vault, there is something that doesn't belong to our technology at all. It's unlike any of the forefathers' legacy we've seen. That's why I asked Chaya to come with me—to see if she recognized this item."
"Ancient technology is pretty distinctive and has a characteristic design," I smirked. "So..."
I broke off when I saw what Jensen was wheeling toward me on a small cart.
Resembling an artillery rocket shell with six short ribbed fins around the midsection, the object stirred something in my memory from the scant historical pages of the events I knew.
"The forefathers' language is a little different from ours," Jensen explained. "But command told us that according to the chronicles, the forefathers indicated that it was with the help of this object, which they called the 'Sithari legacy,' that they were able to reach the heights of their development. We only managed to figure out what they left us on these servers," he pointed to the lit racks. "But with this thing—no. Maybe Chaya would understand what this device does..."
"I can tell you what it is even without her," I said as I looked around for something akin to a hologram or controlled visual display. Nothing. The scanner showed the object was emitting no radiation at all and bore no traces of energy. If it had ever functioned, it hadn't been in recent years.
"And?"
"It's a probe containing all the information and technological achievements of the Sithari race," I said. "Looks like your forefathers hit the jackpot."