Despite the fact that the massive, thick door leading to the room with his cell opened almost silently to the human ear, Michael still heard it. He sat with his eyes closed in the middle of his cell, meditating and trying to break through the mental blockade surrounding him. So far, without success. Но it was no reason to give up.
In the brig of the Lantean city, there was nothing to help sense the change of day and night. Counting seconds would be an absolutely foolish occupation and a useless waste of resources. Therefore, Michael had fallen into a state close to suspended animation to slow down his vital processes and conserve as much energy as possible. Though he had lost track of the time spent in the cell, he clearly understood—the energy accumulated from the thousands of human animals and fellow Wraith he had consumed would be useful when he was ready to escape.
Perhaps that day had arrived today.
Feeling a faint breath of wind and a barely audible click of the lock, he snapped his eyes open.
Just in time to see the humans entering the cell room. Two men, only one of whom was familiar.
"Howdy, Pale-face!" Michael demonstrated some gesture that the Wraith didn't understand. Simultaneously, he did two things at once.
First—he slammed the other man, who had tried to break free from Michael's grip, against the bars of the cell. This man was clearly not dressed in the same uniform as Michael or the members of his team the Wraith had seen.
Middle-aged for a human, dressed in a worn gray-brown uniform, with a spiteful face but thoroughly disoriented (even before the impact against the horizontal bars), this second man clearly did not look healthy.
But he wasn't a Lantean—his behavior, facial expressions, even his body constitution were nothing like a representative of one of the Ancient peoples. It seemed he was one of the aborigines, insufficiently developed. Perhaps even a representative of the enemies Michael had promised he had.
"Don't squirm." Michael, with a kick to the back of the knees, forced his companion to fall. Holding him by the hair with his fingers, the Lantean performed the second action that drew the Wraith's attention.
He unlocked the entrance part of the grate.
Outwardly indistinguishable from part of the wall, it shimmered with the greenish glow of a deactivated energy field the moment it moved aside, letting both men inside.
"A Wraith!" the second man cried, as if only just seeing the prisoner. He tried to slow his forward motion, began to dig in his heels, and threw punches at Michael's torso and arm. But the personal shield enveloping him reduced all attempts to harm Michael to zero.
The Wraith mentally thanked the stranger for demonstrating the protection of the man who had captured the commander. To be honest, he himself had planned to attack Michael or any other member of his team as soon as they came. But now he realized that wouldn't be the best option.
"My people will have their revenge!" the man declared as Michael finally grew tired of dealing with him. With one movement, the Lantean threw the man at the Wraith's feet. Despite the proximity of the prey, the Wraith was in no hurry to feed. He hadn't forgotten Michael's threat about biological weapons. And he assumed that during the time he'd been in captivity, a prototype could have been developed.
Michael had already demonstrated (so far in words) that he was capable of crossing the moral line that prevented Lanteans from fighting to the last and at any cost. Such a man, without a second thought, could unilaterally change the terms of their agreement and decide that cooperation with a Wraith brought him no benefit. Especially since he surely continued to scan the Wraith, even after demonstrating that he had dismantled the equipment. And he could always obtain a more compliant representative of his race.
"Commander Cowen won't let this stand!" the man assured, cowering in the corner of the cell. "As soon as he finds out, he will have his revenge! You will all die! I give you my word, you will answer for everything you've done!"
The Wraith, intrigued by what he heard, turned his head toward Michael, who stood impassively in the doorway.
"What is this?" the Wraith asked, pointing at the pathetic human.
"An advance," the Lantean explained. "You remember the deal: I feed you, you work. It's time to fix your health and get to work."
"You're even cooperating with the Wraith?!" the man shrieked. "The people of Pegasus will not forgive you for such treachery!"
"And why should I believe the food isn't poisoned?" the Wraith asked. He looked at the game offered to him and grimaced in disgust. How pathetic and weak was this human?
"Why would I poison my assistant now?" Michael wondered. "I don't recall you even starting what we agreed upon."
"And you're in no hurry to deliver the frozen Lanteans to me," the Wraith noted.
"All in good time," Michael shrugged.
"...Cooperation with the Wraith is a grave sin for all people in the galaxy and—AAAAAAAGH!!!"
At the end of his angry tirade, the future meal shrieked in a high pitch. Not by his own choice, of course. His speech had simply begun to irritate the Wraith. And with one blow, he broke the man's leg.
"He wouldn't have run away from you even with healthy limbs," Michael noted, ignoring the piercing screams of the man in the worn uniform.
"His talk bored me," the Wraith explained. "I hope I have sufficiently demonstrated that I lack patience regarding annoying promises?"
"Quite," Michael said. "Well, are you going to be much longer?"
"As long as it takes," the Wraith snapped, casting a predatory look at the wounded man. The latter, seeing the Wraith anticipating the feast, stopped screaming. He only whimpered, curled into a ball in the corner of the cell. "I savor his fear and panic; I enjoy it."
"My mother taught me not to play with my food," Michael said. "Apparently, yours had a different opinion on table manners."
Ignoring the human's joke (which was, in fact, quite sophisticated), the Wraith approached his food, raising his right hand to latch onto his chest. The man shriveled up, and it was impossible to do so easily. And without mental powers, the Wraith couldn't suppress his will to resist.
But he was experienced enough in matters of feeding to understand what would happen next. The Wraith leaned over the victim, performing the most terrifying actions of imminent death. This was quite enough for the meal to react.
The man threw forward his right hand, clenched into a fist. He hoped to strike the Wraith right in the jaw. He wouldn't have been able to win anyway; it only delayed the inevitable. But at the same time, humans who were worth anything tried to fight to the end.
Their attempts were laughable, but they served as excellent entertainment.
The Wraith caught the man's fist with his left hand, squeezing so hard the finger bones cracked. The prisoner screamed in pain as the Wraith twisted his limb at the shoulder joint, forcing the body to arch to minimize the pain. The man's chest opened against his will.
And the pale-green hand with the feeding slit, bony ridges on the fingers, and long nails slammed into the man's thin chest.
The prisoner screamed the moment the slit bit into his chest. His cry of pain changed intonation somewhat when the life-giving enzyme flooded into his body, not allowing him to die too quickly.
The Wraith's vertical pupils dilated as he saw the man's eyes roll back from the euphoria washing over him. He was now in an altered state of consciousness, unable to resist the Wraith's biochemistry.
And in the next moment, the Wraith pulled back into himself everything he had given the man. And everything that now belonged to him.
He felt his body fill with the strength and life of the human flowing through the Wraith's organism. Already saturated with energy from the number of humans and Wraith who had become his food, the Wraith's body barely noticed the energy of this puny human animal streaming through it.
The Wraith had barely begun to get a taste when he felt the life-giving flow from the man to him exhausting itself. Looking at the victim, he saw only a shriveled body. A head crowned with gray hair; loose, withered skin stretched over a skeleton practically devoid of muscle.
His fingers could have easily ripped the sternum out of these remains and used it as a weapon. But that wouldn't have helped—Michael continued to be under the protection of his personal energy shield.
With a shake of his hand, the Wraith tossed the body aside, straightened up, and addressed Michael with a hiss.
"Satisfied with what you've seen?"
The fact that the Lantean hadn't left only demonstrated what he had suspected. Michael wanted to see firsthand how the feeding process occurred.
"Quite," the latter replied laconically, tossing something into the cell that resembled two metal bracelets joined by a chain. One look was enough for the Wraith to realize—the metal used in these handcuffs was similar to that used in the hulls of small Lantean ships.
Physical strength alone would not break such chains.
"What is this?" he asked.
"Put them on your wrists," Michael ordered. "It's time for a walk, my pale-faced friend. Work awaits you."
"Are we finally going to revive the Lanteans?" the Wraith asked, clicking the locks and voluntarily shackling his hands. Next, another chain with bracelets fell to the floor. it was little different from the previous one.
"Now fasten them on your legs, just above the feet," Michael ordered.
The Wraith obeyed. Now he was shackled by hands and feet, but these were two different chains. If desired, this didn't hinder him at all from using his hands or feet for an attack.
"What else do I need to shackle?" the Wraith asked irritably, seeing Michael approach him and take out another pair of handcuffs.
"I'll do this part myself," the Lantean chuckled.
A couple of movements, two clicks, and the third set of handcuffs shackled the chains of the previous two together. In doing so, Michael checked the tightness of the cuffs on the hands and feet. Not without a smile, he clicked the hand shackles two more notches, now making it impossible to pull the hands out of the bonds.
"Did anyone ever tell you the parable about the clever nut and the bolt with the special thread?" the Lantean asked, nodding toward the exit.
"No," the Wraith grumbled irritably. "But I'm sure you're about to enlighten me on this folklore..."
"Well, look at you, a regular Jedi!" Michael marveled. "Michael, you have so many hidden talents! You understand Lantean technology, you revive the dead, you make the living dead, and you even see the future! I'm impressed. But our journey will be short, so you'll hear the story about the nut and the bolt another time. But, in exchange, I'll show you how to intrigue a Wraith."
"And how is that?" the Wraith asked as they left the brig.
"I'll tell you tomorrow," Michael promised.
***
Despite the abundance of work that needed to be done, a short rest for the entire repair team was simply necessary.
Chaya understood this better than anyone. To be honest, over the past two weeks dedicated to repairing the battleship, she felt the influence of fatigue more than the others. But at least she had managed to put the ship's sublight engines in order.
Consequently, even in this state, the Hippaphoralkus could lift off from the surface and enter space. But the fact that in space, a huge amount of time and effort would have to be spent on repairing hull damage, replacing damaged external circuits, and so on and so forth, was the reason the starship still rested in the hangar.
"You said the Wraith don't need windows on their ships," Kyrik said suddenly. The former Runner was sitting in a corner of the bridge, lazily poking a spoon into a bowl of porridge.
"That's right," Chaya confirmed.
"Then why did the Ancients make bridges with such a huge panorama?" the man asked, pointing to the front of the compartment they were in.
The bridge of the Hippaphoralkus.
"Agreed," Jensen, who was busy consuming food in another part of the bridge, joined the question.
Chaya glanced at Norana Piro, whom she had also enlisted for work on the battleship. Teyla and a dozen of the most intelligent Athosians also paused their eating and looked at her. As did a couple of Taranian scientists—the smartest and most competent in dealing with Ancient technology. Chaya had conducted some interviews with the Taranian scientific group. And she had kicked almost ninety percent of them out of the outpost, forbidding them from coming closer than a set zone.
Better they spend their time farming than proving to her that connecting the positive and negative ends of power conduits was perfectly safe.
Was everyone really that interested? Most likely, yes.
For all the people she had selected for the team, without exception, the Ancients were an object of admiration. To be honest, Sar was surprised by the precision and even slight religious awe with which the Athosians approached their assigned tasks. And they were only opening panels and changing crystals, or carrying deformed and burnt parts to the workshops where they were smelted into more useful property.
However, before she could clarify, a raspy chuckle was heard behind her. The girl, sitting in the ship commander's chair, spun around and her gaze locked onto...
"Wraith!" Tossing aside the bowl with the remains of his porridge, Kyrik was already on his feet, leveling a pistol. Jensen, Teyla, and the Athosians did the same. Though Chaya was sure she had fixed the outpost's systems and it was completely airtight, with all extra entrances and exits blocked, it was better to be safe.
The pale-green sentient with long hair braided into thick cords looked at the humans with contempt. He was surely thinking that he should have attacked them when no one noticed him enter through the wide-open doors of the bridge.
But instead, with complete indifference to what was happening, he opened his hands, and two massive black bags fell to the floor. The characteristic sound of clinking glass was heard.
Following those two, a third bag fell to the floor. The sound repeated. But this time, it was clear that something inside had broken.
"When I open that, I'm going to knock out as many of your teeth as the number of crystals you broke," Michael promised, entering behind him. The man was carrying two bags identical to the ones already seen. But he set them on the floor carefully. "Alright, boys and girls, calm down, breathe out, and lower your weapons. Michael is not here to kill you."
"Are you sure?" the Wraith asked, not taking his eyes off Chaya.
The Proculusian, frozen, couldn't take her eyes off the commander, clenching her fingers into fists so hard her knuckles turned white.
"Michael, you're feeling pretty confident, aren't you?" Michael asked, approaching the Wraith. "You're clearly not going to earn my trust that way."
"You shouldn't trust a Wraith," Teyla said. At her signal, the Athosians lowered their weapons. But they didn't stop casting suspicious looks at the Wraith. "Michael, why is he here?"
"For the same reason I left him alive," the young man explained. "He's going to help us solve our problems."
"And how exactly?" Jensen asked.
"It's already good that he's in chains," Kyrik noted.
Chaya, blinking, looked closer. Indeed, the Wraith had metal bracelets on his hands and feet, connected to each other by a simple system of strong chains.
"He understands Ancient technology," Michael explained. "On Lantea-2, he tried to use an activated Puddle Jumper. So he knows a thing or two."
"He knows how to drain the life out of people," Teyla said. "The Wraith do not use Ancient technology."
"Because you are incapable of understanding it due to your limitations, human female," the one Michael called Michael snorted. "I am nearly eleven thousand years old. I have drained the life from Ancients; I have studied their ships and technologies. And I, unlike your frightened Ancient, can give an answer as to why we place command compartments inside the ship. And why we have no need for viewports."
"Well then, enlighten us," Michael requested, taking the Wraith's bags aside and beginning to inspect their contents. "Because you've already put at least five teeth in your jaws in doubt."
"It's not my fault you brought defective crystals," the Wraith said irritably. "Ancient crystals have high density and won't break from falling from such a height."
"Don't get distracted," Jensen advised him, approaching the Wraith. They were roughly the same height, so the Ermenian looked Michael straight in the eye. "You're cooperating with us. Но give me just one reason to..."
"In many areas, Wraith technology uses the same principles as the Ancients," Michael ignored the human. "We studied their technologies as the most advanced. And where it was possible for our organic methods, we applied Ancient developments. In some Hive ships, partially mechanical compartments were even used, integrated into the overall structure of the ships. These are fragments of Ancient starships. But what we couldn't solve for our technologies was energy production. Organic reactors cannot produce as much power as the Ancients' mechanical ones. We couldn't integrate ship shield technology, and all attempts led to the creation of an energy bubble that didn't protect the starships at the proper level. And it consumed energy on a massive scale. Because of this, we couldn't rely on the strength of ships with viewports. Those are vulnerabilities we couldn't afford. Just as we couldn't violate the laws of aerodynamics."
"So you chose the organic structure of the hulls as the ships' protection?" Michael clarified.
"Among other reasons, yes," the Wraith confirmed. "The Ancients, however, could afford to build space objects of any shape and size—their shields reduced any physical resistance. The powerful shields of ships of this subtype allowed for a large number of viewports. And besides, humans feel uncomfortable in enclosed ships without the ability to at least look at space and the stars. Moreover, all Ancient warships evolved from research vessels, where there were many viewports."
"Informative," Michael said. "And what did you mean by the subtypes of such ships?"
"The Ancients developed several versions of starships of this type," the Wraith said. "We captured several of them at different times and were able to see that the Ancients changed the ships. From simple former research vessels armed only with drone-style self-guided projectiles and filled with various laboratories, to exclusively combat ships. On the latter, besides projectiles, there were also energy turrets. Or force fields blocking compartments that had undergone decompression. And much more. Not to mention more advanced hyperdrives. This ship"—the Wraith looked around—"is very similar to the second generation of Ancient battleships."
"And how did you determine that?" Michael asked, intrigued.
"The hull shape, the location of the hangar relative to the hull, and the bridge is quite familiar," Michael explained.
"He knows a bit too much about all this," Kyrik said. "Where's the guarantee that while helping us, he won't do something to put us in the hands of the Wraith?"
Michael burst out laughing.
"Not bad, human, not bad," he said. "But I've made a deal with Michael. For now, its terms suit me. I will help you with the ship's repairs. At least with what I know of these systems."
"And he'll also get information about the state of our only warship," Chaya thought, recovering from the Wraith's sudden appearance. Yes, she knew about the prisoner. But she thought he would be used exclusively for the purpose of reviving the people stuck on the Aurora.
He must not be allowed near the main systems.
"I'll be keeping an eye on you," Jensen declared.
"As will I," Kyrik joined in.
"My people won't take their eyes off him either," Teyla assured.
"Well, and I," the Wraith narrowed his eyes, looking at the Athosian, "will be keeping an eye on you, girl."
"Why?" one of the Athosians blurted out.
"Because I have eyes," the Wraith laughed, looking at Michael. "So what are we waiting for? Are we working, or, since everyone has decided to eat, will I be fed too?"
"Finish the job—then we'll talk about it," Michael promised. "Chaya, we've dug up the necessary amount of sand and created the crystals you requested. We need to distribute them through the ship's systems..."
"Of course," Sar snapped out of it. "I'll get to it..."
"It would be better if you and Michael handle the repair of the more important systems," Michael said. "Our repairs are slow enough as it is. So... Alright," the man sighed, seeing that those present weren't taking their eyes off the Wraith. "Michael, promise that you won't attack anyone or try to eat them."
"It would be foolish for a predator to assure its prey of good intentions," the Wraith smirked. "Keep your word, human, and then I will leave them alive. If you deceive me..."
"Stop droning on, Michael," Michael requested. "Better grab a bag and... Chaya, we have problems with the hyperdrive, right?"
"I'll handle that myself," the girl said. "You'd better go to the living quarters and fix the life support system there. We'll need cabins during long journeys."
"As you say," Michael agreed. "Michael, grab one bag of crystals and let's get to work."
"Are these two coming with us?" the Wraith asked, seeing both former Runners move in his direction.
"Of course," Michael confirmed. "Chaya, send us the fault schematic; we'll eliminate them as best we can..."
"Excuse me," Norana Piro broke the silence. "Is... is that green one a Wraith?"