"Are you sure you are quite all right?" Teyla inquired. There was care and attentiveness in her gaze as she watched the passenger in the second row of our Jumper's seats.
Kiryk was pale—and the whiteness of his face hadn't changed at all during the last fifteen hours of our flight. Still, credit where credit is due: the former Runner was bearing the tricks of his brain with honor.
"Yes," he rasped. "Several times I have sailed on ships in the ocean. The sensations were roughly the same."
"You are seasick," Teyla explained. She looked at me. "Mikhail, you said this would not happen."
"Yes," I fought back a yawn with all my might. "The ship is equipped with stabilization systems, including inertial dampeners. Pitch and roll don't exist in principle."
"That doesn't mean I don't imagine them," Kiryk said.
"And for the first twenty hours of the mission, everything was fine," Teyla mused.
"True," the Runner agreed.
"Except the mission has been going on for twenty-five hours now," I said, unable to fight off my body's urges this time. "And we've only been in flight for fifteen."
As for the first ten hours... well, strange as it is to say, even in the Pegasus galaxy of a reality different from my own, they passed quite normally. Familiarly, even. And no, I didn't live in Atlantis in my past life—not even close. Though sometimes the utility workers failed at their jobs, and the neighborhood would periodically flood.
No, something else happened here, something much more "interesting." You can be reborn in a new world. You can even appear in a universe that is familiar and beloved to you from many years ago. You can admire being in a city that is the pinnacle of the human race's knowledge—not the branch you belonged to in the past, but the one you belong to now.
And you can also admire the fact that even millions of years of evolution for different branches of humanity couldn't change the peculiar female way of packing for "long trips."
To paraphrase a well-known book: "We had two Jumpers, five people in them, one massive naquadah reactor capable of powering a starship or a city, two ship's lockers half-filled with weapons, a whole sea of various instruments, crystals, glass-like wires and jumper superconducting cables, as well as one restored Ermen pilot's military spacesuit, one miraculously preserved scientific suit from the same source, a crate of ammunition, and a twelve-day supply of everything necessary. Not that we strictly needed all of it for the trip, but once you start dealing with the outskirts of the Lantean system, you have to approach the matter seriously."
Quite right. For ten hours, despite the fact that we knew well in advance we'd be making this flight, Chaya was packing her "jumper." Though she'd assured me she'd do everything in five minutes since she'd already packed everything needed onto the ship she'd claimed.
And she'd been preparing for this flight ever since we concluded that we'd have to go—and that the last satellite absolutely had to be inspected. How to put it to use is a separate conversation entirely.
"You should sleep," Teyla sang the same song she had for the last ten hours. On my Jumper, she and Kiryk were the only passengers. Chaya and Alvar were in the second ship, slightly ahead of us.
"I'm afraid if I hit the sack, our ship will go into an uncontrolled drift," I explained the reason why I was piloting the ship, however poorly. And I had, it must be said, gotten it to the objective. "So, we keep on prevailing. Chaya and Alvar aren't in any better shape than we are. But hopefully, after this business trip, we'll have a chance to replenish the Atlantis team."
"With prisoners?" Kiryk specified. "Lock them up like those two in the cells, and put them in freezer units when we leave?"
"Stasis," Teyla corrected.
"But they're frozen there, aren't they?" the former Runner checked.
"Well... yes," Emmagan admitted defeat in the battle against logic.
"So, freezer units," Kiryk shrugged.
On the outskirts of the Lantean system, we had two missions: one on the satellite and one on the planet. Accordingly, two groups were required. Neither mission promised to be simple, so I decided it was best to fly in two Jumpers. Chaya and Alvar were to repair (or at least attempt to) the Ancient satellite. She is our only engineer with experience in Ancient systems. So, Sar was the only one who could fundamentally make that mechanism work.
Alvar wasn't there just for his good looks, either. Among what he and Kiryk had managed to seize in the last raid against the Genii were several light, locally produced spacesuits.
On Ermen, they were used for short-term—no more than twelve hours—stays in space. These suits, or "scaphs," as Alvar called them, were used by suborbital fighter pilots—one of whom he had been—and by scientists studying space at a small station in orbit. Unfortunately, neither the station nor the cosmonauts remained after the Wraith invasion.
But the Genii, in their greed, had stumbled upon the suit warehouse and snatched them up. As a result, we now had a dozen light suits for military pilots and a similar number of scientific suits. They weren't very different from each other; some were damaged but could be restored or used for parts. Either way, it was better than not having them at all.
If only we could get our hands on at least one semi-intact Ermen suborbital fighter—that would be truly wonderful. But what we don't have, we don't have. We make do with the numerous fragments collected in a separate warehouse-laboratory.
Why do we need another race's fighters? It's very simple: the Ancients in Pegasus didn't have them. At all. Only Jumpers, which served as both cargo and passenger small craft before the war with the Wraith. Later, they were retrofitted with several systems, including weapons—a dozen self-guided projectiles.
True, a Jumper is technologically superior to a Wraith Dart. But for small-craft dogfighting, it's completely unsuitable. Its cloaking technology deactivates immediately after the first drone shot, meaning the advantage is lost at the very start of the battle. Ammunition is limited, while Darts have no such limit. Its flight speed is lower than a Dart's, and for us, the loss of such a ship is much more keenly felt than it is for the Wraith.
Not to mention that Jumpers can only be piloted by those with the Ancient gene. At the moment, that's only me and Chaya.
Producing them is a long and very expensive process—the resources required are colossal, and there are absolutely no manufacturing plants. The Lanteans lacked the concept of an industrial factory; they simply created the parts they needed in the workshops we found in Atlantis and assembled whatever they required from them.
The Wraith, meanwhile, simply grew the technology they needed in a fairly short time.
Since Earth and its technology haven't reached Pegasus, Earth ships equipped with Earth versions of space fighters won't be appearing here either. Consequently, if we ever face Wraith ships with our own Ancient starship, we're going to have a hard time.
According to the records in the Atlantis database, Lantean military tactics relied exclusively on the use of drones. But we don't have many of those either. And making one such guided projectile requires energy. Draining a ZPM just to create a full combat load for Atlantis would be a major stupidity.
On the black shroud of space, dotted with the lights of distant stars, the contours of a metal structure appeared. Like a pincushion, the Satellite was literally bristling with numerous antennas of various shapes and designs.
Except... maybe I'm nitpicking, but... it looks rather clumsy compared to other Ancient technologies in the Pegasus galaxy. As if it (at least the exterior) was assembled in a great hurry from whatever was at hand.
On the other hand, what the hell difference does it make how this combat satellite looks!? Its job isn't to walk in a Paris fashion week, but to blast the pale-skinned, white-haired Wraith who look like metalheads. The more, the better.
"What a colossus!" Teyla exclaimed as the Satellite's surface defined itself more clearly to the observers, gleaming in the rays of the local star. "It is larger than a Wraith ship!"
"Well, that's just your fear talking," I assured the Athosian, following the old Earth joke about women and size. Though I was dying for some sleep, the fun was just beginning. "Big, but not that big."
"Is that it?" Kiryk's voice expressed sincere admiration for what he saw through the Jumper's window.
"That's it," I confirmed, opening a comm channel. "Jumper Two, what's your status? Ready for work?"
The second ship in this expedition bypassed us and began to approach the massive structure ahead.
"As always, Misha, ready," Alvar responded.
"We'll be ready for docking in a couple of minutes," Chaya echoed. Strange. According to her, my genetics were more advanced than hers. Yet her voice sounded much more alert. "We've already suited up. There's no life support, gravity, or power inside. As soon as we dock, I'll feed power from the Jumper to the docking node. We'll go inside, look around, hook up the generator, start the internal systems, and begin figuring things out. If the damage seen by the scout drone is all there is, the repair won't take long. No longer than your stay on the surface, I think."
"Your voice doesn't sound like the flight tired you out," I said with some envy.
"It didn't, of course," Chaya answered in surprise. "I sent it on autopilot. We had time to rest. Didn't you?"
Cruel.
I felt two pairs of inquisitive eyes on me.
"Do we keep on prevailing?" Kiryk inquired.
"Are they in no better state than we are?" Teyla asked in an innocent voice.
"Nobody was stopping you from sleeping," I reminded them. In fact, the two of them had managed a nap right after departure. I have the "uber-waffe" for the hunt on the planet. They, unfortunately, have no personal shields or energy weapons. "So, let's have no complaints."
"Yes, well..." Kiryk fell silent, watching as we drifted near the massive Satellite.
Chaya's Jumper had already flown to the satellite's docking node, turned around, and backed into an airlock specially designed for such moments.
Still, it's potentially more powerful than any Wraith starship. Cruisers and hives included, not to mention the rest.
"And it can destroy Wraith ships?" Kiryk asked, not taking his eyes off the satellite.
"Yup."
"But it hangs here, doing nothing."
The Ancient combat satellite.
"The Wraith damaged it during the battle for Atlantis. The others, as I understand, they destroyed." Our Jumper came to a halt, killing its speed and beginning to scan frequencies. "If we can restore the satellite, we'll have a perfectly viable defense against a possible Wraith attack."
"Do you think they will eventually realize Atlantis wasn't destroyed?" Kiryk asked. "Ten thousand years have passed."
Bit by bit, we were bringing our ally up to speed on events. Some of what we told confirmed the legends and stories he knew; some was new to him...
"The Wraith knew that of all the planets and cities inhabited by the Lanteans and their allies, only Atlantis survived," I explained. "There aren't many signs of our return yet, but they exist. Very soon, the Wraith will stop messing around and figure out where to look for us. It's better to have something better than a damaged city at the bottom of an ocean for defense by then."
"But that's what kept the Wraith from reaching Atlantis all this time," Kiryk reminded me. "Why not use the same tactic? Or does it not justify itself?"
"We don't have as many resources or people to stick to the same tactic as the Lanteans," Chaya's voice sounded in the cockpit. "We don't plan to advertise the restoration of the satellite yet. We'll just study it, repair it, and bring it to a combat-ready state. If I can connect the engines, shields, and stabilization system from the Jumpers to it, we can tow it from the periphery of the system to Lantea's orbit."
"But then, if the Wraith come, it will be right under their noses," Kiryk continued to question.
"I intend to solve that problem too, using the cloaking generators from the Jumpers," Chaya said. "Okay, we've connected to the docking node and opened the passage onto the satellite. It will take us about half an hour to sort things out here and hook up the generator."
"Good," I answered. "We'll stay nearby just in case. Once your situation stabilizes, we'll head off to our business."
"Understood," that was Alvar. "Chaya has left the ship. She's moving toward the damaged control panels now, intending to replace some of the wiring before starting the generator."
As previously agreed.
"I see her," I reported, spotting a tiny white silhouette gliding smoothly along the satellite's massive hull. Attached to her belt with carabiners was a special bag with the parts needed for external repairs. A tool bag hung on the other side. A thin but strong tether trailed behind her, preventing her from drifting away from the Jumper in case of an emergency. "Bringing the Jumper closer to cover her."
Essentially, if something happens to her now, we're the only hope. Without her, Jumper Two is absolutely useless, and only the fact that she didn't deactivate its main systems allows Alvar to be there without any trouble. Otherwise, he'd already be slowly freezing. But he won't be able to pilot the ship under any circumstances.
"I've reached the first damaged circuit," Chaya reported. "Opening the panel."
A second of silence.
"How bad is it?"
"The main distribution relay is destroyed, and the primary power circuit is damaged," the girl determined. "The crystal matrices are shattered or burned out, so the main power line is down. I think that's why the satellite couldn't switch to the secondary and keep firing. The damage is from relatively small energy pulses. I suspect it was hit by fire from a Dart."
"Can you fix it?" I asked.
"Yes," the girl added after a moment's thought. "But that's not the main thing. The primary power source was destroyed by precision fire. I think that was Darts too."
"So, without the generator, we can't start it?" I asked.
"No," Chaya said. "Installing the naquadah reactor on the outside, in place of the stock one, is impractical—all the power buses here are destroyed. I'll connect it from the inside, from the control room, laying new main buses to the remnants of the existing ones. It'll be a lot of work."
"I could help," Alvar spoke up. "Two pairs of hands would make the work go faster, after all."
"No need," Chaya countered. "There's barely enough room here for one. There's no consideration for ease of maintenance or repair at all. Which means it was assembled in a hurry. And, I think, they didn't have much hope of maintaining it."
"Will that be a problem when we modernize the satellite?" I asked.
"Yes," Chaya said after thinking. "I'll have to rebuild part of the external structure and lay some new power elements. I'm afraid we didn't even imagine what problems installing a cloaking device on this satellite would bring."
"We'll deal with problems as they come," I said. "We won't distract you any further."
"Thanks for that," Chaya answered. "Okay, starting the wiring repair. Cutting out the burned main channel all the way from the fuses to the relay..."
* * *
"You want to cloak the satellite in orbit?" Kiryk asked, slightly quieter. "Make it invisible, like the Jumper?"
"Chaya says it's possible given the power of the new reactor and the parts she took from the Jumpers that are beyond restoration."
We had several such craft. And even with the workshop, restoring them was too "expensive" in terms of energy and the resources needed to produce replacement parts for those damaged beyond repair.
"There's no point in keeping it here, at the edge of the Lantean system," I explained. "When there were hundreds of Satellites throughout the system, it had a practical purpose. Но now, when there's only one and it's damaged... it's more practical to tow it into orbit—that way we won't waste thirty hours on the trip back and forth just to deliver parts."
Because leaving Atlantis, passing through the depths of the ocean, flying through the atmosphere, and reaching the calculated orbit where we intend to leave the satellite to protect the city takes only about fifteen minutes. This means all the parts needed for further repair and modernization will be delivered much faster.
Which, consequently, will affect the speed of the satellite's repair.
"Finished with the external repairs," Chaya said. She'd spent about eight hours in open space. Her suit's oxygen supply was two-thirds gone. But that's not a big problem—she'll return to Jumper Two's cargo bay, seal it, restore the atmosphere, and start the "jury-rigged" suit refill system she'd built. By the time she brings her ship to the docking port, she'll be finished. "What's encouraging is that I haven't noticed any breaches in the control room's airtightness. If there are no holes, we should be able to restore life support in the control room."
"Sounds like a plan," I noted. "Good job."
"I try," the second Jumper headed for the docking port. "I won't refill the suit now; it would take longer than I need to connect the satellite's power from our reactor."
"Good," I approved. "Be careful."
"Always," the girl responded.
"And what if the Wraith arrive before Chaya fixes it?" the former Runner asked. "They will see the satellite in the planet's orbit and destroy it."
"There is a risk," I admitted. "But I think on this trip Chaya and Alvar can bring the satellite to a combat-ready state. And in orbit, it will already be ready to take out a few Wraith ships. I don't hold out much hope for more than that, to be honest."
Essentially, the satellite is only needed to deal with an enemy without resorting to drones or anything like that. It clearly won't save us from the entire Wraith fleet—it would lose on numbers. It's just a way to hold off the first wave. And there will certainly be a second, third, and subsequent waves once the first's efforts fail. That's how the Wraith are—when something doesn't work for them, the plan goes off the rails, and they themselves lose, they send out a general call to their own, saying, 'There are enemies here, they're in the way, we need to hit them properly and make the whole universe tremble.'
Given that the Ancients and their technology, including Atlantis, are what undermine the Wraith's monopoly on ruling the galaxy, if they bite us, they won't let go until we're dead. Or until we run, like the Lanteans ten thousand years ago. Except that evacuating to Earth doesn't seem like a good idea to me—it has enough problems of its own.
"I think that, despite the difficulties, the satellite should be left here until it is fully repaired and converted," Kiryk said resolutely. "Because here the Wraith won't see it. But in orbit, it will be visible in any window against the backdrop of the planet."
"And that's where you made a mistake," I yawned. "Wraith ships don't have windows. They navigate by scanner readings. And if the satellite isn't in their way or nearby, isn't active, and isn't emitting energy, there's a good chance they'll just fly past."
"Do you always rely on hope?" Kiryk inquired.
"It's what we have," I sighed. "That, and access to big guns."
"I haven't noticed much of an arsenal," the former Runner observed.
"It's a figure of speech," Teyla, who was more familiar with my way of speaking, explained. "Mikhail means that after the Ancestors left the galaxy, their technology remained. Like this satellite. If we are lucky, we can find the weapons needed to protect Atlantis and its allies."
"And again—it would be better to have something more than just hope," the Runner grunted.
What I liked and at the same time found annoying about Kiryk was that he wasn't at all shy about asking the questions that interested him. He says what he thinks. The guy is used to acting for certain and thinking through the consequences of his actions. That's a useful skill.
But it also showed that despite our cooperation agreements, he didn't fully trust us. Due to his distrustful nature or fears that we might miscalculate somewhere, as the Ancients had in their time, he was trying to learn our plans in full.
Unlike Teyla, who was satisfied with generalized answers to the rare questions she asked. But the Athosians have an almost religious adoration for the Ancients. And Chaya and I, like it or not, fit that description.
Alvar also asked minimal questions—only those that directly concerned his work. He's a guy with a good understanding of subordination: subordinates don't ask questions of the command.
And he saw me and Chaya as the latter. And she and I have something of a dual-power situation. At times, I was haunted by the question of why the Proculus woman didn't just tell me to go to hell and declare herself the head of the city.
Without knowledge of Ancient technology, without a rank in their hierarchy, and without any authoritative influence over the city, the fact that I give orders is essentially ethereal in terms of my authority. But for some reason, Chaya doesn't take a stand (and her character shows she can and likes to swim against the current) and doesn't snatch away the whole blanket.
I don't have direct answers, but I suspect the answer lies in the fact that, according to Chaya, the genetics of my body, created by General Hippaphoralkus in this universe, surpass her own. She says I have the genetics of a Lantean, while hers are close but still belong to the younger races.
I recall that in the known events, there were more than a few cases where the "strength" of genes played a crucial role in controlling key city systems—for flight, launching drones, and much more. Whoever's Ancient genes were stronger was the "daddy." Everyone else had to "strain," while those with strong Ancient genes performed most operations while yawning and picking their noses.
Figuratively speaking, of course.
I need to think about all of this in more detail. If the city's main computer really determines seniority among those present solely by gene strength, it's both a safeguard and a problem.
In the first case, there's a shaky confidence that the city will block access to its key systems if there's no Lantean in the form of me inside Atlantis.
In the second... well, what will happen if dozens or hundreds of Lanteans I've brought back to life show up at Atlantis? They'll take my power and say, 'Off you go, boy. We'll take it from here.' A perfectly possible scenario, given that similar things happened in the events I know.
And given the fact that the Ascended don't exactly love me, it wouldn't be hard to lose everything I've gained through hard work. Chaya cooperates with me partly because she has nowhere else to go—the Ancients who have transitioned to a state of pure energy, the Ascended, don't love her either. Less than me, of course, but still...
It's curious that the thought 'Might I lose everything I've gained through hard work when I return the remaining living Ancients in the galaxy to the city?' only occurred to me now. Just a step before I started the "quest chain" to save them and bring them back to life.
Maybe I should just give up on them and not waste time on the rescue? After all, they're not my relatives or even friends. Moreover, their comrades were planning to kill me...
Quite a dilemma...
"Are you finished over there?" Chaya's voice sounded. "I understand that extra movements and deactivating the comm channel don't interest you. But see it from my position—I'm falling here from a height of fifteen meters..."
* * *
Not often in her past life, the one before her Ascension, had she had to work in zero gravity. After all, she was one of the smartest representatives of the younger race. Specialists worked in the laboratory.
And such work was done by less qualified technicians. But there was no technical team at hand, so she had to do it all herself...
Transferring power from the Jumper to the docking airlock was enough to make the armored doors swing open and reveal the path into the combat structure. Chaya had never visited the Satellites before and didn't know much about their design.
There wasn't much detailed information in the database, but she was prepared for what she saw. The narrow bottleneck of the docking airlock opened smoothly into the widening throat of the main control room levels. Simple ladders were fixed to the walls for movement—the satellite's interior space was small, after all. Just enough to house a few technicians and equipment for launch and diagnostics.
The Satellites were intended as remote-controlled weapons, so there was no provision for even a single sentient to be on combat duty here. The control room was only needed for maintenance and repair.
Entering the satellite. Frames from the series.
The Ermen scientific suit gleamed with the whiteness of its outer shell. And credit must be given to its creators: the flexible material of the hull hardly hindered movement. So, calculating the angle of descent and other physical parameters in her mind, the girl pushed off from the throat of the docking compartment and floated slowly toward the control room floor.
Her shoulder-mounted light flared, highlighting the pale blue color of the interior rooms and the geometric interior patterns so beloved by the Lanteans.
The slow "fall" in zero gravity allowed her to examine the satellite's interior in all its detail. A two-level control room, where the lower level was the primary one and the upper, closer to the docking node, was auxiliary. They were connected by the same ladders for ease of construction. Following the files found in the Atlantis database, the girl already understood which levels the control consoles of interest to her were on.
Extending her hands, she touched the floor of the main level softly, then activated the magnetic grips built into the gloves. A gentle but irresistible force pulled her to the floor, preventing her from drifting away.
Pulling her legs in, she activated the magnetic grips on them as well.
Ermen scientific suit.
Regaining a more familiar position, the girl sighed, thinking she'd been right to familiarize herself with this suit's capabilities beforehand. Unlike the pilot's suit, it had many useful features. Like the magnetic grips or the ultra-powerful light source connected to the suit's main power plant. Or the protective coating of ubiquitous polymer covering all the suit's vulnerable spots.
"I'm on the main level," she informed her comrades.
"Everything okay?" Mikhail asked. There was no anxiety in his voice. It was understandable—the man knew the satellite should be in relative order. They'd discussed everything he knew about it before flying out. Though his memories weren't concrete for the most part, they still allowed the girl to determine things in advance.
"Do you need my help?" Alvar asked. The Ermen man remained in the cargo bay of their Jumper to transfer the necessary equipment into the control room.
"In two minutes you can lower the generator by the tether," Chaya said, unclipping a tether from her belt and securing it to the control room floor with an ultra-powerful magnet. "Ready, expecting the generator."
The massive construction of her invention appeared in the "throat" a few seconds later. Attached to the tether, the generator slid along it using a special device. It was generally used for rapid movement along various ropes, but it was suitable for the current situation as well.
Two meters above the top of the generator, moving on a similar descent and ascent device, were three sealed bags—one for tools, one for spare parts, and one for all kinds of wiring. You never know what you might need the next second.
The white-blue glow of the active naquadah core did a good job of dispelling the darkness, but in creating this equipment, Chaya had been thinking of anything but using the generator as a light source.
Two minutes later, looking like gray stone tiles joined into a single structure, the base of the reactor reached the control room floor. Chaya's fingers slid over one of the auxiliary panels. The systems responsible for the magnetic installation responded as expected.
Without a sound, as none can travel in a vacuum, the reactor's base was pulled to the control room floor, fixed firmly in the middle of the main level.
"Reactor in place," Chaya reported, opening panels hidden in the device's sides. "Starting the connection of the power source to the satellite's systems. Alvar, you can come down. I'll need your help now. We're ready to start the entire system."
By the time the Ermen man reached the main level of the control room by clinging to the tether, Chaya had already found the external power terminals behind the satellite's decorative interior panels and connected cables to them, linking the Satellite to the naquadah generator.
"Sure it won't blow up?" Mikhail inquired.
"Completely," Chaya answered, seeing that Alvar had magnetized himself to the floor. "First, I'll feed power to the internal auxiliary systems, then, after diagnostics, to the external ones."
"Good. We'll fly a bit further away, just in case," Misha said.
"Fair enough," Chaya agreed, activating the power transfer from the reactor to the Satellite's systems.
In that same instant, dozens of monitors on both levels came to life, and crystals that seemed to be simple decorations lit up. In fact, they turned out to be a type of lighting fixture used by the Ancients in their technology.
"Power is on; the satellite is receiving energy from the new generator," Chaya reported, looking at her "laptop," as Mikhail called her portable computer, floating in zero gravity. "The repaired circuits are working under load, the energy surge warning system is active, and diagnostics show a number of faults, but I can fix them from the inside."
"Any chance of restoring this thing?" Kiryk's voice sounded. It seemed Mikhail was still using his ship's intercom on a general frequency. "Thousands of years have passed."
"Turning on life support," the girl activated several sequences of commands on the laptop. Systems inside the Satellite hummed as they reached operating power. "Okay... the temperature will soon return to normal, oxygen is being supplied from the Jumper, but the independent system will soon be working..."
"And the weapon?" Mikhail asked.
Chaya scanned the data on the monitors. "It was designed to run on weak power sources. It uses energy accumulation in a special buffer for a shot... Oh!"
"What does that mean?" Mikhail grew concerned.
"The new power source is much stronger than the previous one. Moreover, I think we will be able to fire with a short recharge time—we'll be able to keep firing for quite a while. Well, until we're shot down."
"Sounds optimistic," the man with Lantean genetics noted. "Does that mean you can be left alone?"
"Yes," Alvar answered, removing his suit helmet with Chaya's permission. "The air here... of course, it's thin, but it will soon be better. And it will be more comfortable to work, right?"
"Right," Chaya nodded, approaching one of the panels with a scanner and laptop. "There's a burned relay and auxiliary system fuses here. Starting to replace them with equivalents. Oh, I've received confirmation from the Satellite's systems—the control room's airtightness is intact. That means we won't need the spacesuits at all—and that's for certain now."
"We'll be back in five hours," Mikhail reported. "Time to hunt some Wraith!"
"That's more like it," Kiryk echoed. "Sure you don't want to kill him?"
"Absolutely," Mikhail said firmly. "Chaya, Alvar, the atmosphere on this planet is heavily ionized, so there will be comm problems. If we don't make contact in five hours, fly to Atlantis. Leave us—if the three of us can't handle it, the two of you have no business there at all. Alvar, do you copy?"
"Heard you loud and clear," the Ermen man looked at the Proculus woman. "Good luck with the hunt."
"And good luck with the repairs," Mikhail answered. "Well, team!? How about we hunt some Wraith?"