The by-now familiar—and, thanks to how often it showed up, thoroughly irritating—panel beside the door glowed with an even white light. The same three vertically arranged crystals… Funny. In my previous life, door locks and handles didn't piss me off. But here and now… it was probably just nerves. I think if, in my previous life, I'd had to open dozens of them knowing I could die at any moment in a very unpleasant way, I'd have been just as furious at the sight of those damned locks and handles.
Good thing I don't have to carry around a key ring for them… The Ancients kept it simple—wave a hand, and open sesame.
With a quiet, melodic sound, the door panels slid aside, inviting me into a small compartment. Made in the shape of a prism with a truncated pyramid at its base, it resembled a very familiar elevator.
With the sole exception that there was no elevator shaft to be seen at all. And it wasn't even about the floor under my feet being opaque, or the wall around the cabin looking like solid stone.
There is no shaft for this "elevator," period.
Because while it is a transportation system, it's of a different order.
Atlantis Transporter.
In the center of the transporter wall opposite the entrance, there was a screen that lit up in welcome at my appearance. What caught my eye was the simplest outline map of the city-ship, with red dots already marked on it, scattered—seemingly at random—throughout the city.
In reality, it wasn't random.
I tapped the one located at the very center of the structure—in the Central Spire—and heard the doors close behind my back. Instinctively, I squeezed my eyes shut…
A flash of white light pierced my eyelids, making me "see spots" for a moment. A wave of barely perceptible cold ran over my body. But the sense of disorientation passed quickly.
Stepping out of the transporter cabin, I smirked when I saw an interior entirely different from the one I'd been looking at just a minute ago.
Logical, given that I had moved hundreds of meters both "horizontally" and "vertically" in a```text
The panel beside the door—already familiar, and by now thoroughly irritating thanks to how often it showed up—glowed with an even white light. The same three vertically aligned crystals… Funny. In my previous life, door locks and handles didn't piss me off. But here and now… It was probably just nerves. If, in my previous life, I'd had to open dozens of them while knowing I could die at any moment—and not in a pleasant way—I'd probably have gotten furious at the sight of the damned locks and handles too.
At least I don't have to carry a key ring for them… The Ancients kept it simpler—wave your hand, and open sesame.
With a soft, melodic sound, the doors slid apart, inviting me into a small room. Prism-shaped, with a truncated pyramid at its base, it reminded me of a very familiar elevator.
With one exception: there was no elevator shaft. Not at all. And it wasn't even about the floor under my feet being opaque to the eye, or the wall around the cab looking like solid stone.
This "elevator" didn't have a shaft in the first place.
Because it was a transport system, yes—but of an entirely different order.
Atlantis Transporter.
In the center of the wall opposite the entrance to the transporter, there was a screen that lit up welcomingly as I stepped inside. A simple outline map of the city-ship immediately caught my eye, already marked with red dots scattered—seemingly at random—across the entire city.
In reality, it wasn't random.
I tapped the one in the very center of the structure—in the Central Spire—and heard the doors close behind me. Instinctively, I squeezed my eyes shut…
A flash of white light pushed through my eyelids, leaving me seeing spots for a moment. A wave of barely perceptible cold ran over my body. But the disorientation passed quickly.
Stepping out of the transporter booth, I smirked when I saw an interior completely different from the one I'd been in just a minute ago.
Logical, considering I'd moved hundreds of meters both "horizontally" and "vertically" in just seconds. And instead of one of the peripheral piers, I was now in the very heart of the Ancients' pride.
The transporter is a local network of teleportation booths scattered all over the city. Thanks to them, you don't have to waste time walking dozens of floors through the entire complex—you can get from "Point A" to "Point B" in the blink of an eye.
Yes, powering a device like that takes energy—the same energy that's already in short supply. But after estimating how much time and effort I'd waste trudging through empty corridors and floors to get here on foot, I decided the savings would still be substantial. At the very least, in time.
A spacious lobby, with several sofas that looked comfortable. Funny… I had thought the expedition from the show brought their own furniture to the city. But the "local" pieces looked familiar. I definitely saw a chair like that in the series!
So not only do the Ancients' cities last for millennia without falling apart, but the leather upholstery on their furniture doesn't crack either. They really knew how to build.
Numerous decorative columns—with decorative water reservoirs inside, through which countless bubbles ran from bottom to top—had a calming effect. And I was also very thirsty. The temptation appeared: smash the glass on one of the columns and drink my fill… But something told me not to. At the very least out of fear that, in a city that had lain ten thousand years on the ocean floor in a dwarf galaxy of the Milky Way's local group, you were unlikely to find fresh water. And drinking water loaded with sea salts from another galaxy… wasn't appealing.
Nothing. I'll manage. I'll leave that for a last resort.
I don't know exactly how long I've been in the city, but the anxiety and excitement of the first minutes had passed. My rationalizer's brain kicked in at full throttle. Half-and-half with that infamous inner "toad."
The idea of leaving the city and avoiding death by drowning hammered at my temples. The survival instinct is stitched firmly into the subconscious—nothing to be done about that.
And in my chest, the voice of nostalgia and pragmatism ached, insisting that I should do everything to keep this beautiful city from being destroyed. If only for the reason that it's a flying spaceship, for fuck's sake! With very advanced technology! With its own device that lets you travel to every corner of this galaxy—and others, too.
All that's needed is to apply the intellect correctly, and find a way out of the situation. The city gets its power from three ZPMs—Zero Point Modules. But in the series, the team usually got by on a single "battery." And besides, in this galaxy there are planets where practically intact, charged ZPMs are lying around. Which could solve all my problems…
I just have to find them.
There are no spare ZPMs lying around in Atlantis. It just so happened that in the series they didn't find any. And I'm a bit short on the ability to scour Atlantis with sincere looter's enthusiasm.
Lost in these thoughts, I finally reached the treasure vault of Atlantis's Central Spire.
A red thread running through this entire universe is Stargate technology. In essence, it's a device created by the Ancients millions of years ago. It allows you—by inputting the address of another gate—to cross thousands of parsecs in a short span of time. Travel from one point in a galaxy to another without paying for tickets, baggage, and all that.
The device is made as a huge ring, large enough for many people to pass through at once. Or for special ships of the right dimensions to fly through. And I suppose vehicles can drive through too—at least, some kinds of robots or wheeled carriers did the job perfectly.
If I remember correctly, when activated the gate creates a wormhole that connects to the gate on the other side of the galaxy. High technology and all that.
The energy required for the gate's operation is generated by the gate itself due to the features of its design. And that truly is magnificent! Because building a system that consumes enormous amounts of power—and that, millions of years after its creation, still produces that power itself, regardless of whether it's been used the whole time or stood inactive—is worth a lot.
The key thing to remember about this technology is that, used as intended—together with a dialing device that looks like a gigantic mushroom—you can avoid a whole heap of problems. Or, at the very least, dematerialize on one planet and materialize on another without harm to your health.
In most worlds, the gates are installed on stepped pedestals together with a dialing device—a panel used to specify the destination. In Atlantis, however, the gate is located in a special room—the infamous Gate Room—which also serves as the control center for the entire city.
The Stargate in Atlantis. Its copies throughout the Pegasus galaxy share the same design.
Unlike most planets in the universe, where the dialing device is "by default" positioned next to the gate installation, in Atlantis it is placed in the city's control center. And it has its own, unique design.
But there will be time to deal with that. Right now, I simply allowed myself a few seconds to admire the Atlantis Gate Room.
The Gate Room. View from the "office" onto the "left" half.
This room is a two-level chamber connected by a wide staircase. On the lower level are the gate itself, as well as the platform for arriving beings and cargo. Directly opposite the gate is a staircase, on the end face of each step of which inscriptions in the Ancient language glow. What they say, I never even tried to find out.
From the first level, there are passages to other areas of the Central Spire—and I came in through one of them.
On the second level, the room is divided into two halves: the right and the left, if you stand with your back to the gate and your face to the stairs.
On the left, behind massive doors with square panes of blue glass that rotate around their axis, there is something like a conference room where issues can be discussed. In the series, that's exactly what happened. What the room was used for by the Ancients themselves—I'm afraid to even imagine.
The "right" half of the Gate Room.
On the opposite side of the Gate Room on the second level, the builders placed the control station. A multitude of consoles of various purposes provides access both to dialing gate addresses and to controlling most of Atlantis's systems. I have no idea why the Ancients placed a small balcony opposite the control station, but it looks quite organic.
To my surprise, I found another staircase between the lower and upper levels on the "right" side. Digging into my memory, I recalled that yes, it did exist in the "series version." And the heroes often used it to reach the Jumper bay—the hangar for ships that can fly through the gate. It's built above the Gate Room, but I wasn't planning to go there yet.
In the corner of the "right" half, pressed up against the Spire's outer wall, there was a small office with large windows from floor to ceiling. If I remember correctly, it served as the expedition leader's office. And there was also a private transporter there.
Strange that I couldn't appear from it… Then again, what difference does it make now?
The PDA dutifully showed me the layout of this room. But it didn't distinguish between different levels of a single space. I remember it could be configured for that kind of detail, but I didn't have time for it.
Gate Room plan from an English-language forum. "Carter's Office" is that very "office."
Looking around and finding no signs of anyone's presence (aside from dried, but not yet decayed plants in massive planters), I headed through one of the side passages on the lower level of the Gate Room down into the lower floors of the tower.
There wasn't the slightest evidence of any expedition's arrival anywhere. No people, no equipment… It wasn't immediately clear whether that was good or bad.
There's no doubt anymore—the city is empty.
As the saying goes, unknown land belongs to the one who discovered it. And since I got here first, and there's no smell of any expedition—then Atlantis is mine. And even if the Tau'ri show up—let them go to hell, they're not getting MY city. I could probably come to terms with my compatriots, but in the series the Americans traditionally handled everything…
True, their "business" often followed a simple formula: "find/create a problem—heroically solve the problem." But who doesn't screw up? Nobody's without sin.
Still, that didn't make what was happening any less complicated. Passing by the windows, I looked out at the dead city again—and grimaced again, seeing the familiar pattern of flashes and air bubbles.
I need to hurry. The city is on its last legs. When the power runs out—it's the end. It won't matter who rules a flooded city.
That flash and those air bubbles I saw when I woke up are clear proof. The city is sacrificing the periphery to save the central sections. Which means that a huge number of rooms on the lower levels and in the outer parts of the city are already flooded with ocean water.
And that is not good.
Atlantis isn't just a city, a ship, a flying capital of the Ancients in the Pegasus galaxy. It is also a laboratory—an experimental proving ground for the duel between the scientific curiosity of humanity's ancestors and the laws of the universe. The city hides very dangerous secrets: a nanovirus, a creature that feeds on energy, a device that accelerates evolution, a device that turns people into living bombs, and so on.
The expedition—even with skills for handling Ancient technology and knowledge of their language—managed to make such a mess that they couldn't clean it up in five years of the mission.
And me—I have neither. Neither language knowledge nor a team of specialists. All by myself, all by myself… Except I doubt the city will like my "English with a dictionary."
There are two places I want to see first. In my plan, visiting them comes immediately after finding the Gate Room.
Not finding the first one in the direction I'd originally gone, I returned to the gate area. Probably need to search the floors in another part of the tower.
But since I had the time…
I ran up the side staircase to the second level of the Gate Room. From there—another floor up.
And I entered a half-dark room where only a little light seeped in from the lamps that were starting to come on.
After standing for a few seconds to let the lighting drive the darkness back to a dim gloom, I finally saw the Jumper bay in all its glory.