Others blamed Sechura herself—a theory that had just about as much backing as the DSR speculation making the rounds of the ships. Ridiculous idea—a Valkyrie would never fire on a civilian ship in port, much less be stupid enough to do such a thing when she herself was in danger of being caught up in the blast—but one that persisted. Seemed almost as popular as the DSR theory.
That’s how bad it’s gotten, Serengeti realized. People actually believe that of us.
That a Valkyrie would turn her guns against them. Attack the people she was duty-bound to defend.
How did our Fleet go so wrong, Sister?
She searched for Sechura as she pulled away from the station, and found her still parked in berthing H-96, beacon squawking out information.
Emergency beacon only—no sentience behind it now. No response from Sechura when Serengeti hailed her.
Nothing at all. No signs of life. Another Sister gone. One less Valkyrie in the galaxy, sliding gracefully across the stars.
Serengeti stared, mourning. Turned the camera toward the berthing beside Sechura and found silence. Devastation. The ancient freighter shredded by the blast that took it, wreckage from its body pummeling the hulking, square-sided ship in Berthing H-94 beside it. Punching through, carving pieces from its body. Leaving chunks of composite metal drifting in a cloud of twinkling debris.
A check of the station’s records showed the ship in H-94 was a merchanter named Providence—trade goods hauler, fourth generation AI. Data files detailed a hundred and ten years of service—a century and more of traveling, following the shipping lanes from one Meridian Alliance planet to another, station stops along the way.
Another sixty years before that in another chassis, making Providence a veteran. More light years under her belt than Serengeti herself.
Gone now. Just like Sechura.
Comms flashed a message, blinking insistently, alerting her to an encoded communication—distress signal from Blue Horizon to the Meridian Alliance central monitoring station passed across a Fleet-wide channel.
“Henricksen.” She waited until he looked at her, eyes lifting to the camera at the front of the bridge. Flashed his panel and passed him the message, watching in silence as Henricksen read it.
Henricksen grunted, looking up at the camera. “Brutus is bound to see this.”
“Bound to,” she agreed.
“Valkyrie destroyed on station. He’ll send ships. Want some answers.”
Starting with what happened to the salvaged ship in Berthing H-28.
“What’s the call?” Henricksen asked her. “We staying or going?”
Serengeti pulled up a feed from her hull cameras, looking back at the station. Running felt wrong—especially from her own fleet—but Sechura hid her for a reason. Salvaged her from the stars and went to great pains to make sure Brutus and the rest of the Fleet were none the wiser to her existence.
And after what she’d shown them, if all of that was true…
“Take us out, Henricksen,” she decided. “We’re going walkabout for a while.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Henricksen tapped two fingers to his temple, flashing a crooked smile at the camera. Feathered the maneuvering jets to adjust Serengeti’s course as he eased her away from the station.
Finlay started a counter, numbers turning, jumping in increments as Serengeti pulled away from Blue Horizon.
Light flickered around them, filling the bridge as Serengeti slipped through the shimmer shield, energy netting bending and twisting around the ship’s elongated shape. She considered it a moment, and the station behind them. Accessed the shimmer shield’s system—hardware wasn’t all that complicated, she was pretty sure Tig and his little TSG buddies could replicate something similar—and downloaded the entire thing on a whim.
Sent the design specs for the hardware to the machine shop while she was at it, along with a copy of the shimmer shield’s software package.
Might never use it. Then again, system like that just might come in handy. And it made the TSGs happy, having a purpose. Some special project to work on for her.
“That’s stealing, you know,” Tig admonished, disapproving voice drifting across the robot comms channel.
“Station protocols are crap. Their own fault for not protecting it better.”
“And the DD3s?” Tig folded his front legs and leaned to one side, pointing a spare appendage at the ceiling. “You stealing them, too?”
“Oh. Right.” She’d completely forgotten about the robots working on the hull. She cycled through the feeds from the outward-facing cameras until she found them scattered about the hull. Clinging for dear life to her composite metal paneling, magnetized leg-ends the only thing preventing the robots from taking a long walk into deep space. “Back inside, guys. Cargo Bay 4.”
She cracked the outer doors open and watched the DD3s tip-toe around, gathering up loose equipment before working their way inside.
Twenty of them, by her count. Unfortunately, there’d been twenty-three DD3s working hull repair the last time she checked.
A scan of the area soon found the others—two of the missing robots tumbling toward the station, making their slow, frozen way back home, the third headed in the opposite, drifting alone toward the great beyond.
Felt bad, leaving it there, heading out toward deep space. But she didn’t have time to divert and go get it. Not with Brutus and his ships on their way in.
Couldn’t abandon it either—DD3s might not be loveable, but they didn’t deserve that kind of slow death.
Serengeti loaded a marker tag into a chamber and fired it at the robot, catching the DD3 right on its shiny metal ass. Sent the marker’s information back to the station, hoping someone would pick the DD3 up later.
“Sorry, buddy. Best I can do.”
She pulled away, locking Cargo Bay 4 down, main consciousness dropping back to the bridge as the counter on Finlay’s panel ticked over—ten kilometers from station and counting—and Scan flashed, panel lighting up.
“Jump signatures!” Finlay shunted a data screen to the front windows. Ten dark spots—hyperspace displacements marking vessels coming through.
Ships’ beacons after—names and vectors, velocities of approach. Ships’ designations, reading Meridian Alliance across the board.
“Fleet ships inbound,” Finlay called.
“Hang on, Finlay. Time we got scarce.” Henricksen punched it, opening the main engines wide. Violating half a dozen space station transit ordinances in the process.
“They’ll take away your pilot’s license if you keep flying like that,” Serengeti warned.
“They can have it. Never was much of a pilot anyway.” Henricksen flashed a smile, throwing a look at Nav. “Lay in a course, Finlay. Hyperspace jump.”
Finlay blinked blankly, hands hovering above her panel. “To where, sir?”
“Don’t care. Anywhere but here.”
“Uh…” She stared at the panel in front of her, the massive directory of star charts it offered. “Lot of stars out there, sir.”
“I know that, Finlay. Pick one and let’s go.”
“But—But—” Finlay hemmed and hawed, paralyzed by so many choices and so little direction.
Serengeti slipped in to help her, selecting a route, charting a course at random.
“Course is set, sir.” Finlay nodded her thanks to the camera.
Serengeti sent a smiley face back.
“Strap in tight.” Henricksen spooled up the hyperspace drives, sending a countdown clock to the front windows. Set a second counter beside it, showing their distance from station. “Houseman. Beaulieu.”
“Aye, sir?” the troopers answered together.
“Find something to hold onto. Things might get a bit…bumpy.”
The troopers looked at each other, and around the bridge. Spied a row of take-hold handles near Artillery and dove for them together, holding tight to the metal bars as they hunkered close to the floor.
“Three minutes!”
Henricksen called.
“Sir? The crew?” Finlay nodded to Comms.
“Shit!” Henricksen slapped at the panel, opening a ship-wide channel. “Three minutes to jump. Everyone strap in and hold onto your butts.”
The jump clock ticked down, numbers tumbling as the distance between Serengeti and the station widened. A minute in and a buckle appeared ahead of them, disk-shaped and black as pitch, blocking out the stars. The jump clock hit zero as they reached minimum safe distance from station, and the buckle sucked inward, pulling Serengeti toward the void.
She had just enough time before the buckle took her to throw a last look at the station. Just enough time for one last glimpse of Sechura’s silent chassis. To capture and image and send it to storage so she wouldn’t forget her.
A tug at her hull and the buckle closed around her, Blue Horizon disappearing as Serengeti slid into the hyperspace trough. Cold hit her first, darkness after. The stretched-out lines of stars sliding by. Serengeti lost herself for a while, caught up in remembrance. Memories of her last hyperspace transit, and that disastrous moment fifty-three years ago when she tumbled out of the trough—body shredded, engines failing, slowly tearing themselves apart.
No. Not here.
Serengeti clawed her way back to the present, leaving the dark memories behind. Locked them up tight and threw away the key because she didn’t need them right now. Couldn’t afford to get caught up in the past when the present was so very real. So very now.
Sensors streamed data, reporting engines fully operational, running at nominal levels. The trough a perfect tube—smooth-sided and endless, everything peaceful, infinitely calm.
The jump clock hit thirty seconds and Serengeti’s engines wound down. A shiver running through her ship’s body as she exited the trough, gliding gracefully into normal space.
Sensors scanned the galaxy around her, drinking in everything it had to offer. A flick of Henricksen’s fingers and Finlay abandoned Navigation, hurried over to Scan. Dug into systems, pulling up data screens, shunting one feed after another onto the front windows for Henricksen to see.
“Clear,” she reported, nodding to the windows, glancing at Henricksen to one side. “Area’s clear, sir. We’re alone.”
“First thing that’s gone right all day,” he muttered, looking out at the stars.
Serengeti gave him a moment. Let him relax for a while. “You know,” she said casually, sometime later. “We really should get a proper Engineering Officer.”
He looked up, lips twisting. “Fired already, eh?”
“I can honestly say that was some of the worst piloting I’ve ever seen.”
Henricksen laughed softly. “There’s a reason they promoted me to captain, you know.” A wink and he abandoned Engineering, moving over to his usual place at the Command Post. Spotted Beaulieu and Houseman huddled on the floor nearby—the two of them wrapped around each other, eyes closed, hands clenched up tight. “Alright, you two. That’s enough.”
Houseman opened one eye, looking around. Spotted Henricksen standing over him and shoved Beaulieu away, looking horrified that the captain had caught the two of them canoodling in their terror.
Henricksen’s lips twitched, barely suppressing a smile. “Head below,” he ordered, nodding to the bridge door. “Berthings are on 7. Tell ‘em you’re crew. They’ll find you a rack.”
“Aye, sir.” Houseman blushed brightly, climbing shakily to his feet. Reached down to help Beaulieu and then snatched his hand back, blushing even brighter when she glared at him, picking herself off the floor.
“Get,” Henricksen told them, hooking a thumb over his shoulder.
“Aye, sir,” the troopers answered together. Saluted and bailed off the bridge, hurrying out the door.
“Didn’t think my piloting was that bad,” Henricksen muttered, staring after them.
“Abominable,” Serengeti said brightly. “You are, without a doubt, the worst pilot I’ve ever had on my bridge.”
“Gee. Thanks.”
“On the other hand, we’re here and we’re not dead so…win-win!”
Henricksen rolled his eyes. “Where is here, anyway?” He touched at a panel, digging into Nav’s directory, searching for star charts of the area.
Serengeti found the right one for him, pulled into one his panel, highlighting their location. A nearby planet. “Hon-shen-shura,” she said, adding data tags everywhere.
Henricksen froze, face paling, hand reaching for that scar on his temple. Rubbing at it through the fresh covering of blood. “Why here?” he asked. “What the hell possessed you to bring us back here of all places, Finlay?”
“Me?” Finlay looked offended. “I didn’t—” She pointed at the camera. “She picked the route. I just did the navigating stuff.”
“Navigating stuff.” Henricksen smiled crookedly. “That the technical term for it?”
Finlay flushed—pale cheeks turning pink beneath the freckles—harrumphed and faced around, muttering under her breath as she poked at Scan’s panel.
Henricksen kept smiling, let it slip from his face as he looked up at Serengeti’s camera. “Mind explaining this?” A wave at the windows in front of him. The stars showing outside. “Hundreds of light years of space to choose from and you bring us to this godforsaken stretch of the galaxy?”
“It’s not that godforsaken,” Serengeti told him. “Some people live on that planet.”
Henricksen folded his arms, giving her a sour look.
“Alright. If you were Brutus, would you think to come look for us here?”
He blinked, thinking that over, considering the stars outside. “You think he will?”
“Come after us? Not sure,” Serengeti admitted. “But he’s going to find out soon enough that a ship went missing right after that explosion. Might take him a while to track us since my beacon’s off and I’m not in the system, but Brutus is tenacious. If he wants us, he’ll find us. It’s only a matter of time.”
“Lovely.” Henricksen rubbed at his chin, brow wrinkled with worry.
“Best if we lay low for a while. Hide out until things cool down?”
He looked at her, eyebrows lifting. “Disappear off the grid. That it?”
“Something like that.”
“Seems like we do that a lot lately. Disappear into parts unknown.”
Didn’t like it—that came through clear enough. Serengeti didn’t particularly like it either, but without more information, she didn’t see any other choice.
“Hell,” Henricksen sighed, turning back to the windows. Grew tired of that view and swapped it for another, digging through directories in Serengeti’s main database.
Searching randomly, or so Serengeti thought. Until he stopped on one particular directory and examined the contents. Accessed that composite image of Serengeti’s new body and just stared at it a while.
“What are you doing?” she asked, watching from above.
Henricksen flinched, swiping at the panel, banishing the file in an instant. “Looks good,” he said, waving vaguely at the bridge. “Hard to believe…” He trailed off, eyes haunted, lips pressed in a tight line.
“Yeah. I know,” she said quietly. “Lot of changes since you left, Henricksen.”
“Yeah. I can see that.”
Odd silence after that. The relationship between them changed by the fifty-three years of separation, both of them trying to figure it out.
Finlay felt it too. Looked up, face worried, eyes flicking from Serengeti to Henricksen, while Tig watched from the edges. Burbled and blipped, face lights ticking in agitated patterns.
And all the while, that silence continued. Becoming increasingly uncomfortable.
“If you think this is something, you should see the rest of the ship.” Tig bobbed up and down, front legs cricketing together. “DD3s are dumb as stumps, but you wouldn’t believe what they…” He trailed off, face lights flashing blotchily, front legs moving faster and faster.
Henricksen glanced at him, an
d looked back to the windows, stubbornly maintaining his silence.
“Still a few holes in the outer hull,” Serengeti said.
Tig stopped cricketing, blipped and nodded, but Henricksen just twitched his shoulders. That was it.
“DD3s should be able to patch everything up in a couple of days.” She paused, hoping Henricksen would look at her. Say something. Do anything to make this uncomfortable this silence go away. “I can show you around if you’d like.”
Henricksen’s eyes lifted, staring for a long time. A sigh and he bowed his head, rubbing at his face. “Tomorrow, maybe.” He shut down the panels on the Command Post, braced one arm against his Captain’s Chair and leaned against it, looking incredibly weary. Impossibly tired. “Honestly, I’m too knackered for a tour right now. Not really sure how that’s possible, considering we’ve been asleep the best part of fifty-three years, but…” He shrugged his shoulders, scrubbing a hand through his short-clipped hair. Winced as his fingers brushed the gash Booker’s wrench had made and pulled his hand away, wiping blood on his pants leg.
“Looks like you could use some stitches,” Serengeti noted.
Finlay looked up from Scan. “You want me to—”
“It’s fine, Finlay.” Henricksen waved her away. “Head wounds always bleed a lot. I’ll put a styptic on it later. Close it right up.”
“Sir—”
“I said, it’s fine, Finlay. You can go back to playing with your new toy.”
“It’s not a toy,” Finlay said primly.
Henricksen sighed heavily. “Station. Whatever. I’m fine, Finlay. Just…go back to whatever you were doing,” he said, waving a hand.
Finlay looked at him, and at Serengeti’s camera. Reluctantly turned around.
Toy or not, she did like the new systems. Quickly lost herself digging through Scan’s enhanced offerings.
Henricksen yawned, swaying, closed his eyes and just stood there, bracing himself against the Command Post’s chair.
“Cryo sleep’s no substitute for real sleep,” Serengeti said quietly. “Fifty-three years…that’s a long time for someone to be frozen.” She ran a quick search of her database to confirm a suspicion. “Good news, though. You and Finlay and the rest of the crew are the proud owners of a new record for longest length of time spent in a cryo chamber.”
Serengati 2: Dark And Stars Page 10
