And then Shriek spooled up his jump drive and all hell broke loose.
Cannons lifted, flinging plasma rounds at the stars. Shriek zigged and zagged, the swarm of Mosquitoes moving with him. Cerberus’s cannons sheared away a few at the outer edges before the swarm tightened up, protecting the stealth ship at their center.
Shriek put on speed, increasing the distance between himself and those guns. A minute out and the hyperspace buckle started forming. Two minutes and the swirling darkness widened and sucked inward. “Thirty seconds!” he called as Serengeti strapped down the RPD, making herself ready for jump.
A touch at her consciousness and a comms channel opened. “Bye-bye, Serengeti,” Oona whispered.
“Ten seconds!”
A giggle and Oona retreated as Shriek’s nose touched the buckle, the stealth ship and his Mosquito entourage dipping into the hyperspace trough.
They exited twenty seconds later, receiving a barrage of fire in greeting—some warship out there, firing blindly at the stealth ship’s jump drive distortion.
“What the fuck?!” Shriek dropped his shielding, shooting his credentials across tight-band comms. “Stop trying to kill me,” he yelled across the channel when the warship kept firing.
The warship acknowledged, guns going silent, a last few plasma rounds drifting harmlessly into space.
Shriek cut his engines, drifting on momentum. The Mosquitoes—cut off from their master, with no AI and no will of their own—drifting with him, sucked along in the stealth ship’s wake. Slowing when he slowed. Stopping because he did.
Creepy seeing ships like that, with no mind of their own.
“Message coming through,” Shriek said. “Just a guess, but I’m pretty sure it’s for you.” He opened internal comms, letting Serengeti listen in.
“Dammit, Serengeti.” Henricksen sounded pissed. “You were supposed to signal us when you were ready to leave Cerberus.”
“Sorry. Change of plans. Couldn’t risk comms.”
“Change of—Do you realize how close you came to being turned into scrap?!”
“Close?” she guessed.
“Yeah, close.” Henricksen sounded really, really pissed. “Pretty damn fucking close.”
Pissed. Definitely pissed.
“Get your ass back on board,” Henricksen growled.
Comms went silent, channel closed off.
“You heard the man, Shriek.”
“I’m not your damn taxi,” Shriek muttered.
“Fine. I’ll just stay here. Cluttering up your corridors.”
“Dammit.” Shriek feathered his engines, maneuvering himself alongside Serengeti’s body, drifted into her main cargo bay, and set himself down.
Twenty-Three
Henricksen met Serengeti at the airlock—arms folded, eyes locked onto a monitor, watching her exit through Shriek’s airlock and park her RPD in a corner of the cargo bay.
No sense bringing it inside. Not much for a combat droid to actually do on a Valkyrie, unless she somehow got boarded. Or needed to storm onto a station and shoot the place up.
Let’s hope not. I’ve had my fill of running around in this thing for a while.
She left the RPD there, glad to be free of it. Flicked her consciousness to a camera, as Shriek disengaged his magnetic locks, sharp-sided shape lifting free of her decking.
“Taking off now, boss.” A burst of maneuvering jets shoved his nose around, pointing Shriek toward the open cargo bay doors. “Being a taxi is fun and all, but if you don’t mind, I’ll go back to being a stealth ship for a while.”
“Say hello to the boys for me.”
Shriek dipped one wing, waggling an acknowledgement, fired his maneuvering jets again and slipped outside.
Serengeti watched him leave, waiting until the cargo bay doors closed. Flipped from the cargo to the hallway where Henricksen waited, looking down at him from the camera closest to the airlock. “Sorry about the unannounced entrance.”
Henricksen flipped a hand, already over it. Or at least pretending to be. “That’s one ugly-ass robot you brought back with you.” A nod to the monitor looking out on the cargo bay, camera zooming in on the RPD tucked in the corner.
“I aim to please,” Serengeti said brightly.
Henricksen grunted, looking up at her, chewing at his lip. “Tig and Tilli?” he asked quietly. “Oona?”
“Safe,” she assured him.
Henricksen smiled, obviously relieved. “So where…?”
“Long story.” So much to tell him, and she wasn’t quite sure where to start. “Not here,” she said, stalling for time. “Quarters. Fewer ears,” she added, earning herself a curious look.
Henricksen’s eyebrows lifted, eyes flicking up and down the hall. No one around—not one person in sight. No robots even, just Serengeti and himself. “Alright. Guess Finlay can keep the con for a while.”
He punched at a comms panel, passing the word to the bridge.
“Finlay,” Serengeti cut in as Henricksen signed off. “Send the probes out to gather up those Mosquitoes and bring them on board.”
A pause, and then, “Aye, Serengeti.”
Curious voice—Finlay’s question coming through clearly. The line stayed open a moment before she cut the comms.
“And do what with them?” Henricksen asked on Finlay’s behalf.
“Not sure,” Serengeti admitted. She turned the camera toward the monitor, studying the RPD in her hold. “Might come in handy later.”
Henricksen squinted, giving the camera a close look. “You’ve been sayin’ that a lot lately. Shimmer shield, those Mosquitoes, that combat droid…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Junk collector—that’s what you are. Some AI version of a hoarder or some such.”
“I am not,” Serengeti objected.
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m not!”
Henricksen grunted, giving her a skeptical look. Turned on his heel and headed for the nearest ladderway as Serengeti flowed across her network, jumping ahead of Henricksen. Settling into a camera in the main room of his quarters and waiting for him there.
The door opened a minute or two later, Henricksen stepping in and shutting it securely behind him. Considering the camera from the front entryway before walking to the center of the room and folding his arms, feet spread wide. “Alright. We’re alone. What’s so secret squirrel you had to tell me in private?”
Serengeti hesitated, collecting her thoughts. Considered and rejected a half dozen different ways of starting this conversion before finally just spilling her guts. Telling him everything—every last detail she’d learned about Brutus and Cerberus. What the one had done to the other.
Henricksen listened in silence, looking grimmer with each passing moment. “Any idea why?” he asked when Serengeti’s words ran out. “Besides the fact that he’s an insufferable prick?”
Serengeti barked a surprised laugh. “I think it’s safe to assume that Brutus wanted Cerberus out of the way so he could take control of the Fleet.” She paused a moment, turning her camera toward the windows and the stars. “Sechura said Brutus never got over that defeat at Hon-shen-shura. Maybe that’s part of it.”
“Maybe Cerberus never let him get over it.”
“The thought had occurred to me,” Serengeti admitted.
Another grunt—thoughtful, this time. Henricksen walked over to the windows, eyes flicking from the emptiness outside to the camera’s reflection, lips curving in an inscrutable smile.
“What?” she asked him. “What’s that smirk about?”
“Brutus. Guess he finally lived up to his name.”
“Meaning…?”
Henricksen rolled his eyes. “Really? That reference you don’t get?”
Serengeti queried the name, scanned the information that came back. “Ah. Yes,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as embarrassed as she felt.
“Unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head. “So, what now? Sit around and wait? See what happens with Cerberus?”
“That’s one option. Not the one I’d recommend, though.”
Henricksen quirked an eyebrow, waiting for more information.
“Brutus’s virus has had ten years to dig its way into Cerberus’s systems. We can wait here and hope he gets better. And still be waiting a month, or six months, or a year from now.”
“Or?” he prompted when Serengeti went silent. “You said that’s one option. What’s the other?”
Serengeti hesitated. “You’re not going to like it.”
Henricksen laughed softly, lips twisting, smile turning rueful. “Haven’t really liked much of anything since we woke up to this brave new Meridian Alliance. Why should this be any different?”
“Point taken.”
Henricksen dipped his head, raising an invisible glass in salute. Stood there by the windows, staring at her camera’s reflection, waiting patiently for her answer.
“Sechura’s plan. We go for Faraday and the Vault.”
The smile disappeared, leaving Henricksen’s face grim, eyes haunted. “Sechura’s plan.” He touched a hand to the scar on his face. “So here we are, right where I never wanted to be.”
“It’s not necessarily where I want to be either, but I don’t see another way. Not with Cerberus…” She trailed off, sighing inwardly. “I failed, Henricksen.”
Difficult to admit that, but there it was. Bothered her, that failure. More than Cerberus’s invasion of her network, disgusting and scary as that was. More than her guilt over leaving Tig, Tilli, and Oona behind.
She’d failed in her mission—something she’d never, ever done. And now… nothing. No better option left to them than Sechura’s daft, desperate plan.
“You failed,” Henricksen repeated. “You failed.”
“It’s all my fault,” she whispered, turning the camera away in shame.
“Riiight. Because you should’ve known Brutus put that crap in Cerberus’s network. Turned our admiral into some kinda psychotic fruitcake.”
She snuck a look at the windows as Henricksen snorted in derision, shaking his head.
“Get off it, Serengeti. You’re a lotta things, but you’re not psychic. Stop blaming yourself for something someone else did.”
Serengeti stared a moment—surprised and pleased at once. “More pithy wisdom from the sagacious Captain Henricksen.”
Henricksen flicked his fingers, frown creasing his face. “Truth, Serengeti. Nothing pithy or sagacious about it.” He stared at the camera a moment, turned around and leaned his shoulders against the windows, staring some more. “You said you think Oona can fix him.”
“She can. But there’s no telling how long it’ll take.”
Henricksen shrugged his shoulders, continuing to stare.
“We can’t just sit here waiting on a miracle.”
Second shrug, Henricksen’s eyes never leaving the camera.
“Someone needs to put a stop to Brutus,” she said, watching him, studying his face.
“And I take it you’re thinking that someone might as well be us.”
“Might as well.” Hated herself for saying it, but there it was. No other options left.
Henricksen grunted—his default response when he didn’t know what to say. Turned away from the camera, resuming his study of the stars. “I get it,” he said, head turning, showing one grey eye to the camera. “Doesn’t mean I like it, but I do get it.”
“Who said I do?”
“Touché.” Henricksen smiled, dipping his head. Sighed and looked away from her, turning back to the stars. “Guess I shoulda known this was how things would end up.” He shook his head slowly. “Knew there was something going on the moment I found those replicated AIs on board.”
“Replicated AIs? What replicated AIs?”
Henricksen looked at her, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “The ones in the hold. The ones Sechura…” He trailed off, frowning. “She never told you they were on board, did she?”
“No,” Serengeti said sourly. “Sechura failed to mention that.”
“Figures.” Henricksen snorted. “Found ‘em on the cargo manifest. There’s a stack of security sealed transport cases in Cargo Bay 4.” He tilted his head, eyebrow lifting. “Seem to remember Qaisrani mentioning something about replicants when they pitched this whole Faraday plan.”
“A delivery. To get us onto the station. Get us into the Vault where the real AIs are held.”
Henricksen pursed his lips, thinking a moment. “Gotta be a couple hundred fake AIs in those cases. Room enough for a couple hundred more besides. That’s a lotta brain power. You suppose they’ve got that many ships?”
“No idea,” Serengeti told him, and saw Henricksen grimace, look back to the stars.
“Ya know, I’ve been thinkin’ about that. The whole bustin’ the AIs outta the Vault part, not the loading them into the ships bit. Although that, in itself, is something of a pickle.” He paused, looking at her, turned back to the windows. “Not sure of the set-up in that Vault, but unloading a couple hundred dummy AIs and loading up a few hundred more real ones—that doesn’t happen quickly.” He sucked in a breath, scrubbing fingers through his short-clipped hair. “Hell, I’m not even convinced we’ll actually get into the place.”
“Have a little faith, Henricksen,” Serengeti chided, smile in her voice.
“Faith. Right.” He snorted. “Dreadnought body’s one thing, Serengeti.” He eyed the camera knowingly. “Dreadnought credentials, that’s quite another. Certainly didn’t find any of those hanging around in the cargo bay.”
“No,” Serengeti said softly. “I don’t suppose you did.”
Henricksen gave her a sharp look. “You know something. What is it?”
“Sechura…she gave me something. Right before we left Blue Horizon.”
“Gave you something.” Henricksen’s eyebrow lifted. “Like what? A puppy? A kitten? A subscription to the missile of the month club?”
“Not a what,” she told him. “A who. Someone I’d almost forgotten about.”
Henricksen frowned darkly. “It’s never a straight answer with you, is it?”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Serengeti dug into her system as Henricksen rolled his eyes, searching for the quarantined data package she’d locked up and stored away. It waited for her, right where she’d left it: in a directory marked ‘Spares’ that only she could access.
The data file blinked at her, waiting patiently for Serengeti to download it and absorb the information into her brain.
Not this file. No way in hell I’m permanently absorbing this into my consciousness.
But she couldn’t just leave it there either. Not when she’d already come this far. She touched at it, hesitated when the security system prompted her for a code before deciding to go all in and crack the data package wide open. Feeding the system her credentials to open the file, steeling herself as she extracted the remains of Homunculus’s AI mind.
The Dreadnought lashed out immediately, striking like a viper, trying to force his way onto Serengeti’s network and take control of the ship. But he’d seen better days—holes showed in his mindset, entire sections of his consciousness stripped away—and he honestly wasn’t all there.
For one thing, his crystal matrix had gone missing. And these files, the ones Sechura had passed to Serengeti, represented just a part of Homunculus’s mind.
The part Sechura harvested before walling him off from his crystal matrix, severing the connection to his physical mind.
Serengeti grimaced, feeling dirty of a sudden. Hating herself for what she was about to do. “I’m sorry,” she said as Homunculus lashed out again. “I wish there was another way.” She thought there was, once, before she found Cerberus broken. But that door closed, leaving this…horror as her only option. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and then shunted the contents of the data package to that new section of network Oona had created, placing layer upon layer of firewalls and security codes between it and the rest of her co
nsciousness.
A few checks to make sure she’d plugged every possible security hole, and Serengeti extracted Homunculus from the data package, releasing him into his cage.
The Dreadnought screamed as she freed him, battering at the walls of his prison, snarling as he stalked around the edges of his box.
Personally, Serengeti didn’t blame him. She’d be pissed too if she found herself downloaded and kept prisoner by some other AI. And from the little she picked up, Homunculus knew what had happened to him. To his AI mind. The body they’d scrapped for parts. He knew and he was angry—hated Serengeti for stealing those bits of him.Joke’s on you, pal. I knew never wanted your damn body in the first place. I’d give just about anything to have my Valkyrie form back.
Too late now for that now, though. This body was hers now, ugly as it was. Her only options to move on or shut down. No going back to what once was.
For either of us, she thought, watching Homunculus stalk about. Those days are gone.
She watched the Dreadnought a while, keeping her distance until he settled. Circled around him when she judged it to be safe, investigating his defenses, fending off the occasional sluggish snap.
Whispered another apology—she seemed full of them these days—and tapped directly into his brain, slipping tendrils through the Dreadnought’s connectors as she scoured his mind for information.
Homunculus rallied some resistance when she intruded, but Serengeti swatted his defenses aside, easing around his firewalls, blitzing through every barrier his damaged mind threw up. Shredded neural pathways led to dead-ends and burnt-out connections, but as she dug through him, moving deeper into his directories, she finally found a locked file she busted open, revealing security codes and access credentials. A long overdue delivery logged in the Meridian Alliance’s central system.
“Sechura thought of everything.”
Henricksen looked around, eyebrow lifting. “Mind enlightening a poor soldier?”
Serengati 2: Dark And Stars Page 24
