Serengati 2: Dark And Stars

by J. B. Rockwell

  The pressure door buzzed and whirred, ran through its pressurization routine, and slowly opened.

  Everyone waited, both sides pointedly ignoring each other until the doors finally stopped moving, and it was time to head inside.

  “Here we go,” Henricksen murmured. A nod to Finlay on one side, Houseman and Beaulieu on the other, and he sucked in a breath, stepping across the threshold into the Vault proper.

  Serengeti, playing dutiful robot, hesitated for just a fraction of a section before following after him. Shivering as she did. Filled with a sudden sense of dread.

  Twenty-Eight

  The engineers who designed Faraday’s Vault laid it out in a spoke and wheel pattern: eight short corridors joined to a central monitoring station sitting at the middle of the Vault’s cube-shaped tower. Seven of those hallways dead-ended at the Vault’s outer wall. The eighth led to the pressure door Henricksen and his entourage stepped through—the only way in or out of that tower.

  Assuming you had the patience to wait on that damned door.

  The schematic Serengeti downloaded earlier showed half a dozen doorways in each corridor, but not in this one. From the pressure door, it was a straight shot of fifteen meters to the control room at the Vault’s center.

  No cameras in that hallway, unlike outside. Cameras wouldn’t work here. Not with the electromagnetic shielding built into the walls.

  Serengeti started twitching as soon as she crossed over the threshold into the Vault proper, electromagnetic shielding crawling across the RPD’s body. Wriggling. Tickling. An itch between her shoulder blades. Maggots burrowing under her metallic skin.

  Waves of it washed over her, flooding the hallway in an electromagnetic fog. Communications cut out quite suddenly, severing her connection to anything outside the tower. The ship at dock disappearing, the rest of her consciousness with it.

  That’s when she finally understood the true depth of the AI prisoners’ suffering. How it felt to be cut off from the universe, with nothing but their own thoughts to keep them company until the end of time.

  Fifty-three years she’d been alone out there in the dark. But those fifty-three years were nothing compared to the hopelessness of this place. The stark cold and unending silence.

  Panicked, Serengeti backed up a step—not even thinking, just wanting out. But the pressure door was already closing. The gap between too narrow for her RPD’s huge body. It shut with a heavy, echoing clang, sealing the Vault tight, locking Serengeti inside. Stole the ship and its systems away from her. The noise of it, the feel of it, the sense of her own body.

  Serengeti shivered, a creeping sense of horror settling over her.

  Trapped. I’m trapped in here.

  Henricksen slowed ahead of her, head turning as he looked back over his shoulder. Face frowning, eyes filled with questions when he saw Serengeti’s RPD just standing there, frozen by the door.

  “Out of the way, you stupid thing.” Proctor flicked his fingers in distaste, motioning for the guards to stay put as he squeezed his bulk around Serengeti, shoved Henricksen to one side. “On we go then, Captain.” He smiled of all things—after all that scowling, all those disapproving looks—and stuck his thumbs in his belt, sauntering down the hallway to the monitoring station ahead.

  Henricksen frowned after him, squatted down, and fiddled with his boot’s fasteners. Shot a surreptitious communication Serengeti’s way as he tightened a loose buckle. “You alright in there?” he asked, voice scratchy and garbled sounding, shielding messing with Serengeti’s internal comms.

  “Fine,” she told him—a small lie, and harmless, considering the RPD was working, just not quite at one hundred percent. Electromagnetism levels in that corridor wouldn’t shut the ‘bot down completely, but enough seeped through from the cells to make Serengeti feel decidedly funny. Not bad, exactly, just…weird. Off. Systems hitching and glitching, cameras fuzzing, blurring at the edges no matter how often she refocused their lenses.

  This must be what it’s like to be drunk, she thought as Henricksen tugged at another buckle, giving her a look.

  “You sure you’re alright?”

  “Bit tipsy,” she admitted. “But I’ll be fine once we’re out of here.”

  “Tipsy. Right.” Henricksen flicked his eyes past her to the pressure door, frown deepening as he stood. Considered Serengeti a moment before turning around and setting off after Sergeant Piggy.

  Finlay followed more slowly, throwing worried glances Serengeti’s way as her RPD stumbled unsteadily, pallet sled bumping into walls as she wove a wandering path toward the tower’s center.

  TSGs weren’t doing all that much better. The little ‘bots followed in her wake like lost ducklings, bouncing off walls, rebounding and bouncing off each other as they worked their way down the hall.

  Proctor looked back when he reached the control room, smiling secretively as he moved to one side.

  Henricksen slowed, instantly suspicious. One hand reaching for his pistol while the other lifted, fingers splaying wide, bringing Finlay to a halt.

  Houseman bumped into her. Beaulieu, too. Serengeti bumped into them and the TSGs bumped into her.

  Henricksen never even noticed. He just stood there—one hand raised, the other wrapped around the butt of his pistol—staring down the squad of prison guards waiting for them in the control room’s middle.

  Six of them in total. And six more behind them, standing by the sealed pressure door. All of them armed. All of them pointing their rifles at Henricksen and his people.

  “What’s going here, Sergeant?”

  “Leave the cargo.” Proctor nodded to one side of the room. “’Bots too, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Happens I do mind.” Henricksen stared daggers at Proctor. “Happens I mind quite a bit. Orders are to deliver these AIs into containment. Orders don’t say anything about half-assing the job and turning them over to you.”

  Proctor licked his lips, glancing around the room. “I respect that. I really do. But I’m afraid we’re going to have to relieve you of your burden. Now, please, Captain.” He tittered softly, hands rubbing together.

  “Relieve us of our burden.” Henricksen’s head tilted. “You sneaky son-of-a-bitch. You’re playing both sides.”

  Proctor shrugged, feigning ignorance. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, yes you do.” Henricksen slid a step forward, standing just at the edge of the control room. “Got that shifty look in your eyes. Seen that often enough.” Another step, looking the sergeant up and down. “How long’ve you been skimmin’ off the deliveries and selling AIs on the black market?”

  Proctor opened his mouth to protest, paused and smiled, dropping all pretense of innocence. “Little while,” he admitted, wiping a trickle of sweat from his cheek. “Sergeant’s pay don’t add up to much. These guys,” he flipped a hand at the soldiers around him, “don’t get jack squat. You fancy-ass ship captains live it up in the lap of luxury while us little guys gotta settle for the gutter.”

  “Lap of luxury? What ship has he been on?” Finlay muttered.

  Henricksen flicked his fingers, making a chopping gesture with his hand—a warning, wanting quiet, eyes never leaving Proctor’s face. “So you lighten a few deliveries here and there. Keep enough AIs in the Vault that Brutus doesn’t get suspicious. Sell the rest off for a tidy profit so you can buy yourself some comforts. That about it?”

  Proctor’s smile widened, turning ugly and evil. “Something like that.” The smile vanished, the sergeant’s piggy little eyes gone cold and hard. “Now drop the load, Captain. Leave the ‘bots here and go back to your ship.”

  Henricksen considered a moment, straightened, letting go of the pistol as he settled his hands on his hips. Pinky finger reached out, though. Tapping surreptitiously at the butt of his gun.

  “Got it,” Serengeti acknowledged, reaching for the TSGs behind her, cursing the electromagnetic shielding as she fumbled at their brains. A couple of tries and she
finally managed to flip the switch on the robots’ settings, dropping them into combat mode. “Ready when you are. Just say the word, Henricksen.”

  Henricksen nodded without looking. “And if I say no?” he asked, staring Proctor down.

  “That would be most unfortunate.” Proctor tittered behind his hand, retreating a step as the troopers in the control room closed in.

  “Drop!” Henricksen grabbed at Finlay, flattening them both on the floor as Serengeti pushed Houseman and Beaulieu out of the way, ratcheted rounds into the RPD’s blasters, and swung the TSGs around, opening fire.

  Plasma rounds filled the control room, picking off guards left and right. The TSGs threw themselves at the soldiers by the pressure door, ripping the rifles from their hands. turned those guns around and fired, the soldiers off like flies.

  “Stay down!” Henricksen grabbed Finlay’s head and mashed it against the decking. Pulled his pistol and snapped off a few shots himself, catching Proctor in the leg.

  The sergeant squealed like the pig he was and dropped to the floor. Crawled away, seeking cover behind the monitoring station at the control room’s center.

  Plasma rounds tracked after him, but Serengeti kept missing, the RPD’s targeting systems fritzing out, refusing to lock onto the sergeant’s moving form. “Goddammit!” She abandoned the targeting system entirely, switching to manual because, this close in, she honestly didn’t really need the targeting system anyway.

  A touch at the blasters’ firing mechanisms and the plasma guns hammered away, mowing the control room guards down. A last guard fell—teetering like a bowling pin before finally toppling over—and she turned the blasters around, using the view from her rearward-facing cameras to guide her as she spat a few rounds at the pressure door, obliterating the soldiers there as well.

  Thirty seconds and it was over. Twelve armed guards dead, their sergeant lying bleeding on the floor.

  “Well, that was effective.” Henricksen picked himself up and dusted himself off. Reached down and helped Finlay to her feet.

  “Holy shit,” Finlay breathed, staring wide-eyed at Serengeti. “You kicked their asses!”

  “Damn straight.” Serengeti puffed out the RPD’s chest.

  Henricksen pulled his pistol, moving warily into the room. “Where the hell’s that sergeant gotten to?” he muttered, and then stopped dead, pistol pointing as an anguished moan drifted from somewhere behind the monitoring station. A glance at Serengeti, wolfish smile stretching across his face, and Henricksen waved to Finlay, pointing her to one side of the room and Houseman and Beaulieu to the other.

  The four of them crept around the control room, and the circular desk at its center, aiming for an opening on the far side. Serengeti followed Henricksen in, using the RPD to block the hallway in case Proctor tried to make a run for it.

  Henricksen’s eyes flicked her way, head nodding as he circled around the room, pistol pointed at the monitoring station in the middle. “Found him,” he said, stopping on the far side.

  “You prick!” Proctor screamed from his hiding place under the desk. “You shot me!”

  “’Course we shot you, Corporal. You’re a goddamn disgrace to that uniform.” Henricksen moved a half-step closer, cocking his pistol, aiming toward the desk. “And you called my ‘bot ugly.” His face turned cold, voice taking on a hard edge. “She don’t like bein’ called ugly, Pork Butt.” His eyes flickered toward the hallway, lips twitching as he tipped a wink. “Get him up,” he said, waving Houseman and Beaulieu over as he stepped out of the way.

  Proctor screamed when the troopers grabbed him. Stumbled, grabbing at his wounded leg as they yanked him to his feet.

  “Quite your complainin’,” Henricksen growled. “You got shot in the damn leg. Ain’t like you’re gonna die.”

  “But you shot me. You actually shot me!” Proctor looked indignantly. Like he still couldn’t believe that had actually happened.

  Serengeti stepped into the control room, shuffling awkwardly until the sled cleared the hall. “We should hurry,” she said, using external comms this time, watching Proctor with one eye. “No cameras in here, so there’s probably no active monitoring. But if there’s anyone out there,” she pointed the RPD’s leg at the pressure door behind her, “they had to have heard the gunfire.”

  “And will likely call in reinforcements.” Henricksen nodded, sharing a look with Finlay and the troopers guarding Proctor. “You heard the lady. Let’s dump this load and get what we came for. In and out, quick as we can.” He turned to Proctor, poking him hard in the chest. “You. Security code.”

  “I—I—I—I can’t give that to you.” Proctor shook his head hard, sweat pouring down his cheeks. “They’ll shoot me for treason if I—”

  “Skim off the big boss’s personal stash and sell a few AIs on the black market?” Henricksen leaned close, giving the sergeant a flat-eyed stare. “That was what you were going to say, right?” He flashed his pistol, smiling as Proctor paled. “Already shot up one of your legs, Sergeant.” The pistol pointed downward, Henricksen smiling evilly as he pressed it against Proctor’s crotch. “Now you give me what I want, or I shoot up something else.”

  Proctor started trembling, slapping blindly at panels until a data screen finally appeared. Twisted, wincing, as if expecting Henricksen’s gun to go off at any moment, and entered his access code for the security system.

  “Wait.” Henricksen grabbed the sergeant’s hand as he reached to add his thumbprint. “Write that down,” he said, flicking his fingers at Finlay.

  Finlay frowned in confusion. “Not much good without the thumbprint.”

  “Just write it down, Finlay.”

  “Aye, sir.” Finlay grabbed the reader and recorded Proctor’s security code, clipping the device to her belt when she finished.

  Henricksen released Proctor’s hand, let him press his thumb to the fingerprint scanner. Waited, staring at the panel as the security system processed the credentials, matched the print to the code Proctor had entered. A chime and the cell doors popped open—every last one of them, but in just one hall.

  “The rest,” Henricksen ordered, pressing the pistol against Proctor’s nuts. “Open the rest of them.”

  The sergeant whimpered, head whipping from side to side. “Ca—Ca—Can’t,” he stuttered. “System won’t allow it. One hallway at a time. That’s how it’s coded.”

  “Well, that’s inconvenient.” Henricksen shared a look with Serengeti, turned his eyes back to Proctor’s fat face. “Seven halls to choose from. Why’d you pick this one?”

  “Your—Your roster says you’re carrying Meridian Alliance AIs. In one of the cases anyway.”

  “And?”

  “This hall.” Proctor waved at the unlocked hall, cells sitting on either side. “They’re all Meridian Alliance here.”

  Henricksen quirked an eyebrow. “All of them?”

  Proctor nodded, jowls jiggling. “Keep ‘em separate from the DSR scum. Send some of ‘em to retraining if Brutus…” He trailed off, piggy eyes blinking stupidly, rivers of sweat sliding down his cheeks.

  “Solves one problem,” Henricksen said, eyes flicking Serengeti’s way.

  She tilted the RPD’s head, not quite sure what he meant.

  “I was trying to figure out how we’d convince a bunch of DSR AIs to come over to our side when our side, in theory, put them here in the first place.” He shrugged, smiling ruefully. “If they’re all Meridian Alliance, we don’t really have to worry about that, now do we?”

  “No. I guess not.”

  “Looks like something’s finally gone right for a change.”

  Serengeti went cold all over. “Don’t say that. You’ll jinx us.”

  Henricksen frowned, giving her an odd look. “Since when are you superstitious?”

  Since I spent fifty-three years alone while you slept in the dark.

  “Take what you can,” Serengeti told him. “Fill up the crates and get out.”

  Henricksen squinted, wo
ndering at the evasion. Nodded slowly, letting the question go for now. “Houseman! Beaulieu! First two rooms in the corridor.” He pointed to the hallway with its open doorways, waving the two troopers inside. “Finlay—you and me take the two after that. Our little TSG friends,” a nod to the two shining, silver robots hovering behind Serengeti’s sled, “get the last two in the hall. Help the rest of us out while they’re at it.”

  The TSGs bounced happily, skittering into the hall.

  “Dump the fakies inside the cells, fill up the crates with the real ones fast as you can. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Finlay said loudly.

  Houseman and Beaulieu looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and nodded as well.

  Not exactly overflowing with confidence, those two. Serengeti made a mental note to talk to Atacama about the training these troopers received.

  “You.” Henricksen shoved Proctor up against the panels ringing the monitoring station. “Stay here. Right here,” he added, poking the sergeant in the chest.

  “Here.” Proctor nodded, breathing heavily. “Yes. Yes-yes.” He leaned against the control station’s panels, fingers reaching, fumbling at buttons.

  “Scratch that.” Henricksen grabbed the front of Proctor’s uniform jacket, yanking him away. “You’re coming with me, you twitchy, little shit.”

  Proctor squealed as Henricksen hauled him around, whimpered and clawed at Henricksen’s fingers as he dragged the sergeant across the control room and into the corridor, slamming him up against the wall.

  Finlay scrambled past them. Houseman and Beaulieu as well. That left just Serengeti in the control room.

  “Alright,” Henricksen called. “Back up the sled.”

  “Coming, Master!” Serengeti walked the RPD forward, maneuvering the bulky combat droid around the monitoring station at the room’s center. A quick look over her shoulder, lining the sled up with the entrance to the hallway as best she could, and Serengeti backed up, using the fritzing camera in the ‘bot’s hind end to guide her.

  Awkward operation, walking a too-big ‘bot pushing an oversized sled across a circular room toward a square sided hallway. Awkwarder still, doing it all backward. Threading the sled through a tight gap at the same time—walls on one side, that circular, monitoring room desk on the other. Didn’t help that the ‘bot felt clunky as all get-out—oversized and ill-equipped for the task at hand—or that its systems only half-worked.