“Dammit,” Serengeti swore, bodging it the first time. Drunk as a skunk now, electromagnetic shielding spilling into the hallway she was trying to enter.
“What’s taking so long?” Henricksen called from somewhere behind her.
“Cram it, Mister. I’m a starship, not a damn robot. I’m not used to backing up.”
“Use your hips,” he suggested, flashing a smile, giving her a thumbs up. Stepped back, waving the others toward the end of the hall as Serengeti pulled forward and tried again.
A few tries and a few more fails, and Serengeti finally got the hang of things. Managed to line the sled up correctly, time the turn just right.
Lost a lot of time figuring the angles out, though. Time they really couldn’t afford.
“Look out!” she called, threading the sled into the hallway.
It slid in clean—bit cockeyed, a little too far to the right, but not bad considering the drunken pilot.
Henricksen waved her backward, held up a hand, and yelled, “Stop!” when the sled neared the end of the hall. “That’s good! Park it right there.” He grabbed a crate from the sled and muscled it to the floor, kicked the door on his left open, and slid it inside.
Houseman and Beaulieu grabbed two others, grunting loudly as they moved the heavy cases around. The TSGs—far stronger than their human counterparts—handled their cases with ease, but Finlay struggled just trying to get her case off the sled.
Henricksen grabbed one of the robots and diverted it to help her before sending it on its way.
“Coulda gotten it,” Finlay mumbled, kicking at the floor.
“Know you coulda, Finlay. Just in a rush is all.” Henricksen patted her on the shoulder, turned her toward an open doorway. Ducked into the room across from it, grabbing Proctor on the way, and dragging him inside.
Serengeti checked to make sure everyone was out of the way before backing the RPD up a little more, pushing the sled right up against the end of the hall so she could look into one of the side rooms.
The space inside reminded her in some ways of her own containment pod: bright and white and incredibly clean. Octagonal, like Cerberus’s pod. Walls squared-off to match everything else in the Vault. No pedestal at the center, though. Just shelves lining the walls—racks upon racks of storage. Crystal matrix minds jacked into energy units on every one—powered but contained. Isolated from any kind of network. Dozens upon dozens of AIs living in close proximity, and complete isolation.
How many? she wondered, scanning the room, as Houseman dumped out the contents of his crate and started grabbing crystal matrix brains from the shelves.
Empty spaces here and there. Space enough in that room for nearly double the number of AIs the cell currently held.
She pulled up the schematic of the station, checking the layout of the Vault. Ran a few calculations, making some assumptions based on what she saw in that room, and came up with some rather sobering results.
This Vault—this one Vault among many the Meridian Alliance maintained—could hold upwards of ten thousand AIs. Add in all the others scattered across the length and breadth of the galaxy and that number increased to nearly a million. Storage enough in the Meridian Alliance’s Vaults for every last AI in the Fleet. The vast majority of the merchanter and commercial ships besides.
So many, she thought, watching Houseman fill his case, seal it up. I wonder how many more would be here if that piece of trash Proctor hadn’t sold them off.
“Done!” the TSGs cried together, scrambling into the hallway, loading their crates onto the sled. “Ready-ready-ready,” they reported, clonking leg-ends against their chromed heads.
“Good. Now go help the others,” Serengeti ordered.
“Rodger-dodger!” One TSG went one way, while the other took off in the other, helping Finlay and Henricksen fill their crates.
Houseman appeared a few minutes later, dragging a crate behind him that he heaved onto the sled, and Beaulieu not long after that. Finlay took the longest—Henricksen’s crate was just about full, but tiny Finlay couldn’t quite reach the top shelf in her room, not without the TSG’s help—but even with her lagging behind the others, the entire operation finished up in just under ten minutes.
Not bad, considering. Still longer than Serengeti would’ve liked, but not bad at all.
“How many?” Henricksen asked, grabbing Finlay’s crate, setting it on the sled beside his.
“Fifty-three.” Finlay patted her crate proudly. “You?”
“Same.” Henricksen frowned, brow wrinkling. “Fifty-three on the dot.”
Fifty-three. An inauspicious number. Serengeti shivered, wondering if she was just being paranoid.
“How about you, Houseman?”
Houseman shuffled his feet, scratching his head. “Didn’t know we were supposed to count,” he mumbled, studying his toes.
“Idiot,” Henricksen muttered. He grabbed Proctor and shoved him toward the sled, loading him on with the crates. “Might need him,” he explained at Finlay’s questioning look. “Serengeti’s been collecting all sorts of crap along the way, might as well collect some more. ‘Sides, we still gotta get through that pressure door out there.” He poked Proctor in the belly, making him squeak. “Piggy here’s got the access codes, so Piggy goes for a ride. Ain’t that ride, Piggy?’
Piggy squealed, desperately nodding his head.
Twenty-Nine
“Alright, Serengeti. Let’s get the hell outta here.” Henricksen slapped the RPD’s back, pacing along behind the sled as Serengeti pulled it from the hallway, maneuvering herself and it into the control room.
The TSGs scampered ahead of her, scouring the control room for more weapons, arming themselves with four rifles apiece. Switched to their tank treads with so many legs encumbered, zipping around like two tiny tanks.
Robots looked surprisingly cute carrying all those weapons. Might not need that many guns, but considering they had no idea what waited for them on the other side of that pressure door, the extra firepower wasn’t necessarily a bad idea.
Proctor’s security guards caught them with their pants down once. No way Serengeti was letting them do it again.
The TSGs huddled together, face lights flashing in rapid-fire patterns as they checked the status of their weapons, nipped a few spare magazines off the dead soldiers in the control room before following after Serengeti to the pressure door. Stopped there with her as Henricksen hauled Proctor off the sled.
“Access code. Now,” he ordered, pointing to the security panel beside the door.
Proctor whimpered and looked over his shoulder, fat face turning the color of curdled milk as he eyed the pools of blood, the bodies slumped next to the walls.
Henricksen grabbed him by the neck, shoved his face against the pressure door’s security panel. “Code. Now,” he snapped, getting right in Proctor’s face.
Proctor pawed at the wall, entering his access code with trembling fingers, mashed his thumb against the scanner to add his print.
“There now. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Henricksen slapped Proctor on the cheek. Yanked him away from the wall and turned him over to Houseman as the lock buzzed and whirred, heavy door splitting down the middle, panels grinding to either side. “Load him up,” he ordered, nodding to the sled. “Make sure he stays put.” He glanced behind him, watching Houseman lead the sergeant away, crept close to the pressure door, and snuck a peek at the room on the other side.
Weapons fire rattled against the door’s reinforced metal panels, driving Henricksen back.
“We’ve got company,” he yelled, ducking into the corner, muttering curses under his breath. “Looks like a dozen or so guards out there. Some kind of automated defense system up on the walls.”
“Small caliber railguns,” Serengeti told him. “Saw them on the schematic.”
“Now you tell me?!”
Serengeti shrugged her RPD’s legs. “You didn’t ask.”
“Oh, for the luvva—” Henricksen cramm
ed himself into the corner as a fresh barrage of plasma rounds scored across the pressure door’s panels. A few stray shots sneaking between them, leaving scorch marks on the corridor’s walls. One awfully close to his head. “Can you do something about that?”
“Probably.” Serengeti snuck a look herself, scanning the room in an instant. Ratcheted fresh rounds into the RPD’s blasters and shoved the guns between the doors. “Stand back.”
She triggered the blasters, filling the room with plasma fire. Pumped a couple of ion grenades into the ‘bots launchers and lobbed those into the room as well. Made a slow count to five and stepped backward as the grenades detonated, filling the room outside with a sound like thunder.
Lightning flashed, cobalt blue and blinding, filling the air with screams. A quick look through the widening doorway showed half the guards down and obviously out of the picture, the rest crawling through the shredded remains of their fellows, searching for the weapons they’d dropped along the way.
“That what you were thinking?” Serengeti shuffled the RPD to one side.
Henricksen poked his head out, taking a look. “Damn, Serengeti. Remind me never to piss you off.”
A whir of machinery—automated security systems waking, railguns swiveling toward the doorway—and he ducked back, spitting curses as the guns mounted high up on the walls opened fire.
Serengeti planted the RPD in the center of the doorway, pushing Henricksen aside. “Stay behind me. The RPD’s armored. You’re not.”
“Neither are those cases,” Henricksen reminded her, nodding to the sled she pulled. “And if we wanna get outta here, we gotta cross that room.” He pointed a finger at the blood-filled space on the other side of the pressure door. “One good hit and all your friends go kablooey.”
“Good thing the sled’s behind me too, I guess.”
Henricksen barked a laugh and raised his pistol, pointing it through the doors. “Alright. Lead us out, Serengeti. You shield us, we’ll do what we can to keep those bastards from shooting up the cases.” He waved her ahead, flattening himself against the wall as the sled rumbled past. Fell in behind her with Finlay at his side, Houseman, Beaulieu, and the two armed TSGs backing them up.
Fire slammed into the RPD the minute it left the corridor. Serengeti flared the panels on the combat drone’s carapace, making herself as large as possible to shield the sled behind her, Henricksen, and the others clustered around it.
Started in surprise as a flash of face lights appeared at her feet—the two TSGs scurrying ahead with their rifles raised, flinging plasma rounds at anything that moved.
“Get back here,” Henricksen yelled. “You’ll get yourselves killed!”
The TSGs ignored him, screaming their beeping battle cries as they drowned the room in rifle fire, shooting randomly at first, and then with ever-greater precision.
A guard pitched forward, caught clean through the heart. The rest ducked for cover, using their fallen comrade as a shield, pulling more dead bodies around them to create a makeshift barricade as they fired back.
Just five of them left now—a manageable number, especially since they were pinned down. Wall defenses were another thing. Guns everywhere—high velocity and extremely deadly, ringing the room round. Magazines filled with tightly wound anti-gravity loads—old school ammunition that tore holy hell out of human flesh.
Serengeti targeted one and blew it to pieces, but the rest just compensated, swiveling more widely from their recessed positions to cover the blank spot the loss of that one gun created. A message to the TSGs and they added their fire as well, chewing up wall panels, battering at the railguns beneath, leaving the guards to Henricksen and his troopers while they helped Serengeti keep the room’s automated defenses busy.
A step to the left, blasters firing, and a railgun exploded. Another step—anti-gravity rounds pinging off the RPD’s shielding—and Serengeti noticed a surprising omission. An entire section of the room’s security system watching her. Following her but not firing.
“Henricksen,” she called, pointing her blasters, sniping a few rounds at the quiescent guns. “You see that?”
Henricksen snuck a look, eyes flicking from the guards sheltering in the center of the room to the guns behind them, poking outward from the wall. Noting the position of each, the fact that those guards just happened to be in the security system’s line of fire. “Fail safe?” he guessed.
“That’s what I’m thinking.” Serengeti targeted that section of the security system, scouring the railguns from the wall. The rest rotated, firing at her, doing their best to make up for the guns they’d lost.
Henricksen flinched and ducked back as railgun fire rattled across Serengeti’s shielding, just missing his head. “Move!” he yelled, slapping the RPD on the backside. Raised his pistol and pulled the trigger, dropping an unwary guard to the floor. “Pressure door. Circle around to the left. Keep the wall behind us.”
“Got it!” Serengeti slid another step, TSGs moving with her, Henricksen and the others sticking close to the sled.
Henricksen’s pistol kicked, snapping off more rounds, ducking each time the railgun fire rattled near.
Proctor, thinking him distracted, tried to make a run for it. Stupid move considering he had only the one good leg. Two steps and Henricksen grabbed him, jerked hard, bringing the sergeant to a halt.
“Not yet, you cowardly bastard. You get us outta here first.”
He gripped the sergeant’s arm tight, dragging Proctor with him as he and his crew circled around the room, inching closer to the pressure door.
The guards—those that weren’t dead—seemed to realize what they were up to and redoubled their fire, flinging plasma rounds across the room as the rail guns chattered, ion rounds pinging off the RPD, ricocheting off the walls.
Serengeti targeted a cluster of rail guns, pulled the trigger, and drowned them in plasma fire. Picked out another cluster and pounded them into molten scraps of metal. “How are you guys doing back there?” she called, sneaking a look through the RPD’s rearward-facing camera.
“Peachy.” Henricksen leaned around her, breaking cover to crack off a few shots.
Houseman tried to copy him but tripped over his own feet. The stumbled, swearing loudly , jerked and dropped his weapon as a plasma round bit into his arm.
More swearing as Houseman grabbed at his arm, blood pouring through his fingers. Retreated, breathing hard, staring in disbelief at the chunk of bicep missing from his arm.
“Pick it up, Houseman.” Henricksen nodded to the trooper’s abandoned rifle, leaned around the RPD’s shielding, and cracked off a few shots.
“I’m bleeding!” Houseman showed him his bloodied arm as proof.
“Gonna be a lot worse than that if we don’t get to that pressure door.” Henricksen dodged aside, kicking the rifle back to Houseman. “We’ll patch you up later. Now pick it up.”
Houseman bent over and grumblingly retrieved his weapon. Wiped his bloodied hand on his pants leg as he raised it to his shoulder.
Henricksen nodded encouragingly, slapped the trooper on the back. “Almost there, Houseman. Just a little further.”
Houseman grimaced, favoring his wounded arm. Sucked in a breath and stepped from cover, emptying his clip at the room.
A barrage of railgun fire sent him stumbling backward, white-faced and checking for bullet holes, looking amazed that he still only had the one. A second barrage and he ducked for cover, hugging his rifle to his chest as ion rounds pinged off the RPD’s shielding, snuck through, and slammed into the sled.
“Henricksen! The crates!” Serengeti called, activating the camera in the RPD’s thorax, throwing a desperate look behind her.
“On it!” Henricksen retreated to check the payload, flashed a thumbs up. “Fine so far!” He flinching, ducking as railgun fire sparked off the RPD’s metal carapace, tore panels from the wall. “It is severely not safe in here, Serengeti. We need to get to that door!”
“Almost there.”
<
br /> Henricksen climbed over the sled, leaned around Serengeti’s shielding and took a look.
The pressure door loomed to one side, less than five meters away now. A triple-thick barrier—bomb-proof, blast-proof, security-locked—that grew closer with each sliding step Serengeti took.
He eyed the distance from here to there, clambering across the sled again to retrieve Proctor. “Finlay!”
“Aye, sir?”
“Need a favor.” Henricksen snapped off a few rounds, drilling a hole clean through a guard’s head. “Keep the rest of these bastards busy while I open this damn door.”
“Aye, sir!” Finlay slid to her right, firing, catching another guard in the chest. “Like that, sir?”
“Perfect!” Henricksen flashed a thumbs up and climbed over the sled a third time, hauling Proctor with him, leaving Finlay to take over his position.
Houseman stared after him, tapped Beaulieu on the shoulder, and pointed to the pile of crates on the sled. Beaulieu nodded and climbed up with Houseman right behind her, the two of them using the high ground the crates offered to snipe at the room’s three remaining guards.
Not a bad idea in theory. But in execution, it didn’t quite work. High ground gave the troopers a greater range of fire, but it also put them outside Serengeti’s shielding, exposing them to the automated defense system.
Houseman dropped two guards in quick succession, but Beaulieu barely managed to raise her rifle before a wall gun targeted her, shooting a burst of anti-gravity rounds that toppled her from the stack of crates.
Beaulieu landed in a heap beside the sled, half of her head missing, the other half containing one very startled-looking blue eye.
“Holy hell,” Houseman breathed, staring down at her, frozen. “Holy hell,” he repeated, and then turned around, screaming as he drowned the last trooper in plasma fire.
Serengati 2: Dark And Stars Page 31
