Serengeti circled another step, looked left, and found the pressure door right beside her. “Henricksen.”
“What?” he called, pistol kicking, shots cracking off. “What?” he repeated, and then leaned to one side, blinking in surprise at the nearby door.
“Go,” Serengeti told him. “I’ll cover you.” She squatted down, guns blazing, RPD turned to block the door as Henricksen shoved Proctor over to the lock.
“Open it!” he ordered.
The sergeant shook his head, stabbing a finger at a camera.
“I said open it, you piece-a shit!” Henricksen yanked hard at Proctor’s arm, throwing him against the lock.
“C—Ca—Can’t,” the sergeant protested, and then jerked, sagging, gurgling grotesquely as he slid to the floor.
“Shit!” Henricksen lowered his pistol, staring at the bullet wound in Proctor’s throat. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” he screamed, kicking at the sergeant’s lifeless body.
“He’s dead, Henricksen,” Serengeti yelled. “Figure something else out!”
“Fuck!” He swung around, hands cupped around his mouth. “Finlay! Reader!” He pointed at his palm, held out a hand.
Finlay dropped a hand to her side, unclipping the reader hanging from her belt. Tossed it to Henricksen, nodding sharply as she faced back around. “Gonna need a print,” she reminded him, lifting her rifle to her shoulder.
“I know. I got a plan.”
He keyed into the reader, scrolling quickly, searching for the security code they’d recorded earlier. He stared at it, lips moving, repeating it to himself over and over again before entering the combination into the lock. A quick check to make sure the data on the reader matched what he’d entered into the locking mechanism, and Henricksen shut the device down, clipping it to his belt.
The lock flashed, accepting the code, sent a prompt, waiting for a fingerprint.
Henricksen grabbed the dead sergeant and dragged him over to the luck. Swore loudly when he realized Proctor’s arms were too short to reach from the floor and the fat sergeant was too goddamn heavy to lift.
“Fuck!” he screamed, giving Proctor another kick. Stepped back and collected himself, looking from Proctor to the lock and back again. Pulled his pistol and grabbed the sergeant’s hand, leveling the gun at Proctor’s elbow. “Sorry about this, buddy.”
Henricksen fired off six shots, twisted, and ripped the lower half of Proctor’s arm away. Turned around and jammed the Sergeant’s thumb against the scanner, muttering “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” as the lock processed the print, flashed green, and opened.
Systems kicked in, pressure adjusting, triple-thick doors grinding open. Henricksen peered through the widening slit, examining the corridor on the other side.
“Aw hell!” he cried, and stepped away, shielding himself behind the door as yet more fire came from the hallway outside. “Bastards are everywhere!” he yelled, glancing at Serengeti, looking past her to his crew. “Finlay!” He pointed at Beaulieu’s discarded weapon. “Toss me that rifle.”
Finlay squatted down, firing her rifle one-handed as she scooped up Beaulieu’s weapon and tossed it awkwardly to Henricksen.
He caught it and checked the chamber, ratcheted in a fresh round as Serengeti sprayed the walls with plasma fire. “Don’t suppose you’ve got more of those grenades,” he asked her.
“A few.”
“Think I know a good way to use ‘em.” Henricksen hooked a thumb at the gap in the pressure door.
“Stand back.” Serengeti brushed Henricksen out of the way, opened a port in the RPD’s side, and fired two grenades into the hall.
Twin ion explosions lit the corridor, bathing the grey-on-grey hallway in blinding bursts of cobalt light.
“Everybody out!” Henricksen stepped into the hallway, blasting away with Beaulieu’s rifle. “Finlay! On the sled with Houseman! Move!” he yelled as Serengeti bulled after him. “Move! Move! Move!”
The lot of them evacuated in a hurry, Serengeti taking the lead, Henricksen pacing along at her side. Finlay and Houseman clambered onto the slide, providing covering fire as they knelt atop the stack of crates, but the TSGs lagged behind.
“Hurry, boys! We’re leaving!” Henricksen yelled, glancing back over his shoulder.
The TSGs waved cheerily, face lights flashing as they communicated with one another. A grenade launcher appeared—no idea where that came from, Serengeti assumed from one of the downed guards—canister-shaped magazine loaded into the top by one TSG while the other balanced it on his back and aimed it at the center of the room. A pause to check the settings and the robots backed up, hitting the button on the pressure door as they passed, pitching every last missile in the grenade launcher’s magazine into the room as they exited.
The ‘bots looked at each other, slapped a high-five, and high-tailed it after Serengeti as the pressure doors started to close.
The grenades exploded with the doors still half-open, the shockwave from the detonation knocking Henricksen over, sending the TSGs tumbling down the hall.
“Holy shit,” Henricksen breathed, picking himself up. “What kind of combat program did you give them, Serengeti?”
“Default programming. Nothing special.” Serengeti unloaded on a wall cannon, covering the TSGs while they retrieved their guns. Glanced down the hallway and spotted the airlock to the ship’s berthing just a hundred meters away.
Almost there. We’re almost there.
Grey uniforms appeared in the distance, well past their airlock, close to that long, curving bend in the corridor.
“Company,” Serengeti warned, flinging a burst of plasma rounds down the hall.
“I see ‘em.” Henricksen emptied the clip of his rifle, ducked back, and snatched a handheld communicator from his belt. “Samara! Samara!” he screamed. “We’re clear of the Vault. Open the goddamn lock.”
“Aye, sir. What’s—?”
Static shrieked across the channel, cutting Samara off. A clicking sound followed, harbinger to an unexpected burst of communication that blanketed the channel, filling every channel, looping around and repeating until Serengeti managed cut it off.
“What. The fuck. Was that?” Henricksen fired his rifle, pacing purposefully down the hall. “Answer me, Delacroix. What the fuck was that communication?”
Silence on the line—nothing at all from ship comms.
Serengeti reached back to the ship, accessed the comms system, and analyzed the transmission herself. “Distress signal.”
Henricksen fired off a few more shots, ducked down, and reloaded. “Distress signal? From where? From who?”
Laughter filled the channel, soft and sneaky, almost evil sounding.
Henricksen looked up, rifle sagging as his face paled. “Please tell me that isn’t who I think it is.”
“Homunculus.” Serengeti shut down the channel, cutting the laughter off. “He must’ve got loose somehow.”
Henricksen didn’t look happy. In fact, he looked downright pissed. “Lemme guess: he used the airtime to give away our position.”
Serengeti kept firing, kept walking forward, ignoring the shots pinging off her carapace.
“Who’d he call?” Henricksen asked her.
“Brutus. He called Brutus down on us.”
“Son of a bitch!” The rifle snapped up, Henricksen slamming a fresh clip home. “Thought you had that bastard contained,” he yelled, emptying the clip at the guards down the hall.
“Been a little busy,” Serengeti reminded him, strafing the railguns on the walls.
“Busy. Right.” Henricksen grunted, throwing a look Serengeti’s way. “How the hell did he get to comms?”
“Delacroix, I assume.”
He was the weak link, set to monitoring the channels. Tasked by Henricksen himself with keeping a tight rein on comms.
“Fuck. Delacroix! Answer me!” Henricksen yelled up to the ship. “Goddammit, Delacroix, are you sleeping up there?”
The channel clicked op
en—communication coming back from the ship. “Delacroix’s down.”
Aoki’s voice, not Samara’s. Despite that Samara had been left in charge of the bridge.
Henricksen frowned darkly. “Down. Whaddaya mean ‘down’?”
“Brain’s fried, sir. Effort of trying to contain Homunculus must’ve been too much for him. One minute he was standing there, doing his thing. Next minute he just…keels over. Starts seizing.”
“God fucking dammit.” Henricksen punched the wall. Punched it again and winced, flexing his hand. “Knew we shoulda replaced him.” He wiped blood from his knuckles, poked his head out, and eyed the distance to the airlock. “We’ll be on board in two minutes, Aoki. You get Delacroix to the med bay and find someone to replace him at Comms.”
“Aye, sir.” Aoki cut out.
Houseman lowered his rifle. “I know a little about Comms.”
Henricksen gave him a sour look. “Yeah, well that doesn’t really help us all that much right now, does it, Houseman?”
“No, sir. I guess not.” Houseman pointed his rifle down the hallway, picking off a guard in a grey uniform. “Just sayin’ is all.”
“Idiot,” Henricksen muttered, cracking off a few more shots.
Serengeti launched a staccato burst of fire from her blasters and plowed ahead, RPD taking a pounding from the wall guns and the troopers down the hall. Losing bits and pieces of her carapace. Entire chunks of the ‘bot’s body tearing away.
Dug in pretty good down there, that curve in the hallway providing surprisingly strong cover. Railgun fire was hard enough to deal with, she really didn’t need the added distraction the prison guards offered.
A check of the RPD’s grenade store found a half dozen rounds left. She lobbed one down the hall, smiling in satisfaction at the panicked screams that came back.
The timer on the device ticked down—three, two, one—and the grenade exploded, taking the guards out of the fight for a while.
“Go, Henricksen. Go, go, go!” Serengeti yelled, lowering the RPD’s head, putting on a burst of speed.
Railgun fire strafed across the combat droid’s face, knocking out most of its eyes. A grenade landed beside her, detonating before Serengeti could kick it away, rocking the RPD hard, almost tipping the droid completely over.
Serengeti stumbled and recovered, error messages flashing everywhere, cameras knocked out, targeting systems offline, a couple of legs missing on one side. A reboot fixed most of the systems, brought a few cameras back on-line, but some were unrecoverable. Blown to bits leaving her just a narrow tunnel of vision—two eyes looking forward, completely blind in the back.
“Keep going. Lock’s just ahead.” She scuttled the RPD forward, double-timing it to the airlock, trusting the others to stay with her. “Open it, Henricksen. Hurry!”
“Yeah-Yeah. Keep your shirt on.” Henricksen moved up beside her, mashing at the panel to cycle the lock’s mechanism.
Serengeti angled the RPD to provide cover for him as the TSGs scurried in front her, rifles rattling away.
The ‘bots looked decidedly ragged. One had just two legs left and lost another while Serengeti watched. The other had a line of holes tracking up its side and across its head. The TSG looked at her, face lights flashing and flaring, randomly turning on and off. Beeped and blipped, all sorts of nonsensical sounds issuing from its speakers, trying to communicate something to her. Pass Serengeti one last message.
Never did figure out what it was, though. A wall cannon caught the ‘bot before it finished its message, shearing its head in half, dropping the TSG’s face lights into darkness.
The robot sagged, dropping its weapon. Toppled over as the airlock sighed open, inviting them into the ship.
“Inside! Get inside!” Serengeti ordered. “I’ll back the payload in after you.”
Henricksen shook his head hard. “Faster if you take the lock head-on.” He glanced behind him. “Klugey business back there in the Vault.”
Great. Never going to live that down.
“Too risky,” she told him. “Leaves the payload exposed.”
“We’ll provide covering fire. Me and Finlay can—”
A grenade thumped down and exploded, turning their one remaining TSG into a pile of shredded bits, showering metal parts everywhere.
Serengeti turned her head. “Get inside, Henricksen. This is no time to argue.”
Henricksen swore loudly, waving Finlay and Houseman inside. Backed into the lock after them, rifle spitting fire down the hall.
Serengeti walked the RPD forward, lining the sled up as she best she could. Crossed her fingers—metaphorically, of course—and backed up quickly. Blind as a bat and trusting in luck. Without so much as a single camera to guide her.
Rushed it, misjudging the approach completely, even with Henricksen behind her yelling instructions, and had to start all over again. Cursed when she miscalculated the angle of the airlock a second time and jammed the sled against the wall.
And all the while those railguns kept picking away at her, chewing hungrily at the RPD’s carapace, tearing off yet more parts.
A direct hit knocked the combat droid off-balance, exposing the crates to fire as Serengeti slewed to one side.
“Fuck this.” Henricksen stepped from the airlock with Finlay right beside him, the two of them providing covering fire while Serengeti righted the RPD and realigned it for another run. “We’re running out of ammo here!”
His rifle chose that instant to quit, dramatically making his point. Henricksen twisted, tossing the empty rifle to Houseman, waving impatiently until the trooper handed his over.
Henricksen cocked the weapon, facing around, pointed the rifle down the hall, and squeezed the trigger, chewing through the rounds in the clip. “Any day now, Serengeti!”
“Out of the way!” Serengeti backed up in a hurry and slammed the sled into the wall, completely missing the airlock this time.
“What was that?” Henricksen demanded.
“Camera’s busted. I can’t see.”
“You’re blind?! Great. Just—Just hold on.” Henricksen looped around her, clambering over the trailer, moving far enough into the hall that Serengeti could see him. “Back it up slow. I’ll guide you in. Take your time and get it right. No sense rushing and having to do it all over again.”
“I’d like to see you try to drive this thing,” Serengeti said sourly.
Henricksen flashed a smile. “Probably run it right through the damn wall. Now back it up, Serengeti. Let’s get that sucker on board.”
“Here goes everything.” Serengeti muttered a quick prayer as she pulled the RPD forward, using part of her brain to drive the droid’s weapons and maintain fire on the railguns lining the hall while the other watched Henricksen. Listened to his voice. Followed his directions as he guided her into the airlock.
She lined the sled up perfectly this time. Slid it into the airlock like a greased pig. But she had to drop the ‘bot’s shielding to fit the RPD inside with it. Fold the pieces of its carapace back into place so the damned thing wouldn’t get stuck.
“Henricksen,” she called, moving back a step.
“Right behind you.”
Weapons fire scored the decking, ricocheting off the wall. Henricksen turned, retreating, jerked and stiffened, mouth opening, eyes stretching wide.
He stumbled a step, rifle drooping, hand pressed tight to his side.
“Sir!” Finlay pushed past Serengeti, stepping into the hall.
“Back,” he gasped, lurching toward the airlock. “Get inside.”
Serengeti backed the rest of the way, sweeping Finlay along with her. Watched in agony as Henricksen shambled after them, ducking fire from the guards down the hall.
By some miracle, he reached the airlock without getting hit again, threw himself bodily through the door and landed at Serengeti’s feet. “Shut it! Shut it tight, Finlay,” Henricksen gasped.
Finlay slammed her hand against the panel, sealing the lock. Cutting the ship
off from the station, the railgun, and plasma fire outside.
Thirty
Henricksen rolled over as the lock cycled the environmentals, adjusting to the pressure inside the ship. A deep breath and he shoved himself to his feet, stumbled over to the wall and leaned against it, one hand pressed to his belly.
“You alright, sir?” Finlay eyed him worriedly, touching at her own stomach.
Henricksen spread his hands, staring down at his middle.
Blood stained his uniform, a ragged hole showing where a round had found its way through to his gut. More blood stained Henricksen’s hands, spotting the decking as it poured down his side.
“Shit,” he breathed, head lifting, eyes searching for Finlay. “Shit.”
His knees buckled, dropping him to the floor.
Finlay dove across the lock and grabbed him, slipped her arm around Henricksen’s waist, and just held him while he got his feet under him and pushed himself up again. “Got you. I got you, Captain.”
Henricksen nodded wordlessly, face a tight mask of pain, hand braced against the wall to keep himself upright.
The airlock chimed and flashed green, door sliding open.
Cargo bay on the other side—smaller space than the landing bay where Shriek came and went. A stationside hold accustomed to human travel, its spaces lit and heated, artificial gravity weighing everything down.
Henricksen raised his head as the airlock door opened, waved to Serengeti and Houseman beside her. “Inside,” he croaked, holding tight to Finlay. “Everybody out.”
Houseman stood there, looking from Henricksen to the rifle he still held like he didn’t know what he was supposed to do.
Serengeti pushed past him, trundling the RPD into the cargo bay, securing the sled and its load with magnetic docking clamps before shutting the ‘bot down and flipping to a camera. “Take Henricksen to the med bay.”
Finlay nodded, turning slowly, holding tight to Henricksen as she led him across the cargo bay. Houseman belatedly tried to help her, but Finlay just waved him away. “I’ve got him. He’s my captain, not yours.”
Serengati 2: Dark And Stars Page 32
