Better to leave the station empty than staff it with someone who couldn’t cut it.
Should’ve pulled Delacroix. Should’ve known he couldn’t handle Homunculus.
Nothing to be done about it, though. Way too late to try to fix that.
“Jump signatures,” Finlay warned, highlighting a new stream of data on her panel, adding it to the display on the front windows.
Serengeti sighed, feeling harried from all directions. “That’s our cue. Shriek. We’re jumping.” Forty seconds left on the clock. Close enough. “We skim the first two hops, settle in on the third. Got it?”
“Right behind you, boss lady.”
“No objections?”
Surprising, honestly. Shriek objected to pretty much everything.
“Plenty,” he told her. “Starting with what I got sitting in my hold. Mind telling me what I’m supposed to do with them?”
“I’ll explain it to you once we get to the Cloud.”
“Hold up. What’s—?”
“Jump,” Serengeti ordered, sliding into the buckle.
The trough wrapped around her, carrying her along for a while before dumping her out of hyperspace again. Ten seconds of travel time according to the chron.
She reset the jump clock—just sixty seconds of cooldown this time—skimming to the next step when it reached zero.
Warnings appeared—messages from Engineering, letting her know the hyperspace engines had exceeded normal operating parameters.
“Engines are running hot,” Aoki noted as those same warnings flashed on her station. “Another hop like that and we’ll likely do some damage.”
“Two minutes,” Serengeti said to appease her. And because there was no use burning out the jump drives when they’d left the last hop clean—no jump signatures behind them, nothing to indicate they were still being followed. And she could use the extra time to contact Atacama. Give her the go-ahead to spring her trap.
A check of the time—thirty seconds down—and she added another sixty seconds, giving them a minute and half.
“Shriek. Open an encrypted channel to Atacama.”
“Contact her your own damn self,” Shriek sent back. “I’m tired of being your messenger boy.”
Serengeti sighed in annoyance.
“Stop being an asshole and do as the lady says, Shriek.”
Henricksen’s voice, thin and weak, filtering over the comms from the med bay.
Should’ve known he’d be listening in from down there.
“Henricksen! Buddy! Back from the dead again!”
“Channel, Shriek. And cut the crap.”
Shriek sighed mournfully. “Ya know. You used to have a sense of humor.”
“Yeah, well, you used to be funny. Open the damn channel. Give the lady a break.”
A minute. Just one minute left on the jump clock.
“Fine. You can have your damn channel.” Shriek closed the ship-to-ship channel, and opened a new one—encrypted this time, light flashing on Serengeti’s Comms panel to let her know it was ready.
“Thank you, Captain,” Serengeti said politely.
“Anytime.” Henricksen went quiet, but he kept the channel open—better believe Serengeti noticed that.
She smiled to herself and tapped into the encrypted channel, reaching for her Valkyrie Sister across the stars. “Atacama. Atacama, it’s Serengeti. It’s time, Sister.”
Silence at first, and then a distress beacon appeared, lighting up the channels, Homunculus’s voice screaming into the dark from the Ranadene asteroid field.
“It’s done,” Atacama told her. “Find our friends and come meet us.”
Atacama cut the channel as the jump clock hit zero.
“Last hop,” Serengeti said.
“Whoo-hoo,” Shriek cheered. “Pandoran Cloud, here we come!”
One more trip into hyperspace. One last hop before they kicked this all off.
Serengeti pulled in the feeds from all her externally facing cameras, focusing them on the stars. A burst from her thrusters and she dipped nose first into the buckle, disappearing into the trough.
Thirty-One
Serengeti dropped out of hyperspace a good fifty thousand kilometers from the outer edge of the Pandoran Cloud. Millions of kilometers from the Eddington hypergiant at its center, the three desolate planets orbiting around it.
Well clear of the Cloud’s solar storms and radiation, but the hyperspace drives started throwing errors anyway. Red lights flashing everywhere, warning of system degradations—engines damaged, on the verge of outright fairly.
Not the Cloud’s fault, of course. The Pandoran Cloud lurked, waiting, a toxic stew of electromagnetic radiation, but it was Serengeti that brought them here. Who pushed those engines so hard.
Jump system wasn’t designed for skimming. Engines held it together this long, despite the purposeful abuse, but those errors told Serengeti she better not even think about jumping again without making some repairs. Not unless she wanted to repeat that last disastrous tumble from hyperspace and end up abandoned again.
Didn’t want that. Most desperately didn’t want that, and yet she couldn’t stay here. Not with Atacama waiting.
A touch at her systems cleared the errors, silencing the audible warnings. Second touch ordered the DD3s to Engineering in the hopes they could somehow pull off a miracle. Patch up Serengeti’s engines enough to get her through one last jump.
Finlay fired up the scans, pulling in data from the broad-range sensors, parsing through it as she analyzed the section of space around them. Shriek and the other Ravens appeared thirty seconds on the dot after Serengeti’s arrival, popping the perimeter alarms, but after that, there was nothing. Just Serengeti and the stealth ships and the stars.
And the Eddington hypergiant, of course. Its three planets. The Pandoran Cloud. Other than that, though…
“All clear,” Finlay announced. “Scans are showing clean. No one on our tail.”
For now.
Ominous thought. Ominous feeling settling over Serengeti as she stared down the Pandoran Cloud.
She kept both to herself—crew was on edge as it was, didn’t need a freaked-out AI spooking them further—watching the data flow from the sensors. Dipping into Finlay’s Scan station now and then as Aoki hauled the ship around, pointing Serengeti toward the hypergiant and the Cloud.
Eddington was massive—an oversized red star dominating the center of Serengeti’s charts. A shape so huge, so luminous it showed clearly from here, over fifty thousand kilometers out. Bloated orb shining through the bridge’s windows, bathing the stations in blood-red light.
The Cloud showed, too, though not to the human eye. Not so Finlay or the other crew could see. Serengeti’s sensors picked up the radiation from the constant barrage of solar storms, displaying them as a noxious green mist swirling around the hypergiant at its center.
“It’s beautiful,” Finlay murmured, staring raptly at the crimson star. She raised a hand, watching the light spill between her fingers, pale cheeks painted a soft, rosy red.
“It’s deadly,” Serengeti told her. “And unstable. The life of a hypergiant is extremely short when compared to other stars. Eddington here will cease to exist in just half a million years.”
Finlay pulled a face. “Are you telling me I should feel sorry for it?”
Serengeti chuckled. “No, Finlay. I would never tell you to feel sorry for a star.”
Stars were free. Perfect. Pure in every sense of the word.
“So where are the ships?” Finlay tapped at her panel, cycling through the data from the sensors. “All this radiation. Can’t really see much of anything.”
“Exactly. That’s why Sechura chose this place.”
Tricky, Sister. Hiding your ships in plain sight.
“They’re out there, Finlay. Likely orbiting one of those planets.”
Serengeti threw the star chart on the front windows, zoomed in on the Eddington hypergiant, highlighting the three lifeless orbs
orbit around it. Neto. Amaterasu. Shamash. Three sunburnt planets, none of them capable of supporting life. None of them ever to see human colonization, because even terraforming could only do so much.
“So how come we can’t see them?” Finlay asked, cycling through the sensor data again. “How come I’m not picking anything up on Scan?”
“Radiation. See, the Cloud…it’s sort of like a fog,” Serengeti explained. “A sea of magnetic eruptions concealing everything inside it from AI sensors and scans. I daren’t go much closer,” not after Faraday, not after experiencing the effects of that electromagnetic shielding on the RPD, “and from here…well, something as small as a ship is far too tiny for cameras to pick out at this distance.” She ran through all the sensors again—still nothing out there, no sign of hyperspace engines, ships coming through—before flashing a message to Aoki. “Take us in a little, if you please.”
“Aye.” Aoki triggered main propulsion, moving Serengeti closer in.
Messages popped up everywhere, warning the ship to steer clear of the Pandoran Cloud and its radiation storms, flashing ‘minimum safe distance thirty thousand kilometers’ over and over again.
Serengeti acknowledged the messages and closed them all down, cruised in, and stopped exactly thirty thousand kilometers out.
She’d already overloaded her engines, no sense risking damage to her other, more delicate systems. Especially when she herself had no reason to enter the Pandoran Cloud.
That was Shriek’s job, reluctant as he was to do it.
“You’re up, big boy,” she sent to the stealth ship.
“And what if I don’t want to go?” Shriek asked her. “What if I tell you to stick it and deliver the damn AIs yourself?”
“I activate the combat programming in those TSDs you took on and let them wreak merry havoc on your insides,” Serengeti said sweetly. “Think they’d like that actually. Little ‘bots do love a good havocking.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
Shriek was quiet a moment, thinking the situation over. “Fine,” he huffed. “I’ll deliver your damn cargo. But you owe me, Sister. Big time.”
“So you keep reminding me,” Serengeti said sourly. “If this works out, you get to be a big damn hero. Savior of the Meridian Alliance, they’ll call you. Write speeches about how you single-handedly redeemed the Fleet’s honor with your daring-do.”
A pause, and then, “Will I get a medal?”
“Probably. Nice skull and crossbones for your hull. Something like that.”
“Sweet.” Shriek closed the channel and activated his engines, moving into the Pandoran Cloud.
Serengeti watched him until the radiation hid the stealth ship from her sensors, checked in on the other Ravens sitting cloaked and bored around her, ran another round of scans.
Nothing, nothing, and more nothing. No hyperspace signatures. No signs of any ships in the area besides herself and Shriek’s Ravens.
Quiet out there. Dark and empty. Serengeti was pretty sure it wouldn’t stay that way. Made far too much noise back there on Faraday. Skimming should help—make it that much harder for anyone to track them—but a ship her size…couldn’t hide forever. Pandoran Cloud was just a stopover. Each minute here excruciating. The more time she spent finding those ships, the less she had to get to Atacama before Brutus grew wise to their trap.
A check of the chron showed ten minutes elapsed. Ten minutes, just ten short minutes, but it already felt like ten minutes too long.
Serengeti contacted her Sister, knowing she’d worry. “Atacama. We’re here,” she sent.
Sub-space message. Valkyrie channel. Not quite as secure as the Ravens’ encrypted comms but private enough. She hoped.
No response to that first message—worrisome, but with the Cloud so close, it was possible the comms weren’t getting through. But a second message likewise went unanswered. A third—a plea this time, asking Atacama just to respond.
Nothing. Silence. A void of dead comms. Serengeti started to worry. Wonder if something had already gone wrong.
Dammit, Atacama. Where are you? What’s going on?
“Still can’t see anything,” Finlay muttered, pulling up the feeds from the hull cameras, poring over every one. “I get that whole fog thing, but how do we know the ships are even in there?”
“You don’t, Finlay.”
Henricksen’s voice. Henricksen himself standing in the bridge’s doorway—shadow-eyed and ashen-faced, hand pressed to his side.
“Some things you just gotta take on faith.”
Finlay twisted, staring at him like she was seeing a ghost. “Aye, sir,” she said faintly, and started to stand, hand lifting to salute.
“None of that, Finlay.” Henricksen waved her back down. “Too much going on to worry about pleasantries and saluting.”
“Yes, sir.” Finlay hesitated, spots of color blooming on her cheeks. “Good to have you here, sir.” She nodded to him and faced back around.
Henricksen shifted, grimacing. Leaned against the doorframe—pale as death, lips pressed in a thin line.
Death warmed over. Like he might keel over at any moment.
“You shouldn’t be here, Henricksen,” Serengeti scolded.
“Yeah, well.” Henricksen sucked in a breath, wincing as he straightened. “I ain’t dead yet. Figure that means I should be here.” Another breath as he pushed away from the doorframe. “Permission to come aboard?”
She considered refusing and ordering him back to the med bay. But she wanted him here. Felt incomplete without Henricksen manning the bridge. “Granted. But you topple over—”
“Yeah-yeah. I drop dead you can haul my carcass outta here. Until then, this is still my bridge.” Henricksen stuck out his chin, staring stubbornly at the camera. “And that,” he pointed across the bridge to the Command Post at the center, “is my chair. Says so right here.” A tap of his finger to the stars on his collar as Henricksen stepped away from the door and walked stiffly across the bridge, sinking into his Captain’s Chair with a sigh.
“You sure you’re alright?” Serengeti asked, watching him.
“Been better,” he admitted, flashing a crooked smile. A deep breath and he leaned forward, keying into the station, sorting through the information from the scans. “So what’s our status?” he asked, looking up at the camera.
“Sent Shriek into the Cloud with the payload. No word back from him yet.”
“And us?” Henricksen tilted his head, brow wrinkling in concern. “You took a few hits back at Faraday.”
“Minor damage. Hull plating mostly.” She hesitated, then told him the rest. “Jump drives overloaded. Skimmed our way here,” she explained. “They got a little hot.”
“I’ll bet,” Henricksen murmured, watching the camera.
“I’ve got the DD3s working on them, but we’re kind of…stuck here, until they get the hyperspace drives fixed.”
“Stuck here,” he repeated, and then grunted, shaking his head. “Well, ain’t that a bitch.” He turned his eyes, staring through the front windows at the Eddington hypergiant’s enormous red ball. “Well, well, well. Would you look at that?” He leaned forward, arm resting on the panel in front of him, pale face bathed in the star’s light.
Crimson light. Blood-red illumination. Serengeti flashed on an image of him lying on the surgical table, blood pooling around him, spilling onto the floor.
Not a memory she wanted. Not ever again.
She toggled the filters on the windows, toning down the red glow.
Henricksen glanced up, lips pursing, eyes flicking from the windows to Serengeti’s camera. Started to say something and then shook his head. Called out to Finlay instead. “Scan. Status.”
Finlay tapped at her panel, throwing a display on the front windows. “Scans show clean, sir.”
“For now, anyway.” Henricksen frowned, scanning the stars outside. “You contact Atacama?” he asked, looking up at the camera.
“Tried. No
answer.” She tried again, sending yet another sub-space message across the Valkyrie channel.
Still no answer. Comms as silent and empty as before.
Damn. Damn and damn and damn.
“Anything?” Henricksen asked hopefully.
“Nothing yet. You changed your uniform.”
Henricksen blinked, frowning at the sudden change in topic. Glanced down and plucked at his black-on-black jacket. Touched a finger to Serengeti’s dark and stars patch. “Hated that other one. God-awfullest looking thing. No offense, Bosch,” he said, nodding to the gunner.
Bosch shrugged his burly shoulders, just about all the movement he could make in the tight confines of the Artillery pod. “None taken. Not like I designed them or anything.”
Henricksen grunted, looking back to Serengeti’s camera. “Trashed the other one anyway,” he told her. “No choice but to change.” He shifted in his seat, grimaced and bowed his head. Sat there a while, taking deep breaths.
“You shouldn’t be here, Henricksen. Go back to the med bay. The DD3s—”
“Are a buncha butchers.” Henricksen straightened, wincing, staring defiantly at the camera. “Med programming ain’t worth shit. Damned things are all thumbs.”
Whatever that meant.
“I could tweak the programming.”
“And do what?” Henricksen sighed, leaning back, rubbing at his side. “’Bots pumped me full of stims and plas-blood and every other damn thing. Not really much more they can do. I’m no damned good to you down there, Serengeti. You know that.”
“You’ve got a hole in your belly, Henricksen.”
“And you lost three cannons and a whole section of your hull plating back at Faraday. I call that even.”
“Noticed that, did you?” Serengeti laughed softly. “Typical Henricksen. Too busy worrying about the ship to be worried about yourself.”
“I’m fine, Serengeti. Told you that.”
But he wasn’t fine. Nothing about Henricksen looked fine right now. Anyone could see that.
“You die on me and I’m going to be severely pissed.”
Henricksen rolled his eyes. “I’m not dyin’, Serengeti. Nobody’s dyin’,” he said, flicking his eyes across the bridge.
Serengati 2: Dark And Stars Page 34
