Crew stared back at him—worried, scared. Dropped their eyes and turned back to their stations, checking the data on their panels, watching the clock on the front windows—anything to pass the time.
Henricksen watched them a moment, slid his eyes back to the camera, voice dropping to a whisper only Serengeti could hear. “Galaxy’s going to shit, and we’re about to make a last stand. Last thing I wanna do is lie down there in the med bay while you and the crew kick Brutus’s ass. I belong here, Serengeti. Here,” he said, slapping his Captain’s Chair. “Not down there, acting like some goddamn invalid.”
“Not you, Henricksen. Never that,” she murmured.
A smile for the camera—wan and sickly, smartass as ever. “So what’s the play?” he asked her, nodding to the windows. “Shriek’s in there somewhere, I assume. Trying to find Sechura’s ships. Can we contact him? You got a channel we can reach him on?”
“Maybe.” Serengeti sent a message to Shriek’s encrypted comms channel, waited until it opened.
Lot of static on that channel. Garbled communication coming back.
“What now?” Shriek asked testily, voice fuzzing in and out.
Feedback squealed through the speakers, making everyone wince and cover their ears.
“Ugh. That’s horrible,” Henricksen complained. “Can’t you clean that up a little, Shriek?”
“Uh, hello?! Pandoran Cloud, remember? Not so friendly to systems. Not my fault comms is crap.”
A burst of static and Shriek’s voice faded out. Serengeti fiddled with the comms filters until she found him again.
“So how the hell am I supposed to find a bunch of powered-down ships in this soup anyway?” Shriek asked.
“Well, if I were Sechura, I’d probably park them on the dark side of one of those planets,” Serengeti reasoned. “Use the planetary mass to protect them from the star’s heat. Not to mention the solar radiation.”
Radiation that would’ve killed Shriek’s crew if Samara hadn’t come up with that fancy shielding modification. Score one for the girl at Navigation.
“Planets,” Shriek grumbled. “So much radiation in here I’ll be lucky I don’t run straight into one of the damned things. Sensors don’t work. Scans don’t work. I’m flying blind in here, Serengeti!”
“Blind.” Henricksen snorted. “Whaddaya mean, ‘blind’? Ya got windows right?”
“Yeah,” Shriek said carefully.
“Then have your crew do it the old-fashioned way.”
“Meaning?”
Henricksen sighed. “Eyeballs, Shriek. Have them use their eyeballs.”
“Well,” Shriek huffed. “If you want to be all primitive about it.”
More static—an ocean of it this time, flooding the channel, refusing to clear no matter what Serengeti did. “Sorry. Looks like we lost him.”
“Damn,” Henricksen muttered, staring out the windows. “Good luck, buddy,” he whispered, looking away, turning his eyes toward Serengeti’s camera. “How’s he supposed to deliver those AIs anyway? Assuming, of course, that he actually finds Sechura’s ships in that mess.”
“TSGs.”
Henricksen blinked blankly. “’Bots are handy little suckers, but I don’t see—”
“I loaded every last TSG I had into Shriek’s belly along with the crates containing the AIs. Once he locates the ships, he can drop them like carpet bombs. Let the robots carry the AIs to the vessels.”
“Carpet bombs.” Henricksen frowned, eyes flicking to the front windows. “Close to four hundred AIs in those crates. Last I checked, you only had fifty or so TSGs.”
“Math doesn’t work, does it? Sorry. Best I could do.”
“Fifty ships are better than no ships, I guess,” Henricksen sighed, wincing. Shifted carefully, trying to get more comfortable.
“Maybe you should—”
“I’m fine, goddammit.”
“You’re not fine,” Serengeti said quietly.
Henricksen stared a moment—chin set, face stubborn—sighed and flipped a hand. “Fifty isn’t four hundred, but it’s still better than us alone with only a couple hundred Valkyries to back us up.” A glance at the bridge crew and he dropped his voice. “We do have that many Valkyries, don’t we?”
She honestly didn’t know. Pointedly didn’t answer.
“Well, that’s reassuring,” Henricksen muttered, giving the camera a dark look.
The bridge went quiet after that—Henricksen watching the windows, Serengeti watching him. Crew watching everything, throwing anxious glances their captain’s way.
“Shriek may be able to retrieve some of the robots.” Serengeti tried to sound confident. More confident than she actually felt. “If he can pick them up, he can reseed them elsewhere. Maybe bring a few more AI-driven ships to our side.”
Henricksen grunted, frowning doubtfully. “And Atacama? Any word from her?”
“No,” she said softly. “Not since our last jump.”
“Try her again?” Henricksen suggested. “Different channel this time?”
“Worth a try, I guess.” She reached out to the stealth ships, asking for another favor. Bracing herself for the expected objections. “Swift. Need a secure channel to Atacama, if you please.”
“Aww, c’mon!” Swift grumbled. “Why do I gotta be messenger boy now?”
“Oh for god’s sake!” Henricksen smacked the panel in front of him, startling everyone on the bridge. Hurt himself in the process, apparently. Based on the way he hunched over, arm wrapped across his middle. “Why,” he asked, voice rasping, “is it always so goddamn hard to get a goddamn stealth ship to do a simple thing like opening a goddamn encrypted channel?” He braced one hand against a panel, straightening with an effort. “Open. The goddamn. Channel. Now, Swift.”
Swift didn’t say anything. Not a thing. He just opened the encrypted channel and sat there, cruising silently beside Serengeti.
“Thank you, Henricksen,” Serengeti said politely.
Henricksen nodded without looking, face a mask of pain.
“Atacama,” Serengeti called, leaving the channel open—waiting, listening, hoping for a response. “Sister,” she sent, when nothing came back.
Comms clicked. “We’re here,” Atacama’s answered, voice muffled and slightly fuzzy. Cutting in and out.
Radiation from the Cloud, messing with Serengeti comms. Something worse, maybe. Something on Atacama’s end, actively blocking her comms.
“He’s not here.” Desperation in Atacama’s voice now. The closest Serengeti had ever heard her come to panic. “We’re here, but there’s no sign of Brutus.”
Henricksen shared a worried look with the camera. “All that set up and now the Bastion’s a no-show? That can’t be good.”
“No,” Serengeti murmured, thinking quickly.
“You think that was him back at—”
Perimeter alarms starting screaming, messages popping up on Scan.
“Finlay!” Henricksen called.
“Sensors are picking up something.” Finlay leaned close to her panel, fingers flying as she parsed through the data, face bathed in multi-colored light. A pause, hands hovering in mid-air as she focused on something on her station. Rattled out a rapid-fire string of commands and threw a camera feed onto the front windows. “Jump signatures, sir. A lot of them,” she said, twisting around.
Henricksen swore softly. “Brutus?” he asked, looking up at the camera
“Maybe,” Serengeti said, examining the Scan data herself. “Can’t tell for sure. Atacama,” she called, sending a plea for help across the stars. “We need you.”
“We’re coming,” Atacama answered. “Hold tight, Sister. We’re coming to you.”
Atacama closed the channel, disappearing into the dark.
Thirty-Two
Henricksen shoved himself to his feet, gasped and swayed. Wrapped an arm across his middle as he braced himself against the panel in front of him. Stayed there a moment—head bowed, hand pressing at that recently seale
d wound, breathing in slow, shuddering breaths.
“Henricksen—”
“Fine, Serengeti. Told ya, I’m fine.” A last breath and he squared his shoulders, straightening up. Turned an ashen face toward the windows, watching the hyperspace buckles form outside. “Atacama?” he asked her, looking a question at the camera.
“Still three minutes out. Looks like we’re on our own for a while.”
“Great.” He shifted, wincing, spread his legs wide. “Finlay. How long’s Shriek been gone?”
Finlay checked the clock on the windows, consulted a few other data sources before making an educated guess. “Fifteen minutes, maybe?”
“Seventeen minutes, forty-two seconds,” Serengeti amended.
“What she said.” Finlay hooked a thumb at the camera.
“Seventeen minutes.” Henricksen pulled up the feeds from Scan, studying the Pandoran Cloud. “God damn stealth ships,” he muttered. “How long can it possibly take to find a few ships and stuff them full of AIs?”
Finlay chewed her lip, looking from her station to the clock on the windows and back again. “I don’t—I don’t really—”
“Rhetorical question.” Henricksen waved her to silence. “Wasn’t really expecting an answer.”
“Oh.” Finlay blushed, wiping a smear of blood from her panel.
“How many are out there?” he asked, nodding to the swirling spots of darkness showing through the windows.
Finlay consulted her panel, layering a few data feeds together. “Two dozen at least. Make that three dozen,” she amended as more jump signatures appeared.
Henricksen chewed his lip, eyes flicking to the camera. “Shimmer shield still active?”
“Been running it since we left Faraday.”
Debatable whether that was a good idea. Shriek was right about the drain on her systems. The fuel cells showed half-empty. Partly that was due to the skimming—not exactly an economical way to travel—mostly it was due to the sustained operation of the shimmer shield.
Damaged my engines and running out of juice. Doing a hell of a number on this new body they gave you, Serengeti.
“Should keep us hidden for a while. At least confuse their scans.”
Henricksen nodded, staring at the windows. “Makes you wonder why no one ever thought of modifying the thing before.”
“Maybe no one’s ever been as desperate as we are. There’s a phrase to that effect, isn’t there, Henricksen? Desperation is the motherload of invention? Something like that?”
“Something like that.” Henricksen smiled crookedly. Tilted his head, looking up at the camera. “So whaddaya think happened? You and Atacama seemed so sure Brutus would take the bait and go after that wreck.”
“Not sure he ever made it.”
“Faraday?”
“That’s what I’m thinking. Jammers must’ve failed. Let comms get through to Brutus.”
“Then he’ll know Homunculus reported into Faraday right before that distress signal popped off near Ranadene. Hell, Faraday probably passed him enough information to track us to that first jump point, too.”
“And from there to here, despite the skimming.”
Henricksen nodded slowly, thinking that over. “Good idea, by the way. The skimming.”
“Right. Brilliant,” Serengeti said bitterly. “Burned out our engines and they found us anyway.”
“Bought us some time,” Henricksen told her, gazing steadily at the camera. “Gave us a chance.”
“At what?” she almost asked, but Finlay interrupted.
“Sir.” Finlay turned, throwing a desperate look at the Command Post as a buckle resolved, video feed showing a ship in the distance, floating in the endless darkness. “They’re coming through,” she said in a hushed, scared voice.
Second ship appeared soon after. Two more after that. A handful became a dozen, then two dozen, flooding Serengeti’s sensors with ships’ information. Names and call signs cluttering up her display.
Scylla out there—Scylla and Charybdis, the monstrous sisters. Jotunn and Nephilim. Gogmagog who was the oldest of them. Rebuilt so many times it was a running joke about how long he could keep a chassis from getting destroyed.
Dreadnoughts, all of them. Every last one of those ships. They were the worst of them—Brutus’s most trusted bodyguards. Loyal to him first and everything else after.
Including the Citadel. And the Fleet they supposedly served. That was true even before Serengeti disappeared into the dark all those years ago. And from what she could tell, that loyalty to the Bastion had only grown stronger in the intervening years.
“Get me a count on those ships, Finlay. No more guessing,” Henricksen told her.
Finlay stared at her screen, scrolling through the information on the display. “Forty-two. Forty-eight. Fifty.” She frowned, looking from the panel in front of her to the windows at the front of the bridge as a last few buckles resolved, less than ten thousand kilometers away. “Fifty-three, sir. I count fifty-three total.” She scanned the data, the list of ships’ names and classes. “Looks like a mixed bag of Dreadnoughts and Titans. Mostly Dreadnoughts,” she said, shrugging apologetically. “And there’s Brutus, of course.”
Another shrug. As if Brutus bringing in the big guns was somehow her fault.
“Fifty-three. Goddamn,” Henricksen breathed, scrubbing his fingers through his hair. “Fifty-three again. Ain’t that a bitch?”
And just one of them, unless Serengeti could find some reinforcements.
“Atacama. Where are you?” she called.
“Two minutes out.”
Henricksen glanced at the windows, back to the camera. “That’s a long time to be hanging out here by ourselves. Any word from our lippy little buddy?”
“Not recently.” Serengeti reached out to the stealth ship, hoping he might answer. “Shriek. Shriek, where are you?”
Nothing from the Cloud. Just static and feedback, comms a wasteland of noise.
Henricksen sighed. “Well, so much for that idea.” He looked away again, studying the stars outside, eyes flicking to the bridge crew now and then. “Shut down all the active systems. That means no engines, and no weapons.” A glance at Artillery. “You got that, Bosch? You keep your hands away from those triggers.”
“Aye, sir.” Bosch started to climb out of the pod.
“I didn’t say abandon your post, Bosch. Just don’t shoot anything for now.”
Bosch looked at him, and at the Artillery pod, sighed, and wriggled back into his seat.
Henricksen flicked his eyes to Finlay. “Passive scans only,” he told her. “Shimmer shield modifications should make it hard for them to find us so long as we’re not moving. Or shooting,” he added, giving Bosch another look. “But we scan ‘em and they’ll lock onto our location right quick.”
“Aye, sir.” Finlay tapped at her panel, shutting down all the active scan feeds, making them as dark and quiet as possible. Caught Henricksen’s eyes and pointed to the front windows as a swirl appeared—the telltale sign of a buckle forming outside. “Looks like we’ve got more company.”
Henricksen leaned forward, studying the distortion. Watching others appear. “Ours, ya think?”
“Gotta be, right?” Finlay looked hopeful. “Atacama said she was coming.”
“Maybe.” Henricksen frowned at the windows, watching the buckles outside grow.
“Should I…?” Finlay nodded to her panel, the sensors she’d shut down.
“No. Leave ‘em. Even if that is Atacama out there, we’ve still got Brutus and his boys to deal with. Rather we didn’t—shit.” Henricksen swore as cobalt light flared, engines firing, Brutus moving his tiny fleet closer to where Serengeti hid. “They spot us somehow? You think they know we’re here?”
“Shouldn’t,” Serengeti told him, and then Finlay’s panels lit up, warnings erupting in blinking red flares. Serengeti herself shivering as hundreds of ship’s sensors washed over her body.
“They’re scanning us,”
Finlay warned. “Should we—?”
“Steady, Finlay.” Henricksen’s eyes flicked to Serengeti’s camera. “We in trouble?”
“Not yet. Broad-spectrum scans,” she explained. “They’re just sort of inventorying the entire area, not really targeting anything in particular. If we stay quiet, we should be—”
‘Fine,’ she started to say, and then those scans out there paused. Crept slowly across her shimmer shield, as if detecting the abnormality. Sensing her shape beneath.
“Sir?” Finlay twisted, eyes wide and worried.
“Steady,” he repeated. “Shimmer shield, remember? They can’t see us.”
Finlay glanced at the windows, lip caught between her teeth.
A last pass of those sensors and the scans moved on. Passed over Serengeti and shut off.
Something new appeared, then. Something ominous and somehow worse. A heavy, overriding presence that wrapped around Serengeti’s body. Probing insistently. Searching for a way in.
“Brutus,” Serengeti whispered, shivering at that touch. “He’s here, Henricksen. I can feel him.”
The Bastion’s consciousness crawled across her, studying Serengeti like some interesting bug. But a last touch and he retreated, leaving her scratching her head.
Comms clicked open—fleet-wide, addressing all the ships in the area—and the Bastion’s grating, metallic voice came through. “I know you’re out there, hiding like a rat. Not quite sure who you are, but I do know you’re out there.” Brutus laughed softly, an ugly, mocking sound that echoed around Serengeti’s bridge.
“Weapons charging!” Finlay warned. “Brutus is firing his main gun.”
“Hold!” Henricksen yelled, as Aoki reached for the thrusters, Bosch flipped his targeting visor down. “He’s shooting blind. Trying to scare us into showing ourselves. Keep the engines off line. The guns silent.”
Aoki dropped her hands from the panel, sharing an uncertain look with Finlay as she folded them in her lap. Bosch kept his targeting visor in place, hands gripping the joysticks of the Artillery pod, but the system remained offline. Serengeti’s guns silent.
A line of tumbling blue bars appeared ahead of them, shooting through space. Swept wide of Serengeti and slid gracefully past her, disappearing into the Pandoran Cloud.
Serengati 2: Dark And Stars Page 35
