The Bastion’s shape bubbled—crimson layer encasing him, entombing him in a layer of gore.
That’s when the screaming started. Brutus’s screaming, filling every last channel.
Henricksen blanched, looking away. Winced and closed his eyes as the screams grew louder. The chemicals in the liquid laser chewing through Brutus’s hull plating, exposing girders and wiring, circuits and relays and network connections to the virus it carried.
Direct injection, straight into the Bastion’s systems. From the hull, the virus arced to his network, racing along pathways to Brutus’s crystal matrix brain.
Serengeti watched helplessly, viewing the horror from afar. Nothing anyone could do to stop it now. Nothing Brutus could do to save himself, and he knew it. That’s what all that screaming was about.
Aoki closed her eyes, plugging her ears with her fingers, rocking back and forth, whispering something over and over again. Finlay turned to Henricksen—face pale, eyes pleading, begging him to make it stop.
Henricksen coughed, grimacing. Touched at the panel beside him to dial back comms. “Pretty brutal.” His eyes lifted, staring steadily at Serengeti’s camera. “I mean, killing Brutus is one thing. Leaving him to die like that? Not right,” he said, head moving from side to side. “No one deserves to die like that, Serengeti. Not even a bastard like Brutus.”
He lifted his chin, looking at her. Wanting her to stop this. To make it all end.
“How?” she asked him. “How without my guns?”
Henricksen turned, looking at the windows. Staring across the stars at the Citadel’s shape.
“You ask him for mercy, but I don’t think he has it in him.”
Henricksen shrugged, staring. Reached for a panel and wrapped his fingers around it. Holding himself there. Face white as a sheet, looking like he might fall over at any minute.
“I’ll try,” she promised, reaching across the darkness, touching at the glittering cloud of Oona’s AI mind. “I need your help, Oona. I need you to talk to Cerberus for me. Tell him he needs to stop this.”
“But…Mr. Bluto…” Oona trailed off, sounding confused all over again. “Mr. Cerberberberus really doesn’t like Mr. Bluto,” she confided in a whisper. “I don’t think he’ll listen.”
“Try, Oona. Please. That’s all I’m asking.”
“Fine,” Oona sighed—a heavy, exasperated sound. “Fix-fix very confusing, Serengeti.” The channel blanked, going silent for several seconds. Leaving the bridge crew shifting uncomfortably while Brutus kept screaming away. A second click and Oona came back, piping voice providing an odd counterpoint to the Bastion’s sounds of anger and agony. “Yes-yes, Serengeti,” she reported.
“Fix-fix?” Serengeti asked her.
“Great,” Henricksen grumbled. “Now you’re talking like a two-year-old.”
“Fix-fix!” Oona said brightly.
“Fix-fix what?” Henricksen asked suspiciously. “Fix-fix how?”
Oona giggled. “Watch-watch. You’ll see. All fix-fix soon.”
Sensors lit up, picking up energy signatures all across Cerberus’s body.
Henricksen swung around, eyes wide with alarm. “What the hell is she playing at, Serengeti?”
“Weapons systems!” Finlay warned. “Cerberus is powering up his forward batteries.”
“Shit!” Henricksen slapped at a panel, opening Fleet-wide comms. “Scatter!” he shouted. “Citadel is firing!”
Ships hauled over, every vessel in the Citadel’s line of fire scrambling to get out of the way. Klaxons screamed up and down the ship, blaring warnings to the crew until Henricksen pounded them into silence, having enough chaos to deal with, not needing the added complication of alarms blaring in his ears.
Brutus’s screaming returned—louder now without the klaxons to mask it. And then laughter overlaid it—cold and wicked, more terrible than the Bastion’s shrieks.
“Oona says you don’t like my flowers.” Cerberus laughed again—low and throaty, grinding metallically from the speakers—cannons swiveling, targeting the Bastion’s melting shape. “Fine,” he rasped, laughter dying, dead voice filled with grains of sand. “Have this instead.”
“Pew-pew-pew!” Oona cried, dissolving into giggles.
Cerberus unloaded, cannons pounding at the Bastion’s failing body, tearing out chunks and whole sections. The screaming stopped at some point, right before Brutus’s body came completely apart, but his beacon kept broadcasting. AI still living, trapped inside the containment pod with that beacon as his Bastion body shredded, lumps of composite metal drifting aimlessly, coated in clinging strands of blood-red goo.
“Well, that’s one way to do it, I suppose.” Henricksen grimaced, coughing into his hand.
“Wrong fix-fix?” Oona asked sheepishly.
“Not wrong exactly.” Henricksen flicked his eyes to Serengeti’s camera, wiping blood from his lips. “Just…unexpected.”
Oona sighed heavily. “Fix-fix confusing,” she grumbled.
“Sir.” Finlay nodded to the display on the windows, highlighting a flashing emergency beacon marking the containment pod’s location.
“Bastard’s hard to kill, I’ll give him that.” Henricksen quirked an eyebrow, looking a question at the camera. “You think we should go get him?”
“Umm…” Finlay fidgeted, throwing glances at the windows. Flinched and looked away as Cerberus aimed a pulse cannon at Brutus’s containment pod and turned it into a tiny sun.
Serengeti stared in shocked silence as the Bastion’s beacon pulsed once and disappeared from her screens. “What did you do, Oona?” she whispered. “Cerberus…What have you done to him?”
“Fix-fix!” Oona said. “You say fix-fix and I fix-fix.”
“Fix-fix,” Serengeti said faintly, watching a cloud of debris float by. “That’s your idea of fix-fix.”
What have you done, Oona? What kind of Cerberus did you bring back to us?
Henricksen coughed below her. Coughed again and kept coughing, sucking in ragged breaths when he could. “Son-of-a…bitch,” he wheezed, swaying on his feet. Reached blindly for a panel, staring numbly at his bloodstained hand. Doubled over when another coughing fit hit him and started spitting up blood.
“Sir? Sir?!” Finlay shot from her station, racing across the bridge.
“I’m alright,” he gasped, right before he collapsed into Finlay’s arms.
Thirty-Five
Henricksen walked onto the bridge—stiff and hurting, wincing with every step, but decidedly better. Awake and alert, which he hadn’t been when Finlay and Bosch hauled his carcass down to the med bay two days ago.
Made him stay down there for good measure. Serengeti’s orders: Captain was not allowed on the bridge.
‘Course, that hadn’t stopped him from pestering her. Insisting he was fine when anyone could see he was just about two steps from death warmed over. Hardly fit for duty. Nowhere near ready to resume his place on her bridge.
And yet, here he was—shadow-eyed and pale. A battered, defiant figure in his black-on-black uniform, with its silver stars patch.
Better, she thought, watching him. But not well. Not yet.
“I told you to get some rest,” Serengeti scolded.
“Yeah, well.” Henricksen stepped up to his Command Post, grimacing as even that small movement pulled at the wound in his side. “Sick to death of just lying around down there doing nothing.”
“You got shot, Henricksen. A few days of rest—”
“I’ve been resting.” He folded his arms, staring accusingly at the camera. “You drugged me, remember? Didn’t really have much choice.”
“If I hadn’t, you’d have been back on the bridge inside of an hour.”
Henricksen kept staring, giving the camera a good glare. “No more drugs,” he told her, pointing a finger at the lens. Turned around and started stabbing at the panels, logging in. “Still got fifty-three years’ worth of cryo chemicals clearin’ outta my body. Last thing I need is more of that synth shit cl
oggin’ up my arteries.”
“No more drugs,” she promised. “Just…take it easy, alright. For a few days, at least.”
Henricksen glanced up, face frowning. “I’m not goin’ back to the med bay. Told you. Those DD3s are butchers.”
“We got some of the TSGs back. One of them could—”
“No. Med bay,” he said firmly.
“Fine,” Serengeti sighed, relenting. “But you keel over again—”
“Yeah-yeah.” Henricksen flipped a hand, checking the data on his panel. Glanced at the windows as a bright line of pulse cannon rounds shot away from the ship’s bow.
Most of the shots flew wide, but the last two found their target—a canister filled with compressed gas that exploded in dramatic fashion, disappearing in a blue-green flare.
“Aw, yeah,” Finlay cheered, Artillery pod pivoting. She flipped up the targeting visor, flashing a cheeky grin. “Who’s the baddest badass in the universe?”
Henricksen clapped slowly. “Not bad, Finlay. Sikuuku would be proud.”
Finlay’s smile faltered. “Bosch is a good teacher.”
“Girl’s a natural.” Bosch slapped her a high-five.
“Really.” Henricksen smiled crookedly, eyes flicking between Bosch and Finlay. “Well, you better be careful. She’s got her eyes on your seat, ya know.”
Bosch blanched, face crumbling. “But—But—”
“Don’t worry, big guy.” Finlay patted the gunner’s hand, loosened the Artillery seat’s straps, and wriggled out of the pod. “Big gun is fun and all,” she glanced at Henricksen, matching his lopsided smile, “but I think I’ll stick with Scan for now.”
“You sure?” Henricksen tilted his head, eyebrows lifting as Finlay shucked free of the pod. “Been badgerin’ me for days about the big guns, Finlay. Why the sudden change of heart?”
Finlay shrugged. “No particular reason.” A tug at her uniform, eyes flicking to Henricksen’s middle, quickly looking away. “Not saying I want Scan forever but, well… let’s just say I wouldn’t mind having your chair one day.” She looked at him, smile widening, cheeks dimpling beneath their freckles. “Not sure Artillery’s the best route there.”
“No,” Henricksen murmured—surprisingly pleased, incredibly proud. “Probably not.”
“Umm…Sir?”
Henricksen glanced at Comms, sighing when he found Houseman standing there. “You couldn’t find someone better?” he muttered, throwing a sidelong look at Serengeti.
The camera twitched left, made a circle, and twitched right.
Houseman might not be all that good—he pretty much skated the line on even being competent—but he was the best option they had for backfilling Delacroix at the moment. There being no one else on board that had any familiarity with comms.
Well, except Delacroix himself, of course, and she doubted they’d get him back.
Homunculus did a number on him. Serengeti wasn’t sure Delacroix’s brain would ever fully recover.
Henricksen bowed his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What is it, Houseman?”
“I think—I think there’s a transmission, but…” Houseman stabbed blindly at his station, trying to figure out how the system worked. Frowned and mashed a finger against the panel, kicked it, and swore when he bashed his big toe. “Damned thing.”
“Here.” Serengeti reached in and helped him, accepting the data package waiting in the queue. Opened it for Houseman and shunted the data to his Comms panel. “There you go. All set.”
“Thanks,” Houseman muttered, bending over the panel, lips moving as he read.
“Well?” Henricksen prompted.
“Oh. Right.” Houseman straightened, waving a hand. “Shriek’s asking for permission to enter the cargo bay. Says he’s got a ‘fare’ to drop off. Whatever that means.” Houseman blinked blankly, scratching at his head.
“Huh. That was quick.” Henricksen flicked his eyes to Serengeti’s camera, nodded to the bridge door behind him. “Meet me down there?”
“Race ya.”
Henricksen grimaced, rubbing at his side. “Not quite sure I’m up to racing yet, but I’ll amble you there.” He smiled ruefully, logging out of the Command Post, turned around and walked stiffly to the door. “You’re in charge, Finlay.”
“Got it!” Finlay called, flashing a thumbs up.
She waited until Henricksen exited, and then smiled wickedly, climbing back into the Artillery pod to blast some more targets with the big gun.
Serengeti left her to it, following Henricksen into the corridor, from there to the cargo bay on Level 4. Met him outside the main cargo bay—for once he used the elevator, ladders being a bit more than his injured side could handle at the moment—and watched Shriek ease his way inside, hovering above the deck plates before parking gracefully on the floor.
“Surprised he stuck around,” Henricksen grunted.
“Me too, to be honest.”
Most of the fleet had left a long time ago, detailed to one corner of the galaxy or another by Cerberus once he reinstated access to their weapons systems. Those that weren’t star worthy got sent to space dock—Blue Horizon or Barghest, Hadrian for the Dreadnoughts and Valkyries—leaving Serengeti pretty much alone out here. Her hyperspace drives too damaged for jump.
Made the DD3s happy—robots loved fixing things, and right now, Serengeti had plenty to keep them occupied. Those that weren’t working on the engines crawled around her hull, patching up holes, chattering up a storm as they went about their work
Handy, having them on board. She wondered if she could keep them.
Probably not. Property of Blue Horizon, after all.
She’d be ship-shape soon enough, anyway. Ready to rejoin the Fleet, and help Cerberus restore its name.
Not an easy job, that. Not after Brutus’s long years of neglect. But it was good having their admiral back—their real admiral, not that bastard Bastion pretender—even if Cerberus wasn’t quite the admiral they remembered.
Still a bit rough around the edges. A tad…hasty, sometimes, in his decisions.
Not that that was entirely a bad thing. For example, as his first order of business, Cerberus demoted the Bastions. That’s right, stripped them of their commands. Allocated all the Dreadnoughts, Titans, and Auroras under them to his six new Fleet commanders: Serengeti and Atacama, Marianas and Antigone, Kara-kum, and Hirsholm.
Six ships, all of them Valkyries. Every last one of them unflinchingly loyal to Citadel. Invested with full authority over the ships in their individual commands. Entrusted with access codes and privileges to ships’ networks, ensuring the Bastions stayed in line.
With the right levels of access, any ship could be taken down. And kept down. Permanently. Even something as large and powerful as a Bastion.
Couldn’t quite trust Brutus’s brethren—that’s the lesson Cerberus learned. Titans and Auroras—nothing at all to worry about there. The Dreadnoughts… some of them were trouble—Gogmagog in particular; Serengeti drew the short straw and ended up with that ugly piece of business in her command—but most of them fell in line. In fact, the only outliers in the entire shakeup of command thing were Shriek and his Ravens, the lines of authority for Black Ops being a bit…blurry within the Fleet..
As far as Serengeti could tell, they never really reported too much of anyone before all this nastiness went down. Except Cerberus, of course. And when Cerberus left the Fleet, that pretty much made them free agents.
Serengeti expected them to leave once Cerberus took over again and things settled down. Take off for parts unknown and spend the rest of their AI lives happily snooping into everyone’s business. But instead, they chose to stay. And attached themselves to her command, of all things.
Never saw that one coming. Not in a million years.
“You know, it’s a double-edged sword, having them around.” Henricksen nodded to Shriek’s form showing on the monitor, folded his arms and looked up at Serengeti’s camera. “Stealth ships are awful da
mn useful. But they’re also a humungous pain in the ass.”
“Tell me about it,” Serengeti snorted. The camera swiveled, pointing his way. “At least I’ve got you to help me keep them in line.”
Henricksen grunted, shaking his head. Turned back to the monitor as an opening appeared in Shriek’s hull and two multi-legged robots came tumbling out.
Tig and Tilli—front legs lifting, rubbing nervously together as they looked around.
Tilli jabbed Tig in the side, pointed to a camera and waved. Poked him again and kept poking until Tig waved, too—the two of them seeming quite happy to be home.
“Good to have those two back on board,” Henricksen admitted, watching the robots scuttle over to the airlock, cycle the mechanism and step inside. “No Oona?” he asked, looking a question at the camera.
“She’s staying with Cerberus.”
Henricksen quirked an eyebrow. “Her idea?”
“And his. Cerberus is quite taken with her.”
Wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that, to be honest. Especially since, not so long ago, he’d threatened to blast Serengeti into oblivion if she tried to take Oona away.
“And that thing with Brutus?” Henricksen tilted his head, eyes flicking to the monitor. “Are you sure…?”
“We had a talk. Oona made a few…adjustments to Cerberus’s morality routines. Decommissioned that liquid laser array while she was at it.”
“Thank god for that. I mean, it’s good having him back and all, but…” Henricksen trailed off, shrugging his shoulders.
“Yeah. I know what you mean.”
Couldn’t have everyone walking on eggshells worrying about pissing off Cerberus and going the way of Brutus. Sure-fire way to kill morale and split the Fleet up all over again.
“So,” Henricksen said casually. “Tig and Tilli.” He nodded to the airlock down the hall. “How are they taking this?”
“I told them they could stay with Oona, but…”
“But Cerberus isn’t their ship.” Henricksen nodded slowly. “They’ve been yours from the beginning. Mind sets linked to your AI for, what? Close to a hundred years?”
“One hundred and twenty-two. Not that I’m counting.”
Serengati 2: Dark And Stars Page 39
