Serengati 2: Dark And Stars Page 13

  “Let’s go with the best-case scenario,” he said, cradling the tiny starship in his hands. “Let’s say we bust those AIs out of the Faraday Vault and somehow manage to get them into the ships stashed in the Pandoran Cloud.” He paused, head tilting. “I’m still in awe of that part, by the way. Whatever else you wanna say about her, Sechura’s one sneaky-ass little cookie, that’s for sure.”

  “Always was,” Serengeti said faintly.

  Henricksen opened his mouth and then closed it, folded his arms, assuming a thoughtful pose. “So we get the AIs from the prison, load them into a bunch of refurbed bodies, show up guns blazing with all your Valkyrie Sisters behind us and manage to win the Titans and Auroras over. Get every last one of them on our side.” He glanced at the window, eyebrow lifting. “Let’s get really crazy and assume one of those Bastion bastards sees an opportunity to seize power for himself and turns against his brothers. That’s the best scenario,” he said meaningfully.

  “And the more likely one nowhere near as good.”

  “Exactly.” Henricksen nodded. “Even if all that happens, we just end up pounding away at each other until one side wins. Might be us, might not. Either way, the Fleet ends up in tatters. That happens, it’ll take years to resurrect it.”

  “And in the meantime, there’s a power vacuum. Just the merchants, and the freighters, and the pirates. And whatever’s left of the Fleet to keep them all honest. We might get Brutus out of the way, but we’ll pave the way for the next Dark Star Revolution or some other up-jumped bunch of revolutionaries to come in and take charge of things.”

  “So we’re agreed. Sechura’s plan is crap.”

  “Not completely. The Vault part’s sound.”

  Henricksen blinked in surprise. “Really? Thought that was the craziest part of all.”

  “It is in some ways, but she’s right: we could use the AI reinforcements. As for the rest…” Serengeti paused, feeling an idea slowly forming. “There may be another way to go about this.”

  Henricksen’s eyebrows lifted. “I’m listening.”

  “What’s missing in all this?”

  Henricksen looked puzzled. “Not sure what you mean.”

  “Cerberus,” Serengeti said quietly. “I know. I know. I saw the vid. But something about all this doesn’t make sense. Why would Cerberus abandon the Fleet and give up all his responsibilities to the Meridian Alliance to just take off into deep space?”

  “Needed a vacation?”

  “Somehow I doubt it,” she said dryly. “Something’s gone wrong with Cerberus, Henricksen. The vid shows that clearly enough.”

  “And?” he prompted.

  “And I’d like to know what.”

  “Holy shit.” Henricksen straightened, arms unfolding, hands dropping to his sides. “You want us to go after Cerberus?”

  “Why not? We can’t go back to Blue Horizon. And I don’t dare try to get in touch with Atacama or one of the other Valkyries until the mess we left behind settles down. We’ve got some time to kill and nowhere in particular we need to be. Might as well look up Cerberus’s address and see if he’s in the mood for a little chat.”

  “Right,” Henricksen grunted. “Simple as that.”

  “Probably not,” Serengeti admitted. “But we know where to find him. The vid gives us coordinates. Sechura told me he’s just been hanging out there for the last decade, not even trying to hide. Just…floating. Existing.”

  “Taking up space.” Henricksen eyed the camera uncertainly. “You do remember how that ended up for the last ship full of people that came to talk?”

  “I do,” she said quietly. “But I don’t mean to make the same mistake they did.”

  “Seems to me just going there in the first place was the mistake.”

  “Going there unprepared,” Serengeti corrected. “Which we won’t be. Second mistake was announcing themselves. Letting Cerberus know there was a mouse in the house.”

  “No offense, Serengeti, but you’re a helluva a lot bigger than a mouse. And a good three times the size of the diplomatic ships the Meridian Alliance sent to hold court with the Citadel.”

  “True,” Serengeti said simply, and for a long time after, said nothing at all.

  That left Henricksen waiting, brows pulled downward, thoughts swirling in his eyes. “You’ve got something in mind.”

  “I do,” Serengeti admitted, smiling herself.

  “Spill it.” He moved closer, eyes locked on the camera.

  “Sechura says I’m invisible. Wiped from the central system. A ghost long forgotten. I’d say it’s high time we tested that theory. See just how much of a ghost I truly am.”

  Thirteen

  “Still not sure this is a good idea.” Henricksen looked up from his place at the Command Post, frowning worriedly at Serengeti’s camera. Just he and Serengeti on the bridge right now, the rest of the crew still settling in, divvying up assignments between them to make sure all the ship’s operations were covered. “We cut out of Blue Horizon before the DD3s finished patching those holes in your hull. We still got most of the little buggers on board, why not wait a couple days—?”

  “Don’t need to.”

  “Really.” Henricksen folded his arms, giving her camera a skeptical look. “Because you’re a rough, tough warship and what’s a few holes?”

  “No,” Serengeti said patiently. “Because Tig had the DD3s working all night and the repairs are just about done.”

  “Oh.” Henricksen blinked, cheeks coloring. Dropped his eyes and tapped at a panel, pulling up the video feeds from the outward facing cameras.

  Few DD3s out there, scuttling about her hull. Cleaning up, mostly. Grabbing spare parts and equipment before heading back inside.

  Henricksen watched them a while, touched at the panel, shutting the feed back down. “Busy little beavers, aren’t they?”

  “They are indeed. Not quite sure what I’m going to do with them, though. TSGs pretty much have ship’s maintenance covered so once the hull’s fixed…” She trailed off, letting that hang in the air. “Suppose I could reprogram them,” she said, sneaking another peek at the DD3s outside. “Shame to waste good help, after all.”

  Henricksen grunted non-commitally, checking his panel, the stars outside.

  “Might take a few of them with me once I find a way onto Cerberus.”

  Henricksen froze, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Onto Cerberus,” he repeated. “We’re going onto the Citadel now?”

  Probably should’ve mentioned that part sooner.

  “I need to talk to him so I can find out what’s going on,” Serengeti explained.

  “You mean, why he abandoned the Fleet and left the Meridian Alliance to rot?”

  “A bit blunt, but yes. Essentially. And since Cerberus doesn’t seem to like dealing with ships, I thought I’d present myself in person.”

  Henricksen tilted his head, looking increasingly skeptical of this plan of hers. “Pop in for tea and crumpets—that the idea?”

  “Something like that.”

  She kept her voice light, but Henricksen obviously wasn’t amused.

  “And how exactly do you plan to get onto the Citadel without him noticing?”

  “Not quite sure,” she admitted. “Use Cryo or something.”

  “Cryo,” Henricksen snorted, shaking his head. “You Valkyries are all cracked.”

  “We don’t have a shuttle—that’s the one thing Sechura couldn’t scrounge up, evidently—so it’s not like I’ve got a whole lot of other options.”

  “No,” Henricksen sighed. “I guess not.” He considered the camera a moment, sighed again and touched at the panel in front of him, opening ship-wide comms. “Command crew to the bridge. Sharpish, if you please.”

  He cut the line and waited—eyes on the windows, arms folded tight to his chest. Twisted, looking behind him when the bridge door opened just a minute or two later and Finlay appeared, cheerful smile plastered across her freckled, dimpled face.

  “Reporting
for duty, Captain.” Finlay flipped him a salute, smile never wavering, turned on her heel, and headed for the Artillery pod to her right.

  “Finlay!” Henricksen’s whip-crack voice stopped Finlay dead in her tracks. “You’re assigned to Scan, not Artillery.”

  Finlay pivoted—jaw set, eyes blazing. “But you said—”

  “I said I’d think about it, Finlay. And I have.” He drew a breath, face softening as Finlay’s shoulders slumped, the look of challenged replaced by puzzlement and hurt. “You’ll have your chance at Artillery, Finlay. I just need you on Scan right now.”

  Finlay threw a sullen look at Scan, obviously not happy. Heart set on running the big guns.

  “We’re heading into uncertain territory, Finlay.”

  Finlay glanced up at the camera as Serengeti calm, serene voice filled the bridge.

  “Scan’s our first line of defense. Artillery—”

  “Artillery’s for when things go wrong,” Henricksen said grimly.

  “Exactly.” Serengeti was quiet a moment, watching Finlay’s face, letting that sink in. “We need someone experienced sitting Scan, Finlay. Someone we can count on if things get dicey.”

  That was her—Finlay’d proven herself back at Hon-shen-shura, no one better qualified to sit Serengeti’s Scan station—but she obviously still had aspirations. Threw a last, longing look at the Artillery pod before nodding tightly and moving over to Scan.

  Henricksen looked up, nodding his thanks to Serengeti’s camera.

  The rest of the bridge crew trickled in soon after—new crew, for the most part, borrowed from Sechura to fill out the gaps in Serengeti’s ranks. Her crew now. Permanent crew, with Sechura lost.

  Bosch—blocky and blond-haired and built like a freight train—who lumbered onto her bridge, sketching a quick salute before heading toward the gimbaled Artillery pod jutting from the bridge’s curving right wall.

  Typical Artillery jock, that one. Serengeti had no idea why gunners always came so big when the Artillery pod itself was built so compact and tight.

  Finlay watched him enter, glaring from her place at Scan, flushed when she found Henricksen watching her, looking less than amused by her dirty looks. Ducked her head and pretended to be busy as Aoki appeared, saluting far more formally than Bosch. Offering Finlay a friendly nod as she slid into Engineering—the station right next to Scan.

  Serengeti studied her, and her records. She didn’t know Aoki, but the personnel file from Sechura showed a dutiful, diligent officer—nervous as hell at being promoted from third shift to first, but with all the right training. Some experience, if not as much as Serengeti would like.

  Big show, sitting the bridge with the captain in attendance. Aoki probably never even saw Qaisrani in the two years she served on Sechura and now her first assignment on Serengeti, she found herself running Engineering with Henricksen looking over her shoulder. Almost felt bad for her, especially when she sat down and entered her security code, fingers shaking so badly she flubbed the entry the first two tries and almost locked herself out.

  Luckily, she had Finlay looking out for her. Someone who knew the ropes and wasn’t too proud to help out.

  “Psst!” Finlay glanced over her shoulder, checking to see if Henricksen was watching. Leaned over to Engineering, whispering conspiratorially to Aoki. “Deep breath,” she told her, catching Aoki’s eyes. “It’s alright. Really.” Another glanced at the Command Post. “Captain’s not so bad once you get used to him.”

  “He’s—He’s not?” Aoki asked hopefully.

  “Huh-uh. More like a big, shouty teddy bear.” Finlay smiled encouragingly, nodding to Aoki’s panels, keeping one eye on her own. “Just log in and run the diagnostics.”

  Aoki looked at her, and at Engineering’s panels, chewing her lip worriedly.

  “You can do this,” Finlay told her. “You’ve done this a thousand times.”

  A last, encouraging nod from Finlay and Aoki sucked in a breath, flipping her dark braid over her shoulder. Cracked her knuckles—all of them at once, joints snapping like firecrackers—and reached for Engineering’s panels, activating systems, bringing everything to life.

  Data screens appeared, painting Aoki’s face in golden light. She leaned forward, teardrop eyes flicking across the panels in front of her, pouring through reams of information as her fingers cycled through one data window after another. Hesitant movements, at first, Aoki uncertain still, and then increasingly more sure of herself. Ran through the start-up routines like a pro, the diagnostics checks after. Closed that all down and pulled up the engine controls, freezing up tight when a prompt appeared, asking about tolerances and settings.

  Aoki’s confidence wilted, washed right out of her. She bit her lip, staring at the panel and its flashing, insistent prompt. Opened a text window and started tapping out questions, pausing between each one, throwing anxious glances at Scan as Finlay responded with answers.

  Good girl, Finlay. Way to step up and help the new crew out.

  Finlay got her through that first prompt, addressing a second round of questions after. Helping Aoki along until finally got the nerves out of her system and hit her stride. “There you go. You’ve got this.” She winked at Aoki and sent another message—a funny little picture that made the crewman laugh.

  “Something funny, Aoki?” Henricksen’s eyes lifted, staring at the back of Aoki’s head.

  “No, sir.” Aoki flushed guiltily, shoulders hunching. “Sorry, sir.” She twisted, nodding an apology to Henricksen behind her, faced around, throwing a desperate look at Scan.

  Finlay shrugged, smiling secretively. Sent Aoki a picture of a giant, scowling teddy bear stomping buildings flat.

  Aoki choked, trying not to laugh. Added an eyepatch to the bear, a sash and sword, and sent it back.

  Finlay giggled, snuck a look at Henricksen—who did not seem amused by the goings on at Scan and Engineering—and started to laugh harder.

  That’s when Samara arrived—Samara and Delacroix, the last two members of Serengeti’s new Command crew. Sechura crew, previously—second watch the both of them, and eager for any opportunity for advancement.

  Samara braced up hard, offering a crisp salute. A hawk-faced, fierce-looking woman with Indo-Persian features that put Serengeti in mind of Tsu’s Anoosheh. A harder, more angular version of that dead crewman’s lover. Skin the color of terra-cotta, dark hair buzzed tight to her skull.

  Strong woman, Samara—that came through instantly. She scanned the bridge, golden-brown eyes analyzing everything and everyone around her, sizing up the situation before she moved over to her station. Delacroix, on the hand…Delacroix just stood there staring, ebon-skinned face bathed in the soft light spilling from the ceiling. A handsome enough man with his long nose and full lips, but…empty-seeming. Vacant, somehow.

  Samara nudged him in the ribs, eyes flicking meaningfully to Henricksen. Nudged him again when Delacroix kept staring and kept nudging until he acknowledged her, lips pulling downward in a frown. A glance at Henricksen and he raised his hands, belatedly offering a salute. An oddly distracted gesture, considering the formality of that gesture. But then, pretty much every thing about Delacroix seemed distracted and uninterested.

  Serengeti zoomed in tight on the crewman, giving him the once over, looking him right in the eyes.

  Not good, she thought. Not good at all.

  She flashed a message to Henricksen’s panel, saw him glance at it frown. Spare a nod for Serengeti’s camera as he returned the crew’s salutes and waved them in, pointing that to their stations. “Settle in. We’re pulling out in ten.”

  “Aye, sir.” Samara pointed Delacroix toward Comms, giving him a shove to get him moving. Marched herself over to Navigation, glancing at Comms now and then. Watching Delacroix grabbed up the comms visor, examining it a moment before settling it over his smoothly shaven head.

  Systems came to life, bathing Delacroix’s dark face in multi-colored lights. He reached for the plugs and cables dangling
from the Comms station, jacked the network connectors into the ports at his wrist, and stiffened, going completely rigid. Dead eyes staring at nothing and everything at once.

  Something clicked—puzzle pieces falling into place. That vacant look, the distracted demeanor—suddenly it all made sense. She’d seen this before, after all. In not one but two of her previous Comms officers, in fact. Too much time in the system messed with the brain. Detached the mind from reality, making it difficult to tell the difference between the real world and the netherspace of Comms.

  “Henricksen.”

  “I see it.” Soft voice. Didn’t even look up. A shrug of his shoulders, finger tapping at a panel as he ran a few checks, closed the data windows down. “Not really much I can do about it right now.” He did look at her then. Flicked his eyes Delacroix’s way.

  Meaningful look, because—moonbeam or not—they needed Delacroix. Needed a qualified Comms officer. And right now, Delacroix was the only one they had on board.

  “Watch him,” she warned—a last, soft exchange between the two of them—and saw Henricksen nod. “Take us out, Captain,” she said, louder now, making sure all the crew heard.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Henricksen nodded to the camera, straightened and addressed the crew. “You heard her, Aoki. Time to blow this popsicle stand and go stargazing for a while.”

  Aoki paled, face blank, eyes wide and worried looking. Slightly terrified. “Popsicle, sir?”

  Henricksen bowed his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Kusikov would’ve gotten that one,” he muttered, sliding a look Serengeti’s way. A few stabs at the panel in front of him and he pulled up the video of Cerberus, snagged the coordinates from the metadata, and sent them over to Samara. “Plot a course to that location.” Another look at the camera, thoughts swirling in his eyes. “Indirect route.”

  “Indirect,” Samara repeated, frowning.

  “That’s what I said.”

  She hesitated, eyes flicking to the windows. Checked the coordinates he’d sent and pulled up the star charts, marking their current location and Cerberus’s a few hundred lights years away. Checked everything again, looking slightly baffled by the results.