Serengati 2: Dark And Stars Page 3

  Different engines than Serengeti had originally been fitted with. Colossal things. Gigantic compared to her old ones.

  Took her aback, seeing all that spiffy new machinery there, already installed. She’d expected upgrades—every maintenance cycle brought something new, and she’d missed out on several—but the engines, the fuel cells, the hallways…so much change, and all of it at once.

  Hard to absorb it all. Hard to come to terms with it when she’d had no say in any of it.

  Tig fidgeted, burbling softly as he pointed left, then right. “Fuel cells have twice the capacity of the old ones. Engines are more powerful. Supposed to be more efficient, too.”

  “Really?” Serengeti murmured.

  Tig nodded eagerly, warming up to the topic. “It’s a neat system, really.” He turned in a circle, waving at one end of the room and the other. “Fuel cells hold more energy, engines use less. You can run twice as long between maintenance cycles. Probably hop back and forth across the galaxy a dozen times and still have plenty of power left.” He paused, waiting expectantly, shuffling from side to side. “There’s a test cycle,” he offered, rolling close to the engines, pointing at a display. “In case you want to, you know…check them out?” He smiled hopefully, fidgeting again.

  “Alright.” Serengeti tapped into the propulsion system and ran through the diagnostic and operating checks. Scrolled through the operating specs to make sure she understood how the engines worked before firing them up, letting them run for a few seconds before shutting them back down. “Not bad.”

  Grudging admission, and honestly not fair. From a purely engineering perspective, the engines were downright impressive, but Serengeti hated them.

  They weren’t original. They weren’t hers.

  Get over it, Serengeti, Henricksen growled. Not the real Henricksen, obviously. Just a memory. A voice that came to her from time to time. Times change. Things move on. That includes you.

  If only it were that easy.

  Nothing’s ever easy, Henricksen said gently. But you survived fifty-three years of abandonment. I think you can handle a few technology upgrades.

  A touch and he retreated, leaving Serengeti standing there, staring at her new engines.

  “My old ones fit the space better.”

  That much was true. The monstrosities Blue Horizon fitted jutted halfway across Engineering.

  Tig wonked and sagged—the very picture of dejection. “I thought you’d like them,” he mumbled, scuffing a leg-end at the floor.

  Serengeti sighed, annoyed with herself. Henricksen was right. She had to stop pouting. “I do, Tig,” she said, touching at his brain. “It’s just…It’s been a long time since we sailed across the stars.”

  Tig blipped, thinking, burbled softly, and nodded his head. “We could maybe…take the new engines out for a test drive,” he suggested.

  “Tempting,” she said, smiling to herself. “But it’s probably best if we let the DD3s finish plugging the holes in my hull first.”

  Tig shrugged and nodded, face lights ticking in patterns.

  “Besides, we still need a crew. Ship’s not really a ship without crew, after all.”

  Tig brightened noticeably. “Crew, eh? Think I can help with that.” He winked and turned around, whistling sharply, electronic tones shrill and piercing in Engineering’s cavernous space.

  A panel popped open in the middle of the back wall, and a dozen arachnid-shaped robots poured out. Mounded up, tumbling all over each other as they raced across the room to where Tig and Serengeti waited.

  And behind them, following more slowly, came Tilli and Oona. Tilli unmistakable with that riveted seam creasing her rounded, TIG head. Pink bow painted across it, almost but not quite covering the scar up. Oona—tiny, little Oona—a TIG in miniature walking at her side. Painted figures romping across her carapace. A menagerie drawn in a rainbow of colors.

  An amazing creation, Oona. Tig and Tilli’s daughter, spawned in their loneliness to keep them company in the dark.

  An abomination, as far as the engineers were concerned. An AI born of two others’ minds. They’d destroy Oona in an instant if they discovered her origins. Kill her outright for daring to exist.

  That’s why Serengeti meant to keep her secret. Oona was crew—her crew—and the engineers with their priggish ways could just go to hell.

  She reached for Oona as the gaggle of robots surrounded her, pulled her and Tilli to her, touching Tig’s cheek to theirs. A spark of electricity passed between them, arcing from one chromed face and another. “Hello, Tilli,” she murmured, hugging her tight.

  Tilli borped and burbled, shy as ever, never much for words. Face flushing brightly—pleased and embarrassed at the same time.

  Oona giggled beside her, turning to show Serengeti the painting on her shoulder—a wise, old owl, jaunty, knit cap covering its round-eyed head—the mouse on her side, nibbling at a piece of cheese.

  “Hello, Oona,” Serengeti murmured, touching at her face. “How’s my little owl?”

  Oona peeped softly, tucking up her front legs. Bent them outward, flapping them like chicken wings, whispering “who-who-who” in her shrill, piping voice.

  Serengeti laughed softly, chucking Oona under the chin. “Who are your new friends?” she asked, nodding to the robots gathered around them.

  Tig cleared his throat, bowed low, and swept his front legs wide. “Your crew, madam.”

  “My crew,” she repeated, blinking in surprise.

  “Crew, crew, crew,” the robots whispered, the lot of them tittering and jittering, face lights flashing in excited patterns.

  “Who are they? What are they?” she asked curiously, because she’d never seen robots like these before. At first glance, they looked like TSDs—same size and basic configuration, arachnid-shaped like the TIGs but larger, and with just six legs—but a closer inspection revealed differences. Peculiar mannerisms. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on but that didn’t feel quite right.

  Bit too wriggly puppy happy to be TSDs.

  “What kind of model robot are these, Tig?”

  “TSGs.” Tig pointed to the number and letter combinations stenciled on the robots’ sides. “New kids on the block.” He accessed the network and tapped into the data stores, sorting through a series of downloaded files. “Started manufacturing them about twenty-five years ago,” he said, loading the TSGs’ records, scrolling through the design specs and configuration options available. “Engineers merged the TIG mindset with the TSD chassis and retired the both of them in favor of these little eager beavers.”

  The TSGs bobbed up and down, chattering away in their peculiar robot language. Beeps and blips augmented by the occasional word, a carnival of flashes and swirls of cobalt blue face lights.

  She considered the lot of them a moment before reaching for the nearest TSG. Touched at its face and laughed softly as the others crowded close. “They certainly seem like an…enthusiastic bunch.”

  Tig shrugged again. “Oona likes them. A lot better than the DD3s.”

  “Stupid old DB-3Bs,” Oona scowled.

  Tilli whistled shrilly, face lights flashing in rebuke.

  “Sorry.” Oona dropped her eyes and scuffed at the decking, muttering something about ‘grumpy-kins robots’ under her breath.

  Tig snickered. Yelped loudly when Tilli smacked him on the side.

  Apparently, there were some differences of opinion there when it came to child rearing and expected behavior. Serengeti wisely stayed out of it. She was a warship, after all. What did she know about raising a robot daughter?

  A TSG coughed politely, smiled, and waved to get Serengeti’s attention. In fact, all of them waved—legs moving in time, matching smiles stretching across every chromed face.

  Friendly, friendly, friendly. Every last one of them.

  There’s that wiggly puppy programming again.

  “Right, then. Tig says you’re crew, so let’s have a look.” Serengeti chose a TSG at random, tou
ching at the AI inside. Daisy-chained that touch to the others around it, caressing all their brilliant robot minds at once.

  The TSGs sighed and shivered, face lights blooming in bright spots of pleasure. One crept close, shoving between its cousins to get at her, touching its cheek to Tig’s.

  “You’ll have to excuse the new kids.” Tig smiled apologetically, waved his legs at the gaggle of robots to shoo them back. “Bit excitable, this bunch. Been wanting to meet you for weeks.” Another shooing gesture, the TSGs flat-out refusing to move. “Think it’s their first assignment,” he confided. “All worked up about it. Don’t think they’ve ever been bonded to a Valkyrie before.”

  “Valkyrie,” the robots whispered, voices joined in chorus. The lot of them went still, face lights flashing in choreographed patterns that rolled from one chromed head to another, making a circuit that repeated over and over again. And all the while staring—wide, rounds eyes fixed on Tig and Serengeti.

  Creeped her out a little, having all those eyes on her. “Tig. Why are they staring at us like that?”

  “Told you, they’re excited. They’ve been waiting for months to meet you.”

  “Okay. We’ve met. Now what?”

  “You need to receive them. You know, accept them as crew. Like you did with me and Tilli.”

  Which meant bonding them. Linking their AIs to hers. Serengeti pulled back, not quite ready for that.

  “Did you tell them what happened to my last crew? Not sure they’d want me if they knew about that.”

  Tilli hooted mournfully, pulling Oona close.

  “They’re yours already,” Tig told her. “Programmed to serve you, just like us.” He smiled sadly, touching at Tilli’s face. The cheese-eating mouse on Oona’s side. “But they need purpose, Serengeti.” He paused, fidgeting, leg-ends rattling against the deck plates. “The linking…” Another shrug—Tig’s de factor gesture when he wasn’t quite sure what to say. “Look,” he sighed, waving at the gaggle of waiting ‘bots. “You need crew and these guys need someone to look out for them. Tilli and I can do a lot—”

  “And I help!” Oona piped up.

  “—but we can’t run everything. Ship’s just too big for three ‘bots.”

  Serengeti considered, knowing he was right, hesitant still. Sighed and relented, touching at Tig’s cheek, opening a connection to her network. “Alright. Here goes.”

  A touch and the TSG’s brain opened to her, mind laid bare. She delved inside, mapping its pathways, tracing them back to the AI at their center. Froze there, staring in horror at the hole she found. A ragged-edged blank space that repeated in each and every TSG’s mind she touched.

  “No,” she breathed, pulling away, breaking the connection completely. “I can’t. They’ve been wiped.”

  Tilli blipped worriedly as Oona trilled anxiously and the TSGs all looked at each. Murmuring and shifting, face lights flashing in confusion.

  “Are you sure?” Tig asked her.

  “Positive.” Serengeti shunted the data to Tig’s brain, showing him the gaps she’d found, sharing that same information with Tilli. “This isn’t their first assignment, Tig. That blank spot marks a previous bonding. One that’s been severed completely.” She brushed at a TSG’s mind, running a second network mapping to be sure. Grimaced in disgust when the same result came back. “Someone cut out their AI linkages, Tig.” Serengeti sighed heavily, shaking her head. “And the kicker is, they rerouted their network connections so the robots themselves wouldn’t know.”

  “They weren’t exactly gentle about it either.” Tig toggled the mind mapping, examining the raggedy-edged blank space from every angle. “Butchers,” he muttered.

  “Boo-boo?” Oona blinked worriedly, barging onto Tig’s network to take a look. Scuttled over to a TSG and grabbed it by the head, pulling it down to her level. “You have a boo-boo?” she said, squinting as she peered into the robot’s cobalt eyes. “Boo-boo alright. Don’t worry. I fix-fix.” She patted the TSG’s cheek, humming softly to herself as she extruded a tiny connector, slotting it gently into the robot’s temple.

  “Careful, Oona,” Serengeti warned. “You don’t want to make it worse.”

  “Fix-fix,” Oona told her, humming away. “All good-good soon.”

  Serengeti eyed her doubtfully. “She breaks them, I’m blaming you, Tig.”

  “Of course.” Tig heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Everything’s always my fault.”

  “So, what’s with the word doubling?” she asked, ignoring the drama queen act.

  “No idea,” he shrugged. “Phase, I guess.”

  “Phase. Really.”

  Tig and Tilli nodded together.

  Serengeti shook Tig’s head, rolling him close to a TSG. “Any idea where these robots came from? Any chance we can figure out who used to carry their bond?”

  “Not really. Salvage, I guess. Like most of this stuff.” Tig waved at the engines, the stack of fuel cells filling one wall.

  “Salvage,” Serengeti repeated, eyeing the propulsion system, thinking of the sparkling corridors on Level 5. “Everything? Is it all salvage?”

  Tig blipped uncertainly, sharing a look with Tilli. “Well, some of the equipment’s probably new…”

  “And the rest of it? If it’s salvage, where did it come from? Who did it come from?”

  What ship died to rebuild me? How many ships died to fix my wrecked body?

  Tig beeped blankly. “Dunno,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Fix-fix!” Oona cried, waving her legs. She unplugged from the TSG, looking quite pleased with herself. “All robot friends fix-fix,” she announced, waving at the chattering gaggle of robots around her.

  “Really?” Serengeti smiled, humoring her. “Just like that.”

  “Uh-huh!” Oona nodded eagerly, patting a TSG on the head.

  “All of them?”

  “Yes, ma’am!” Oona clonked her leg-ends together, snapping off a sloppy salute. “Look-look!” She dragged a TSG over, shoving it in Tig’s face.

  Serengeti didn’t expect much—the bond scar was ugly, the hole a gaping void in the TSG’s mind—but she took a look anyway, thinking to make Oona happy.

  The hole remained, ragged-edged and angry, but the pathways around it looked different. Connections routed around that hole in the TSG’s brain to make the missing piece redundant.

  “What in the world?” Serengeti probed at the robot’s pathways, exploring every corner of its brain. “She fixed it. She actually fixed it.”

  “Are you sure?” Tig asked, taking a look himself.

  “Pretty sure,” she told him, double-checking the network mapping. She ran a complete brain analysis to validate her findings. Gave the other TSGs a once-over, confirming all their configurations were the same. “See here?” She touched at Tilli’s cheek to share the brain analysis between them, highlighting a dark spot surrounded by silvery threads. “That’s the linkage gap. It’s still there, but Oona compensated for it somehow. Built out new sections of network to make the damaged ones obsolete.”

  Imaginative solution—certainly not something the tech manuals described. Serengeti studied Oona’s smiling face, wondering where she’d come up with it. What made her even think of such a thing.

  “Fix-fix!” Oona turned in circles, flailing imaginary pom-poms.

  “Fix-fix!” the TSGs cheered, spinning in celebration, legs waving in time.

  “Does she do this kind of thing often?” Serengeti asked softly, watching Oona and her robot friends turn and turn about. “Build things? Fix things?”

  “She started to, back when…” Tig trailed off, waving vaguely, indicating the long, dark years behind them. “Oona…she—she’s—” He wonked in annoyance and tried again. “She doesn’t think linearly, or even multi-threaded like we do. She’s more like…all-threaded, I guess you’d call it. She just thinks of things and poof! A solution appears.”

  Tilli burbled and nodded, face lights flashing in agreement.

  “All-thread
ed,” Serengeti murmured. “Do you think she knows what she’s doing? How she fixes things?”

  “Not really sure,” Tig admitted. “Oona…she’s all instinct, if that makes any sense.” He slid his eyes to Tilli, looking for confirmation.

  Tilli blipped and borped, tapping a leg-end against her temple. Shrugged and shook her head, having nothing better to offer.

  “Instinct,” Serengeti repeated. “Well, that’s…interesting.”

  Terrifying was more like it—AI and instinct being diametrically opposed.

  Oona ceased her celebrations quite suddenly, turning a very attentive, very serious-looking face Serengeti’s way.

  The TSGs copied her, blinking owlishly as they gathered around Oona, face lights blinking in synchronized patterns. Watching Serengeti watching them as she tried to figure out what to do with them.

  “A ship needs crew,” Tig offered, sensing her thoughts.

  “Crew, crew, crew,” the TSGs murmured, cooing voices mixing with the engines’ electric hum.

  “We could use the help.” Tig wrapped a leg around Tilli, hugging her to his side.

  “And more friends,” Oona added in a surprisingly solemn voice.

  “Friends,” the TSGs breathed, nodding soberly.

  “We could all use more friends, couldn’t we?” Serengeti murmured, thinking of Henricksen and her missing crew. The aching emptiness in her halls.

  If you don’t claim them, someone else will, Henricksen’s chimed in, dog-piling on the rest. Probably some dirt-bag who’ll treat them like shit. Kick ‘em to the curb when a new model comes out.

  Serengeti smiled. Henricksen and his pithy wisdom. She’d missed that over the years.

  “Screw it,” she decided, reaching for them, linking all the TSGs together. A few tweaks to reconfigure their base settings she set her stamp on them. Felt the TSGs shiver, burbling happily as Serengeti’s bond slid into place. Filling that emptiness inside them.

  “You’re crew now,” she told them, touching at each robot’s mind. “My crew. Valkyrie crew. That makes you special, you understand?”