Serengeti (30 page)

Oona nodded quickly and turned around, facing the wall. “Ta-da!” she exclaimed in a high, childish voice.

Stubby legs lifted, flailing at the air. Oona spun around, smiling widely, looking to Tig for the expected applause.

Tig coughed and pointed at the little device still clutched in her appendage hand.

“
Peep
!” Oona flushed brightly and whirled around, standing on tiptoe, stretching for the slot high above her.

But she couldn’t reach it, no matter how hard she tried. Oona was just too little—too tiny to do it on her own. So Tig stepped forward and lifted the little robot up, catching her eye as he extruded a fingerlike appendage. Another, and another. The count reached three and Oona shoved her leg forward, slotting the key into the wall to complete the circuit.

“Ta-da!”

They said it together—Tig and Oona both. And then they waited, smiling in anticipation as lights flickered—tiny pin lights racing along the walls to either side, chasing each other all the way to Engineering.
Quiet for a while, and then an ominous
crack
woke
Serengeti’s
micro-sensors. A
crack
followed by a short, sharp tremor and a long and rolling shudder.

Power surged along electronic pathways, a tidal wave of energy spewing outward in a chaotic rush. Mechanisms hidden inside the wall screeched to life,
thunks
and
rattles
and ratcheting
clanks
coming from deep inside
Serengeti’s
body, creeping toward
Cryo’s
door. Metal screeched and groaned, shaking the ship, a shrieking, pain-filled sound that stretched on and on. And just when it seemed like it would never end, the last of the docking clamps finally let go.

Magical sound, that. Long-awaited, long-anticipated, but beneath it was a crackling that
Serengeti
didn’t like at all. Not one bit. Sparks appeared, pouring from shredded wiring in the walls, showering the decking in short-lived light. Power faded, lights failed, leaving the hallway dim and quiet once more. Not just quiet, silent. Silent as the stars outside. Silent as a tomb.

No. Not a tomb. Not any longer.

“Free,”
Serengeti
smiled. “They’re almost free.”

Just one task left. One more thing that needed to be done, and this job fell to
Serengeti.

She slipped from Tig’s body and flitted along the electronic pathways in the corridor’s wall, searching for another circuit, one that was separate from all the others. One only she could touch.
Serengeti
reached for a last bit of power, sipping from her fast dwindling store to send out a pulse that whispered along long abandoned pathways.
Clicks
and
rattles
, a
hum
and
whir
as machinery woke and ran diagnostics, performing preparatory checks.

Back to the corridor then where Tig and Tilli waited with little Oona, the three of them standing together, looking worried and excited as the noise of electronics grew and grew and grew.

After three decades of waiting, lying dormant in
Serengeti’s
belly,
Cryo
finally came to life.

“
Beep
?” Oona asked, tilting her rounded head to look up at Tig. “
Beep
-
Beep
?”

“That’s right,”
Serengeti
said softly, touching at Oona’s face. “They’re free. It’s time for them to go home, and leave us in this place.”

The
whir
of
Cryo’s
machinery filled the corridor, its buzzing
rattle
shaking the deckplates, setting the robots’ metal carapaces to thrumming. A good sound, that, and welcome after so much silence. So much emptiness and loss. That sound meant life and
Serengeti
clutched it to her, memorizing the feel of it, the shape of it, savoring these last few moments with her crew before
Cryo
took them away.

The
hum
changed, taking on a sharp-edge, almost angry edge a half second before the engines kicked in—fierce, throaty, roaring as they ignited—and shoved hard at
Serengeti’s
body, pushing to break free. Eager to leave the womb and abandon the wreck of
Serengeti’s
for the brilliance of the stars. A kick as the engines ratcheted upward, sending shudders up and down
Serengeti’s
body, knocking panels loose, at that debris to trickles of flotsam and jetsam already floating in the air. And after that came a punch in the gut
Serengeti
half-expected. A sharp twisting like a knife in her guts as the more damaged of her last two fuel cells finally gave up the ghost. A chaotic rush of power flooded through her, the fuel cell voiding its load of energy as it died.

More shuddering after that, the trembling in
Serengeti’s
body growing increasingly violent. Tig took a quick step backward, and then a few more, grabbing at Tilli’s leg, scooping up Oona and cradling her against his chest as he retreated from
Cryo’s
door. More shaking and the trio of robots skipped away, moving all the way to the end of the hall. Best to be safe, after all, and watch the grand departure from a distant. No reason to fear being sucked out—not this time, not with all the atmosphere gone—but anything at all could happen when the lifeboat finally broke away.

Seconds ticked by with
Cryo’s
engines roaring like dragons, battering at
Serengeti’s
broken body, making the hallway flex and buck. Another push—harder this time—and
Cryo’s
door pulled away from the hallway, the black letters on its surface growing smaller and smaller as the lifeboat moved away

Serengeti
stared through Tig’s eyes, watching the starlight slither across
Cryo’s
silver-white surface. The egg transformed, becoming a small, bright moon taking its place within the cosmos, leaving
Serengeti’s
shredded remains behind. “Thank you,” she
breathed as
Cryo
left her. “Watch over my crew. Keep them safe for me.”

Warning messages flared to life, screaming for attention.
Serengeti
acknowledged them and then shoved them all aside. She knew she was in trouble. Didn’t need those flashing red errors to tell her that. One fuel cell let go earlier but a quick check showed the other was still limping along, sucking up energy from the solar panels outside to feed itself and keep doing its job.

Not much energy there, though. I’m burning through power faster than the fuel cell can collect it. I can’t stay
.
Serengeti
watched the power meter tick downward as creeping black veil fluttered in—a dark harbinger lurking at the edges of her consciousness.
No matter what I do, no matter how many times I sleep and wake, I can never stay
.

But she wasn’t ready to go just yet. So she brushed the next set of warnings aside, saying nothing to Tig or Tilli, to little Oona who wouldn’t understand.

Cryo
fired its
main engines, the backdraft from its propulsion system flaring white-hot as the Sun, bright as the start that bound
Serengeti
here in endless orbit. The robots reached for one another, huddling close together as the backwash from
Cryo’s
engines licked at
Serengeti’s
abused body, making her
juddered and shake, creak and groan. Yellow-white fire lit up the corridor, shimmering across chromed metal, painting the robot’s faces in silver and gold. Silver and gold, and blue behind it, chasing across the robots’ cheeks, swirling around their eyes.

A third kick—a brutal, bruising punch—and
Cryo
escaped completely, pulling away from
Serengeti
as it clawed its way into open space. And once free it reoriented, activating navigation to access the course
Serengeti
had programmed into its brain all those years ago. A last few adjustments, maneuvering jets fidgeting with the lifeboat’s trajectory, and when its aim was true,
Cryo
set off, taking Henricksen and poor dead Finlay out into the stars.

“Bye-bye!” Tig and Tilli called together. Oona waved her legs enthusiastically, adding her piping
trill
of a voice to theirs. “Bye-bye, little ship. Bye-bye,
Serengeti
crew.”

Serengeti
wanted to join them, wished she could share the robots’ excitement at seeing the lifeboat off, but her heart was conflicted—half of it filled with sorrow, the other radiating joy. So she left the adieus to Tig and his family and just watched silently as
Cryo
left them, bright sphere dwindling to a tiny, twinkling star as it moved out of her cameras’ range.

“Safe journey,” she
whispered, casting those words across the depths of space. “Remember me,” she added in her softest voice.

More warning messages—flashing red indicators calling urgently, stridently, refusing to be ignored this time. And with them came that dark curtain, creeping closer, reaching for
Serengeti
with clinging hands.

Serengeti
sighed.
Out of time. I’ve run out of time.

Tig coughed politely. “Umm…
Serengeti
?”

Worry in Tig voice, sensing the change in
Serengeti’s
mood as her mind touched at his. Tilli picked up on it too and
burbled
softly, clearly upset. But Oona—precious little Oona with her tiny hand-drawn mouse—just looked confused. Confused and a little sad, because everyone else was. That broke
Serengeti’s
heart.

“Come here, little mouse.” She turned Tig away from the empty doorway and pulled Oona close, reached for Tilli with Tig’s jointed metal leg and hugged her to his side.

She could feel them for a moment—all three of them at once, their collective consciousness filled to overflowing with warmth and light and life. Not life as biology defined it maybe, but AI life was every bit as pure and true as the frozen lives sleeping inside
Cryo
.

Serengeti
drew that feeling inside her, storing it away with all the other memories she’d gathered, all the wonders and horrors, the pain and laughter and every other thing that made her
Serengeti
and not just ship. And then she gently disengaged herself from the robots and quietly slipped away, moving to the camera high above the little robots so she could freeze an image of the three of them together and take it with her when she slipped into the dark.

An error message intruded, flashing angrily, refusing to be ignored.
Serengeti
sighed in irritation and shut it off. Shut them
all
off while she was at it because there no longer seemed to be a point. Nothing would be working soon anyway. Not even she. And those error messages were really,
really
annoying.

The soft sound of
peeping
drifted from below. Oona looked up at the camera, face lights swirling in complex patterns as she
trilled
an anxious question, sensing something was wrong. That life as she knew it was changing in a very fundamental way. She just didn’t know what it was. Tig and Tilli had suffered through this drill before, planned for this day for years and years and knew what must come next. But Oona…Oona was naïve and innocent, a stranger yet to sorrow, unlike Tig and Tilli who’d seen more than their fair share.

“I’m going to sleep again, little ones. And this time, I think, it will be for far longer than ever before.” Intuition made her speak so, though that wasn’t in her design specs either. Like love and dreaming and all the other things
Serengeti
picked up along the way. “I’m sorry.”
She
reached for Tig and Tilli, for Oona between them, brushing electric fingertips across their shining chrome faces, smiling to herself as they shivered and sighed. “I wish I could stay, but
…
” But staying wasn’t an option. Not right now anyway. “I have to go,” she repeated softly.

They argued, of course, asking her why and why and why, when would they see her again, what they should do while she was gone. But
Serengeti
had no answers to offer. She just
listened quietly to the chattering robots until their words eventually ran out.

Silence then—three robot faces looking up at the camera,
Serengeti
looking back down.

“You’re in charge now, Tig. You understand?
You
are ship while I’m away.
You
are
Serengeti
, and all that she once was.”
Serengeti
touched at his brain, noting the bits and pieces she’d modified, the code set she’d layered onto his default AI settings to integrate his mind with hers. “You
are ship now, Tig. Do you understand?”

Tig blinked slowly, cobalt eyes worried, confused, a tiny bit lost. He was the oldest of her companions, and the most loyal. The one
Serengeti
could always count on. Who was always there when she woke from the dark. She needed him now, more than ever before.

Tig stared at the camera for a long, long time. “Yes,” he said finally, voice the barest whisper. “Yes,
Serengeti
. I understand”

“Good boy, Tig,”
Serengeti
whispered, swelling with pride. She caressed his chromed face, imbuing that touch with all the fondness she felt inside. “
Crew
was my directive, Tig. And now crew is gone, their path uncertain.” She caught her breath, surprised by a sudden, stabbing twinge that burrowed into her gut. Her mind flashed on
Cryo
and the sleeping travelers inside it.

What sort of universe have I sent them into? Thirty-four years they’ve been frozen, sleeping in limbo while human civilization moves on
.

Long enough for the war that caused this whole predicament to be settled, and a new one sprung up in its place.
Serengeti
chewed on that, worrying.

Whatever’s out there, it has to be better than this
, she thought bitterly.
It has to be better than staying here, marooned for all eternity, trapped in the bowels of this ravaged hulk that used to be a starship
.

She hoped it was so. She truly did.

“My human crew is gone,”
Serengeti
said quietly, “and you, my clever little robots, have done all that I’ve asked. More than I could ever…” She trailed off again, searching for words. Something of comfort to leave behind while she slept. “I have no more orders for you. No more instructions save this: that you choose your own path, and make what life you can inside me.”

Tig started to object—desperately scared.

Serengeti shushed
him with a touch and told them the rest. “One thing and one thing only will I ask of you for me: that you listen in the depths of space, and wake me should the voice of Man drift near.”

Tig
blipped
in thought, eyes blinking rapidly. Oona
trilled
and whistled, low, sad sounds that broke
Serengeti’s
heart all over again, making her regret her need to leave them all the more.

No choice. No choice in the matter, Oona. In staying I’d doom us all.

“I’m sorry, little ones, but I cannot stay.”

She zoomed in close, memorizing the look of Tig and Tilli hugging one another, with Oona clutched between them. The way their face lights reflected off the frosted metal panels on the walls. The way they wrapped their leg ends around each other like school children holding hands, giving comfort and receiving it at the same time.
Serengeti
took that image and filed it away, placing it alongside the pictures of Finlay and Henricksen, of the icy darkness filled with stars—all those precious memories she stored in the deepest, most protected part of her. The core of her crystal matrix that was the closest thing an AI had to a soul. And then she slipped into Tig’s body to say her goodbyes. Her
last
goodbyes, she feared, though she couldn’t tell the robots that.