Bits and pieces of Serengeti’s innards floated around them, cluttering the room, constantly getting in Tig’s way. Cables floated freely, snaking as if alive, but what drew Serengeti’s eyes was the corpses scattered amongst those cables, and shoved up against walls. A flotsam and jetsam of burnt-out power cells and twisted components, empty shells and mounded piles of salvaged parts that used to be Serengeti’s robot crew.
Engineering was a graveyard. A place of broken robots and salvaged parts. The robot comms channel was silent because no one was talking. No one was out there to talk. They were all right here—every last one of them, every last TSD and TIG that had come through jump with her and not been blown out into space.
Tig and the others gathered up the robot dead and brought them here. And when the time came, the rest of them gathered here to die as well.
“Gone. All gone,” Serengeti whispered, voice filled with horror. “What happened, Tig? What happened to them all?”
She urged him forward, not even waiting for a response, rolling Tig around the room, taking in the stacks of bodies arranged in neat, orderly rows along the walls, others stuffed into storage spaces, still more scattered about the floor. Abandoned where they’d fallen, shoved to one side so they’d be out of the way. A few bodies floated freely, twisting amongst the cables, but most of them had been bundled together and dogged down, giving them some dignity in death. Some semblance of tranquility and peace.
Serengeti scanned Tig’s eyes across the carnage, heart heavy with sadness, mind filled with rage. Tig made a last loop around Engineering and then slowed to a halt, beeping softly, front legs tapping together as he waited for her to say something. To pass judgment on what had happened here, deep inside Engineering.
To be honest, Serengeti didn’t know what to say to him. Not for a long while. She just stared at a nearby robot—a TIG identical to her own little Tig.
This one still has its numbers, though.
Idle thought, ridiculous thing to mention but that’s the first thing she noticed as she looked down at Tig’s broken-down brother.
The robot’s carapace yawned wide open, revealing an empty space inside.
It’s shell. Nothing but a shell.
They’d plundered it for parts—Tig, the others, somewhere along the way they’d the TIG’s motors, disassembled the rest of his sides, harvesting wires and circuits, draining its power core, leaving it a cold, dead heart.
The thin cable they’d used to kill it still snaked from the robot’s chest. Serengeti reached for it, unplugging it using a pincer extruded from the end of Tig’s leg. She touched at the robot’s face then, traced the figures stenciled on its side.
TIG-206. The designation meant nothing to her. Nothing special, just another robot. Indistinguishable from any other in her crew.
But that means everything. They are my crew.
And it was her job to protect them, just as it was theirs to serve her.
In a rage, Serengeti left him, pulling away from Tig, flipping from one camera to another until she finally found one in Engineering that worked. And from its lofty height she stared downward, watching Tig fidget and shift.
“What have you done?” Serengeti thundered.
Anger, so much anger coursing through her, coloring her voice.
Tig froze, face a blank, cobalt eyes two brightly glowing circles in the rounded metal of his head. “Beep?” he asked, pointing at himself. A quick glance behind him, as if looking to see if someone was there. “Beep-beep?” he repeated.
“I told you to watch over them. I told you to keep them safe. What happened, Tig? How could you let this happen?”
Not fair to blame him, part of her knew that. After all, this—all this—was her fault as much as his. But he’d kept this from her. All those wakings, that guilty look on his face, that sneaking suspicion she’d had that Tig was keeping something from her.
I knew you were keeping secrets, Tig, but I never imagined…how could I ever have imagined you were hiding something as terrible as this?
“You cannibalized them. Stripped them down. Tore them apart.”
Tig beeped frantically, shaking his head.
“You killed them, Tig. And I want to know why. I want to know what happened that this, this was the only answer.”
Tig waved his legs wildly, beeps and borps spewing from his mouth in a panicked rush.
“Why?!”
Tig went silent, head drooping, body sagging to the floor. Serengeti waited, watching him from high above, and slowly, softly, Tig began to talk. To spin out a long tale that started when she drifted to sleep eight years ago and ended right here and now.
Seems things went south quickly after she left them, and Tig—being in charge— had been forced to improvise, modifying her designs again and again in order to build the power grid she’d envisioned. That grid was important—the key to everything—and without it, none of the rest of her plan would work. Tig knew it, the rest of the robots knew it as well. They’d been complicit in this most desperate of desperate plans—everyone agreed, all of them in it together.
Repair, refit, survive—those were her orders, and Tig and the others followed them as best they could, for as long as they could. But even with Serengeti sleeping—lost in limbo and the darkness of the dream—the power levels kept dropping. Leaking away little by little, until the robots feared they’d lose Serengeti forever. Because, the thing was, the robots themselves needed recharging—not often, just once in a while—and that coupled with Serengeti’s sipping draw put a severe strain on the fuel cells’ dwindling reserves.
That’s when they’d come up with their plan. A plan that changed everything, and ended up killing her crew. A plan that involved sacrifice, feeding the energy in the robots’ power units back into the fuel cells rather than tapping into its stores to charge themselves up.
In ones and twos the robots died, their insides pillaged, dismantled, salvaged for spare parts. But the rest of them kept going. Kept scurrying about, scrubbing burn marks from her starboard side, replacing panels where they were needed, stringing mile after mile of cable through Serengeti’s body to the fuel those precious power cells.
The hell of it was they’d succeeded, keeping her alive until they reached Tsu’s star. But it took all of them to get her here—the lives of every last robot save one to keep Serengeti’s power grid running for those eight long years. And now, having reached their destination, there was just her and Tig to see it. Just Serengeti and her last, loyal TIG to look upon her shining hull, and the makeshift engineering project that provided her with power.
Tig fell silent, his words all spent. Serengeti was silent too, her anger gone now, leaving her sad and empty, wracked with unexpected guilt.
She’d done this to him. She’d left Tig in charge. She’d changed his programming and put him in this impossible situation.
All this, Serengeti thought, casting her eyes around. All this to keep three measly fuel cells working until we reached this star.
It hardly seemed worth it when she looked on all those silent robot bodies. After all, three fuel cells would never be able to power all her systems, even when fully charged. And her hyperspace engines…forget it. Three fuel cells would never get them running again. Nothing would. Those engines were scrap, just like the rest of her.
But they weren’t meant for her, were they? Not for her, nor for the engines either. She depended on that energy to keep her consciousness alive, but the power they collected was meant for something far more important than Serengeti herself. And though she hated to admit it, hated the cost required, Serengeti knew deep down that Tig and the others had done right.
She turned the camera toward at the massive fuels cells arrayed against one wall. A quick check showed the reserves running just above critical, despite the snaking cables feeding energy inside.
Not much power yet. Which means we’ve only recently arrived. Tig must have woken me the minute we settled into orbit around the star.
“How did you decide?” she whispered, slipping from the camera to snuggle inside Tig’s head. “How did you choose who’d go first, and who’d sacrifice themselves each time after?”
Tig shrugged uncomfortably and raised his two front legs, smacking one end against the other—once, twice, thrice—and then extruding a set of shears.
Serengeti stared in disbelief. “Rock, paper, scissors. You’re kidding. Please tell me you’re kidding.”
Another shrug. Tig’s eyes drifted to TIG-206, staring at the broken down, dismantled body as he shook his head.
“Poor Tig,” she murmured. “My poor little Tig. Left in charge and now left all alone.”
“Beep.” Tig shuffled his feet, bright lights blooming in an uncomfortable blush. “Beep-beep.” He rattled his leg ends against the deck plates, hunkered down and shook his head.
Another mystery. More of Tig’s secrets. Secrets made Serengeti nervous. Made her feel like she was losing control. “What—?”
An error message flashed in warning, pulsing to get her attention. Serengeti acknowledged it and analyzed the data behind it.
Bad news. Energy levels in the power cells had dropped again, reaching critical levels.
It’s me, she realized. I’ve stayed too long.
Her consciousness drew too heavily on the fuel cells, even with all her other systems shut down. She’d have to remember that, and limit her time in the waking world from now on.
Another check of the fuel cells—she couldn’t help herself—showed the energy levels continued to fall.
Damn.
Serengeti sighed and pulled backward, focusing on Tig again. There was something there. Something important in that little shake of his head. But that power warning blinked incessantly, flashing red and red and red, refusing to be ignored.
Out of time, she thought. I’m out of time, so Tig’s secret will have to keep for now. Until my next waking at least.
“I must leave you for a while, Tig.”
Mournful hoots from the little robot. Sounds of distress that stabbed at her heart.
“Shhh,” she told him, touching at his brain. “None of that. I have much to tell you, but not much time. It’s long past when I should have rightly returned to sleep.”
A long, sad sigh as Tig dipped his head in acquiescence. A shiver passed through him as Serengeti touched at his brain, passing yet another schematic—a design plan that was far less complicated than what the robots had rigged up here, but would likely take much, much longer to build with Tig working all on his own.
It saddened her to think of that—to imagine Tig slaving away all alone. How long? Serengeti wondered. How much more time will I lose before the time for dreaming ends and the time for waking comes?
It didn’t matter. Not really. Not for her anyway. Time was infinite in the dream. Time passed quickly in the depths of sleep.
A soft touch as she passed a last bit of information, a fond caress of Tig’s rounded face before Serengeti flitted away, racing along the pathways of her body until she reached the dim confines of the bridge. There she disconnected her mind and returned to the darkness, and the dream.
NINETEEN
Something pushed at her. Pushed and pulled, poked and prodded, worrying at Serengeti as she counted, adding one number onto another until she reached fifteen.
Fifteen. Magic number. Fifteen came and after things changed.
Serengeti stared hard at the counter, waiting, not knowing if it would be the dream again on the other side of that number, or the darkness of reality.
The counter ticked over—sixteen, seventeen—and Serengeti surfaced, opened her eyes and looked down upon the cold confines of her silent bridge.
“Tig.” She called out to her companion without thinking, before she could even see him in the dark. “Are we there yet, Tig?” Serengeti started to ask, and then stopped herself, realizing that question no longer mattered.
Joy for a brief instant, a proud feeling of accomplishment at crossing all that empty space and reaching Tsu’s star. And then visions of Engineering intruded, killing her joy, filling Serengeti’s heart with sadness and regret.
“Tig,” she called again, searching the blackness below.
A soft answer came back to her—a spurt of robotic chatter accompanied by a glimmer of bluest-blue light. Tig’s head lifted, cobalt eyes gleaming. He greeted Serengeti with whispered words, and swirling patterns of shifting light.
Damn. Forgot to tell him to fix that. Serengeti called up her note about the translation routines, marked it as highest priority so this time she wouldn’t forget to pass the task on to Tig.
“Hello, Tig.” She tucked the note away and reached for the little robot, stroking at his checks with electric fingers. “How long—?”
Something moved beside him—a sibilant shifting in the shadows that stole Serengeti’s words away. Danger, her mind registered.
Instinct kicked in and she slipped in beside Tig’s brain, reaching for his controls without even thinking. She stopped herself at the last second, relaxing her grip on the little robot as a second set of eyes appeared—cobalt blue staring at her from a rounded metal face. Tig’s twin it seemed. But the last time she left him, Tig had been alone.
A flash of memory—Tig in Engineering, robot carcasses lying all around him. Whispered words of commiseration, Serengeti apologizing for all the pain and anger, sorrow and regret. And Tig…Tig blinking slowly, shaking his head. The denial confused her at the time, but now…
Not alone after all—that’s what that denial had meant. You cheeky little monkey, Tig.
“Who’s this?” Serengeti retreated to the camera, sparked a light above the two robots and zoomed in on Tig’s unexpected partner.
A TIG without doubt, and built to a similar design as her own little Tig. Similar, but not identical, that peaked her interest. A scar showed on the side of the newcomer’s head—a jagged weld secured with a line of rivets marking where repairs had been made. Someone—Tig, she assumed—had tried to cover the ugly mark over, painting a jaunty pink bow across the riveted seam in an attempt to hide the damage.
“Who’s your friend, Tig? Where’s she been hiding?”
She. Female. Had to be, because of that little pink bow.
Tig beeped and burbled without really giving an answer while the robot beside him fidgeted nervously, eyes cast downward, legs ends drumming rhythmically against the floor.
“Come now,” Serengeti chided in her most gentle, soothing voice. “No need to be shy.”
The pink-bowed TIG blipped once and hunkered down, curling up like a dead, metallic spider.
Tig hooted softly and touched at the little robot’s side, murmuring encouragingly. She lifted her head enough to look at him, even managed to work up the courage to sneak a glance at the camera, but just as quickly looked away. Tig poked at her a few more times, face lights flashing in complex patterns of communication even Serengeti had trouble following, until the little robot finally uncurled. She leaned close to Tig, reaching for one of his legs, wrapping her own leg around his and hugging it to her body as Tig draped a leg across her carapace, hugging her back.
Protective, that gesture. The way Tig looked at the other robot.
Well, well, well. Isn’t that interesting?
“It’s alright,” she called. “No need to be scared. I won’t bite, promise.”
The TIG didn’t seem so certain, but a little encouragement from Tig and she lifted her head a bit—just enough to offer a shy smile before ducking back down again.
Better than nothing, I guess.
“What’s your name?” Serengeti asked, trying to draw the pink-bowed robot out.
The TIG shrugged, directing an embarrassed burble at the deck plates. Tig leaned close and whispered something to her, but the TIG quickly shook her head. A touch at her chin, Tig’s metal leg pressing
insistently until she raised her head.
“What’s your name, little one?” Serengeti repeated.
The robot flushed brightly and brushed at the identification tag painted on the rusted metal of her side, a tag that was scratched and faded but mostly complete.
Mostly. Serengeti noticed she’d lost one of her letters along the way.
“TI -111. Don’t seem to remember being issued with that particular model of robot.”
The TIG beeped and craned her neck around, taking a look at her side. Another beep—this one startled sounding—and she wiped furiously at the empty space where the third letter of her designation should have been.
“Beep. Beep-beep,” she stuttered, eyes wide and panicky. “Beep-beep-beep—”
“Shhh. It’s alright,” Serengeti laughed. “You only lost one letter. Tig here lost all of his.”
The TIG froze, blinking uncertainly. “Beep?”
“Uh-huh. Every last one. Letters too. Show her Tig.”
Tig twisted his body around and pointed at the blank spot on his side. Not a letter or number in side, just some direct and smudges keeping company with the scratches and dents.
The TIG stared at Tig’s flank, front legs wringing worriedly but Tig just shrugged unconcernedly, acting like it was no big deal. A flash of communication, swirls of color passing back and forth between the two robots, and TI-111 opened a little storage bin in her side, fished around for a few seconds before pulling something out.
“Ah-ha!” she cried, holding a stubby grease pencil up.
She twisted around and applied the grease pencil to the blank space on her side, sketching an oversized G in swift, sure strokes. A quick check of her penmanship, thickening the flat bar of that single letter, its rounded, leftward facing curve and she turned side-on to the camera, looking extremely proud of herself.
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