Serengeti

by J. B. Rockwell

  “Oona,” she said carefully, flushing spreading across her cheeks. “Oona.” A second time, enunciating both syllables, drawing that name out, as if afraid Serengeti wouldn’t understand.

  “Oona,” Serengeti repeated.

  Oona nodded quickly, clapping her legs ends together.

  And just where did they come up with that? she wondered, looking at Tig and Tilli.

  “Such pretty name. A pretty name, for a pretty little girl.”

  Oona burbled softly, turning shy and coy of a sudden, face lights flaring and fading, painting her chromed face in cobalt light.

  Serengeti slipped from her camera and into Tig’s mind, leaned him close to Tilli, pressing his cheek to hers. And through them she reached for Oona, touching at her AI child’s mind, exploring her pathways, mapping the structures that gave it life.

  Perfect. Perfect through and through, inside and out. A mind built on a salvaged crystal matrix vessel Tig had wiped clean and reloaded, augmenting its base programming with bits and pieces of his own code set, a few customizations donated by Tilli.

  “Hello, Oona.” Serengeti stroked electric fingers across Oona’s mind.

  Oona shivered, cooing softly at Serengeti’s touch.

  “She’s beautiful, Tig. But I’m guessing she’s not the reason you woke me, is she? Not the only reason at least.”

  “No,” Tig admitted with a sly, secretive smile. He looked at the camera, and the bridge door behind him, hinting that it was time to go.

  Time. It always came back to that.

  Serengeti stopped Tig as he turned to leave, wanting to know how much time she’d lost. Not knowing why it was important, just that she wanted, needed to know. “How long, Tig? How long have I been gone this time?”

  The Chron claimed five years, give or take, but she wasn’t quite sure she could trust the Chron. Five years meant thirty-one in total since Serengeti tumbled from jump into this empty, quiet section of space and found herself alone.

  Five years. Serengeti didn’t want that answer. So she looked to Tig, hoping Chron was wrong.

  Chron was wrong, as it turned out, but Tig’s answer—despite the smile, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes—wasn’t even worse. He leaned to one side and raised his legs, waving five of his eight metal appendages at the camera.

  “Eight. Eight years. Damn. Has it really been that long?”

  Tig and Tilli nodded together.

  Oona looked up them and started nodding right along. Another game. Just another game for her.

  “Is it done then?” Serengeti asked. Because five years should be long enough—plenty of time to complete the last of the chores she’d set them to. “Is done, Tig?”

  Tig paused for dramatic effect and then nodded just once, smile stretching all the way across his face. “Done and done and done,” he said. “So done it couldn’t be more done.”

  “Show me,” Serengeti said, dropping inside him, turning the robot around. “Show me, Tig. Go!”

  Tig gathered up his little family and slipped out into the hall, navigating the maze of shattered corridors, hitting the ladderway and climbing down and down and down.

  Almost there, Serengeti thought, staring through Tig’s eyes as he stepped off on Level 4 and ducked around a corner. After all these years, it’s almost done.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Tig skipped the tour this time and headed straight to Engineering. Except, he didn’t stop there either. Tig slowed as they approached the door that led into Engineering’s cavernous space, and seemed to consider it, and then rolled right by, shaking his head at Tilli when she flashed a question, rudely cutting her off.

  Not like him. Not like Tig at all.

  “Tig? Is there something you need to tell me?” Serengeti asked. “Tig,” she repeated when the robot kept going.

  Tig rolled to a stop, front legs lifting, clattering noisily together. A glance behind him and he shook his head, faced back around and sped off, leaving Tilli and little Oona behind.

  Serengeti flipped to the camera in his thorax and saw Tilli staring after them, face lights flaring, pulling downward in frown. Oona reached up and wrapped her leg end around her mother’s, blipping softly, asking what was wrong. A quick smile for Oona and a surreptitious glance toward Engineering before Tilli too moved on, Oona trundling along at her side, holding tightly to her leg.

  That looked told Serengeti everything she needed to know. “Tig. Stop.”

  Tig buzzed along, pretending he hadn’t heard.

  “Stop,” Serengeti ordered, and when he still kept going, she reached inside the little robot and stopped him herself. “Engineering. Now, Tig.”

  She let go and he just sat there, staring straight ahead, clearly wanting to move, knowing Serengeti would just take control and make him go to Engineering if he refused to go there of his own volition. A heavy sigh and Tig spun around, retracing his steps. He glanced at Tilli as he rolled by, sharing a look of worry that prompted another question from Oona—a piping trill, wanting to know what was going on.

  Tilli just sighed and squeezed Oona’s leg as she turned and followed after Tig.

  Into Engineering then with its jumbled collection of broken robots, silent engines squatting on side, burnt-out wall of power cells looming large at the other. Tig turned left when he rolled into Engineering, picking his way through the scrapped robots and cables, pushing floating debris out of his way. He stopped when he could go no further and stared forlornly at the bank of massive power cells.

  Bad news—had to be, always was with the power cells.

  “What now?” Serengeti sighed. “What’s happened to the power cells while I’ve been gone?”

  Tig started to answer and then stuttered to a halt. He tried again, but only managed to blurt out the fact that he was sorry before stumbling all over himself and giving up. His head drooped, legs sagging as he collapsed to the floor, curling up like a dead spider taking its place in Engineering’s graveyard.

  “Tig. Tell me. Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”

  Except it could be. Everything around here was bad, but she tried not to let her worry show.

  “Seems I was a bit…optimistic about those last two power cells,” Tig said, staring fixedly at the floor. “Tried repairing that one,” one leg lifted, pointing at the lesser damaged of the pair, “but…well, it’s better, but still a bit…broken.”

  “How bad?” Serengeti asked quietly.

  “Still leaking. Slowly, but…” A shrug of metal legs. “It charges, but it never quite gets full.”

  “And the other one?”

  “The other one.” Tig glanced at the damaged cell’s partner, heaved a heavy sigh. “Tried fixing that one too, but I—I…I think I made it worse,” he admitted, face flushing. “’Course time’s partly to blame too—damaged parts don’t like being used when they’re not feeling well—but it’s much worse than the last time you saw it. Sorry, Serengeti. I—I’m sorry,” he said, hanging his head.

  Serengeti was quiet a while, staring at the two fuel cells through Tig’s eyes. “Not your fault. You tried, Tig, that’s all I can ask. And it’s not really surprising. Eight years…it’s a long time to expect a damaged fuel cell to keep running.” Especially when it only had one other to shore it up. And that one sickly too, if slightly less so. “Bottom line: how bad off are we?”

  Tig hemmed and hawed, shuffling his feet, stalling for time. Serengeti waited, letting him fiddle and fidget, and eventually he cracked. Just like all those candidates Henricksen beat out for her captain’s chair.

  “Hard to say really. I think we’ve got enough juice to pop the last docking clamp free. Poor bugger will likely blow the minute it’s done.” Tig patted the heavily damaged fuel cell apologetically. “’Course it’s probably not gonna last much longer anyway. One way or another, that power cell over there will be kaput before long. Might as well send it off with a bang.”

  “And the other? Same thing?”

  A shrug this time. A shrug
and a nod, a shake of Tig’s head. “Not sure, honestly. It’s in better shape but it might not survive the process either.”

  Serengeti almost laughed. It was all so ridiculous, all so unfair. “Doesn’t matter,” she said quietly. A touch at Tig’s brain, gentle as gentle can be. A whispered word to chase the shadows from his heart. “It doesn’t matter, Tig. And even if it did, it’s hardly your fault.”

  “Beep?” he asked hopefully, legs uncurling, head lifting the tiniest fraction. “Beep-beep?”

  Nervous sounds, vocalizations the translation routines couldn’t parse because they didn’t really have any meaning. But Serengeti understood. She didn’t need the translation routines this time.

  “Yes. Beep-beep,” she smiled. “We just need to break Cryo free. After that…well, what happens after that doesn’t really matter, does it?”

  “No,” Tig agreed in his softest, saddest voice. His eyes drifted to Tilli and Oona beside her. Tilli stared back, hugging Oona close. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

  Silence, complete silence, stretching on and on and on. Tilli rolled close, touching Tig’s leg with hers, gripping it tightly as she led him from Engineering, and on to Cryo, with Oona following obediently behind. More silence outside, none of them really in the mood to talk, especially with Tig moping so pathetically. But he perked up after a bit and that lightened everyone’s mood. A squeeze of Tilli’s leg before he released her, moving ahead, clambering in and out of maintenance shafts, wending through Serengeti’s shattered innards.

  “You were wrong, you know,” Serengeti said casually as they navigated a ladder.

  Tig blipped in confusion, and froze, mind suddenly gone blank.

  “Seventeen years. Isn’t that what you said? Seventeen years from the time you broke that first clamp free to pry the rest of them off?”

  “Umm…yeah.” Tig nodded uncertainly and got going again, moving from rung to rung, eyes lifting now and then to make sure Tilli and Oona kept up.

  “And how long has it been, Tig?”

  Another blank moment. Light filled the ladderway, Tig’s face lights flaring brightly, flicking on and off as he ran the numbers and added the results up. “Ahem. Yes. Close enough.”

  Tig hit the bottom of the ladderway and zipped out into the corridor, all business now, but Serengeti kept dogging him, unwilling to let this go.

  “What’s that? Didn’t quite hear you. What was the count?”

  “Not really important,” he said, rolling along.

  Serengeti reached inside him and brought Tig to a screeching halt.

  “Fine. Twenty years. You happy?” He huffed loudly, legs flaring wildly until Serengeti let him move on.

  “Bit off, weren’t you? Think your noggin might need some maintenance,” she said, tapping at his brain.

  Tilli laughed behind them and Oona instantly got the giggles, laughing because Tilli was laughing. Laughing even harder, grabbing at her little round belly, when Serengeti joined in, and Tig after. That’s how they came to Cryo—laughing, not crying, not trundling in silence like the sad little robots that left Engineering. And that’s how Serengeti wanted it, if this was truly to be the end. That their last memories be joyous ones before they slipped into the dark.

  Tig rolled to a halt, Tilli and Oona fetching up behind him. Cryo’s door loomed before them, blocky black letters staring boldly out at the hall. They’d purposely left this clamp for last, so when Cryo broke free, they could watch it move away. From right here, outside its sealed doorway. Front row seats to the lifeboat’s departure. No fear of getting sucked out this time—not like that aborted attempt at launch when there was still atmosphere inside Serengeti’s body. They’d been forced to hide then, and protect themselves from the rush of venting air, but this time they could stand right here and watch together as the lifeboat set sail and disappeared into the stars.

  But before it did, Serengeti wanted to say her goodbyes.

  “Wait here,” she said, pulling away from Tig, flicking to the camera above.

  A couple of hops and she was inside, gazing downward through the darkness, searching for Cryo’s passengers. Her eyes went to Henricksen first, staring at his tube, making sure it still worked. She panned the camera after, looking at all the cryogenic chambers, counting slowly, checking all the others. The last of them was Finlay’s, a chamber that one was dark and dark and dark—a hole where life used to be.

  “Finlay.” Sorrow washed over her, memories red hair and freckles, a bright white smile, a lilting voice raised in song flashed through her AI brain. “Goodbye, Finlay. I’m sorry,” Serengeti said one last time, and then turned the camera away. “Thirty-nine,” she murmured, casting her electronic eye across Cryo’s insides. Thirty-nine meant one more tube failed, one more life lost. Thirty-nine yet living. Thirty-nine survivors waiting to be sent off into the stars. “Safe voyage,” she wished them, looking from tube to tube. She skipped over Finlay’s, not wanting to see it, and settled on Henricksen’s pod.

  I wish I could see him, she thought. I wish I could see his face.

  She wasn’t sure why—she had that image of him standing in Cryo’s doorway to remember him by—she just did.

  “Goodbye, Henricksen. ’Til the stars fail and the moons turn to dust, and all of our wanderings come to an end.” Ancient words, passed in parting between captains and their crew. Words of protection meant to speed Henricksen home. “Safe travels, Captain,” Serengeti whispered, and then left him, fleeing Cryo’s interior for the safety of Tig’s metal body. And there she sat for a long, long time, while Tig waited for permission to kick the show off, and set Cryo on the final leg of its journey.

  I’ve waited so long for this, but now that the time has come to set Henricksen and the others free, I don’t want to let them go. I don’t want to be left here alone.

  Not alone, Serengeti. You’ll never be alone, Henricksen’s voice said. Henricksen as she remembered him from that last fateful day: voice pitched low as he stood at Finlay’s shoulder, offering fatherly advice. He was a gruff man, most of the time. Gruff and hard, because that’s what was expected of the ship’s captain. Because that’s what decades of war did. But his soft side came through every now and then. Serengeti loved him for that. And for the being the gruff, uncompromising captain she remembered.

  I’ll miss you, Henricksen.

  No you won’t.

  Serengeti laughed and let him go.

  “So who’s going to do the honors?” she asked.

  Tig smiled and beckoned to Oona, coaxing her close. He grabbed her around the middle and lifted her up so she could retrieve the magic device—the electronic key that set all the docking clamps free—from the compartment where they’d stored it. Tig set her back down and stepped back, watching expectantly as Oona fidgeted uncertainly. They’d obviously rehearsed this a few times in preparation for the big day, but Oona seemed to have forgotten her lines now that the moment had come. She just stood there, leg ends rattling nervously, staring at the key in her appendage hand like she had no idea what to do with it.

  “Ta-da!” Tig whispered, miming the motion that would slot the little device into the receptacle, waving his legs in celebration. Oona still didn’t look sure, so he did it again. And again. Until finally, after the third repetition, she seemed to get it.

  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 t
hree 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.