Serengeti (20 page)

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.

Tig.
Her one constant. Her anchor. The one thing tethering her to reality, keeping the dream from sweeping her away.

“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.

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.

“Ta-da!” the TIG cried, flourishing the grease pencil like a magic wand.

“Very nice,”
Serengeti
told her. “But—”

The robot turned her pink-bowed head away before
Serengeti
could finish and held the grease pencil out to Tig. Tig hesitated, glancing uncertainly at the camera. His partner waved insistently, pressing the grease pencil on him, wanting him to take it and fix his tag like she’d fixed hers.

“No,”
Serengeti
said sharply.

The two robots froze, turning wide eyes toward the camera.

“No,”
Serengeti
repeated more gently. She slipped inside Tig and used his leg to push the grease pencil away. “Tig is Tig, not just 442. And you, my dear,” she touched Tig’s leg to that freshly drawn
G,
wiping it carefully away, “are more than that missing letter.”

The TIG blinked in confusion, eyes flicking from the grease pencil she held to the empty space on her side. She chittered softly, face lights flashing and fading like she was trying to puzzle something out. But a word from Tig, and a short burst of cobalt communication, and the pink-bowed robot put the grease pencil away.

“There now, that’s better.”
Serengeti
lit Tig’s face lights, offering an encouraging smile.

It took a bit, but the TIG eventually smiled back at her, tilted her head and
hooted
a question as she brushed at her side.

“Who are you?”
Serengeti
laughed in surprise. “That, my dear, is a very good question.” She thought a moment, looking the little TIG up and down. “We can’t very well call you Tig, now can we? Not with that pretty pink bow. And TI-111 sounds so…”
Serengeti
trailed off, smiling to herself as inspiration struck. “Tilli,” she murmured, touching the robot’s side. “We’ll call you Tilli. How does that sound?”

Tilli whistled shrilly, repeating her new name as best she could. She blushed when
Serengeti
laughed, and ducked her head in embarrassment, but she shuffled her legs about and tried again, whistling louder, more confidently this time, flushing with pleasure now as she offered a shy smile.

“Is that a yes?”

Enthusiastic nod, Tilli’s rounded chrome head bobbing up and down and all around, Tig nodding right along with her.

“Alright then. Tilli it is. Now then.” She panned the camera left then right, looking from one robot to the other. “Tell me why I’ve been woken. Tell me how long I’ve been away this time and what you two have gotten done while I was gone.”

They both blushed together. Tilli flicked her eyes to Tig, then ducked her head and pawed at the floor, leaving it to him to answer.

Not good then. Whatever Tig and Tilli had to tell her, she wasn’t going to like it.

“Spill it, Tig.”
Serengeti
focused in on him, leaving Tilli alone for now. “How long? How long was I asleep this time?”

Tig shuffled uncomfortably, fronting legs tapping together. He looked at the camera, then down at the floor, leaned to one side and lifted three of his legs.

“Three months?” she asked hopefully, but Tig shook his head. “Three years.”
Serengeti
sighed wearily. Not as long as last time, but still longer than she’d expected. Longer than she’d
wanted.
“I’m guessing that means the task I left you is taking longer than we had originally anticipated.”

Tig shrugged and nodded, eyes locked onto the floor.

“So, what happened?”

Tig shuffled to one side, leg ends rattling against the deck plating as he hemmed and hawed, trying to figure out where to start before launching into a long and winding story about components and damage in unexpected places, setbacks and wrong turnings, droning on and on and on.

“Stop, stop,
stop!
”

Tig stuttered into silence.

“How about you just show me?”
Serengeti
suggested.

“
Beep?
” Tig blinked, thinking, tilted his head and nodded. “
Beep-beep.
”

She abandoned the camera slipped inside the little robot, waved to Tilli to come with them as Tig trundled across the bridge and into the corridor outside.

Tig scuttled over to the nearest ladderway and climbed inside.
Serengeti
expected him to climb downward to Engineering, but instead he glanced behind him and
burbled
something to Tilli before grasping the rungs and pulling himself up.

“Where—?”

Tig shook his head, babbled something about outside and the solar array, and kept going.

Serengeti
sat back and left him to it, hoping this wasn’t some wild goose chase. “Limited power, Tig. Remember that.”

“
Beep-beep-beep.
” Tig waved a leg in acknowledgement as he let go of the ladder and worked his way out of the access shaft, flipped onto his tank treads and hurried down the hall.

Twists and turns after that, one corridor leading to another before Tig finally reached the iciest one of them all: the one paralleling her portside hull. He tip-toed through a gap in her side, threaded his way through three shredded layers of hull, navigating gaps and twisted debris until he reached the dark of space outside.

“Hold,”
Serengeti
said, bringing Tig to a halt. Tilli rolled to a stop beside them, flashing questions at Tig as
Serengeti
turned on all his sensors and let the icy cold wrap around her. “I’ve missed the cold, Tig.”