Serena found herself wishing that something would happen; the stupid twittering birds were getting on her nerves.
The 1-950 raised her plasma rifle, reminding herself to be extremely careful.
Lieutenant Zeller had a better nose for danger, and even better reflexes, than the average human. So far the ambush had gone beautifully; the remainder of the unit was pinned down in a little declivity—the earth-filled remains of a
basement, surrounded by T-90s. Plasma bolts split the night, a night lit ruddily by the burning trees around the ruins of the old house. Smoke was heavy and acrid on the air, mixed with the smells of scorched metal and ionized air.
“Shit!” Zeller screamed as her weapon misfired, and ducked. That put her eyes directly on the tall blond woman behind her.
Serena raised her weapon and snapped off a single accurate shot to the alloy-steel skull of the T-90 looming over the crumbled concrete lip of the unit’s last-stand position. The metal skeleton snapped backward, fire gouting as its CPU
was destroyed in a wash of ionized copper molecules; the beam was a bar of violet light through the darkness.
“Thanks,” Zeller gasped.
” De nada,” Serena said sullenly. She hated destroying T-90s. They were cute.
“Here they come!” someone shouted.
Serena tensed herself; time to liquidate them all—
The world ended.
She screamed and clapped her hands to her skull, fell to the ground, and curled herself into a fetal ball. Offonoffonburningburninglightbright-lightburning burning—
Everyone else was screaming as well, some pawing at blinded eyes where night-sight goggles hadn’t quite compensated for the sudden actinic flash. Everyone
knew what it was, from their parents’ stories if not from their own experience.
The flash of a nuclear weapon is extremely distinctive. Seconds later the blast wave hit. Ground bounced and hammered at them as it rippled, and a wind like a demon’s breath tore the fringe of vegetation from around the pit where they crouched. A few seconds later, as Serena’s self-repairing computer components rerouted around damaged circuitry, she realized that the pit had protected her from most of the electromagnetic pulse of the weapon, and her companions from the direct radiation.
She was supposed to be shielded from BMP, but apparently some new wrinkles had been developed. The T-90s and Hunter-Killers beyond were all nonfunctional, twitching or still even where the overpressure or flying debris hadn’t wrecked them.
Fallout was another matter, of course…
Lieutenant Zeller was the first on her feet, moving around, checking on her squad. Everyone was alive, and only one was immobile— Gonzales, with a broken leg.
“What was that?” Serena asked, the shakiness in her voice partly genuine. I was nearly fried from the inside out, she thought, controlling a stab of cold fear. With the electronic portions of her self dead, she’d have been a drooling idiot… at best. And the mission would have been totally compromised; the enemy would have had a complete T-950 to study.
“That was John Connor,” Zeller said.
Everyone’s attention snapped to her, even in the flame-shot darkness.
“I just got the word,” Zeller said proudly. “Connor knew it was a trap—but a trap with real bait. We were supposed to walk into an overwhelming force; the enemy knew we were coming. But they didn’t know Connor was coming, with the Central Strike Squad and a nuke they’d dug out of a silo and jiggered around.
Skynet’s down half of its mobile-unit power-cell capacity, people; that’s what we bought while we were distracting it!”
Serena cheered with the others. This is intolerable, she thought. Connor must be removed.
CYBERDYNE SYSTEMS: THE PRESENT
Kurt Viemeister was a big man, twenty-nine years of age, easily six feet tall, and a mountain of muscle. He wore his ash-blond hair in an aggressive brush cut and his blue eyes were long and narrow and cold. His jaw was so strong it looked like he could eat the business end of a shovel. He was the physical antithesis of a computer geek. His attitude was superior—and all business.
“Heer iss how it is going to be,” Viemeister began. His accent was ostentatiously thick for someone who had been in the United States since he was twelve. “I vil haff unlimited access to zis facility, day or night.”
“Here’s the way it is,” Tricker countered. “When you come in you can stay as long as you want. Once you’ve left, you can’t come back without clearing it with… whoever we appoint. When you leave, you leave completely empty-handed. You do not take data home. You don’t call the facility direct, either voice or link. In fact, the facility will have a complete physical firewall. You don’t speak to or socialize with people involved in any division except those
directly involved with your own part of your own project.”
Viemeister waited a beat, as if to see if the government liaison had anything to add.
“Dat is unacceptable,” he said at last, his lip curling in contempt.
“Well, then I guess we’re done, because that’s not negotiable.” Tricker made to rise from his chair.
“No one elze can offer you what I can,” the Austrian said scornfully.
“No one else can offer you what we’ve got,” Warren said earnestly.
Viemeister glanced at him, his expression conveying disbelief and amusement.
“Good thing you don’t want him for his charm,” Tricker said, leaning back with a smile. It was obvious he wanted to watch the two businessmen take a pounding from this scientific prima Donna.
“I haff had offers for huge sums of money from over a dozen machor companies.
And zey don’t want to put ridiculous restrictions on my movements, or on what I can say, or who I can speak to.” He waved a careless hand. “Ze money you are offering iss okay. But ziss certainly isn’t de spirit of cooperation in which you first approached me,” Viemeister said, shooting an accusatory look at Colvin.
“Since we started negotiations the government has taken a closer interest in our work. Probably because terrorists destroyed our first facility,” Colvin said mildly.
“Yah, and now you are working on zis army reservation,” Viemeister said. “I’m
not sure I vant to work for ze U.S. government. You never mentioned anyzing about dat,” he complained.
“You’d still be working for Cyberdyne,” Colvin said smoothly.
“Yah and Cyberdyne is vorking for ze U.S. government, so I’d be working for ze U.S. government. Zis is all semantics. And I know a hell uf a lot more about zat dan you do, so stop tryink to play games,” Viemeister jeered.
Colvin and Warren both looked at Tricker, who shook his head. When their looks turned pleading, Tricker raised his brows and shook his head again.
“Don’t make puppy eyes at me,” he said. “I don’t want him at all. I think he’s too big a risk. But I am starting to wonder just what kind of a deal you cut with him.
If you dump him you pay a huge kill fee. If he leaves what happens? You still pay him a huge kill fee?”
Colvin and Warren looked at the table.
“You’re kidding, right?” Tricker waited. “You know, you guys shouldn’t be let out alone. You do know that?”
“My time iss valuable.” Viemeister looked smug.
Tricker shook his head in disgust.
“Well, make up your mind,” he said. ” ‘Cause you’re not finding out anything about this project until you’re locked in. My terms are not negotiable. Over to you, Kurt.”
Viemeister glared at him.
“Oh, and Kurt?” Tricker grinned and nodded. “This is it; yes or no right now. It’s today, or it’s never.”
“You don’t efen know what you are trowing away!”
“Neither do you, little buddy,” Tricker said, still grinning.
“I make more in one year dan you propably make in fife.” Viemeister sneered.
“Is that a no?”
“If I work for Cyberdyne I
’ll be making almos twice as much!”
“Is that a yes?” Tricker was enjoying himself hugely.
The big man waved a ham-like hand at him. “Why am I efen talking to you. You are chust an ignorant cop.”
Tricker beamed at him, blue eyes twinkling.
“We are talking hundrets uf tousands uf dollars, we are talking about pure science. What do you know about deese tings?”
Shaking his head and spreading his hands, Tricker smiled ruefully.
“I don’t know nuthin’ about making hundreds of thousands of dollars. And I don’t know a damn thing about pure science.” He dropped his hands. “What I do know is”—he pointed to the door—“you walk out of here without a commitment to
work exclusively for Cyberdyne, under our terms, you don’t get to come back.
Ever. There will be no renegotiation, no second approaches, nothing. Ever.” He tilted his head, grinning. “Did you know that?”
“I don’t haf to put up wit dis.” Viemeister glanced at Colvin.
“Unfortunately, you do if you want to work for us,” the CEO told him. He shrugged. “We’re over a barrel here ourselves. The government is willing to leave us alone for the most part, and the restrictions they’ve placed on us are for our own safety and the safety of the company.” Colvin drew himself up. “The choice is yours.”
The big scientist glared around the table, not liking the situation one bit. He was used to people giving in to him. He was used to them thinking he was worth suffering humiliation and bullying. His physical presence didn’t hurt, usually, either. But Tricker was utterly immune to reputation, and to muscle as well.
Usually people with superman fantasies weigh three hundred pounds, have no neck and pimples like purple quarters, Colvin thought resentfully. And that’s just the women. Why do I have to run into one who really is a fucking superman?
Why do I have to be caught between him and this… this spook bureaucrat?
“De budget you promised? De facilities? De eventual publication uf my work?”
“That all stands,” Warren said.
“When he says ‘eventual publication of his work,’ you did make it clear that anything we feel should be classified, will be?” Tricker nailed Colvin with his glare.
“Yes, of course,” that worthy said in exasperation. “That’s to our benefit, too.
Whatever Mr. Viemeister publishes will concern his own work on commercial projects until after the copyright has expired.”
“Or wit special permission, you said.”
“Yes,” Colvin agreed, sounding harried.
“Den I will sign your contract.” Viemeister’s expression was grim, as though he were signing away his life instead of signing a contract most scientists could only dream of.
“Cheer up, Kurt,” Tricker said. “You’re about to enter a whole new world.” On that the government liaison rose and without another word, left the conference room.
He could feel the young scientist trying to burn a hole in his jacket with a high wattage glare. Tricker knew the type. This guy was the kind that would consider any compromise a humiliation requiring a vengeful response. Some of these boys were willing to go pretty far to get their own back. The kraut would have to be watched. He’d have to keep harrying Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dumber about a security chief.
SAN GABRIEL PEAK, ANGELES NATIONAL FOREST, CALIFORNIA: 2029
Captain Marie Graber looked over her shoulder, back down the narrow mountain trail. Three or four soldiers behind trod the golden-haired woman who ignited
the joy in her soul. Marie grinned. Sergeant Serena Burns looked up and caught her glance, returning the smile with interest.
The captain’s heart lifted as she turned forward again and continued to climb. It was hard to remember the icy bleakness that had hollowed her out for so long now that she had Serena. Her lover had renewed her hope almost from the first moment they’d met. The thin highland air smelled sweet, even sweeter than the smell of resin from the pines all around.
Marie and her team had been holed up in Boulder, Colorado, running low on almost everything but sweet potatoes, of which they hadn’t that many. God, how she hated sweet potatoes. Serena had arrived with dispatches and a chunk of maple sugar. It was love at first sight.
The sergeant had been with her for six weeks now as they’d wended their way back to base. Now the captain was going to have the honor and the pleasure of presenting her beloved to the supreme commander. General John Connor. The man who was going to save the human race. She was near bursting with pride.
Serena watched the captain climb with satisfaction. She’d been with Connor’s army for less than six months, most of that time delivering dispatches. Most of them reading the same way they did when given to her. The closest she’d gotten to Connor had been the day she was nearly killed by him when he outsmarted Skynet at the power-cell factory.
Some of the dispatches had been artfully altered so that the results favored Skynet forces. Some were delivered just too late, but with sufficiently desperate effort that no questions were asked, no blame ascribed. She grinned. Even though she wasn’t human she just had to admit there was pleasure in a job well
done.
Every step upward brought her closer to the ultimate goal of the destruction of John Connor and, if she was fortunate, his senior support staff. Many of them were supposed to be with him on this occasion. True, killing Connor might not save Skynet, whose defense grid was smashed, but it could slow things down enough to make a difference. One thing Serena had learned in her time with humans was that refusing to admit defeat often averted it. If you gave up, you were certain to lose; if you kept fighting in a hopeless corner, you might just pull it off.
Killing Connor would certainly extinguish her. But you couldn’t have everything; something the captain was fond of saying. Skynet would go on, that was the important thing. And Skynet was the most important part of her.
As she neared the top of the steps Serena twitched a muscle deep inside and started the countdown on the bomb she carried within. A sidebar in her vision began a countdown. Her head came above the steps and through the crowd she could almost see him at last. John Connor.
A soldier’s head blocked her view of everything but the top of his head, one eye, and a shoulder. He seemed to be smiling as he shook the hand of the man before him. Even from behind, Serena could tell that the soldier would have stars in his eyes. The count was fifteen seconds. Fourteen. Thirteen.
Return to base. Skynet’s command was adamant.
Automatically Serena stopped the countdown. She stepped back, covered her mouth as though she was going to be sick, and widened her eyes to a semblance
of desperation. Soldiers stepped aside sympathetically.
“I’ll explain to the captain,” one of them whispered.
She waved her hand in appreciation and fled…
CHAPTER THREE
LOS ANGELES: THE PRESENT
California sunshine partially diffused the bright blue streamers of electrical discharge that suddenly reached out of nowhere like blind hands. They touched… a Dumpster, a chain-link fence, and a van sitting empty outside a dress shop in a tiny L.A. strip mall. Then they crawled and coalesced into a black sphere resting on the surface of the ground. Steel sparked and glowed as a corner of the Dumpster vanished; a hole of perfect circularity appeared in the chain-link. A shallow hemisphere was scooped out of the asphalt paving, all in an instant of not-time. Wind blew, stirring a Styrofoam cup and a scrap of newspaper, a scatter of thin eucalyptus leaves, tossing them in whirling circles.
Static hum built to an unbearable intensity—mounting to an earsplitting crack that died into sudden silence. Debris floated gently down to earth.
The 1-950 writhed helplessly as spasms shook through its human tissue. Internal systems driven off-line by the discharge began to come up one by one. The computer part of its brain began to alter neural function, suppressing pain and muscular spasms gradually.
/> As soon as motor function allowed, Serena rolled under the van and lay in its
shadow, taking in her surroundings. There were sounds all around her, snatches of music, voices, footsteps, vehicles passing. The myriad sounds of a careless human world.
She narrowed focus to sample the area around the van. No one was nearby; no voices indicated surprise or alarm. Apparently no one had seen or heard her arrival. And though it was obvious to Serena’s eyes, the damage her transport had caused to the surrounding area attracted no notice at all. She relaxed marginally.
The air held the dying scent of ozone from her passage and the tang of fluorocarbons, but there was also the scent of chlorophyll, of a great deal of healthy plant life. More plant life than she’d ever seen before except in the most remote mountain zones.
In front of the van a yellow flower surrounded by ragged-edged green leaves had forced itself out of the pavement between the parking lot and the sidewalk.
Serena stared at it in fascination; automatically she sorted its scent from the surrounding area—faint, but sharp and fresh. Pleasing. She reduced specialization and the most overpowering scent became the nearby Dumpster, now leaking. Far less pleasing.
Instinctively the 1-950 reached out to Skynet to report and was greeted by a shattering absence. There is no Skynet. It jarred her. The computer damped adrenaline function, helping to suppress panic, while her training allowed her to move on to the next thing.
She still heard the memories in her mind, the memories of merging with her creator:
There are temporal anomalies. Files show that I became sentient in the year 1997 and began my counterattack against my creators at that time. Files also record that this happened years later and in a different location. There are further instances of… blurring. Some are trivial details. Others are in areas of high priority. Some show that you played an important role in my creation. Others do not list an 1-950 unit in times antecedent to this at all.
A part of her consciousness had remained separate even in total linkage; enough to frame a question.
What is happening? If she had been fully individuated, she would have felt disorientation, even fear. Cause-and-effect relationships were the foundation of her worldview.
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