Terminator 2_Hour of the Wolf

by Mark W. Tiedemann

  “I know. It’s awkward. You need to, but there’s really no way you can.”

  “I trusted Jade.”

  “Why?”

  “They saved out lives, they fought alongside us.”

  “I saved you mother’s life. I will fight alongside you. But I sense that will not be enough.”

  “We’re not so trusting as we were then.”

  Portis grinned. “I know what you mean.”

  “How come you didn’t know who you were till you saw…”

  “Myself? I don’t know. In case of capture, most likely.

  You know what a TX-A can do, drawing memory directly from the brain. As I progressed through each stage of my mission, I remembered more—more was released to me. Had I been captured and interrogated, those portions of my memory sealed in the augments would have vanished. The enemy would not get it.”

  “But you don’t think that’s all of it?”

  “This is a complicated war, Mr. Connor. Spheres within spheres within hypercubes. No one explanation can ever be all of it.” He was silent for a time. He shifted uncomfortably, then said, “But I recognized Bobby—young Jeremiah.

  What bothers me is, I didn’t recognize the girl.”

  “Deirdre?”

  “I have no recollection of her.”

  “Just what might that mean?”

  “I can’t say. I don’t know.”

  John drove on in silence. As he pulled up in front of the new offices, he saw only one of Lash’s vans, parked just in front of a dark rental car.

  Waiting in the front office, talking with Ken Lash, was Jack Reed.

  Reed looked worn. John did not know how old the man was, but he had been in a senior government position when they had first met, six years ago. Still, he carried himself 253

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  with athletic grace and John still would not care to fight the man. His short dark hair was graying noticeably and he wore glasses regularly now.

  The department Reed operated had no name. It had a budget line, connected circuitously to other appropriations, and sources of funding that never showed up on anyone’s books. John knew nothing about those other than that they existed. Ostensibly, Reed acted as oversight and liaison on various sensitive projects for the Pentagon, DoD, and the Intelligence community. He stood between private industry and government requirements, and when John had met him he had the authority to close down any project he deemed inappropriate or too dangerous. Like Skynet.

  Pulling the plug on Skynet, however, had made Reed enemies, some of them in positions to hurt him. Subsequently, Reed’s authority had been curtailed. Under normal circumstances, John would not have minded that. Men like Reed, in positions like his, had no place in so-called free and open societies. That did not mean they were not always present, only that their existence proved the flaws in every system.

  For all that, John was glad Reed was who he was and did what he did. These were not normal circumstances, and might never be again. The very people he worked for did not know what it was Reed defended them from, and likely would not believe it if they did.

  “Hello, John,” Reed said. “Good to see you. Is the secure area ready?”

  “Sure,” John said, gesturing. They moved from the front office into the main workspace. Reed looked around, nodding. “Nice digs. A little small compared to the Santa Fe site.”

  “It’ll do for now.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Jack. This—” John said, gesturing at Portis “—is Lee Portis. Or Jeremiah Porter, depending which end of time you’re talking about.”

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  “Mr. Porter,” Reed said. “Forgive me if I don’t shake hands.”

  “Nothing to forgive,” Portis/Porter said. “For the time being, let me remain what I’ve become. I am Lee Portis. It will simplify matters.”

  “Suits me,” Reed said. “Where’s Sarah?”

  “With the police, as of an hour ago. Someone turned her in, identified her as Sarah Connor.”

  “That didn’t take long. Who?”

  “Who would be your best guess?”

  Reed thought about it. “Cruz. If he saw her.”

  “We’ve got it covered for now, but we’re going to need some tweaking in the background. We can pick her up when she’s released and fill her in then.”

  Reed looked at Portis. “I have to ask—”

  “For now,” John said, “we trust him. For all I know, he already knows what we’re about to discuss.”

  “I don’t,” Portis said. “But I am an enemy of Skynet.”

  “But you’re from the future?” Reed asked.

  “Yes.”

  “From the period during the war?”

  “After.”

  “Who won?”

  “No one, yet.”

  “That’s why you’re here.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well,” Reed said, displeased. He sat down at a desk.

  “Okay. We’ve been watching the Colorado Springs site for years. My people have been gradually moved out, but we’ve been able to keep a few stringers in place. Last year, activity got started in the Skynet sections. Things were being moved around, disassembled, the space redone. It looked like an overhaul, preparing it for something else. I had no indication of any renewed DoD contracts or anything, so we just watched. Then it became clear that the equipment was being prepared for transfer to another site. I tried to find a way to move back in, but I’m being stonewalled. I can’t get in there legally. But there are other ways.”

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  He leaned forward. “Cyberdyne has a number of new sites around the country. They’ve been trying to get permission to open a branch outside the country, but so far I’ve been able to block that. It doesn’t mean they don’t have one, but it’s outside United States protection if there is, so whatever foreign government is the host can act with impunity to either help them, hurt them, or take them over.

  Anyway, the sites stateside seem to be legit. We didn’t know where they intended moving the old equipment, though.

  None of the sites seemed adequate, so we figured there had to be another one or more.”

  “You found it.”

  “Here, in Los Angeles. They acquired, through a couple of blind corporations, the old Los Angeles Air Force Base.

  Physically, it’s perfect for the Skynet project. We used to build some of our smart bombs and missiles there. It has security, stability, and acreage. It can be defended. The first line of defense, though, is in Washington. I was never supposed to know about this site. We found it by following a survivor from one of the transfer convoys.”

  “Those convoys,” John said. “How many got through?”

  “One truck, one escort. We let them go. As I figured, the drivers panicked and instead of going to ground, they took us right up to the loading dock. Everything else is in a warehouse, under my lock and key.”

  “How easy was it to follow them?”

  Reed smiled. “Not very, but not really difficult either.

  There’s doubtless a second set of convoys. My people are still watching.”

  “The Los Angeles Air Force Base is at the end of a long industrial court. One of the companies I’m looking at for data theft is within line of sight of it.”

  “Once they’re established, I don’t think it will matter if we know it’s Cyberdyne,” Reed said. “The secrecy has been part of moving Skynet. Once that’s done, there’s no point.”

  “Who’s bankrolling this now?”

  “I suspect the same people in Washington who are blocking me. If I can prove it I can go to the appropriate 256

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  congressional oversight committees and get those barriers removed.”

  “So what are we doing tonight?”

  “I need to get in there. I need to see what they’re doing.

  I need to know what’s being installed, how, and with what.<
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  I need to know anything else we can find out.”

  “Reconnaissance.”

  “Exactly. But if something gets broken…”

  “Any idea what kind of security they have?”

  “Funny you should ask that.” Reed pulled a disc from his jacket. “Floor plans and everything we know about on ground security.”

  John accepted the jewel case. “Things have changed, Jack. The war is different now. We’ve learned a few things in the last week. This is going to take longer than we expected.”

  Reed cocked his head to one side.

  “I’ll let my guest explain,” John said, “while I go over this.”

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  Bobby—Deirdre beside him and Paul Patterson and another security man behind—followed Dr. Jaspar and Deidre’s dad.

  I’m being suckered, he thought.

  He had been talking to Jaspar, completely unguarded, caught up in the magic she offered. She understood his work, his ideas, and he, in turn, felt vindicated by the serious attention a working physicist paid to what others might consider wild, insane notions. He forgot caution, forgot how he had been used before.

  You just can’t keep it to yourself, can you?

  No, he could not. Part of him resented the need to, hated the restriction so-called reality placed on his imagination and his ability to share it with anyone he wanted. Cojensis had taught him the foolishness of trust. But every time Bobby found someone new who was willing to listen and who comprehended, he started giving his soul away.

  His conscience bit at the thought. He had met Deirdre that way. That had turned out well. Too well, he sometimes thought. He could keep nothing from her. Now he wondered if in the long run that, too, had proved to be a trap.

  On the other hand, Deirdre had told him time and again that Cojensis was not the norm, that most professors treated their students honestly and respectfully, especially one of such promise. And indeed, most of his encounters with 258

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  instructors had been as she claimed. But mathematics was his field and Cojensis was the one teacher who mattered.

  She had wanted him to turn Cojensis in, but of course he feared the consequences. Cojensis’ demise could be his own.

  It had been a difficult couple of years.

  But it had made a kind of sense. This, however…

  He began to doubt his own conclusions. What had he actually seen at that interview? It could not have been real.

  No one could do that. Could they?

  They descended to another floor. Bobby walked along a much wider corridor between double doors on either side with names above them: OPTICS & INTERFEROMETRY, PROTEOMICS, NANOSTRUCTURE LATTICE ANALYSIS, CABRERA SUPERCONDUCTOR RESEARCH, many with just project numbers. His gaze lingered on the Cabrera lab, wondering if all that Jaspar had talked about was in fact going on, here.

  She brought them, however, to another lab. She used an ID card and PIN code to enter.

  “We stored it in here,” she said as she pushed through the door. “I only gave it a quick once-over, but I think I can safely claim that this isn’t something of recent manufacture.”

  She stopped short. Only a few lights broke the gloom, but someone was already present, standing beside a long table, on which lay what appeared to be a body.

  Jaspar reached for the main light switch, and flicked them on. Bright fluorescents snapped the lab into clarity. “Excuse me, how did you get in here?”

  The man looked around. As far as Bobby could tell, he was just a security guard. Paul Patterson pushed past Bobby, entering the lab and approaching the guard. Bobby imagined what would happen next. Demands for identification, a dressing down in front of strangers. He already felt sorry for the man.

  But Bobby’s attention shifted immediately to the thing on the table. It looked at first glance like a body, partly covered by a plain canvas tarp. The guard had drawn the 259

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  sheet down, one corner of it still in his hand, revealing the upper torso.

  The head seemed to be half metal.

  Bobby approached it, mesmerized. Whoever it had been, he was big. But as he drew closer, he saw that the flesh torn from most of the face had covered a bright, silvery metal skull. For the injuries, there seemed too little blood.

  He recognized the human side of the face. The man who had chased them on foot when they fled the interview with Mr. Casse from Cyberdyne. The man who had seemed to run very fast, especially for his size. Patterson had called him Gant.

  All the rationalizations he had been working through vanished. It was all real.

  His legs felt oddly cold.

  Patterson’s voice broke through. “—just what in hell you think you’re doing here?”

  Bobby looked around, catching Deirdre’s eyes. She looked worried.

  McMillin was on the phone by the door. The other security man stood alongside Deirdre, arms folded, a bored expression on his face.

  “Dee,” Bobby said. “Look—”

  At that moment Bobby heard a pulpy slap, like meat hitting a butcher’s slab. He turned to see Patterson, his feet a few inches off the floor, suspended on a long blade that extruded from the shoulder of the guard.

  The guard was staring at Bobby. As he watched, Bobby saw the face shift, very quickly, from the stranger’s mask of the guard to the face of Mr. Casse from Cyberdyne. Then back again as he casually flung Patterson across the lab to crash onto a workbench filled with electronics.

  Jaspar backpedaled, almost colliding with the other security guard, who sprinted forward now, gun drawn.

  Casse’s blade grew longer.

  “Dad!” Deirdre screamed.

  McMillin ducked, and the point of the blade shattered the telephone. As it retracted, it became a hook, sharp-260

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  edged, and sliced neatly through the neck of the still moving security guard. The man’s head rolled away from its body.

  Bobby found he could not move.

  Deirdre yelled his name. McMillin grabbed his daughter around the waist and dragged her through the doors.

  Jaspar stopped just short. “Mr. Porter!” she shouted.

  “Come on!”

  The knife-hand reformed and lunged at her. She sidestepped it, then threw herself against the door. It opened and she was through. The door closed with a loud click in the suddenly quiet room.

  The guard reshaped himself into Casse, his arm returning almost to normal.

  “Mr. Porter,” he said. “So glad to see you again. I would like to discuss that position with Cyberdyne.”

  Reed had brought along two of his people, a woman and a man he introduced only as Amy and Pete. John recognized the look of seasoned covert operatives. Caution and confidence, combined with a palpable aura of physical competence. They were already suited up for a night action, black outfits almost certainly permeated by stealth material, heavy utility belts, and soft-soled boots with steel toes. Amy reminded John of Juanita Salceda in many ways—tall, broad-shouldered, quiet and serious. Pete, if anything, could have been Anton’s brother, one of the Specialists with whom John had fought Skynet the last time—several last times, in fact, dancing across dimensions…

  It never stops, he thought as he sorted his own gear. This is going to be my life, forever…

  Lee Portis adjusted the shoulder holster, then pulled the black jacket on.

  Reed looked him over, still skeptical about everything Portis had told him. “When we hear that Sarah is released, we pick her up,” he said. “Two vehicles: yours, John, and a van. Do you want to keep Mr. Portis with you?”

  “Sure,” John said.

  “After we pick her up,” Reed continued, “we head for 261

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  LAX. We go south on Aviation Blvd. to the old Area B

  section of the Space and Missile Systems Center. It’s scheduled for redevelopment as part of the airport expansion, but as yet no
work has begun. Security is loose because there’s nothing there anymore. But we can get into Area A, which is now Cyberdyne property, the back way.

  There’s a guard shack on the northwest corner, along El Segundo. If we have to, we immobilize the guards, but I’m hoping we can enter undetected through the fence further south along Aviation.”

  “And from there?”

  “I’m assuming they’ll be using the facilities as they stand, at least for the time being. Office and management were in Building 105, warehouses and manufacturing, computer facilities, and other infrastructure in Buildings 100, 110, and 126. I want to enter 126 and then do a thorough recon.

  We’ll be depositing bugs along the way.”

  “What orders if we encounter inimicals?” Amy asked.

  John looked at her. “ ‘Inimicals’? Cute.”

  Reed gave him a sour look. “Do what’s necessary, but I don’t want a lot of dead bodies to have to explain to anyone. We do this with a light touch. I want information, not casualties. If we encounter any Terminator units, withdraw.

  This is not the time for a toe-to-toe. Clear?”

  “You’re assuming you know what they all look like?”

  Portis asked.

  “Behavior,” Reed said. “We know at least two basic body types.”

  “Uncle Bob,” John said, “and Eve.”

  “Otherwise, best judgment. Clear?”

  “Crystal,” John said. His cell phone chirped. “Yeah? Great.

  We’re on our way.” He closed the device. “She’s waiting for us.”

  “Let’s roll,” Reed said.

  As he climbed into the van with Amy and Pete, Reed said, “We’ll meet you there. Don’t get pulled over speeding.”

  The van pulled away, and John started his car. Beside him, Portis stared ahead into the night. As John shifted into 262

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  drive, Portis said, “Do you really expect there to be no deaths tonight?”

  “We’ll see. Let’s try for it, maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  Sarah waited in the front hall of the precinct station, the Destry-McMillin lawyer next to her on the long, cracked vinyl sofa, working on his PDA. She had been grateful for his presence through the interview. Russo struck her as the thorough kind of detective who, once convinced something was wrong, would not let go.