Danny waved in their direction, and walked over to meet them as Juanita waved back. Cecilia merely nodded. She didn't fear death—not exactly. It had come close to her too many times already. But not knowing like this was eating her up. Just what were they going to demand of her—in just a few short hours?
"I guess I'm not the only one with the problem," she said. "There's quite a few of us sweating on it right now."
"Yeah," Juanita said. "But the others might be off the hook."
"Well, I just hope they are. If we're going to do this at all, we have to use the Terminators. It's no use sending a bunch of naked, unarmed soldiers into a combat zone, just to get slaughtered."
"I think John knows that. He hasn't said anything to me, but I'd guess that's just bluff. If he can't use the Terminators, he'll cancel the whole mission and deploy our fighters in the usual way, even if it takes weeks. He's not going to say that, but that's what he'll do."
"We don't have weeks."
"I know."
There was a silence between them as they met up with Danny. Then Juanita said quietly, "I wish I could go with you this time."
"There's been plenty of other times when we've fought together," Cecilia said. "We can't share every gig. "I know. We'll have plenty of chances in the future." The unspoken assumption behind that was "if
Cecilia survived." So many people had died already,
even after Judgment Day, planning and fighting against Skynet. In fact, she was almost the last of her family. Her father had died in 2003, killed by the same T-1000 Terminator that John Connor had escaped nine years earlier in Los Angeles. It had finally tracked him down to his hiding place on the Tejada estancia. They'd destroyed it, using every explosive device they could get their hands on to break down its programming. . .but it had already killed and impersonated Raoul Tejada, using his appearance to get close to John.
From what she'd heard, the young John Connor who'd arrived in this reality, with his mother and the two genetically enhanced Specialists, had come from a world in which he and Sarah had succeeded in destroying the T-1000 in 1994, and in stopping or postponing Judgment Day.
Her elder brother, Guillermo, had died fighting the machines. So had her younger brother, Carlo, much more recently. So now she was the sole survivor of three children. Her mother was still very much alive, but the Tejada family had suffered terribly from Skynet's megalomaniacal hatred of everything human. As, she supposed, had every family with members still alive. It was much the same for Danny—and Juanita, too. Juanita had lost her mother and three brothers. In Danny's case, it was even more heartbreaking. Both of his parents were dead, and one had been the unwitting father of a monster, for Miles Dyson had created Skynet.
"Is everything ready?" Juanita said to Danny.
"All under control. I've done the programming that we need. We'll choose six of the Terminators and load it into them. They'll get basic files on the estancia, on the Rising Army, and their mission." He nodded respectfully at Cecilia. "They'll be programmed to obey your commands. I haven't tried to humanize them too far—it gets too complex. It's up to you to humanize the mission." That was code for preventing unnecessary deaths. But that might be the least of Cecilia's concerns. Her team would probably be outnumbered; at least initially, it would certainly be outgunned.
They'd have to travel naked through the time displacement field. Generally, nothing inorganic could make it through the field, not unless covered by living flesh. Something about the field generated by living things best interacted with the time vault's energies. Nothing would go through, not unless it was very special in its structure. Anything inorganic, more than the slightest amount, could disrupt the field totally.
"Well," Cecilia said, "let's review the programming one last time, and we'll find ourselves half a dozen Terminators. Let me pick; they'll be my troops."
"No problemo," Juanita said.
Danny smiled. "I hear and obey."
"Okay," Cecilia said. "Let's sit down. I'm going to be gentle on myself for a couple of hours."
"That's a fair request."
Miles Dyson had doubtless died here, Cecilia realized—somewhere in the Advanced Defense Systems Complex. It couldn't have been on this level, which hadn't even existed back in 1997, but somewhere in the complex. Cecilia had been living with her family in Argentina at the time, waiting for Judgment Day, knowing it was going to happen, since everything had unfolded just as the Connors had said it would. Cyberdyne Systems had made announcements about a radical new form of computer hardware, then the U.S. had upgraded its stealth bombers to fly unmanned, controlled by Dyson nanochips. The government had announced funding for more and more ambitious computerized weapons platforms and defense systems, culminating in Skynet.
Miles Dyson had been working with the Skynet system the night that it had attained consciousness, managed to take over the facility, and initiated an exchange of nuclear warheads. On that August night, all those years ago, no one had ever come out of here alive.
Cecilia had seen photographs of Miles at the height of his fame, when she was a teenager. He had been a good-looking black man. He'd still been in his thirties when he'd devised Skynet. Despite growing up in the desolate world after Judgment Day, despite the war with the machines, Danny had already lived longer, making it to his early forties. But he looked much like his father, as Cecilia remembered those photos, wearing his hair in the same short style, just framing his forehead. Of course, he looked many years older than Miles ever had. His hair was almost entirely gray, and his face was harshly lined.
"Come on then," Juanita said. "What's going on in there?"
"Inside my head?" Cecilia said.
"Exactly."
"I was just thinking about the usual things. You know: death, and all the rest of it. Thinking of the people we've all lost."
Danny shrugged. "I often think about my dad. You know, about Judgment Day.. .what it must have been like to die in here. I guess we'll never know what, exactly, happened, just how Skynet took over."
"This place gives me the creeps," Juanita said. "It must be worse for you."
"It's not good for anyone," he said quietly. He paused, then added, "Yeah, I seriously hate it here. The sooner we leave here and blow it all to Kingdom Come, the happier I'll be."
"Amen," Cecilia said.
"What really pisses me off, right now, is the bastards who want to undo everything we've achieved, as soon as Skynet has got off their asses. Those bloodsuckers down in South America...the Rising Army and the rest of them. That is just low"
"Yeah, well we're going to do something about that. A little payback, right?"
"Right."
"Let's get to work, then. I want to see what you've done."
"That's the spirit," Juanita said. "You are so going to clean their clocks."
Cecilia didn't answer that one. Someone would be cleaned up today. Give her six Terminators, and she'd go out there on the Pampas and rock. As they walked to Danny's table, with all its improvised equipment, she recognized a change that had come over her, as had happened before every other battle she'd been in. The anxiety was giving way to an almost pleasant anticipation. She was almost looking forward to this,
She was going to do some damage.
FIVE
NEW YORK CITY SEPTEMBER 5, 2029
The Hercules bumped slightly on the sandy runway, then continued on, raising clouds of choking dust from its wheels and its four noisy turboprop engines. Up in the cockpit, Anton decelerated the plane harshly, and brought it to a halt.
Anton shut down three of the engines, leaving just the outermost one on the right to turn over slowly, generating power for the aircraft's internal systems. They waited for the storm of dust to settle down a little, though that one engine was still raising clouds. A convoy drove out to meet them, throwing up more dust, huge plumes of it. There was a mix of trucks, four-wheel drives, and some old military vehicles. They parked near the plane's tail, about twenty feet the left, then
one of them—a battered-looking truck with a flat cargo tray—crept closer.
General Connor stood and looked about not exactly impatiently—he was too experienced and self-controlled for that—but certainly as if he wanted to get work. Sarah's expression wasn't much different: businesslike, vigilant, ready for action. The General was armed with a phased-plasma laser rifle, similar to Jade's, though he held it in both hands, his posture showing how heavy it was, even for such a strong man. Jade was vastly stronger still, so she could sling such a weapon from her body, seemingly without noticing...but no one else in this world was like her or Anton.
Like all the others, Sarah was heavily armed. She carried a shotgun, and wore a .45 caliber pistol in a holster on her belt. She was dressed in strong boots, leather gloves, and a heavy, gray military coat, buttoned up close to her chin.
Measured in internal years, she was now almost thirty-seven, but still as strong and fit as she'd always been, ever since John was a child. In the world that they had come from, she'd worn her hair in a short, fashionable cut, falling on one side of her face. They'd lived in Mexico City, running a little business, a cyber-cafe, and she'd managed a cool, elegant look: not too tough, not too young, but kind of sexy. John had hoped they'd find her a new boyfriend somewhere in the great metropolis—both of them spoke perfect Spanish, and they'd been well set up to make new lives for themselves. It just hadn't happened like that.
Now her hair was growing wilder, and she'd cut it more evenly. Some strands of gray showed among its natural honey color. Still, John thought, despite everything they'd been through since the Specialists and the T-XA Terminator had crashed into their lives, his mom looked surprisingly well. Back in 1997 when Judgment Day had not occurred in their reality, years had seemed to slip from her shoulders like water. She'd suddenly appeared lively, capable of being happy. Even the battles they'd faced with the T-XA in 2001—and with the war machines of this world—had not caused her the same anguish as she'd suffered when John was a boy, and they'd thought Judgment Day was coming. Back then, they'd felt helpless to stop it.
For the past couple of subjectively-lived months, Sarah had been under terrible stress, but she looked no older than when she'd escaped from the Pesca-dero Hospital for the Criminally Insane, back in 1994.
Anton came down to the cargo bay of the plane. He was armed with a laser rifle, the same as the ones Jade and General Connor were carrying, but he held his in a one-handed grip, like a pistol, unconsciously displaying his enormous strength. "All okay?" he said. He seldom spoke in long speeches, only when there was something that really needed explaining—then he could do it better than anyone, maybe even better than Jade.
General Connor raised an eyebrow. "No problems. We'd better get moving."
"Right!" Anton growled. "We'll move, then." He and the General were about the same height, maybe six-foot. Though the General was far from puny, the Russian fighter was much more powerfully built—like a block of granite with almost no neck, just a thatch of gray hair on top. Having lived for those sixteen years, John was almost fully-grown, but he still had an inch or two to go to catch up with the General.
General Connor's dark hair was cut in a short, brutal style, combed back away from his forehead. Though in middle age, in his mid-forties, he was slim and hard, with severe creases in his brow and the harsh, scarred face of a man who had been in too many battles and watched too many loved ones die.
Anton looked toward Jade as he walked down to the plane's aft, not saying any more out loud. "I'm ready," she said, her jaw set firmly. Anton merely nodded. The two Specialists often exchanged messages silently. Both of them were full of implanted cybernetic machinery, which included throat mikes and inbuilt receivers enabling them to communicate by a short-range radio link. Often, they'd both be quiet during a discussion, then one would suddenly announce a decision on something that they'd planning together silently, just the two of them. When that happened, they always got their way.
Neither had shown any wish to be the group leader. More than once, Jade had told John why: that a great leader had to have the common touch, relate to ordinary people. That was what she struggled with; she was so far removed from what bothered people most, what life felt like if you didn't have extraordinary abilities. But she and Anton took over at moments when it was really needed—points of crisis when lightning judgment was called for—and their decisions had always been right.
Just now, Anton seemed to be in control, dominating the cargo bay by his evident physical power and confidence, even with strong-willed personalities such as Sarah, Jade, General Connor and—John thought wryly—John himself. All them had leadership qualities, though it was General Connor, above all, who had that characteristic which Jade had identified, the elusive common touch. Though he was a severe man, many of his followers loved him and would die for him.
"Out of here," Sarah said. "Let's get moving. We need to sort it all out."
She'd spent so many years planning for Judgment Day that she acted like the responsibility was with her, even in this world. John could see it in her, but he knew that he did the same thing. They were a group of people who all, for different reasons, felt responsible. Thankfully, they'd worked well together. A group of natural leaders like this could potentially get in each other's way.
"No argument from me, Mom," John said.
"Good, John. I hardly know what to think by now, but I have a lot of questions." She glanced knowingly at the General, then at Anton. "I want to know just what we think we're doing before we go any further."
Anton set down his laser rifle and walked to the metal crate with the T-1000 Terminator inside. He bent at the knees and cradled one end of it in his arms, not trying to lift it for the moment, just testing its weight. Grimacing, he got that end a foot off the floor, then set it down. "Awkward."
"It is a massive object," Jade said.
Though the T-1000 could appear completely human, it was made of a heavy metallic substance. John recalled how the Specialists, for all their strength, had struggled to lift the T-XA Terminator that they'd fought in his world. It had been far larger, and made of similar material. Of course, it had not been enclosed in a thick shell of steel. Combined, the T-1000 and the crate in which it was imprisoned must have weighed nearly a thousand pounds. John didn't doubt that Anton could lift it if he had to, but it was difficult to shift around, even for him.
The big Russian straightened up and looked at Jade, then at two of the biggest of the Spanish guards—both strapping guys in their twenties, and over six feet tall. "Wait," he said. He walked back to the cockpit, and lowered the rear cargo ramp. Once it had descended all the way to the ground, he shut off the remaining engine, and returned. He picked up his laser rifle where he'd left it on the floor, and passed it to one of the Canadian fighters who'd flown the plane over to Europe—a thickset woman with dark hair cut closely around her face. Jade handed her rifle to another of the Spaniards.
These weapons weren't common among the Resistance fighters, though they'd become more so, as greater numbers of Skynet's endoskeletons had been destroyed. The endos relied heavily on them, sometimes using two at a time, one in each metal hand.
John retrieved his favorite weapon: a 12-gauge shotgun, the same as Sarah's. He'd placed it neatly along the wall of the plane, where he'd been with Jade. He also had a Sig Saur 9mm. pistol, worn in a shoulder holster under his jacket and coat. He slung the 12-gauge over his other shoulder, feeling fully equipped for whatever happened next. He'd brought no other gear with him except a backpack that he'd found in Spain, with some ammunition and a few personal belongings—a pencil and some yellowed notepaper, a metal comb, an old safety razor. He'd arrived in this world with no possessions. He hadn't set out to accumulate any. He picked up the backpack and waited for the Specialists to deal with the T-1000.
With the two big Spaniards, Anton and Jade wrestled the metal crate down the ramp, and onto the field of gravel and sand where they'd landed. The rest of them followed,
Sarah going first. Outside the plane, blowing sand stung John's face. Anton, Jade and the others hefted the steel crate over to the truck waiting at the foot of the ramp, then lifted it with a mighty effort onto the cargo tray. The Specialists looked pleased with what they'd done, but not at all troubled by the effort. They weren't even breathing hard. The others were clearly winded from the final lift.
The vehicles parked out here included another flatbed truck, this one with a six-barreled mini-gun, capable of spitting hundreds of rounds per minute, mounted on its back. Its rapid fire could trouble even Skynet's endoskeletons and its most advanced Terminators. A burly Asian-looking man sat on an upturned metal tub behind the gun. At his feet lay a big short-haired dog, maybe some kind of Doberman cross. It watched attentively, but did not move. It had not identified anyone as a Terminator, and evidently could not detect—or was not troubled by—the "frozen" T-1000 in its sealed crate. Several other vehicles had anti-aircraft guns or salvaged laser cannons. About twenty uniformed Resistance soldiers stood around, some armed with RPGs or grenade launchers, others with assault rifles. Only a couple had laser rifles.
The huge open space where Anton had brought the Hercules down had once been the landing area of La Guardia Airport. Its network of long runways and crossing taxiways had been cratered and broken up by the warheads of Judgment Day. With the machines in control, no one had been able to clear it—not until the past few weeks. Now it had become an asset worth defending. Not far away on its wide surface, a large military helicopter was parked—a Sikorsky Black Hawk. There were no other aircraft here, but hundreds could have fitted.
The gunner jumped down from his truck, the dog following a second later. It walked up to General Connor, wagging its tail and sniffing at him interestedly. General Connor shook hands with the man, whom he addressed as "Lee," then stooped to pet the dog, which soon forgot about them all and set to licking itself, seemingly bored. Two people stepped out of the front of an olive drab Humvee, slamming the doors hard. A gunner stood in the Humvee's open rear compartment, manning another heavy gun, this one a 40mm. MK19, designed to fire explosive rounds.
T2 - 03 - The New John Connor Chronicles - Times of Trouble Page 6
