The Japanese Specialist started a police car, and it crawled over to them in the dark, headlights switched off. The big Russian squeezed into the front passenger seat, while Sarah Connor got in the back. John took off his backpack and slid over into the middle of the rear bench, beside his mother. That left Rosanna with the right hand side; she slammed the door shut and edged close to it, avoiding physical contact. There was no rational basis for it, but she'd become averse to human beings-didn't want to be close to them if she could help it. That was a legacy of her reprogramming by the T-XA.
Skynet had violated her. Her mind, her personality were no longer her own, though she would fight for them every inch of the way: she would never let Skynet control her thoughts. But she could never be the same woman who'd met the T-XA Terminator only twenty-four hours earlier—and been horribly transformed. Sitting up there in the future, in 2036, Skynet had sent the T-XA Terminator back in time, and it had chosen her as one of its instruments, used her as a thing for its purposes.
But it had failed; it had not created a willing slave. She would pay Skynet back.
They drove out of there quietly, and soon they were on a back street. As they weaved a path into the suburbs, nobody spoke. John turned around to face the rear window, watching carefully. Rosanna glanced over her shoulder, but the street behind was deserted.
"Looks like we're in the clear," John said. "No one's followed us so far."
The Russian groaned slightly. "Maybe later." His voice had the suggestion of a painful laugh.
"You don't sound too unhappy about the idea," Sarah Connor said. She spoke in strangely flat tones, almost without emotional affect
Rosanna had no liking for this woman, but she had a point. This was not a time for humor. Even with the T-XA destroyed, the people it had reprogrammed were terribly dangerous. Besides, they'd just seen two of the Specialists killed by the T-XA, and the remaining two had been hurt in the fighting.
The Russian turned around to look at them in the dark. Rosanna's reprogramming had included general information on Skynet's enemies. She knew that the Specialists had heightened senses, as well as superhuman physical and intellectual capacities, resistance to aging, and a raft of cybernetic enhancements that included medical nanobots and in-built radio devices so they could communicate privately with each other. The big man could probably see her as clearly as if she were under a spotlight.
"First," he said, "I may sound happy, but that doesn't mean I feel it. You understand? You don't know the pain 1 feel inside."
"All right," Sarah said, obviously controlling her emotions. "If that's how it is."
He looked to the front again. "That's how it is. We lost Bobby, and now Selena and Danny. This has been bad for us. It wasn't supposed to happen this way."
"Yes," Sarah said. "I understand. I know what that feels like. Believe me, I know."
"Good." He glanced round again. "Second, this won't stop their research. We have more work to do."
"Yes, I figured that out for myself."
From the driver's seat the Japanese woman spoke to Rosanna: "Call me 'Jade,' okay? My friend is Anton Panov."
"Whatever," Rosanna said.
"I hope we can help you, Dr. Monk. I know what reprogramming can do to people. I have seen it in the future."
"Right-well, that's the second time you've offered your help. I'm getting sick of it already."
"No offence intended, Dr. Monk. May I call you 'Rosanna'?"
She grunted. "You're the ones with the guns-I suppose you can call me whatever you like. Anyway, you need my help more than I need yours. I know a few things you don't."
"I think we all need to help each other."
"If you say so."
"Believe me, please, all our abilities will be needed," Jade said. "Yours, too, Rosanna-but all of them."
Should she help them, Rosanna wondered. It seemed that she had no choice. "Where are we going?"
"You'll find out," Sarah said curtly. "Just enjoy the ride, Dr. Frankenstein. I'm not even sure why you're with us. I don't recall inviting you."
Rosanna winced at that-it was so arrogant. Apparently, these people didn't realize what they owed her. She'd saved them tonight: them and the whole miserable human species. "Isn't that joke wearing thin by now? I'm not Dr. Frankenstein, thank you." For years, she had made the same joke about herself, that she was a modern-day Frankenstein creating artificial life. Considering the circumstances, and coming from Sarah, it no longer seemed amusing.
"There's a lot more wear in it yet," Sarah said. "Why don't you get used to it?"
"Why don't you move on, Ms. Connor? What's done is done."
"Yeah, great. That's your version of a conscience, is it? Forget about all the people your pet monster will kill— and just move on? Don't you realize what's happened here? Even if we stop Skynet now, there's another reality where it didn't happen that way. Whatever we do now, these people—Jade and Anton—came from a world where billions of people died. It's on your head: You could have stopped it, but you thought you knew better. I guess you thought you could control the technology, that you were some kind of master of the universe. Well, you're not the master of anything—you're just pathetic.''
"No," Rosanna said. "You're wrong. You think you understand me, but it's not that simple. Nothing ever is."
"It all seems pretty simple to me. Listen, you get to choose in this life. You know that? You can choose for human beings, or for the machines. So far you've been choosing for the machines."
"Maybe it looks that way to you, but it doesn't to me. Right now, I know what Skynet will do, if it's ever created."
"We all know that, by now." She sneered. "Thanks for facing the truth-it's about time, don't you think?"
Half an hour after the explosion, two people came out of the building: a pair of badly confused rapid-response men. A group of paramedics saw that they were hurt and disoriented, and rushed to assist Layton and Solomon went over, and Jensen rejoined them.
The rapid-response men tried to say what had happened, but even Layton found the order of events hard to follow. "There are six of our guys still in there," one of the men said. He'd removed his protective headgear, showing brutally short, sandy hair. "They're hurt, shot in the legs. You'll have to help them."
"Who shot them?" Layton said.
"The Asian woman. You'll see on the tapes. It was crazy in there-those people aren't.. .aren't human, and they were fighting some sort of machine."
To everyone else who heard, this must have seemed like babble. When Layton had reprogrammed Solomon and Jensen, he had not given them extensive knowledge about the T-XA, the Specialists, and the world that they'd come from; they'd need to learn more as events unfolded. Right now, they simply looked confused.
"Whereabouts in the building?" Solomon said in his deep, slow voice.
"The basement."
"All right, son, thanks for that" Nothing about Solomon's manner gave away that he was under Layton's control—and, ultimately, controlled by Skynet "Just leave it with us, and we'll deal with it." He made some quick signals, and more paramedics came over.
"Where are the Connors?" Layton said to the sandy-haired man, not caring if he seemed callous.
"They escaped."
"And Dr. Monk?"
"She was with them."
As four paramedics led the man and his partner to an ambulance, Jensen organized a team to check the building: paramedics, firefighters, police, and Air Force guards armed with riot gear and M-16s-just in case. "Don't stay in there any longer than you need to," Jensen said. "Just bring out anyone wounded, then we'll take stock of the situation."
If the Connors had really escaped, Layton could see no danger in entering the building himself—as Solomon had said, it was physically stable. Still, he'd wait until they had a first report. That would reduce the oddity, at least slightly, of a senior civilian going in. Of course, with Solomon under his control, Layton could do pretty much what he wanted for now, but he mustn't act in a way that m
ight be questioned later on, at least not too intensely. Until he had control in Washington, he needed to stay in character.
He said to Solomon, "I'll need to go in there."
If he hadn't been reprogrammed, Solomon would surely have vetoed this. Instead, he said, "We'll organize it when that team returns. We'll need to take guards, if only for appearances, and we'll find ourselves some hardhats."
"Very good. And I need more to drink right now, something with electrolytes and lots of sugar."
Solomon glanced at Jensen. "You organize that"
"Certainly, sir." Jensen said.
One question remained, however: What had happened to the T-XA? Before tonight was over, Layton would piece the story together, but it seemed that the T-XA might have been destroyed. Something or someone had been trapped in the time vault-that was what those two rapid-response guards had been saying, and the distinct lack of gunfire made it apparent the T-XA had been that "something." He'd need to prepare carefully, get the story straight, check the tapes. And what about Rosanna? She'd been reprogrammed by the T-XA, so surely she was loyal to Skynet. Why, then, had she gone with the Connors? Were they using her as a hostage, or was there a deeper reason?
There was much to do, but the T-XA's mission was in safe hands. Tomorrow, he would fly to Washington, and the game would soon come to an end.
LOS ANGELES
In a cheap downtown hotel room, a T-799 "Eve" Terminator sat totally still on a metal-framed chair, concentrating on the sounds and images of a late night news broadcast It had spent the evening reviewing its best options, as successive bulletins clarified the situation in Colorado Springs. Now that it was certain John Connor had escaped the Cyberdyne facility, the Terminator made a decision.
Time to act. Time to find Connor.
The T-799 was an advanced design, a cyborg being with engineered human flesh on a hyperalloy combat chassis. It resembled a very tall woman in her twenties, or early thirties, with white-blonde hair cut in an aggressive flattop style. Its lean, strong-looking body was muscular, though without massive bulk-like an Olympic pole-vaulter's. It wore black denim jeans, matching low-heeled boots, and a dirty white T-shirt-an outfit appropriated from an inebriated young woman who'd turned down a very bad alley shortly after the T-799's arrival. Despite its impressive musculature, the Terminator's great strength was generated from an internal power cell, then deployed through a system of miniature servomotors that controlled its endoskeleton. The skin and flesh were merely camouflage.
Like other T-799s and T-800s, it exactly copied a Resistance soldier who'd been terminated by Skynet's forces in the world that it came from. In the case of the Eve class Terminators, this was a soldier from the Canadian Resistance.
It stood and switched off the TV, then strapped on a leather holster with a Colt .45 caliber handgun, hiding it under a black vinyl jacket. It strode out into the night, not bothering to close the door behind it. There was no reason to return.
It had not searched positively for John Connor since August 1997, when the scheduled date of Judgment Day had come and gone. On August 29, 1997, it had confirmed what was already becoming obvious, that it was now in a different reality from the one it been sent from. It had entered a world without Skynet and its killer machines. In the reality it had come from, Connor had survived Judgment Day 1997 by living and working on an estancia in Argentina, owned by the Tejada family. The Terminator had been given a file on this. With some effort, it could always track Connor down.
In 1997, it had made certain inquiries, but they'd proved fruitless. Since then, it had merely watched and waited, analyzing political and technological developments, but taking no other initiative. There was no need to act hastily, or bring attention to itself. The nature of its mission allowed for Connor to grow to manhood. With Cyberdyne Systems still actively researching nanoprocessor technology, he would eventually appear in public to oppose it-as he had tonight. The T-799 could afford to be patient: it could operate for 120 years on its power cell, and the passage of time did not endanger its mission.
Sooner or later, it would find Connor, then act as it had been programmed.
Outside, it was a warm summer night, but the street and pavement were almost deserted in this part of the city. Occasionally, a car or truck drove past. Two young women walked by, dressed in revealing clothing-terminating them was not a mission priority. A teenage couple walked toward the Terminator, hand in hand, both of them dressed in denim jeans and jackets. It made no move to harm them, though it would have taken their lives in a moment if they'd compromised its mission. Like many others in this city, they would never know how close they had come to the cold hands of death.
When they'd gone, the Terminator chose a vehicle, an older model Chrysler sedan. It smashed the driver's side window with a single sharp punch, then reached in to open the door.
A taxi passed by without interfering, then another. But a police car came from around the corner, trapping the Terminator in its headlights. The squad car screeched to a halt on the other side of the road, as the Terminator climbed in the sedan, pushing back the seat to make room for its long legs. With another decisive blow, it smashed open the cowl around the steering column, ready to start the Chrysler.
A cop jumped out of the police car, waving his arms and shouting. "Hey! You can't do that!"
The Terminator smashed away the rest of the glass from the driver's window. "Wrong," it said, reaching for its Colt .45.
The cop had already drawn his gun. "Put your weapon down! Get out of the car! Put your hands in the air. Do it!"
The T-799 heard fear in his voice: it was programmed to make basic judgments about its enemies' emotions. It squeezed the trigger, but the cop also fired. A round penetrated the Terminator's shoulder muscle, but had no effect on the underlying metal skeleton. The Terminator kept firing: once, twice, three times—faster than a human being could have done it. The cop spun with the impact of the bullets, bounced against the side of his car, then fell to the road.
The T-799 started the stolen Chrysler. It crushed the accelerator to the floor, and drove out of there with the engine roaring and rubber squealing on the road. It headed out of the city, driving south and east, toward the Mexican border. Its highest probability of success was to reach Enrique Salceda's compound, then wait for Connor. He and his mother would certainly retreat to join the Salcedas after their latest raid on Cyberdyne. When it met them, the T-799 had a specific course of action it must take.
It never considered failure.
CHAPTER
THREE
COLORADO/UTAH AUGUST 2001
John kept his silence while Rosanna argued with his mother. None of them had to like each other, as long as they could cooperate.
Jade headed for the quiet, hilly suburb where they'd parked Enrique's Ford. The way they'd planned it, the cops knew nothing about that vehicle. Since no one had followed them from the Cyberdyne site, it looked as though they'd really gotten away in the confusion. They pulled into a supermarket parking lot, far enough from where they'd left the Ford to prevent any connection being made between it and their stolen police car.
Though he'd been hurt, Anton was still extraordinarily fast. He left at a run, then returned in the Ford minutes later. They piled in, and Jade took over the wheel from Anton. He was recovering all the time; he scarcely seemed the same man who'd been cut up so badly fighting the T-XA
They weaved a path out of the city, meeting no problems. Thankfully, they were still one step ahead. Jade headed west, to pick up I-70, which would take them to Utah. At this time of night, there was little traffic on the
Interstate, but she kept to the speed limit for now, not wanting to be stopped by the cops. As she drove, John tried to work out their next move. It depended on so many things-how badly they'd set back Cyberdyne's research, for a start.
"Okay," he said. "Let's just compare notes here." He turned to Rosanna. "You are on our side, right?"
She frowned, as though tired of
being asked. "Yes, I am. I told you: Skynet wants to kill me as much as any of you. I'm not just going to let it."
"But the T-XA reprogrammed you. Aren't you supposed to be trying to help it? Why should we trust you?"
"What choice do you think you have? Anyway, I can see the programming for what it is, and I don't like it. I don't have to accept it."
"This is deep," John said, allowing himself a smile.
"That's just the point, my reprogramming didn't go deep enough. If it had, you wouldn't be here now. You'd probably be dead, and the game would be as good as over."
When they'd first discovered that Rosanna had been reprogrammed, Jade had said that the T-XA would want to preserve Rosanna's genius, try not to tamper with her mind too much. He'd seen and heard enough of Rosanna to sense that her genius fed on strong emotions, on her need for fame and immortality. So was that what had beaten Skynet? It had left her deepest needs untouched, and that included a very strong will to live. In the end, she'd helped John and the others operate the time vault, but not out of any human feeling. She'd destroyed the T-XA as a step to prevent Skynet's creation.
"Look at it this way," she said. "Have you ever had a totally irrational aversion, like to some kind of food you know is good for you? Even if you know it's irrational, you can't eat the food. That's how I feel about human beings right now. I don't like them, and I can't like them. But I know it's not rational, and I'm not going to let myself get killed over it."
In fact, John realized, she'd become a sort of psychopath. She hated human beings, but she wanted to destroy Skynet even more.
"What notes do you want to compare?" Jade said. "We still have to stop Cyberdyne's plans."
"Well, yeah, but how?"
"We'll have to go to Washington," Rosanna said. "There are people I need to talk to-people who have the right authority. That's the only way."
Jade glanced over her shoulder. "I think that is right. Does everyone agree?"
Nobody spoke. John sensed that Sarah was holding back, but he didn't want to press her. Maybe they were all too tired.
T2 - 02 - The New John Connor Chronicles - An Evil Hour Page 4
