Terminator - T3 01 - Rise of the Machines Read online

  Kate shook her head in confusion. It was clear she had no idea what he was talking about. "I don't understand."

  "Your father, this is all about your father," Connor told her excitedly. "He's the key! He always was—not Cy-berdyne. Don't you see? We couldn't stop them from creating the technology. That part was inevitable, but we can stop it from being used. Your father's the one who can shut Skynet down. He's the only one who ever could." His jaw tightened. He turned to Terminator. We have to get to him before the T-X does."

  "Negative," Terminator said. "I cannot jeopardize my mission." He turned and went back to the Winnebago with his load of weapons.

  "This is your mission!" Connor shouted after him. "To save people."

  Terminator turned. "My mission is to ensure the survival of John Connor and Katherine Brewster."

  "I'm giving you an order," Connor said with a sharp edge in his voice.

  "I am not programmed to follow your orders," Terminator replied indifferently. He put the weapons into the

  RV. "After the nuclear war you will both lead."

  "Nuclear war?" Kate shouted. This was way over the top for her, even after everything else she had been put through this day.

  "There doesn't have to be a war," Connor insisted.

  Terminator went back to the hearse for another load. Connor grabbed his arm to pull him back, but it was like trying to stop a moving locomotive.

  "We can stop it," Connor told him.

  "There is insufficient time. The first launch sequences will be initiated at 6:18 p.m."

  Connor was caught flat-footed. "Today?" he blurted.

  "Affirmative," Terminator said.

  Connor was more deeply shocked than he'd ever been in his life; even more unsure of what he was supposed to do than he had been the first time Terminator had come for him and his mother.

  "John, what is he saying?" Kate asked.

  "Judgment Day," he told her, but he didn't take his eyes off Terminator. "The end of the world. It's today. Three hours from now."

  "Two hours and fifty-three minutes," Terminator said precisely. "We must continue south into Mexico to escape the primary blast zones."

  "We have to get to her dad."

  "The Mojave area sustains significant nuclear fallout. You will not survive."

  "You mean we just run and hide in a hole somewhere while the bombs fall?"

  Terminator looked Connor in the eye. "It is your des-

  tiny." He said it as if there were no other possibility.

  But there were other possibilities. Connor looked away toward the distant desert. If he and Kate were supposed to become the leaders of the human resistance in some future time, why couldn't they begin right now? Here and now by doing something—one thing—to try to stop Judgment Day. Nothing was inevitable. His mother had drummed into his head fate was what we made it.

  He glanced at Kate, then back at Terminator, and made his decision.

  He pulled the pistol from his belt, switched off the safety, and pressed the muzzle to his own temple.

  "Fuck my destiny," he said with determination.

  Terminator moved toward him, but Connor held up a warning finger, and he stopped.

  "John... ?" Kate asked uncertainly.

  "You cannot self-terminate," Terminator said.

  "No, you can't," Connor told him. "I can do whatever the hell I want. I'm a human being, not a goddamn robot"

  "Cybernetic organism," Terminator automatically corrected.

  "Whatever," Connor said. He girded himself. "Either we go to her father, get him to shut down Skynet, and stop this shit from ever happening, or so much for the great John Connor."

  He pressed the muzzle of the gun a little harder against his temple. He would do it if he had to.

  "Your future, my destiny—" Connor's jaw tightened

  in anger. "I don't want any part of it. I never did."

  Terminator's sensors did a complete body scan of Connor. "Based on your pupil dilation, skin temperature, and motor functions, I calculate an eighty-three percent probability that you will not pull the trigger."

  Kate took a step toward Terminator. "Please, do what he says." She glanced at Connor, then back. "You have to save my father."

  Terminator watched the subtle interplay between Kate and John. He nodded, the gesture very human. He came to a decision in the same way most humans came to decisions, by weighing all the options and possible outcomes.

  "We can reach CRS in approximately one hour, depending on traffic conditions."

  He turned without another word or gesture, placed the last of the weapons and loads into the Winnebago, and then got behind the wheel, ripped the ignition set out of the steering column, and started the engine.

  For a long time Connor stood very still, the pistol still held to his head. He had won. But at what cost?

  He could hear the rippling water of the trout stream as it splashed over the rocks. He could hear the light breeze rustling the leaves. He could smell grass and sweet pine and perhaps even the dry, sandalwood odors of the distant desert.

  Slowly he lowered the pistol. Kate stared at him, an unreadable expression in her eyes. He smiled at her.

  They had gotten through another crisis.

  There were more to come.

  c.21

  Cyber Research Systems Edwards Air Farce Base

  Three-star General Robert Brewster paused in the doorway to the expansive CRS presentation lounge a few minutes after four. He was a compact man with short dark hair and an air of resigned authority. These had been a tough few days.

  A dozen high-ranking civilians and Air Force officers with whom Brewster had worked over the past four years were seated in front of the big video screen watching the start of the new CRS disk.

  The slick promotional piece, complete with multiplane graphics, computer-aided animation, music, and sound effects had cost the corporation nearly two million dollars, and that for only fifteen minutes of what his wife would have called techno babble.

  But the promo disk wasn't meant for the Saturday matinees. It was targeted at key members of the Pentagon, many of them still skeptical, as well as a large segment of the Congress who thought the entire Skynet project was

  not only astronomically expensive, but exceedingly dangerous.

  "Turning over our entire defense network to a goddamn computer is nothing but nuts," New York Representative Howard F. Stevenson argued. He was the ranking member on so many House oversight committees that the media called him Mr. Watchdog.

  The disk was for Stevenson, if for no one else. Convince him, and everyone else would fall into line.

  The CRS symbol, interlocked branches within a six-sided figure, came up on the screen with the words cyber

  RESEARCH SYSTEMS.

  The narrator, who was actually a tech sergeant from Andrews Air Force Base, spoke over the logo.

  "Cyber Research Systems, America's first line of defense—creators of the weapons technology of tomorrow—invites you to preview the most exciting ordnance of the twenty-first century."

  Music swelled from speakers around the room as the video ran through the opening montage of weapons and weapons systems: high-tech hydraulics, highly reflective metal surfaces, sculpted into compound curves, plastics, electronic circuitry, advanced electromechanical devices, the uses of which could only be guessed at, and finally the barrels of a deadly looking chaingun.

  "No ordinary think tank, our mission here at CRS—to make human warfare a thing of the past—is just a funding cycle away."

  General Brewster squared his shoulders and marched into the room. Yesterday and last night had been disasters,

  with outages throughout the system, from Alaska to Guam, and from Andrews outside Washington, D.C., to Ramstein outside Kaiserslautern, Germany, and even right here at Edwards.

  None of them had gotten much sleep, and so far, today had been a repeat performance of putting out fires as fast as they popped up.

  Now it was his task to be
gin selling a system he was no longer as sure of as he had been two days ago.

  "Sorry I'm late, gentlemen," he said.

  A young CRS executive operating the video system hit pause as Thomas S. Shelby, CRS's chief financial officer, looked up.

  "We just got started, Bob. Take a seat," Shelby said.

  Brewster slipped in next to the CRS money man.

  "Once you all sign off, I'll send the promos to the Joint Chiefs and Armed Services Committee," Shelby's young assistant said. His name was Sherwood Olson. He was a Harvard MBA. He clicked the remote and the video came on.

  "Say hello to the soldier of tomorrow," the narrator said.

  The screen widened on a sleek, menacing robot, armed with an array of sensors in its small head structure, with heavy, articulated arms that ended in deadly looking chainguns. The machine moved nimbly on a pair of wide treads, and it was very tall, nearly eight feet.

  "The T-l battlefield robot. A fully autonomous ground offensive system."

  It would have to be explained to the Washington

  crowd that T-l was deadly, but it was nothing more than a first generation. The T-l-7s were more sophisticated. But there were even better projects on the near horizon. Much better.

  The narrator continued. "And in the air, the H-K aerial weapons system—or, as we like to call it, the Hunter-Killer."

  An H-K drone hovered in midair, It looked like a futuristic, rotorless helicopter, armed with a variety of weapons systems, but with no pilot.

  Like the T-ls, the Hunter-Killers were autonomous battlefield systems. They could think and fight for themselves.

  The H-K fired a missile that homed in on a target tank in the distance, completely obliterating it

  "This isn't science fiction," the narrator assured his audience. "It's reality, thanks to our top-secret innovation—Skynet—the revolutionary, artificially intelligent battlefield management network."

  The video displayed a computer screen that showed the Skynet worldwide network of satellites.

  "From strategic weapons to the individual soldier in the field, Skynet is able to control it all."

  A model of the neural net computer chip that Cy-berdyne's Miles Bennet Dyson had used as the basis for the first models of Skynet came up on the screen. It looked otherworldly. From another time or place. From what could have been an alien, nonhuman mind. Brewster thought that Dyson had been anything but an ordinary man.

  Without Dyson leading the way before his tragic death, there would have been no Cyber Research Systems, and certainly no Skynet

  On the screen, Boris Kuznetskov, one of the best chess players in the world, moved his white knight into a position threatening the black queen and king.

  He played against a robotic arm of gleaming copper-gold metal, with finely articulated fingers. The Russian's board position appeared to be unbeatable.

  "Not only can Skynet outthink the most inspired human adversary, but it designs the weapons it needs to meet its war-fighting plans.

  "It is the definition of thinking outside the box." The robotic arm moved a rook from a middle rank. Suddenly the outcome of the chess match wasn't so clear. The Russian was rattled.

  "During this match alone, Skynet invented twenty-six thousand one hundred twenty-three new variations of chess, and over six million new moves."

  It was clear that the Russian was defeated and he knew it.

  "Meanwhile, human generals are still playing a four-thousand-year-old game," the narrator said.

  Kuznetskov flipped over the chessboard in exasperation, looked bleakly at the robot arm, and then stalked off camera.

  "Great leaders are not born," the narrator continued. "They're made. Right here. With technology developed at CRS."

  Typical of multinational corporations, Brewster

  thought. If something is said loud enough, often enough, and with absolute conviction, it will be believed.

  "Actually the patents were obtained from a private vendor. Cyberdyne," he said as an aside to Shelby.

  "Ancient history," the CRS financial officer replied.

  Images of high-tech workshops where T-l battlefield robots were being readied for service came up on the screen. Scientists and technicians in white lab coats used a variety of test equipment to check every system in the machines.

  "T-l and H-K research and development is complete," the narrator reported. "On budget, ahead of schedule."

  Rows of T-ls ready for action were moving into holding areas.

  "Working prototypes are now up and running, ready to face action in the conflicts of tomorrow."

  Suddenly the video image cut to a military funeral on a bleak, overcast day. A coffin was draped in an American flag.

  "Today, the loss of even one soldier in combat is intolerable—ask your constituents."

  The video image switched to a chart that showed the evolution of robotics from the first primitive factory machines to the T-ls, to the skeletal Terminators, and finally to cybernetic figures in full battle armor and infiltration coverings.

  "But with sufficient funding we need no longer risk the well-being of our men and women in uniform," the

  narrator promised. "Robots will take their place on the front lines."

  The image cut to a lab where an extremely well-muscled athletic man with narrow hips, broad shoulders, and powerful legs was running on a treadmill. He was dressed only in Spandex shorts. Sensors were placed all over his body, which glistened with sweat Doctors and medical techs monitored the man's progress.

  "Motion capture studies are being applied even now to the development of the next generation of robotic defense systems," the narrator said.

  In an inset an animated steel robot mimicked the human test subject's motions.

  The camera moved to the front of the athlete who stepped off the treadmill and wiped his square, ruggedly cut handsome face with a towel.

  The new cybernetic systems were being called Terminators, Brewster thought. This one, the T-600, with a similar model, the T-800, in development.

  "I'm Chief Master Sergeant William Candy," the athlete model said, his Texas drawl thick. "I was honored to be selected in the ongoing effort to save American lives." Brewster frowned. He hadn't seen this part before. He glanced over at Shelby's assistant running the video. The man had been responsible for much of the production work "Laying it on a little thick, wouldn't you say?" "It's a sales tool, General," Olson replied. "I don't know about that accent," Shelby groused. "We can fix it, sir," his assistant assured him.

  Brewster's chief engineer, Tony Plickinger, came into the presentation room and went to his boss.

  "Systems are crashing all over the place," he said in Brewster's ear so that no one else could hear him. "I don't know if we can stop it."

  Brewster got up, his heart skipping a beat, his stomach tied in a knot.

  Shelby looked up, puzzled, even a little angry by the interruption. "Bob?"

  "Sorry, something important," Brewster said.

  "What could be more important than this?" Shelby asked. The video image on the screen was on pause. The others in the room didn't look happy either. "Budget hearings start next week. If we don't land the production contract—"

  "You'll have to excuse me," Brewster said, and he left with his chief engineer.

  "That man will not focus," Shelby's assistant muttered, and he hit the remote to continue the video presentation.

  Sergeant Candy was in uniform. He stood beside the skeleton of a nonfunctioning Terminator.

  "It's now within our power to make war safe," Candy said. "And that truly is priceless."

  The image cut to an injection mold from which the shell of a head had been formed. There were no teeth, no eyes, no flesh tones, but it was the face of Sergeant Candy.

  "CRS brings you the face of the future," Candy said.

  c.22

  Above the Mojave

  As they crested Soledad Pass and started down into the desert, Kate tried the dash-mounted cell phone again
to see if she could get through to her father.

  She got a dial tone, but after the first three numbers, the signal strength faded and dropped to zero.

  Thirty seconds later it was back. She cleared the keypad and tried again. This time after only one number the phone received a series of squeals and warbling tones as if a computer were trying to connect with them.

  It was frustrating to her. And frightening not only because of what might happen to her father if the T-X got to him first, but also because of the chaos in everything else that seemed to be going on.

  Last night she would not have believed any of what she had gone through this morning was possible. Nor had it been conceivable to her that the world was on the brink of all-out nuclear war. Global thermonuclear war. The ultimate sword of Damocles.

  Now she wasn't so sure of anything. Least of all her

  own senses. This had to be a dream. Yet she knew that it was not.

  She broke the connection and replaced the cell phone on its bracket. "The whole cell network's down," she said.

  She sat in the Winnebago's passenger seat. Terminator drove and John was at the dinette table in back putting fuses into blocks of C-4 explosive.

  They were heading north out of the mountains, Edwards Air Force Base less than thirty miles away.

  Terminator glanced at her. "Skynet is assuming control of global communications, in preparation for its attack," he said.

  She was still having trouble buying into the entire scenario. But she had to ask the next question, no matter how crazy it sounded in her own ears.

  "So—if this is a war between people and machines, why are you on our side?"

  "The resistance captured me and reprogrammed my CPU," Terminator said blandly. He could have been discussing the weather. "I was originally designed for assassination missions."

  Like the T-X model, Kate thought with a shudder. "Does that bother you now?"

  "Remorse is a human concept based on the illusion of free will. It has no meaning to me."

  "So you don't really care if this mission succeeds or not," Kate said. She looked back at Connor who was watching them. "If we get killed, would that mean anything to you?"

  Terminator seemed to give her question serious con-