Terminator - T3 01 - Rise of the Machines Read online

  Early morning work traffic had already started to pick up as Kate drove the two miles over to the clinic, but it took her only a few minutes.

  She'd gotten rid of her lime green VW bug six months ago when Scott moved in, so when she was on animal business she used the clinic's Toyota Tundra pickup with its tan cap and the Emery logo on the side. It was the only sensible solution because she sometimes made commercial calls, mostly to pet stores, and a few times to farms outside the valley.

  It was satisfying work, most of the time. Animals were a lot more straightforward than people. They might be

  vicious sometimes, but they were always honest and up front. Especially the dogs. You always knew where you stood with them.

  She parked in front and as soon as she got out of the truck she could hear the racket in the kennel, and her gut tightened. The last time this happened some junkie had broken into the place looking for drugs. The cops had shown up just ahead of Kate and had found the guy passed out in the reception area. Stoned on something. The dogs had gone wild.

  She should have called the cops, but she had her cell phone and if need be 911 would dispatch a unit out here within minutes.

  Kate let herself in through the front door, locking it behind her. She flipped on the lights and headed to the back. The dogs were barking like mad.

  "Cool it, guys, it's just me," Kate said, heading down the hall to the supply room and kennel.

  She pushed through the frosted glass doors, flipped on the lights, and tossed her keys and cell phone atop the file cabinet Turning, she spotted the jimmied supply cabinet that had obviously been rummaged.

  "Great. Junkies," she said, walking over to check out what was missing. An empty Torbutrol bottle was lying on the floor. She bent down to pick it up and spotted a splash of blood.

  A trail of blood led across the room to the shadows in a corner. Surgical supplies were laid out on top of a box, bloody gauze on the floor, an empty suture set bag discarded.

  Kate straightened up and stepped back, a little quea-siness roiling in her stomach. Whoever it was had probably cut themselves breaking in.

  She turned and reached for her cell phone as a man about her own age, but beat-up, like he'd been in some kind of an accident, limped out from behind a stack of dog food boxes.

  "Please don't do that," Connor said, his voice a little slurred.

  Kate's fear evaporated, changing into anger. "I suppose you're the asshole who ripped us off last week."

  "No. That'd be some other asshole."

  Kate edged nearer to the file cabinet and reached for her cell phone, but Connor pulled a pistol from his jacket and pointed it at her. His hand was unsteady and his eyes were bleary. Kate figured it was the Torbutrol.

  "I can't let you call the cops," he said. "Sorry."

  Kate stepped back from the file cabinet, and gave Connor a closer scrutiny. He looked as if he hadn't had a decent meal or a decent night's sleep in a long time. His eyes had a—she searched for a word. He looked haunted.

  "It was an accident," he explained. "I just—needed medicine."

  "There's an emergency clinic a half mile—"

  "I can't do that," Connor cut her off.

  Kate held up the empty Torbutrol bottle. "How much did you take?"

  "Enough."

  Kate shook her head. "Well, you took the wrong thing. This is the stuff we use to chemically neuter dogs."

  Connor laughed. It was obvious he didn't believe her. But she kept her gaze steady, as if she thought he was stupid, and she felt sorry for him.

  Suddenly he wasn't so sure. His eyes dropped to the pill bottle in her hand.

  Kate tossed it at him. Instinctively he tried to catch it, momentarily losing his balance. She snatched the pistol from his hand, skipped back out of his reach, and pointed it at him.

  "Take it easy," he said, raising a hand as if to ward off a blow.

  "Back," she told him.

  Connor stumbled backward through the double doors into the kennel where the dogs had finally started to quiet down. A few of them whined when they recognized Kate, but the animals were uncertain of what was going on.

  Kate motioned toward one of the empty cages for large dogs. "I want you inside."

  "No way—"

  Kate raised the pistol. "Now."

  Connor reluctantly did as he was ordered, his leg very painful. It was obvious he was watching for her to make a mistake. And it was just as obvious that he was in no shape to do anything about it, if she did. Not until the effects of the Torbutrol began to wear off.

  Kate slammed the cage door shut, and dropped the latch. Now the cage was impossible to open from inside, and she allowed herself to relax for the first time.

  She hunched down in front of the cage and looked at him. There was something familiar... something she

  couldn't quite put her finger on... something bothersome.

  "Look, this isn't what you think," Connor told her.

  At that moment the buzzer at the front door went off. Someone had seen the lights in the reception room and had brought a sick animal.

  "Yeah, right," she said.

  She got up and went back into the storage room where she set the pistol aside and got her cell phone. Suddenly she had it! She knew! And it was like someone had dropped a brick on her head.

  She turned on her heel and went back into the kennel. Connor looked up at her expectantly.

  "Mike Kripke's basement," she said.

  The front buzzer was going crazy, and the dogs were starting to get agitated again.

  "What?" Connor asked, confused. "What does that mean?"

  Kate shook her head in amazement, then went to find out what idiot was at the front door at this hour.

  When she was gone, Connor tried for the latch, but it was just beyond his reach. He braced his back against the rear bars and kicked at the door with no results.

  "Beautiful," he muttered.

  c.9

  North Hollywood

  T-X waited until a garbage truck lumbered past, then turned into the takeout driveway of an all-night fast-food restaurant.

  Twenty minutes ago she had telephoned the home number of Maria Barrera in Reseda, which she had downloaded from the L.A. County welfare database. Her Spanish was perfect, but Mrs. Barrera said that her son wasn't home. He was at work.

  "He's a good boy. He's been no trouble. Please."

  "Where is he working, Mrs. Barrera?" T-X asked politely.

  "Jim's Burgers. It's in North Hollywood. Please, he's a good boy."

  There were no cars in line as T-X pulled up to the menu board and speaker, and only a couple of Hispanic kids with their low-riders in the parking lot.

  "Welcome to Jim's Burgers, can I take your order?" The voice was of a young, Hispanic male.

  "Jose Barrera?" T-X asked.

  "Um... yeah."

  T-X pulled forward to the order window as Barrera leaned out to see what was going on. He looked to be in his late teens or early twenties. He wore a blue hat and blue shirt with the restaurant's logo.

  T-X looked up at the boy and smiled. His name tag read Barrera. Her head-up display showed a match.

  She had the Sig-Sauer on her lap. She lifted it and fired two shots into the young man's face, then laid the gun on the passenger seat, drove past the pickup window, around the restaurant, and back out onto the street where she accelerated smoothly into the night

  Her head-up display showed a grid:

  ANDERSON, WILLIAM - TERMINATED ANDERSON, ELIZABETH - TERMINATED BARRERA, JOSE - TERMINATED BREWSTER, KATHERINE - OPEN CONNOR, JOHN - OPEN

  The Katherine Brewster line was highlighted, and a file came up with photographs as well as home and work addresses and phone numbers.

  She entered Katherine Brewster's home number into the cell phone. After five rings it was finally answered by a man.

  "Yes?"

  "Katherine Brewster?"

  "Who's calling? Do you know what time it is?"

  "Katherine B
rewster, please. This is a veterinary emergency."

  "She's not here. She's at the clinic. It's the same thing I told the guy who called five minutes ago." T-X hung up.

  Santa Clara

  Strictly speaking, Terminator was incapable of experiencing human feelings, or of having premonitions. But he could and did constantly evaluate data: old data from his memory banks, and new data that his sensors continuously gathered. From such evaluations he could make predictive forecasts to which he could assign probability values.

  He was programmed to know that Skynet was sending or had already sent back a terminator. He was also programmed with the knowledge that it was a T-X assigned to eliminate targets of opportunity, among them John Connor and Katherine Brewster.

  Finally, he was programmed, by Connor himself, to understand that in this era Connor was what might be called a loose cannon; no permanent address and only scanty personal records in a few databases.

  The T-X would understand this, and would probably view Katherine Brewster as a preliminary target

  Terminator's head-up display assigned an 88.97733451 percent probability to such a scenario.

  After he had spoken with the man who answered Katherine Brewster's home telephone, Terminator increased the scenario probability to 94.5365555 percent.

  From his database he brought up Katherine's place of employment, Emery Animal Hospital, pinpointed the address on a map of the Los Angeles area, and headed there.

  Traffic was light at this hour of the morning, mostly semis. With his onboard electronic emissions detectors (which included radar) he pushed the truck to speeds in excess of one hundred miles per hour.

  c.10

  The Valley

  Out in the lobby Kate saw who was ringing the front buzzer, and she groaned inwardly.

  She was still in a state of shock that she recognized the guy she'd locked in the cage. But the more she thought about it the more worried she became. There'd been trouble around him.

  Kate unlocked the front door, and Betsy Steinberg, one of Emery's regular and more obnoxious customers, pushed her way past with her pet carrier clutched firmly in her grip.

  "It's Hercules, I think he's got pneumonia. He just started coughing and he wouldn't stop—" The woman was about Kate's age and general build, but she could be very insistent, something Kate normally wasn't

  "Betsy, I've got a problem in back."

  "A problem?" the woman shouted, alarmed. "This is an emergency!"

  Kate peered into the carrier. Hercules was a pampered, overfed, overweight Siamese cat whose only problem was his owner, who treated the cat like a person and

  not like an animal. The cat lowered its head and coughed politely.

  "Sounds like a hairball," Kate said.

  "I know what hairballs sound like," Betsy shrilled. "Where's Dr. Monroe?"

  "It's five-thirty in the morning, I'm sure he's home sleeping. He'll come in if he has to—" Kate smiled, softening. The woman was frightened enough about the safety of an animal she obviously loved to get up and come down to the clinic. "Look, just wait here with Hercules. I'll be just a few minutes, all right?"

  Betsy searched Kate's face to make sure that she wasn't being blown off, then nodded. "Okay."

  Kate went back into the kennel, picked up the Tor-butrol bottle, and hunched down in front of the cage that held her prisoner.

  "Did you call the cops?" Connor asked.

  "Not yet."

  Connor glanced at the empty bottle. "Am I going to need my stomach pumped or something?"

  Kate felt a little sorry for him. He looked forlorn. Lost. "You took a couple hundred milligrams of a narcotic ... you're going to be out of it for a while. That's all."

  Connor nodded.

  "You're John Connor," Kate blurted.

  A look of surprise flickered in his eyes.

  "I'm Kate Brewster. West Hills Junior High."

  Connor had to laugh quietly; there was nothing much else he could do under the circumstances. He shook his head. "Nice seeing you again, Kate."

  T-X came around the corner past the Universal Rentals lot with the big yellow crane behind the fence, and pulled up behind a pickup truck and a Cadillac DeVille parked in front of the animal clinic.

  The veterinary hospital was a match with T-X's files.

  She got out of the Lexus and started up the walk.

  "What happened to you, John?" Kate asked.

  It was a good question, Connor thought. He lay back against the bars and closed his eyes. How to summarize his crazy life in twenty-five words or less?

  "Middle of the eighth grade, you just disappeared. And there was something about your foster parents—*

  "They were murdered," Connor replied, opening his eyes.

  Kate reared back.

  "I didn't do it," Connor said, matter-of-factly. How to explain that part to her? Impossible. "So, wow," he said, trying to lighten it up a bit "West Hills. Those were the days." He grinned at her. "I don't suppose for old times' sake you'd just let me—"

  Something crashed out front. Kate looked up, alarmed. It sounded like a lot of glass breaking. Almost as if a car or truck or something had crashed through the front windows.

  She turned back to Connor. "What the hell—? Is somebody with you?"

  Connor shook his head. "No."

  Kate stood up and hurried into the hall to the reception area. She was just in time at the door to see Betsy come around the corner as a stunning-looking blond woman stepped through the smashed front door, a big gun in her hand.

  The woman raised the pistol without a moment's hesitation and fired twice, both shots hitting Betsy in the chest, driving her backward off her feet, blood flying everywhere, her arms and legs splaying out.

  Kate took a half step back away from the door, a scream caught in her throat. This wasn't happening. She couldn't move. She could not utter a sound as she watched in horror.

  The blond walked to where Betsy lay and bent down over her.

  "Katherine Brewster?"

  Betsy was still alive. Her mouth moved, trying to form a word, but she could not speak.

  The blond touched a delicate finger into the blood that covered Betsy's chest, then raised it to her lips.

  A moment later the woman shook her head. "No," she said softly.

  The dogs were barking furiously, howling and baying, knowing instinctively that death was nearby. Hercules the cat was out of his pet carrier. He sauntered around from behind the counter, glanced at his owner and then up at the blond woman, a look of indifference on the feline features.

  Kate backed up as the woman turned and came directly toward her. It suddenly registered on her that the

  killer had used her name! She realized that she had just a second to make a decision; stay and be shot to death like Betsy, or move and try to live.

  She turned and sprinted back into the storage room where she snatched her cell phone from the top of the file cabinet and ducked behind the stack of dog food boxes. With shaking hands she managed to enter 9 and then 1 before she fumbled the phone and it clattered to the floor.

  Before she could retrieve it, the door opened and T-X stepped inside, the big gun sweeping left to right across the room.

  The cell phone was on the floor less than a foot from the killer's right boot Kate could do nothing but hold her breath.

  T-X spotted the bloody gauze and other surgical supplies on the floor. She moved forward, picked up the gauze, and touched it to her tongue for a sample to process.

  A double helix DNA sequence appeared in her head-up display. lines of genetic code streamed across her eyes with lightning speed.

  A moment later her head-up display cleared. John Connor's head shot came up over the legend: john con-

  NOR-----PRIMARY TARGET.

  Kate watched with openmouthed amazement and fear. It was almost as if the killer had tasted the blood to see who it was from.

  But that was crazy. This whole thing was insane. Surreal. It was a nightmare from he
ll.

  Making as little noise as possible, Kate stepped out from behind the boxes, grabbed her keys, and dashed out the door back into the hallway.

  The killer turned inhumanly fast, fired at the retreating figure, wood splinters hitting the back of Kate's neck, and continued to fire, emptying the gun as she gave chase.

  Kate raced out into the reception area, skirting Betsy's blood-soaked body, her heart hammering nearly out of her chest.

  The stupid cat leaped from out of nowhere, tangling with Kate's feet, sending her sprawling on all fours.

  The cat howled in rage and pain and shot away as Kate picked herself up, ducked through the broken glass, and sprinted to the animal van.

  This had something to do with John Connor. She'd had a bad feeling terrible things were going to happen the second she realized who he was. There had been a lot of weird shit going on when they were kids. It had been more than Connor's foster parents. There'd been other killings, explosions. Strange stuff.

  His mother had even gone crazy and had been locked away. The rumor was that the woman claimed that robots from the future had come back to kill her.

  Kate tore open the driver's side door, scrambled behind the wheel, locked the door, and fumbled to get the key in the ignition.

  She looked up. The killer was right there! The homicidal woman ripped the driver's side door off its hinges. She tossed it aside as if it were nothing more than a piece

  of cardboard, and pulled Kate out of the truck, tossing her on the ground like a dishrag.

  Kate frantically backpedaled, desperately trying to get away from the killer, but she jammed the heel of her boot into Kate's throat

  "Where is John Connor?"

  Kate couldn't breathe, let alone speak. She managed to shake her head. Somewhere in the foggy distance she thought she heard the sound of a car or truck or something screeching around the corner at the end of the block, its engine revving high.

  "He was here," the killer said in a calm, unhurried tone. "Where did he go?" She eased the pressure on Kate's neck.

  Suddenly an impossibly large, dark presence loomed directly over Kate's head; screaming, roaring noise, the strong odors of burnt rubber, oil, gasoline, and something else, tall wheels bracketing her body.