Infiltrator t2-1

by S. M. Stirling

“Last one,” John said to Dieter, who shoved the dolly he’d found in the janitor’s closet under the barrel.

  “Okay,” von Rossbach panted.

  They’d been working well together, and fast, running back and forth to the lift every minute or so, it seemed. Dieter glanced up as he pulled the barrel out of the elevator.

  “Oh, my God,” he said softly.

  John looked up at the indicator. There were now two elevators on four.

  “Mom!” he said, and ran for the stairs.

  “NO!” Dieter said, catching him by the back of his shirt. “Don’t just run out there. Look first.”

  “Right,” John said. He took a deep breath and gave the big man a rueful look.

  “Don’t tell Mom, okay?”

  “What do you think?” Dieter said.

  Cautiously, they opened the door and listened. Von Rossbach nodded and they moved carefully down the stairs.

  Jordan had fallen into a state of physical and emotional lethargy. His leg hurt, but he knew he couldn’t do anything about it and on some level had accepted the pain. Should I be worried about that? he wondered.

  When he saw signs of movement from Serena he thought he might be hallucinating—possibly going into shock. At first all he saw were random twitches, movements so small they might have been imaginary. Then there was a full-body convulsion.

  Something postmortem, he told himself wisely. Possibly brought on by all the fast food she’s been eating. And boy, could that girl pack away junk food. He’d always wondered how she managed to stay so slim.

  Then her head lifted and he had a full-body convulsion of his own.

  “Sarah!” he shouted. This can’t be happening. I’m going into shock, bethought.

  “SARAH!”

  Serena’s head came up off the floor. Her face, streaked with blood, was utterly white, the eyes lifeless. She stayed in that position, motionless, for what seemed a long time. There was a dark hole just above her right eyebrow and blood dripped slowly from her chin.

  “Sarah! She… it’s alive, Sarah!” He could feel the blood draining from his face and he begged God not to let him faint. Where the hell is she? he wondered frantically. “CONNOR!”

  Serena’s head turned in his direction, but her eyes seemed unfocused. Jordan found he couldn’t speak; his mouth went dry and his heart beat so fast it almost hurt.

  Then Serena’s body shifted, in an almost insect-like series of motions that first lifted her onto her hands and knees, then onto her fingertips and toes. Her head dipped and turned, in sharp, abrupt movements, as though adjusting itself to this position. A human couldn’t have held her head at that angle without pain; a human couldn’t have held her body like that without dropping to the floor almost immediately.

  ” CON-NORRRR!” Jordan screamed. Utter horror struck as he pushed himself back against the elevator wall with his good leg, until he was almost standing.

  “It’s alive!”

  The thing that had been Serena Burns shifted its head to look in his direction, and Jordan pushed the close doors button frantically. Nothing happened; he pushed a floor button. The elevator is dead, he thought. Oh, God! So am I! He got himself onto his feet and half hopped, half slid his way around to the door and through it.

  The Serena-thing scuttled toward him rapidly and he shouted in wordless terror, as he might had a spider the size of a wolf walked out of his dreams.

  Instinctively he put his weight onto his wounded leg and went down to one knee.

  He thought of the gun, still inside the elevator, and threw himself sideways; grabbing it, he rolled over and fired. It hit her in the shoulder and she folded back onto her knees, her head still up, still apparently watching him.

  Jordan once again dragged himself to the side of the elevator, never taking his eyes off of the thing, and pushed himself to his feet. He wondered how he would get past it; it blocked most of the doorway. He and Sarah finished setting the detonator on time fuse. She had no idea exactly what was happening out there, but she did know that there was probably very little she could do about it. The laser still had ten minutes to charge. And this had to be finished. Cyberdyne was going up tonight, Terminators and all, even if she and Dyson had to go with it.

  When she was finished she picked up the gun and stood. Okay, minions of Skynet, here I come, ready or not. She moved cautiously out of the office, thinking, Dieter, find my son, keep him safe. Please, my friend. Please.

  She arrived just in time to see Serena knock Dyson off his feet. Taken completely by surprise, she froze for a second. Between the two of them, Dyson and the woman, this one was the least likely to be on her feet again. People with

  their brains blown out didn’t get up again, and she’d seen the pink-and-gray jelly spatter.

  The bloodied blond head whipped round and the woman raised her gun and fired in one sharp movement. The bullet clipped the bone at the top of Sarah’s right shoulder and her gun went flying.

  Sarah dropped down behind the desk as the blond woman fired once more, then stopped. Connor pressed down on her shoulder, her eyes tearing, and sucked air between her teeth. She was dizzy and nauseous and black-and-white spots danced at the edges of her vision. Focus! she ordered herself. Focus!

  the thing looked at one another. The thought of it touching him made him want to vomit, and he swallowed bile.

  Then she scuttled backward until she reached the desk. Slowly she maneuvered herself from a kneeling into a sitting position, her feet tucked under in a way that should have been agonizing. She pushed herself up until she was standing on her two feet; then she froze.

  The wound in her shoulder didn’t seem to bother her at all. The bizarre manner in which she climbed to her feet had brought no change to her bland expression.

  Somehow, although she was looking right at him, her eyes seemed blind.

  Jordan noticed that she wasn’t breathing. In shock, he tucked into himself as though someone had poked him in the stomach. I’ve got to get out of here, he thought, and he hopped forward, sliding along the wall once he was outside the elevator. He had to find Connor.

  He risked a glance toward the office where Sarah had disappeared, and that’s when the thing made its move. He brought up the gun, but it grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward. Once again his leg failed him and he began to fall. The thing struck him across the face hard enough to send him sprawling, then twisted the gun from his grip as he went down.

  Sarah heard footsteps and looked around for the gun. It was under a desk, about twelve feet away from her. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to crawl; her right arm was almost useless, but she pushed herself forward with her feet.

  Almost there… she reached forward and a bullet almost took off her fingers.

  The T-950 continued to move forward, continued to work on readjusting its faltering visual equipment. It sensed that it had come very close that time, but the biological elements were failing and the implants could only compensate to a certain extent. When failure came, it would be an exponential process.

  Sarah pushed herself backward on the smooth floor, back toward the receptionist’s desk. The Terminator—it had to be a Terminator—had a gun in its hand, she was sure. She wished the damn laser would hurry up and recharge.

  Finding its target gone the T-950 listened and heard slithering noises off toward the fallen Six. II couldn’t run, at least not yet, but it moved inexorably toward its fallen companion. The human mustn’t be allowed to obtain a weapon. This unit was vulnerable to guns.

  Sarah stretched out her arm as far as it would go and grasped the barrel of the gun. She tugged and nothing happened; she couldn’t even drag the arm closer to her. Whatever had happened to its internal circuits when she hit it with the laser had caused the machine lo freeze into a single immovable piece.

  Goddammit! she though. Easing herself forward, Sarah brought her other hand into play, Trying lo wrestle the weapon out of the big hand as quietly as possible.

  She didn’t wast
e much lime on it; it took her a matter of seconds lo realize it was hopeless. Sarah pressed her hands lo The floor lo push herself backward.

  The T-950 fired and wounded Connor’s left forearm. The human cried out in pain. It had to be content with that. Enough wounds, even minor ones, would kill The human with cumulative damage. Soon she would be incapacitated enough that the Infiltrator could kill her with its hands. Perhaps that was best.

  Sarah pushed herself backward frantically, aiming for one of The desks behind its beige partition. Maybe I can lure it into this maze and lose it long enough to get back to stairs or the elevators. She’d like lo gel Dyson out of here if she could. Assuming he was still alive, that is.

  She got herself onto her hands and knees and launched herself toward the clerk’s den of cubicles before her. The Terminator fired, and hit her, creating a searing line of fire along her ribs. Sarah caught her breath in a sob; grilling her teeth, she moved on. She dived into a cubicle, separated The wall, Then pushed Them back together again, hoping The Terminator wouldn’t know how lo follow her.

  The T-950 followed Connor into a cubicle but found her gone. Il heard sounds on the far side of the wall and considered shooting, but decided against it. Its supply of ammunition was limited, while the target’s ability to escape seemed unlimited. The Infiltrator had no doubt of its eventual success; it merely conserved supplies in order to ensure it.

  Sarah moved as quietly as she could, which was difficult. Her wounds were

  relatively minor, but they all bled. She could feel herself growing weaker and she felt clumsy and disoriented. I should go back toward the front of the office, she thought. She could see the gun under that desk in her mind’s eye. And she needed a weapon desperately.

  The next turn brought her out onto a main corridor beside the wall. Left or right?

  she wondered. She couldn’t see very much difference from here between either end of the corridor. Left, she decided, and began to stumble in that direction. She was almost there when she looked up and saw that she was heading the wrong way.

  There was a sound somewhere behind her and she ducked into the nearest cubicle. Hunkering down and pressing herself against the soft wall, she listened, breathing through her mouth to quiet her breathing.

  Outside the T-950 stalked by with no attempt to hide itself. Its head swung like a gun turret from side to side. Its eyes didn’t seem to be working right. Maybe it was listening. The thought bumped Sarah’s heartbeat up a notch and she grimaced. If it can’t hear that, it must be deaf.

  After the Terminator passed, she slipped out and crept to the other cubicle, ducking in there. She waited a few heartbeats, then risked looking out into the corridor. It was empty; the Terminator must have turned the corner. Sarah slipped out and ran as fast as she could toward the elevators.

  The T-950 stepped around the corner and fired. A good solid hit this time in the target’s leg. The human went down and thrashed on the floor for a moment. Then she was gone.

  Sarah limped as fast as she could down the cross-corridor toward the far wall, blinded by tears. With every step that pulsed out more of her blood, her mind swore and raged. I’ve got to bind this up, she thought. Her worry was the trail she was leaving rather than her probable collapse. Sarah refused to contemplate such an eventuality.

  When she got around the next corner she went down on one knee, and for a moment couldn’t get up. Surrendering to necessity, she sat, her back to the cubicle wall, and pulled off her belt. She stuffed the taser in her pocket; still five minutes left until it could be used. Unbelievable, she thought. It feels like I used it yesterday. With shaking hands she bound her belt tightly around her leg. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.

  The Infiltrator moved slowly down the corridor, expecting to find its target at any moment. Even the most slippery human was vulnerable to blood loss. Once again it tried to force more speed, only to find that slowed it more. The elevators were nonfunctional, it remembered, and with the wound in her leg climbing stairs would be slow going for Connor. Skynet would prevail.

  Sarah struggled to her feet and found that it made her dizzy and brought a mouthful of bile; she spat it out on the floor and swallowed, the bitter fluid rasping at her throat. When she tried to take a step she found that her leg wouldn’t bear her weight. Giving in, she allowed herself to collapse to the floor, and lying flat, crawled. It was easier.

  Halfway along the corridor she spied a boxed fire hose on the wall. Above it was another box; behind its glass was a fire ax. Sarah looked at it stupidly for a moment, then she smiled.

  Low-tech, she thought, but serviceable.

  Beside the whole arrangement was a smaller box. If the glass on this was broken and the button pushed, the safety sprinklers would be activated. Do I want to be wet? she wondered. Do I want to be alive? she answered herself. Her mind seemed to be moving more slowly; the plan formed immediately, but it took her several moments to work out how to actually do it. The water first; that might help to hide sound and movement.

  Sarah dragged herself up and hit the glass with its tiny hammer. She almost broke down and cried when the glass only cracked. She hadn’t thought she was so weak. What if I can’t do it? She thought of Kyle.

  On your feet, soldier! she thought fiercely. She hit the glass again and it shattered. Pressing the button, she flinched when the first drops of water hit. It was cold.

  The Infiltrator stopped dead as water exploded from the sprinklers above. There was nothing in its memory to explain this. What did it mean? Irrelevant, it decided. Something the enemy had done, though how or why it didn’t know.

  Perhaps the intention was to obscure its vision or hearing. Looking out into a world gone gray, the Infiltrator thought its enemy had succeeded better than it could know.

  Dieter insisted on going through the door first, which John had no problem with.

  He was wounded and therefore less able. John covered him, a gun in his left hand. There was a nasty, squeezing sensation in his head at the sight of the prone Terminator just outside the door.

  Dieter shoved it with his foot, barely shaking it. Then his gun hand snapped up at the sound of a groan. Looking around, he saw Dyson sprawled in a heap by the elevator. He moved quickly over to him and John followed. He noticed a pool of blood beside the Terminator and looked around.

  Von Rossbach knelt beside Dyson and gently turned him over. Jordan’s eyes were open, but were as yet uncomprehending, and he groaned again.

  Dieter tapped his cheek gently, whispering, “Dyson. Wake up. Dyson.”

  John crouched beside them, his back to the wall, eyes roving.

  “Where’s my mother?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

  Jordan caught that and tried to answer, the words came out strangled and garbled and he frowned. He licked his lips and tried again.

  “Another Terminator,” he said. “My boss. Sarah shot her.” His eyes rolled toward Dieter and he shook his head slightly. “She came back to life. She… it got the drop on your mother. They’re out there somewhere.” He gestured weakly toward the semi dark cubicles.

  John and Dieter both rose to their feet, looking outward. There was the distant sound of breaking glass and then the water came on.

  “This way!” Dieter said, and plunged toward the sound.

  Sarah was sitting beside the doorway on the rolling desk chair, her back to the wall, waiting for the Terminator to pass. In her hands was the fire ax; she hefted

  it, holding it ready to strike.

  The 1-950 moved slowly down the corridor. It wondered how long this rain effect would last. It was diminishing its effectiveness. It paced on, head turning, listening.

  Sarah watched it pass, then leapt up and brought the ax down as hard as she could.

  John and Dieter rounded the corner in time to see an ax flash up, then down. It was a moment before John realized that his mother had wielded it. He ran toward them. The bright head of what must be Jordan’s Terminator boss turned and its ha
nd flashed back. He screamed as he watched it plunge that hand deep into his mother’s abdomen in a classic knife hand.

  Sarah’s eyes turned back into her head and she went down. The Terminator readied itself for a deathblow, moving slowly but powerfully.

  Dieter crouched, holding his Browning Hi-Power in both hands, and fired. The blond head bucked and the Terminator dropped to its knees. John fired, less accurately with his left hand, and struck it on the shoulder. Slowly it fell, landing athwart his mother.

  John ran toward them and with a strength he hadn’t known he possessed grabbed the Terminator and flung it aside. He gathered Sarah up in his arm and weeping called to her.

  “Mom!” he sobbed. “MOM! Don’t die, okay? Please, please, don’t die!”

  Dieter looked down on him, then turned to the female Terminator that was still moving weakly. He put his pistol against its head and fired several times.

  John jumped and looked at him desperately.

  Von Rossbach knelt beside them and checked Sarah over. The wound in her side was bad. Dieter had nothing on him suitable for making bandages, and neither had John. He glanced around and saw a scarf hanging from a coat rack in the cubicle before him. He grabbed it and bound it tightly around Sarah’s abdomen.

  Then he picked her up and carried her toward the stairs, John trotting anxiously beside him.

  Jordan was sitting up, somewhat revived by the cold water pouring from the ceiling. He gasped when he saw Sarah Connor’s limp form in von Rossbach’s arms.

  “Can you get up if John helps you?” Dieter asked.

  “I’d better,” Jordan said.

  He struggled to his feet and John slipped under his arm. They staggered a bit at first, then found a way to center their mutual weight. John pressed the elevator button.

  “Not working,” Jordan said. “I tried.”

  Together they struggled toward the stairs and began the long journey upward.

  Dieter noticed a change in Sarah’s breathing and felt his heart contract. Then he

  saw her eyelids lift and his heart did, too.

  “It’s me—Dieter,” he said softly. “I’ve got you; you’re going to be all right.”