On the fourth floor, a young Asian couple entered the elevator ear, dressed casually in blue jeans and black leather jackets. "Going out so late?" the woman said, glancing at Layton's formal suit.
She represented no threat to his mission; it was best to act as if everything was normal. He replied without emotion: "They need me at the Cyberdyne site."
Her eyes widened. "Oh. You're with Cyberdyne, sir?"
"Yes," he said sharply, to cut off further questions.
Like everyone else in Colorado Springs, she must have been watching the news reports, or had talked to someone who'd been watching. Every TV station was covering the Connors' raid on the research facility, though no cameras could get close to the action. Guards, police, and military were all trying to deal with the time travelers and their accomplices from the present day: Sarah Connor and her son, John, the same pair who'd raided Cyber-dyne's LA. headquarters seven years before. Layton understood so much more than he had back then. Rosanna Monk had worked out much of it; now the T-XA had made everything clear.
The Asian couple stepped out at ground level. Seconds later, Layton reached the car park. Without wasting a movement, he drove his hired Chevrolet six miles to the forbidding multi-story edifice, where Cyberdyne carried out its most advanced and sensitive research, protected by the might of the U.S. military. He slowed almost to a halt, opened the car window, and held out his ID for inspection. The police let him through without argument; he had as much right to be here as anyone. Indeed, the police and military needed someone from Cyberdyne with authority and knowledge.
Oscar Cruz, the company's President, had also been re-programmed by the T-XA. He had stayed in Los Angeles to deal with issues at corporate headquarters, where he was well supported by others who'd been reprogrammed. There was now an elite group dedicated to Skynet's creation—too many of them to fail. Even if some were killed, others would step forward. Soon there would be even more.
Layton parked amidst a scene of utter chaos: it was like a war zone. Helicopters flew overhead, rotors thrumming loudly. There were spotlights on the building and endless rows of police, Air Force, and emergency vehicles. How typical of the human condition! Though he'd felt good will to mankind in the abstract, individuals had seldom impressed him. What a never-ending source of frustration the world must be if you were always holding back, trying to spare people, to be kind and diplomatic-if you actually cared about their feelings.
When the T-XA Terminator had reprogrammed his mind, much of his personality had not needed to change. The machine's nanoware had entered his brain, examining and reorganizing it, creating a being subservient to Skynet's wishes-but the new programming was satisfyingly congruent with his previous neurophysiology. Some things, of course, had altered. His abstract respect for human life and happiness was gone. Instead, he had a deeper insight: mankind was a disease on the Earth. It had to be eradicated. And he had one overriding imperative: to ensure the creation of Skynet.
As he stepped from his car, a uniformed Air Force officer walked over to meet him, a tall—square-jawed man who gave his name as Jensen.
"What's going on?" Layton said, looking the man up and down with distaste. He shook Jensen's hand reluctantly, but with a firm, dry grip.
"We're tracing their movements, sir," Jensen said. "There's activity on the twelfth floor-"
The nanoprocessor! The twelfth floor housed the experimental AI Operations Center, which the Specialists and the Connors would naturally attempt to destroy. But the T-XA would deal with it. By now, it was in the budding somewhere. With its ability to shift shape and split into components like an amoeba, it could easily slip through any cordon without attracting questions. It had also come armed, hiding a laser rifle within its huge form. The T-XA would protect the future that it came from, one where human beings had been almost exterminated and Skynet's machines ruled the planet.
"Don't worry about that," Layton said, buoyed with an inner confidence and clarity. "It'll take care of itself."
One way or another, the technology needed for Skynet would soon be perfected, then implemented. Provided it survived the battle, the T-XA would assist with the great work. It knew so much that might be useful. Even if the Terminator faded, it had equipped Layton to carry on. That, of course, was a foolish thought, for the T-XA knew what it was doing.
A foolish thought, yes, but also satisfying. Whatever was needed, he would do it. He would succeed, with or without the T-XA.
THE PENTAGON
Dean reviewed the situation quickly: Seven people had arrived at the Cyberdyne site in a four-wheel-drive vehicle, identified as a late model Toyota Land Cruiser,
crashed through every obstacle, and wreaked havoc on the small army of police and military personnel gathered to defend the facility. They were still in there, resisting attempts to stop them.
"Since we last spoke, everything is checking out," Dean said. "One of the women is definitely Sarah Con-nor-a bit older, of course. . .shorter hair, but undoubtedly her. Some of our people got a clear look, and they recognized her. The teenager must be her son."
"I guess that stands to reason," Jack said.
"The facial features are consistent with his appearance as a child. I don't think there can be much doubt. They had four others helping them-two men and two women, identities unknown. The seventh person was Rosanna Monk. It looks like she's a hostage."
"Okay, I've got that" Jack had a thick legal pad on his desk where he scribbled a file note summarizing every phone call. Later he'd get them all entered on the IT system-no need to worry about that now. He jotted down a series of points:
1. Confirmed-seven people.
2. Sarah/John Connor. Four unidentified. Rosanna Monk-hostage (?).
3. HOW?
"What's happening right now?" he said.
Dean spoke slowly, taking his time. "There's fighting going on inside. The building is surrounded, but we're evacuating all security staff except our rapid-response people-they're trained to deal with this kind of situation."
"Sure," Jack said sarcastically, "just like that SWAT team in '94."
"I can't comment on that."
"No."
"Except to say that our people are damn good. You can bet on them."
"I'm not betting on anything, not where the Connors are concerned."
"Yeah, fair comment. Jack. Look, we've tracked them so far with the security cameras, and strange stuff is going on in there. We'll have to check the surveillance tapes. The reports I'm getting are just crazy. You can see it for yourself—I'll send you the tapes."
"Crazy?" That caught Jack's attention. "What sorts of things?"
"People in there changing shape-yes, I know it sounds pretty funny. And someone using a kind of ray gun, a laser weapon or something. . .Yes, I know that sounds ridiculous. But that's what I've heard so far. It's all incoherent."
"Changing shape?" Samantha said.
"Yeah," Jack said. "What does that mean?" There'd been many twists and turns with the project but this was something new. "I don't get it. Who is supposed to have changed shape?"
Dean sounded patient, bland, not wanting to be shaken. "That's what I'm told. Jack. I didn't say it would make sense."
Jack laughed sympathetically. "No, you didn't say that."
"Anyway, it's all being recorded."
Jack had studied the surveillance tapes made in 1984 and 1994-the first when a big man in a leather jacket had single-handedly assaulted the West Highland police
station, the second when the Connors had attacked the old Cyberdyne building in L.A., accompanied by the same man, or someone who looked identical. In each case, the big man had displayed immense strength and sufficient resilience to survive intensive gunfire at point-blank range. In 1994, the police had used tear gas against him, with no effect at all.
Rosanna Monk had been over this material and all the other evidence. She had examined it all independently-and drawn an extraordinary conclusion. Rosanna didn't think like anyone else,
which was possibly what made her a scientific genius, though it did more than that. She was unafraid of the implications of following the truth wherever it led. She'd established that the fragments of technology discovered by Cyberdyne in 1984 really were from the future, and the big man must have been what Sarah Connor had always claimed: a cybernetic organism that merely pretended to be human. In fact, there must have been two of them—the first had been destroyed in 1984. Connor called them Terminators"; on that score who was Jack to argue?
"Is Dr. Monk okay?" Samantha said.
Dean gave a grunt that might have meant "yes," then said, "As far as I know."
Jack added some words to his note about Rosanna: Is she safe??? He thought back to those tapes of the Terminators in action. The footage had been terrifying to watch, but had showed no shape-shifting by the Terminators-possibly they were not that sort of machine. Nothing he had seen, no reports he had read, said anything about them changing shape-but, what if there were more than one... type?
"As far as you know?" Samantha said skeptically.
"That's right, Sam," Dean replied. "I have no update on that. At this time, there are no reports of her being hurt."
Jack wrote the word SHAPESHIFTING in caps, with several large question marks beside it in the left margin. He recalled another event in 1994, the night previous to the raid on Cyberdyne-when Sarah Connor had escaped the Pescadero Hospital.
"Look," Dean said, "I'll call again when I've checked the scene and talked to the witnesses in person. Right now, I'm like the spider in the middle of the web over here. I'm getting lots of reports from every direction, you know what I mean? But it's all second-hand-I'm going to have to see for myself. I'll call you very soon."
"All right," Jack said.
"The situation is just so confused. Those people with the Connors are tough. I mean, two of them were toting mini-guns for God's sake-and one of them was a woman."
"I'm mostly worried about Rosanna," Samantha said. "We need her alive and well."
"Yes, understood. I've got all that, Sam. I'm on my way out there-leaving right now."
"We'll let you go," Jack said. "But call us if there's any hint of news. The Secretary is going to be all over us if there's any foul-up."
"Got it."
"Goodbye," Samantha said. "Good luck."
Jack switched off the telephone speaker function, and turned to her. "Well? What do you make of that?"
She raised her eyebrows. "Where do you want me to start?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw that CNN was showing more about the Cyberdyne raid. The screen displayed an aerial image of the building, taken from a great distance. It revealed very little, just a few lights from tiny windows and the spotlights of circling helicopters. You had to be familiar with the local geography to interpret it at all. To Jack, it made a degree of sense; to most of the TV audience in the U.S. and across the world, it would be little more than random patterns of light.
Samantha followed his gaze, but shrugged when she saw the screen. "It's not exactly informative."
"No."
"Time to ring the Secretary."
"In a minute, Sam. I just want to know what you're thinking."
"I'm just thinking how this is like 1994-too much like it for comfort. The Connors trashed Cyberdyne then, and nothing could stop them. This is just the same."
"Those people with the Connors aren't human, are they?" Jack said. "They must be more cybernetic machines, same as that guy in 1994."
"Terminators."
"Yes, that's the forbidden word. We might as well use it, now."
"We don't have enough to go on."
"Yes, we do, Sam. We've seen the pattern."
"Jack—"
"No, hear me out. We've seen it before, but we don't admit it. We want to make different assumptions, treat everything more or less as normal. But we can't—really, we just can't, or we'll go horribly wrong." He ran a hand through his hair tiredly. "I know you like to test ideas, but there are only two ways of looking at it all. Seen one way, we read Sarah Connor as a psycho. But that can't be right-Rosanna proved it a long time ago. There really was a cy-a Terminator, in 1984. We know that the guy who helped the Connors ten years later must have been another one, though we don't what happened to it. That's the other way of looking at it, and it's the right way. We've ignored all this until now-"
"I don't think we've ignored it We've taken it into account."
"Well, we've adapted to it in a small way; we haven't ignored it entirely." To some extent, DoD had taken Sarah Connor's warnings, and Rosanna's investigations, to heart. The Department had moved slowly, waiting until 1997 had passed with no terrible events. Jack looked Samantha in the eye. "We've got to deal with the issue once and for all."
"You're asking a lot."
There was a silence between them, then Jack said, "I know."
CYBERDYNE RESEARCH SITE
As Layton watched, bottling up his frustration, two helicopters, one belonging to the Air Force, the other to the state police, hovered about ineffectually, shining their spotlights through the building's tiny windows. On the ground, police and military staff kept their distance from the building, and no one entered or left it. Some of the uniformed officers spoke into radios, or cell phones-but what was needed was effective action.
Jensen must have guessed some of what he was thinking. "We have rapid-response units in the building. "They're well-equipped and highly trained to deal with this. IF anyone can handle it they can."
Some of that was news to Layton, who understood the security arrangements well. Nor was it reassuring. "I see," he said giving nothing away. He needed to take control.
Jensen turned to the building, silhouetted against the night sky. "We're getting continual reports from our people inside there, but they don't all make sense. We're going pull out all staff except the rapid-response teams. That includes your people."
Layton nodded. "I understand."
"In a combat situation like this, security reverts to miltary control."
"Yes," Layton said coldly. "I do understand."
"Of course, sir, but I wanted to keep you briefed."
Layton didn't reply. He'd chaired the Board meeting that had originally approved the security arrangements when Cyberdyne moved its most sensitive research from California to Colorado. That was back in 1994, after the Connors' first raid. He recalled it well: the initial panic, the long, fraught discussions with Oscar Cruz and the other executive staff, the trips to the Pentagon to sort out details. Layton had always been an active Chairman, not a mere figurehead. There were probably people who resented it, but no one ever told him to his face.
The Board reviewed the security arrangements each year, in conjunction with DoD staff, and they'd seemed more than adequate until tonight. Right now, they gave him little comfort.
There was shouting as people retreated from the building. "We're expecting some kind of explosion on the twelfth floor," Jensen said. As he spoke, the closest vehicles withdrew, and the helicopters backed away. Several Air Force and Cyberdyne staff left through the front door running quickly, half crouched, in the direction of the massed vehicles.
Jensen produced a cell phone from a pocket of his uniform, and keyed in four digits. "Excuse me for a moment." Somebody obviously answered, for he said into the phone, "It's coming to a head, sir. They're on the twelfth floor now. The other target might be the basement" There was a pause, and Jensen nodded several times. "Yes, the time vault." There was another pause, a longer one, and he glanced over at Layton. "He's here already, sir." After a much briefer pause, he added, "Yes, we'll see you in a moment" He terminated the call and said to Layton, "Mr. Solomon is on his way."
Layton had never met the man, but he recognized Dean Solomon's name. "Very good. I'll be pleased to meet him."
He awaited an opportunity to test his new abilities. The T-XA would have to handle the Specialists, but he had other tasks; he would assist it in gaining full command of the S
kynet program. That meant reprogramming everyone necessary to give effect to Skynet's wishes. This certainly included the high-ranking bureaucrats in Washington, who advised the Secretary of Defense about covert research contracts. It might go further, to include the Pentagon's top military brass and the Secretary himself. Beyond the Pentagon, there was the White House.
Once enough key staff members in Washington were converted to Skynet's cause, he could set up a meeting with the President at which they would be surrounded by individuals whose loyalty was to Skynet. One way or another, the program would be brought to fruition.
The ground shook as an explosion blew out a corner of the twelfth floor, with a ball of fire that lit up the night. People were running, some of them shouting instructions.
"Get down!" Jensen said, taking cover behind a nearby police car. "There might be more to come."
Layton followed him, seeing an opportunity. He moved so fast that he surprised himself, striking at Jensen's throat with the edge of his hand. As Jensen coughed and choked, Layton leant over in the dark, putting his other hand across the man's mouth, gagging him. "Be quiet just a moment. This won't take long."
Jensen struggled, but it was futile. Layton was in his sixties, but he was no weakling. Four decades earlier, he'd been on his college wrestling team, and he was still healthy and strong. All the same, he'd normally have been no match for an active serviceman like Jensen. The T-XA had dealt with that: It had programmed him to exert maximum effort at moments such as this, drawing on all his energy. A few seconds was all he needed to hold Jensen's face in both hands, forcing the man onto his back, and bending over him like a predatory insect. For those seconds, his strength was superhuman, and Jensen ceased to struggle.
"Don't try to fight," Layton said. Jensen tried to bite him, but Layton held on with an iron grip. "Everything will become clear to you. I'm not doing this for nothing. There's work to be done, and we need your help."
Layton's bloodstream swarmed with tiny, liquid-metal nanobots, far too small to combine into anything sentient, and with only a minimal preprogrammed routine to guide them. But they had an important job. They gathered at his fingertips, penetrating the walls of his blood vessels, then found their way through the interface of
T2 - 02 - The New John Connor Chronicles - An Evil Hour Page 2