T2 - 02 - The New John Connor Chronicles - An Evil Hour

by Russell Blackford

  SALCEDA COMPOUND

  For a moment, John was speechless, standing in the warm desert wind. He'd never expected another Terminator to be sent back by his older self — the messages from the future, from Kyle Reese in 1984 and the T-800 in 1994, had never mentioned yet another time traveler sent by the human Resistance. The T-799 must have arrived here, at the Salceda camp, in the last two days, since John and Sarah had been here with the Specialists that recently, seeking help from Enrique's family. Nothing had been said then about the Terminator.

  "How did you find me?" he said. "What makes you think I can help you?"

  "You have been on television," the Terminator said. The police are looking for you. I knew you would come here if there were trouble. You helped to program me, and you gave me that information."

  Oh boy, this present tense/past tense thing got complicated. So John had programmed the Terminator in the fii-ture. Maybe it was a different reality, as the Terminator had said, but it was the year 2029-that made it future tense. But from the Terminator's point of view, it had already happened. It was in the machine's memory. "Well," John said, "what do you think I can do?" "You will assist me. We will find help." But John shook his head. "Er, I don't think so." He had no doubt that Eve was a machine. She, or it, had the same grim, unchanging expression he'd seen in the T-800 Terminator, back in 1994. But he didn't fear it, despite the reactions from his mom and Rosanna: The T-800 hadn't tried to kill him — it had saved his life many times. What a Terminator would do depended entirely on its programming. Like most machines, it could be used for good or evil. But he wondered how far to push that thought, since Skynet itself had turned out evil in at least two worlds — perhaps it was mankind's enemy in every world where it came into being.

  Anyway, this Terminator was asking the impossible. John looked from face to face, seeing that everyone else was just as confused as he was. The Specialists showed no particular expression, but that didn't mean they wouldn't be ready to move if the Terminator tried anything. Sarah had that wild look he sometimes saw on her face, like she was awake, yet staring at a nightmare. The gun in her hand trembled slightly. Enrique had lowered his rifle, but seemed like a man whose patience was running out Rosanna had calmed herself, Now she just looked thoughtful.

  Juanita gave John an amused smile. "We must talk," the Terminator said. "We will find your leaders and persuade them."

  A dust-covered Chrysler sedan that John hadn't seen before was parked one hundred yards from where they were standing, sheltered from the dusty wind between two of Enrique's trucks. That must be how the Terminator had come here.

  "All right," John said. "Let's just get it all straight. You're a T-799 Terminator?" "Affirmative."

  "So what does that mean-T-799? The last Terminator we worked with was a T-800."

  "The T-799s were Skynet's first cyborg design, the prototype for the T-800 models."

  "So, you're like the prototype for the Terminator that helped us seven years ago, right?"

  "Correct. You were assisted by a T-800, model 101. Each design model is based on a different human template. You may think of me as a different model of the T-800. My abilities are similar."

  The machine seemed to know all about him, but that made sense if he'd programmed it himself. "Okay, but I just don't get this. What's the deal? I wouldn't know where to start if I wanted to help you. I don't know our leaders in this country. I can't go finding you an army or anything."

  "John's right," Sarah said, a little too quickly. "Whatever it is you want, you'd be better off without us. We don't have contacts with politicians — they might know about us, but they all think we're crazy."

  But John caught Rosanna's eye. She knew people in Washington, and she badly wanted to talk to them. He thought about that: What if they could get to those people? "Right now, we're the ones who need help," he said. "But maybe we can do something." Still, it seemed impossible. How were they even supposed to get to the future? Nobody, and nothing, that came from the future ever went back. That was how it had always been. They didn't even have a workable time machine. The nearest thing anyone had built was Cyberdyne's time vault, and he wouldn't take his chances with that.

  And the future that Eve came from wasn't even a future that awaited them now. It had said it was from a different reality. If it came from the reality where Judgment had happened in 1997. . .what were the implications? How could it travel not only back in time, but from one reality to another?

  "In this world," the Terminator said, "Judgment Day never happened"

  "It hasn't happened yet," Sarah said. "That doesn't mean it won't."

  The Terminator inspected her carefully, looking her up and down, as if taking measurements with its artificial eyes. "You are Sarah Connor."

  "Yes, I am." Her finger tensed on the trigger of her gun; the barrel was aimed right between the Terminator's eyes.

  "Your son gave me a message for you: The future is still not set. Our world depends on you."

  Sarah laughed sharply. "You're kidding me, right?" She looked at Anton for support, as though figuring he was the expert on time and time travel.

  But Anton shook his head. "I think we should hear this."

  Enrique frowned with concentration, accentuating his hawklike features. "I think you've all got to be kidding. Just what the hell is this all about? And where's the other two you had with you?"

  "Now, Enrique—" Sarah said.

  "Don't Now, Enrique me, Sarahlita. I don't know. . . this is just getting out of hand." He looked over at Rosanna, sizing her up almost as frankly as the Terminator had done to Sarah. "You're the missing scientist, right? We've seen you on the TV."

  "Yeah, right," Rosanna said in a tone just short of disgust. "I'm America's Most Wanted."

  Enrique looked from Rosanna to Sarah, then to the two Specialists. Then to John and the female Terminator. He put one of his strong arms across Juanita's shoulders. "You're all going to have to tell us what's going on."

  Sarah gave a pained smile, and lowered her gun. "We tried to, Enrique. I've told you before. We went over it with you again, just two days ago — what we knew back then."

  Enrique gave his daughter an affectionate squeeze, then stepped away from her toward Sarah. He placed a hand on her arm, near the shoulder. "I can always stretch the friendship a little, Connor. You know me."

  "Yes, Enrique, I do."

  "All the same, you ought to know that I'm reaching my limit. I'm getting close to the edge. You know what I mean?"

  "It's understood."

  "Yeah? All right then. But we have our own lives to live here, and every time you turn up, you've got the law after you. What do you think would happen if the cops tracked you down here and went through this place?"

  John knew what they would find: enough small arms to support a third-world revolution, mainly hidden in underground bunkers. The Salcedas were survivalists and gunrunners, with a network of contacts that extended across the U.S. and down into South America as far as Argentina. They were decent people, but they'd fight the cops if they had to. If the compound were ever raided, people would probably die.

  "It's not like we begrudge you," Enrique said. "Hell, Connor, you know you can ask for anything — the shirt off my back if you want, the fillings out of my goddamn teeth-"

  Sarah put her hands up. "I know, Enrique, I know. I realize I've asked a lot of you. You've always been here for us, you and Yolanda. Without you, everything would have been lost. You're just going to have to do a little more. I'm sorry. We'll make it up to you somehow."

  "Honestly, Sarahlita, I don't know."

  "Let's not talk out here," Juanita said, speaking up for the first time. "Can't we go inside? Let's get out of the wind."

  "Yeah," Enrique said. "The kid's right Come inside, all of you. We have to get this straight, but at least we can offer you a drink."

  Jade nodded, then looked at the Terminator. "We all have much to talk about."

  LOS ANGELES/WASHINGTON, D.C.
/>   By 11:00 A.M., Oscar had done a full day's work, speaking with all his senior research people, several of Cyberdyne's Board members—plus, insurers, lawyers, local politicians in both Colorado and California, and innumerable representatives of the press. He'd spoken briefly to Charles Layton before Layton flew out to Washington, and spent some useful minutes on the phone with Samantha Jones, fine-tuning how to handle the media. Then he'd done two TV interviews and eight short ones for radio stations across the county. That had taken most of the media burden from Layton, who had a special dislike of journalists. Oscar rode in a taxi to the airport, stretching out comfortably on the backseat On the way, he used his cell phone to call Jack Reed's secretary for the second time today-hoping to nail down an appointment. "I've checked," she said pleasantly. "Jack can see you formally, first thing tomorrow morning. He usually starts before 8:00 A.M. I'm sure he could make it earlier."

  That sounds good, Vicki." Oscar had dealt with Vicki Albano for several years, often liaising with her directly about his trips to Washington. "I've got no problem with 8:00 A.M. But can we get some time with them this evening after I get in?”

  "Sure, Mr. Cruz. He thought an informal chat over dinner-then you can discuss the detail tomorrow."

  That was perfect. All they needed was a chance for Layton to get Jack or Samantha alone, only for a minute, to start the ball rolling. They'd soon need to reprogram a large number of people in Washington, sufficient to gain command of the Pentagon's investigation. Jack and Samantha were only their first targets, but they'd provide an entree to many others. One thing would lead to another. The more people they could see and reprogram, the easier it would become. "All right," he said. "Listen, Vicki, I'm boarding a plane soon. Can you sort out the final details with my secretary, while I'm en route? She can liaise with Charles."

  "That's fine, Mr. Cruz."

  "All right, good. He'll be in Washington early this afternoon, well before me."

  "I'll talk with Mr. Reed and see that everything works out. Can you give me your flight number?"

  Oscar gave her the full details, with departure and arrival times. With the three-hour time difference between L.A. and Washington, it might have to be a late dinner.

  "That's all fine," Vicki said. "Leave it with me."

  "Thank you."

  "My pleasure. Have a nice day."

  When his taxi pulled up at the terminal, Oscar gave the driver a generous tip. Distasteful as he found it dealing with human beings, now that he'd been repro-grammed, he saw no reason to depart from his usual methods. He tried to keep others happy in little ways that did him no harm. That was how he'd gotten on so well in life; he always knew what people wanted, and what he could afford. He generated a field of good will to draw upon when he needed it. By now, he knew the routine by rote: It didn't require any human sympathy.

  He stepped out of the cab, squinting in the bright sunshine of early August, dealt with the formalities of baggage handling and check-in, then boarded a United Airlines flight at ten minutes after midday. For the next few hours, he could get some rest, safe in the knowledge that everything was under control. He slept most of the way to Washington.

  When he arrived, it was still daylight, the days long and hot at this time of year. A government driver met him at National Airport for the short drive to his hotel in the busy city traffic. "Thank you," Oscar said when they reached the hotel. "Have a nice day." He headed to the foyer, and checked in.

  "You have some phone calls already, sir," the check-in clerk said. She was a young Asian woman in a smart red uniform.

  "Okay, fine."

  She handed across four slips showing calls from people whose names he didn't recognize, probably all news reporters. Two provided their press affiliations, the other two had just left names. All right he'd deal with those in the morning. No one could say that Cyberdyne had not been open with the press — at least as far as it could. Even Layton had spoken to some journalists before leaving Colorado Springs. Oscar had been very accessible. True, in his interviews for radio and TV, he hadn't hesitated to dodge questions, referring to the national security aspects of Cyberdyne's contracts. But what else could people expect? The research facility was housed in a government building, so no one had doubted it was doing sensitive Military work.

  Thank you for that," he said to the clerk. "I'll need to see Charles Layton. Can you give his room number?"

  "Of course, sir. I just have to check that." She rang Layton's room. "Mr. Cruz wants to see you. May I give him your number? Thank you." She put down the phone and gave a broad smile that Oscar found sickening, all that white calcium, surrounded by the red-painted flesh of her lips. "Mr. Layton is in room 1407, just down the hall from your own room." Oscar's keycard was for room 1404, so they'd have easy access to each other.

  He took an elevator to the fourteenth floor, dropped off his bags, then went straight to see Layton.

  Layton wore gray suit pants and a plain white shirt. He'd pulled back the room's curtains, showing a panorama of the city, looking south and east toward the Capitol. "Jack Reed will meet us at 9:00 P.M.," he said. "It's all arranged."

  That's good. And Samantha, too?"

  "Yes, both of them."

  "So what's the plan? Are we having dinner with them?"

  "We're dining at a restaurant called Longfellow's Grill on

  Connecticut Avenue

  . I expect that we'll be treated in style. Jack always finds somewhere with a certain amount of class."

  "Well, we might as well enjoy it while we can."

  "That's true, Oscar. I spent last night living on pizza."

  "The main thing is that we get a few minutes alone with them."

  "Well, I'll find a minute alone with them, or at least with Jack. That's what matters, tonight"

  Oscar might once have resented a comment like that, but it was perfectly true. Layton had been enhanced by the T-XA to reprogram whoever was necessary. No doubt, he'd had the most adaptable mind for that particular purpose. It wasn't up to Oscar to question the decisions the T-XA had made, though its own performance against the Specialists had, indeed, been less than perfect. Anyway, they all had their talents, everyone who'd been reprogrammed.

  Yet, even in that respect, the T-XA had not been perfect. When Oscar had spoken with Layton before leaving L.A., he'd learned that Rosanna had betrayed them, despite her programming. That might be a serious problem: She was very resourceful, potentially a dangerous enemy.

  "What about Rosanna?" he said. "She must have sided with the others—Sarah Connor and the rest."

  "Yes," Layton said, measuring Oscar with his watery blue eyes. "I'm quite disturbed by that. I'm sure she'll come to Washington, one way or other. She'll stay with the others for safety."

  "They might slow her down, but you're probably right."

  "If she comes here alone, she won't last very long."

  "No-no, she won't"

  "The point is to be ready for them. We're still one step ahead. By the time they get here, everything will have to be in hand."

  It was going to be a challenge, but they could do it. "A11 right, then, let's get on with it The future needs us, Charles. That's my new motto."

  "Yes," Layton said. That's certainly the best way to look at it. You get ready, I'll organize a cab." He went to the wardrobe, taking out a red and silver tie, and his suit jacket, then his gun holster. He gave only the hint of a smile as he strapped on the holster. "I suppose I might need this tonight. I'll take it just in case."

  They'd never get into the Pentagon armed in any way, hot this was different. Oscar figured that a firearm couldn't hurt while they had no allies in Washington. "All light," he said, reflecting Layton's mood. "I'll go and freshen up. I'm looking forward to our dinner."

  "Yes, it's nice to be looked after."

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  SALCEDA COMPOUND AUGUST 2001

  There really was a lot to talk about, Rosanna thought as long as talk translated into acti
on. Whatever else they knew, and despite all their abilities, none of these people understood the corridors of power in Washington. She'd need to guide them.

  "Come on, then," said the man whom Sarah had called "Enrique." He turned, heading for one of the battered-looking trailers, pushing his child on ahead of him.

  But Anton, the big Russian Specialist, said, "Not yet."

  "What now?"

  "I'll show you something." Anton walked back to the Toyota that they'd driven from Colorado Springs, and Enrique followed with a put-upon look. The Russian opened the front passenger door, and took something out. It was the radiation weapon, the laser rifle, that they'd taken from the T-XA.

  As Anton held it out in his spread hands, Enrique looked it over, obviously puzzled. "All right, what the hell is it? Some kind of weapon, by the look of it."

  "It's a phased-plasma laser rifle. Here, feel its weight."

  Anton passed it over, and Enrique carefully lowered his own rifle to the ground, setting the safety mechanism. He locked the laser weapon in both strong arms, losing his bal-ance for a moment.

  "So, what does it do?" Enrique said.

  "Give it back, and I'll show you."

  Rosanna saw that the T-799 Terminator-or the woman who claimed to be a Terminator—was following this closely, watching like a hawk, though betraying no emotion. Rosanna had little doubt that the T-799 was what it claimed to be. In the worldview she'd now adopted, time travel and Terminators were real phenomena as real as trees or people, pets or buildings, or furniture. You just had to understand how they worked, how they could be used to one's advantage.

  Anton straightarmed the laser rifle, aiming at a twelve-foot-tall Joshua tree sixty yards away. He pulled back on the trigger, and a beam of coherent light leapt out, instantly bridging the gap. The tree burst into flames. "See?"

  Again, he passed the weapon to Enrique, who checked it over curiously. "All right, that's really something." Enrique took aim at the same tree, holding the rifle in both lands, one using the pistol grip, the other cradling the barrel.