Rise of the Machines t3-1

by David Hagberg

  Each cell, about the size of a book, was encased in a shiny titanium-carbon fiber alloy nearly featureless except for its power points.

  Inside the warrior robot's chest, the cells were fairly benign, but if they were mishandled they could blow with

  a respectable bang. People would get killed. Even Connor instinctively stepped back a pace.

  He keyed his lapel mike. "Watchdog, how's it looking?"

  "Clear, so far, boss," Sergeant Doogie "Watchdog" Harris came back from topside. "How much longer before we can boogie?"

  "About five minutes. Keep frosty up there." "Will do."

  Connor's wife was stationed at the main control console. When the device was fully powered in standby mode, and T-850 was in position inside the transmission chamber, she would uncage the firing switch and flip the toggle. From that moment the main computers would take control of the last four seconds of the operation.

  Carter finished installing the second power cell, and he quickly buttoned up T-850's chest, even as the cyborg's units started to boot up.

  Even to the technicians, some of them standing or string at consoles ten meters away, it was obvious that T-850 had transformed from an inanimate object to something that was as alive as any machine could possibly be. It made them all nervous. They had been fighting these things for years.

  The machine's eyes opened and scanned Carter's face and its immediate surroundings, as the holding chamber worktable lined up with the spherical transmission chamber.

  "Position, please," Carter told the machine.

  T-850 sat up effortlessly and gracefully moved into the transmission chamber, one bare knee and two hands on the pad.

  "Ten seconds," Connor's wife called out.

  The transmission chamber's clear bubble door closed.

  "Eight seconds... seven... six... five..."

  T-850 faced forward, its eyes downcast as it waited for its processors to fully boot up, the parameters of its mission coming clear to him as if he were a human being who had suddenly come out of a deep amnesia and was starting to remember his past and his hopes and plans for the immediate future.

  "Four seconds ... three... two ... one," Connor's wife completed the countdown. She uncaged the switch and flipped it to the transmit position.

  John watched T-850 as the chamber began to take on an eerie blue cast. He was waiting for... what?

  T-850 looked up at the last second, his eyes boring in on John's.

  T-850 nodded, the movement of his head barely perceptible as he disappeared.

  July 2003

  The Mojave Desert

  The large diamondback rattlesnake stopped a few yards from a lone Joshua tree and raised its wedge-shaped head. It felt something that it could not understand. There was nothing detectable by the sensitive receptors in its flick-

  ering tongue, nor could it sense an animal heat source anywhere close. But something was coming, and it began to rattle its warning.

  A thick mist formed around the base of the tree, and heat came with such sudden intensity that the rattler had trouble backing off from what it now considered a life-threatening danger. It bared its fangs, a drop of poison glistening golden at each tip.

  A blue, luminescent sphere materialized out of nothing, lightning bolts crackling with raw energy all around it. The tree split in two and began to burn. The sand around it became molten, glowing first red and then white-hot.

  When the smoke dissipated, T-850—Terminator—crouched in a small bowl-shaped depression, one knee and both hands on the ground, his head bowed as if he were a man who had come a long way and was weary.

  Slowly he raised his head to catalog his surroundings, his onboard sensors giving him instant head-up displays overlaid with real-world vision through his eyes.

  He stood and walked away, his bare feet crunching on the half-solidified sand that broke into needle-sharp shards of glass.

  The diamondback reared back and struck, sinking its two-inch fangs into the man-thing's left calf, its reflexive muscle action pumping several ccs of deadly venom through the hollow killing teeth.

  Terminator's sensors were aware of the creature, and his memory banks correctly identified the reptile as Cro-talus adamantous, dangerous to man and most mammals.

  He reached down and picked up the snake, holding it gently just behind its head before it could strike again.

  For several moments cyborg and reptile remained eye to eye, each regarding the other with a resigned curiosity. For Terminator the snake was a fact of biological life on earth. For the snake the man-creature was just that, an object that was not food, but that presented an extreme danger.

  Terminator opened his mouth and emitted a sound from the back of his voice processing unit that perfectly mimicked the snake's warning rattle, then tossed the animal over his shoulder, turned, and strode away from the still burning Joshua tree, his onboard sensors perfectly attuned to his environment, his processors fully up to speed with the parameters of the mission.

  If Terminator could have any emotion at all, it would have been a certain satisfaction that he was back.

  c.3

  July 2003 Los Angeles

  "Stupid thing's not working," Kate Brewster said crossly.

  She and her fiance Scott Peterson were in the Bridal Registry Home Accessories department of Bloomingdale's in Century City. She was trying to get the scanner gun to accept the bar code on the bottom of an elegantly engraved sterling serving tray. But the computer was not accepting the code.

  Scott held up the tray and took the scanner gun from her. "Hold it like this," he said. "Dirty Harry." He pulled the trigger but the screen on the register showed a string of zeroes. "What's wrong with this thing?" he muttered.

  Kate and Scott, the ideal couple, Kate thought with only the slightest trace of sarcasm in her mind. She caught a reflection of herself in a gold freestanding dressing-room mirror. She was of medium height, pleasant figure, small, high breasts, dark brown hair, a rounded nose, strong hips like her mother's.

  "Katie, the nicest girl at Ferris High," her pals in school had written. Not "Katherine, the most beautiful," or "Katherine, the most likely to succeed, or the most likely to marry mister-up-and-coming, the next president, the next multibillionaire."

  She glanced at Scott, still fiddling with the scanner, and she knew that she should be having warm, gushy bride feelings now. But the best she could do was think what a nice guy he was. Pleasant. Even-tempered most of the time. Good-looking, reasonably so. Innocuous was the word that came to mind.

  At five feet eleven, Scott looked good in a suit and tie and drove a Mercedes, a leased C class, but a Benz nonetheless. He had a good if bland job selling pharmaceuticals, which meshed with her job as a veterinarian, and he treated her well.

  They were the ideal couple. Everyone said so. But her dad would never know it He was right in the middle of another hush-hush project out on the desert. Lieutenant General Robert Brewster was the military director of a Cyber Research Systems project at Edwards.

  His career, and especially his involvement with CRS, had been, she knew, the main reason her mom left him. A man could have only one wife. She made her husband choose: CRS or her. And he hadn't even hesitated.

  "It's important, sweetheart," he'd said. "More important than you can imagine.''

  So she'd walked out on him.

  Now it was Kate's turn to try marriage. And looking at Scott she wondered how he would classify her worth in the scheme of things, if the question was put to him.

  Was his career more important than she could imagine? More important than her?

  Her cell phone chirped in her purse and as she dug it out, Scott held the scanner gun up and shook his head.

  "I hate machines," Kate said. She pressed send on the phone. "Hello?"

  "Kate, it's your father," General Brewster said.

  For just a moment Kate lit up with pleasure, and she turned away. Her father had always been her Rock of Gibraltar; a steady hand when she learn
ed to walk, when she tried her first pair of roller blades, the first time she got on a bicycle. He'd been there. Maybe he'd not been much of a husband for his wife, but he'd been a wonderful father to Kate, an only child.

  Until lately. The last few years had been different, and then Mom leaving while Kate was finishing veterinary school. And suddenly she was really hearing her father's voice; not as a child would, but as an adult. He sounded... how? Regretful?

  In the background she could hear a lot of noise; highspeed printers, perhaps. Chimes warning of something, and the constant ring of telephones and people talking; a lot of telephones, a lot of people.

  Kate resigned herself. "You're blowing me off again, aren't you, Dad?"

  "I'm so sorry, hon. You know how much I wanted to see you this weekend."

  She believed that part of it, as far as it went. But he hadn't finished the sentence, so she did it for him. "I

  know, Dad, but it's a matter of national security. Right?"

  "Sweetheart, please. We're swamped here, that's all. But it'll ease up, I can promise you that much."

  "When?"

  "Soon. Honest" Her dad let the word hang, and Kate really did understand. It was the damned CRS project he'd been assigned to. It was eating him alive. His wife had been the first casualty and Kate was beginning to wonder if she was next. She softened.

  "I know, you can't talk about it." She glanced at Scott who had picked up a sterling picture frame and was trying the scanner on its bar code. But he was watching her, listening. "It's just that Scott was really looking forward to this."

  The expression of relief on Scott's face was almost comical. He didn't want to admit it but he was having some trepidation about meeting Kate's father—the general, as he called him.

  "Aw, Katie, I'm so sorry. I can't believe I still haven't met him."

  "It's okay, Dad," Kate said. "You're bound to run into him at the wedding."

  "Please, I'm still in a state of denial about that," General Brewster told his daughter. She could hear the wry note in his voice. He'd told her a couple of years ago that he was having trouble thinking of his little girl out there in the real world on her own. To him she was still the tomboy with pigtails and scabby knees who brought every stray or hurt animal that could fly, hop, slither, or swim home with her.

  He definitely was having a much harder time accepting the fact that his only child was about to get married. Which was, Kate had to admit, just about how she was feeling right now.

  "You're not the only one—" she said.

  "Just a second, sweetheart," the general said, and Kate could hear that someone had come into her dad's office.

  "Sorry to bother you, sir, but the Agency needs a fast turnaround on the last DoD promotionals."

  "Right, the dog and pony show," General Brewster said. He was apparently holding a hand over the phone, but Kate could still hear the conversation. "When are they screening?"

  "Tomorrow. One p.m.," the man said. Kate figured he was an aide. She thought she heard a door close.

  "Dad? Are you still there? Dad?"

  "I'm here, Katie," General Brewster said. He lowered his voice. "Are you okay, sweetheart? What's the matter?"

  Scott had walked over to one of the clerks and was saying something to him.

  "Nothing," Kate said, unsure even now just how much of this she wanted to tell her father. But she had no one else. "It's just that I don't know—"

  The general said something to someone at his end, but then he was back. "Look, why don't you come see me out here this weekend? If Moses can't come to the mountain, maybe the mountain can come to him."

  "I wish I could, but we have to meet with the minister, the wedding planner, and—"

  "It's only a few hours away. Why don't you come to see me... you and Scott."

  She looked up again. Scott had gotten into some kind of an argument with the clerk.

  "Okay," she said, and she could hear the little girl tone creep into her voice. She wanted to be taken care of. She wanted someone else to take the responsibility for a change. For just a little while.

  "Hey, kiddo, you know that you don't need me to pass judgment on this guy. You've done the right thing your whole life."

  "I know," Kate said glumly. "Maybe that's the problem."

  "You won't make a mistake," her father told her confidently. "You never do. I'm the luckiest father in the world, you know. I've never had to be afraid for my daughter."

  Kate had to smile. She was on the verge of tears. Her father was still her Rock of Gibraltar.

  "Listen, I hate to do this, but I gotta run. Come see me tomorrow. Promise?"

  "We will," Kate said. "Bye, Dad. Love you."

  "Love you too."

  Cyber Research Systems Edwards Air Force Base

  General Brewster slowly hung up the telephone and thought about his daughter for a moment He had told

  her a white lie. He was worried about her. This Scott person, whoever he was, really didn't matter. The trouble was with Kate herself. She had been distant just lately. Preoccupied, as if something was bothering her. Something that was apparently even more important than her upcoming marriage.

  CRS operations was very busy this evening as it had been all day. Troubles seemed to be popping up just about everywhere throughout the civilian as well as military-use computer systems.

  They'd expected some start-up troubles as they experimented with the Skynet system. But they had not expected this level of problems. And the system wasn't even fully booted up yet.

  General Brewster knew that it was going to be another very long night.

  He looked up and waved the project's chief engineer, Tony Flickinger, in. "Okay, what have we got?"

  Flickinger, who'd graduated cum laude from MIT in the early nineties, made his mark with Microsoft, then came over to Cyberdyne to work with Miles Dyson. With Dyson's death and the dissolution of the old company, Flickinger transferred to the Cyber Research Systems operation, becoming the Skynet chief engineer four years ago. He was very good at his job. In fact, General Brewster reflected, Flickinger was practically Skynet himself. He knew more about the system and its potential than any man alive.

  "It's not getting better," Flickinger said. He went to Brewster's computer terminal and brought up Skynet.

  "This new computer virus is a tricky bastard. It's infected half the civilian Internet, as well as a lot of secondary military apps—payroll, inventory."

  "Primary defense nets are still clean?"

  Flickinger looked up. His thinning short-cropped hair had gone prematurely gray. With his round face and pale complexion he looked the part of a computer engineer who had spent most of his adult life in artificial light.

  "So far the firewalls are holding up, but the Pentagon's proposed that we use our AI to scan the entire infrastructure, search and destroy any hint of the virus."

  "I know, Tony. But it's like going after a fly with a bazooka."

  Flickinger shrugged. To him this was just another engineering problem that needed solving. "Once the connection is made, it should only be a matter of minutes before Skynet is in charge of our national security."

  "During which we'd put everything from satellites to missile silos under the control of a single computer system."

  "The most intelligent system ever conceived."

  Brewster shook his head. "I still prefer to keep humans in the loop. It's a huge step from weapons design to command and control. I'm not sure Skynet is ready."

  The Skynet page came up on the monitor. It showed a graphic map of the western U.S. with strategic military installations connected by green lines. The display showed real-time connections of data interchange between systems. The lines pulsated with energy.

  Each installation glowed comfortably green, all op-

  erations WITHIN PARAMETERS. OPERATIONS NORMAL.

  But General Brewster was worried. At War College they'd studied worst-case scenarios in which U.S. strategic defense initiatives became short-c
ircuited so that the nation's Nuclear Release Authority was bypassed.

  Missiles flew.

  The war began.

  Los Angeles

  "One day, it's all I'm asking, Scott," Kate tried to convince her fianc6. "It's no big deal. A couple hours out, a couple hours back. We'll be home in time to go out to dinner or something."

  "I'm sorry, the computers are down," a clerk apologized, coming up to where they stood. She was an older woman in a stern business suit, glasses perched on her narrow nose, a gold chain from the stems around her neck. "And we're closing soon. Just write out your choices, and I'll input them into the registry in the morning."

  "Okay, thanks," Scott said, taking the clipboard from her. She gave both of them a smile, then left.

  Scott turned on Kate. He was mildly irritated, which for Scott was something. "I can't believe you told the general we'd drive all the way out to Mojave. Is this so he can show me how important he is?"

  Kate touched his arm, a conciliatory gesture. "It won't be so bad."

  Scott looked away to make sure no one was observing

  what he would afterward call one of their little "tiffs." "It's just, I wanted to meet him on my own turf, you know?"

  Kate turned away, irritated too. She didn't want to fight with Scott over her father. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. She picked up a brass picture frame with a photo of a romantic couple strolling hand-in-hand along a deserted beach in the moonlight.

  "Yeah, sure," she muttered in answer to Scott's question. She didn't want to fight with him tonight. So, what did that say about their future?

  She didn't know. She didn't know anything. And that was a terribly bleak prospect for her just now.

  c.4

  July 2029 Navaja Mountain

  Lieutenant Colonel Jeff Parsons was dead. His body had lain beside his computer console in the second tier of consoles in the control room of the North American Aerospace Defense Command deep within the mountain for the past twenty-six years.

  On Judgment Day those personnel caught inside were massacred when Skynet pumped all the oxygen out of the Redoubt, replacing it with pure nitrogen from the spare liquid nitrogen stores used to super-cool the high-power low-mass equipment.