Ellen Connor slid quietly through the dim hallways of what had once been a
power plant, semi-automatic at the ready. In the past few months, SkyNet
done something it never did in all the time that it had been sentient. It
had moved itself-- coalescing, pulling itself out of the countless computer
systems that it had invaded and amassing itself in a single area—the power
station for New Colorado City. The city had been hastily evacuated, but
not quickly enough.
Now Ellen found herself within that very power station, looking for survivors and—though she hardly dared to admit it to herself—hoping she would stumble across some way that would end the war. If enough of SkyNet's resources were concentrated in this single space, then the destruction of this space could mean . . .
Well, it could mean a life that Ellen had only heard her parents talk about.
She rounded a corner too quickly and found herself face to face with a corpse swinging slowly from one of the rafters. Ellen gasped, but recovered herself without firing a shot. She felt that the walls were listening to her, that SkyNet was watching her, and that at any moment swarms of Terminator robots would appear and tear her to shreds.
Sparks shot from a severed chord, raining fire that skittered and bounced for a few moments before fading into nothingness.
Ellen froze. There was another movement-- one that did not come from the swinging corpse or the sparks. She raised the gun slowly, hands trembling ever so slightly.
Even after a lifetime of terror and death, she still experienced moments of debilitating fear. Venturing deep into SkyNet territory, armed with only a few clips worth of ammo for an obsolete weapon, was not her idea of fun.
There was the movement again. She caught it out of the corner of her eye—Something was behind her. A fluttering of something pink.
Ellen swung around toward it just as a tiny girl in a pink dress stepped out from behind a mesh of wires.
Ellen swore in horror and relief, realizing what she almost did. "Kid! I swear I almost blew your head off! Where's your mother?" she whispered loudly.
"I don't have a mother," the girl said aloud in an even, clipped voice. Her child's voice gave back a slight echo on the walls.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Ellen murmured. Ellen had been the envy of all her friends, because both her father and mother were still alive. "Listen, honey, ok? The way back there is clear," she gestured with her head. "Nice people are waiting there to help you, if you just go to the end of this tunnel quietly and carefully." She wished she had a teddy bear to give her, or something like it. Some show of good faith that would make the kid not be scared. "I'm sorry but I'm going to have to ask you to be a big girl and hurry back that way without me, ok? There aren't any—bad things that way." Bad things. That was what they'd called them growing up, the Terminator robots that could sweep away a child's whole world with a flick of its metallic wrist. "Just go that way, little girl. There are no bad machines in this hall."
"Yes there are," said the girl steadily.
Ellen felt a chill go down her spine as gooseflesh raised on her arms. "Where-" But even as she spoke, the child stepped into the light cast by the shower of sparks. The child was clean, and dressed in a frilly pink smock. Too clean, and impossibly new-looking, and her voice-- too clear, too confident. Ellen's mouth went dry even as the child-thing said again: "Yes there are. There's me."
Now Ellen found herself within that very power station, looking for survivors and—though she hardly dared to admit it to herself—hoping she would stumble across some way that would end the war. If enough of SkyNet's resources were concentrated in this single space, then the destruction of this space could mean . . .
Well, it could mean a life that Ellen had only heard her parents talk about.
She rounded a corner too quickly and found herself face to face with a corpse swinging slowly from one of the rafters. Ellen gasped, but recovered herself without firing a shot. She felt that the walls were listening to her, that SkyNet was watching her, and that at any moment swarms of Terminator robots would appear and tear her to shreds.
Sparks shot from a severed chord, raining fire that skittered and bounced for a few moments before fading into nothingness.
Ellen froze. There was another movement-- one that did not come from the swinging corpse or the sparks. She raised the gun slowly, hands trembling ever so slightly.
Even after a lifetime of terror and death, she still experienced moments of debilitating fear. Venturing deep into SkyNet territory, armed with only a few clips worth of ammo for an obsolete weapon, was not her idea of fun.
There was the movement again. She caught it out of the corner of her eye—Something was behind her. A fluttering of something pink.
Ellen swung around toward it just as a tiny girl in a pink dress stepped out from behind a mesh of wires.
Ellen swore in horror and relief, realizing what she almost did. "Kid! I swear I almost blew your head off! Where's your mother?" she whispered loudly.
"I don't have a mother," the girl said aloud in an even, clipped voice. Her child's voice gave back a slight echo on the walls.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Ellen murmured. Ellen had been the envy of all her friends, because both her father and mother were still alive. "Listen, honey, ok? The way back there is clear," she gestured with her head. "Nice people are waiting there to help you, if you just go to the end of this tunnel quietly and carefully." She wished she had a teddy bear to give her, or something like it. Some show of good faith that would make the kid not be scared. "I'm sorry but I'm going to have to ask you to be a big girl and hurry back that way without me, ok? There aren't any—bad things that way." Bad things. That was what they'd called them growing up, the Terminator robots that could sweep away a child's whole world with a flick of its metallic wrist. "Just go that way, little girl. There are no bad machines in this hall."
"Yes there are," said the girl steadily.
Ellen felt a chill go down her spine as gooseflesh raised on her arms. "Where-" But even as she spoke, the child stepped into the light cast by the shower of sparks. The child was clean, and dressed in a frilly pink smock. Too clean, and impossibly new-looking, and her voice-- too clear, too confident. Ellen's mouth went dry even as the child-thing said again: "Yes there are. There's me."
