838 meets Cass! The song here is from the latest album by a singer named Sara Groves, highly recommended.
Wine, Women and Song
The bar, as a single-purpose establishment, was a historical and cultural novelty of the 20th century. Prior to ca. 1900, those who wished to drink, dance, gamble, fight and/or philander had been serviced perfectly well at less specialized establishments like inns, taverns and saloons, where food was in as much demand as drink, beds were sought at least as often as bodies to share them with, and women and even children were prominent customers. In the devastated landscape of the 21st century, bars, for all intents and purposes, were no more. The timeless model of the inn and saloon had reasserted itself.
The most popular of these establishments was simply called the Cantina. Built in the intact basement of a municipal building, it was reached by a working elevator. A three-legged mutt and a man with a blunderbuss guarded the door, but the dog gave only a perfunctory growl as 838 walked by. The terminators had long since calculated the odds: In no less than 987 times out of a hundred, a dog would bark at a Terminator. But, at least 664 times out of a hundred, a dog would bark at a human. After a period of initial vigilance and many, many incidents of "friendly fire", men had also learned not to put too much trust in their dogs. Instead, they watched new arrivals, and relied on the barking of the dogs to decide when to act upon suspicions. If a Terminator kept walking, without any sudden moves, then at least 75 times out of 1000 he could pass without being detained.
The atmosphere was almost somber. Men who got drunk did so quietly. Conversation over food, drinks and cards were relatively subdued. Only four couples danced, rather unenthusiastically. On the stage, a woman of perhaps 50 sang, accompanied by a a much younger man on a synthesizer. A woman with hair died lavender watched unobtrusively as 838 strolled through the room, pausing when an unusually gregarious patron called to him: "Hey, stranger! You play cards?"
"A little," 838 said. He took a seat at a table with five other men The woman with lavender hair stood up
838 folded with modest winnings in the first hand. The man who had invited him to join won the hand. He calculated 54.557% probability that another man had thrown it intentionally. A specialized data file indicated the designations of "shill" and "hustler" respectively. Meanwhile, a song reached its chorus:
oh run for you life
all tenderness is gone
in the blink of an eye
all good will has withdrawn
and we mark out our paces and
stare out from our faces
but baby you and I are gone gone gone
A man with no more pennies left the table. A woman with lavender hair took his place. 838 examined her, while the song continued:
incomprehensible layers of isolation
now you're the man with a heart of stone
making me pay here by being alone
seemingly justified righteous indignation
now I'm the woman who holds all her pain
looking for somebody else to blame
As the chorus repeated, 838 counted his winnings, while he continued to examine the new arrival. He calculated 43.234% probability that this was IX 202C. "You have a name, stranger?" she said.
"Bill," he said. "What's your name?"
"Cass. You have a last name?"
"Just Bill."
She gazed intently at him, while the song played on:
we hold all the keys to our undoing
cutting me down in small degrees
you know my worst insecurities
I'm making no effort to understand
no one can hurt you like I can
deep down inside the girl's waking up
she's calling out to the boy she loves
it's me
oh baby it's me
Accessing his mission parameters, and his files on the IX 202 series, he determined that he could easily destroy her, with no violation of his orders. The mission would be logged as successful, if suboptimal in outcome.
The patrons stared as the stranger stood up, swept his pennies into a canvas sack and strode for the elevator. None stared longer than the woman with lavender hair, and she alone showed feeling rather than mere surprise. And meanwhile the song finished in a mournful coda:
how in the world can tenderness be gone
in the blink of an eye
the girl in me she's callin out
oh the girl in me she's callin out
to the boy in you
to the boy in you
baby come back
baby come back to me
As the doors closed, 838 looked back. Then, as their eyes met, the ground shook, and an air raid siren sounded in the streets above.