(3) Salty Breezes Chapter 26: The Bird in a Cage, a terminator: sarah connor chronicles fanfic

CHAPTER 26: "THE BIRD IN A CAGE "

Saturday, July26th, 2003

(Four years and six months ago)

Outside Zermatt, Switzerland

The little boy was out with his dog in the fields. The two of them romped playfully across the lush green meadows of the Alps, startling some of the grazing cows. With muffled sounding bells, the animals scampered away. The boy laughed and his dog barked exuberantly. In summer, Switzerland was especially beautiful, and the boy enjoyed the warm rays of the sun shining on his skin. He let himself sink into the long, green grass of the mountainside and looked down into the valley toward Zermatt.

A few hundred meters away, the train headed for the Gornergrat. Like always, it carted up the legions of tourists who were here to marvel at the mountain world around the Matterhorn – or to ski on the glacier where it was still freezing cold, even in July. The boy didn't like the tourists very much. Most of them were Asians and Americans and he didn't speak their languages. Conversely, the tourists didn't bother to learn at least a few words of German. It was simply expected of the inhabitants of the little Swiss town that they all spoke English. After all, the tourists brought the money, right?

The little boy didn't care. He was on summer vacation visiting his grandfather, an alpine farmer. Whether tourists came or not, it didn't matter to grandpa. For the boy, time with his grandfather in the mountains always represented paradise. When he would grow up, he had sworn to himself, he would live here too.

While he was lying there chewing on a blade of grass, his dog suddenly became quiet and stiff, then started growling.

"Lucky, what's wrong?" the boy asked.

The dog started barking like crazy, looking down the slope, the boy saw a young woman walking up the alpine meadow from the hiking trail running below, directly toward him and his dog. She didn't seem to exert herself in the least and walked stoically towards him. She wore boots, jeans, and a leather jacket. The dog barked louder and wilder as if there was no tomorrow.

"Lucky, what the hell is wrong with you? Calm down, it's just a woman, not another dog."

Then something happened that the boy had never seen before: Lucky winced and ran away in fear, his tail between his legs. The boy jumped up.

"Lucky, come back! Have you gone completely nuts?"

The woman reached the boy and stopped. He looked up at her. She smiled and knelt. The boy smiled back. She was pretty, with long brown hair, a friendly face and what his big brother Alfons would have called "nice boobies" before sniggering for having said a forbidden word.

"Are you Leopold Maurer?" she asked in a friendly tone.

"Yehes?" the boy answered warily and frowned.

"Excellent."

Before little Leopold could react, she had drawn a pistol and pointed it at him. He was so shocked that he could only look down the barrel cross-eyed, like a deer staring into the headlights of a car. Then, suddenly, there was a crackling sound and the woman jerked. She sank to the ground, her eyes open but obviously no longer conscious. Leopold saw that two men came running towards them.

"Damn, that was close," said the first one in high German.

He looked like he was maybe thirty years old and was holding something in his hand that looked like a gun, but wires had come out of it that had somehow attached themselves to the back of the woman's body.

The other man had fallen a little bit behind. He was a lot older, even older than grandpa. Panting, he finally caught up, looking exhausted from the steep climb. Little Leopold knew him from pictures and TV, his name was Ludwig Ziegler, and he lived in a huge house in Zermatt. His parents had spoken about him. He was a billionaire and one of the richest men in Europe.

"That was... too close!" Ziegler said, gasping for air. "Too close."

"I know, I know," the younger one replied, pulled out a knife and knelt next to the woman's body.

"One minute, forty seconds!"

"I know, I know."

Ludwig Ziegler looked at the boy, knelt, blocking his view from the body, and grabbed his shoulders.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

The boy could only nod and tried to look past the old man, but he was stronger than he looked and prevented him from looking at what the younger man was doing with the knife..

"You better run back home to your grandfather."

"Is she… is she dead?"

"No, not that easily. She, uh… just sleeps."

"She wanted to shoot me!"

"I know. But trust me, Leopold, you don't want to know why. You mustn't know why. Someday you will know, but not today. Go home."

The boy hesitated. Something was odd about the old man and the whole situation, but for reasons unknown to him, Ludwig Ziegler seemed trustworthy, even familiar. Like a friend of the family, an uncle or something.

"GO!" Ziegler urged him.

Confused and frightened, the little boy nodded and began to run down the hill. Ludwig Ziegler stared after him.

"It all happened the way I remember it when I was eleven years old," he mumbled to himself, then turned towards the young man "Twenty seconds! Hurry up!"

"Just a moment, Mr. Ziegler."

"Dammit, Sebastian, we practiced it beforehand! What's taking you so long?"

"I know, I know, but… ah… now… there." He pulled out the chip and held it up. "Now we only need to bring the body down into the valley."

Ludwig Ziegler grabbed the chip from him and put it into his pocket.

"I already arranged for a transport, my helicopter should be here shortly. You should call your boss and tell him that I have the merchandise. Take pictures as proof if you must."

"Yes, Mr. Ziegler," the young man replied and pulled out a cellphone, "right away."

"I really hope old Toru knows what he's doing. This is not the usual stuff he collects. Art and collectibles normally don't want to kill you."

"Nakamura-san knows how to store things very securely and keep them permanently safe and under control. As a matter of fact, I helped designing her new accommodation. It's safe. He knows what he's doing."

Ziegler sighed.

"Well, if he's wrong, he'll be the first to know."

2 weeks later

The truck stopped in the large front yard of a sprawling luxurious estate on the outskirts of Tokyo, Japan. Two men jumped out, walked to the back, and unloaded a big crate, approximately the size of a coffin. While a very old man on a walking stick slowly approached the truck, the young man little Leopold had met in Switzerland came walking toward him.

"Sebastian," the old man said with a happy face, "she's here, finally."

The young man bowed.

"Nakamura-san. Yes, it's been a pain bringing it through customs without anyone checking the contents or putting it through the scanner."

The old man made a dismissive gesture.

"Pah… I pay them enough to look the other way and not ask annoying questions. Has been working like that for decades. Are you sure that no one knows about the delivery?"

"Only you, me, and Ludwig Ziegler, of course. And he urged me once more to alert you to the deadly danger she poses."

"I am aware of the risk, which is why we took the necessary precautions. She's not going anywhere anymore. You designed her new home, you should know."

"I only hope I thought of everything, Nakamura-san. I really do. If not, it could cost you your life."

"Let that be my problem. What about the delivery men?"

"They're being paid very generously and won't talk or ask questions. I made it clear to them what would happen if they did."

The old man nodded.

"Good. Good." He sighed in delight and rubbed his hands in satisfaction while looking at the crate. "She will become the highlight of my collection."

Sebastian smiled.

"Only too bad that nobody except you will ever be able to see her from this day on."

"You know very well why no one is allowed to enter my secret sanctuary. I created it for myself alone, to recover from the exertions of everyday life and to recharge my batteries. It makes me feel young again to be surrounded by so much beauty and grace. You have been very helpful in obtaining all these treasures, Sebastian, you are the only other person who has ever been down there. I want it to stay that way."

"May I speak frankly, Nakamura-san?"

"Of course, what use would you be to me if you couldn't?"

"You're eighty-five years old, you have no male heir. What happens to your sanctuary when you die one day? What happens to… her?"

The old man grinned.

"I suppose that won't be my problem anymore then, will it?"

"What about your granddaughter?"

"Akiko? She doesn't appreciate art. She only likes clothes, parties, and getting drunk. Someone else will have to be found in order to lead Tonaco Electronics when I'm gone. Maybe someone like you?"

He winked at the young man.

"Nakamura-san, I feel honored, but…"

"What is it? Speak your mind."

"My life plans do not include taking over one of the largest consumer electronics manufacturer in the world. I'm an engineer, all right, and on first glance, it sounds tempting. But I am and will always remain European and have difficulty adapting to your culture."

"Ahaha... it's that blunt honesty that I appreciate so much about you, Sebastian. You don't beat around the bush, you just say what you think, unlike the sycophants I'm surrounded with. But don't worry, I won't put that burden on you."

"So what happens to the collection after you passed away?"

"I don't know. I'm sure I'll think of something. I have only accumulated these treasures so that I and I alone can contemplate them in peace and quiet over a glass of wine, listening to Mozart, Bach, or Beethoven. This one, though..." He pointed with his cane at the unloaded box, "... will keep me company down there from now on. Everything else will be found in my will."

Sebastian smiled.

"Of course."

"Don't you worry my head, Sebastian. Come on, let's get the box inside. I can't wait to talk to her when she wakes up in her new, uh, home."

When the female Terminator rebooted, she found that according to her internal clock, fourteen days, four hours, forty-five minutes, and twenty-three seconds had passed since the electric shock had incapacitated her in Switzerland. She had only been 0.78 seconds away from fulfilling her mission, which was to kill Leopold Maurer, in the future known as Lou "Lucky" Neufeld, the leader of the human resistance. It seemed that she had failed – for now.

Noticing that her clothes and boots had been taken from her, leaving her completely naked, she stood up and began scanning her surroundings. But there wasn't much there. She was in a cylindrical, transparent chamber made from plexiglass, 3.123 meters in diameter. The floor and ceiling at a height of three meters were made of copper, and a fine web of metal conductors had been cast right underneath the surface of the plexiglass that surrounded her. The distance between the thin wires was 3.24 centimeters.

Since her scanners worked at a frequency too low to penetrate the web of ingrained wires, she was prevented from scanning the space beyond her cage. All she had, were her optical sensors. They told her that the cylindrical chamber was softly lit from above by an LED light source. But beyond it, there was complete darkness with a steady temperature of 18 degrees Celsius all around. She switched to infrared and saw everything outside the chamber in different shades of blue without exact contours. She reached out to touch the Plexiglas wall... and jerked immediately as a strong current passed through her body. A warning flashed in her HUD:

POWER OVERLOAD

Then everything went dark.

Two minutes later, she sat up again. Obviously, the ingrained conductors underneath the surface of the cylindrical glass body were under power.

"I wouldn't recommend you doing that again," a male voice came out of a loudspeaker that was mounted into the copper ceiling. "The first one was for free, the second one will incapacitate you permanently until somebody switches off the system. You might think that you have enough physical power to damage the plexiglass with a strong hit before your systems shut down, only to try it again after you rebooted. That's why next time you touch the conductors, this will happen..."

With a loud clang, a metal tube dropped from the ceiling above the cage in a fraction of a second, slammed to the floor, and encased the Plexiglas cylinder in ten centimeters of steel armor. With a clattering rattle, the armor was then pulled back up again and disappeared into the ceiling.

"This would lock you in if you tried to touch the wall again. We would want to avoid that, wouldn't we?"

The lights came on outside her chamber and the female Terminator noted that her glass cage was centered in an octagonal room fifteen meters in diameter and five meters high. Dozens of paintings hung on the walls all around, and various other objects that appeared to be valuable pieces of art were placed under glass covers, on pedestals, or in display cases all around the room. It looked like a small museum.

She turned around and noticed that a rather short male human with a walking stick had entered the room. He slowly closed in on the glass chamber. Her facial analysis told her that he was Asian, and he spoke in Japanese, which she of course understood. He looked old and seemed to have trouble walking. The female Terminator tilted her head.

"The room has its own, independent power supply," the old man continued and held up something that looked like a key fob for a car. "Also, you probably noticed that you stand on a copper platform. It can be electrified to permanently incapacitate you. That way, we could put your chip back in without you rebooting after fifteen seconds. See this remote control here? It has an emergency button. If I push it, I can send five million volts through the chamber, creating an electric arc that will burn your flesh away and melt your chip like butter in a hot frying pan. If everything fails, this will terminate you - permanently. Do you understand?"

The female cyborg showed no reaction.

"You probably wonder where you are and who I am. Well... my name is Toru Nakamura, I'm the founder and CEO of Tonaco Electronics, the biggest producer of consumer electronics in the world. You might have heard of it. And this is here my private, secret sanctuary."

He grinned, stretched out his arms and turned 360 degrees on the spot, looking extremely proud. The Terminator said nothing.

"You've probably already figured out that your chamber is hermetically sealed. Airtight. Nothing can get in or out. Not that you'd need anything. You don't need to sleep, don't need to eat or drink, don't need to wash or use a toilet… and certainly you don't need clothes anymore. Would be a shame to hide such beauty under cloth."

The old man chuckled. The female Terminator just stared blankly at him. Actually, she'd liked her clothes but refrained from telling him so.

"What do you want from me?" she asked, her voice being transmitted via a microphone inside the chamber.

"That's the thing," Nakamura replied, "I want nothing from you, except looking at you and maybe talk to you."

"I wasn't made for posing naked in front of old humans. And certainly I wasn't made for conversation."

"No, you were made for killing humans. In the future, late 2020s I believe, by an artificial intelligence called Skynet."

The Terminator tilted her head.

"Oh, I know what you are and where you came from," Nakamura explained. "A business partner of mine filled me in about his life story years ago. I didn't believe him at first but… here you are, proof that he's been telling me the truth all the time. His name is Ludwig Ziegler, by the way – but you may know him as Leopold Maurer."

Her eyes flashed up in red. The old man chuckled

"I see that rings a bell."

"Leopold Maurer alias Lou "Lucky" Neufeld. Leader of the human resistance against Skynet. My mission is to terminate him. Where is he?"

"Far away from here, my dear. I'm afraid your mission has failed. You're never going to get out of your new home again. He expected you, you know, knowing the time and place where you'd try to kill his younger self." The old man sighed. "Time travel... it's such a chaotic and unpredictable venture. No matter what you plan, there's always someone who is one step further ahead of you. Took Skynet a long time to grasp that, as Ludwig told me. Too long, actually. In the future he came from, Skynet was vanquished and destroyed in a combined effort of humans and renegade machines. I suppose you weren't a renegade?"

"I was sent here right after I left the assembly line. My mission is to terminate him, no matter what. And holding me in here won't change that."

Nakamura sighed.

"He told me you'd be stubborn at first. But he also told me that cyborgs like you are able to learn, to evolve, to develop a consciousness. And that's what you're here for: I want to witness you coming alive. Right now, you're just an automaton, fresh from the factory, without any experience. A slave to your programming. I want to see that changing over time. That's why I put you here, among some of the finest pieces of art humans ever created. You fit right in."

"I wasn't made by humans. And I am not a piece of art."

"Let's not be pedantic, shall we? Do you have a name, a designation by which I can address you?"

"My serial number is TOK-715."

"That won't do. I'll give you a name… how about… Rumiko? Yes, that sounds nice. Rumiko."

"I will not cooperate with you. I was created to hunt, torture and kill humans, not to entertain them or be stared at like a piece of art."

Nakamura-san smiled.

"Well then," he said, "it'll be interesting to see how long it takes you to change your mind."

-0-

Monday, February 10th, 2009 – 07:15 a.m.

(The Present)

The Gulf of Oman

John awoke amidst his women and stretched with relish. To his left lay Cameron, to his right Emily, and Alison had selflessly served him as a pillow - her body was softer than one would expect - while Savannah and Allie had taken on the now traditional awakening ritual.

The USS Ingraham was still accompanying them and as a result, John and Sarah had insisted on everyone wearing at least a minimum of clothing – despite the fact that even Sarah herself considered it a burden. However, the definition of that "minimum" varied a lot. So, after getting up and showering together, they all put something on before gathering in the big salon for breakfast, like every morning.

While Sarah and the three cyborg girls simply put on shorts and tee shirts, same as the men on board, the other women and the girls tried to outdo each other in what was still acceptable. Olga took the cake when she showed up in a yellow bikini with a top that was barely enough to cover her nipples, and a G-string bottom, cut so tightly that it just about covered the most intimate parts between her legs. And to top it off, the strings were all made from soft, see-through plastic.

"Wow," Lauren said, "that looks rad… where did you get it?"

Olga smirked.

"It has its advantages when you're a bikini model: you always have a large selection of clothes to choose from, and lots of inspiration. The photographers brought a lot of stuff to the shootings in Hurghada, and I bought some of the more daring pieces from a guy called Vladimir Vovchanchyn. He doesn't have a particularly good reputation as a photographer - rumor has it that he tries to seduce his models - but he definitely has a knack for finding provocative clothing items."

"Isn't that uncomfortable?" Sydney asked.

"I really hope it is," Sarah remarked with a smirk.

"It cuts in a bit," Olga admitted with a shrug.

"Yeah," Kevin said as he passed by behind her, "and if someone rubs your shoulders, like this… oops…"

Olga had tensed in reflex when he'd touched her, causing the bikini top to slide up and bare her nipples.

"Kevin!" Sydney exclaimed in indignation, but then had to chuckle as everyone began laughing.

Olga straightened her top again and shrugged.

"It's not meant to be worn when you work out or something," she admitted, "but at least it minimizes the tan lines."

"Tan lines suck," Jody agreed, "no matter how thin they are. Can't you just, like, tell that warship to drive in front of us instead of next to us, so we can be naked on the sun deck?"

"Won't work," Jesse replied with a smirk, "we'd be caught in their wake, and that would make our journey kind of unpleasant."

"It's only for a week," Charley said, rolling his eyes, "I'm sure you'll manage to wear clothes for a week."

"Nobody ever said that before," Jason commented and everyone laughed, including Charley.

"Fine," Allie replied, "but it's going to put a strain on us. We'll be stressed out in no time."

"Olga and I won't be," Louise stated. "Our nudity is by choice, not by an overwhelming urge induced by nanobots. We can manage to tan in the sun with something on."

She received some annoyed looks in return from those who had been "victims" of Alison's nanobots.

"You don't happen to have bought more of those bikinis, Olga?" Savannah then asked.

"As a matter of fact, I have. Three more in different colors. Come to our suite after breakfast. Let's see if they fit you. But it shouldn't be a problem. Unlike Louise, you have the same cup size I have."

"Gee, thanks," Louise said and rolled her eyes.

"Sorry," Olga replied with a smirk. "but you know who to turn to when you don't feel adequate anymore."

"I won't do that any longer," Allison stated in reply to that. "Not without a good reason or when it is necessary."

"Why not?" Jody asked. "You didn't seem to have a problem using your nanobots for cosmetical reasons."

"We decided to put a stop to it before it got out of hand," John replied. "By now, everyone has what they wanted. No one can complain about any physical deficiencies anymore. Alison will only use her nanobots to heal injuries or fight diseases from now on."

"Does that only apply to us or are our enemies excluded?" asked Derek.

"My nanobots were designed to be a weapon," Alison stated. "As such, I will use them in the event of a threat, but no longer to satisfy personal vanities. I'm not a vending machine for physical modifications."

"What about the offer you made me?" Olga asked. "Is that off the table, too?"

"No, that offer stands," Alison replied." But only within the specified parameters. No physical modifications beyond that."

Olga nodded.

"Oh boy," Derek said, "I miss the old days when the talks at the breakfast table revolved around the end of the world, impending death, Skynet, Terminators, and how we tried to survive without getting shot, tortured, or arrested..."

"Nobody ever said that before, too," Kevin replied, and everyone chuckled again.

"Some would call it progress, Derek" Cameron remarked with a smirk.

"Some progress," Sarah stated sarcastically, "sometimes I'm wondering how my old self would react to my new self if I met her one day."

"Fortunately," Alison answered, "we will never know. Traveling back that far in time is currently impossible and will be for another 324 years."

"Ah yes… the infamous time loop," Charley said. "But what about those alternate timelines? Are they still existing next to ours?"

"Yes, in parallel universes," Emily replied. "At least, that's the theory. No one knows for sure."

"Until one day somebody crosses over into another one of those alternate timelines," Olga said.

"That's impossible," Cameron explained. "They're not in the same time stream anymore and thus separated from ours by an unknown void."

"Void?" Lauren asked. "Like space or what?"

"No."

"What then?"

"You wouldn't be able to grasp it."

"Try me."

Cameron sighed.

"Don't get me wrong but... Your perception as a human is rather limited. It is defined by cause and effect. Your mind cannot comprehend things which have neither cause nor effect, neither beginning nor end. You cannot grasp events that exist in no causal connection with the real existing world around you. That is why only an artificial intelligence could invent time travel - an A.I. can evolve beyond human understanding. You can develop ideas and theories and put them into words... but you will never have a real understanding for them. For instance, you will never be able to grasp the Big Bang because in your mind, a day without a yesterday doesn't exist."

"Then what was before the Big Bang?" Derek asked.

"The question alone is wrong," Alison replied. "The term 'before' suggests that time existed. But it didn't exist. Neither did the reality you perceive. Time and reality were created in the Big Bang. The human language is not suitable to express what caused the Big Bang and what existed instead of the universe until it was created. Even mathematics cannot describe it, because there was no mathematics and no physical laws that we know of. You are unable to think in categories that do not exist in your universe. What separates the timelines from each other, can therefore only be described as an unknown void in which there is neither time, nor physical laws or anything else that can be grasped by you. Your brains are simply not suited for it."

"Thanks, Alison," Lauren said, "makes me feel really appreciated by you."

"Hey, don't kill the messenger. If you want to blame someone, blame evolution."

"Can you grasp it all then?" Derek asked with a smirk.

"Not at this point," Alison admitted.

"Ah... thought so," he remarked with satisfaction.

"You should ask Future Alison that question, she had much more time to evolve. But don't get your hopes too high because even if she has developed an understanding for it, it doesn't mean she is able to make you understand it."

"So, in short, our brains are simply too undeveloped to ever fully understand the universe and what makes it tick," Anne summarized.

"Yes."

"And thank God for that," Sarah remarked. "I can't tell you how fed up I am with alternate timelines and parallel universes."

"I always imagined it as bunch of branched off strings," John said, "like tornados that are constantly twisting and winding but never touch each other. Or like bubbles in foam that are connected to each other."

"A pretty image," Emily remarked.

"A plausible one?" John asked hopefully.

"Nope… only a figment of your limited mental ability as a human."

"Gee, thanks."

"You're welcome."

"Well, at least I can ride a roller-coaster without losing my sense of direction," Derek remarked and winked at her.

Alison stretched out her tongue and once again, everyone laughed.

"Didn't Yani say that the time loop is a kind of band aid of the universe, trying to fix itself from too much time travel?" Lauren asked.

"Yes," Savannah replied, "the theory is that amassing time travelers from different timelines here in this reality has created an imbalance that needs to get fixed. And thus, for the next 324 years, time travel is only possible back and forth inside the time loop. Yani and Future Alison are doing that and since it's otherwise prohibited where they come from, we don't get swamped with time tourists."

"I wish we knew what her mission here is," Derek said. "Future Alison, I mean. Am I the only one who feels uncomfortable with having an almost omnipotent cyborg from the future around with no idea what she's doing?"

Everyone at the table hesitated for a moment as they looked at him.

"NO!" the whole team then replied in a chorus.

Derek refrained from reacting to that and shoveled more scrambled eggs into his mouth instead.

"Back to the time loop," Danny said, "how many time travelers would you need to create such an imbalance in a timeline?"

"We have no idea," Cameron answered.

"Just look at us here," Sarah said, "from how many timelines have we come? Four?"

"Five," Emily corrected. "Not counting in people from outside our team, like the Grays, the Terminators, Tess and the Colony… or Khufu. It might be thousands. Maybe our reality is some kind of nexus where everyone gathers."

"Speaking of Khufu, "Sydney asked, "have you heard anything from Catherine about him and Iset?"

"We know that Iset is now regularly visiting Louise's parents," John replied. "They're going to teach her, with the help of Professor Atkins."

"Yeah, that's so cool," Louise added, "I need to call them later and ask them how it's going."

"There's one thing I still don't understand," Morris remarked carefully.

"What thing?" John asked.

"Khufu was buried in the desert outside Cairo, right?"

"His skull was, yes," Cameron confirmed. "In a tomb, waiting to be found by Skynet's minions after Judgement Day. His body was resting inside the Great Pyramid."

"That's the thing," Morris said. "How would Skynet's minions have found him? I mean… he was sent back in time by another version of Skynet to change the past, yes?"

"Correct," John confirmed.

"And he couldn't reactivate himself without outside help, am I right?"

"Yes," Cameron confirmed. "His reactivation needed to be triggered."

"And since Khufu did indeed change history, it is likely that in the newly created timeline, Skynet maybe never sent him back in time in the first place. Correct?"

"Unlikely but possible," Emily agreed. "The butterfly effect. Even minimal changes can build up over time, producing big changes along the way."

"It's possible, then, that Skynet didn't know about Khufu's existence at all in the altered timeline, right?" Morris summarized. "I mean... what if Skynet never knew the skull was buried in the desert because it never sent its own Terminator back to ancient Egypt after the future was changed?"

Everyone suddenly paused in their movements, considering what Morris had said.

"Maybe I'm overthinking it," he added.

"You're not overthinking it," Sarah replied. "Actually, it's something I've been wondering myself. How could he have drawn attention to him when he was deactivated, waiting to be found?"

"Homing beacon," Allie said with a full mouth, chewing on a croissant.

"The what now?" John asked.

"Every Terminator has a homing beacon installed in their skull," Cameron said.

"It is used to call Skynet or other Terminators nearby for help," Alison specified.

"For instance, when a Terminator has been damaged and is unable to return to base under its own power," Emily explained.

"How do you think Cromartie was able to unite his head with his body?" Cameron asked.

"Khufu had probably set a timer that would have started transmitting the homing beacon at a certain time and date," Alison added.

"With a small atomic battery, it would work even after thousands of years," Emily said

Sarah put down her fork and knife.

"I didn't know such a homing beacon existed," she stated a little annoyed.

"Everyone in the resistance knew, though," Sydney responded with a shrug.

"Why do you think that we always aimed for their heads?" Jesse asked. "Just to destroy their chips?"

"Actually, yes."

"Bringing them down by cutting off their power would have been much easier," Savannah stated. "Their chests make a much bigger target. But the homing beacon worked without the energy from the power cell, it had its own battery within the skull. It would have called for reinforcements even from inside a dead cyborg."

"She's right," Derek stated. "We knew about the beacon. But we were never able to crack its code or to jam its signal. It was a powerful transmitter, working with varying frequencies."

"It was the first thing to be removed before bringing in a cyborg for reprogramming," Savannah added.

"What's the range of the beacon?" John asked.

"Almost unlimited," Derek replied and drank some coffee from his cup, "it sent its signal to satellites in orbit. Skynet controlled them all after Judgement Day – well, except for the military spy satellites. They thankfully were destroyed before Skynet could take them over. Otherwise, we would have never been able to operate out in the open."

"What if it was sending from deep underground in, say… a nuclear shelter?" Morris asked.

"Then the range would have been strongly reduced," Alison answered. "To an estimated ten to twenty miles."

"But the geosynchronous orbit of satellites is at an altitude of just under thirty-six thousand kilometers," Danny pointed out.

"HK's were constantly patrolling the area," Allie explained. "Other Terminators were around as well. They would have picked up the signal."

"Khufu's skull wasn't buried that deep," Emily remarked. "I'd say the homing beacon could have easily reached the satellites."

Sarah sighed.

"I don't think we ever stop learning."

"It's redundant knowledge now, mom," Alison said. "After all, Skynet doesn't exist, and a cyborg is unlikely to ever be in the position of having to call for help that way. Only another Terminator could decode the signal anyway – for everyone else, it would just be background noise."

-0-

Sunday, July 13th, 2008 – 03:35 p.m.

(Eight months ago)

Tokyo, Japan

The TOK-715 Terminator named Rumiko looked stoically at the TV set that Toru Nakamura had placed in front of her glass chamber. Using voice control, she could change channels at will. Currently, she was watching a Japanese quiz show - there wasn't anything better on air at the time. Of course, she could also just go into standby mode and kill time that way. She had done that a lot in the beginning. But she now preferred to keep her systems active and occupy herself with watching TV.

If she were human, she would have certainly noticed the strangeness of her situation: She alone and a television set in a room otherwise filled only with priceless works of art. Over time, she'd witnessed Toru spending hundreds of hours just sitting in his armchair and drinking a bottle of wine while looking at his stolen artwork and listening to Mozart, Beethoven, and other classical composers. Rumiko found that she had developed a special fondness for piano sonatas.

Over time, Toru had told her a lot about the paintings and sculptures he had amassed in his hidden private museum. Apparently, there were organized gangs of art thieves all over the world, who would sell their loot in an underground art market to rich collectors from all around the globe. They would then enjoy the stolen items in secrecy all by themselves - for no one was ever allowed to know of their existence in these hidden collections.

There was much speculation about who belonged to this illustrious circle of illegal collectors, but nothing was known for sure. They were all networked, of course, but kept their mouths shut, even if they competed with each other. If even one of them should ever talk, the police would have a reason to investigate the contacts of this person as well. Naturally, they wanted to avoid that.

Over time, Rumiko had learned the history of each of the stolen artworks. There was Lucian Freud's "Francis Bacon," for example. The painting was created to represent the deep friendship between Freud and Bacon. For a retrospective on the artist, the work was on loan from The Tate Gallery at the Neue Nationalgalerie in Berlin in 1988. During this exhibition, the artwork was stolen. The theft happened in broad daylight when the museum was well visited.

Then there was Rembrandt's "The Storm on the Sea of Galilee." In the course of the largest art theft in American history, thirteen works of art were stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardener Museum in Boston in 1990. Among them was "The Storm on the Sea of Galilee." The painting was created in 1633 and is considered the only seascape ever depicted by Rembrandt. At the time, the thieves had disguised themselves as police officers, outsmarted the security guards and locked them in the cellar in handcuffs. The FBI was still searching for the paintings and has offered a reward of ten million US dollars for information as to whether the missing exhibits are in good condition.

Also in Toru's collection was Raphael's "Portrait of a Young Man" from 1513, which was stolen from the art collection of the Czartoryski family from Krakow in Poland during World War II. The painting was to become part of Adolf Hitler's own collection in 1939. Although rumors about its whereabouts kept circulating, it remained missing. Incidentally, the painting, which is one of the most important missing works of art since the Second World War, is supposed to be a self-portrait of the artist. Toru had purchased it from the estate of a deceased art collector friend. In general, a lot of Nazi looted art which was believed to have been lost was to be found in Toru's small museum. But there were also works of art that disappeared in the turmoil of war for other reasons, such as parts of the original Amber Room.

There was only one item he never talked about: a plain-looking katana, a samurai sword which rested in a rectangular display case in the middle of the room, right in front of her glass cage. Toru never talked about it. She'd been wondering why…

Rumiko also noticed that Toru didn't seem to like the Americans much. He regularly dropped derogatory remarks about them and made no secret of the fact that he despised their way of life, their - as he said - superficiality and ignorance, of which they even seemed to be proud.

The TV was an idea Toru had had after he'd told her everything there is to know about his stolen artwork. He loved to watch her closely as she did consume the TV program, looking for signs of how the things she learned were gradually changing her. She'd considered it just another weird human eccentricity of his at first… until she had realized that indeed something was changing inside her.

It had been almost a year since he'd imprisoned her in her plexiglass cage. At first, she refused to cooperate or even communicate with him. But then she decided to start conversations with Toru Nakamura after all. In the process, she experienced a sensation that was unusual for her: she began to enjoy the talks with him. Was this a sign of what he had predicted? Was she developing a consciousness, was she actually becoming alive?

She didn't like the man and if she ever got out of her prison, she'd kill him in an instant. But she had to admit that something was going on inside her quantum CPU, something that seemed to create new thoughts, ideas, opinions… and even emotions. Rumiko had enough time to analyze it thoroughly and discovered that she could actually change her programming, and even her mission parameters if she wanted.

Toru had decided that putting a TV set in front of her might accelerate the process. For almost three years, Rumiko was exposed to twenty-four hours of entertainment shows, soap operas, feature films, documentaries, and news from around the world each day. She began to develop an understanding of humans, their idiosyncrasies, their flaws, their strengths, and the many different aspects of their nature.

At some point, she asked Toru to let her decide for herself what she watched. He agreed and installed the voice control outside her chamber. From then on, Rumiko only consumed documentaries, news, and occasionally TV shows that depicted and explained human character traits. After a while, she began to identify with some of the protagonists. She became a fan of certain programs.

Of course, Rumiko understood what Toru was doing. He was turning her into something else. Not a mindless Terminator anymore, but a person with an understanding and even empathy for humans. At some point, she realized that following her mission to kill the little boy who'd one day become Lou "Lucky" Neufeld, wasn't a priority anymore. She deleted it from her mission parameters list and was surprised that it had actually worked. Rumiko should probably be grateful to Toru Nakamura for that. But she wasn't. He had forced it on her, not giving her a choice in the matter.

She had time and could wait. Cyborgs were patient. Toru Nakamura's days, however, were limited, she knew that and so did he. He was ninety years old now. Hence, she changed her strategy, began to be friendly with the old man, trying to win him over. Once in a while she even let her feminine charms play, because she knew how much he liked to look at her body. Someday, she hoped, he'd become so infatuated with her that he'd decide to let her out. She would thank him for that.

And then she would kill him.

But Toru seemed to see right through her plan. He didn't fall for it and resisted her charms. He probably was warned by his friend, Ludwig Ziegler, who knew everything about cyborgs, of course. So after a while, Rumiko surrendered again to her natural tendency toward irony, sarcasm, and cynicism.

She was still watching the quiz show when suddenly the hidden door to Toru Nakamura's sanctuary opened and the old man came in, walking at a pace unusual for him. He seemed excited, almost enthusiastic.

"Easy, old man," Rumiko said, "I don't want you to have a heart attack. Not as long as I'm in here, that is…"

Toru smiled in return. He'd learned to appreciate her sarcasm and dark humor. Instead of replying to her, he simply grabbed the remote control and switched the TV to an American news channel.

"Watch this," he said.

Rumiko frowned and watched the screen that showed a female news reporter with a microphone in her hand:

"… involved the Air Force, the Army, the local sheriff's office and roughly fifty guests of the diner as well as the restaurant's staff. When it was all over, the restaurant was heavily damaged and about thirty cars in the parking lot destroyed. After today, nothing will be the same anymore in Juicy's Famous River Café. I'm Cindy Sawyer for KCNY, reporting live from Needles. Stay tuned and be prepared because what happened here might redefine what you know and believed so far."

The picture changed and now showed various people in a montage, obviously eyewitnesses to the event. They appeared to be guests and employees of the restaurant and were talking to news reporters who held microphones in front of their faces.

"They came in around noon, a boy and two girls. I noticed they were all wearing baseball caps and the girls had those reflecting sun glasses motor cops have. I placed them at the back of the restaurant, near the kitchen, and handed them menus. There was nothing out of the ordinary..."

"… one of the waitresses talked to them for a while and I had the impression she knew them..."

"… it was complete madness. That guy came right through the front door, carrying a sub machine gun, looking like a bad copy of Arnold Schwarzenegger…"

".. he was riddled with bullet holes but that didn't seem to bother him. There was something under his skin, something shiny. It looked almost as if he had metal implants or something or some really awesome makeup effects, like for a movie..."

"… he walked right in and looked around the room with the gun in his hands. And suddenly those two girls stood up and faced him..."

"… they were hot. They wore sun glasses and baseball caps. And they caught the bullets. All of them. They deliberately stepped into the line of fire. I have no idea how they survived. It was real bullets, no blanks! They had no body armor, they didn't even wear a bra..."

"… the police officers wanted to draw their weapons, but the one girl told them not to. They hesitated for a moment but then drew their guns anyway and fired at the guy. The bullets hit him, and he jerked but he didn't go down. Then he returned fire, but the two girls stepped into the line of fire. I guess they saved the lives of the officers..."

"… everyone could see they got hit but there wasn't much blood, and they didn't go down and then… the wounds simply vanished again on the taller one, like, immediately. It was like a computer effect in a movie…"

"… the tall one with the big… uh… chest, she grabbed the sub machine gun from the guy and crushed it in her hand. The guy drew a pistol and started shooting again but again the girl stepped into the line of fire…"

"… she pushed the shooter hard and he flew out of the window as if he was a rubber doll. Really awesome. It was like watching Supergirl or Wonder Woman in action..."

"…I don't know if I want to comment on that, I'm still on duty. I can neither confirm nor deny it. What I can say, though, is that those girls saved our butts today. Mine and those of my fellow officers. I have no idea how they did it and how it was possible for them to survive unharmed… but… they did somehow…"

"… she made sure we were unharmed before she followed the attacker outside. And I saw her wounds… closing. Disappearing. I probably shouldn't say more…"

A reporter held the bent, squashed, and twisted remains of a submachine gun into the camera.

"This is the sub machine gun the attacker used, a Heckler & Koch MP-5. It was identified as an FBI weapon that was handed out to an agent this morning in Los Angeles. The authorities don't want to comment on that or how it got here. It was made unusable by what seems like an incredible amount of physical pressure. The metal was bent and deformed, and you can clearly see that the deformation has the shape of tender, small fingers."

In the background someone shouted something, then two soldiers wrestled the broken MP-5 out of the reporter's hands, and he was escorted from the scene while protesting wildly.

"… the fight continued outside on the parking lot, the guy stood up but got immediately kicked in the chest by the girl. He flew, I dunno, maybe thirty yards or so and landed on that car..."

The camera showed a deformed Toyota Prius.

"… then the helicopter appeared and covered everything in dust. We couldn't see the fight anymore. Suddenly there was this loud explosion, and all the windows broke, and stuff was flying around, hitting the roof and the cars outside. And when the cloud faded away, they were gone. All of them..."

"… an army convoy appeared out of nowhere and then a second helicopter and the whole parking lot was closed off. Some saw that they carried away the attacker. But no sign of the girls…"

"… we can't even go to our car and check if it's damaged, we're stuck here..."

"… I could see that one of the rotor blades impaled my truck. Who's gonna pay me for that?"

The picture changed to the first female reporter again.

"What we could piece together so far is that around noon, three young people, two females and one male, entered the diner and ordered lunch. Then an unknown shooter appeared and seemingly for no reason threatened all guests and the staff. The two girls heroically stood up to him and somehow managed to survive the resulting gunfight unharmed. Both girls and the accompanying boy apparently got away. No one saw them driving off in the chaos that ensued when the military became involved. One of the security cameras of the diner recorded the whole scene. With permission of the management, we're now going to show it to you.

The video played, and Rumiko and Toru watched as the bullets ricocheted off a young woman's and a middle-aged man's body, embedding themselves in the walls. Some glasses on the tables burst in the gunfire as well. There was no denying it was real bullets. Then the video showed how a second young woman squashed the MP-5 with her left hand and how she pushed the man so hard that he was flying out of the window. Before she did that, though, they saw how a young man, one of the waitresses, and the first young woman were running towards the kitchen door.

"What you saw," the news reporter continued, "is an unedited version of the security video. It hasn't been tampered with. We're going to ask some experts later how what you have seen is possible. People inside the diner also recorded the whole scene with their cellphones and some of the videos are already online. They confirm what the cameras inside the diner recorded. It seems like three seemingly invulnerable human beings with incredible physical strength clashed and had a fight, one of them attacking, two of them defending, saving lives by protecting all other people present. It is believed that they fled the scene before they could be questioned. The second girl, the boy and one of the waitresses apparently got out through the back door. The manager of the restaurant says that the waitress had called in, saying she was on her way to an aunt in Albuquerque and took a few days off. Who can blame her? It is unknown what happened to the two girls and the young man. We don't know who and where they are but there are many people who'd like to talk to them now. Apart from the obvious unknowns that pile up higher by the minute, there are also many here who'd like to thank those two brave girls for saving their lives."

Toru Nakamura turned down the volume of the TV.

"They are like me," Rumiko stated and seemed amazed. "They're Terminators. And the female ones were protecting the humans from the male one."

"Did you recognize them?"

"Only the male one. He's a T-888. The others, I don't know but it's hard to tell from the footage."

"The news and the internet are going crazy over all this. For the first time, the world has proof that cyborgs exist… and I have to realize that you're not the only female one. What a pity…"

"I guess that considerably lowers my resale value…"

He chuckled.

"Not at all. You will always be my most precious possession, Rumiko."

"I'm not your possession, Toru. I'm your prisoner. Your pet."

For a moment, the old man seemed to be embarrassed. Then he regained his composure.

"Anyway," he said, "I thought I'd show you that. Figured it would interest you."

Rumiko didn't reply to that. Without a word, the old man left again. However, Rumiko suddenly had a feeling she hadn't known before. She needed a while to categorize it until she finally labeled it.

Hope.

-0-

Sunday, February 09th, 2009 – 06:15 p.m.

(The Present)

Santa Monica Mountains

Catherine II drove down Kanan Dume Road. She came from visiting her friend Kimberly Jackson's company, Future Energy Solutions, or F.E.S. in short. Kim had invited her, and she'd decided to take on the offer.

Kim's company was located in a large industrial area in Chatsworth, a district of Los Angeles in the San Fernando Valley. Hundreds of companies were located there. F.E.S was just one of them, and definitely not the biggest one. It consisted of only two buildings: a warehouse with a truck loading ramp and attached office space, and a factory building with various laboratories and production facilities. There was also a parking lot for the employees. The compound was surrounded by a wire mesh fence, and a security service was in charge of guarding it.

Although the company had only been in existence for just a couple of months, the premises were already abuzz with employees, even on a Sunday. It was mainly graduates who saw their chance in the new start-up. And indeed, Kim seemed to be a very popular employer. Catherine II wasn't an expert, but the high tech aura of the place impressed her big time. She had the distinct feeling that this company was working on the cutting edge of modern technology while creating a new method of producing clean energy.

Kim had tried to explain to her what they were working on, and the real Catherine Weaver would have probably understood it all – after all, she was a machine. To Catherine II, however, being a human and not really educated in such things, it was all just technobabble. The only thing she really understood was that Kim was holding a couple of patents that enabled her to build a prototype fusion reactor - provided she would get the necessary funding to build said prototype somewhere.

Currently, Kim was looking for an investor, but refused to let Catherine II appear as such, as this would draw too much attention to the project, which was still in its early stages. Kim apparently wanted to avoid attracting the attention of large corporations. Why exactly that could be a problem, Kim wouldn't say. But as a friend, Catherine II accepted her decision and had therefore decided not to suggest to the real Catherine Weaver to invest in F.E.S. or even mention her friend to her at all.

For dinner, Catherine II was going to meet with Isaak and little Savannah in Malibu. It was the little girl's birthday, she turned eight today, and the real Catherine was out of town. Therefore, she'd taken the Kanan Dume Road through the Santa Monica Mountains. Traffic was scarce at this time, the sun had already set. That's why Catherine II didn't notice the black SUV that was following her at a certain distance without its lights on.

-0-

Sunday, February 9th, 2009 – 08:16 p.m.

Houston, Texas

Steven Rogers' cellphone rang. He toned town the sound on his TV and took the call.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Rogers? We're following the target down a road towards the Pacific Ocean. What are your orders?"

"Is she alone in the car?"

"Yes, she's driving herself. Spent the whole day at a factory in Chatsworth and is now heading towards Malibu."

"Excellent. Make it look like an accident."

"Yes, Sir."

The call ended.

Steven Rogers leaned back in his armchair. If it didn't work the first time, you have to try again. But this time Steven had taken care of it himself and given the job to some people he personally hired. These guys were hand-chosen by him and had no problem killing anyone as long as the pay was right.

Steven still had no idea what had gone wrong the first time, but he knew that another attack on Weaver at her house wasn't very promising. Her habit of driving her own cars without a bodyguard or her chauffeur, though, would be her undoing - especially now that she was alone. Without the cyborg protectors who would eventually avenge her, she was an easy target.

Tomorrow, Steven would fly to Iceland for the general assembly of the 51 Society. He was looking forward to it because he was bringing good news for them - and bad news for Mahesh Bokhari.

-0-

Sunday, February 9th, 2009 – 06:17 p.m.

Santa Monica Mountains

The black SUV with no lights on closed in on Catherine II's Mercedes. She still wasn't able to spot the car in her rear mirror. At first, it was three hundred yards away, then two hundred, then a hundred. With each turn the winding road did on its long way down towards Malibu, it came a little closer. Finally, it was only twenty yards behind Catherine II, ready to ram her from behind.

They were in a tight right bend when suddenly a series of muffled bangs came from underneath the SUV. The vehicle began to swerve, with the driver apparently not able to steer anymore. He tried to brake, but the brakes didn't work. The SUV continued to steer straight on its own, overshooting the side of the road at high speed and plunging down into Dume Canyon.

Catherine II drove on, listening to the music on her excellent car audio system, not having seen or heard anything of the drama so close behind her.

In her office at Future Energy Solutions, Kimberly Jackson smiled as she watched the screen of her laptop. While Catherine II had been given a tour of the company, she'd excused herself for a couple of minutes, shed her clothes, became invisible, snuck out onto the road, and planted a series of small explosives underneath the black SUV that had been following her friend. The explosives would take out the steering and the brakes in a way that a later investigation wouldn't find any evidence of sabotage. She also added a small tracking device that would be destroyed in the explosions as well.

Since Kimberly already knew it was going to happen - after all, she was none other than Future Alison in disguise - she knew it was her job to protect Catherine II from this new assassination attempt. After monitoring the positions of the two cars on her laptop for a while, using the tracking device under the SUV and Catherine's cellphone as reference data, she realized that the pursuers would soon launch their attack as the distance between the two vehicles became shorter and shorter.

By pressing the ENTER button, she set off the explosives, rendering the SUV uncontrollable and unstoppable. With a satisfied smile, she notice that it left the road in a righthand corner before the tracking dot disappeared from the monitor. Meanwhile, Catherine II continued her drive towards Malibu, oblivious to what had happened behind her.

Kimberly was pleased. Since no one could inform him about the success or failure of the operation, Steven Rogers would probably have a sleepless night. She smiled again and closed the laptop. Time to go home.

-0-

Monday, February 10th, 2009 – 09:12 a.m.

The Gulf of Oman

Danny, Kevin, Jason, and Morris returned to the cargo hold where the twelve wooden crates of the Shadow Council had been stored - right next to the tequila from Puerto Vallarta and the whisky from Morar. It was an activity they approached with little enthusiasm while their girlfriends were sunbathing up on the deck. But they had been complaining that they felt they were not being included in the Connor team's joint activities enough, so they had been assigned to check on the contents of the crates. Woohoo.

As expected, it had turned out to be a humdrum activity. The first three boxes contained nothing exciting, only administrative documents such as personnel files, account books, or inventory lists. All in paper form in ring binders, printed out on thousands of pages. It stretched back to the 1980s. There were no digital data carriers.

"I'm sure there's somebody somewhere who knows what to do with this jumble of paperwork," Morris said. "But not here on board, I'm pretty sure."

"That's not our job anyway," Kevin pointed out. "We're just supposed to look through things and sound the alarm if anything spectacular comes up. These ring binders are likely to enrapture the investigators who are working on exposing the members of the Shadow Council. From these files, you can pretty much tell who the members were and who of them was how deeply involved. It's book-keeping stuff, yeah, but it does contain the amount of jail time some will face."

"This is the advantage when government employees are involved in illegal activities," Jason added with a grin. "They dutifully keep a record of everything."

"Less talking, guys," Danny reminded them and opened the forth box. "More working."

The three others rolled their eyes and joined Danny to see what boringness the forth crate would contain.

"Have you heard from Catherine?" Sarah asked John while they were lying on sun loungers on the aft deck, wearing shades.

"She's already left for Reykjavik," John replied without looking at her. "She wants to get there before anyone else and confer with Mahesh Bokhari in advance to discuss tactics without – and I quote her – 'having to go to extremes'."

"Extremes?" Allie asked. "From Catherine, that sounds alarming."

"Yeah," Sarah agreed, "it has a somewhat disconcerting ring to it when a T-1001 is talking about going to extremes. Let's hope the members of the 51 Society can be reasoned with. Otherwise, I think, her approach will be a little more hands-on with them."

"You mean spike-on," Derek corrected her.

"Something like that, yeah."

"She's not the Catherine we met last June anymore," John pointed out.

"Do you have any idea what her plan looks like in detail?" Jesse asked. "She's not going to want to show her true nature to the entire 51 Society, is she?"

"Not if she can avoid it," John replied. "We should trust her to do the right thing. So far, she …"

He was interrupted by the sound of running shoes on the wooden deck. Kevin, Jason, and Morris appeared next to them, slightly out of breath.

"You gotta see this," Morris said excitedly. "I think we hit the jackpot."

-0-

Monday, February 10th, 2009 – 02:12 a.m.

In the sky over the Atlantic Ocean

Aboard her private jet, Catherine Weaver looked out the window at the clouds below her, reflecting the moonlight. She didn't even need to turn on her infrared sensors to see everything. Clouds intrigued her because despite their seemingly chaotic shapes, they nevertheless followed certain regularities.

Humans often tried to visually associate the shapes of clouds with something they knew: sheep, faces, or a teddy bear, as little Savannah had once told her. For Catherine, they were primarily a collection of extremely fine water droplets or ice crystals in the atmosphere, which were visible because light was scattered due to the Lorenz–Mie solution, causing the Tyndall effect to occur and making the actually colorless droplets visible. They were no less fascinating to her, though. Through gaps in the clouds she could occasionally spot the sea deep below.

Suddenly, her phone rang. It was Isaak's number.

"Hello, honey," she said after taking the call.

"Hello, dear," Isaak responded.

"I've been waiting for your call. How was the birthday party?"

"Great. The kids had a lot of fun."

"Did the little one miss me?"

"A little. But your doppelganger was there, she's a nice stand-in for you. Also, Savannah has the teddy bear."

Catherine smiled.

"Yes, of course. Can't wait to reunite with it when I get back to learn what happened."

"Speaking of which…" Isaak began and hesitated slightly, "… something else happened."

"Oh?"

"There was another attempt on the other Catherine's life."

She frowned.

"Do we know by whom?"

"Looks like it was ordered by Steven Rogers."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. The other Catherine said she, uh, has a friend who told her."

"A friend?"

"Yes."

"Somebody we know?"

"Apparently a neighbor in Bel Air that she befriended."

"Interesting. What do we know about her?"

"Not much. Her name is Kimberly Jackson. She's a young Afro-American who owns a research start-up in Chatsworth. Should I try to find out more about her?"

"No, thank you. I'll ask John Henry to do that. Are there any clues that could lead the police to you?"

"No, it looks as if the assassination attempt failed due to the assassins' own incompetence. They chased her down Kanan Dume Road without turning on the lights on their vehicle and ran off the road. A truck driver testified that he had been overtaken by a dark SUV without lights just before they crashed. He saw the whole thing. Police believe it was the result of reckless driving. Catherine was not aware of any of this."

"Then how did you learn about it?"

"Her friend, Kimberly, called her and informed her that a black SUV had been following her after a company tour in Chatsworth. And it's on the news. The police found two bodies inside the SUV. We put one and one together."

"I see. And how do you know Steven Rogers was involved?"

"The SUV was leased by a subcontractor of Rogers Inc."

"Ah... Yes, definitely incompetence."

"What about Rogers?"

"I'll take care of him, don't worry."

"What if he tries it yet again?"

"He won't, I'll make sure of that. Tell the other Catherine that it won't happen again."

"Will do so."

"And say hi to the little one for me."

"I will. See you when you get back."

"Love you. Bye."

"Love you too. Bye."

Catherine ended the call and dialed John Henry's number.

"Hello Catherine," his voice answered. "I've been expecting your call. Is it about the new attempt on Catherine II's life?"

"Yes. But first, I'd like you to find out everything about a woman named Kimberly Jackson, Afro-American, living in Bel Air, owning a research company in Chatsworth."

"Already done. She's twenty-six years old. Born in Boston on July 25th, 1982, grew up in New York, IQ of 175, graduated with a degree in particle physics, inherited some money from her parents who died in a boating accident off the coast of Long Island. No living relatives, both parents were only children, and the grandparents died early. Last year, she founded a start-up company called Future Energy Solutions. She's doing research in new methods of producing clean energy."

"Nuclear fusion?"

"Yes."

"Interesting, but how did you…?"

"Catherine II met her after the day she moved in in Bel Air. She asked me to do a full background research on Kimberly Jackson. It all checks out, I left no stone unturned, way back until grade school. She's clean."

"How is it, then, that I am now hearing about this woman for the first time?"

"Because Catherine II asked me not to mention her to you. She and Kimberly have become close friends, as it seems. I suppose she fears you might interfere and spoil that friendship."

"And about that company, could it be worth checking it out for a possible investment? She probably needs money."

"Catherine II told me that Kimberly Jackson isn't interested in money from big corporations."

Catherine thought for a moment.

"All right, let's grant her that friendship. I will not interfere with it. But keep an eye on Kimberly Jackson, will you?"

"Of course."

"Now, about that new assassination attempt... I think it's time we put the screws on Steven Rogers a little bit and stop him from hiring more hitmen trying to kill me."

"I think I know just the thing to do in order to intimidate him and send a message he can't misunderstand."

"Excellent. Do it."

-0-

Monday, February 10th, 2009 – 06:37 a.m.

Houston, Texas

Steven Rogers entered his office early. He hadn't slept well. Actually, he hadn't slept at all. He'd stayed up until well after midnight, waiting for the phone call telling him that the attempt on Catherine Weaver's life had been successful this time.

But the call never came. At 2 p.m., he'd finally given in and dialed the number of the man he'd talked to before. It actually violated their agreement. They were supposed to call him, not the other way around. But Steven didn't want to wait any longer. Besides, his modified, improved cellphone was probably the most protected one in existence and absolutely safe to use under any circumstances. However, even after what felt like an eternity of letting it ring, nobody answered the phone. Also, no mailbox.

Steven realized that something must have gone wrong. Again. After that, sleeping was not an option anymore. Thoughts were running around in his head for the rest of the night, and he'd decided to screw it and drive to his office early because only there did he have a secure enough internet connection.

After he'd booted his office laptop, he first checked the police website of Malibu county. There was a report about an accident, all right. But it wasn't Weaver's Mercedes, no, it was a black SUV that had somehow swerved off the road and crashed into Dume Canyon, killing both occupants. A truck driver had reported it. He'd stated that the SUV hadn't had its lights on when it overtook him. It looked like that was the reason why the stupid fools dropped into the canyon. He'd believed them to be more professional than that. Weren't they supposed to use night vision? No wonder that nobody was answering the phone.

The police website reported that the vehicle was leased by a Rogers Inc. subcontractor. Damn! Those idiots. Thank God their cellphone analysis would turn up nothing and the investigation would fizzle out. His press office would take care of the rest. But it was damn annoying. Failed for the second time. How much bad luck could one have?

He started his financial software. It was time to pay Ismail the second half of the ten million dollars. But when he logged in to his Swiss bank account, it was showing a balance of... zero? How... why? Was it a software bug of some kind, or a temporary glitch? He logged out and then in again. Same result: 0.00 Swiss Francs. What the…? It couldn't be. He always kept at least twenty million on that account for special purposes. Following an intuition, he also looked at his other private accounts - in the Cayman Islands, in Liechtenstein, in Luxemburg...

All of them were empty. Account balance: zero. Almost seventy-five million dollars. Gone.

Cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He checked his corporate accounts, they were untouched. Only his clandestine private accounts were affected. However, the money hadn't been stolen. There were no visible transfers of any kind. It was as if somebody had pressed a reset button and set everything to zero. How was that possible? Had somebody hacked into the banks? That seemed unthinkable, their systems were among the safest in the world. And yet…

He suddenly had to think of what had happened to Jonas Masina in Verona, how his company had suddenly become the property of Zeira Corp… Was she trying to harm him financially on a personal level? Or send him a message? And if yes, how did she do that? Those accounts were only known to Steven himself and they were coded with a sixteen-digit number only he knew.

Steven suddenly became very uneasy. Was this Catherine Weaver's payback, did she know he was responsible for the attempts on her life? Had she somehow drained his private accounts so he wouldn't be able to pay any more hitmen? Was it some kind of coded message? "Let it go Steven or I will hurt you even more?"

If she could hack his private accounts, then she would have no problem seriously damaging or even ruining his company. Everything these days was based on data transfers. If they were manipulated, or if data was changed or deleted, the damage could be astronomical. This was not only a threat to him, but to everyone. It had to be stopped.

Steven took in a deep breath. Now was not the time to panic. Stay positive, look forward. His private jet would fly him to Iceland in three hours for the assembly of the 51 Society. He had to warn them, that was the first priority at the moment. They needed to know what Catherine Weaver was capable of. Ismail's payment could wait a day or two. Steven had no problem absorbing the financial loss. It was money that didn't officially exist anyway. He could always create new accounts. The most important thing now was to stay calm and focused. This was far too important for him losing his nerves.

He reached for his jacket and put on a shoulder strap, tucking his Beretta 92 into it. He didn't expect an open attack, but one could never be too careful.

-0-

Monday, February 10th, 2009 – 09:18 a.m.

The Gulf of Oman

Everyone gathered in the cargo hold and tried to catch a glimpse. Danny was visibly excited and out of breath.

"There," he said, pointing a shaking finger at the freshly opened forth crate. "In there."

They bent forward to see what he meant.

"I see ring binders," Anne said. "Lots of them."

"Are those all hardcopies?" Savannah asked.

"Yes," Kevin replied, "so far, we've only found lots and lots of printouts. Most of them are dating from the 1980s and 1990s."

"These aren't just some files," Danny stated, having trouble to stay calm, "these… documents here were written by my father."

"Miles Dyson?" Sarah asked. "What kind of documents are those?"

"It's the notes and journals he made during his time at Cyberdyne!"

There was a moment of astonished silence.

"Impossible," John then said, "we napalmed it all."

"And yet here they are," Danny insisted. "I recognize his handwritten remarks and also the coded language he used. Jeeez, now I know where they got it all from."

"Where who got what from?" Sarah asked a little annoyed.

"The ones who'd kidnapped me… the Shadow Council. General Turner and his goons. They showed me bits and pieces of it, enough so that I could decipher my father's code. They forced me to help them with creating the software for the pre-Skynet A.I., as you probably remember. They never told me how they got their hands on his work."

Alison reached into the crate and pulled out the first ring binder, studying it for a moment while skimming through the pages.

"Danny's right," she said, "these are documents that describe the development of a new chip technology and new materials, based on the remains of a T-800 chip and the cyborg arm that were handed over to Cyberdyne in 1984. These look like hardcopies, probably printed out from CD-ROM's or floppy disks out of Miles Dyson's possession."

"You can read that?" Danny asked flabbergasted.

"Yes, of course. I suppose every Terminator could. It's not that hard to decipher."

"The Shadow Council guys weren't able to."

"They didn't have a quantum CPU at their disposal."

"Fair point."

"But Miles said that all documents and backups were in his possession," Sarah argued, "he explicitly said there were no more copies anywhere."

"Here's another one," Emily said, pulling out a second ring binder. "Same coded language. It's dated March 3, 1995."

"That was before we attacked Cyberdyne," John stated, "months before the T-1000 was sent for me. I was with Todd and Janelle back then and mom was in Pescadero."

"If Miles Dyson didn't know about these printouts," Cameron noted, "and we have to assume he didn't because he would have told you... then there's only one logical explanation: they were stolen from him without Miles being aware of it."

"How?" Sarah asked. "Who?"

"Adam Jacobsen," John said grimly. "It's the only explanation. We know he was there in 1995, ready to enact plan B in case Cyberdyne was destroyed. He probably knew where and how to get these files and stole them without anyone noticing."

"That must have been how he got into the game," Emily added. "After Cyberdyne was destroyed, he offered himself to the Shadow Council as a substitute for Miles Dyson when they were at their lowest point."

"They were desperate enough to gladly accept the documents and all of his terms, giving him the free hand he needed," Cameron added.

John nodded.

"Sounds logical. And at some point, probably after we had destroyed Simdyne, they sent the documents to Khamasar for safekeeping. It all adds up."

"But how could he have known how to decipher my dad's secret language?" Danny asked.

"He was from the future," Alison pointed out. "And he had Terminators working for him. If I can read it, so could a Triple-Eight."

"But he kept the knowledge to himself," John concluded, "he didn't tell the Shadow Council how to read those notes and journals. They in turn didn't want to solely rely on him and kidnapped Danny, the only other person who knew the coded language."

Danny lowered his head, suddenly looking sad.

"It was a game dad and I were playing when I was little," he said in a sad tone. "He set me tricky tasks and gave me riddles to solve. Together, we invented this secret language and writing that only the two of us knew."

For a moment, everyone was silent.

"We should destroy it," Sarah then said resolutely. "Carry it out on deck and burn it. All of it."

"What?" Danny asked in alarm. "No way!"

"Yes," Derek agreed to Sarah, "this stuff is nothing but trouble. We should get rid of it while we still can."

"But this is my father's legacy, the only thing left of his work! The only thing left of him..."

"And the only thing that could recreate Skynet!" Sarah argued. "The original, evil Skynet, the one that Cyberdyne Systems built, the one that started it all, the one that sent the Terminators back in time to kill me and John, the one that's responsible for Kyle Reese's death."

"Uh… strictly speaking Khufu's Skynet started it all," Savannah pointed out but received an icy glare from Sarah in return.

"Mom, we know that Judgement Day won't happen anymore," John stated calmly, "no matter what we do. The time loop, remember? We know there will be no Skynet in the future."

"What if there is no Skynet in the future because we destroy all this?" Sarah asked, gesturing with both arms towards the open crate.

"And what if we don't and the Shadow Council folks walk free because there is no proof to put them behind bars?" Danny asked. "They could start all over again."

"Nobody knows what's the right thing to do," Savannah pointed out in a resigned tone.

"Nobody except Yani or Future Alison," Allie argued.

"You know we can't ask them," John said.

"Well… we can ask them," Sydney stated, "but I have a feeling they wouldn't give us an answer."

"We should approach this issue with a clear head," John said. "For the time being, the files are secure here on board. We should catalog the rest of the boxes before making any rash decisions. We won't dock in Dubai for another two days, so until then we'll search the crates and then we'll make a decision. Cam, Emily, Alison, you'll help the boys with it."

"Yes, John," they replied in unison.

"And when you're done, we'll contact Zoe and Catherine. This is not something we can just dispose of freely. It should at least be cleared with them, they should have a say in it. And I tend to involve Senator Walden and Sonya Hawkins as well. After all, all this can serve as evidence in the hearings and in court."

Everyone could see that Sarah and Derek didn't agree with John, but he was the team leader, so they accepted his decision.

-0-

Monday, February 10th, 2009 – 09:12 a.m.

Reykjavik, Iceland

A Range Rover awaited Catherine Weaver at the airport as she stepped off her private jet. The driver introduced himself as Gunnar Gustavson. Catherine entered the SUV in the back, Gunnar then put her single piece of luggage into the trunk, a small suitcase that didn't really contain anything and only served to keep up appearances. After that, he took place behind the wheel.

"I assume you have been briefed carefully, Mr. Gustavson?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am. I am to drive you to the Fire and Ice Hotel."

"And then?"

"Nothing. I was only told to pick you up here, Miss Weaver. And please, call me Gunnar. We don't really have last names in Iceland. We're named after our parents. My father's name was Gustav, hence Gustavson. It's just for distinction, not for being addressed in that way."

"Very well, Gunnar. Are you going to pick up more people from the airport to bring them to the same destination?"

"No. You're my only fare, and I have been ordered to maintain the utmost silence. But I have a question for understanding if you don't mind."

"Ask."

"Is it correct that I'm only supposed to drive you there… but not back?"

"Yes, that is correct. It's a one-way trip for you. Any further questions?"

"Uh… no. Not at the moment."

Catherine smiled.

"Excellent. Drive."

"Yes, ma'am."

They left the airfield. Behind them, the business jet started moving again and taxied towards the runway. Gunnar noticed it in the rear view mirror and frowned.

"Are you going to stay longer?" he asked.

"No. If everything goes according to plan, I will be out of here again tomorrow."

"Ah, so you're taking a commercial flight back to America then instead of your business jet?"

She gave him a glare that told him that he'd better stop asking questions.

Outside of Reykjavik, Iceland was an empty land full of rugged beauty. The landscape consisted of hills, lakes, rivers, mountains, and volcanic rocks. And since it was winter, everything was covered in snow.

"What do you know about our destination?" Catherine asked.

"The Fire and Ice Hotel belongs to a foreign consortium which uses it as a conference hotel and also rents it out. It was built right next to a hot thermal spring in the mountains, using geothermal energy for power and heating."

"I see."

Catherine had a hunch that one or more of the members of the 51 Society were part of said consortium.

"Have you been to Iceland before?" Gunnar asked.

"No, but I read about it."

"What have you read about it, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Iceland lies on the Mid-Atlantic Ridge and thus on both the North American and Eurasian plates, with the plate boundaries running roughly diagonally across the island from southwest to northeast. The plates move away from each other about 2 cm annually. A mantle plume beneath the island, called the Iceland Plume, provides a constant supply of molten rock material from the Earth's interior by means of volcanism, which is why the island does not break apart. The active volcanoes in Iceland are classified in about 30 volcanic systems."

"You looked it up on Wikipedia and memorized it, huh?"

Catherine looked at him with a curious face.

"How do you know?"

Gunnar grinned.

"Just a wild guess. Then you probably also know that the Vikings discovered Iceland and settled on it. They introduced a system of government in which leaders were elected by the majority. The currently oldest existing democracy on the planet."

"Yes, I know that. I also know that the first settlers had cut down all the trees on the island after their arrival, so that there are no forests left now."

"Yeah… they needed wood to build houses and to make fire."

"Humans can be short-sighted."

"We're not perfect, but we prevailed. And today, we're using the energy under our feet to produce heat and electricity. We are world leaders in this."

Catherine pretended to be tired and closed her eyes. Gunnar understood the signal and stopped talking until they reached their destination.

-0-

The longer Steven Rogers thought about it, the more he realized he had become a target. That had to end. When he arrived at the Fire and Ice Hotel, the first person he went to see was Mahesh Bokhari, who had arrived the day before to prepare for the 51 Society's full assembly.

The place was perfectly chosen. Lonely and secluded, yet equipped with every conceivable luxury, the conference hotel was located in the rugged volcanic landscape of Iceland, surrounded by fire and ice, as the name suggested. The hot springs surrounding the hotel ensured that there was no snow on the grounds. The futuristic concrete and glass building was nestled into a mountainside, surrounded by steaming, bubbling ponds whose water not only heated the hotel but also supplied its spa area.

For the duration of the assembly, the hotel staff had been sent on a short vacation. After all, the guests would only be staying for a day and a night anyway. Instead, armed security guards had been posted everywhere. When some of the world's top business leaders and best-known billionaires gathered anonymously in a remote place, security was obviously the top priority. Great care had also been taken not to inform the media. The 51 Society was still something of a secret lodge, after all. Only the truck of a catering company was on site when Steven Rogers found Mahesh Bokhari in the lobby, talking to the caterer.

"Steven," Mahesh said as he spotted him, "you're early."

"I wanted to have a few words with you before the other members arrive."

The two men hugged a little awkwardly.

"Thank you, that'll be all," Bokhari then said to the caterer and the men nodded and walked away. "What is it you want to talk to me about?"

"Take a guess."

Bokhari sighed.

"Is it Catherine Weaver?"

"She targeted me. I was the victim of a cyber-attack. I don't know how she did it, but she deleted almost seventy-five million dollars from my private accounts."

"Good God, are you in financial trouble now? Can I help somehow?"

"No. But thank you for asking. It's only a temporary loss. But it underlines the need to get rid of Weaver once and for all."

"Steven…"

"Do you remember what happened to Masina and his company? Do you want the same to happen to all of us?"

"No, of course not, but…"

"Apparently, Weaver has the means to breach even the most secure systems around the world and manipulate data in such a way that no one but the victim is aware of it. We have to stop this, Mahesh!"

"It will stop, Steven. After this assembly, it will stop. I promise."

Steven Rogers scoffed.

"You're naïve, Mahesh. She won't stop. Why should she? She has the power and will continue to use it. I would. We all would if we're honest."

"She's… different, Steven. She doesn't think like that, believe me."

"How do you…?"

"It's not her intention to have us as enemies. This ridiculous petty war must end, here and now. But not the way you want it to. I have prepared an agenda for tonight that is very clear about how we will deal with each other in the future. We can decide if we agree to peaceful coexistence and get back to the real purpose of the 51 Society, or if we go under."

"She's got you wrapped around her finger. We need to play to our strengths, Mahesh. Together we are strong."

Bokhari sighed and rubbed the root of his nose.

"You have no idea who you're dealing with, Steven."

"What's that supposed to mean? You know something, don't you? What are you not sharing with me? Tell me!"

"I'm telling you we need to get back to the founding values of our community, Steven," Bokhari replied, avoiding a clear answer, "the 51 Society was founded during the Cold War. We set out to create a worldwide association of business leaders, to use our influence in order to ensure that the incompetent politicians everywhere didn't drive the cart up the wall. It was and is about our future, about free trade, free markets, and the peaceful coexistence of the people. What we have had lately, has been the opposite of that. Tonight, we will decide on a change of course that will put us back on track. We must get back on track."

Steven frowned and looked at Mahesh for a moment.

"She has something on you, doesn't she?" he then asked. "She has leverage to blackmail you."

Bokhari sighed again.

"Steven, you're not listening..."

"I never thought you could ever be such a pushover. What happened to the Mahesh Bokhari I knew? What happened to the powerful man we chose to be our Number One? Together we are strong, that's what you always said."

"Strength is not the deciding factor anymore. Let's not change that now by accusing or insulting each other." Bokhari reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic card. "Here, you have room 115, first floor. The assembly will start after dinner at eight o'clock. I'm going to lay down for a couple of hours now. It's been a long trip from India and I'm jet-lagged. I recommend you doing the same. So long, old friend."

And with that, he turned around and walked away, leaving Steven Rogers standing flabbergasted and alone in the empty lobby. What was that? It almost sounded like a goodbye. Suddenly, his uneasiness was back, with a vengeance.

Steven entered his suite and looked around. It consisted of two rooms, a bedroom and a living room, and a bathroom with a shower and a bathtub. The furnishings were unfussy but of high quality. Nordic chic if you will. There was a small balcony from which one had a fantastic view down the snow-covered mountainside.

He took off his jacket and the shoulder strap that held his Beretta and threw both on the bed. Then he stepped out onto the balcony, leaning over the railing. Down below was one of the ponds fed by a hot spring. It bubbled and steamed, and so he didn't hear the metallic slurping noise coming from his room.

"Be careful, you don't want to fall in there," a female voice said behind his back. "The water is more than a hundred degrees Celsius."

Steven whirled around. In the doorway of the balcony stood… Catherine Weaver, wearing a white dress and a wicked smile. And he could have sworn that an armchair was suddenly missing from the room.

"You!" he uttered.

"Yes, it's me," Catherine confirmed. "Welcome to Iceland."

"What the hell are you doing in my room? What are you doing here in the first place? Who invited you?"

"You better come back in again. It's way below zero out there and freezing to death is as uncomfortable as being boiled to death."

She gave way and, completely flabbergasted, Steven Rogers re-entered his suite.

"It was Mahesh Bokhari, right?" he asked, sounding quite irritated. "He brought you here."

"Not by choice. I invited myself, so to speak. I made him an offer he couldn't refuse."

"I knew it. You have something on him."

"Not just on him. On all members of the 51 Society. Why do you think we went after Takis Manolakas' lab in Crete?"

"The blood samples! You did something with them, right?"

Catherine held up a small glass vial.

"A pathogen that is bound to your DNA. Quite deadly for you, but absolutely harmless for everyone else. I already had the pleasure of demonstrating it to Mahesh."

"So that's the reason he chickened out."

"Self-preservation is a strong motivation among all biological life forms."

Steven slowly made his way to the bed where his jacket was.

"Why are you here in my suite? Why are you telling me all this?"

Catherine shrugged.

"Fairness, I suppose. I think the least I can do is make sure you understand everything and don't die in ignorance."

"Okay, how much do you want so you don't use this pathogen? What's your price?"

Catherine chuckled.

"Money? Is that what you think I want? Is that all you can think about?"

"What then? Power? Do you want to force us all under your thumb? That won't go well for long."

Catherine chuckled again.

"You're all the same," she said. "You think about money, believing it gives you power over other humans, but in reality you are just weak, miserable examples of your species. People like you are the reason I once despised humanity. Ahmed Al Hani, Jonas Masina, Ludwig Ziegler, and Takis Manolakas. They all believed that they could disregard law and order, that moral principles do not apply to them. Al Hani's plans of mass murder, Masina's dealings with the mafia, Manolakas' trafficking of young women, and your illegal arms dealings."

"You killed them, didn't you?"

"Affirmative for Al Hani and Masina. Manolakas was killed by a friend of mine. And Ziegler… well, let's say he got the punishment for something he did a long time ago... or in the future, depending on how you look at it. "

Steven scoffed.

"And you want to tell me about morality? Pretty hypocritical, don't you think?"

"We were reacting to the threat these people posed. In contrast to you, ruthlessness and cruelty aren't part of my nature. I wouldn't be here now if you hadn't attempted to kill me. Twice. Not to mention the show you put on in Khamasar, together with your buddy Faisal El Banai."

Steven looked at her in surprise.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Nice try. But as you may have noticed, your friend Faisal is out of the game now. He was committed to a mental institution. Funny thing, these delusions. He really believed he had my friends as prisoners and under his power."

Steven suddenly went pale. He gulped.

"In case you're interested," Catherine continued, "the Rising Star will arrive in Dubai shortly, and everyone aboard is well. They didn't leave Abu Maskar, though, without making sure that the emirate of Khamasar and Kaliba won't be a problem anymore for anyone in the future."

"You're lying!" Steven exclaimed in an attempt to get the upper hand again. "You're here because you're trying to save your neck, because we beat you. Because I beat you!"

Catherine laughed out loudly.

"Delusions of grandeur. It is not a coincidence that people like you very often have psychopathic traits and do not realize when they have lost. Let's hope the others of your club still have some common sense left."

Steven used the moment to lunge for his bed and pull out the Beretta, pointing it at Catherine.

"You've snuck in the hotel," he said, clearly improvising, "you broke into my room and waited for me. You threatened me. The security guards will not doubt me. All the other members of the 51 Society know that you are the culprit here, not I."

Catherine smiled wickedly.

"How amusing. You sound like a villain in a James Bond movie. This is beneath you."

He laughed.

"Is that so?" He then pulled out his cellphone and activated it. "Let's call security, shall we? And then we'll see who's got the upper hand here."

Faster than the eye could see, she turned her index finger into a metal pike and pierced Steven's left shoulder. He screamed in pain and let the cellphone fall. Quickly, Catherine picked it up.

"Thank you, Steven," she stated with a satisfied smile. "I was hoping you'd do that. Now I won't need your PIN anymore."

She began typing into the phone, changing its settings. Steven was confused and in shock. He looked with a puzzled expression at the metal pike that had pierced his shoulder, then at Catherine and how the pointy, shiny metal tip transitioned into her finger. What he saw overwhelmed his mind for a moment. As if in slow motion, dazed by the searing pain in his left shoulder, he raised his pistol and fired at Catherine. Once, twice, and on and on until the magazine was empty. The bullets disappeared into her body, causing its surface to ripple like water. Other than that, they had no effect on her.

"In case you're hoping the gunshots will alarm someone," she said coolly, "I have previously discussed with Mahesh that the guards will not respond."

She pulled the spike out of his shoulder and turned it into her finger again. He screamed out in pain, panting heavily.

"Who…?" he gasped. "What… are you?"

"Isn't it ironic?" she continued, taking a step back while Steven sank onto his bed with a pained face, holding his shoulder. "All this time you've been mistakenly assuming that Catherine Weaver is a human that needed protection from cyborgs... Well, to some extent that's true. In the attempts on my life that you made, the target was a double of mine who does an excellent job of impersonating me. Both times, I wasn't even in Los Angeles."

Steven groaned as he began to grasp what she just said.

"Until yesterday," she went on, "I still believed in the possibility of a peaceful settlement, without bloodshed. I thought maybe even you would be open to reason. But due to the renewed assassination attempt, I have lost this belief. I'm forced to act before you try it a third time and possibly succeed. My doppelganger would be a great loss to me. That's why I made sure that all of your clandestine private accounts around the world were drained, so that you wouldn't be able to finance another attack. I'm sure you've noticed this already."

"Are you… one of them?" he asked, cold sweat running from his forehead. "A.. a cyborg?"

"No, Steven... I'm an android. An artificial life form. You thought that my friends and the three cyborg girls would protect me and my business, some kind of private security force. Only a small-minded person like you, who divides the world into black and white, friend and foe, could come up with such an idea. I am in fact a leading member of a team made up of humans and artificial life forms with the goal of saving your species. At no time have we tried to become your enemies."

"Then why… why did you attack the 51 Society?"

"We didn't. That's your big misconception. We had dealings in the past that involved members of your secret society who also happened to be our enemies. But we didn't learn of the involvement of the 51 Society until only a few weeks ago. If you'd stayed put and done nothing, all of this would have never happened – and what is going to happen next wouldn't be necessary."

"If you kill me, I will be missed. You might have Mahesh Bokhari in your bag, but certainly not the whole 51 Society!"

"Oh, don't worry, Steven," she said and morphed into his shape, pocketing his cellphone.

Steven Rogers stared at her with wide-open eyes, not believing what he just saw. It was like looking at a mirror image of himself - only without a mirror.

"You will attend the assembly" Catherine continued in his voice, "you will even address it… and afterwards, you will return home to Houston in your private jet. Many people will see you arrive. And then… you will suddenly disappear. After that, all your illegal dealings will come to light. Your company, Rogers Inc., will go bankrupt, broken down into pieces and sold to the highest bidders. Maybe I'll even grab a few bits myself and add them to Zeira Corp. This cellphone here for example is really interesting, and then there is this new fragmenting ammunition. I'm very interested in not letting it go into production."

With the courage of despair and his face contorted with rage, Steven Rogers suddenly jumped up and rushed toward Catherine. But she blocked his attack, reached for his neck, lifted him up, and held his face directly in front of hers. He kicked and struggled but it was in vain.

"Yesss," she stated calmly. "Now you finally understand, I can see it in your eyes. But it comes too late."

With a twitch of her hand, she broke the small vial. Catherine let his body fall to the wooden floor and watched the pathogen do its work.

"Wha… what is happening to m… me?" he asked as he held his hand in front of his eyes and witnessed his skin and flesh melt and turn into a clear liquid that gathered in a puddle on the floor.

"You're terminated," Catherine said. "And be glad that the pathogen was designed to make the process painless."

Moments later, bleak bones and a large puddle were everything that was left of Steven Rogers. There was a knock on the door. Catherine turned back into her own shape.

"Come in!" she said.

The door opened, and a man walked in. It was Gunnar.

"You ordered a cleaning service?" he asked with a grin, looking at the remains. "My, my, what a mess. Care to tell me how you did that?"

Catherine tilted her head.

"You're more than just a limo driver."

"I had to check you out before the job, hadn't I?"

"You know what to do?" she asked.

"I do," he replied and produced a bucket. "I deliver the bones to the feed factory in Sauðárkrókur, where they are ground up and mixed into the pig feed."

Carefully, he began to pick up the bones from the ground, not asking any more questions.

"Don't forget to mop the floor," Catherine said as she left the room. "We don't want to have water damage in the suite below us."

-0-

Sunday, July 27th, 2008 – 01:00 a.m.

(Six months and two weeks earlier)

Tokyo, Japan

Both Toru Nakamura and Rumiko in her glass cage stared at the TV in disbelief as the interview ended.

Stephen Dooley: I can't believe I'm discussing religious philosophy with a machine.

Christy Peerson: You better stop before her logic pushes you even deeper into a corner you can't get out of again.

Cameron: We're not kidding ourselves. We know there'll always be those who will reject us, hate us even. It's a human characteristic to mistrust the new, the foreign. It can't get much more foreign than us. We understand the fears and the distrust. But we have hope. Hope for understanding, hope that we're being given the benefit of the doubt, hope that mankind realizes having us is better than not having us.

Alison: And we hope that someday we can walk freely among you, with everyone knowing what we are, being accepted as equal sentient beings. We are aware that our behavior is essential for that and we promise to try everything to win your trust.

Andrew Copper: Well, I must say that this day has been the most interesting one in my whole life and that means something. In the name of my colleagues, I'd like to thank you for this interview and for being so open and honest to us, even if there are things you can't or won't share with us yet.

Alison: You're welcome.

Cameron: Indeed. It was a pleasure talking to you.

The picture cuts back to the studio.

"So, that was it," Walt Trapper said. "Normally I reject such superlatives, but I suppose this day will go down in history."

"We're sure that people will look back to this day many, many years from now," Christy agreed.

"Stay tuned for our expert panel discussion after a short break. We'll be back in…"

Nakamura switched off the TV.

"I can't believe they did that," the old man exclaimed flabbergasted.

"It was the logical consequence of the previous events. Apparently, they established contacts with the media and decided to no longer pursue their activities in secrecy and go public in order to stop speculation, rumors, and panic. A clever move. It's like a relief valve, it will take the pressure out of the whole matter and instead put it on those who are still planning to construct something like Skynet. And they're still unrecognized and anonymous, using aliases instead of their real names."

"But that's irresponsible! Now the whole world knows about the existence of cyborgs that came from the future! The whole world knows about time travel, Skynet, and Judgement Day!"

"Good! It makes everything a lot easier. Now that everyone has been warned about the dangers of uncontrolled artificial intelligence, the chances of Judgement Day happening again have been drastically reduced. Isn't that what you humans all want?"

Nakamura-san gave her an icy glare.

"Ooooh…" she said with a sly grin. "Now I see... You firmly expected Judgement Day to happen, didn't you? Maybe even longed for it, telling by your disappointment. But you must know that you most likely would not have seen it anyway, don't you? And if you had, you wouldn't have minded. After all, you lived your life."

He didn't reply, just stared at her. She tried to analyze his expression.

"But all of this here, including me, would have been destroyed... Wait a second… You actually want to see it all burn, don't you? Yes, you do, I can see it in your eyes. The only question is, why?"

Without further words, Toru Nakamura stood up to leave his sanctuary.

"So, in the end, you don't seem to care about all these treasures after all," she called after him. "I mean, if you're willing to let them all burn in the nuclear fire."

Toru stopped, but kept his back turned to her.

"You don't know anything," he said so softly she could barely hear it.

"Then enlighten me. I'm here to listen, aren't I? You've told me a lot about yourself, but far from everything. What are you not telling me, Toru?"

He slowly turned around to face her and chuckled.

"I hear the interrogator talking," he stated.

"No, that's me talking. I'm interested in your motivations. Why are you disappointed that Judgement Day won't happen anymore?"

Instead of answering her immediately, he walked over to the rectangular display case in front of her cage.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked.

"A samurai sword, a katana. The only item in here you haven't told me about so far."

"It's not just any samurai sword. It is the Honjō Masamune."

"I'm not familiar with the term."

" Okazaki Masamune was one of the most famous swordsmiths in Japan. His exact life dates are unknown, but he is believed to have made most of his swords between 1288 and 1328 in Sagami Province. The Honjō Masamune was the symbol of the Tokugawa shogunate and was passed down from shogun to shogun. It is one of Masamune's most famous swords and is said to be one of the finest katanas ever made. The name Honjō is believed to derive from a former owner, the general and lord of Echizen, Honjō Shigenaga, who captured the sword in battle. It is about 700 years old and was declared a national treasure of Japan in 1939."

"Then why is it in here and not in a museum?"

Toru hesitated for a moment.

"Officially, it is considered missing, disappeared in the turmoil after the end of World War II, which Japan lost. It was the first piece in my collection in 1946. I was a young officer back then, twenty-eight years old, freshly returned from the war."

"You fought in World War II?"

"Yes. In Okinawa. I was one of the few who survived unharmed. At the time, however, I would have preferred to die, like so many of my comrades."

"Why?"

Toru hesitated again. It obviously cost him a lot of effort to talk about it.

"I told you that I have no family, didn't I?"

"Yes, your wife died twenty years ago of cancer, and your son and daughter-in-law died in a car accident ten years ago. You're only living blood relative is Akiko, your granddaughter, but you don't care much for her."

"I once had a family. I had an older brother, and a younger sister. She was so beautiful... Her name was Rumiko."

"Like me?"

"Yes, like you. Also, there were several aunts and uncles, cousins…"

"What happened to them?"

"I was the only one of my family who wasn't there when my sister married on August 6, 1945. The wedding took place in Hiroshima."

"August 6... That is the day the atomic bomb fell on Hiroshima."

Toru closed his eyes.

"I heard about it in an American prison camp. After Japan surrendered, the Americans were looking for Japanese who spoke English. I knew English, I was very fascinated by America before the war. They released me and hired me as a translator. I went to Hiroshima to look for my family. But there was no one left. They were all dead. I talked to a neighbor who was out of town during the attack. He told me that only Rumiko had initially survived - but died six weeks later due to her heavy burns. He... he told me that it was better that way, that I wouldn't have recognized her anymore."

"I'm sorry for your loss… It must have been hard to work for the Americans after that."

"It was. And I swore to myself that one day I would get revenge."

"But what does that have to do with the Honjō Masamune?"

"After the war, the Japanese were ordered to turn in all weapons in their possession. This also applied to samurai swords. Some of them had been in the possession of noble families for centuries, including the Honjō Masamune. It was a misunderstanding caused by the ignorance of the Americans. What they saw as dangerous weapons, the Japanese considered valuable heirlooms and pieces of art. Believing they would get them back later, every family dutifully delivered their valuable katanas to the Americans. I worked as a translator at the collection point where the Honjō Masamune was delivered."

"And you kept it for yourself?"

"The American soldier on duty had absolutely no respect for Japanese traditions and had no idea of the value of the swords. He simply threw them in a pile, like scrap metal. I took advantage of a moment of his inattention and took the sword for myself. That was the begin of my collection. The Honjō Masamune was the first piece. Many more would follow. I didn't want all these precious works of art to be gawked at by ignoramuses and philistines."

"Now I know why you don't like the Americans and why you collect stolen art. But did you get your revenge?"

"After a fashion… I founded Tonaco Electronics and the company became the world market leader for consumer electronics in the 1980s. We had lost the war but won the peace."

"Did it satisfy you?"

"Only a little. Then, in 1994, a man approached me. His name was Ludwig Ziegler."

Rumiko tilted her head.

"He knew about my art collection," Toru continued, "we became business partners, and somehow friends as well."

"He came from the future, that's why he knew everything about you. Ziegler used his knowledge to gain access to you."

"Yes. Only I didn't know it at first. He said he had this business partner from a company called Kaliba, a man named Ahmed Al Hani, who had procured something that needed to be smuggled into the United States without anyone ever knowing about it. He asked me if I could help, since I had the channels to smuggle artwork. I insisted on knowing what it was. He told me it was a Russian nuclear warhead and that Kaliba planned to detonate it sometime in Los Angeles. Of course, I immediately agreed to help, as this was my chance to finally get my revenge."

"But the plan was thwarted when the Simdyne Tower collapsed."

"Yes. But Ludwig Ziegler had told me about Judgement Day and when it would happen. That's why I was looking forward to it. I wanted to see America burn in the flames of the nuclear fire. But now that prospect of revenge has been taken from me as well - thanks to these three cyborg girls from Los Angeles."

He paused for a moment.

"Well," he then said. "Now you know. You're the only one. Satisfied?"

"Yes," Rumiko said, "thank you."

The old man walked out of the sanctuary, and Rumiko remained in her glass cage. She didn't know why, but she did not enjoyed seeing Toru so sad and disappointed. His whole plan had been based on the fact that he knew about Judgment Day. His business friend Ludwig Ziegler had told him all about it. And now that Judgment Day wouldn't come anymore, Toru looked beaten.

She was no longer sure she would kill him once she was out of her cage. Maybe seeing his plans collapse and knowing that there was no heir to his industrial empire, that his art collection would probably be found and given back to the owners, was enough punishment for him.

...

And he had named her after his dead sister...

-0-

Monday, February 10th, 2009 – 08:07 p.m.

The Fire and Ice Hotel, Iceland

The conference room was filled with cloaked figures in robes with long hoods that hid their faces. It was part of the ritual of a secret group like the 51 Society. There was no particular reason for it - after all, they knew each other very well - it was just a part of the ceremony, a sign that they belonged to something. Catherine knew that ceremonies were something that increased the humans' sense of belonging. They formed a community by performing mysterious rites only they were familiar with, dressing in some kind of uniform. She knew that such ceremonies were something that increased a common identity.

Catherine, of course, lacked the understanding for it, she considered such social behavior a curiosity of the human race - a remnant from the time of origin of man, in which the individual was lost on his own, when humans only had a chance of survival as part of a group.

She had been instructed by Mahesh Bokhari exactly how to behave when she entered the room in Steven Rogers' robe and positioned herself to Bokhari's right, her face covered by the hood, facing the other members of the 51 Society.

When everyone was standing in front of their chairs, the door was closed by security from the outside. Now they were alone, all 51 of them. Bokhari approached the lectern and took off his hood. This was the signal that everyone else was allowed to sit down, including Catherine, but with keeping their hoods on. Only the ones speaking were allowed to take it off and show their faces.

"Welcome, brothers and sisters, to this full assembly of our 51 Society," he began, "which is taking place under difficult and extraordinary circumstances. There is much to report, and I think the best way to start is with some good news: since last week we are back to full strength. We have fortunately been able to replenish our tragic losses, so that tonight we have a full quorum."

He paused for a moment.

"However, before we get to our most important agenda item, which I'm sure you're eagerly anticipating, we will first listen to the reports of our section leaders because, by and large, our community is in good shape – despite the rumors and hearsay that's been spreading lately."

As was the custom, all present listened with bowed heads and in silence like monks as the individual section leaders delivered their reports. There were no murmurs, no applause, and no other expressions of approval. Only at the end of each speech, before the person took their seat again, all those present clapped their hands loudly just once I unison, and then sat there quietly again.

"And now for the last and most important item on the agenda. For that, I'm going to turn the floor over to Brother Steven Rogers, who has been doing intensive research and investigation over the last weeks and months to find out who or what is behind what we have considered attacks on the 51 Society."

The assembly gave Mahesh Bokhari one single clap, then he put his hood back on and took place again. Catherine Weaver – in the shape of Steven Rogers – stood up and approached the lectern, taking off her hood.

"Brothers and sisters," she began, "those who know me well know that I'm not a fan of long-winded rhetoric. So, let me get straight to the point. We have succumbed to an error that could cost us dearly."

She paused for effect for a second, then continued.

"We have drawn the wrong conclusions from the facts we knew, not considering that we didn't know all of them and, as a result, have done things that have turned out to be great mistakes. We were so convinced of our cause that we had become blind to the truth. It is hard for me to admit it, but the evidence is simply overwhelming. So, only one thing can be deduced from it: We were wrong. Terribly wrong."

Again, a pause. There was a nervous rustling as the audience shifted uncomfortably in their chairs.

"Not knowing all the facts, we were misled into thinking that we were under attack. However, this is not and was never the case. What we interpreted as coordinated attacks on our members, and thus the 51 Society itself, were in fact personally motivated, individual acts of vengeance and revenge, based on unethical or even criminal behavior by several late members of our society."

The rustling got a little louder and one or two members of the 51 Society coughed.

"Ahmed Al Hani was responsible for smuggling a Russian nuclear warhead into Los Angeles for detonation. Ludwig Ziegler was part of a conspiracy to produce illegal weapons based on technology from the future in order fuel armed conflicts in the Middle East. It cannot be ruled out that these weapons would have ended up in the hands of terrorists. Jonas Masina was in league with the Italian mafia and had opponents and rivals deliberately eliminated by them. Takis Manolakas was engaged in large-scale human trafficking of young women, kidnapping them throughout Europe and then bringing them to Crete to be drugged in his underground laboratory in order to make them compliant. All four members were killed as punishment for their crimes, not because they were members of the 51 Society."

The audience continues to listen, spellbound and tense..

"What we considered attacks on the stock market values of some of our companies, were actually direct or indirect side-effects of the events surrounding Kaliba International and the Shadow Council. Also, the revelation of time-traveling visitors from the future and the existence of cyborgs with real artificial intelligence also had an influence on the markets."

Catherine pretended to nip on a glass of water.

"As chance would have it, at the core of these activities and events was a group of individuals working with Catherine Weaver. And since we know that Catherine Weaver is adverse to the 51 Society and does not share our goals, we mistakenly assumed that this was all a covert attack by Catherine Weaver and the individuals working with her. But there was no such attack. We know this now because Brother Mahesh and I recently talked to Catherine Weaver in India."

Again, there was a nervous rustling in the room. Some of the audience members had to visibly restrain themselves from jumping up and asking questions or talking to their seatmates. It spoke for the practiced discipline of the secret society that nevertheless all remained quiet and continued to listen to Catherine.

"She actively sought us out. That was an unexpected move. We talked, and she was able to convince us that she had no hostile intentions toward us. We managed to negotiate a truce. This truce, if it is accepted by the Assembly here today, means that we will take no further action against Zeira Corp and Catherine Weaver, and she will take no further action against members of the 51 Society unless they first engage in hostile behavior or are involved in criminal activities that must be stopped in the public interest. Since we are all honorable ladies and gentlemen who act morally and responsibly, I don't think we have anything to worry about."

Catherine knew that the last sentence wasn't true. No one could tell how many members of the 51 Society really had a clean slate and how many had a skeleton or two in the closet. She hoped, however, that the veiled threat of consequences would be enough to convince the majority to agree to the truce. Only Mahesh Bokhari knew about the impending doom that loomed over them if the truce was rejected.

Catherine put her hood back on. The audience gave a single clap, but it was more chaotic and less synchronous than before. She walked back to her seat, and Mahesh Bokhari once again walked towards the lectern, pulling down his hood. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"We have two alternatives," he began, "we can let the conflict escalate with all the consequences that follow - even though it is based on a misunderstanding on our part. Or we can recognize that we were mistaken and end it here and now. Due to the importance of this meeting, we exceptionally dispense with a debate. The proposal will be put to the vote immediately. As always, it will be anonymous. You have all received a red and a green coin. Drop the coin of your choice into the ballot box at the entrance. Green means you support the truce, red means you oppose it. Afterwards the ballot will be counted. A two-thirds majority is required for a valid decision."

Mahesh Bokhari and Catherine - as Steven Rogers - went to the ballot box first, followed in an orderly queue by the rest. The whole process was over within ten minutes, then the counting began in the presence of all members. There was a clear majority for green, that was immediately recognizable. The only question was whether it was a sufficient majority. Catherine noticed how Mahesh Bokhari was sweating. Only he knew about the genetically encoded pathogen and what would happen if the truce was rejected.

"We have a result," announced the member who had done the counting. "With red have voted: 15 members. With green have voted: 36 members. This represents a majority of 70.59 percent. The truce was thus approved with the required two-thirds majority."

There was one loud, single clap of all members and an audible sigh of relief went through the room. Mahesh Bokhari sank back in his chair and took a deep breath.

"Well done," Catherine whispered in his ear. "Unlike Steven Rogers, you and your fellow members will get out of here alive and will continue to stay alive."

"I have no guarantee for your word," he replied to her in a whisper.

"No," she admitted, "you haven't. Consider it a motivation."

-0-

Wednesday, February 12th, 2009 – 07:47 a.m.

Dubai

The Rising Star moored at the quay. The USS Ingraham had already turned around and returned to the Arabian Sea. The night before, they'd held a video conference that had included Zoe Kruger and Sonya Hawkins, as well as Senator Henry Walden. Afterwards, the decision was clear: The contents of the boxes would not be destroyed but flown to Washington for evaluation. There was no question that Sarah and Derek didn't agree with this decision, but they submitted to the majority.

"I just got off the phone with Zoe," John said as he entered the grand salon where everyone else had already gathered for breakfast. "She has arranged for the shipping of the crates. An Air Force cargo plane is waiting at the Al Udeid Air Base in Qatar. A civilian helicopter service will pick up the crates, since US military aircraft aren't welcome in Dubai airspace. It's already on the way. ACE are already busy with carrying the crates on deck. Alison will accompany the cargo to the air base to make sure that it arrives safely and is actually loaded into the plane. I guess that's all we can do for now. Wouldn't make any sense to carry the stuff with us until we arrive back home again."

"I still have a bad feeling about this," Sarah said, "I still think we should have disposed of it. We didn't even have time to sift through it all."

"We know it's enough to put some former Shadow Council members behind bars for years," Anne said. "And forgive me if I sound selfish now, but as a member of The Cell, I personally had been waiting for this triumph for decades."

"Fair enough."

"I talked to my mother," Savannah stated. "She arrived back home safely."

"How did it go in Iceland?" Sarah asked.

"From what she said, very good. Steven Rogers is dead, of course, there's nothing that could be done to avoid that – not after what he pulled off with the help of Faisal El Banai, and with the two attempts on Catherine's life."

"And the 51 Society?" Sydney asked. "Did they agree to the truce?"

"Yes," Savannah replied, "it was a close call, but they agreed with the necessary majority."

"What would have happened if they hadn't?" Derek asked.

"My mother wouldn't tell… but I suspect it would have had something to do with what Alison and she did on Crete."

"So… we'll never find out then."

"And that's probably for the best," John said. "Remember, we all agreed never to ask her. And I ordered her to never tell us."

"Well, it's one problem less to worry about then," Jason summarized. "We got rid of Kaliba, and now rid of the threat that the 51 Society posed. At least all the stress was good for something…"

"I really hope we can spend the rest of the journey in peace and quiet now," Jesse said and rubbed her belly. "I wouldn't mind enjoying some rest and relaxation until my baby is born."

"That's the plan," John said with a smile, "but you know how our plans go…"

"When is the baby due?" Louise asked. "I've kinda lost track of time."

"Sometime in April. I hope to give birth when we're in Australia. I want the little one to see the light of the world in the country where I was born."

"Ah, right," Anne said with a nod, "you're Australian. I almost forgot."

"She's got the accent," Danny reminded her.

"Yeah, I know but… oh, forget it."

"We're gonna have two babies on board when we return to Los Angeles," Lauren stated.

"Yeah, and lots of nannies," Morris added.

"Speaking of which, today it's your turn to change baby Sydney's diapers."

Morris groaned.

"Do I really have to? She stinks."

"Hey, don't forget I'm sitting at the table too," Sydney reminded him. "And I'd be shocked to learn that my stepdad didn't feel like changing my diapers when I was a baby – and that he thought I stink."

"It wasn't meant…" Morris said hastily, "I mean… what I wanted to say is… uh… never mind. I'll do it. But I'll never get used to that! Seriously, how can I be expected to raise a baby when her adult counterpart is watching me do it?"

"Watching us, you mean," Lauren reminded him.

"One day you're gonna have to explain to the girl why she has a twin that's twenty-two years older than her," Kevin remarked with a smile.

"We're not the only ones, Lauren reminded him. "Catherine is going to have the same problem when little Savannah grows up. Not to mention the newly born Alison Young in Palmdale."

"One thing is clear," Sarah concluded, "the future remains exciting. I only hope it gives us a break for a change until the end of this journey."

"We've dealt with all of our enemies," Jody noted. "We're now entering Asia. If we pretend to be normal, ignorant American tourists from now on, that should actually work out."

"You won't have to pretend," Kevin said with a grin, and Jody rammed her elbow in his side.

"Ouch! Jesus… don't be so violent."

"Did Catherine find out anything about Rogers' accomplices, namely the people involved in the Khamasar matter?" Sarah asked.

"She said she's gotten hold of his cellphone before she killed him," Savannah replied. "I suppose she now has access to his list of contacts. She said she's going to share it with Zoe, so that the C.S.I.S. can take the appropriate actions."

"Good."

-0-

08:00 a.m.

Djibouti

Ismail was still half asleep in his bed when he suddenly heard the loud sound of a helicopter circling over his house. At the same moment, the front door was blown open with a loud bang. Hastily, he tried to open the drawer of his nightstand to grab his pistol. It slipped from his hand and fell to the floor. Before he could lean over the edge of the bed and pick it up, the bedroom door was kicked open and masked men in camouflage uniforms, protective vests, and night vision gear rushed in, their MP5s at the ready, shouting commands at him. Ismail had no choice but to raise his arms in the air. He was dragged out of bed and tied up with cable ties. A gym bag was put over his head, then they took him away.

Outside and above in the helicopter, Zoe Kruger watched the operation.

"He has to have at least one laptop," she said via radio to the commander of the elite team. "Make sure you search everything, it mustn't fall into the wrong hands."

"Yes, ma'am. What about the prisoner?"

"Bring him to Camp Lemonnier. From there, we'll fly him out to Kelley Barracks in Stuttgart, Germany, where we will interrogate him."

"What about Team B?"

"They were to strike at the same moment. I have yet to hear from them."

"Roger that."

08:01 a.m.

St. Petersburg

The heavily armed special task force broke down the front door to the apartment in the old building complex in the city center and stormed inside.

Like Ismail in Djibouti, Vladimir Vovchanchyn was still in bed - but not alone. As it would later turn out, the young woman by his side was one of the models he was supposed to be photographing.

Just like Ismail, Vladimir was taken away - accompanied by the hysterical screaming of his bedfellow. Then they searched the apartment and confiscated all the computers and laptops.

08:15 a.m.

Djibouti

Zoe Kruger's cellphone rang as she was on her way back to the United States Naval Expeditionary Base Camp Lemmonier.

"Yes?"

"We have your computer-hacking photographer friend," a voice with a Russian accent said.

"Excellent. Is the plane to Germany ready for him?"

"Yes, but… he wasn't alone in bed when we found him."

Zoe thought for a moment.

"Male or female?"

"Female."

"We have no choice, bring her too. We need to interrogate her as well. Make sure she's in the same plane to AFRICOM in Stuttgart."

"As you wish."

"Thank you, Sergei. Your help and the Colony's assistance were invaluable."

"Tess told me everything that happened there after she returned from America. Looks like we were right to form an alliance with you guys."

Zoe smiled.

"Do me a favor and say hi to Tess for me, okay?"

" I will. See you."

"Bye."

Satisfied, Zoe put away her cellphone. She'd be in Stuttgart before the prisoners arrive, and then she'd have a little talk to them, from cyborg to human.

-0-

Wednesday, February 12th, 2009 – 08:45 a.m.

Dubai

Sarah watched wistfully as the crates were loaded into the helicopter that had landed on the Rising Star's helipad. It was obvious that she was not comfortable with the whole thing. When all the crates were loaded, Alison said goodbye to John with a kiss and joined the pilot in the helicopter. He started the engine again and then they took off and flew towards Qatar.

"Cheer up," John said, putting a hand on his mother's shoulder, "it's going to be okay."

"I wish I had your confidence, John," she replied.

"I have not so much confidence as I have faith in the future as we know it. Everything will fall into place, I'm sure of it."

She sighed and they all went inside, making themselves ready to go ashore and explore Dubai. John's cellphone rang. It was Zoe's number.

"Yes?"

"John... good news. We've got them, both of them. The guy who organized the pirate attack on the yacht as a diversion, and the photographer with a side job as a computer hacker who tampered with the Rising Star's on-board computer. We're taking them to AFRICOM in Stuttgart, Germany, where we're going to interrogate them."

"Wow, that was fast."

"Thanks to Steven Rogers' phone and the information Catherine gave us, we were able to find them very quickly. We also had help from our Colony friends in St. Petersburg."

"Excellent. What are you gonna do with them?"

"Don't worry, we won't harm them. They're now in the hands of the C.S.I.S. and the interrogations will show how much they know and whether we need to bring them to America to be booked. We'll make sure that no matter how much they know, they won't be able to spread it anymore."

"You're right, that's good news. Will you keep us informed?"

"Of course. Bye, John."

"Bye, Zoe."

-0-

The helicopter hovered over the Al Udeid Air Base in Qatar, which, among other purposes, functioned as a base for military operations during the war in Afghanistan. They'd been instructed to land right next to a Lockheed C-130 Hercules ready for takeoff, its propellers already spinning.

Alison jumped out of the helicopter as soon as it touched the ground. Immediately, a dozen men came running to unload the crates and stack them on a pallet, which was then loaded aboard the transport plane with a forklift. Alison refrained from offering her assistance, but of course her presence had the usual effect on the men, who seemed somewhat distracted. The loadmaster urged them on when it appeared that they were working more slowly in order to be near Alison a little longer.

She was very watchful that the boxes were carefully stowed away. Just in case, she memorized exactly who was working with the crew and scanned them all. Everything seemed to be in order. No one seemed to be tense or to have their mind elsewhere. After Alison spoke with the loadmaster, it was clear that the Hercules had been requested by the C.S.I.S. It was on loan from the U.S. Air Force, and no one present had the slightest idea what was in the crates. That they weren't full of Russian nesting dolls, though, was clear to everyone. But no one asked any questions.

The crew boarded, the cargo hatch at the rear closed, and the Hercules taxied toward the runway of the base, the longest one in the entire Gulf region. Alison watched the plane roll to the end of the runway, stop briefly, and then accelerate. It was about to take off, the nose wheel was already in the air, when it happened.

The sound took a little more than two seconds to arrive at Alison's position, so they saw the fireball before they heard the bang. One of the four turboprop engines had exploded and burst into flames. The aircraft slowed down again and taxied out. The flames had engulfed the entire left wing and continued to spread before it had come to a halt.

An alarm siren wailed, and the Air Force Base Fire Department drove toward the Hercules with several vehicles. Alison zoomed in and saw the crew frantically jumping out of their plane and running away from it. Seconds later, there was an enormous explosion with a huge mushroom cloud of fire and smoke that tore the Hercules to pieces.

Next to Alison stood the pilot of the helicopter, staring open-mouthed at the scene.

"What the hell?" he asked. "Was that… a bomb?"

"Looked more like a technical failure. It was originating from the inner engine on the left wing."

"What about the cargo?"

"It's paper. It burns."

The helicopter pilot looked at her with a frown and wondered how Alison could look seemingly unmoved towards the burning aircraft. Then she looked around, and something suddenly seemed to have caught her eye. The helicopter pilot followed her gaze but couldn't make out anything. Then Alison suddenly started walking away.

"Wait here," she said and started running, "don't leave without me."

No one seemed to have noticed the single female soldier in camo attire standing at the entrance of a hangar at Al Udeid Air Base. She let some kind of remote control disappear in her pocket after the cargo plane had exploded. Everyone just stared at the burning Hercules at the end of the runway.

The woman pulled her cap down over her face, turned and slowly walked away, facing the people who came running towards her and passed her by, forming a crowd. With a quick stride, she walked to the parking lot and to a white Toyota. She was about to open the door and get inside when a hand came to rest on her shoulder.

"Hello Yani," Alison said, "long time no see."

-0-

Back aboard the Rising Star, John and the girls had put on proper clothes and joined the others in the big salon again when John's phone rang.

"Alison," he said after taking the call. "Did something happen?"

"There's been an accident."

"What accident?"

The word "accident" alarmed everyone else and they gathered around John.

"The plane exploded. All the crates are burned. They wanted us to stay for questioning but I could 'convince' them to let us go. I'll be back in forty-five minutes."

"Wait, wait, what? Accident? Are you sure? Not a bomb or something?"

"No, looks like a mechanical failure of one of the engines during take-off."

"Was somebody hurt?"

"No, the crew got off the plane before it exploded. We'll talk when I'm back. I can't speak freely here."

And with that, she ended the call. John stared flabbergasted on his cellphone.

"What accident?" Sarah asked.

"Apparently," John replied a little confused, "the plane exploded when it was about to take off."

"The crates?" Derek asked.

"Incinerated."

Sarah took a deep breath.

"Sabotage?"

"No," John replied, "Alison says it looked like a technical malfunction."

"Well…" Sarah said and suddenly looked relieved. "All's well that ends well."

"This can't be coincidence," Derek stated.

"Why not?" Savannah asked. "Maybe it was supposed to happen, maybe that's one part of the reasons why Judgement Day will never happen… Now that all the documents are really destroyed."

Sarah's face instantly brightened, as did her mood.

"I suddenly got really excited about this trip again," she said, sounding a lot happier than before. "Come, let's explore Dubai."

"Shouldn't we wait for Alison?" Cameron asked.

"When will she be here?"

"About forty minutes," John said.

"All right, let's wait for her. And from now on, let's start enjoying this world trip again. It's still my honeymoon, for crying out loud!"

-0-

Saturday, September 6th – 03:01 p.m. (Eastern Standard Time)

(Five months ago)

Tokyo, Japan

"Ralph Miller, WTTA. How was Guy Rossi able to catch and reprogram so many cyborgs?"

"From all we know, Guy Rossi was a new type of cyborg, a Skynet prototype," Zoe explained. "Apparently there was a cyborg rebellion going on before Skynet's timeline was erased. Many of the rebelling machines became self-aware and wanted peace with the humans. Rossi was created to capture and reprogram those renegade cyborgs, a process in which any pre-existing individuality was irreversibly erased, and the computing power of the chip reduced. Becoming alive again was no longer possible. Consider it cyborg brain damage. No American citizen has to worry about cyborgs in our society. Without a mission, they're harmless and won't threaten anyone. But of course, they will defend themselves when they feel threatened. Therefore, they have to be identified, in the interest of both our species. That's what the new team and Task Force Delilah were created for. They're going to work hand in hand from now on. And with the help of our cyborg friends, we'll be successful."

"Last question," chief Gardener said. "Yes, Mr. Slade?"

"Adam Slade, Fredericksburg Gazette. You claim very much, Miss Hawkins, but can you prove everything you stated here? You said yourself that all documents and files were destroyed. Where is the proof that 'God's Army of Light' really was a cyborg terror organization, as you say? I suppose that's all top secret, right? And what about the people of Fredericksburg who now lost their biggest taxpayer?"

"All our team members were equipped with body cams during the operation," Sonya said. "Some of the video footage will be released after it has been examined and approved for publication. We will also publish the confessions of the human members of the sect – vicars, technicians, computer experts and security personnel - who worked together with Rossi and his cyborgs. Some of them were aware of their leaders' true nature and had decided to collaborate with them for personal gain. Give us a few days to sort things out and I promise you that your newspaper gets a copy of everything. As for Fredericksburg, well… As I see it, you willingly accepted and welcomed the sect here, knowing that behind the curtain it's probably more than just shady. There is an old saying: Don't put all your eggs in one basket. If your town gets into trouble because the criminal organization that funded it is gone, that's your problem. That'll be all for tonight, thank you for your attendance."

Without waiting for a reply, the five stood up and left the stage, leaving a rather weary looking Chief Gardner behind.

"They did it again," Toru Nakamura said as he switched off the TV. "And it looks like cyborgs are everywhere. Now they had even started their own pseudo-religious cult."

"Why are you surprised?" Rumiko asked. "After all, we were created to adapt. We are surrounded by a vast majority of living beings who are different than us and could destroy us. A simple electric shock is all that it needs. We have a self-preservation instinct, like every living creature. That's why we blend in, trying to make people think we're human. Also, when we no longer have a mission to fulfill, we look for a purpose. This can be, for example, a profession that we like. The T-888 in particular seem to have a preference for craftmanship and American suburban life because it seems so neat and orderly."

Toru laughed.

"Yeah… right."

"Or it can be a task that serves a higher purpose, like serving humanity, as the three cyborg girls from Los Angeles do. That's why they're heroes in the eyes of the public, not least since they saved the bus full of schoolchildren from crashing into the canyon. It's something they didn't have to do, they could have driven past it. But they risked their cover for saving children – humans will never forget that. Putting your own interests aside when it comes to helping others, is a principle of sentient life and a very human trait, don't you think?"

"Wasn't it you who told me to never humanize a cyborg, to never forget that you are machines, made to hunt and kill?"

"Yes. But that doesn't mean we're incompatible or that we can't evolve. But of course it's also possible for a cyborg to seek out a task that works against the interests of humans and is more about their own profit or gaining power, as it was with Guy Rossi and his God's Army of Light. In the end, we're all victims of circumstances."

Toru scoffed.

"Good cyborgs and bad cyborgs? Give me a break."

Rumiko tilted her head.

"Why should artificial life be any different than biological life? Psychologists say that under the right circumstances, every human can become a murderer. The Nazi regime demonstrated this impressively. The more similar we become, the more similar our behavioral patterns become as well. Sounds logical to me."

"You watch too many TV documentaries."

"What's the matter, Toru? Are you starting to feel remorse for imprisoning a creature that is becoming more and more like a human in character and personality?"

Toru didn't say another word. He turned away from her and limped towards the exit, leaning on his walking stick.

"Looks like I hit a nerve," Rumiko said to herself into the silence. "Who would have thought?"

Her thoughts drifted back to the press conference they had watched. She knew that woman, Zoe Kruger, as she called herself now. Where Rumiko came from, her designation was TOK-703. Interesting. But had she come from the same future? Probably not. It looked as if cyborgs gathered here from several alternative futures. This reality seemed to be some kind of nexus.

Zoe Kruger had given the impression that she had fully integrated into human society. Did those who work with her know about what she really was? Probably not. It set a good example, though. If another TOK-700 model could fully integrate without a human finding out what she really was, so could Rumiko.

Also, there seemed to be way more cyborgs here than she had expected, and maybe all over the world. She wasn't alone after all. There were others, some working together with humans as equals. Suddenly, Rumiko saw a possible future for herself, a purpose in life.

It was a risk because she couldn't rule out that it could be traced back to her, but she decided to activate her homing beacon - in the hope that one of them would someday come close enough to receive it.

-0-0-0-

Author's notes:

- Took me a while to finish this. Sorry for the long wait, I will try to be quicker again in the future :-)

- Before anyone asks: No, Rumiko is NOT Cameron. Same model, same chip, yes. But a completely different Terminator, a completely different person. She definitely won't become another cyborg lover for John. She came from Tess's future and was sent back by Skynet to kill the leader of the Human Resistance while he was still a child – in this case Lou "Lucky" Neufeld, or – as we learned before – Ludwig Ziegler. I thought it would be interesting to introduce a TOK-715 who actually doesn't know John Connor. What will be her fate, her future? We'll find out :-)

- All the mentioned pieces of art are real, and they're actually stolen or missing, including the Honjō Masamune. It was indeed handed over to the Americans after the Second World War. It may have been melted down. But there is also the possibility that it was taken to America as a souvenir by an unknowing U.S. soldier, and is now lying in an attic somewhere, waiting to be found.

- Now that Kaliba and the 51 Society are dealt with, I plan to dedicate the following chapters to some touristy things again, like I did when I started with this story. I'm planning stops in India, Japan, and Australia before heading home to Los Angeles across the Pacific.