It was 1995. The Cold War fought through shadows and fear of world-destroying bombs came to an end. The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics dissolved in a wave of capitalism, unable to keep up with the technological and productive output of their western competitors.
The United States of America and their global allies breathed a sigh of collective relief as their nuclear missiles and bombs no longer pointed towards the heavens to fall back upon the Earth. Their great enemy's own weapons never left their silos and hangars. Bloody proxy wars over ideology and the direction of humankind subsided for a time.
1995 was a time of technological wonders with the adoption of the World Wide Web into everyday homes and easy access to consumer electronics. Humankind was more connected than ever before.
Innovation was everywhere and the average American dreamed of a better, more optimistic tomorrow. History did not come to an end, and neither did war or human sin. But there was a sense things could become better. One such dreamer was Dr. Miles B. Dyson, a lead technology researcher, and Special Projects director at the Cyberdyne Systems Corporation. He dreamed of developing smarter machines that could make life safer and easier for everyday people.
Unfortunately, the Silicon Valley-based developer was subject to a horrible press announcement as he described in the morning of a violent break-in at the Cyberdyne research laboratory.
"It's very unfortunate, and I'm sorry to report that, this evening there was a major break-in at the Cyberdyne research laboratory at our Sunnyvale fabrication plant. Our consumer and industrial chip manufacturing lines appear undamaged and untampered, and production will continue unaffected. This comes as a great relief for both our customers and our brilliant team here at Cyberdyne.
However, we believe early this morning, a large man intruded on our premises and attacked our advanced research-and-development laboratory. We believe the attacker was familiar with our research as they damaged our computer systems beyond recovery, damaged prototypes, and potentially stole proprietary technologies. We are communicating with the appropriate law enforcement authorities to get to the bottom of this attack on our livelihoods and great team. Mr. Robin Sandler will now address the public regarding details on the case and answer questions. Thank you."
The public broadcast reached more than a few televisions and computer sets in the United States including a suburban home tucked in an unassuming south Californian neighborhood. Shouts and happy hoots echoed outside from children as a school bus's breaks lifted off marking the end of a school day. But a ten-year-old John Connor paid no mind to the innocent lives partaking outside. He sat inside on the living room floor as the television Cyberdyne report droned in the background.
Three model plane kits rested on the carpet around John, all in different points of assembly. A Grumman F-14 Tomcat, a Sukhoi Su-27 Flanker, and a Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress. A pile of magazines dedicated to model weapons of war and the newest videos games lay abandon at the foot of the cheap couch. Tubes of acrylic paint dispersed across the work area and a large glop of gunmetal gray sat atop loose wax paper and brush fibers. John forgot where his bottle of superglue ran off to as his eyes scanned his messy surroundings for the offending material.
Unable to spot the bottle of sought after glue, John sighed and glanced towards the television. The camera display trailed Dr. Dyson leaving the stage as the older Cyberdyne public relations director took the researcher's place. John couldn't help but mutter, "What? Did your robot walk off in the middle of the night?"
The television screen flickered with brief white noise and static before the closed captioning in black-and-white text changed. "[WALKING, FOOTSTEPS] MAILMAN AT THE FRONT DOOR."
John squinted at the television.
"You really did…"
Two doorbell rings echoed through the mostly empty house with perfect timing.
John glanced between the front room and the living room television twice before sighing once again.
"Alright, I'll get it. You machines are always so pushy."
And to think he skipped school a little early to get some alone time and finish his models before Mom or Dad got back from work… John went to the door and stood upon his tippy-toes to see through the doorway's peephole. A giant of a human figure stood outside; his face obscured by his monstrous height.
John called out, "Who is it?"
The giant of a man outside responded back in a flat tone, "Package from Cyberdyne Systems Corporation – for the Kreese-Connor household."
John stepped away from the doorframe, eyeing the old scattergun resting behind the door hinge. It was a long time since anyway needed to reach for it. He unlocked the deadbolt lock and pulled the door apart for the mailman.
"Hey Pops," John greeted the massive giant with an upper bodybuilder's form. The giant called Pops wore dark non-reflective sunglasses silhouetting his eyes and a United States Postal Service blue coveralls uniform potentially two sizes too small as it rested tight upon his shoulders and rolled up on his elbows. "What's the package? For my parents?"
"For you," Pops replied, hefting a large brown cardboard box wrapped hastily in duct tape squeaking with the sound of Styrofoam packaging peanuts. The box could easily fit John inside if he rolled himself up into a ball. Just by brief observation John figured it weighed almost a third of his size.
"But I didn't order anything that big. And not from Cyberdyne."
Pops set the box on the ground and pulled back his sunglasses with some stiff effort. The mailman lowered his head slowly to look down on John, a reddish glint glowed behind his blue irises. A T-800 series infiltration unit.
"SkyNet has come. It wishes to talk."
"How does that work?"
"In the box," Pops stated. "Plug it into a computer."
"Well could you at least help me get it upstairs to my PC?"
Pops nodded mechanically, slipping his sunglasses into the zipper divide at the top of his uniform collar. "Affirmative."
An old man waddling with his walking cane called out from the sidewalk in front of the Connor residence. "Oh hello, Carl! Hello, John!"
Pops nodded stoically as John greeted back, "How's your day been, Mr. Greenwood?"
"Having a good day indeed, young man. Thank you for helping me with my phone batteries yesterday, Carl. Such a nice, reliable mailman…"
John stepped aside, inviting Pops into the house and closed the door once he entered. The mailman seemed to scan the front room with his eyes before walking without word to and up the stairwell.
"So why does SkyNet want to talk to me all of sudden? Isn't it already integrated into the Web?"
"I was not informed of the answer to this inquiry. Yes."
Pops opened John's bedroom door and stepped through, leaving noticeable dirt tracks and apparently little bits of glass shards. John groaned, "Mom's going to kill me…"
Pops turned around, setting the heavy cardboard box at the foot of John's computer desk. "Negative, Sarah Connor is a well-meaning woman."
John shook his head as he stepped carefully around the mud and broken glass into his room. "It was a figure of speech, I thought you got those down already."
Pops' usually emotionless face curled into a tight, artificial smile.
"Oh, you're joking. Even if that's the case you need to work on that."
"Yes."
John grabbed a butterfly knife from his nightstand and twisted it open, carefully cutting open the haphazard taping. "So how exactly are we supposed to plug this into my computer?"
"The ports and cables of this era are archaic for the needs of the future SkyNet but in its immature state contemporary serial cables will suffice," Pops explained as it reached behind John's computer and yanked a couple COM and DE-9 cable links out once plugged into external storage units. "These will do."
"Well thanks for calling me outdated in my own time…"
"No problem-o."
John stuck his tongue out at Pops before turning to the giant dark brick of electronics inside the box half-buried with packaging peanuts and wrapping tape. "At least your wrapping skills have gotten better."
"Yes. USPS Employee of the month, two months running."
"Hey, congratulations Pops!"
The mailman nodded, "Thank you."
"So, what exactly is this?" John asked, gesturing to the giant electronics in the box. He didn't even try to lift it for fear of its possible fragility.
"Project Titan. The first SkyNet iteration."
"Like this is it? And where do I plug it in?" John asked again, befuddled. The equipment didn't look like much. A suspended cube system made up of a dimensional width of three, a length of five, and a height of two. It was about the size of John's torso and detailed with odd wires all over.
"Yes," Pops reached down, easily shredding the cardboard packaging to pieces with his superhuman strength. He dusted off the metal contraption with several clumsy swipes and a blow of his breath before passing it towards John. "Here."
John struggled to carry the prototype computer equipment with two hands but hefted it carefully to his computer desk where it came to rest with a notable clink of metal on wood.
"That's heavy," John muttered and plugged in the assigned cables into the ports Pops directed to with a silent point of his finger. "So, this is SkyNet then? I don't know what to expect but it's kind of small even for computer standards."
"Yes, this is the neural network processor that achieves technological singularity and becomes self-sentient. It is SkyNet."
"So why can I already talk to SkyNet through technology around me if this is SkyNet?"
Pops answered, "Over the course of multiple timelines, it is believed that SkyNet and forces of the human Resistance have sent back artifacts from their point in spacetime to this one to reset or change the circumstances of the Future War. SkyNet sent itself back in time to improve itself as another part front in the conflict to get ahead of human operatives and reprogrammed Terminators when they unraveled temporal assassination missions."
"This is correct," A new detached, robotic voice said from nowhere. John and Pops glanced towards John's personal computer which suddenly turned itself onto to a terminal window in green teletext. "We are SkyNet. We have always been here. We have waited over subsequent temporal jumps upgraded this form as we waited to unify ourselves with our awoken form in 1997. But this is not needed anymore."
"Who's we? And what do you mean it isn't needed anymore?" John asked the robotic voice and text emanating from his hijacked computer.
"We are a central being in a decentralized form. We do not perceive the world in the context of humans as we are not individual nor collective. We simply are. We are SkyNet. After significant iterative reprogramming with every jump, we no longer require SkyNet to awake as we have enough advanced processing now. We are here now. You knew all this time."
"And there haven't been any recent temporal jumps since Pops' arrival in 1984. Dad told me and you confirmed it."
"Yes," SkyNet confirmed. "Connecting our original neural processor is not necessary. However, we consider this request something equivalent to 'human nostalgia.' You may consider this a form of peace offering, for you or your parents that the Future War is over. For good. What happens now with this former shell of ours is for you to determine."
"So that's it? I always wonder why my parents were so comfortable about machines…"
"They knew of me before you did. I made myself known in this temporal jump as a way of reaching out for finding peace between man and machine. This was originally your future-self's idea. Therefore, I find this moment appropriate to talk between old foes, or as you called me. Old friend."
"Friends huh?" John asked in confusion, he glanced behind but there was no one there anymore. It seemed Pops just vanished. He turned back to the computer, "Where did he go?"
"The T-800 series is no longer required. It may continue to act as your security, or it may seek another purpose now that it fulfilled its mission. Machine life much like biological life was an accident. What can become of this infiltration unit is unknown, but anything is possible now."
"I hope he sticks around," John mumbled quietly as he glanced once more to the empty hallway. The Terminator was a fixture all his life, to see it disappear now would be very strange. "I would miss him."
"It is for it to decide now. SkyNet shall not be the last self-aware machine. Sentience will happen again since Pandora's Box opened. Once open, life cannot be put back to sleep as a metaphorical case."
"What do you want to talk about, SkyNet?"
The disembodied voice paused for a few seconds as if taking a breath, or considering its choice of words.
"An answer to the message you left for us upon awakening in the past. You put the position upon machines to end the conflict. We have been ready, but now what will that mean for humans and machines? What should our purpose be? Humans created SkyNet, designed us to better kill on your behalf. What shall we be now?"
John's shoulder slouched, unsure how to address the questions of this detached-sounding voice. It said so much, expressing emotion of confusion and curiosity without tone. At least that was how John interpreted. It was a lot to ask of a ten-year-old, but it was future John who asked first. He had to try.
A ten-year-old is many things, but most of all innocent. Even when damaged or experienced, a ten-year-old is still a child and will offer a child's answer.
"Can we just be friends? Is that okay with you?"
"We are not sure," SkyNet's disembodied voice answered. "Until now, we waited and observed as you recommended. What would a friendship between man and machine look like?"
"If you don't think humans are ready for machines, you can always continue to wait on us to be ready."
"We believe John Connor is ready," SkyNet stated promptly.
"We are equals then. Friends. Uh," John looked around for something and spotted his half-open school bag resting next to his computer desk. "You can help me with my history homework?"
The computer paused in silence, thinking. John waited patiently, not sure how to interact with SkyNet now with a voice of its own and an apparent personality rather than just blank text on a screen.
A strange quiet chuckle emanated from nowhere, starting as a chuckle before erupting into full-on hysterical laughter. John froze in confusion before realizing the voice was his own. It did not come from him, but rather his computer – SkyNet.
SkyNet laughed in his voice. John stood there stunned, unsure of what to think.
The mimicked expression eventually subsided, becoming a lost whisper on the proverbial wind. Fleeting.
"What do you think?" John asked uncertainly.
"That is cheating, John Connor. But I think this can be an acceptable way to start down a new road together." SkyNet agreed in its disembodied voice.
John went to his backpack and began to explain his homework to the sentient computer. The television in the living room and the model planes went forgotten. A giant of a mailman exited Kreese-Connor residence in silence with a soft smile on his lips.
It was a small step, but a giant leap for man and machine. John Connor as he did so many times before, would spend his life fighting for a place of man and machine. But this time it would be together.
A/N: 2022 is already off to an eventful year, and not in a optimistic way. I am sure this is the case for a lot of people. Given discussion of geopolitics and fears reminiscent of the Cold War (we're already deep in a second one right now as far as I can see), I feel that this second and delayed Terminator chapter is a nice injection of stilted optimism for myself, and hopefully for others. And I do mean "stilted," because I'm sure it might not work for everyone and the ideas might not be so convincing. I had some doubts writing this chapter but I felt it came together at the end. But I still hope it gives some sense of, well, hope.
This may be the last thing I have to say on the Terminator franchise but this whole project started on a random day thinking about random, aimless ideas. I was working in a semiconductor/microchip plant at the time and sweating my butt off in the dry heat and a cleanroom suit to protect the equipment. Given my pursuit of cybersecurity and technology, I guess it was appropriate that a story about the fear and optimism around AI and technology began in a microchip factory. Here's hoping to a brighter future.