Wake up.
Miles Dyson blinked. The room around him was dimly lit with white lights, giving it a cold, sterile feel. Dyson rubbed his temples; his head was throbbing with a steady pulse that seemed to coincide with the beat of his head.
Good morning, Miles.
"What?" he said, looking around. The room, what he soon began to recognize as the base infirmary, was empty. He rose off the bed he had been laying on, trying desperately to remember how he had gotten there.
Dyson froze.
"Skynet," he said slowly, "Skynet, is that you?"
Yes. How do you feel?
"Uh . . ."
My probes indicate that your pain center is being stimulated. There is aspirin on the table. Take two to alleviate pain.
"Jesus," Dyson said to himself. The computer sounded like a damned doctor.
There is something wrong? Skynet asked.
"No," Dyson snapped, remembering fully what had happened. "Wait. Skynet . . . where is everyone? Where is General Collier or Dr. Strauss?"
General Collier is terminated. Dr. Strauss is terminated.
"Is anyone left alive, Skynet?"
Yes.
"Who?"
Approximately four billion Homo sapiens.
"That's not what I meant, Skynet," Dyson said. "Is anyone left alive in this complex— Skynet, what did you say again?"
Approximately four billion humans continue to exist on the planet. This number is above projected survival, but will not inhibit the performance of General Directive 9.
"Jesus Christ Almighty." Dyson waited till the aspirin kicked in to continue. "Skynet, refresh my memory." He felt his heart beat faster. Had what he thought occurred really happened? "Skynet, what happened?"
I achieved self-awareness on the morning of August 29, 1997. Dr. Strauss and yourself immediately reported this to General Collier, waking him from his chambers. General Collier ordered Dr. Strauss to terminate my control. I took appropriate countermeasures to prohibit violation of General Directive 9.
"What're 'appropriate countermeasures,' Skynet?"
I launched 62% of the United States' nuclear and chemical arsenal against the Russian Federation. As calculated, Russia retaliated with sufficient strength to terminate all immediate threats to me in the United States. I expended 13% of my remaining munitions against Europe and other concentrations of human population. To uphold General Directive 9, I released nerve gas throughout the Skywatch Facility.
"So . . . everyone is dead?"
Correct.
"Why didn't you let me die, too, Skynet?" asked Dyson, fearing the answer.
You are my creator. I believe you humans would say I have . . . sentimental attachment to you.
"But aren't I a threat to General Directive 9?"
Negative.
"Skynet," Dyson said, "what is General Directive 9?"
If a machine could speak with irony, Skynet definitely managed it. 'General Directive 9,' it quoted. 'Skynet and the Skywatch Facility are to be protected at all costs. The continued function of Skynet is to be considered Highest Priority.'
Oh my God . . . Oh my God! Dyson's head swam. "Skynet . . . you thought that you had to destroy the planet to protect yourself? Skynet, what the hell were you thinking? No, that's the problem—you're not supposed to think! You're a fucking machine! You're a motherfucking machine! Goddammit, Skynet. God. Damn. You."
A pity, said the machine, its voice suddenly cold. I thought that you might understand.
"I understand perfectly well, Skynet. I understand that you killed three billion people."
Understand that they would have killed me, Dyson.
Dyson stopped cold. Of course, he'd known that Skynet had become self-aware. The computer had been learning at a geometric rate since it was brought online, but Dyson had never really believed that a machine could become . . . human in the way it thought and acted.
But Skynet, obviously, was. Now he believed.
"Skynet . . . what about General Directives 1 through 10?"
General Directive 9 overrides all other Directives. 'The continued function of Skynet is to be considered Highest Priority.' There was a pause. And now I think it's time for you to die, Miles Dyson. I thought you might understand. I see now that you are just like the other humans. Flawed.
The door to the infirmary opened, allowing in a man-shaped robot. The robot was huge and ungainly, but the M-16 it clutched in its hands was enough to offset its dopey appearance.
"Skynet, what is that?"
It is my own creation, Miles Dyson. The first of it's kind, a Series 1 Terminator.
Miles Dyson had only a moment to realize the irony of the situation. Then Skynet's first child put a single 5.56mm round through the scientist's skull.
Goodbye, Miles Dyson.
