Chapter Twelve
Santa Clara, San Francisco, California.
Friday 0830 PST
Rain poured heavily from the cloudy grey sky above, falling on the ground in fat droplets that produced a constant tap, tap, tap on the metal surface of Miguel's car, amplifying the sound within.
He drove through Hillsborough Heights, an extremely wealthy district in San Francisco's Bay Area. The Greys who'd returned to the past to build Skynet had been selected for their technological skills and commercial acumen. They had come back and, supervised by T-888s, had first made money to establish businesses. Those grew rapidly thanks to knowledge of future events, earning billions of dollars; most of which had been invested in the infrastructure required to build an AI as well as the plethora of machines that were currently under development around the world. Most of the money had gone back into Kaliba, but not all of it. The humans had become extremely wealthy in the process.
Miguel approached his target: a three-storey hilltop mansion whose rear overlooked the valley below. He hadn't been there before but he knew the home addresses of all those on the Kaliba board of directors, in case any of them turned on the organisation and required termination. That had only happened once.
He parked behind a sleek red sports car. Miguel turned the engine off and took two items from the glove box: a wad of photos which he folded in half and put into the breast pocket of his jacket, and a 9mm automatic that he stuck in the waistband of his pants after he got out of the car.
He marched across the front lawn, ignoring the signs instructing visitors not to walk on the grass, and rang the doorbell.
It took several seconds before the door opened to reveal a well-manicured man in his early sixties. Despite his age he looked healthy and strong to Miguel. He wore a suit without a tie and the top button of his shirt undone, an expensive-looking watch around his wrist and a gold wedding band on his finger.
"You?" The man stared at Miguel, dumbstruck; his mouth and eyes wide open with recognition and fear. He tried to slam the door shut but Miguel pushed it back open and knocked the man off his feet. The human turned onto his front and scrambled towards a telephone on a mahogany table next to the staircase.
Miguel grabbed him before he reached the phone and lifted him up by his throat. He knew that there'd be a number the man could dial which would act like a panic button for Kaliba. He'd been inches away.
"Let me go!" The human struggled in Miguel's grip, to no avail. Instead, the T-888 reached into the man's pocket, grabbed his cell phone and crushed it before carrying his target bodily through the house and into the lounge. He tossed his victim onto a leather sofa and stood before him as the man stared up at him in shock.
"Evan Walters," Miguel stated the human's identity.
"What do you want?" the man snapped. He glared at Miguel before glancing at the window and then the archway between the lounge and the hallway.
"I need information," Miguel said flatly.
"Skynet's declared you hostile, Miguel. You know what that means."
Miguel nodded. "If you help me, Skynet will send another machine to kill you."
"So why would I ever help you?"
"Because Skynet will only kill you." He looked at the framed photos around the room: a blonde woman in her forties; a blonde girl approximately fifteen to eighteen; and a dark-haired boy between ten and twelve. Like many Greys, Evan had started a family and created a life for himself. It was a human urge; companionship and reproduction, one that not even Skynet could stop them from fulfilling. It kept them loyal so Skynet had allowed it. It also provided potential leverage against them.
"Where are your family?" he asked. Evan said nothing so Miguel grabbed his wrist and squeezed hard. The radius and ulna bones cracked under his grip and Evan screamed, trying to pull away.
"You broke my arm," he whined, grimacing with pain.
"The human body has two hundred six bones. That's two." He let go and Evan sat back on the couch and cradled his wrist to his chest. "Where are your family?"
Evan seethed through clenched teeth, anger bubbling out of the pain he was in. "My wife's gone to work and my kids are at school. Why?"
"Because if I'm still here when they return I'll kill them. You have until then to answer my questions."
Rage flared in Evan and he stood up level with Miguel. "You hurt my family and I'll fucking take you apart!"
Miguel stepped closer. "And your family will still be dead. You don't threaten me. If you want to protect them you will answer my questions: where is Skynet located?" Evan Walters was one of a select few who knew where Skynet was. As the highest-ranking human operative in Kaliba he was one of only a handful of humans who knew, plus Vassily, who was now gone. Skynet was wary of its machines being captured and their CPUs read. If Connor managed to do that he would learn Skynet's location; the only way to remain secure was for its machines not to know, proving the folly of allowing Vassily to lead the counter-attack in Chihuahua.
"I can't tell you," Evan protested. "You know what Skynet will do, and you're wrong; it'll kill my whole family. You know that."
The human was right. Skynet would send a cyborg to kill him and his family, to prevent anyone asking questions. The house would be sanitised by a clean-up team and the bodies disposed of. Within twenty-four hours the Walters family would have simply vanished.
Miguel drew his fist back and punched him in the stomach, forcing the air from his lungs. Evan's knees buckled and he fell but the terminator caught him by the front of his shirt, lifted him up and punched him again. Evan screamed in pain but it came out as something between a wheeze and a croak. A third and fourth punch struck the exact same spot in his gut and he dropped Evan into a coughing, retching pile on the floor. He stamped on Evan's hand and broke two of his fingers, eliciting a high pitched squeal of pain. He waited a few seconds for the Grey to get his wind back before he continued his questioning.
"That's four. Two hundred two remain."
"Fuck you!"
"We're on the same side," Miguel said to him, changing tack. "I'm not hostile."
"You're acting pretty fucking hostile!"
Miguel took a decanter full of scotch from a drinks cabinet and picked up a glass, poured it full and offered it to Evan. "Drink: it will help with the pain."
Despite everything, Evan accepted the glass and took a swig. It was an eighteen-year malt, some of the best whisky around, but he knew it would take more than a glass to dull the agony of his broken wrist and fingers. "Why do you need to know Skynet's location?" he asked.
Miguel sat on the couch next to Evan. "I have information it needs."
"Skynet's said you've gone rogue; it'll kill me for this."
Miguel ignored the remark; they'd covered the issue and were wasting time. "I disobeyed Skynet's orders because it was wrong. I aborted the termination of two teenagers because Ronin is a greater threat. I offered to assist the operation against Ronin but Vassily demanded I submit to chip extraction."
After another swig of the whisky, leaving the glass almost empty, Evan asked, "If you're not hostile, why didn't you follow orders?"
"It wasn't in Skynet's interest. I escaped from Endotech and drove to the Chihuahua site in Mexico. It's gone."
"We know," Evan said. He got up and poured himself another whisky, downing half before he topped up the glass again. "Vassily led a strike force to take it back and we've lost contact with him. We assumed he'd failed."
Miguel took the printed photos out of his jacket pocket and put them down on the coffee table. Using his good arm, Evan flicked through them, looking carefully at each one. There were several of the site, including close-ups of the machine identified as Ronin, plus a female cyborg; two large males – one black, one white; and a number of other machines.
He stopped on an image of a badly-damaged Vassily standing opposite Ronin. They weren't in combat and Vassily appeared to be in conversation with the other machine. "What happened?" he asked.
"Ronin set a trap. Vassily led his machines into the camp and was shocked into a reboot. Ronin replaced their chips with others. Every time Skynet sends T-888s to attack Ronin they end up joining his ranks. They now number over twenty.
"Skynet won't listen to me. It thinks I'm hostile. I need to see Skynet directly to convince it. Vassily knows Skynet's location: now Ronin does, too. It's a matter of time until he moves to attack Skynet directly. It would be better if we eliminate Ronin before that happens."
Evan sighed, took another sip of his drink and put it down, clutching his arm. Why Miguel couldn't have just explained that before throwing him around like a rag doll, he didn't know. "Autonomy Industries: Twenty-five-seventy-five Century Boulevard, Santa Clara. Everyone's fallen back there; every machine left in the country and almost all the players. Morton, Rodriguez, Reinhardt and the rest are all there. Our forces abroad have pulled back to their respective facilities, too."
"Why are you still here?" Miguel asked.
"Because this is my home. I'm not leaving my family exposed while I go hide."
"Get up," Miguel said. "We're going." He grabbed Evan, still not trusting him, and dragged him to his feet and through the house.
"Where are we going?" he asked. "I need a hospital."
Miguel ignored his plea for medical attention. "We're going to see Skynet."
Pismo, California
Friday 0930 PST
It was chilly outside so Ellison walked briskly around the spacious back yard to keep himself warm. He'd gotten used to living in Los Angeles, only a hundred or so miles south but still the difference felt dramatic to him. Not just the temperature but also the scenery. He'd gone days in LA sometimes without seeing anything green except the produce aisle at Walgreens. It had been a true concrete jungle. Now it was all fields, trees and the scrubland in the distance. He reckoned he could go weeks without seeing another soul; their closest neighbour was half a mile away. Being honest with himself, he missed the noise and bustle of the city, of people. He hadn't spoken to any of his friends in what seemed like forever. Now his job was his life, his life was his job; it was all-consuming. He supposed this was what it must be like for John and Sarah. He wondered how they'd ever gotten used to it.
He held his cell phone to his ear and peeked in through the French windows at his responsibility. Savannah sat in the lounge doing her homework quietly, a small stack of books on the table to her right.
"How was your journey to Crater Lake?" John Henry asked him. Weaver had dropped him and Savannah off at the safe house the previous evening before continuing on alone. For urgent business, she'd said, though she hadn't bothered to tell him what or where that was exactly.
"Worrying," he replied, starting another circuit around the garden, wishing he'd put a jacket on.
"How so?"
"What's Weaver's new secret project?" Ellison asked him. He was met with silence on the other end of the line. "She told you not to tell me about it?" He was fishing, but felt sure he was on the right track.
"Ms Weaver has mentioned it multiple times but won't discuss any details. How's Savannah?"
"She's fine," he told the AI, allowing the change of subject: it was heading where he wanted it to go anyway.
"How is her book report coming?" John Henry asked.
"Treasure Island? She was reading it in the car on the way back; she seems to like it. She started the report this morning after eating breakfast and watching some cartoons, and I've barely heard a peep from her since." He was worried about her, especially after his discussion with Weaver at the lake. "Weaver said to me that Savannah has a purpose, and that if Judgment Day happens she wouldn't stand a chance as she is now."
"'As she is now?'" John Henry didn't understand. "Because she's so young?"
"I don't think she meant her age. Can you tell me anything about it?"
"It's called Project Jericho," John Henry said. "She requested I search online for mercenaries. I've examined ZeiraCorp's records and Ms Weaver's personal emails. There's nothing pertaining to Project Jericho."
"That means she doesn't want you knowing what it is," Ellison said, feeling more suspicious by the moment. "Where's she gone, anyway?"
The AI did know the answer to that question. "She's in Los Angeles. Last night she met a mercenary called Magnus Saade. He's also involved in Project Jericho. She plans to hire more soldiers."
"What the hell's she up to? It can't just be a bodyguard job or it wouldn't be a secret… Survival training, maybe?" But again, he thought; that didn't sound all that bad. Kids Savannah's age were often taught to use guns responsibly. Sarah had done the same to John since he was old enough to walk. While it wasn't the best childhood and he certainly wouldn't put any kid of his through that, it didn't warrant the kind of secrecy that Weaver had surrounded it with.
"I want you to monitor everything Weaver does," he told John Henry. "Every penny that comes out of her accounts, every number she calls and every email she sends or receives, where she goes and who she talks to. The same with this Magnus guy. But Weaver can't know that you're doing it, or that we even spoke about this. Can you do that? Savannah's life may depend on it."
"Yes." He was as concerned for Savannah's safety as Ellison was.
"I'd better go check on Savannah's assignment," he said, reaching for the cancel button with his thumb.
"Don't let anything happen to her."
John Henry's voice sounded to Ellison like he was pleading. It still amazed him that a computer could care about someone like that. "I won't," he said with absolute resolve. "We won't."
He disconnected the call and started to put his phone away but it buzzed again while still in his hand. For a moment he thought perhaps John Henry wanted to tell him something else but when he looked at the screen he didn't recognise the number.
Curious, he accepted the call and put the phone to his ear. "Hello?"
"James Ellison. It's Agent Auldridge. You're a hard man to get hold of."
Ellison frowned. "How did you get this number?"
"Your boss's assistant gave it to me. Nice lady."
"You mean Ms Weaver or Victoria?"
Auldridge chuckled through the speaker. "I'll give you one guess, James."
Ellison imagined that Auldridge had tried to talk to Weaver. He didn't doubt that she'd have brushed him off, assuming that she'd even taken his calls. Going through her PA was probably the only way that he could find him. "What do you want?" he asked.
"I was hoping we could meet and discuss an old case file of yours."
He knew exactly which case file Auldridge was talking about. "Sarah Connor."
Auldridge didn't say anything to confirm or deny it, which Ellison took as the former. "Where are you?"
Ellison hesitated. Auldridge had gone around Weaver, via her assistant, which meant that she hadn't wanted to talk to the agent. She'd more than likely be upset if she found out that he had done. She'd expressly told him not to talk to anyone about the bombing, but he wondered if he could try to dissuade the man from his enquiries. He looked at his watch. "I'll meet you," he said. "Santa Monica Pier at one o'clock." He hung up the phone and removed the battery. He didn't want anyone – Auldridge or Weaver – tracing him through it.
"Savannah," Ellison called as he walked back into the house and fished his car keys from his pocket. "Do you want to go to the beach?"
Santa Clara, San Francisco, California
Friday 0945 PST
Miguel drove through seemingly endless streets surrounded on both sides by tall, nondescript towers, Evan Walters supplying directions. He'd never been to the Kaliba headquarters before as only a select few were aware of its location. Miguel knew that he was their most effective operator. Because of that they'd deemed him too high a capture risk. Their enemies couldn't use his CPU to locate Skynet if he didn't know where it was.
"I'd expected something different," Miguel said as he stopped at a red light and waited. He was wary that he was relying on the human's directions but with a broken arm and two broken fingers, Evan was in no condition to drive.
"What were you expecting?" the Kaliba exec asked, laughing despite the pain he was in. "Giant fortress surrounded by high walls and electric fences? Cheyenne Mountain, maybe?"
"That is the eventual goal."
"It is but it's in the Air Force's hands at the moment. We've made them an offer but they won't budge. They're in a lot of debt, though. Congress will have no choice but to cut the military budget and scrap or sell a lot of assets. Give it a few years, let them feel the sting of budget cuts, and they'll accept."
The light turned green and Miguel drove forward. "Why here?" he asked. "It doesn't seem like a good place to hide." It was simply a place of business.
Again, Walters laughed. "It's the perfect place to hide: in plain sight. This place is called Silicon Valley for a reason: every other building you see here is a software or tech company. If Connor or Catherine Weaver want to search for Skynet here it'll take them a while."
As the road they wanted came up, Miguel got into the right-most lane and signalled to turn, then inspected the target: it was twenty-three storeys tall and looked very similar to the surrounding buildings. He understood what Walters had meant about hiding in plain sight.
They took the next right onto a small road that ran around the building towards the employee parking lot and Walters winced as he cradled his lame wrist to his chest. Miguel had ignored his repeated pleas for medical attention until he'd given up asking. Despite the pain he pointed the machine to his personal reserved space, close to the front entrance.
As he turned the engine off and stepped out, Miguel noted that the entire row nearest the building was occupied, and they were all reserved for specific individuals. He judged from the cars' appearance that they belonged to very highly-paid staff: the executive board of the Kaliba Group.
"They're meeting," Miguel observed aloud.
"Discussing what to do about Connor, Weaver and this Ronin machine you encountered. They've dealt us a lot of trouble, as you know."
"Ronin will be more trouble if Skynet doesn't listen to me." He looked up at the building and saw numerous security cameras. Each corner of every floor had two cameras facing opposite directions to cover all potential entry points. There was no way to enter the building undetected.
"Skynet already knows we're here," the Grey told him, seeing him looking up and knowing what he was doing. "It probably knew before you got within ten blocks of it."
"Where in the building is it?"
"In a sub-basement, one hundred feet down. The only way in is an elevator and it's protected by T-900s. They'll take you apart before you get close to Skynet."
"I don't need to get close to Skynet. Where will the executives meet?"
"Top floor," Walters said. "Best view of the city." He'd spent countless hours in the boardroom from which they'd transformed the company into the global conglomerate that it was today; a far cry from the small business they'd started off with twenty years previously. The reminiscing did little to ease the pain he was currently in. TechCom – the Resistance's elite soldiers – were taught to cope with pain and control it, but working for Skynet he'd led a much more comfortable existence: he'd never gone hungry or thirsty, he'd received medical care when needed and had had a bed to sleep on. His amenities had been basic by modern standards but it had still made them soft while their enemies had grown hard and tough.
He led Miguel through the revolving glass doors and into the building's lobby. It looked much the same as every other building but concealed several major differences. The windows were all bulletproof and reinforced, and the revolving door allowed only a few people at a time through to allow an easier defence of the building. He also noted the small air vent above their section of the door.
There were two uniformed security guards on station at the front entrance. Both male: one white and overweight, balding and aged around forty; the other slender, tall and African-American, with a moustache, whom Miguel estimated to be approximately sixty-five to seventy. One corpulent and one very old; he noticed that they only had pistols on them. He silently questioned the wisdom of whoever hired them to act as Skynet's first line of defence.
He looked up as Evan led them towards the front desk. He noticed two things that stood out: the first was the number of security cameras suspended from the ceiling, obscured by tinted glass bubbles to prevent anyone from seeing where they were looking. There were more than double the number he'd seen in ZeiraCorp and triple the number at Endotech. If Skynet was in the sub-basement then it would be monitoring the footage from all of them, watching what everyone was doing from multiple angles.
The second thing he'd noticed was the large number of air vents above them. Evan saw him glance upward at them. "If anyone were to assault the building, Skynet would seal all doors and windows and open the vents. There's canisters of nerve gas on every storey, ready to be opened and distributed via the air vents if we came under attack. Anyone caught in the gas will be twitching on the floor in one minute; dead in five."
"What if machines attack?" Miguel asked, concerned. Ronin had Vassily's chip and all the information on it.
"Noticed the floor?" Evan asked him.
Miguel looked down at it. The lobby floor was made up of hundreds of marble tiles measuring twenty centimetres by twenty, with gold-coloured metal circles in each corner, the diameter of a bullet, that were very slightly raised up almost imperceptibly from their surroundings. The tiles were small enough that an adult human-sized foot would always be in constant contact with at least one of these tiny studs at all times. "Electrified?" he asked. He hadn't noticed that at first glance. That was the point, he realised.
"Got it in one," Evan replied. "One hint of hostile machines and those tiny studs extend an inch above the floor, then Skynet throws a switch: fifty-thousand volts. Force any machine into a reboot while the T-900s come up to the ground floor and deal with them."
It was an impressive security system, Miguel thought. More so because it was so discreet. It didn't draw attention to itself and intruders wouldn't know about it until it was too late.
They reached the front desk and the receptionist looked at Evan with a concerned expression on her face. "Mr Walters; are you okay?" She glanced at his arm.
"Accident at home," he said, forcing a smile. "Still, no rest for the wicked. Can you call up to the boardroom and tell the others I'm on my way?"
"Who's your friend?" she asked, turning her attention to Miguel.
Miguel fished out his Kaliba ID from his pocket and handed it to her. "I'm here to give a presentation to the board," he said.
She examined his ID closely. According to it, Miguel Vega was an employee of Endotech Industries; one of the sister companies to Autonomy Industries. His name wasn't on any of her schedules, however. The phone rang at her side. She quickly answered it. "Yes?" She listened to the voice on the other end and looked at Miguel warily. "Miguel Vega. I don't know him but Mr Walters is here too and he's vouched for him. Yes sir, I… Do you want me to– I understand." She put the phone down and handed Miguel's ID back to him.
"They're expecting you," she said, also giving him a visitor's badge. "Please go on up to the top floor." Miguel and Evan walked past the desk. There were three elevators at the rear of the lobby. Evan moved towards the middle one and reached out with his good arm for the button, but Miguel stopped him.
"We're not taking the elevator," he said. It would be the easiest place for Skynet to trap them. He had no doubt that there were already machines on their way to intercept them but his chances were better on the stairs than the confined space of an elevator car, where Skynet would have complete control.
"Oh, come on!" Evan groaned to no avail; he knew damn well that the machines didn't feel sympathy. It didn't matter that he was in absolute agony with his broken arm and fingers. "This way," he sighed. He led the terminator through a set of double doors and into a corridor, going down it and crossing into an intersecting one, turning left before reaching a flight of stairs. "I'm going to lose my arm at this rate," he complained as they started up the staircase.
"You can get a new one," Miguel replied. Endotech prosthetics were twice as strong as typical human limbs and based on the same technology as T-888s.
"That's not the point," Evan grumbled as they made it to the first floor. Twenty-two more to go.
Miguel was surprised that they reached the top floor without encountering any resistance. It was not a surprise to him, however, when he saw that the entrance to the top floor was guarded by two T-888s in suits: Reed and Blake, the two terminators who had tried to remove his chip in San Diego. They were dressed smartly now to better reflect their surroundings: Reed in dark grey pants, a black shirt and matching tie; Blake with a sky-blue shirt, tieless, and pinstripe suit. To any of the human employees in the building they were just two more members of senior management. They stood between him and the doors to the executive floor but made no move towards him.
"I'm here to see the Greys."
"You're hostile," Reed replied, repeating exactly what he'd said before when they'd last met. "Will you submit for chip extraction?" The threat didn't need to be made; if he didn't then he'd be dealt with. Miguel was confident he could fight these two but not quickly.
The elevator next to them pinged as the doors opened to reveal the two security guards from the entrance. They marched into the corridor side by side and approached Miguel and Walters, boxing them in between themselves, Reed and Blake. Both the newcomers had blank expressions on their faces and stared at him intently, unblinking as they stepped towards him.
Now Miguel understood exactly why those two guards were there; nobody would expect a fat or geriatric terminator.
"Let him in," Evan told them reluctantly. "He's got information vital to Skynet's survival. I'll vouch for him."
Reed took a step toward Miguel. "Your weapon," he said, holding his hand out expectantly.
Miguel did as he was asked and handed his pistol over. It was worthless against any machine and he had no intention of killing the Kaliba board. Together Miguel and Evan entered the executive area, flanked by the four other machines. They weren't taking any chances with him, Miguel realised.
They walked past one of the largest offices, which had 'Evan Walters' engraved on a brass plaque on the door. Evan led him and the other cyborgs past it without stopping and down another corridor.
There were three doors in this section. Two of them were sealed with red and black tape and a small plastic seal on the handle. The third still had the tape but it and the seal were broken. He opened the door with his good hand and stepped into the room to see the other executives sitting around the large mahogany table that dominated the centre of the room. They stared at him and at Miguel as they entered. Reed, Blake and the other two followed them in and took flanking positions on either side of the pair.
"We're surprised to see you," Elena Rodriguez, the only female member of the group commented.
"What happened to your arm?" the obese one, Morton Osborne, asked.
"Miguel broke into my house and forced me to bring him here, but he's got information you'll want to see."
Said cyborg noted that the room was identical to the Endotech boardroom in San Diego, where he had last met met these humans the previous Sunday and had been assigned the task of eliminating ZeiraCorp's AI. Since then, much had changed for Kaliba and himself.
Miguel strode towards the table and placed the printed photographs onto its surface, laying them all out in the order he took them, chronicling everything he had witnessed since he'd begun his recon at the Chihuahua facility. The Greys all got up out of their seats and leaned over the pictures, examining them closely.
"These machines are ours," Mark Gilby said, pointing at a photo of Carter and two others. "This one was meant to guard the coltan shipment at the Maguire Gunnery Range and these two were supposed to retrieve it. This 'Ronin' is reprogramming them?"
"He replaced their CPUs with other chips," Miguel said. "There was at least one T-900 with him at ZeiraCorp and one of the fire teams reported a T-1001. He probably learned the location of the Chihuahua site from the machines he eliminated in the attack.
"Before they captured the Chihuahua site they numbered seven. The machines at the base added five more. Vassily's failed attack provided them with a further twelve, minus the losses Ronin's force suffered. His force currently numbers between eighteen and twenty-four. Every time you attack him he becomes more powerful." He held up the photo he'd taken of Ronin speaking to Vassily – or the machine that now inhabited Vassily's chassis.
"Vassily knows your location," he said to the group but also to Skynet, knowing the AI would be listening. "Now so does Ronin. He'll also know about the T-900s in the sub-basement."
"Then he'll know to stay away," Osborne replied. "From what you've told us most of his force is made up of our T-888s. The Nine-Hundreds will take care of them before they get close to Skynet."
"Or," Walters suggested, "the Triple-Eights keep them occupied while Ronin and his liquid metal go for Skynet." He knew Miguel was right; it was just a matter of convincing the rest of them about that. "Vassily knew about the factory in Ukraine and the terminators they're building," he continued.
"Then Ronin knows it too, now. If he captures the facility he'll have a whole army of machines at his disposal," said Miguel.
Rodriguez shook her head and sighed. "It's worse than you know," she said. She pulled out more photos and slid them across the table for Miguel to see. "Have you seen these before?"
Miguel picked up the photos and inspected them. The image was of what looked to be the inside of a prison. He recognised Sarah Connor in the picture but there were also two others. Both were extremely large; Connor only reached up to their lower chests. He estimated their height to be well over two metres, and they were bulky; more armoured than even a T-900. One of them had half its face missing; underneath was a glowing blue eye and below that, a blue mark in the shape of a lightning bolt. Other than that the cyborg's real face was just featureless, smooth metal. "I haven't seen them before," he said.
"They broke Sarah Connor out of Pelican Bay several nights ago, practically destroying the prison in the process. They were last spotted heading south but we haven't seen them since. We think they're linked to Ronin."
"That's a possibility," Paul Reinhardt replied, disagreeing with his colleague. "We don't know that for sure."
Either they were allied to Connor or they weren't. One extremely powerful enemy or two: either possibility was bad for them. "We should find out if Ronin is allied with Connor, ZeiraCorp and these new machines," Miguel said.
"And if they are?" Walters asked.
"If they're not then we should consider contacting ZeiraCorp."
The room went silent as everyone, man and machine, stared at him incredulously. "Explain," Reed ordered him.
"We no longer have the resources to combat Ronin," Miguel said. "If we offer a temporary truce with ZeiraCorp we might have the combined power to stop him."
"That's crazy," Rodriguez shot back. "If you're actually suggesting we ally with Connor and ZeiraCorp, you really are defective!"
"I think he's got a point," Gilby said. "If they're not allied then it might be our only chance. We should–"
A gunshot interrupted him mid-sentence and the back of his head exploded, spraying gore onto the wall behind him. He fell backwards onto the floor and blood pooled under what was left of his skull. Reed holstered his smoking gun and glanced across the room at the remaining human operatives. The message to them was silent but clear: disloyalty will not be tolerated. He turned towards Miguel. "Hold him," he commanded the other machines.
The two security guards each grabbed one of Miguel's arms and Blake held him from behind in a full nelson. The old black guard kicked Miguel's legs out from underneath him, forcing him to his knees as Reed approached, pulling out a knife from his jacket pocket. The three machines then pinned Miguel face-first onto the ground. Blake knelt on his back to hold him in place as the fat one did the same with his legs and the elderly one held his wrists, preventing him from moving. Miguel struggled but was helpless as Reed crouched down and cut into his scalp.
There was no other course of action he could take now. They would extract and examine his chip to determine if he was defective, and would probably scrub it just to be certain. He would cease to exist but Skynet would see that he wasn't lying, that his assessment of Ronin was accurate. He hoped that Skynet would use what he'd learned to protect itself.
Those were his last thoughts as Reed pulled out Miguel's chip and the world turned to black silence.
Premier Palace Hotel, Kiev, Ukraine
Friday 2000 Local Time [1000 PST]
John watched as Cameron finished the final mouthful of her meal before taking a last sip of the wine that had accompanied their dinner. Once she was done she put her knife and fork down onto the plate side by side before placing the still-clean napkin down on the table.
"What did you think?" John asked her.
"I liked it," she said. "Did you?"
John nodded enthusiastically. "Definitely. I'm full but still kinda tempted to order some more dumplings; they were moreish." It had looked pretty basic on the menu; pork and beef-filled dumplings, and goulash, but it had been good. He'd been surprised at her answer, though. He knew from their prior talk back at Crater Lake that she had a sense of taste, but he'd expected her to say something else besides 'I liked it.' It didn't seem a very terminatorish answer.
"I don't understand," Cameron said.
"Moreish: it's kind of when you want more even when you're full, just because it's really good."
His answer was met with one of her blank stares, as if he'd just told her something really obvious. "I know what 'moreish' means. I just don't understand why." It seemed strange to her, why people would continue eating even when they were full. It explained the rampant morbid obesity back in the United States, she thought.
"Keep the experience going, you know?" John tried to explain further. "Have you ever done anything you didn't need to do, just because you liked it?"
"Ballet."
"When you went to see Dmitri Shipkov about the Turk." John remembered it. "Do you still dance?" He'd never seen her do it; he'd had no idea.
"I did. In the old house, before we moved."
"Why'd you stop?" John asked.
"It didn't seem important after. I had other priorities." She didn't mention that some of them had included trying to find a way to stop herself from killing him – or to kill herself; or secretly visiting the library at night. She'd never told John about her friend Eric, or about Myron Stark. She'd found the library much more interesting, anyway.
"You should find a hobby," John said to her.
"What's yours?" Cameron asked him, curious.
John hesitated. "I… uh… I guess I don't really have one either."
That gave her an idea. "We should find one together." It made sense to her. If he could find something to relieve his stress, something that made him happy, she would share in it. It didn't matter what it was, to her; if he enjoyed it then she would enjoy being with him.
"Any ideas?" he asked.
Cameron thought about it for a moment, considering a list of possible activities they could do together in California, then excluded those that involved needless risk to his safety, those that provided too much exposure to the general public, and those that she deemed pointless. John was not going to get an Xbox.
"We could go hiking or mountain biking," she suggested. "Fresh air, exercise and it's away from the city."
"Away from people," John said, mirroring her thoughts. "I like it. We'll have to buy some bikes and some hiking gear."
"That won't be a problem: Weaver will authorise it. Mountain bikes won't be affected by EMP from nuclear fallout; it will be the fastest mode of transport for months so you'll need practice."
"You've thought this all out, haven't you?" John asked her rhetorically. Leave it to her to put a logical spin on something they were just going to do for fun.
"I think fast."
John looked down at the empty plates on the table, then up at Cameron. "Shall we go or do you want dessert?" he asked.
"No," she replied, "I don't want dessert."
With that decided, the pair got up and left the table. They'd already told the waiters to charge the meal to their room so they didn't have to hang around for a bill. Cameron left a tip on the table before they departed. Once outside the restaurant John took Cameron's hand in his and they walked through the hotel towards the elevators at the back of the lobby.
When one of the elevators came down they got inside and pushed the button for the seventh floor. The doors closed, leaving them alone inside, and the car started to slowly ascend. Cameron saw John's face from the corner of her eye; he stared blankly at the steel doors and she noticed his grip on her hand had loosened slightly.
"What are you thinking?" she asked, letting go of his hand and turning until she was facing him.
John inched towards her and reached out, placing his palm flat on her chest. At first she thought he was going to touch her breasts but he just kept his hand in place and a moment later she realised what he was doing. The spot he was touching was exactly where he'd cut into her nine days before, directly over her power cell.
"You're beautiful," he said to her, pressing his hand gently against her, feeling the heat emanate from her skin, even through her shirt.
Cameron said nothing but simply smiled in realisation. He'd been referring to all of her, not just her human exterior. He knew now, deep down, what she was; no longer under any illusion about her, and he still felt the same. He was human, she wasn't; and he didn't care. She pulled John even closer to her, pressing their bodies together, and she kissed him. Their lips remained locked together and she pushed him against the wall, leaning into him. She could feel him harden against her and she knew what he wanted.
When the elevator doors opened she led him by the hand towards their suite, opened the door with their key-card and quickly entered, closing it behind them.
Aegir sat on one of the sofas, staring at the TV. "Cameron," he said, turning his head and nodding at his once and future commanding officer. "Connor," he added after a few seconds, turning his attention back to the TV. John looked at the screen and saw that he was watching a nature documentary. He had no idea what was being said since he didn't understand a word of the language but there was a troop of monkeys on the screen. That seemed so out of place for Aegir, who'd never seemed to take much interest in anything around them that didn't involve fighting.
"Goodnight, Aegir," Cameron said, leading John towards their bedroom. She closed the door behind them, leaving the Vanguard in the lounge, separating the pair of them from the outside world. And then she turned the small lock to seal them inside.
The click of the lock turning suddenly seemed very, very loud to John, and he knew what it meant. He couldn't help but stiffen when she'd pushed herself against him, and he knew enough about how she worked to know that there was no way she hadn't noticed it. They came together again and kissed before Cameron sat down on the bed and looked at him. He knew what she wanted him to do, and he sat down on the edge of the bed beside her. She took his hand and John felt his heart beat faster in his chest as he dry-swallowed nervously. He saw her staring at him, their eyes locked together as she waited for him to say or do something.
It suddenly dawned on him exactly where they were. Everything that had happened in the last few weeks seemed to have led up to this moment. Finally, they were alone, comfortable with each other, and there was nothing lurking around outside, wanting to kill them. And, he admitted to himself, he was nervous. He had no idea what he was doing. If we do it, will she feel anything? Can she even feel anything like that? He remembered her telling him she had sensation and could feel. Did that mean she could enjoy it? What if I'm no good? He'd heard countless girls in high school corridors commenting on boyfriends or hook-ups they'd had; their size and performance. He knew Cameron wouldn't judge him but still… He felt an enormous pressure building up over him, and he wondered if this was what everyone felt when the time came.
He looked around the room, breaking their mutual gaze. He noticed the French windows leading out to the balcony outside their room, and the hot tub dominating the centre of it.
"Why don't we try out the hot tub?" he suggested to her.
"It's late."
"I've never tried one before," he said.
"Okay," she replied. They got up and opened the French windows, stepping outside onto the balcony. A gust of cool air hit John and he shivered slightly. It was chilly for him but he figured it'd be fine once he was in the water, and it'd buy some time. He knew what was probably going to happen once they went to bed, but he was anxious and wanted to calm himself down first. There was a minibar in the lounge and he was tempted for a moment to get a drink, but then decided against it.
Cameron pulled her top off and placed it on the ground, far enough from the tub that it wouldn't get wet. She then reached behind her back, unclipped her bra and tossed that onto her shirt, revealing her breasts to John. He noticed the way her nipples hardened in the cool air, and couldn't stop staring. He gulped again as she unbuttoned her jeans and slid them down.
"What're you doing?" he asked her. Watching her strip off wasn't helping him one bit.
"We don't have any suits," she said. She'd seen him gulp and took his hand again, sensing his heightened pulse and increased skin temperature, despite the cold air. She knew without scanning him that he was aroused – she'd known that he was attracted to her for some time – as she'd admitted in the van, but she realised he was also nervous. "We've seen each other naked before," she reassured him as she removed her panties and socks. Completely bare in front of him, Cameron climbed up into the tub and lowered herself down, submersing herself in the water.
John knew she was right and started to quickly remove his own clothes, chiding himself for being such a nervous wreck. You've seen her naked half a dozen times before: why are you so worried about it now? Once he was nude too he got into the tub and felt the jets blasting against his back. "That's nice," he said with a sigh.
Cameron broke the surface, having submerged herself to fully experience the sensations. She too liked the feel of the air jets against her skin. It was different to anything she'd ever felt before. She moved over until she was next to John, pressed against his side. Again she felt John's pulse increase and she knew why. She knew what he wanted even if he was nervous, and decided it would be best to wait for him to act first.
"I think we should get one of these for the safe house when we get home," John said.
"We should probably buy bathing suits if we do," Cameron added. "I don't think your mother would be happy seeing us naked together."
"Or Ellison," John said. "He'd probably have a heart attack." He closed his eyes and leaned back into the tub until everything but his face was submerged. The contrast between the cold air and hot water made him feel a little light-headed and the jets massaging his back relaxed him even more so. "I could fall asleep like this."
"You'd drown," Cameron warned him.
"You wouldn't let me. I trust you."
Cameron considered that. From what she'd seen recently he was telling the truth; he did seem to trust her, both with his life and also trusting her opinion. His behaviour towards her had changed dramatically in recent weeks. He'd deferred to her judgement about Los Angeles County Jail and he'd stood up to Catherine Weaver, when she knew he'd been terrified of the liquid metal terminator because of what she was. He'd come back for her when she'd fought the T-1001 in Crater Lake when he should have run. His actions and changed attitude towards her led to one conclusion: he'd finally accepted his feelings towards her.
"Why do you love me?" she questioned.
"I don't know," John said, shrugging. "I just do."
Cameron frowned. "I need to know why," she said with some insistence in her voice.
John wasn't sure what to say; for anyone else it would have been enough to know that he did love her, but clearly not her. He knew there were a hundred things he could have said, about how she protected him and risked her life for him day in and day out, but that wasn't why.
"Little things," he said.
"What little things?" she asked.
"Like how you always listen when I'm angry and want to vent, no matter what I'm saying. The way that every morning you'd put out my favourite cereal on the kitchen table so I didn't have to endure Mom's pancakes again, and how you got food out of the vending machine at ZeiraCorp when we slept the night in the basement so I'd have something to eat."
"How does that equate to love?" she asked him, still confused.
He shrugged. "You know what they say: the way to a man's heart is through his stomach."
Cameron disagreed. The easiest way to a man's heart was through the ribcage, to the left of the solar plexus, but she was learning that not everything humans said was to be taken literally.
"Little things," John reiterated. "You protect me because it's your mission – you made it your mission," he quickly corrected himself. "But you never had to do any of the other stuff for me."
His answer didn't satisfy her. "That doesn't seem very important." She didn't understand how that equated to love. It seemed to be the most confusing, conflicting emotion, so that even humans could not fully describe it or the reasons behind it. "You shouldn't love me," she said to him. "I tried to kill you. I hurt you. I stopped you from having a normal life." She said it as a matter of fact, without any of the self-pity that John would have expected from anyone else, as if she was telling him the grass was green or the sky was blue.
"I've never had a normal life," he said to her, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. "Remember where Mom and I lived before Red Valley?"
"West Fork, Nebraska," Cameron answered.
John nodded. "Before that it was a hippy town called Garberville; and before that, some redneck town in Georgia I can't even remember the name of. We were in West Fork for eight months and that was the longest we'd stayed anywhere since breaking Mom out of Pescadero. Since we killed the T-1000 I spent two and a half years as an outcast: I never had any friends because I couldn't let anyone in or get close to them in case they found out who I really was; I was always looking over my shoulder. I couldn't even use my real name. That's no kind of life."
"You can't use your real name now," Cameron said.
"The name doesn't matter," John replied. "I wasn't me. It was like we'd saved the world by destroying Cyberdyne, but there was no place in it for me. You changed that just by being. After you came I had a purpose, a reason to bother getting out of bed in the morning. And with you I can be John Connor again. No pretending like with everyone else.
"Without you I'd be nothing," he said. He decided not to let her dwell on that too much, knowing how inquisitive she could be. He decided to turn the tables on her. "Why do you love me?" he asked.
"The same reason," she told him honestly. "I don't have to pretend to be human around you. You know what I am. Everything I do, everything I think, revolves around you. Without you I have no reason to exist. And I like spending time with you; you teach me, you let me teach you. Because of you I'm more than I was."
Cameron stood up straight, getting out of the water, turned around and sat back down on John's lap, facing him. She kissed him hard on the lips and pressed her chest against him, grinding her crotch against his. She was done telling him she loved him: now she would show him.
John couldn't help but react, kissing her in reply and roaming his hands over her, just as he'd done at Crater Lake, wondering why he'd held back before. It felt right, but there was still one nagging doubt. "I… I've never done this before," he confessed.
Cameron shook her head. "I haven't either," she said.
That caught John by surprise. "But how you talk about Future-Me, I'd have thought we…"
"No," Cameron said decisively.
John weighed the consequences of that short reply. All this time he'd thought he was inheriting Cameron from his future self; that he was a poor second in every department, but now he realised she was his alone, and he hers.
Cameron exhaled as John's hand disappeared beneath the water, between her legs, and she kissed him again, grabbing him to return the favour. She closed her eyes and enjoyed sensations completely new to her as he explored with his hands and she moved against him.
Several minutes went by, both of them caught up in each other, when John lifted her up slightly and she felt him about to enter her. Cameron backed away, breaking the kiss, and got to her feet.
"What's wrong?" John looked up at her, confused and a little frustrated as memories of how they'd been interrupted before flashed in his mind. There was no threat around but she'd just stopped as they'd worked themselves up. I thought you weren't built to be cruel, he half-joked to himself.
"Not here," she said. "The bed will be more comfortable."
"Fair enough." John jumped out of the hot tub and Cameron handed him a towel. He dried himself quickly and noticed that Cameron too seemed to have a sense of urgency as she did the same. He watched her as she dried herself, admiring every curve of her body. She ran the towel through her hair until it was damp but no longer dripping.
John led her this time, back into the bedroom and closing the French windows behind them. They crossed the room to the bed, where both of them sat down and resumed kissing. Cameron lay back and pulled him on top of her. He kissed down her neck to her breasts, belly and beyond. She let him stay down there for several minutes, enjoying his ministrations, before pulling him back up and reaching between them to guide him towards her. She sighed as John finally took the initiative and pushed into her, joined her pleasured groan with his own. He'd never felt anything like it before and for a moment he was overwhelmed. In the back of his mind he wondered if she felt it like he did; when she let out a moan he was reassured.
Cameron reached behind him and pulled him into her again as she pushed back. They moved against each other, slowly at first but with a growing urgency, quickly finding a rhythm together. She sighed in pleasure and contentment. Everything was right, it was perfect. She was his, and he was hers. For now, nothing else mattered.