Chapter Thirteen

Santa Monica, California

Friday 1300 PST

Santa Monica Pier was much quieter than it would have been three months before. The Ferris wheel and the rollercoaster were still running but the time of year, combined with it being a weekday, meant that there were relatively few people around. Relative being the operative word; there were still enough people around that James Ellison didn't look too out of place.

He watched Savannah on one of the rides. When he'd told her that they were going to the beach, she hadn't expected a three-hour drive; nonetheless she was still happy to be there, enjoying herself, oblivious to why they were really in Santa Monica. He'd chosen it because it was far from Serrano Point and Pismo Beach, far enough for Auldridge to not be able to guess where he was coming from.

"I'd have preferred somewhere indoors," Auldridge said as he approached and sat down next to Ellison on the bench. He was holding a brown envelope. "I love this place in summer but not November."

"You said you wanted to talk," Ellison said.

"Not one for small talk: noted." Auldridge respected that, even though he enjoyed a patter with people to get the feel of them. Not Ellison, apparently. The man looked like he was all business. "Since ZeiraCorp was bombed out of existence on Wednesday, everyone in the government's gone crazy."

"Yeah," Ellison said. "I saw Senator Tate's rant on the news last night."

Auldridge shook his head. "It's not her that bothers me. It's that nobody knew this was coming. You remember what it was like after Nine-Eleven: we blamed the CIA, they blamed us. Everyone had pieces of information but the inter-agency rivalry meant that no one shared any information with each other and the hijackers slipped through the net."

"I remember," Ellison replied. Neither he nor anyone else in federal law enforcement needed reminding of that day.

"Well, that's the thing: with Nine-Eleven, the pieces were there but no one put together the puzzle in time. This is different: there was no chatter at all. No one saw it coming because it was out of the blue."

"Are you sure about that?" Ellison asked.

"Completely. Half the Bureau's agents have been pulled off other assignments to investigate Islamic terror cells in this country. The other half are doing the same with left wing, anti-capitalist groups, given the nature of the business that was attacked."

"And you?" Ellison asked. It was rhetorical.

"I think they're looking in the wrong direction," Auldridge said.

"Sarah Connor."

Auldridge nodded. "It's an amazing coincidence that one of this country's leading tech companies is bombed just days after she was broken out of prison, don't you think? It's not the first building she's blown up." He opened the envelope and took out a series of photographs. Some of them, Ellison had seen before. Cyberdyne. They showed the massive damage that her explosives had caused that building. The others were new but he recognised them from the adjacent buildings. It was what was left of ZeiraCorp. Now just a pile of rubble.

"She attacked Cyberdyne at night and nobody died except Miles Dyson. This was broad daylight and a suicide bombing that took many, many lives; not exactly her style."

"Crazy is her style," Auldridge said. "I'd like your help in finding her."

"It's a suicide bombing," Ellison reiterated. "You think it was her, look in the truck."

"There isn't enough left to fill an ashtray. A very small ashtray."

Ellison looked askance at the agent, unimpressed by his attempt at humour. If it was humour; Auldridge was very peculiar. "I'll ignore your poor choice of words while I grieve my dead colleagues."

Auldridge looked suitably chastened. "Of course, I'm sorry for your loss, James. But Sarah Connor has her son and other allies. They broke her out of Pelican Bay with some pretty heavy artillery–"

"The Connor case is a dead end," Ellison interrupted him. "It killed my career and it'll do the same to yours. My advice: drop it."

"All my colleagues tell me the same thing," he replied. "But there's something there. This isn't just some anti-American or anti-capitalist attack. You work for ZeiraCorp; you know what they do. Who else but Sarah Connor would have motive to go after them?"

What Ellison found frustrating was that he knew the answer to that but couldn't divulge it. For a moment he wondered what would happen if he told Auldridge the truth. He knew he couldn't. Even if the man believed him, Weaver would skin him alive. He decided to give him the truth, just not all of it.

"Off the record: Ms Weaver thinks it's a competitor. There's plenty of them out there and some can be pretty cutthroat. There were some top secret projects going on at ZeiraCorp; stuff way above my paygrade."

Auldridge frowned at that, sceptical. "Do you really think one tech company would blow up another one?"

Ellison nodded. "We just don't know who." He stood up and gestured towards the bumper cars. "That's Catherine Weaver's daughter. Given everything that's happened she's asked if I can look after her. She trusts me, and we need to go. I need to get her back to her mother."

"Bureau agent to security chief to babysitter in just a few months; interesting career path, James," Auldridge remarked.

Ellison just shrugged. "I'm where I wanna be right now." With that he left the agent sitting on the bench. He collected Savannah from the ride and they left the pier, heading towards the parking lot. He knew he hadn't dissuaded Auldridge from his investigation. The agent would keep hunting for Sarah and John. What Ellison had done, though, was learn something about Auldridge: he was working alone; with no help, no resources, and probably no one taking him seriously. He remembered what that was like and felt a moment's kinship with him. He also thought it was probably just what Sarah had felt for so many years. He found it funny how much he, Sarah and Agent Auldridge suddenly seemed to have in common.

Premier Palace Hotel, Kiev, Ukraine

Saturday 0830 Local Time [Friday 2230 PST]

Cameron lay on her side, watching John as he slumbered. His vital signs were significantly slower than usual. She knew his average pulse and breaths per minute both awake and asleep; currently fifteen beats and four breaths per minute slower. His face lacked its usual tension. She'd never seen him looking so peaceful.

He hadn't shaved for over a week, not since she'd cut his hair in the ZeiraCorp washroom the previous Friday. Now his jawline and upper lip were covered in dark stubble. She decided that she would suggest that he keep it, but trim his hair again to distance "John Cook" from the images of a youthful-looking fifteen year-old John Connor that the authorities had been circulating in the media. The look wasn't to her taste, but circumstances dictated their response.

Cameron had remained with John all night as he slept. She'd heard Aegir watching TV in the lounge, and later Sarah returning to the suite with Thor, who'd joined his subordinate in watching late-night television. She'd considered getting up to speak to them but hadn't wanted to leave John's side; she'd seen him in the throes of a nightmare before and didn't want him to suffer through one again.

It was impossible for Cameron not to sense his changing vital signs, so she knew exactly when he would awaken. John yawned and turned his head to face her as he did, rubbing his eyes before opening them.

"Hey," he said.

"Good morning," Cameron replied. "How did you sleep?"

"Good. Really good. But you knew that already, didn't you?"

Cameron nodded and slid closer to him as he put an arm under her. "Did you enjoy last night?"

John chuckled. "I don't think 'enjoy' quite covers it. Did you?"

"I didn't expect to, but yes: I liked it. I'd like to do it again."

John eased onto his side to face her, sliding his hands to her hips to pull her even closer to him, a sly grin on his face. "Don't need to tell me twice," he said a moment before he kissed her. She responded in kind and opened her mouth to deepen the kiss, feeling him quickly harden against her as her own body automatically responded in anticipation. For several minutes they were lost in each other, connected at the lips, until John rolled on top of her.

The bedroom door flew open and John froze for a second as Thor entered, filling the door frame with his bulk. "Can't you knock?" he groaned, frustrated as he moved off Cameron, sitting back on the bed and pulling the sheets up to cover himself. He noticed Cameron made no move to conceal herself; nudity not having the same, if any, significance for her.

"Get dressed," Thor said, unconcerned about having interrupted them. "We're leaving in ten minutes to recon the air show."

John wasn't the only one annoyed with Thor's entrance. The Vanguard leader didn't fail to notice the glare that Cameron gave him. He also saw the tilt of her head towards the lounge; silently telling him to go back, and suddenly realised what he'd interrupted: they were both naked in bed, and John had been prone atop her when he'd entered the room.

"Thirty minutes," Thor corrected himself before turning around and exiting the room, closing the door behind him to leave John and Cameron alone once more.

"It's a good thing you locked the door," John said sarcastically.

"Cromartie tore through a bank vault; a locked door won't stop Thor."

"Yeah I noticed," John said, still pissed. He sensed Cameron didn't want a fight, so dialled back his grouching. "The look you gave him, I doubt he'll do that again. But I was thinking more about Mom; there's things she shouldn't see." He raised his eyebrows pointedly.

Cameron wasted no time. She got up, grabbed a chair and rammed it under the door handle, then went back to the bed. She pushed John onto his back and climbed onto his lap before she resumed kissing him. They had twenty-nine minutes remaining and she didn't intend to squander a single second.

Gostomel Airport, Kiev, Ukraine

Saturday 1030 Local Time [0030 PST]

Aircraft soared through the sky; diving, ducking, twisting, leaving contrails in their wakes as they criss-crossed through the sky. A Kazakh SU-27 Flanker buzzed barely a hundred feet above the ground, chased by a Dutch F-16 Fighting Falcon perhaps three seconds behind it. The Flanker shot upwards and its pursuer followed, up to four thousand feet before the former turned upside down and dove towards the ground. The F-16 followed suit and copied the move, keeping its target in its sights. All around them more planes shot across the air; Ukrainian MiGs dodged Saudi Tornados while Russian jets flew circles around Indian Mirage fighters.

"Looks cool," John commented, looking up at the dozen or so planes engaged in mock combat for the sake of spectators on the ground. Five or six thousand people were spread across the airfield, a lot of them glancing up at the dogfighting. He knew nothing about planes but it looked pretty impressive to him.

"In a few years they'll be fighting for their lives against Skynet's drones," Sarah commented next to him. "They'll all be killed."

"Way to stay positive, Mom," John said as they strolled across the grounds.

"When have you ever known me to be an optimist?" she asked him.

John just shrugged. "Good point. We're alive, though; something to be glad about." They passed by a row of planes on the ground, each one cordoned off in squares of rope, with a stand and plaque detailing the aircraft's specifications and service history.

"What's got you in such a good mood?" she asked.

"I don't know; I just am," he said.

Sarah heard a slight defensive tone in his voice. An evil grin spread across her face as she turned to look at her son. "Maybe I'll just ask Cameron."

John turned a deep red with embarrassment before he turned his face away from her. "Mom!" he moaned.

She took a moment to enjoy his discomfort. "Oh, relax, John, I'm just giving you a hard time: I told you to make your own choice, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did. So, did Thor tell you?"

"Confirmation: that explains why you were so hungry this morning." He'd emerged from his bedroom yawning heavily, alongside Cameron, who wouldn't let them leave until he'd eaten. John had ordered two breakfasts from room service; one was for Cameron, though she'd given him most of it. "No, Thor didn't tell me; I was just giving you a hard time."

"You're enjoying making me uncomfortable, aren't you?" All John wanted at that moment was for the ground to open up and swallow him, or better yet, a terminator to show up and stop the nightmare.

"It's a mom thing, John."

John just shook his head and sighed. "You're an evil, evil woman." He doubted Cameron was getting this kind of crap from the Vanguards. The thought of the giants brought one of them in particular to mind. "Why's Thor in charge now?"

Sarah glanced at her son. "What makes you think he is?"

"The way he just barged into our room and got us up like a drill sergeant at reveille; how you didn't seem to have a problem with it when he started giving us orders."

Sarah raised a curious eyebrow. "I didn't think you'd mind taking orders from a machine," she said. "Since you're dating one now."

"I'm not, but you weren't bothered either, and that bothers me. No offence Mom but you're kind of a control freak."

"None taken," Sarah said sarcastically as they strolled along a row of various transport planes. None of those took her interest; they didn't seem likely to be linked to Kaliba. "How come she let you out of her sight, then?" Sarah thought it strange that Cameron had left John with her and had gone with Thor and Freyr instead.

"I wanted to spend some time with you, and Cameron agreed with me. So what is it?" John asked her. "Are you sure you're not sick? Because I can't think of any other reason why you'd let anyone else – especially a cyborg – be in charge."

Sarah groaned inwardly. Why does he have to be so observant? She knew precisely why, of course; she'd raised him to be and his experiences had taught him to pay extra attention. Cameron had fooled him for two days when they'd first met; she reckoned that since then he'd been watching people closely, although Riley had been a clear slip in his judgement. Maybe she could also distract him?

"What's with the beard? Trying to look older?"

"That and just different. Cameron's idea," John said.

"Cameron again, eh?" Sarah teased.

"Mom, stop trying to avoid my question!" John snapped, then sighed. "Yes, she makes suggestions; you know they usually make sense." He touched her arm. "What's going on with you?"

"I'm fine," she said to him as they left the cargo planes behind and turned left, walking towards a row of unmanned aircraft on display. Closest to them were the smallest, positioned on pedestals to allow people to see them more easily. The ones nearest were little more than remote control model toy airplanes with cameras attached, but they got bigger as they moved along; some of them sprouting missiles or bombs underneath the wings.

"So what's up?" John asked again, more insistent this time.

"I'm tired," Sarah said. It was the truth, just not all of it. "I could do with some downtime."

"You call this downtime?" John asked as they moved through throngs of people all standing still, talking in a language he didn't understand, and taking photos by the hundreds. Both he and Sarah were careful to make sure they didn't inadvertently get caught in any pictures.

"For me, yeah," Sarah said. "It's not easy being in charge all the time; it takes it out of you. Thor's going to run things for a while so I can take a breather. There's another reason, too, John: this war's changed from when Kyle came back and saved me. It's changed since Cameron came back, too. AIs fighting AIs and cyborgs fighting cyborgs who were built to kill other machines; some of whom will be allied with you. That's so far beyond me I don't know where to start preparing you for that. It's out of my league. It's out of Cameron's, too. Thor's from that future, though, and he's a leader. He can teach you more about that war than I ever could."

That instantly set alarm bells ringing in John's head. For her to come out and say she was obsolete, that a cyborg could be better than her: something was wrong.

"Look at this," Sarah said, distracting John from his train of thought. She quickened her pace and John saw what she was looking at. They both moved rapidly towards it; what they'd seen on TV, the thing that had brought them to the air show in the first place. They pushed through the camera-wielding tourists and went right up to the rope perimeter. Sarah guessed it was around thirty feet long, with circular engines on either side of the fuselage at the base of short, swept-back wings. At the rear of the drone were large tailplanes that were bigger than the actual wings sticking out from the engine nacelles.

"This one's armed," John commented, pointing at the drone. He could see a missile underneath each wing and two more on the left and right-hand side of the fuselage. "It's bigger than the one we saw on that farm," he added. "Newer model, maybe?"

"If it is then they work fast," Sarah said. The one that she'd seen outside Desert Canyon Heat and Air, and again as it jumped out of the pond in the cattle ranch, had been a lot smaller; maybe half the length. It had also looked a lot stranger, more otherworldly. It was possible they'd refined the design but if they had, in such a short time, then that was seriously bad news.

John pulled his cell phone out and pressed 2 on the speed dial. As soon as it was answered he heard two tones. He then punched two keys on the phone in reply. "Cameron, we've found it. We're near Hangar Ten."

Cameron walked through the airfield along a taxiing lane, past rows and rows of fighter aircraft on display, surrounded by rope partitions where tourists took photos. Each one had a stand with a plaque on it, with information about the aircraft printed in Ukrainian, Russian and badly-translated English. She stopped at a large plane with Russian red stars on the twin rudders at the back. It was large and heavily armed, with eight air to air missiles attached to the wings and a further four underneath the fuselage.

Cameron read the information on offer, starting with the plane's name: SU-37 Terminator. She smiled at that. "They named a plane after us," she said.

"Not much of a plane," Freyr commented behind her. Beyond that one was an even larger Russian fighter with wings swept forwards instead of back like the rest. The description on that one claimed it was the most advanced Russian fighter to date. He was less than impressed. "They're primitive."

"They're what the humans have," Thor said. "They'll be all that stand against HKs."

"And they'll lose."

That piqued Cameron's curiosity. "How do you know?" she asked. She knew it would happen eventually, of course. The Resistance had possessed no aircraft in her future; they'd learned quickly that Skynet had total air supremacy. But she had very little information on the early days of the war; just what Future John and the handful of fighters who had ever spoken to her had said.

"I had a human friend in TechCom," Freyr said.

"You had friends?" Cameron was surprised.

"We said before: cyborgs and humans were more integrated in our future." Thor said.

Freyr continued, ignoring the interruption. "He was an F-22 pilot when the war started. He flew seven sorties after Judgment Day, during which he only shot down a single drone. Most of his squadron were killed before they could do even that. His last engagement involved two squadrons totalling almost thirty Raptors sent to intercept Skynet bombers carrying thermobaric weapons, targeting secondary cities. The Raptors outnumbered the drone fighters three to one but were completely destroyed. Two pilots ejected but the rest were killed. Skynet had total air supremacy from 2012 until 2021, when John Henry's first unmanned fighters became operational."

"These planes are too primitive," Thor repeated. "But the real limitation is the pilot," he said. Skynet's drones could manoeuvre in ways that the human body couldn't withstand. They could react much faster than even the best pilots.

"Don't tell Sarah that," Cameron replied. "She doesn't like being told people are inferior."

"She knows," Thor said. He looked to the planes, brimming with missiles, and for a moment he empathised with the pilots who would fly and fight and die against Skynet. They would be outmatched completely; their only chance to survive would be to retreat and scatter.

Cameron's phone rang suddenly. She pulled it out of her pocket and answered, dialling two keys as per their protocol. She said nothing until she heard two tones in reply, then John's voice on the other end. "We're on our way," she replied, hanging up. "Hangar Ten," she told Thor and Freyr. "They've found it."

The trio jogged through the crowds to get to Hangar Ten on the far side of the airfield, ignoring the stares and cursing of people as they pushed through. They caused a furore when they ran across one of the runways where a jet fighter was taxiing for take-off.

It only took seconds for them to locate John and Sarah, staring at the aircraft in question. Thor ploughed through several people, much to their vocalised annoyance. They pushed their way to the front to join the Connors. Cameron positioned herself next to John and slid her hand into his, feeling him squeeze nervously back. "Is that the real deal?" he asked Cameron.

"It looks similar," she said. "But not the one we saw in the desert. It could be another model."

"That's what I said," Sarah replied, still staring at it.

"Who's that?" Freyr asked, gesturing at a suited man standing next to the drone, who was talking to the crowd about the aircraft. He had a name badge identifying him as one Ivan Pedrov. There was a company logo on the badge but he didn't know it.

"I don't recognise him," Cameron said.

"Could he be working for Kaliba?" Sarah asked.

"I don't know."

"He might not even know it if he is," John said. "I'd bet money that most people who work for Kaliba have no idea what they're really up to."

"Catherine Weaver might know," Freyr said.

John took his phone out of his pocket, activated the camera and pointed it at Pedrov as he spoke to the crowd. With so many people taking pictures nobody noticed that the image he captured was of the exec and not the plane. He photographed the man and then zoomed in on his badge before taking another picture and turning his focus to the drone itself. He sent the photos to John Henry before turning to Cameron. "What's he saying?" he asked.

"He's talking about the development of the drone. He says they took the tilt-engine concept of the American Osprey but replaced the rotors with jets. He claims the engines are a revolutionary new design that allow for near-silent flight. They have designs for troop carriers as well as attack aircraft."

"Ask him if it's fully autonomous or if it needs a remote pilot, and if they plan to control it with an AI."

Cameron stepped forward and translated John's question, interrupting the man mid-speech. He answered her and then she again translated back into English. "It's remote controlled."

Thor stepped over the rope and went right up to the UCAV, ignoring Pedrov's protest. He examined it closely before opening a hatch and inspecting the inside. "Please don't touch it," Pedrov snapped at him. "You're not allowed to be this close; step back with the others."

Thor disregarded him as he tried to pull him away from the machine. The man was fortunate that it was him who was examining the drone and not Aegir, who was back at the hotel; the other Vanguard would have floored him.

"This isn't as advanced as you indicated," Thor said to the man. Inside it was a mess of wires. No solid state circuitry, no advanced CPU.

"Nonsense. Its technology is equal to American and European unmanned aircraft."

"Which is still inferior."

"Let me guess: American, British?" Pedrov relaxed slightly, thinking to himself that this was just another boorish tourist who'd played too many computer games and thought they knew everything.

"Can you make it fly?" Thor asked, loud enough for the crowd to hear.

"Not today," Pedrov replied, looking nervous again. "Demonstration is scheduled for tomorrow." He gestured back towards the spectators on the other side of the rope. "Now please, or I must call security."

Thor complied and went back to the others.

"Well?" Sarah asked.

"It's not Kaliba's," Thor said.

"How'd you know?"

"Too primitive."

"It could just be an early model," John suggested.

"The CPU is too primitive," Thor repeated. "It's no more advanced than the planes we saw. Less than some. There are cars with computers more advanced than this."

"How'd you know that?" John asked.

"Top Gear. We don't sleep," Freyr replied. John couldn't help but smile a little at Freyr's Cameron-ism. They were definitely descended from her.

Thor held his hand up to John's face. "Smell this."

John hesitated but did as Thor said, and sniffed his hand. "Gas," he said. "What about it?"

"Skynet wouldn't use aviation fuel for its aircraft. Even now."

"That's a big leap," Sarah replied. "They might just not be as advanced yet as we thought."

John shook his head. "Thor's right, Mom. After J-Day it'll be near-impossible to get access to oil, even for Skynet."

Cameron agreed with him. "HKs in the future were powered by hydrogen." Water was everywhere, providing an inexhaustible supply for Skynet's war machines. Also, the drone they'd seen before hadn't smelled of avgas like this one did.

"Couldn't it be a bluff?" Sarah asked. "Make it seem less advanced than it really is; maybe hiding the real design?"

"Why go to that length when they could just do it in secret?" John asked rhetorically. "Why bother putting it on public display and run the risk of someone tracing it back to Skynet? It's a bust, Mom."

Sarah gritted her teeth in frustration and stared at the Not-HK. "You mean we came out here for nothing?"

"It appears so," Freyr said.

"We'll return to the hotel and make a new plan," Thor said. He turned away from the faux HK and marched off. Freyr went after him, followed by John, Cameron and finally Sarah. The elder Connor just shook her head. She couldn't believe this whole trip had been a complete farce; first the pig farm and now this. Every time they thought they had a breakthrough they just went around in circles and ended up back at square one, and she was getting pissed at it all.

Pripyat, Ukraine

Saturday 1350 Local Time [0350 PST]

Dead.

That was the only word Ronin could use to describe their present location in the town of Pripyat, deep inside the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone. They were less than three kilometres from the nuclear plant that was the centre of the zone, and there was no human or animal life that he could see. Plants and trees were still growing, wild and out of control in some places. Grass verges on the kerbs that would normally have been kept short and tidy were tall enough to reach past his knees as he walked through one such patch and stared down the road.

Everything was desolate, abandoned and left to slowly crumble and decay. Cars sat idle on the roadsides, patches of red rust showing through where the elements had eroded the paint finishes. The same was happening to the buildings around them. Constant exposure to rain and wind, freezing cold winters with ice and snow, and blazing-hot summers over three decades, coupled with zero maintenance had peeled the outer layers on homes and offices to reveal bare concrete that was starting to crumble.

Ronin had seen towns and cities in North America that were very similar to Pripyat: abandoned after Judgment Day either to avoid the fallout or the fighting, undamaged except for the slow decay of weather and time. The ground both here and in his time was littered with an assortment of items including clothing, food wrappers, toys and other detritus; left behind by people hastily evacuated to escape the radiation.

Said radiation in their current location was considerably higher than the rest of the town. Further out he had seen a tour group allowed into the town, under supervision. But those tourists would never be allowed as far in as Ronin and his cohort had gone. The only humans who were as deep into the exclusion zone as them were government officials who appeared to be part of a clean-up operation. It was they whom Ronin and his cohort were waiting for.

The bulk of their cyborgs were spread out on the top floors and roofs of the buildings around them, keeping lookout. Ronin, Caesar and Shirley remained on the ground. They'd spotted several trucks moving through the town, into and out of the exclusion zone, but they were always in convoy; three trucks or more. They didn't know how many men were inside but they couldn't guarantee killing all of them before anyone broadcast a distress call.

It had taken almost twenty-four hours to reach Pripyat on foot, skirting around a large lake and also crossing briefly into neighbouring Belarus. As they'd neared the Exclusion Zone Ronin had seen how heavily guarded it was. They'd had to jump over fences far from any roads to avoid being seen. Kaliba had a factory here and it could only be supplied by road, meaning that transport would have to pass through checkpoints. If the authorities allowed them through then it meant that the Ukrainian government, or army, or elements of both were cooperating with Kaliba. Any transmissions could be monitored by Skynet. They needed to capture the factory unawares, like they did with Chihuahua. They didn't need a truck for the attack itself but they'd need it to bring the bomb later.

"Single vehicle approaching from the north," one of the T-888s called out from a rooftop, pointing at the road he meant. They'd waited for approximately four hours for a lone truck to come, long enough for Ronin, Caesar and Shirley to have already discussed alternative plans should they not find one.

Ronin peeked around the corner of the building and saw the truck approaching them in the distance, approximately one thousand metres away and closing. It continued to bear down on their position.

Caesar slung his M-32 behind his back and walked towards the truck with Shirley. The T-900 held his hands up and continued onwards as the truck came even nearer and pulled to a stop. The doors opened and a man wearing a black uniform got out from the passenger side as other men jumped out of the back. There were four of them from the rear, all armed with AKs and all bearing badges on berets and on their sleeves with the blue and yellow Ukrainian flag.

The senior man of the group shouted something at Caesar and Shirley but none of them understood the language. "This is a restricted area," he said, switching to English. "Are you idiots? This place is radioactive. You're all under arrest and–"

He was interrupted by a silver flash shooting from his side and catching him in the neck, drawing a red line under his chin. It took a second for his head to roll forward off his shoulders and the body to collapse on the floor in a heap. The other men stared at the blood dripping off the curved sabre that was Shirley's forearm. She didn't give any of them a chance to respond, moving forward and skewering them with both hands before any of them could fire a shot or even think of reaching for a radio.

"Hide the bodies," Ronin ordered as the T-888s assembled by the truck. The corpses were tossed through a window into one of the buildings, out of sight. They seemed to have been patrolling the Exclusion Zone, probably searching for trespassers.

"Get in," Shirley said to them as she took the driver's seat. Ronin got into the front while Caesar, Icarus and the others climbed into the rear of the vehicle. Shirley drove away from the dead men, swiftly accelerating from the scene.

They continued on for the next mile and a half without incident. Shirley stopped when they were two blocks away from the factory, switched the engine off and turned her head towards Ronin.

"Infiltrate the factory. We need to know their numbers and defences," he ordered.

Shirley made no reply but opened the door and slid out, stepping down from the truck onto the road. She reached up and put her hand on the seat she'd just vacated. The appendage turned silver and separated from the rest of her. She moved back and closed the door before morphing into a silver snake, then shot away from the truck. Within seconds she'd disappeared from Ronin's sight. The hand she'd left behind then formed a perfect silver sphere, which he put on the dashboard for the time being. He eased over into the driver's seat and glanced around through the windows and windshield for any signs of movement. The only thing he could do now was to wait while Shirley performed her recon.

Premier Palace Hotel, Kiev, Ukraine

Saturday 1400 Local Time [0400 PST]

The mood inside the elevator was distinctly sour. The five passengers all shared the same sense of disappointment. John leaned against the mirrored wall with his arms crossed in front of his chest, staring at the floor. Sarah did likewise but with her hands in her pockets, while Thor, Freyr and Cameron stood rigid in identical stances.

"That went well," John said sarcastically, finally breaking the silence and voicing the frustration they all felt.

"We'll find them," Thor replied.

"Some time before Judgment Day would be nice," John shot back. First a pig farm, then an air show; he dreaded where they'd end up next. Might as well go searching door to door.

"Judgment Day isn't for another four years: we have time."

For you, maybe, Sarah thought. She didn't know the test results yet but her gut told her she wouldn't make it another four years. She couldn't let John know that, though. She didn't hold out much hope but she didn't want her son to lose his.

"Could be less than that," John said. "We just don't know."

"Forget about it tonight," Sarah said to him. "Take the evening off and we'll think of something in the morning."

"Any ideas?" John asked Cameron.

"We can go back to Oregon," she suggested. "Infiltrate Klamath and search their records for shipment destinations or interrogate staff."

"We can't go back," Sarah said, shaking her head. "If we leave now Kaliba might find out we were here and up sticks. We might never find their factory again."

"They might have moved it already," Freyr said. "They knew the shipment was being tracked."

None of them liked the thought of that. It was hard enough to find any leads on Skynet even when it and Kaliba weren't hiding from them.

"I hear someone outside our room," Cameron said as the elevator came to a stop on their floor. She stepped through the opening doors into the hallway, quickly followed by the others. As Sarah moved forward she reached behind to grip the handle of the pistol in the back of her jeans but refrained from pulling it out completely. Now she heard voices too.

They rounded the corner and saw two women standing outside the entrance to their suite, facing Aegir. She couldn't understand what they were saying but she could tell from their tones that the two women were afraid. One of them shouted at Aegir, who said something back in Ukrainian.

"What's going on?" Sarah asked, walking up to them.

"Aegir: explain," Thor said.

"They're trying to enter the suite," Aegir said.

Sarah approached the two women. From their uniforms they appeared to be hotel staff; maids or housekeepers. "Do you speak English?" she asked. From the look on their faces, she guessed they didn't. "One of you," she said to the assembled cyborgs. "Find out what happened."

Thor switched to Ukrainian and spoke to the two. "Tell me what happened," he instructed them.

They looked at him warily, clearly suspicious, but one of them answered. "We're here to clean your suite, but that one," she pointed at Aegir, "threatened to kill us if we tried to enter."

"No one is going to kill you," Thor said to her.

"He said he'd break our necks!" the other one snapped angrily. Thor glanced up at his fellow Vanguard.

"Why were you threatening them?" he asked silently via radio.

"They could be working for Skynet. I won't take chances."

Thor questioned his earlier decision to leave Aegir behind. Where Freyr had made human acquaintances and spent much of his time between missions learning, Aegir had shown no interest in social interaction whatsoever. Aegir didn't play well with others.

"We're sorry for our friend's behaviour," Freyr added.

"What's going on?" Sarah asked.

Cameron translated for her. "Aegir threatened to kill the housekeepers if they tried to enter the room."

"Goddamn metal," she grumbled under her breath, knowing full well that Aegir could hear it. She pulled a wad of the local currency out of her back pocket and started counting out one and two hundred notes. "How much is that worth?" she asked Cameron as she took out two thousand Hryvni.

"Two hundred dollars."

Sarah doled out another two thousand and handed them each an equal wad. "Tell them we can keep it just between us."

Cameron did as Sarah asked and one of the housekeepers asked her something. She turned back to Sarah to translate again. "She says they have to change the sheets; they're paid per room they clean."

"Give us the sheets; we'll change them ourselves and you can tell your manager that you did it," Sarah said, just wanting to get this over with. Cameron again relayed the message and they nodded. One of them took a pile of sheets and pillowcases and handed them to Sarah, saying something and pointing to the laundry chute, before they quickly took their leave.

Cameron again translated the cleaner's final instruction. "We're to place the used sheets in there."

Once the cleaners had gone, disappearing down the corridor and into the elevator, Sarah turned on the massive cyborg, glaring daggers at him.

"What the hell was that?" she snarled at him.

"They were a security threat," Aegir stated unapologetically.

"They're cleaners and you were threatening to kill them?" She was incredulous. She stepped towards him and thrust out the sheets. "You're making the beds since they can't."

Aegir sidestepped her as she held them out, again surprising Sarah with how quick a machine his size could be. "I don't make beds. I'll take watch on the roof." He marched off, leaving a furious Sarah Connor in his wake.

"I'll make the beds," Cameron said. She took the sheets from Sarah and let the elder Connor and two remaining Vanguards enter the suite before she and John did, with him closing and locking the door behind them.

John reached out and took the sheets from Cameron. "I'll do them," he said. He walked to their room and dropped them onto a chair before he started stripping the crumpled linens from their bed. Cameron started doing the same to the quilt and the pillows, removing the cases and dropping them in a pile on the floor.

"I can do it," she said.

"Yeah, but you shouldn't have to," John replied. "I remember dumping the laundry on you a while back and I shouldn't have done that." What was worse, he thought, was how he'd turned the lights off and left her in the dark like she was just some appliance. "It was a really shitty thing to do, and I'm sorry."

"Its fine," she said to him as she inserted the duvet into the new cover and shook it out to even it.

"It's not. I saw in the morning that you were upset about it." John put the sheet over the mattress and tucked it in underneath.

"That didn't upset me," she said, moving to help John with the sheet. She tucked it in so tight and so precisely that it would have impressed any drill sergeant. "What upset me was that you'd snuck out to see Riley."

John looked away in shame. "I'm sorry for that, too," he said. He resolved that he'd never do anything like that to her, his mom, or anyone else who meant anything to him ever again. He gently pulled her to him, wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her. They both sat down on the bed and continued to kiss, both of them, for a moment, forgetting all the crap going on outside, content in each other's arms.