Afterimage
by zerofret
Chapter 5: Sharp Focus
January 1995 –
The black late-model Mustang crested the rise in the road at such a terrific speed that its wheels momentarily lost contact with the pavement. Once earthbound again, it roared on into the nighttime countryside, its headlights cutting a swath of light through the darkness before it. The tranquil stillness of the rural landscape was restored, as the Mustang – its taillights glowing red, like two fiercely burning eyes – receded into the distance.
It was a short-lived respite. Soon afterward, a hazy glow appeared on the horizon again. An SUV now hurtled over the rise. It too sped into the night, steadily closing the gap on the preceding vehicle. Half a mile on, that gap had been eliminated. The SUV, riding just off of the Mustang's rear bumper, accelerated hard toward the car, striking it solidly. The Ford slewed wildly, then straightened out again, managing to hold the road. Having fallen back slightly, the larger vehicle now engaged the smaller one again. It commenced a repeated assault, bumping the other car first from behind, then from the side, trying to force it off the road. The smaller car – battered from the onslaught – weaved back and forth on the road, attempting to evade the blows.
Locked against each other in a death grip, the two cars negotiated a sharp bend in the road. Squealing rubber and grinding metal shrieked a hellish duet, as the machines – at the behest of their phantom drivers – jockeyed for position on the road. Around the bend, the ironwork of a bridge loomed in the near distance. As they drew closer to it, the SUV swung hard into the Mustang's left side, forcing it toward the shoulder of the road…and into the immediate path of an iron bridge pillar. Only seconds before impact, the Mustang veered sharply to the right. It seemed it might be able to avoid the certainly fatal collision. And miraculously, it did.
But the car rocked onto its right side wheels in response to the sudden change of direction; it was now threatening to overturn. The left side wheels spun freely in the air, then struck the concrete base of the pillar. A loud crack echoed across the countryside as the front tire blew out, and the car lurched up and over the concrete block. Immediately the vehicle was airborne, flipping over as its momentum launched it out over the river that flowed under the bridge. It smashed into the water with deadly impact, remaining visible for only a few seconds. Then it was swallowed by the river, sinking to its final resting place, and taking its human cargo with it. Within moments, mild ripples in the water were the sole evidence that anything at all had occurred here. Nothing – and no one – broke the surface; the river flowed placidly once again. After idling by the roadside for a brief time, the SUV geared up and rocketed into the night. A hushed stillness reclaimed the dark country road.
Stan's eyes gleamed as he looked on in satisfaction. Perfect! he thought. He couldn't have hoped for any better, and he was extremely pleased with the results he'd gotten. His eyes lingered on the scene; he was thoroughly enjoying it.
A woman's voice then broke the silence: "You have a phone call, Stan. Should I take a message?"
Reality intrudes, Stan sighed to himself. Looking to his right, he saw a set assistant hovering by his side. He was about to answer "yes", then suddenly changed his mind.
"No, that's okay, Nancy," he said agreeably, "I'll take the call." He gestured over his shoulder toward the back of the small screening theatre he was sitting in. "I'll get it back by the projection room."
He had been viewing raw footage for his current feature film, and what he had seen today had put him in a good mood indeed. The stunt drivers had outdone themselves. It was all coming together nicely. This was fortunate, because he knew the pressure was on. This suspense-thriller would be his third feature film. His second film had garnered a fair amount of attention, so there were high expectations for this one. All of the potential he had shown in the first two films would have to be fully realized in this current effort. But he was feeling confident.
He stood and walked to a narrow corridor that led from the back of the screening room. Lifting the receiver of the phone that hung on the wall there, he greeted his caller: "Hello. It's Stan Morsky."
He was met with only silence on the other end of the line. "Hello," he repeated, a bit louder this time, and with slight impatience. "Anybody there?"
"Stan?" a voice asked hesitantly, almost as if the caller didn't believe it was really him. But Stan knew who he was talking to immediately, and it left him feeling both surprised and relieved.
"Al?!" he replied, the shock evident in his voice. "Hey, where have you been? I was worried about you when I didn't hear from you this past – "
"I need to talk to you," Al cut in.
"Sure, buddy, what's up?"
"No, not on the phone. I have to talk to you in person. Can you meet me at the pier?"
"Not on the phone?" Stan echoed. "Meet you at the pier? Hey, sounds clandestine," he kidded, "like a spy movie."
But Al clearly wasn't in the mood for jokes. "Will you meet me there?" he asked again, insistently.
Stan grew serious now. "Yeah, sure, I'll meet you. You okay?"
"I've been better."
Stan was already continuing, counting off on his fingers as he spoke: "It's just that you suddenly changed your phone number, your address, your e-mail…everything all at once. And you didn't leave forwarding for any of it."
"I'll explain everything," Al promised. "That'll have to do for now, okay?"
Stan was puzzled by Al's secrecy, and concerned about the tone of urgency in his voice. But there was no point in questioning it further; Al obviously wasn't going to say anything more about it right now.
"Okay then, the pier it is. When?"
ooOOoo
They met the next afternoon. It was a cool day on the beach, and Stan wandered along the pier with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets for warmth. Within a few minutes, he spotted Alex coming along the boardwalk toward the pier. He waved to get his attention, and Al returned a quick wave of acknowledgment. Stan waited where he was; when Al got to him, they greeted each other with a handshake.
"It's good to see you," Al said, smiling.
"You, too. I tried to call you awhile back, but…" He shrugged. Al nodded his understanding; he had been unreachable.
"So how are things going?" Al asked casually.
"I'm doing great," Stan assured him. "It's you I'm worried about. What's going on?"
Al ignored the question. "And how goes the movie biz? You have a pretty big project on the go right now, don't you?"
Stan nodded. "Yeah, it's make or break time."
"Is it coming along well?"
"I'm pretty happy with it so far. I was reviewing some of the footage when you called." Stan eyed Al levelly. "But you didn't bring me all the way out here to discuss my next film."
"No," Al admitted.
"So what did you need to talk to me about?"
Al paced a few steps, a rather lost expression on his face. "I just thought it was time you knew."
"Knew what?"
Al was still hesitant, as if he didn't know where to begin. Clearly, this was hard for him. "There's a lot to try to absorb here," he said quietly.
Then let's get started already, Stan thought. He just wanted Al to cut to the chase so that he'd know why they were there. He tried to ease him into it. "Tell you what," he offered, "why don't we go grab a bite to eat, and we'll have plenty of time to – "
"No!" Al shook his head vehemently. "We have to talk out here."
Stan – a bit taken aback by the sharp tone of his friend's voice – agreed to his demand. "Okay," he said carefully, not wanting to upset him further, "whatever you want."
Al nodded curtly, then turned and started to walk toward the far end of the pier. Stan, mystified by his friend's behaviour, watched him go for a moment, before hurrying to catch up. They walked in silence, each one lost in his own thoughts. Stan noted how few people were around the pier on this gray afternoon. And I think that's exactly why Al chose this as a meeting spot, he thought to himself.
When they reached the end of the pier, Al leaned against the railing, and gazed out at the white-capped waves rolling in toward the shore. Stan waited patiently while a minute or two passed. Finally, Al turned to him.
"Have you heard anything about Sarah Connor recently?"
This question left Stan thoroughly non-plussed. "Sarah Connor?!" he asked incredulously. Al simply waited silently for an answer, so Stan continued: "As a matter of fact, I have."
"What have you heard? What do you know about her?"
Where to begin, Stan mused to himself. He gave a flippant reply: "Well, I know that she's not exactly the Avon lady."
Al laughed bitterly. "No," he agreed. "No, she's not." Almost to himself he muttered, "You sure wouldn't want to get a house call from Sarah Connor."
Suddenly, something clicked into place for Stan. "But Cyberdyne did get one, didn't they?" he prompted. Al was kicking idly at pebbles on the pier. He looked up now – directly at Stan – and nodded solemnly.
Stan's nonchalance about Sarah was strictly a front. In truth, he had been deeply shocked by the transformation she had undergone during the past decade. It had been revealed to him one surreal night this past year. He had turned on his TV to find that Sarah was in the news. This time, though, Sarah wasn't the victim; she was the aggressor. She had been foiled in an attempt to blow up the Cyberdyne Systems building in Irvine. The police had moved in quickly; TV crews had been hot on their heels, having caught wind of a potentially sensational news story. The resulting video footage had been shown repeatedly on several news programs. It now started – completely unbidden – to play itself out in Stan's mind.
In the darkness, a heavy police presence could be seen around the building. Strobing lights on top of police cruisers cast the scene in a garish light. Members of the bomb squad milled about. From time to time, shouts could be heard in the darkness, as orders and directions were given.
This was followed by a camera shot of an EMS vehicle standing by, with its back doors open. Two paramedics wheeling a stretcher came into view; they stopped and prepared to load it into the ambulance. The lights of the TV crews reflected sharply off of a handcuff bracelet that was secured to the stretcher. The connecting chain snaked away under a sheet to the other cuff, which held fast the stretcher's occupant. That person was a disheveled and barely recognizable – at least to Stan – Sarah Connor. The sheet draped over her was stained with blood, in the area of her upper left arm. It had been necessary for the police to shoot the perpetrator in order to subdue her, the newscaster was reporting. Despite her weak condition, Sarah was still protesting, periodically spitting epithets at her captors:
"Don't you see, I have to stop them! Listen to me, you-" A lengthy censoring tone blocked out the next few words. "You don't understand! It's not too late, the future is not s – "
The ambulance doors slammed closed and the vehicle moved away, surrounded by a police escort.
Sarah had continued to appear in the news for the better part of a month. TV stations had stayed with the story, giving viewers as much background as they could about the would-be bomber. The images that had flashed across his TV screen had revealed Sarah as a now hardened and toughened woman, the very picture of battle ready fitness. And she appeared to be expecting a battle, as she was perennially outfitted in paramilitary style dress. The soft grey eyes had hardened to flint.
She was a drifter, moving not just from town to town, but from country to country. She had connections with underground militia groups, and with mercenaries in various Latin American countries. Her known involvement in gunrunning, and in other illegal activities, linked her to a number of unsavory characters. Their names – Salceda and Gant, among others – meant nothing to Stan. But worst of all, in the opinion of the TV news journalists, was the fact that her young son was forced to live this same vagabond existence. Surely, they speculated, he was being influenced by his mother's lifestyle; this didn't bode well for the young man's future. Sarah Connor, however, didn't appear to be the kind of woman who lost any sleep over her lack of parenting skills.
The news journalists inevitably summed up their findings by attributing Connor's anti-social behaviour to a key event in her life. She had been profoundly traumatized by a stalking incident that had happened a decade ago. She had survived the ordeal, but several people close to her – her mother, her best friend, and a man who had been her self-styled protector – had all become victims of the gunman. The stalker had never been apprehended. No doubt, the analysts maintained, the emotional trauma of this event, combined with the uncertain outcome, had left Connor deeply disturbed. Her character and personality had been fundamentally changed. Her self-transformation into a precision fighter and marksman was easily accounted for, they said. Clearly, she expected the gunman to return someday to complete his unfinished business; she intended to be ready for him.
But the experts had fewer answers as to why Sarah had become a raving doomsayer, babbling incoherently about defense technology that would be the end of us. Some rumours had it that her dire doomsday warnings came complete with a specific day and year. They were also at a loss to explain why Connor had targeted Cyberdyne Systems Corporation. But, they pointed out, she was obviously delusional; there was no point in trying to find sense in her actions. They assured the public that, fortunately, she was now in the care of an accomplished psychologist, one Dr. Peter Silberman.
Stan had watched these news reports slack-jawed, in disbelief of what Sarah had become. But there was a seething undercurrent to that reaction, a simmering resentment toward the smug talking heads who thought they could deconstruct Sarah's life and motives inside of five minutes. He had expected that the now long ago incident would affect her in some way, but he hadn't foreseen anything like this. To Stan, it seemed like Sarah had had an encounter with the body snatchers. Where was the sweet, good-natured waitress he had known? Did she still exist, locked deep inside this obsessed and humourless fanatic?
Al was talking now, and Stan shook himself from his reverie, wondering how long he had been "away".
" – trial is over, and she was convicted. She's serving time at Pescadero State Hospital." He paused, then added, "It's a facility for the criminally insane."
Stan gave a sober nod. "Yeah, I heard that the trial had ended, and that she was found guilty. They did catch her right in the act, after all. I didn't know about the institution part, but I can't really say that I'm surprised."
He related to Al everything he had just been thinking about. His friend's initial response seemed to him to be rather curious; it wasn't about Sarah at all.
"He won't be back," Al announced, with certainty. Stan gave him a questioning look, but Al was already continuing: "All of these TV people don't have a clue. Sarah isn't obsessively preparing herself for battle out of some delusional belief that the stalker will come back to finish her off. He's not coming back. And Sarah knows he's not coming back."
Stan's curiosity was piqued. "How do you know that?"
Al answered with a question of his own. "What if I told you that Sarah Connor isn't nearly as crazy as people seem to think? Or that if she is crazy, she was driven into that state by betrayal, by being set up?"
"Come on, no one made Sarah try to blow up a building. She managed that all by herself." Stan paced a bit, feeling agitated; then he spun back toward Al. "And there you go again!" he exclaimed accusingly, pointing at him.
"Again?"
"Remember the night of the World Series game? It sure seemed like you knew a lot about Sarah that I didn't know."
Al looked chagrined. "Yeah, I put my foot in it a few times that night," he conceded.
"And now here you are again suggesting that you know even more things about Sarah. Things that other people don't know."
"Not me specifically," Al corrected him. "Cyberdyne. Cyberdyne knows a lot about Sarah Connor."
"Cyber – " Stan cut the word off, and raised his hands questioningly. "What is it with her and Cyberdyne? Why does she have it in for them?"
"That's a loaded question," Al mumbled. He looked up to see Stan glaring daggers at him, waiting for an answer. "Okay," he said, taking a deep breath, "let me start at the beginning."
Stan, believing that he was finally going to get some answers, felt somewhat placated. He leaned back against the railing, and signaled to Al to proceed. Like before, Al was a bit hesitant as he began.
"You remember that weekend in 1984 when the, uh, stalker was after Sarah."
Stan understood that this was more of a statement than a question. "Of course," he confirmed.
"It all ended in the early hours of Sunday morning, just past midnight. Sarah, and the man who was protecting her – "
"Reese."
Alex looked a bit surprised. "Right. They broke into a factory in a final attempt to escape the…"Al stopped for a moment, searching for words. "…the gunman. You can see where I'm going with this, can't you? That factory was Cyberdyne Systems, the old Cyberdyne building, that is. And that's where they were eventually found, in the mechanical division."
"They were found? You mean just Sarah and Reese, right? The gunman was gone, wasn't he?"
Al shifted his weight and jammed his hands into his pockets. He seemed to be considering the question carefully. "Well…yeah," he finally answered.
"And when they found them, Reese was dead." This much Stan knew, because it had been reported on the news. Al replied with a nod of confirmation, a grim look on his face.
"What happened to him?" Stan asked.
Al didn't answer immediately; instead, he continued at his own pace. "The break-in was reported, and the police contacted Greg Simmons to let him know about it. I got a call in the middle of the night from Jack Kroll, asking me to come in to the factory. The partners had to go to the scene, of course, and they wanted another employee there, just to assist, be a go-fer, whatever. That was me. I think the reason they chose to drag me out of bed in the middle of the night was because I was the newest employee. I was still settling in, finding my niche. So they knew I wouldn't dare complain; I'd end up being labeled uncooperative or not a 'team player'."
"By the time I got there, they were zipping the bag closed on Reese, and the ambulance was just about to leave to take Sarah to the hospital." He cleared his throat, then continued, obviously making an effort to sound casual. "So I was there with them when they found...it."
"It?"
Alex gave him a warning now. "The story gets crazy from here on in."
Stan responded with a stiff shrug. "I just found out that you've known all along where – and in what condition – Sarah was found that weekend. That you were even there. I'm shell-shocked already; nothing else is going to surprise me any more than that."
Al laughed nervously. "Don't be too sure about that." He checked for Stan's reaction, then turned away looking stung. Stan could guess why; he knew that his expression must be reflecting the betrayal he was feeling. Al had fixed his gaze on a small boat that was bobbing gently on the waves. He forged on, determined to get everything said:
"After the police had wrapped things up, we went inside to get things back in order. A lot of the machines were powered up and running – I don't know why – and the first order of business was to get them shut down. But we got a surprise when we reached the hydraulic press. That was where we found it."
"Found what? Could you be a little more specific?"
Al's expression indicated that he was trying to find the right words. "Uh, debris…remnants."
"Remnants of what?"
"We weren't really sure, not at that point." Stan looked like his patience was coming to an end, so Al hastened to describe their discovery. "There was a metal skull, and the upper part of a metal skeleton." Having said that much, he now leaped in with both feet. "It was some kind of a robot. We had no idea where it came from. It was just there."
He fell silent, waiting for a reaction. Stan appraised Al coolly; when he finally spoke, his words revealed his disgust. "I don't believe this. You're trying to tell me that it was the stalker, aren't you? This has got to be a gag, right? Come on, man, I don't have time for this."
He was already annoyed enough at Al for his not having told him long ago what he knew about Sarah. Now he seemed to be making him the butt of some elabourate practical joke. Last time I checked, it was January, not April, he fumed to himself.
"I told you it would sound crazy," Al sighed.
"As a loon! Just like Sarah Connor." If Al thought he was going to believe this tale even for a second…"So why didn't the police find this thing when they did their search?" he challenged.
"Because they didn't search in the hydraulic press. Why would they? And they weren't looking for a metal robot!"
"Right! Now you're talking. They were looking for a man, because it was a man who was stalking Sarah."
Al shook his head in disagreement. "I don't think so."
"Look, there were dozens of witnesses who saw him. Hell, I saw him!"
"And people thought it was a man because it did look like a man when they saw it. I think it was what they call a cyborg. It's a robot, but it's covered in living tissue; it's made to look like a person."
"That's pure sci-fi fantasy!" Stan sneered. "Man, I think you need a long vacation. Living tissue? And how is that done?"
Al's eyes widened as he shrugged. "I have no idea! By the time it was in our possession, it was only skeletal remains. All of the…skin was gone. But we knew what it had looked like before. We watched the news, too, you know."
"And the skin went," Stan questioned him, giving him a disdainful look, "where? It just disappeared? How does a big guy in leathers end up a metal skeleton?"
"I think you know," Al said quietly, but firmly. Stan shook his head to indicate that no, he in fact didn't know.
"You heard all the stories," Al reminded him. "A guy gets run over by a tractor trailer, but he gets up and steals the rig. The rig explodes, but someone is seen climbing from the cab, and calmly walking through the flames. No man could do those things; but maybe a robot made to look like a man could. And it would explain what happened to the skin."
Stan put his hands to his head and strode several steps down the pier, muttering to himself as he went. When he turned and walked back, he was waving his hands in front of him, as if he was trying to ward something off.
"No," he protested. "No! You said yourself that those were just stories. Urban myth and Friday the 13th stuff!"
Al made no excuses. "Of course I did. I would have told anyone that. Cyberdyne had a secret to keep, so we had to discredit stories like that to make sure the trail didn't lead to us."
Stan was staring at Al as if he didn't know him. "Unbelievable," he breathed, his hostility clearly evident.
"Let me finish," Al said.
"What? More lies to tell me about?"
"Just hear me out, okay? Then if you still want to walk away…" He let the rest go unsaid.
Stan responded to this entreaty by crossing his arms angrily against his chest, and glaring expectantly at Al. "Make it fast. And just leave out Robby the Robot this time, because I'm not buying it."
Al raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I can't leave it out; it's the key to everything." He gathered his thoughts for a moment before continuing. "So," he started, "we were pretty blown away by what we found."
Stan barked a sarcastic laugh. "Yeah, I guess."
"Greg told me to go and get the tape from the security camera. We only had one camera in the whole place; it wasn't even motion sensitive. We took the tape upstairs to the offices to have a look at it, but I didn't expect it to show much. Well…" He shook his head in wonder.
"I take it metal man was very obliging for the camera," Stan quipped mockingly. "I sure hope you got his good side."
"Really, Stan," Al implored him earnestly, "there was something very weird going on in there that night. I can't say exactly what happened, but that…thing was up on its feet – it still had feet at that point – and it was chasing them."
"Sarah and her knight in shining armour?"
"Right."
Stan looked away, silent and tight-lipped. Finally, he scoffed, "Give me a br- "
"If you had looked into its eyes, you might believe all the stories, too."
Stan's head snapped around toward Al, recognition burning in his eyes. "I said that to you."
Al nodded. "Yes. You did."
"But I said he. His eyes."
"Except it wasn't a he, and they weren't real eyes. But you looked into those eyes yourself. Remember how that made you feel? You even said to me that they seemed almost inhuman, and that they gave you nightmares."
As Stan remembered how indescribably unsettling those moments had been when he had been pinned by the stranger's stare, Al's preposterous tale started to seem the tiniest bit feasible. His comment was also a pointed reminder that he wasn't the only one who had withheld information. Stan hadn't told him about his encounter with Sarah's stalker until four years after the fact. His anger toward Al started to slowly dissipate. His friend's sincerity wasn't in question any longer. It was clear that he fully believed what he was saying, and that it was important to him that Stan believe it, too. He'd at least let him say his piece.
"So," he sighed, with resignation, "the man who was stalking Sarah wasn't a man at all. It was a…" He paused, then made himself say it. "…a robot."
"A remarkably advanced one."
"I'll say." He motioned for Al to go on.
"After we watched the tape, we went back down to the factory floor. Greg told me to look around for the rest of the debris, the lower half of it. I found bits and pieces of it all over the place; there had been an explosion. Greg and Jack worked on extracting the top half from the press without damaging it any further. Not much was salvageable because the press had been activated."
"You mean they crushed it? To stop it?" Stan couldn't believe he had actually been drawn into discussing this.
"I think Sarah did."
"You're not sure?"
"Not positive, no."
"Why do you think so, then?"
"Because I think Reese was already dead," Al replied tonelessly.
"You never did say what happened to him. Did that thing get him? Or did he die in this explosion you mentioned?"
"Yes," Al replied.
"So which is it?"
"Either, or. Maybe both. Like I said, we were limited in what we saw. We had one, not very advanced, camera."
Stan switched tracks now. "Who was controlling this robot, anyhow?"
"I don't know. I guess you can see that we still have more questions than answers, ourselves."
"Because nobody has technology like that," Stan continued. "Not now, and certainly not ten years ago."
"Nobody that we know of."
Stan smirked, and tried on a Russian accent. "Could be KGB, comrade," he joked. Al remained serious.
"No," he said, with certainty. "We salvaged two things from the wreckage. One of the arms was extended out beyond the press – maybe reaching for Sarah, maybe just trying to reach for the 'off' button, who knows? – and it didn't get crushed. It was the only intact limb. The skull got partially crushed, but we managed to retrieve the computer chip from it. It was damaged; a piece had broken off of it, but it was mostly intact. The arm and the computer chip; Lot 1 and Lot 2 we labeled them. But the Soviets weren't behind this, even as bad as our relations with them were in 1984. This chip – all of this technology – is more advanced than anything anyone has ever seen!"
Stan's eyes narrowed, and he took a wary step backward. "Whoa, wait a minute. Are you trying to tell me it's some kind of alien technology?"
Once more, Al could only reply quietly, "I don't know."
Stan turned, leaned his forearms on the pier railing, and buried his head in his arms. "Oh, man," he breathed, shaking his head as if he couldn't process the information. Al could hear him muttering something about ET phoning home. He then inadvertently made the situation worse.
"Sorry, Stan, I just don't have many answers. I really don't know where it comes from. Or when."
Stan raised his head slowly. "Or when?" He ran a hand through his hair, laughing humourlessly. "Oh, this just gets better and better."
"We had to consider all of the possibilities. And that included the things Sarah Connor said."
Stan was feeling a bit light headed and giddy now. This was all too much. "Things Sarah Connor said!" he exclaimed, then continued facetiously: "Well, that brings all of this to a whole new level of credibility. Sarah is so well noted for her rationality. If Sarah says something is so, then hey, it must be so!"
Frustration was showing on Al's face. "I think you're getting information overload," he remarked wearily.
"Oh, definitely. A lonnggg time ago," Stan drawled. He looked at his watch. "I need a break; let's go eat."
Al gaped at him, as if maybe Stan was failing to grasp the enormity of what he was telling him. He stood his ground.
"No, there's more. And it can't wait." He took a chocolate bar from his jacket pocket, tossed it to Stan, and resumed talking: "The chip was the key to huge leaps forward in science and technology, if only we could figure it out. That meant potentially huge profits, as well. But the company needed to keep its find a secret; it didn't want to share the wealth. The real problem, though, was that there were just no answers to the questions that would be asked. How do we announce that we've developed a piece of highly advanced technology, and then have to admit that we don't know how it works?"
"That could be problematic," Stan deadpanned through a mouthful of chocolate and caramel.
"Then after awhile, Sarah became…well, troublesome. She tried to go public about her belief that Cyberdyne had found – not developed, but found – technology that would ultimately lead to a nuclear cataclysm. Accusations like that can lead to questions from higher authorities, maybe even investigations. To keep the chip our secret, it was necessary for us to discredit her. That wasn't hard; she did it for us, really. Any time she attempted to expose Cyberdyne, her claims always included ravings about killing machines from the future, time travelers, and some epic war between humans and machines. Those kinds of statements made her look like she was unhinged, so ultimately, no one believed any of what she said. Including her predictions about Cyberdyne."
"But as we continued to study the chip, we were astounded at its sophistication. No technology that advanced existed anywhere. And knowing what we knew about the incident at the factory, Sarah's explanation – bizarre as it sounded – was no worse than any other. Part of what drove Sarah to her wits' end was Cyberdyne's denial of having 'found' any advanced technology. The company just played dumb. Back in 1984, the police didn't release the information that Sarah was found at Cyberdyne. The partners liked it that way, and they wanted to keep it that way; then it would look like Sarah was a disturbed individual who had just randomly selected Cyberdyne to go after. If we had produced the evidence at the time – the chip, the arm – then Sarah wouldn't have gotten so desperate that she finally acted against us herself. But, of course, admitting to the evidence was out of the question. The point is that to keep the secret, Cyberdyne sacrificed Sarah." He stabbed a finger out in front of him to punctuate his words. "Sacrificed her sanity, and now her freedom. And all for profit. I'd say her rage is pretty justified."
He let Stan absorb that for a minute or two; they both needed a breather. Then Stan asked his next question somewhat hesitantly.
"And you went along with all of this?"
Al evaded Stan's gaze, picking up a few stones and skipping them across the water. "For a lot of years I did," he finally admitted. He looked directly at Stan. "Not without losing plenty of sleep over it, though. I was part of the team, you know? Part of Cyberdyne's bright future that I had such a strong hunch about all those years ago. But I didn't know it would happen like this."
"And what's different now?" Stan asked, trying to get to the crux of the matter.
"Different?"
"You've kept Cyberdyne's secret for ten years. Why are you talking now?"
"Two reasons: Sarah Connor and Miles Dyson."
Stan looked surprised. "Dyson?"
Al nodded, then prefaced his explanation with some more background information. "I'm good at my job, and I work hard at it. I would have done well at Cyberdyne regardless. But there's a reason why I rose to the top so rapidly. It was a payoff. The partners gave me regular promotions and raises in the unspoken understanding that they were buying my silence, that I wouldn't tell anyone about how or where the chip had been found. Eventually, since I had been both loyal and good at my job, I was made Supervisor of the Special Projects Division. I had complete access to the chip; I could work with it whenever I wanted to. But then my status at the company changed, and I wasn't the 'golden boy' anymore. And after awhile, I wasn't Director of Special Projects anymore, either."
"What happened?"
"Jack Kroll – one of the partners – died in 1990. The chip was his pet project. Miles Dyson was promoted onto the research team working on the chip, to fill the gap Jack left. Suddenly our rate of progress increased exponentially. It was Dyson; he understood the thing in a way the rest of us couldn't even begin to. It's like-" He thought for a moment. "…whoever – or whatever – designed that chip thinks in a way so different from us, so alien to us, so flawlessly logical, that we barely knew how to approach it. But somehow Dyson could get on that plane of thought. Simmons saw more potential for profit in Dyson's work, and before too long he named him Director of Special Projects. I lost the position, and Dyson became my boss."
Stan shifted a bit uncomfortably upon hearing this revelation. He didn't want to ask what he was thinking, but it couldn't be avoided.
"So is this some kind of revenge thing? You're exposing Cyberdyne to get back at them?"
"No," Al replied firmly. "I wasn't happy about it, of course. But Dyson is brilliant; he's made incredible progress on this research. He's full marks for the supervisor's position."
"Then why is Dyson one of the reasons you're talking now?"
"Because," Al said, looking Stan directly in the eye, "Dyson is making such rapid, groundbreaking inroads with his research that Sarah's dire warnings about technology, so advanced we can't guarantee control over it, are almost starting to sound feasible. He doesn't have all of the answers yet, but I think it's just a matter of time. And not a very long time."
"You mean that, despite his best intentions, Dyson might be developing something very dangerous?"
"Potentially," Al sighed. "It depends on how it's used. It could be Alfred Nobel all over again."
Stan glanced over at him sharply; he didn't like the sound of that. But it was certainly possible. Dyson wouldn't be the first scientist to idealistically develop a piece of technology for the betterment of humanity, only to see it used for destructive purposes.
"And Sarah is the other reason," Stan said.
"Right. I told you about all of that already, what Cyberdyne has done to her to keep their secret. Now she's even incarcerated. It's just gone too far."
"And Dyson," Stan asked, "did her go along with all of this? Discrediting Sarah?"
"No, not at all. Actually, he doesn't know anything about it; he's shielded from all of that. They keep him focused strictly on the science. He doesn't know that people are being sacrificed so that Cyberdyne can keep its research secret. He doesn't know about the security tape at all. When he first joined the computer chip research team, and he asked where the chip and the arm came from – as we knew he would – my instructions were to tell him simply: don't ask. I don't think he even knows who Sarah is."
"Sarah doesn't get her situation at Pescadero reviewed until mid-June," he continued. "But I can tell you right now that she won't be getting the transfer to minimum security that she'll want."
Stan looked puzzled. "How do you know? She might make good progress. Word is that she's in the care of a very good psychologist."
"Silberman." Al's voice dripped with contempt as he said the name. "Silberman is a snake. He'd use Sarah for his own devices under any circumstances, keeping her in that place and 'studying' her, just to get his name in some psychiatric journal. That's what he wanted to do with Reese before her; he just never got the chance. But Cyberdyne is giving him good motivation. While Sarah's in Pescadero, she's not troublesome to Cyberdyne. So Simmons is paying off Silberman under the table to make sure she stays there. He also has some useful information he can blackmail Silberman with to make sure that the deal stays in place. Simmons hands over some C-notes, and Silberman's 'expert diagnosis' indicates that Sarah is still unstable and she should remain in max security. It's a nice little bit of collusion they have going on, that they're both benefiting from. It's a match made in heaven; they're both sickening," he finished.
He shook his head in frustration, his hands gripping the railing in front of him so tightly that his knuckles whitened. Then his shoulders slumped, leaving him looking worn out and defeated. "Anyway," he said resignedly, "that's all of it. For what it's worth."
Stan didn't say anything right away; he didn't think Al would want an immediate reaction. He was thinking over everything that he'd been told. He knew it would take days for all of this information to sink in fully. Finally, he asked the only question that remained.
"Why are you telling me all of this? There's a specific reason, isn't there?"
"They have to be stopped," Al replied, with determination.
"I don't think there's anything I can do."
Al gave him a knowing look – his eyebrows raised – coupled with a "yes, there is" nod. Stan was baffled.
"What?"
"Remember some years back you were interested in doing a documentary about Cyberdyne?"
"Yeah," Stan answered hesitantly. He could already see where this was going, and he didn't much like it.
"Well, now is the time to get your cameras rolling. But it can't be a nice little piece about the company's success; it has to be a full expose on how they achieved that success. And who was sacrificed along the way."
Just out of curiosity, Stan sounded him out a bit. "And you'd back me up on this? You'd be my inside man?"
Al laughed, as if the idea was ludicrous. "No! If I were seen to be in any way connected to the project, it would lose all credibility immediately. I've fallen out of favour at Cyberdyne. They regard me only as a demoted, disgruntled employee…one who knows way too much. I intend to disappear before Cyberdyne decides that I'm a problem that needs to be 'taken care of'. I have no wish to go the way of Sarah Connor."
"You're going to disappear where?"
Al shrugged. "I'm not sure. I'll probably have to leave the country."
Stan stared at him in disbelief. "You're asking me to get in the line of fire, and take on Cyberdyne, and you're not even going to stay around?!" He waved a hand dismissively in disgust.
"I told you why I can't be involved," Stan pleaded. "Cyberdyne would discredit us immediately."
"They wouldn't even know that you're invol- "
"Yes, they would!" Al barked insistently. Stan backed away a step, regarding his friend cautiously as he continued: "They'd know. Don't you see? They know everything. And what they don't know, they find out."
This had a ring of familiarity to it, and right away Stan realized why. It reminded him of the video footage he had seen of Sarah yelling about how she had to stop them, and that it wasn't too late. It was finally dawning on him that Al was a desperate man. He was thoroughly paranoid about Cyberdyne Systems. And he obviously believed he was in danger. Maybe he was overestimating the company's power and influence. But maybe not.
"Look, if you're going to just disappear, then why do this at all?" he asked.
"Because somebody has to." Al made a final appeal to him: "Do it for Sarah."
That caught Stan by surprise; he figured he didn't owe Sarah Connor anything. And frankly, the possibility of making her acquaintance once again rather frightened him. She was, after all, a very different Sarah from the one he had known.
"On my own, I can't prove anything," he pointed out.
"Maybe not," Al admitted. "And Cyberdyne might target you, too, for interfering with them. It's your call. You always said you wished you could make up for what you did to Sarah that night. This is your chance. I let her down by staying silent all these years, but you can make things right."
Ah, the guilt angle…nice touch, Stan thought, a bit resentfully.
Even the weather was in tune with his mood now. A light rain had started to fall from the overcast sky. The wind coming in off the ocean had picked up; it rushed in toward the shore, pushing high waves in front of it. Thunder rolled ominously from just over the horizon. Stan gazed out over the water, oblivious to the threatening elements. The weight of everything he had just been told was resting heavily on him. He was only vaguely aware of Al saying something to him. With effort, he tore himself away from his inner thoughts, and turned to Alex.
"Sorry. What did you just say?" he asked.
Al gestured out over the water, into the distance. "I said there's a storm coming in."
Stan nodded slowly, looking back at the menacing black clouds that hung low on the horizon. They seemed to be harbingers of dark times ahead. He felt a sense of foreboding that chilled him. In a flat tone, he answered.
"I know."
He turned away from the scene; he and Alex started to walk back along the deserted pier toward the boardwalk. They didn't talk; both of them retreated into their own thoughts. Stan noticed, though, that Al's step seemed to be the slightest bit lighter now. He was clearly distressed by the situation, but talking to someone about it had probably helped. . At least he wasn't carrying the burden alone anymore. Stan was glad to have been able to do that much for his friend, but he had lingering doubts about whether he could do anything more.
At the boardwalk, they stopped again. Al had an almost apologetic-looking half smile on his face. "I told you it was a lot to absorb, didn't I?"
"You weren't kidding. I don't think I'm going to remember even half of what you told me," Stan confessed. Through a wry smile of his own, he said, "I should have taken notes."
"Don't worry about that," Al reassured him. "Take your time and think it over. It'll all come back to you. Then you can decide what to do."
"Where will I be able to reach you?"
Al just shook his head sadly. He glanced around the immediate area with caution, then surreptitiously pressed something into the palm of Stan's hand. Stan looked down to see a plain white business envelope, sealed and folded over into a square.
Al offered his hand once more; the two friends shook hands. Al gave Stan a firm clap on the shoulder. Then he started to back away.
"Not yet, okay?" he cautioned. "Wait for awhile."
Stan wondered if he had missed some important information. "Wait for what?"
But Al simply pointed at the envelope, then turned and walked away along the boardwalk, his shoulders hunched against the now driving rain. Stan stood for a long time, watching him go. He wondered if he'd ever see Alex again.
ooOOoo
A few minutes later, Stan was sitting – damp and uncomfortable – in his car, in a public parking lot. The storm had reached land; high winds buffeted the sleek roadster, and rain beat down on the roof. He held the envelope, studying it; he turned it over carefully in his hands again and again, as if the blank facing might suddenly reveal the hidden secrets within. Finally, he dug into the pocket of his jeans and produced a small jackknife. Turning the envelope over, he slipped the tip of the knife under the sealed flap. Then he stopped. Looking over his shoulder, he scanned the parking lot thoroughly, well aware that he was already adopting Al's paranoid behaviour. The lot was empty but for one or two other vehicles. He was reasonably sure that the rain streaming down the windshield and the windows would obscure any possible view into the car.
Returning his attention to the envelope, he slit it open across the top and looked inside. It wasn't what he had expected. He had thought – hoped, maybe – that it would contain some further explanation from Al, or a written copy of everything he had told him. Or at least a contact number. Instead, the envelope contained two small items. One was a slip of paper with the name and address of a bank written on it. Beneath the address was a number for a safe deposit box. Also included were the box holder's initials: S.M. Al had registered the box in Stan's name. He reached into the envelope and withdrew the second item. It was a small key, almost certainly the key to the safe deposit box. He stared at it for a full minute, wondering what revelations it would bring. Then he returned the items to the envelope, folded it over again, and tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket.
"Looks like the fun is just beginning," he said.
ooOOoo
He did wait for a while, just as Al had asked him to; he waited for three months. It was just past mid-April when he decided it was time. There had been no sign that anyone thought he was in possession of anything out of the ordinary. No one had approached him to inquire about the whereabouts of Alex Chang. There was no indication that Cyberdyne Systems even knew of Stan's existence. So far, so good.
The bank was located in the Palms District, Sarah's old neighbourhood. Stan allowed himself a smile at that realization; he figured that it was more than coincidence. Al had planned it that way. "Do it for Sarah," he could still hear him saying. Once he was inside the bank, he was able to gain access to the safe deposit box without incident; it was indeed registered to him. As a clerk led him down a hallway, he looked outwardly calm, but his adrenalin was pumping as he approached this moment of truth. He had no idea what to expect.
After he had acquired the box, he was ushered into a private room. For a few long moments, he sat studying the closed box on the table in front of him. Then he reached out with slightly unsteady fingers, and lifted the lid. The items within were decidedly unexceptional. Nope, no killer robots from the future in here, he thought, feeling a bit embarrassed at the surge of relief he felt. He drew a deep breath and let it go, relaxing a bit. The box held no robotic metal arm, no impossibly advanced computer chip, no classified Cyberdyne Systems documents. Of course, he hadn't really expected to find any of those things. No one would have been able to spirit away such vital items from under Cyberdyne's unblinking eye.
He took a closer look now at what was there. Two items were enclosed in the box, a VHS videotape, and a computer disk. Both were unlabeled. Without pausing to speculate on what information they might hold, he transferred them into a briefcase that he had brought with him. After closing and locking the case, he left the bank.
He took an indirect route home. Staying on heavily traveled thoroughfares, he checked the rearview mirror often as he drove, trying to ascertain whether or not any other vehicle seemed to be following him. When he was fully satisfied that he wasn't being observed, he headed for home.
ooOOoo
He wasted no time getting down to business. After pulling the curtains tightly shut and checking the room for possible hidden cameras or listening devices, he took the tape from its case. There was only one word hand written on the label: COPY. He slid the tape into the VCR, then took a seat on the couch.
The footage on the tape wasn't much more than one minute long. But it was a remarkable minute. The picture quality was grainy and the tape had no audio, but he could tell that he was looking at the inside of the mechanical division of the old Cyberdyne factory. He could see a number of machines churning and grinding without purpose; they didn't actually appear to be working on anything.
Two people entered the camera frame; it was Sarah and Reese. Reese had situated himself protectively in front of Sarah. They were backing up slowly, their eyes warily riveted on something unseen by the camera. Reese said something, and despite the lack of sound, Stan could tell that he had yelled "Run!". Sarah hesitated, so Reese repeated his order, hurrying her down a flight of stairs. Then he turned to confront his as yet unseen assailant.
Stan found himself intrigued by the man. Reese, quite frankly, looked like a derelict; his clothes could have been pulled from a garbage bin. But the man himself was clearly fit, strong, and quick. His eyes burned with purpose. The look of recognition and determination on his face suggested that he was about to engage a foe that he knew well.
But how this was possible was a mystery to Stan. Al had tried to prepare him for this, but Stan couldn't even begin to express his astonishment at what happened next. Reese had drawn his arm back, a metal rod poised in it, ready for hand-to-hand combat. Then his adversary made his – its – appearance.
Into the camera frame walked a skeletal figure made entirely of metal. Its artificial eyes blazed a fierce red, and its metal skull and hydraulic limbs and torso gleamed in the factory light. It even had teeth, making the thing look like it wore a maniacal grin, almost as if it was enjoying the pursuit. It appeared to be operating fully independently. But it was labouring, dragging one foot behind it as it advanced on Reese. It held no weapon.
For his part, Reese didn't hesitate. He swung the steel rod in his hand directly at the thing's head. The blow simply tilted the metal skull to one side slightly; it recovered immediately, and seemed to be undamaged. Reese's second swing connected solidly, as well, but the results were the same. Even as he rained continual blows upon the hellish figure, it was oblivious to the assault, moving ever forward. Stan flinched back in his seat as the thing struck out with lightning speed, knocking the bar from Reese's hand. In his head, he could hear the hollow ring it would make as it clattered onto the steel grating beneath their feet.
The machine then returned Reese's assault in a like manner. Drawing back one mechanical arm, it delivered a crushing backhanded blow to the side of the man's head. Reese stumbled out of the camera frame, leaving only the robot in view. Unhurried, it started to move methodically forward once more, in the direction which Reese had fallen. It too disappeared beyond the camera frame.
"Damn!" Stan exclaimed out loud, frustrated at the camera's inability to track the motion. But Al had forewarned him about this. He'd simply have to wait – as patiently as he could – to see if there was anything more to come.
It happened almost immediately. The camera suddenly shuddered violently from the concussion of a blast. Without sound, Stan couldn't be positive that it was an explosion, but Al had mentioned that there had been one. Within moments, his suspicion was confirmed; debris started to shower down in front of the camera. Small bits of metal sprayed like shrapnel. Larger pieces crashed down onto the metal catwalk and the factory floor. Stan could see that the debris was the shattered remains of the robotic would-be assassin. He threw his arms up in front of him instinctively as razor sharp shrapnel flew straight toward the camera eye. The camera shook once more, then the picture cut off.
Stan lowered his hands slowly. For a short time, he simply stared at the blank TV screen. He got it, he thought numbly. Reese actually stopped the damn thing. Then a random thought occurred. Where did the explosives come from? After forwarding the tape to see if there was anything else, he rewound it and watched the footage several more times. What seemed most incredible to him was that he actually believed what he was seeing.
But something was nagging at him. He felt sure that that hadn't been the end of it. Slowly, part of his conversation with Al started to filter back to him, bringing with it a startling realization. No, Reese didn't stop it. Not entirely. According to Al, they had found the upper half of it crushed in the hydraulic press. That meant… He swallowed hard. It kept going even after Reese blew it to pieces. That's how determined it was to get to Sarah. Thunderstruck, he wondered who would have built such a thing, and why.
Now he reached for the computer disk on the table in front of him. He turned the case over in his hands, studying it silently. No doubt it held some of the answers. A part of him wanted to just crack it in half over his knee, and be done with it. But he knew he couldn't; it was too late, and he was too involved. With a resigned sigh he stood, walked to his computer, and inserted the disk.
The primary contents of the disk were Cyberdyne's complete file on Sarah Connor. It seemed like there was nothing about her that they didn't know. The file detailed her whole life, mainly from mid-1984 onward. A great deal of attention was given to both her connections with paramilitary organizations, and her weapons training. Cyberdyne had suspected that she could be dangerous to them, and they had been vigilant in keeping their intelligence about her current. By extension, the file also included all known details about Kyle Reese and Sarah's son John.
Stan understood now why Al had assured him that he didn't need to remember everything they had talked about. It was all here. There was a wealth of information about Cyberdyne itself: the computer chip and some of the research related to it, pictures and schematic drawings of the chip and the metal robotic arm, a thorough file on Dr. Peter Silberman. Included in his file, just as Al had said, was damning information that Cyberdyne could use to blackmail Silberman with, thus ensuring that the good doctor would keep Cyberdyne's best interests at heart.
The comprehensive file on Sarah gave information not only about her, but also about what she knew of the unique artifacts in Cyberdyne's possession. Included was Sarah's own description of what had happened in 1984, her predictions of terrible things to come, and her explanation of how she knew these things. The last could be summed up in a single name: Kyle Reese.
As Stan watched the computer screen, years of Sarah's life flew by his eyes in mere moments: her education, her known addresses, her friends/relatives/associates, the connection between her stalking incident and the deaths of her mother, her roommate, and Kyle Reese. He came across photographs that had been taken over a period of time by a private investigator under the hire of Cyberdyne Systems. Taken in various locales in California, Mexico, and South America, they depicted Sarah's steady transformation from a teenage waitress to a combat ready elite soldier.
The list of sub-topics on the disk seemed endless: Skynet. A nuclear cataclysm. An epic war between humans and machines, with survival and dominance of the planet at stake. Cyborgs. Detention camps. Humans bar-coded by laser. Disposal units. The Human Resistance. TechCom Forces. General John Connor. Time travel. Kyle Reese's ultimate sacrifice.
Now Stan even had a name for the brick wall he had walked into that fateful night in 1984.
Terminator.
How appropriate and direct, he thought grimly, with an inward shudder. Its maker didn't mince words; the unit was named for what it did. It was Cyberdyne Systems Model 101, in more technical terms. A T-800 infiltration unit, built for the express purpose of killing human beings. And now he also knew just who would build such a thing. Not who, but what. Another machine – Skynet, a defense system – was the Grand Architect. And Cyberdyne had known all along that if Sarah could convince anyone in authority of the veracity of her claims, then their fledgling project would be shut down immediately. So they had shut down Sarah first.
Sarah's prophecies were chilling, to say the least. The key date was August 29, 1997. She believed that on that date nuclear war would come, initiated by a computer-driven defense system that was so advanced it ultimately achieved sentience. A war between humans and machines would ensue, one in which her son was destined to rally the human survivors into a fighting force, then lead them to victory. Cyberdyne was responsible for the technology that would go rogue. Stan realized now that Sarah's activities over the last several years had been an attempt to stop Cyberdyne from developing this technology, thus saving humanity from virtual extinction, and sparing her son a formidable burden of responsibility in a bleak future.
It took Stan several days to wade through all of the information that Al had supplied him with. It all still sounded totally insane. The difference now was that something had taken root within him, a feeling that there was something to all of this, and that he ignored it at humanity's peril.
He knew he was in possession of something big, but he still didn't really know what to do with it. He wasn't sure he had it in him to take on Cyberdyne alone; he was no hero or crusader. Who would believe any of this anyway? he thought, with frustration.
He could contact Sarah, but it was likely that she was closely monitored at Pescadero; she wouldn't be able to freely inform him or advise him on the issue. That avenue was cut off. But if she at least knew someone believed her…He gave it some more thought. Perhaps the saviour-in-waiting could be of assistance. In Stan's opinion, there was one clear course of action. It was time to talk to John Connor.
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xxx (End Chapter 5) xxx
Chapter Notes:
1. Spelling note: When Al is asking Stan to do the documentary, and he says, "…it has to be a full expose…", the second "e" in the word expose should have an accent over it, of course. (I don't think my computer can do that.)
2. To anyone who's read this far, I really appreciate your continued interest. Thanks very much!