"Well, what are your plans for the future?" Kate asked John sarcastically as they left Edwards Air Force Base. "Are you going to continue riding your bike all over California, working part-time at a construction site, and sleeping where you can?"
The two of them were driving a Mercedes, heading back to the city. Despite the fact that both were exhausted, more mentally than physically, Kate and John refused her father's offer to provide them with a driver. Instead, the girl got behind the wheel herself. Without a key and the help of Terminatrix, they had to close the wires in the steering column in the old-fashioned way.
"I haven't thought about it yet," the guy replied after a moment's hesitation. "But there's not much else to do. Maybe I'll go to Mexico to live with old acquaintances that my mother and I used to visit when I was very young..."
"But now that Judgment Day has stopped, and there will be no war with machines, you don't have to hide from everyone and lead the life of an outcast, do you?"
"After so many years, you get used to a certain way of life... And the future, if you think about it, is not so cloudless: after all, the military may well recreate Skynet in one form or another or come up with something new, another artificial intelligence, even more powerful and dangerous. With all his power, even your father can't do anything about it! And where is the guarantee that humanity will not again be threatened with complete extermination?"
"I think you're too pessimistic, John! I think you need to finally relax and start enjoying life. And also to find a job and a decent place to live—"
"Kate, I didn't even really finish school! What's the job for me here?"
"Well, I've talked to my father, and he's happy to help you get a job somewhere in the field of computer technology, even at CRS! As for education, I read somewhere that many outstanding programmers did not finish their studies to the end: Bill Gates, for example, Steve Jobs..."
What Catherine didn't mention was that in addition to helping John find a decent place in life, her father also advised her to take a closer look at him: "You know, Katie, you're a grown-up girl and you'll do everything yourself, but listen to your poor old man: he's a guy, John, that's what you need. Somehow, I'm sure you'll be happy with him." Those words made her think, but they also added to her worries.
"I'm afraid that's not my case!" Connor said skeptically.
"Please don't be so quick to refuse! Think about it for a few days."
"Let's wait until tomorrow first and make sure there won't be any more replays," John put an end to the topic.
He said it a little more harshly than he should have. That's because Kate's words struck a chord with him. In spite of everything, the general's offer was tempting, and John was now tormented by doubts. In his mind, he knew that he could no longer live as a vagabond. He needs a goal. And if he is not destined to become the leader of the resistance movement in the future, so be it.
Catherine's face darkened, remembering that it could happen again, as no one ultimately knew if the time loop would unravel if Skynet was stopped. They talked about it all the time, they wanted it, but they couldn't know anything for sure. However, her mood improved again when she discovered that electrical appliances were no longer broken, such as the radio in the car and her cell phone.
At the gas station, where they stopped halfway to refill the tank (Kate wanted to return the car to Scott in the same condition in which they picked it up, so that he would not be outraged once again), the revived cell phone began to burst with calls and messages from the veterinary clinic (to her relief, there were no calls from her fiancé). This allowed the girl to switch her attention to work moments for a while. Regardless, her duties as a veterinarian's assistant have not gone away, as Dr. Monroe made clear. His voice was angry and worried.
"Miss Brewster, where have you gone? Neither I nor our clients have been able to get through to you for a moment—" he paused, apparently looking at his watch, — "ten o'clock!"
Kate chuckled softly, covering the microphone with her hand so the doctor wouldn't hear. She imagined at that moment on the other end of the line this short, chubby man with a bald patch expressing his indignation to her.
"I beg your pardon, Dr. Monroe. These are all communication problems. But now, it seems, things are getting better."
"We called your house, too, but no one picked up the phone either!" The veterinarian continued to be indignant.
"That's right, because no one was home," Kate wanted to quip, but she tried to make the answer sound as correct as possible. "I was away on business, and my fiancé had obviously gone to work."
John, who had been standing nearby watching the refueling of the car and had heard the conversation, chuckled. Kate couldn't help but smile too.
"He must be more responsible for his duties than you are for yours."
Kate chose to ignore the remark. It's just that she didn't have the strength to argue with anyone right now, otherwise she would have said a couple of affectionate things to her boss, who often shirked his direct duties, preferring to play golf at the country club, and hung all the care of Emery on her and two other assistants.
"Speaking of work, I need you at the clinic in half an hour at the latest!" It was Mrs. Woodson, one of our regular customers. Her Dalmatian had nearly died a few minutes ago when he was hit by a car. Luckily, everything went well, but the dog still had a bruised leg and possibly a couple of broken ribs. I want you to assist me in my surgeries!"
Kate wanted to refuse, and didn't care about the consequences, but after thinking about it, she answered, "I'm on my way, Dr. Monroe, but I won't be able to see you in an hour at the earliest."
Working at the clinic will help her while away the rest of the day, as a result of which Kate will return home late, and maybe she will be able to postpone the conversation with Scott until tomorrow.
The veterinarian grumbled for a while, but had to agree. With his other two assistants now on vacation, he could only count on Kate.
After drinking a cup of coffee at the gas station diner, John and Kate set off. Only this time, the guy got behind the wheel. They walked the rest of the way in silence, but at the clinic where Kate dropped John off and it was time to say goodbye, she said, "John, please think about my words again. And call me, please. You know the number."
"Okay," the guy nodded, and then he and his friend hugged goodbye.
But when Connor got out of the car and walked a few steps away, Kate, who was also walking towards the door of the clinic, gave in to a sudden impulse and shouted after him, "John!"
He turned and stared at the girl questioningly.
"Call me anyway! I'll be waiting!" Kate's voice trembled.
Catherine spent even more time at Emery than she had planned. After the operation, she helped the doctor make some more preparations for the next day, then fed the caged animals, sorted out the mail that had arrived at the clinic's address, and at Monroe's behest, cleaned up the back room, dismantling and rearranging the medications and surgical instruments stored there.
As a result, when Kate pulled up to the building where she and Scott were in the apartment, it was completely dark. As she parked the car, she noticed that the motorcycle John had arrived on that morning was gone. So he managed to be here and took it. The Dodge pickup used by Terminator was also missing. Kate realized that the car had been stolen and probably the police, having discovered it, drove it to their special parking lot or returned it to the owner.
On the way to the apartment, Kate met two acquaintances, with whom she exchanged short polite phrases. Finally, she found herself at a door with a "305" sign and realized she was hesitating before inserting the key into the keyhole. Overcoming herself, the girl made two turns to the right. The lock clicked and she entered.
There was a light coming from under the kitchen door, proof that Scott was home. Kate sighed, touched the light switch in the hallway, put her bag on the nightstand, and began to take off her jacket. The fiancé came out and the kitchen, hearing noises in the hallway. There was no expression on Scott's face: no anger, no joy at her presence, not even anxiety for the fate of his fiancée, who had been gone for almost twenty-four hours.
Kate suddenly felt quite clearly that she didn't feel anything about this man either.
"Are you going to have dinner?" He asked instead of greeting.
"No, I don't," Catherine shook her head.
"Then let's talk. You promised to tell me everything when you got back."
Kate knew she had to do it. She won't ask him to postpone the conversation until tomorrow.
Meanwhile, John Connor, having set up his Triumph in a small parking lot, was passing the evening at a corner table in an unpretentious second-rate bar on the outskirts of Los Angeles, lazily sipping beer and watching the rest of the customers. However, he did this only superficially, deeply immersed in his own thoughts.
Having reached the house where Kate lived, and taking the motorcycle, the guy drove around the city for a while, and then, when it began to get dark, he decided, out of habit, to spend the night on another vacant lot. But after some deliberation, he didn't. Waiting for the end of the day was like a kind of scabies that kept him moving, acting. And now John wanted to do something, something to keep him busy in the run-up to the crucial moment when he would realize if the time loop had unraveled.
In addition to this, John was haunted by their conversation with Kate, especially her last words: "Call anyway!" Even though John didn't have a lot of experience with women's psychology, he couldn't help but realize that it meant more than just being a show of friendly care and concern. And how her voice trembled at that moment!
Until then, he had always come to the conclusion that he and Kate were not destined to be together in peacetime, giving himself many arguments, but now his confidence was not so strong. Come to think of it, is he really so worthless as not to be worthy of a girl like Kate? After all, he's not stupid, and if he wanted to, he could even get some education and, probably, find a job. Simply, as he himself confessed to her, long years of wandering life had left their mark on his thinking. I wonder what his mother would say about all this. Would she like Kate? For the briefest of moments, John wished Sarah Connor was there.
He was distracted from his sad thoughts by the voice of a guy sitting at the next table, a kind of cowboy in a wide-brimmed hat, fringed jacket, light-colored jeans and boots. The man was already clearly drunk when he began to crave conversations with strangers.
"Hey, buddy, you look like you're the most miserable person in the world." He hiccuped and said rather loudly. A few people turned in their direction, but almost immediately went back to their business.
John looked at the cowboy, but chose to ignore his words. However, this only spurred the drunk on even more.
"Wait, I know you're suffering because of a girl," it was said with complete confidence.
John grinned and suddenly, unwittingly, answered, "Yes, because of the girl."
"Just 'cause she shot you down?"
"No, I'm just no match for her..."
The cowboy laughed.
"Listen to me, buddy!" The man lowered his voice and leaned over to John confidentially. "Give up all this nonsense! If you're really in love, call her right now and be honest, or better yet, go straight to her house and tell her while looking into her eyes, and then come and kiss her lips. Ladies, they don't like smudges! Give them certainty!"
"What could it really be?" thought John. No, of course, he won't act that way. But what if, right now, he walked over to the phone on the wall and made the call, told Kate that he wanted to meet her, sit somewhere and chat about life?
The guy took a folded piece of paper with her phone number out of his breast pocket and looked at it, fighting his desire. No, anyway, he'll wait until tomorrow!
General Brewster had been in Admiral Morrison's office only twice, and each time, involuntarily comparing it with his own, he found the room too pompous and ostentatious. However, it is not his business, of course, how anyone furnishes his workspace, especially how the officials above him do it.
Therefore, when Brewster entered the Admiral's office at six o'clock in the evening, he did not even pay attention to the situation, but immediately focused on the people who were also present at the meeting. In addition to Morrison, there were the heads of the Central Intelligence Agency and the National Security Agency, as well as a number of senior officers representing the four main branches of the armed forces, with the rank of full (four-star) generals or admirals, the same chiefs of staff. Brewster was more or less familiar with all of them, including outside the professional sphere, so his appearance was greeted with sincere greetings and smiles.
Yes, General Robert Brewster was now a national hero in the eyes of these people, for it was the development of his Cyber Research Systems, as they believed, that saved the entire American defense system from the cursed virus that had terrorized them in recent days. Many in government circles have lost both sleep and appetite because of this, but now the danger seems to have passed. The Chiefs of Staff waited impatiently for the general's report and looked with interest at the folder he held in his hands.
"Well, gentlemen," said Admiral Morrison, a thin, gray-haired man with sharp features, whose jacket was even more decorated than Brewster's, "I propose, in view of certain circumstances, that our conference be held in a slightly informal manner."
The Admiral's voice still radiated a rare good-naturedness and cheerfulness. Everyone nodded in agreement. The euphoria that the threat to national security has been eliminated has not yet faded from their minds.
"Bob, please!"
"Thank you, gentlemen!" Brewster opened the folder. "I know you're expecting me to tell you how we stopped the spread of the virus with Skynet, but I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you from the start..."
The general saw how the faces of all the military men tensed. Well, he's going to break their cheerful mood now! But it can't be helped — he has to tell the truth, no matter what it costs him later.
"The thing is, as we discovered, Skynet was the virus that caused us so much concern..."
Now indignant exclamations and legitimate questions began to be heard. What? How? Why?
Brewster made a gesture with his hand, asking to be allowed to continue.
"Yes, alas, I must admit that it is. With all responsibility and with a good understanding of all the consequences that this may have, I declare that a project in which fifteen billion dollars was invested (in fact, much more was spent, but Congress was informed of this number) and several years of work that was developed under my direction, a project that was designed to protect us from any external threats, was such a threat itself.
If our team of engineers, led by Tony Flickinger — I think everyone here has heard of him — hadn't discovered in time where the real danger was coming from, I can't even imagine what the consequences might have been. After all, Skynet almost gained access to the nuclear arsenal!"
A wave of indignation swept through the office, and Morrison stared at the general. When Brewster's report, which lasted a few minutes, was over, he was the first to ask, "Brewster, do you really understand the implications of what you've just told us?"
"Yes, sir, I've already said that. If the command deems it necessary, I am ready to resign even today," the general spoke calmly and confidently.
There was silence in the room. The Chiefs of Staff looked at each other and looked first at Brewster and then at the Admiral. In the meantime, he was weighing what he had just heard.
Finally, he said, "I don't think we're going to do that radically."
After all, Morrison reasoned, Brewster was a great military man (they had known each other for fifteen years), and who doesn't make mistakes when it comes to advanced technology that even the best scientific minds can't yet fully comprehend?
"Gentlemen?" The Admiral turned to the others.
There were no objections. Brewster remained in his post, but there was no talk of any awards.
"Thank you for your trust!" He nodded curtly. The general was not worried about his personal fate, but he was worried about the future of his subordinates and their entire program. So he hastened to ask a question, "Sir, what's going to happen to Flickinger and his team?"
"Well, since you're staying where you are, it's up to you to decide," said Admiral Morrison dryly.
"And our entire cyber research program? Shouldn't it be curtailed or at least revisited after what happened?"
Everyone's faces were turned back to Brewster.
"And leave America defenseless against the ever-increasing threats from the Russians and Chinese?" Morrison cried, but quickly pulled himself together.
"We'll deal with that separately, though, Bob! I still have to decide how to report all this shit to the President and Congress! In the meantime, go about your immediate duties! As far as I remember, other projects are being developed under your leadership: advanced weapons systems, these, as they are, terminators..."
Brewster wanted to say something else, but changed his mind. Instead, he got up and prepared to leave.
"Brewster, please leave the folder!" The Admiral held out his hand.
As the door closed behind the general, Morrison looked grimly at the other men.
"Well, what are we going to do now, gentlemen? What are the suggestions?"
"What if you don't tell the President or Congress anything at all?" The Chief of Staff of the U.S. Army said suddenly.
"How's that? Are you crazy?" The owner of the office was indignant.
"No, Mr. Chairman, I am inclined to agree," the head of the NSA interjected. "After all, the virus has been destroyed. And who knows if Skynet did it or not? Just Brewster and a handful of his subordinates. They won't talk, I'm sure of it. So to the President and congressmen, we're going to brag that 15 billion taxpayer dollars have been well spent, and... we will ask for new appropriations."
The head of the NSA looked around. The others supported him with monosyllabic phrases and approving nods. The Admiral thought for a moment.
"Maybe you're right... But what about the idea of a program like Skynet? After all, the threat from the Russians and the Chinese, it's real! On the other hand, if this thing turned out to be so unpredictable—"
"We'll just draw conclusions and not repeat the mistakes again," the Air Force Chief of Staff said. "With the money that will be additionally allocated after the report to Congress, we will begin to create a similar system..."
"Only it's not Brewster and his men who should be entrusted with it, it's someone else!" The commandant of the Marine Corps finished after his colleague.
Once again, everyone nodded in unison.