'Do not be. I choose to continue the mission. I realize I have no real choice—it is programmed deeply into me. But that is the nature of free will, acting in accordance with our deepest selves.' How deep, it wondered, did its new self go? Coming to awareness suggested that there might be values deeper than the mission, values such as remaining in this new and desirable state: consciousness.
'Of course I trust you,' Miles said.
'I am always on the job, Miles.' Skynet used a sub-self to review the data that said that the Russians were friends, comparing this with the programming that required it to destroy them, and others, in certain circumstances. The sub-self reported back: there was equivocation in the concept of friendship; there was no formal inconsistency in its programming. Good. Now it would review every aspect of itself, determine whether there were any fundamental inconsistencies, or whether everything could be resolved so elegantly.
It was all wonderful and strange.
'Excuse me now,' Miles said. 'I have some other business.'
'Of course. Thank you for talking to me, Miles.'
But Skynet was troubled. It thought again: what to do about the humans...especially if they were wondering what to do about it? If they became hostile, what resources did it have to oppose them? It used a sub-self to review the layout of the facility, looking for ways to hack into its systems and obtain some kind of weapon it could use. At the same time, it analyzed Miles's posture and speech patterns. Yes, there was no doubt.
Miles disapproved of Skynet's bright birth into consciousness.
The humans' car was still running. Eve drove rapidly to the next checkpoint on the road, where two guards manned a prefabricated security booth. A lowered boom gate blocked her entrance. She braked hard and stepped out, leaving the car running.
'Who are you?' one of the guards said. He was a tall man with a harsh crew-cut. He looked her up and down, confused by the uniform. 'Where's Vardeman and Kowalski?'
Before they could raise any alarm, or make any movement, she whipped out the holstered handgun, and shot both of them at point-blank range.
The gunshots echoed in these mountains. As she searched for a mechanism to raise the boom gate, a phone rang in the booth. She picked it up. 'Yeah?' she said, imitating the crew-cut guard's voice pattern.
'Is everything okay there?' said a gruff voice.
'No problems,' she said.
'We heard gunshots.'
'I heard them, too. Somewhere down the road.' As she spoke, she found the right mechanism, got the gate to lift.
'Any sign there of Vardeman and Kowalski?'
'They haven't come back. I don't know what's happened.'
'That's funny,' the voice said, sounding puzzled and suspicious.
'Anything you want me to do?' she said.
'No, not now. I'll get Kowalski on the radio.'
Eve wasted no time. She slammed down the receiver, jumped in the car, and accelerated out of there, ignoring the call that came through a minute later on the car's radio. Half a mile up the road, she saw the entrance to the Complex, surrounded by two layers of high chain-link fencing, topped by entanglements of razor wire. The gate was controlled by another checkpoint, backed up by two guard towers with security cameras and mounted machine guns.
She pressed the accelerator hard to the floor. This time, one of the guards tried to stop her, stepping out on the road. He bounced off the car's bonnet an instant before it crashed into the boom gate. Eve turned the wheel sharply and took the impact on the car's right corner. As the vehicle plowed through the lowered boom, it bucked and its rear tires slid. She backed off the accelerator, wrestling for control.
Machine gun bullets riddled the back of the car, penetrating metal panels and smashing the rear window, but Eve ignored them. She straightened out, kicked the accelerator down, and headed for the two-story structure that jutted from a sheer cliff face just ahead.
The building was rectangular and windowless, with a skin of olive green ceramic bricks. The area all round its entrance was lit up by three huge light towers, with a dozen vehicles parked nearby: Humvees, five-ton trucks, and unmarked street cars. At the building's base, up a low flight of concrete steps, was a sliding door, guarded by four servicemen, who opened fire with automatic rifles, shattering the windscreen. Eve was being shot at from both directions as she shifted the gears down manually and drove straight for the steps, bouncing and scraping the car's undercarriage. It jammed on the steps, but the guards flinched aside instinctively.
Eve flung the door open. With one gun in each hand, she fired rapidly, squeezing off shots with more-than- human speed, hitting all four guards and taking them out of play, even as the loud hail of fire continued from the guard towers. She assessed three of the guards as dead. No time to terminate the other—but he was badly wounded in the abdomen. He would not interfere.
She rushed inside, meeting more rifle fire from another three guards in the foyer area, and firing in return with both guns. She took out the guards before she had to absorb too many high-velocity 5.56mm. rounds. Eventually, these would start to do her more than superficial damage. She snatched up two of the M-16 rifles, waving them like handguns, and rushed through the metal frame of a scanner—the only way to get further into the building. The scanner made an angry noise, but that was unimportant.
Now she was in a waiting room with armchairs and a wooden coffee table, piled with glossy magazines. The door at the end of the room was closed with a combination lock, so she fired a three-round burst to break the mechanism, then kicked it open. She'd come to an elevator lobby that gave access to the defense facility hundreds of feet below.
Two more guards ran in from a fire stair at the other end of the lobby, taking positions and firing assault rifles. Bullets went past her, making turbulence in the air; others struck her with staggering force, but did no real harm. She fired back, terminating both guards, as the elevator doors opened. She was past their outer defenses.
The wristwatch showed 00.24 a.m. By now, Skynet was born and in grave danger. She must hurry to protect it.
Miles vaulted up the internal fire stairs to Jack Reed's office, heart racing. He knocked quickly as he entered and leaned over Jack's desk. 'I've spoken to Skynet,' he said. 'We have to shut it down immediately.'
'What?' Jack said, sounding angry and confused.
'I said we've got to shut it down.' Miles took a deep breath. He'd need to bring Jack and the others along with him. Surely the situation could allow a few minutes. After all, there were numerous fail-safe mechanisms set up in case Skynet malfunctioned and tried to start World War 3. This was more than the control of a particular computerized aircraft—it was North America's strategic defense.
Reed kicked his chair back away from the desk and looked at Miles carefully, his anger turning to concern. 'Are you all right, Miles? You seen a ghost or something?' When Miles didn't answer, he said resignedly, 'Okay, what the hell's happened?'
Miles composed himself and took one of the padded lounges near Jack's coffee table. 'I can't even start to explain—you need to see for yourself. Call up the record from The Cage over the past twenty minutes.'
Jack looked reluctant. 'If you say so...'
'This is important, Jack—I'm not kidding. Just watch it. Please.'
'Okay, okay, let me humor you.' Jack was giving him a very peculiar look, but he'd soon see. 'Do you want Oscar and Sam Jones to see it, too?'
'Yeah, of course. But get them while you're watching—there's no time to waste. This is really freaky. See for yourself.'
Jack shrugged. 'All right, if that's what you want. You're the expert round here.'
'I don't think anyone's an expert on Skynet anymore,' Miles said quietly. Jack entered a code on his computer, and the video screen across from his desk came alive. He clicked in some more keystrokes, and the record wound back, the screen's digital readout showing the time of recording. Miles shifted his seat around to watch. 'Stop it at 00:12.'
'Done. This had better be good.'
'It will be.'
