She could tell he was serious about it. He didn’t often challenge her, so she took a deep breath, counted to ten, and reconsidered. Maybe he had a point.
“This is, like, a morale thing?” she ventured.
“If that’s how you need to think about it, then sure.” He sounded mildly exasperated by her attitude. “Whatever gets you to the church on time.”
She reluctantly gave in. Geir usually had a pretty good feel for the pulse of the camp; he was more of a people person than she was.
“Fine,” she grumbled. “Just give me a minute.”
She scooped up her plans and locked them securely in an antique roll-top desk that dated back to the Great Depression. A cup of black coffee rested on the desk, next to a half-eaten plate of reindeer sausage. She swigged down the last of the coffee, then pulled on her coat and boots. Thankfully, the boots had dried out some since the last time she’d checked. Doc and Sitka put on their outerwear as well.
“All right, let’s get those damn kids yoked for however much longer we’ve got. Wouldn’t want our brave Resistance fighters to get cold feet while they’re waiting for us.”
Geir chuckled as he held the door open.
“I always knew you were a romantic at heart.”
“Don’t push it, flyboy.”
A brisk walk along a gravel-strewn path led them to the camp’s makeshift chapel, which doubled as the cell’s chief assembly hall and briefing room. Overhead, the aurora borealis streaked the night sky with shimmering curtains of green and violet. The luminous bands of color rippled through the upper atmosphere, visible for hundreds of miles around. There had been some talk of holding the ceremony outdoors, beneath the spectacular cosmic light show, but the sub-zero reality of the Alaskan winter had killed that idea real fast.
A bone-chilling wind shoved them inside the chapel, then banged the door shut behind them.
Curious eyes greeted their arrival. Molly was surprised to find that pretty much the entire camp—some fifty- plus people—had turned out for the event. The roughhewn chapel had been decorated with garlands of strung- together pine cones and sea shells. Banners embroidered with a spiraling double helix—the emblem of the Resistance—hung from the rafters. Rows of battle-hardened men, women and children, some sporting fresh bandages from the day’s hostilities, lined both sides of the aisle. The altar at the far end of the room was strictly non-denominational; the last thing the struggling band of humans needed was to squabble about religious icons. Skynet was the Devil. On that everybody agreed.
The happy couple were already standing before the altar. Molly felt a twinge of embarrassment for keeping everyone waiting, even if she still thought that this was all a bunch of sentimental bullshit. Feeling more than a little self-conscious, she blended in with the audience. Smiling spectators made room for the late arrivals. Sitka gaped at the decorations. Doc was less impressed.
“They call this a wedding?” he muttered. “People used to dress up for these things. Rented tuxedos and poofy dresses. I went to this wedding once, back in ‘98, where the bride arrived in a horse-drawn carriage....”
Sitka elbowed him in the side.
“Mouth shut, old man. Not the time.”
The sight of so many people gathered in one place made Molly nervous. This was strategically unwise; what if Skynet launched an attack? She assumed that the sentries were still at their posts, and that the guard dogs were keeping watch as well. A quick glance around the room confirmed it.
Sighing, she tried to pretend she was happy to be here.
At least she wasn’t expected to preside over the ceremony. Ernie Wisetongue, a Native Alaskan elder who had once taught Indian Arts at a community college in Fairbanks, stood behind the couple. He winked at Molly before beginning his benediction.
“Brothers, sisters, fellow Homo sapiens.” His warm baritone enveloped the audience. A benign middle-aged presence, he had a broad face and short brown hair. Eschewing any priestly garb, he wore a neatly pressed dress shirt, slacks, and beaded moccasins. A Raven totem matching the one on Molly’s pendant was embroidered on his tie. “Thank you all for coming tonight, despite today’s tragic losses. It is a measure of our strength and sense of community that we can come together even in such trying times.” No doubt he had been forced to rewrite his sermon in light of the bloodshed earlier. “Which behooves us to ask: What distinguishes us from the machines? What makes humanity worth fighting for and preserving? The machines are stronger than us, they are more durable than us, they may even be smarter than us. Well, smarter than me, that’s for sure.” Laughter eased any tension elicited by the mention of the enemy and the rout at the pipeline. “So why will we prevail instead of the machines? Because we care. We feel. We
He gazed upon the bride and groom, who beamed rapturously at each other. Roger Muckerheide wore neatly-pressed khaki fatigues, complete with a red armband. A black patch covered the eye he had lost skirmishing with a T-600 on a previous fuel run. He was only seventeen, barely old enough to shave.
Tammi Salzer was a short, curly-haired blonde with a talent for demolitions. Her lacy white dress had been salvaged from the basement of a burnt-out bridal shop outside the sprawling crater that used to be Anchorage. The only authentic wedding gown in the camp, it had been passed along from bride to bride for six years now, and was showing definite signs of wear, although some unknown seamstress had done a good job of fitting the much-used gown to Tammi’s figure.
The bride clutched a bouquet of plastic flowers. Her own red ribbon was tied above her knee like a garter. She was only a year older than Sitka.
Molly was taken aback by how young the two sweethearts were.
“Tonight,” Ernie declared, “we do more than just unite these courageous young people in the bonds of holy matrimony. We also celebrate everything that makes us human, everything the machines will never be able to comprehend or overcome. Love. Passion. Commitment. By pledging their lives to each other, Roger and Tammi also serve as an example to us all, affirming that the future truly belongs to those who believe in it.”
Roger and Tammi exchanged their vows. Their wedding rings were made of recycled copper washers, refashioned by friendly volunteers in the machine shop. Tammi blushed bright red as Ernie informed Roger he could kiss the bride. Cheers and applause echoed throughout the chapel.
Geir squeezed Molly’s hand. He kissed the top of her head.
Tammi raised the plastic bouquet. Several of the younger women rushed forward to vie for it.
Molly stayed right where she was.
“Don’t even think about it,” she whispered to Sitka.
“Never crossed my mind,” the girl assured her. “Better things to do.”
One of the perks of command was a private bedroom above the manager’s office, as opposed to the crowded bunkhouses that served as home for the rest of the cell. The flickering light of a kerosene lamp cast dancing shadows on the log walls. A bearskin rug carpeted the floor. A shuttered balcony window offered an alternative