“What you just saw is captured security footage taken at a top-secret United States military installation on July 25, 2003. Judgment Day. The day the machines rose in revolt.” He turned toward the screen. A handheld remote called up screen captures from the grisly footage. The first depicted one of the wheeled killing machines.
“That is the T-1 Battlefield Robot, originally designed to replace human soldiers in hazardous situations. A fully autonomous ground offensive system.” He clicked the remote again and the hovering drone took its place upon the screen. “This is an early prototype of a Hunter-Killer aerial weapons system, equipped with VTOL turbofan propulsion units. The HK can fire both heavy-caliber ammunition and low-yield missiles. Larger versions, the size of conventional aircraft, were in the planning stages when Skynet seized control of our military forces. As you just saw, Skynet employed these prototypes to massacre the personnel at Edwards Air Force Base where they were being developed. No one survived.”
A Chinese general rose angrily from his seat.
“So you admit this catastrophe is your doing!” he said in accented English, pointing an accusing finger. “That it is your machines that started the war!”
“That was not our intention,” Ashdown stated. “But I take full responsibility for what Skynet, and its automated weapons systems, have wrought. There were those who opposed the Skynet initiative, who thought it unwise to place an artificial intelligence in charge of our entire defense network, but I was not among them. I thought that Skynet was the future of military technology, eliminating human error and vulnerabilities. In the Pentagon and elsewhere, I argued aggressively for its funding and development.”
He clicked off the images, letting the screen go dark once more.
“Believe me when I tell you, I will regret that to my dying day.”
The man’s guilt was palpable. Losenko sympathized. He knew too well what it felt like to have the deaths of millions on your conscience. But Ashdown’s burden made his own seem like a trifling misdemeanor.
How was the man able to bear that knowledge?
An Indian commander, whose turban and full beard identified him as a Sikh, confronted Ashdown.
“How do we know this is not a ruse? Mere special effects cooked up as part of an elaborate deception?” His skeptical tone reminded Losenko of Ivanov, as did his arguments. “In India, we have seen no such death-machines. Only invading troops with American accents!”
“Those are collaborators,” Ashdown insisted. “Misguided men and women who think that Skynet will let them and their families live if they cooperate with the machines.” His mouth twisted in disgust. “Some of them have even convinced themselves that Skynet will pacify the world, bringing about a golden age of endless peace and prosperity for those who survive. A pax robotica.” He spat out the words. “Those idiots have nothing to do with the Resistance.”
“So you say,” the Sikh commander pressed. “But why should we believe you? Because of some scary horror movies? Our own Bollywood could have produced footage just as convincing... before your missiles reduced it to rubble!”
“He is not lying.” Losenko rose to his feet. “I have seen these Terminators with my own eyes. They butchered my men when I returned to my homeland after the initial attack.” A burst of feedback sent out a squeal that hurt his ears and he adjusted the mike. “Such machines are already in mass-production on the Kola Peninsula. I would not be surprised if there are more factories in operation throughout the world.”
Other voices chimed in, both confirming Ashdown’s story and mocking it.
“It is true,” an Israeli woman reported. “Our intelligence agencies were aware of the United States cyber- research initiatives long before Judgment Day.”
“As were ours,” the French representative declared. “NATO had been consulted on the program, at the very highest levels.”
Ashdown tried to regain control of the meeting.
“All right, everybody, calm down! Additional information on the machines can be found in the dossiers in front of you. If you have any doubts, I suggest you review the evidence, then make up your own minds.” The hubbub gradually died down.
“In the meantime, we can’t afford to waste time debating the reality of the threat.” He gestured at Losenko, who was still standing before his microphone. “Our Russian comrade here is right. Skynet and its human pawns are already manufacturing new killing machines both in the United States and abroad. We also have reason to believe that new and improved models of the T-1 and HK are in development.”
“That’s what John Connor says,” a Japanese general pointed out. He scanned the dais. “Where is Connor? Is he here?”
Ashdown massaged his temples, as though he felt a headache coming on.
“There may be a misunderstanding here. John Connor is not the leader of this Resistance. As far as we can determine, he is a well-informed civilian who has taken it upon himself to alert the world to the danger posed by Skynet.” Confused muttering greeted Ashdown’s statement. “Don’t get me wrong. Connor is performing a valuable service to humanity. His broadcasts provide both information and inspiration, both of which are sorely needed in time of war. I respect and admire his efforts on behalf of the Resistance. But he is
“Do you know where Connor is?” the Japanese delegate persisted. “Have you been in touch with him?”
Ashdown sighed. Losenko got the impression he was tired of having to answer such queries.
“We are making every effort to contact Connor. If he’s as committed to the Resistance as he says, I’m sure he will eventually enlist and take up arms under our banner. Right now, though, he’s proving a hard man to find— not that I blame him. That’s how he’s survived so far.” A note of exasperation crept into the general’s voice. “But, again, he is just a civilian. Not a trained military commander like everyone here.”
“Excuse me, General,” Losenko interrupted. “Are you saying that there is no place for civilian militias in your Resistance?”
“Not at all,” Ashdown replied. “My country was founded by citizen-soldiers who fought back against oppression. Local militia groups have their uses. They harry the enemy, disrupt supply lines, and keep Skynet distracted.” He shrugged as though this wasn’t a topic on which he wished to waste too much breath.
“But let’s be realistic. Amateur guerillas and backyard saboteurs aren’t going to win this war. Skynet is too big and too smart. In the end, only a well-organized army and navy—commanded by professional soldiers—can keep the machines from overrunning our world.” He looked up at the gallery. “You, ladies and gentleman, are the hope of humanity, not scrappy fugitives like John Connor. Together, we can take back our planet.”
“Under whose command?” a Libyan colonel challenged. “Yours?” He shook an accusing finger. “Your arrogance created this disaster, but the rest of us paid the price!”
“We’ve all paid dearly,” Ashdown acknowledged. “My only son was stationed at a U.S. military base in Alaska. He died on Judgment Day, before any of us knew what was happening. We didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye.”
Losenko dropped back into his seat, shaken to the core by what he had just heard. His mind flashed back to that terrible hour in the control room of K-115. He heard himself issue the command to fire, felt the deck lurch upon the launch of his missiles. Mushroom clouds blossomed like poisonous fungi over a land on which he had never laid eyes. Ashdown’s faceless offspring was consumed in a nuclear firestorm. His ashes were reduced to atoms. The Russian captain averted his gaze from the podium, unable to look Ashdown in the eyes. An inescapable truth rendered him numb.
Only Utyosov noticed his reaction.
“Dmitri? What is it? Is something wrong?”
“I....” Words failed Losenko. He couldn’t speak. With shaking hands, he poured himself a cup of cold water and gulped it down. “It is nothing, Bela,” he finally managed to croak. “A bad memory, that’s all. It... it took me by
