Proof that both the transmitter’s circuitry and programming were working was provided by the Hydrobot. It spasmed once, then went inert on the table. Connor pointed out to the tech that while the single red light in the center of the machine’s head faded to an ember, it did not wink out entirely.
The chief technician nodded. “The code signal creates a disrupt. It’s not a permanent turn-off or we’d simply send out the broadcast and shut down all the machines.”
Connor grunted. “So it’s more of a ‘pause’ than an ‘off’ switch.”
“I’m afraid so,” the tech told him. “And the signal has to be continuous in order to sustain the effect. Any interruption and....” He flipped the switch back.
The Hydrobot immediately jerked back to life, beating violently but futilely at the tabletop and its bonds. Locking eyes with Connor, it snapped viciously in his direction. He studied it dispassionately, like a defiant mouse that had suddenly managed to turn the tables on its would-be trap. The tech switched the transmitter back on and the machine was once again immobilized.
“While the signal is being broadcast, it can be traced. It gives away your location. But it works.” He eyed the dormant Hydrobot with unconcealed loathing. “And while it’s working, you can walk right up to any machine and blow it to bits.”
“I’d rather have a full-time ‘off’ switch,” Connor muttered.
“We all would.” The tech was sympathetic. “But if this is the best we can come up with based on the information that was acquired in the course of the attack on the Skynet VLA, I know plenty of people in the field who’ll be glad to have it.”
“Speaking of people in the field, John....”
Turning, he saw that Kate had been watching from the other doorway. Entering, she smiled gently.
“Have you forgotten? It’s time for your radio broadcast to the survivors.”
He spoke more curtly than he intended. “There’s no time. Not tonight.”
She put a hand on his shoulder. “There are people left out there. Not just those in the Resistance. People out on farms, scattered in the mountains, hiding in the desert. Trying to keep it together in national forests and city subways and on small boats at sea.” Her fingers contracted gently against him. “They need to hear a voice. Your voice.”
She hesitated briefly, then added the unavoidable coda.
“You know who’s out there, John.”
Looking back at her, he didn’t have to ask who she was referring to.
“All right. What I’ve got in mind is going to take some time, anyway.” Turning, he saw that the chief technician and the entire tech crew were waiting on his orders. He indicated the motionless Hydrobot.
“Destroy this thing. See if you can rig up a more portable version of that transmitter. We’re going to try it out on something bigger. We have to, otherwise we’re just spinning our wheels.”
“That sounds more like something a machine would say, sir,” declared one of the watching soldiers. Everyone who heard it chuckled at the quip.
The clandestine radio room the two of them entered was unoccupied except for the technician on duty.
Every month, more were lost. Every month, the voice of the Resistance grew fainter, its area of coverage smaller. But they would keep talking, right up to the end.
He settled himself in the chair facing the microphone. Off to his left, the busy technician was intent on his equipment. Checking not only to see that everything was functioning and that the carrier wave was sufficiently strong, but also that it was not being traced. Only when he was satisfied with both did he turn to the waiting Connor and give him a silent thumbs-up.
Connor nodded and leaned slightly toward the mike. He could feel Kate’s eyes on him; watching, waiting, expectant. Though he had performed such broadcasts many times before, the words never came easily to him.
What could he say that had not already been said? What more could he do to exhort those who continued to resist, to encourage those who were still fighting back?
What could he say to Kyle?
He stared at the radio for a moment longer and then leaned toward the microphone.
“I hope he’s listening to this,” he muttered, before beginning his transmission.
“We’ve been fighting for a long time. We’ve all lost so very much. So many of our loved ones are gone. But you are not alone. There are pockets of Resistance all around the planet. We are at the brink....”
CHAPTER FIVE
Where once it had resounded to the laughter and awed exclamations of excited children getting their first close-up glimpses of the stars and the planets, the old observatory now sat silent and ruined. Little of its distinctive green dome remained. Destroyed displays and weather-damaged exhibits lay broken and battered with scant regard for the knowledge they represented.
The pages of indifferently strewn books rustled fitfully in the wind, their words seeming to drift away to rejoin the vanished spirits of those who had originally set them down.
