“Take my hand.”
She nodded, and had to swing briefly again to reach him. Gripping her right hand firmly with his left, he resumed slicing at the cords. He didn’t have to cut the last one—unable to hold her weight by itself, it snapped with a soft
Bending down as much as he could without releasing his grip, he swung her like a toy until she could grab one of the metal struts. Their eyes met and locked for several seconds.
“You can let go now,” she told him softly. He released her hand, and together they made their way back to the ground. He watched her with admiration. Most of the women he had known couldn’t climb worth a damn. Those who could were usually responding to unusual motivation, such as the shouts of pursuing police to stop where they were.
She was dusting herself off as Wright started walking away. His attention was focused not on her, but on a specific point in the distance. One he could not see, but seemed to know was there.
“That thing the machines put the people in—where is it going?”
Still checking her gear, she glanced up at him.
“The meat Transport? I don’t know. Nobody does. There are all kinds of theories. Nobody talks about it much. Doesn’t make for pleasant dinner conversation.”
He nodded, and promptly started off in the direction he had last seen the machine traveling. She gaped at him.
“Where the hell are you going?”
He spoke without looking back. “After it. They took my—friends.”
She shook her head. What part of the sky had this doof-us—an admittedly very strong doofus—dropped from?
“I hate to break it to you, but if you’ve got friends on that thing, they’re as good as dead. The machines don’t swap prisoners. When they lose fighters, they just build new ones.” He was still walking, forcing her to shout after him. “You’ll be dead too if you keep going in that direction!”
This time he did look back. His tone was stone cold.
“I’ve been dead for a while now. I’m getting good at it.”
She jogged after him until she caught up. Part of her said just to let him go. You couldn’t stop a fool from going on a fool’s errand, especially one as determined as this idiot seemed to be. On the other hand, every live person was one more who could raise a weapon against Skynet. If there was anything the war had taught even the most cynical, it was that every human life was worth preserving. Having seen that common sense had no effect on her rescuer, she switched to persuasion.
“You can’t do anything for your friends on your own. You’re making a noble gesture that will end in your death —and there are easier ways to commit suicide.”
Reaching out, she put a hand on his arm. “Come with me back to my base. It might take some time to hoof it, but there’ll be others out looking for me. We might be able to help your friends—though I’ll be honest and say I doubt it. If the regular military doesn’t have any ideas, Connor might know a way.”
The mention of that name stopped Wright in his tracks.
“Connor? The man on the radio? I just heard him speak. He was—positive.”
She smiled encouragingly. “That’s Connor, all right. He puts out a regular regional broadcast, same as every base commander. Goes with the job. But Connor’s not like ‘every’ base commander—leastwise that’s what I’ve been told. He knows as much about the machines as anyone.”
Though still gazing longingly at the horizon, Wright found himself forced to temper desire with reality.
“Where is your base? You said we might be able to walk there.”
She relaxed, relieved to have gotten through to him.
“Should be one or two days hike. If nobody picks us up in the interim, I’m pretty sure I can get us back. I’ve flown over this part of the country plenty of times.” Digging into a pocket of her flight suit, she pulled out a compass. Like so much of the equipment humans had been reduced to using since the rise of Skynet, the compass was functional but low-tech.
Still he hesitated. “Are you sure you know which way to go?”
She smiled reassuringly. “The base is there. You coming?” Her smile twisted. “It’s got a great view.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The interior of the Skynet Transport was an accurate reflection not only of machine design but of their disdain for humankind. It was dark, cramped, and uncomfortable, providing just enough room and air to keep its captives alive. Not unlike the cages humans had once used to smuggle endangered animals from one country to another in the service of the lucrative and illegal exotic pet trade.
Trying to hang onto the little bit of space he had managed to carve out by dint of mild pushing and shoving, Kyle Reese did not feel like he was going to be made into a Skynet pet. While he had no idea why the machines had taken them alive, he doubted it was to fete him and Star and their fellow prisoners with candy and ice cream. The brief thought of ice cream, which he remembered clearly but had not tasted in years, did nothing to soothe either his mood or the hunger that was once again rising in his gut.
They were not alone in the belly of the Transport, though nearly all the other captives were adults. Conversation was muted and conducted in a variety of languages. Around them the steady whirr and hum of the machine was interrupted only by an occasional clank. He had already decided that the Transport was not equipped with the most advanced machine mind. There was no reason why it should be, since it was essentially a semi- sentient truck.
