Terminator Salvation

She blinked. “That’s possible. Or there could be a cerebral divide; part original memories from the time when the brain was in a human body, and the rest adjectival programming by whoever fashioned the final amalgam.” She returned her attention to the despondent, dangling body. “Given time and access to sufficiently sophisticated instrumentation, there might be a way to separate them out.”

“There might be a quicker way. And an easier one.” He also turned back toward the hanging shape. “It might also reveal nothing. On the other hand, the cost in time and equipment will be negligible. We’ll just ask it.” Taking a step toward the figure, he waited until the eyes—human eyes, Kate had determined, but with ingeniously disguised electronic enhancements—rose to meet his own.

“Who built you? What is your ‘T-class’ designation? How are you supposed to carry out your prime function when depth scans have revealed no internal armament, no concealed explosives, and only internalized communications facilities?”

As the figure being questioned stared back at Connor, exhaustion and despair gave way to defiance.

“My name is Marcus...Wright.”

Fascinating, Connor mused. Enticing and yet repellant. With this device Skynet had really advanced its human-simulation programming. Probably one of the reasons they continued to seek and keep live captives. Study your enemy in order to duplicate him. This thing hanging before him was so convinced of its humanity that it was incapable of admitting the truth about itself even when exposed to irrefutable reality. Here was a case study for the machine psychologists as well as a demolition team.

Despite its apparent helplessness, did they dare allow it to continue functioning?

“So you’re Marcus Wright,” Connor reiterated. “And you think you’re human?”

Wright looked down at himself again. Looked into his wide-open chest, which ought to have been causing him excruciating pain, but was not. Eyed the gaping breach from which blood should have been pouring in streams, but was not. His visible heart beat steadily, even powerfully, giving no indication that it might cease to function. It was the same with the lights and instrumentation and gadgets and inexplicable mechanical contrivances that hummed softly in its vicinity.

“I am human!” was his response to Connor’s scathing query.

Connor turned back to Kate. There was not a shred of sympathy in his voice.

“It doesn’t even know what it is. The programming is flawless. Earnest self-denial in the service of survival and subterfuge.”

“Please.” Wright continued to plead. Maybe his gaping chest was not causing him to fail physically, but the unavoidable reminder it provided of his apparent and unfathomable alienness was starting to unsettle his mind. “Please let me down.”

Connor looked back at him, spoke calmly and with complete assurance.

“If I were to let you down it’s extremely likely your first act would be to kill everyone in this room, or at least try to do so. Where were you manufactured? Where were your consciousness and independent cognitive processes activated?”

Wright swallowed, fighting to remember. Struggling to stay sane.

“I was born. In Abilene, Texas. August 22^nd, 1975.”

Connor nodded sagely.

“You look pretty good for someone who’s forty-three, Marcus, and just got blown ass over entrails by a landmine powerful enough to cut a T-1 in half.”

Wright’s panic left him with a suddenness that would have been frightening to another. It didn’t surprise Connor. Very little did.

“I know you,” the prisoner murmured. “Your voice. From the radio broadcasts. You’re John Connor.”

“Of course you know who I am.” Connor shook his head knowingly. The machines were capable of devilishly brilliant things, but on occasion they could also be painfully obvious, even naive. “You were sent here to kill me. To kill the leadership.”

“No...no....” Wright mumbled ineffectually. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Connor was perfectly willing to discuss matters with the creature. It would be interesting to catch a conversant machine mind in a philosophical quandary and see how its logic circuits responded.

“Why else would you come here? To this particular base? Kill John Connor and you’ve proven your value. But you had to go and set off that mine. Skynet won’t be pleased.”

Wright seemed to struggle to understand what Connor was telling him.

“Blair—Blair Williams said you might be able to help me. I was trying to help a couple of kids. Skynet took them—in a big Transporter. They helped me when I—when I came to in this place, in this world. I’m trying to save them, and you’re stopping me.”

Connor was impressed. This thing’s programming was complex indeed. It could even replicate empathy. Relating to human children—that was pure genius on the part of the enemy.

“You’re a pretty convincing liar, Marcus. If I wasn’t trying to obliterate every last self-aware machine on Earth, I could almost admire you.”

Kate leaned toward him.

“Looks like he really believes it.”

“Of course he believes it,” Connor snapped. “Otherwise the whole charade loses its verisimilitude. Let me talk to this thing alone.”

“Are you sure? If its mission is to kill you....”

“...It would already have done so if it could, whether anyone else was present or not. I’ll be okay.” He gestured