Terminator Salvation

at Barnes, who nodded and accompanied Kate from the silo. Once they had departed and the door had shut behind them, Connor turned back to the creature that claimed the name of Wright.

Was that name coincidental, he wondered, or had Skynet developed a sense of macabre humor?

“Is this it? Is it you? You’re Skynet’s big plan?”

Struggling to hold himself together mentally as well as physically, Wright met the other man’s gaze without flinching. Summoning his remaining reserves, he finally once again sounded like the man who had been known as Marcus Wright.

“Listen, Connor. I don’t give a shit about you. I don’t know why this Skynet thing might want you dead and I don’t care. I’ve never even heard of you before two days ago. All I want....”

As he moved nearer and cut the prisoner off, Connor’s voice dropped threateningly.

“No. You listen. You and me, we’ve been at war since before either of us existed.”

That was enough to give Wright pause.

“That—doesn’t make any sense.”

“A lot of what’s happened doesn’t seem to make any sense. That doesn’t make it any less real. And reality, sensible or not, is what I have to deal with. The reality is that you’ve tried to kill me and my family so many times I’ve lost count. And you failed. Every time. You tried to kill my mother, Sarah Connor. And you killed my father. So I want you to listen closely, because I’m going to tell you something you need to understand. If Skynet wants me dead it’s going to need a better plan than you.” He stepped back, satisfied. “Hell, you couldn’t even get ten feet inside the base perimeter. Skynet must think we’ve gone stupid.”

Like so much else he had been forced to deal with since regaining consciousness in this insane world, Connor’s words left the overwhelmed Wright searching for answers. And as with so much else, he had none.

“No...I know who I am. I’m Marcus Wright. I’m not part of some wacko plot to kill you or anybody else. I don’t know a goddamn thing about your crazy war or your crazy world or....” His words trailed away. There was no point in continuing his protestations because it was evident that Connor wasn’t listening to them. His head drooping, Wright resumed mumbling as much to himself as to his interrogator.

“You’re all out of your minds. Kyle Reese is on a Transport on his way to Skynet. If I’d wanted to kill him, I would have done him in L.A. I just came here hoping to get some help—your help—for Star, and for him.”

Connor was halfway to the door when he stopped and whirled on the prisoner. He blinked, as if he had been grazed on the back of the head with a two-by-four.

“What—what did you say?”

Almost beyond caring, Wright didn’t look up.

“I told you. I’m trying to help a couple of kids who helped me survive this lunacy long enough to get out of L.A. Said they were the Resistance. If it wasn’t for them I’d probably be dead.” Now he did raise his gaze again. “Wouldn’t be here for you and your friends to sneer at.”

He shook his head slowly, trying to make sense of it all, of what had happened to him, and failing miserably.

“I don’t know what happened to the world. Or me. I don’t much care what happens to either. I’ve done some things in my life I wish I could take back, Connor. I can’t do that. But those two kids—I’m not letting them die. Or whatever it is these machines have in store for them.”

Connor listened, but his thoughts were focused on a single utterance of the prisoner.

“You said—Kyle. That the name of one of these children you keep babbling about?”

Wright frowned. “Why? You know him? Kyle’s not Bob or Bill, but it’s not that common a name, either.”

Connor said nothing. Neither did his expression. For a change it was Wright’s turn to scoff.

“Didn’t think so. ’Cause anyone who knew him wouldn’t have left him alone out there in this shit.” Connor’s expression contorted slightly. He was clearly struggling to restrain himself, and Wright was pleased to have finally gotten some kind of rise out of his captor.

“Let me go, Connor. You fight your endless war—win or lose, I don’t give a rat’s ass—or whether that ass is meat or metal. All that matters to me anymore are those two kids. I’m going to help them.”

Pivoting smartly, Connor headed for the exit. His mind was racing. As he closed the door behind him, Wright shouted after him, the sound echoing off the walls.

“You let me out of here, Connor.

“Connor...!”

The sound of the heavy metal barrier clanking shut behind his captor left Wright feeling more alone than he had at any time since the return of his memories. One of those recollections reminded him of—some-thing. Of another door closing, long, long ago.

No, he corrected himself. Not so very long ago. The door had shut on him just before he had awakened into this nightmare. He remembered things being done to him, though he could not recall what. Had they even been explained before they had begun?

None of that mattered except peripherally. It didn’t matter what Connor or anyone else said. He knew who he was. Marcus Wright, bad boy extraordinaire and anti-social foe of genteel society. A lot of good that had done him, he mused bitterly. A life of running and fighting, drinking and drugging and whoring. A life consisting of a series of mistakes and bad decisions, culminating in one that had seen him sentenced to death.

He frowned slightly. What was wrong with that picture? Well, for one thing, he ought to be dead. One way he knew that he was not deceased was because he hurt too much, too bad, and too persistently. Furthermore, he didn’t feel dead. Physically, he felt perfectly normal.

What was wrong with that picture?