Terminator Salvation

He looked down at himself. At his torso, with its skin peeled back and the chest cavity gaping like a display case in the gadget department of a custom auto parts store. Surrounding his heart were enough blinking telltales and miniaturized parts and elegant wiring to fill a hundred tech magazines. Someone—or several some-ones—had done terrible wonderful things to his insides. The intricate modifications were as sophisticated as they were alien.

This isn’t me, his bewildered brain told him.

This is you, his indefatigable eyes told him.

He looked away; to the far wall, at the ceiling, down toward the bottom of the pit far beneath his feet— anywhere but at himself. He could not stand the sight of what he had become.

Could not stand it because he could not understand it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Since its establishment, the Resistance base had always been a hive of activity, and tonight it was alive with more activity than ever. Pilots were suiting up and going over flight plans, ground troops had begun to assemble preparatory to moving out, backup forces were making sure everything was in place to shift supplies and reinforcements wherever they might be required, medical teams went over details for handling the expected rush of wounded, and communications specialists checked and rechecked their gear.

Coordination on the battlefield would be crucial. This was to be the biggest Resistance-wide assault on Skynet anyone could remember. Everyone was eager to fulfill their assignment and do their part. They had been surviving through hit and run tactics for years now.

It was time to strike back.

As Williams and Kate accompanied Connor to the next checkpoint, the memories of his private, personal confrontation with the prisoner continued to trouble his thoughts. He glanced back at the pilot.

“Where did you find that thing?”

Williams moved up alongside him. “You diverted Mirhadi and me to provide cover for some civilians. He was one of them.”

“No,” he corrected her sharply. “He was with them. He isn’t one of them.”

“He sure acted like he was one of them,” she shot back.

A thin smile creased Connor’s face.

“Of course he did. Skynet’s whole exercise is useless if its creature isn’t accepted as human.”

She persisted. “If he’s a project designed to kill you, why would he let himself get blown up by a mine ten feet inside the base perimeter? What good would that do him? What good did that do him? You’ve got him all trussed up nice and harmless, in an old missile silo that’s secured against receiving or broadcasting. Even if he’s what you think he is, he can’t transmit out and nothing can transmit to him.”

Connor nodded patiently, confident that he had already anticipated every objection she might voice.

“If our scanners caught him broadcasting or receiving, it would instantly expose the charade. He had to be made to appear as human as possible or he never would have gotten as far as he did.” With your help. That was the unspoken addendum. “As to what ‘good’ setting off the mine did, that got him inside the base and close to me, didn’t it?”

Williams was still far from persuaded.

“That’s all it did.”

“Only because there must have been a misjudgment on Skynet’s part. Some of those landmines out there are newer models. Probably Skynet calculated that its creation could survive a blast well enough to sustain its programmed mission.”

“Then why didn’t it—why didn’t he—set himself off or something when you went in to interrogate him?”

Connor shrugged. “Landmine damaged the necessary pertinent circuits, or disrupted its programming. Like you just pointed out, it has been under a transmission lockdown ever since Kate opened it up. That includes internal transmissions. For all we know its been trying to explode itself ever since it regained functionality.

“That it hasn’t been able to do so by now tells me that it can’t, or like you said, it would already have done so. We’ll find out when we go in and locate the explosive, or gas cylinder, or whatever assassination module it’s hiding inside itself.” They turned a corner and he changed the subject.

“When you were flying cover for the civilians, or after you came down, did you see a teenage boy? About sixteen?”

Taken aback by the sudden shift in the line of discussion, she had to take a moment to reflect.

“I don’t know. Couldn’t say for sure. The survivors were taken off in a Transport. This Wright—he was the only survivor to get away.”

“Not ‘he,’” Connor corrected her once more. “’It’ was the only survivor, Blair. Makes you think, doesn’t it? Why did only ‘it’ manage to avoid being picked up by the Transporter? Don’t be naive.”

Pausing, he turned on her.

“I’ve got work to do and not enough time in which to do it. Don’t pester me with any more simple-minded entreaties on behalf of a machine, no matter how good it is at whimpering. I’m glad you survived, no matter the circumstances. Good pilots are harder to come by these days than planes. Get over this nonsense, remember who and what you are, and do your job.” With that he strode out of the hallway and into the nearby briefing room.

“‘It’ saved my life, John.” The door was already closing behind him and it was likely he hadn’t heard. She stared at the unresponsive barrier for a moment longer before turning to her commander’s