Out in the mass of twisted girders that somehow still underpinned one side of the Golden Gate Bridge, Connor heard the soft beep of his compact communicator. Pulling it out, he studied the single red dot that was now flashing in the center of an overlay map of the old city. No words accompanied the pulsating dot, nor were they needed. He knew what the sound and sight signified.
Hauling himself out of the concealing tangle of steel and concrete, he started to climb down the remainder of the severed structure. At the bridge’s other entrance a pair of automated gun emplacements detected the movement and swiveled toward him. He tensed and prepared to run. When nothing further happened, he took a couple of cautious steps in the direction of the turrets. Still, the guns didn’t fire.
They didn’t fire when he was within maintenance range, nor did they alter their aim when he continued walking between them. Overhead, a small Aerostat hissed past. Its weapons systems tracked and fixed on the now running human figure—and without taking action it moved on.
So did Connor.
***
Having accomplished his purpose in coming, Wright was suddenly reluctant to leave. There was so much more to learn, so many details that could prove useful to the Resistance. He made himself stay, continued scanning and studying, soaking up as much potentially constructive information as he could.
That was when he came across a particularly interesting file with a simple yet profound designation.
MARCUS WRIGHT
Old headlines whipped past in front of him. Leaning toward the monitor, he scanned them with a mixture of anxiety and eagerness.
“Murderer Donates Body to Science.”
“Doctor to Congress: Death Row Inmate’s Body Can Aid Cybernetic Research.” This one was accompanied by a photo. A photo of someone he knew, a memory from his past. One of his last memories.
Dr. Serena Kogan.
Relentless and unemotional, the file continued to spill information. An obituary sped before his mesmerized gaze.
“Dr. Serena Kogan, cyberneticist, succumbs to cancer. Was infamous for convincing Congress to allow death row prisoners’ bodies to be utilized in scientific research.”
The subject matter abruptly changed, from the personal to the apocalyptic.
“Defense system goes online. Cyberdine Research says system foolproof.”
Then, “Rumors of glitch in multi-billion dollar defense system abound.”
And following, “Missiles in air: Russians retaliating. Hundreds of millions to die.”
From a religious website: “Judgment Day Upon Us!”
And finally, almost calmly, a simple computer readout.
NO FURTHER INFORMATION: WORLD WIDE WEB DISCONTINUED AFTER THIS DATE.
“Welcome home, Marcus.”
A voice, firm and unexpected, suddenly filled the room. Whirling, he looked up and around, but there was no one to see. He was still alone, still the only presence.
At least, the only physical one.
He knew that voice. It was one of the last voices he had heard. The voice of Dr. Serena Kogan. Who was dead, of cancer.
As he fought to resolve the apparent impossibility, something slammed into the back of his skull—from within. Reaching up and back, he clutched at himself. There wasn’t so much a sensation of pain as of—finality.
Then he collapsed.
Within the submarine that was home to Command, the communications operator turned from his console to look back at the waiting Admiral.
“Signal broadcasting at full bandwidth, sir.”
Ashdown nodded approvingly. “Good. Issue the order to commence bombing of Skynet.”
The operator complied.
And failed.
And tried again. His expression one of helplessness, he looked up and to his right. Losenko was there, studying the readouts. Finally the Russian looked over at the two men.
“All outposts have stood down. You know about the broadcast. He’s reprogrammed everything. They will not attack until Connor orders them to.”
Ashdown spoke through clenched teeth. Only one word, that emerged as a curse.
“Connor....”
Unlike a comparable human fortress, the deeper Connor pushed into Skynet Central, the fewer patrols he encountered. From a machine standpoint, it made sense. Assuming nothing could get past the massive outer fortifications, there was no reason to waste resources looking for non-existent infiltrators. That did not mean he let down his guard, though. It would only take one sighting of the solitary fast-moving human to bring a host of lethal devices swarming in his direction.
