Terminator Salvation

“Run!”

Giving Reese a shove, Connor rushed for the other exit. Behind them, the Terminator regarded the now useless weapon, let it fall to the floor, and started after the fleeing trio.

Pausing in the hallway, Connor swung his grenade launcher off his back, loaded a round, and took aim. The instant the machine came into view, he fired. The heavy shell slammed into its shoulder and knocked it ten feet into another surgical bay.

Recovering, it came toward them again. A second round spun it like a top but failed to knock it off its feet.

Racing along the main hallway, searching for another exit to the outside, they encountered instead a line of massive shafts that ran from ceiling to floor. A glance up and down the corridor showed no route out except the way they had come.

Maybe, Connor thought, he could make one.

He blew a hole in the wall of the nearest shaft. Leaning into the gap, he could feel warm air rising from below. It wasn’t hell down there, then. Peering harder, he thought he could see a reflection of light on a solid surface. Clutching the two children to him, he took a deep breath.

They all jumped together.

His perception had been accurate. Though uneven, the floor was not dangerously far below. As they picked themselves up, a symphony of sounds became audible. Clanking, whirring, humming, buzzing and banging, as if they had landed in some kind of factory. Which made perfect sense, Connor thought. There was neither need nor reason for the more mundane manufacturing activities of Skynet to be situated above ground.

Brushing himself off, Reese squinted into the surrounding darkness.

“What is this place?”

By way of reply, Connor fumbled with his remaining gear, located a flare, and ignited it. The harsh, bright magnesium glow illuminated their surroundings, including the bumpy surface underfoot. This was composed of hundreds of gleaming, chromed, rounded shapes: all new, all perfect, all horrifying. Red eyes flickered, awaiting full activation. As the human intruders stared, a softly whirring robotic arm appeared out of the darkness to select one of the humanoid skulls. Swinging to its left, it flawlessly positioned the head on the neck protruding from the top of a waiting metal skeleton. Connor now knew the answer to Reese’s question.

They were in a Terminator factory.

“Move.” His voice was barely a whisper as the full import of where they had landed closed in around him. “Keep moving. Don’t stop.” When Reese, semi-paralyzed by the sight, didn’t move, Connor gave him a gentle but firm shove. Blinking, the younger man nodded comprehension and started forward, holding Star firmly by the hand.

The automatons that comprised the factory floor were designed to build, not to hunt. They were powerful but single-minded. None of them were programmed with the motivation or the means to challenge the humans’ presence or try to block their path as the silent trio hurried onward, simultaneously fascinated and horrified by the sights around them.

They passed dozens of Terminators in various stages of assembly. Legs and arms, torsos and internal components were arriving continuously from many directions. All converged on the main fabrication line Connor and the children were paralleling, until at last they reached the point of final assembly.

Yet even that was not the end.

Though individually terrifying, the long line of completed Terminators still had to be powered up, still awaited activation. Perhaps that was done in clusters, Connor mused as he warily studied the finished but dormant factory product.

One thing was undeniable: that process was not taking place at the moment. It was even conceivable that activation of additional units had been put on hold until the worldwide destruction of the Resistance had been completed. Or the pause might be nothing more than a coincidence, a matter of timing. Activation of this latest batch of killing machines might occur at any hour, at any minute.

In which case it would behoove human intruders not to wait around to watch.

As he and Reese stared at the glow of a massive finishing furnace, something else drew Star’s attention. Wandering away from the two men, she reached out toward a stack of glistening metal and silicate boxes. Before she could make contact, Connor’s hand reached in to stop her.

Reese stared at the stack. “What are these?”

“Fuel cells.” Connor stared at the mound. “The source of life and energy for the Terminators.” Along with programming, here was something else of critical importance that had yet to be installed in the otherwise completed machines.

Slinging his backpack to the floor, he rummaged inside until he found the coil of detonation cord. Working deliberately, he began wrapping one length of it after another around the stacks of cells. Seeing what Connor was doing, Reese broke off his examination of the inert Terminator and came over to join the older man.

“Let me help you.”

Connor didn’t need any help. But the earnestness in Reese’s voice—coupled with the knowledge of who he was—compelled him to acknowledge the offer.

“Sure. Do as I do.” He proceeded to demonstrate. “This is det cord. Wrap it once around. String it, one to the others. When you run out, let me know and I’ll bond them. Be careful.”

A mechanical humming sound startled them. Looking up and back, their eyes were drawn to an elevator cage. It was moving—down.

Hurriedly, they retreated toward the nearest empty hallway. Behind them, the lift came to a stop and the doors opened to reveal—nothing. Connor grunted.

“False alarm. With everything that’s going on here, all kinds of equipment is likely to short out and start acting funny.” He started to return to the work of wiring the fuel cell stack—and noticed Star. She had gone immobile.