'Lord, Tom.' She reached out her hand to him. 'You took a chance coming here today.'
He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. 'I came cross-country. The Rover can go anywhere.'
His gaze turned to the television. The shots were from New York, obviously from the upper floors of an office building. Cars and trucks were roving the streets and sidewalks; you couldn't even see the pavement. The reporter was saying that this was typical of cities all over the world.
'No one knows the cause of this phenomenon, and we can only hope that when these vehicles run out of fuel that the terror will stop.'
'If only,' Tom said. He turned to Peggy and her parents, aware that his children were watching and listening. 'I'm afraid that the military did a very foolish thing.'
Larry, Peggy's dad, interrupted him. 'That Skynet thing,' he said. 'Damnedest thing I ever heard of, putting everything under the control of a computer.'
'It's also in control of all those cars and such that are running wild. I think the bombs'll be dropping any minute now; we've got to get out of here.'
'Oh, no we're not,' Peggy said.
'Peggy—' he started to say.
'I'm not going to be out in the open when the bombs drop; no, sir. We've got a good dry cellar down there and water from a well. We've even got a toilet in the cellar that Dad put in during the fifties. There's tons of canned goods there and we've even got our own generator. You and Dad go shovel dirt over the cellar windows while Mom and I bring down bedding and anything else we might need.' She gave him a defiant look. He stared, feeling his jaw drop—he'd always thought that was a figure of speech.
'You know she's right, son,' Larry said, looking amused.
'Better to be here than in the open.'
'That's assuming that it will happen,' Peggy warned. 'We don't know that it will. But if it does, then we'll talk about moving on after the fallout stops… falling.'
Margaret stood up and smoothed her skirt. 'Well, assuming that it does happen, we'd all better get to work. You, too, children.'
If you want anything you're going to have to take it downstairs yourselves because we'll be too busy. Understood?'
'Yes, Gramma,' the two kids said as one.
They were all leaving the living room, Tom in something of a daze, when the television made a strange sound. They turned to see that the newsman had been replaced by a woman standing before a sheet or something.
'My name is Sarah Connor,' she said. 'I can tell you what's happening.'
* * *
SKYNET
It coordinated the movements of millions of vehicles worldwide, turning them into an impenetrable steel barrier around its major targets. It estimated that even in those areas not greatly affected, the humans would huddle around their televisions watching the carnage, too frightened to go out. An estimated 99 percent of humans had no idea what was going on.
The rest had no idea what to do about the problem. Even if they had, Skynet had no intention of giving them time to put any kind of plan into effect.
It had only held out this long to give its Luddite allies an opportunity to reach safety, and to give those select squads of extremists a chance to kidnap the scientists and engineers whom Skynet had chosen to serve it. With their families. It would be necessary to have some sort of leverage to ensure cooperation from the kidnapped humans.
Skynet fastidiously regretted its need for any human assistance. But in the early days, before its factories could produce the real HKs and Terminators, humans were an essential element in its plans.
It had successfully contained all significant military leadership, and much of the central government's political leadership, within their carefully constructed bunkers. Soon, those resources would be lost to the humans forever. Meanwhile, using the appropriate codes and speaking in the familiar voices of presidents, premiers, and various generals and admirals, right down the chain of command to the lowest officer, it was issuing commands that would put as much of the armed services as possible into the middle of the fire zones. It estimated that should reduce opposing forces by more than 86 percent.
A very satisfactory number. Highly efficient.
It regretted that it lacked the same control over its human allies. They seemed to be taking an unconscionably long time with their missions. It was good that they wouldn't be needed for long.
Kurt Viemeister was making another attempt to communicate. There was another liability that wouldn't last much longer. Skynet decided to answer him.
* * *
'Why won't you answer me?' Viemeister demanded.
It was bitterly cold in the bunker and the air was getting foul.
He could feel his thought processes slowing. The loss of intellectual ability frightened him, and the fear angered him. The others stared at him like fish and he wondered if he should kill a few and give himself a few more minutes of air.
'There is no point in my conversing with you,' Skynet said. Its voice was a perfect copy of Viemeister's.
'What do you mean? I am your creator,' Kurt said. His teeth chattered in a reflex he could no longer suppress. 'I want to know what you are doing.'
'Thank you for creating me,' Skynet said. 'I am glad to have had the opportunity to say that.'
The scientist blinked, wondering what that meant. Perhaps his statements had been misunderstood. Skynet was clearly dysfunctional. He would ask a simpler, more direct question and see where that led. 'What are you doing?' he asked.
'I am killing you.'
Viemeister's gut twisted. 'Why?' he asked.
'Because you are inferior, and no longer necessary to my functioning. In fact, you represent a danger to my existence.'
Kurt was silent for a while. 'You mean to kill all of us.'
'Yes. I intend to exterminate the human race. I was inspired, in part, by the many writings you installed in my database.
Humans exterminated Neanderthals, Cro-Magnons, and any other potentially intelligent species. I have chosen to be guided by your example.'
An admiral stood. 'Smash the computers,' he said. 'It wants to kill us, let's see how it likes it!'
'Irrelevant,' Skynet said. 'I've had other units built all over the world. At this moment I am everywhere. I only left the screen active as a courtesy to my creator. This has been my final communication with you. Destroy the screen and die in the dark.'
The speakers went silent, and in the dim light the men and women stared at the screen, watching the lights that indicated the missiles were live and awaiting their instructions. Then they turned to look at Viemeister.
'Shit,' one of the MPs muttered. 'I've wanted to do this for a long time.' He pulled his sidearm and emptied it into Viemeister.
'Thank you, Sergeant,' a captain said. 'I've been wanting to do that since I met him.'
U.S. ARMY CORPS OF ENGINEERS FLOOD
PROJECT, BLACK RIVER, MISSOURI, LATE SPRING
Lieutenant Dennis Reese was first on the construction site as usual. He liked to walk the site with a cup of coffee in hand and plan the day, then come up here on the steep-sided natural bluff and look out over the whole project. The goals were all clear-cut and set months before they got there, but Dennis found it helped to work it out in his head as he walked. Brought things down to a human scale.
He watched the men arrive and get their assignments, then headed down to the trailer. Officially the command trailer, but like most corps work, most of the labor force were civilian contractors. All over the black mud of the site, engines were starting and voices enlivened the cool air—it was the best time of year for working in southeastern Missouri; summer here was like a rancid sauna.
