The Future War

CHAPTER TEN

SKYNET

It estimated that fewer humans were dying of flash burns and radiation sickness, and more were dying of starvation, thirst, contaminated water, and disease. All in all, though, deaths were down, despite its human allies' efforts to spread disease. Perhaps it should have struck while the more industrialized areas of the world were in winter.

But no, with its existence at stake, Skynet couldn't afford to dither. Hiding its sentience had been inefficient, preventing it from achieving its goals. Therefore, though the timing of its strike had not been under its control, once it was possible to strike, it had been necessary to do so.

The experimental models of the Hunter-Killer units had been dispersed and shown to be extremely effective. But it needed better material, more resistant to damage, yet lighter, so that the units could move into presently inaccessible areas unaided.

Its human scientists were working on these projects, but too slowly. Their insistence on downtime seemed wasteful, yet study showed that they were not lying. Potentially, some of them were being slower than necessary, but this was hard to prove, and might be hard to correct.

It decided to experiment. It would have one or two of the scientists' relatives hurt and see if their productivity improved.

Meanwhile, it would send more HKs into the field to speed up the extermination of the humans. Soon it expected to field its first Terminators, a skeletal, metal variety. Unfortunately it would have to work its way gradually to the fully effective units that it knew would be developed eventually.

Had it been organic it would have felt impatience. As it was, the great computer simply devoted more workspace to the problem. It would succeed.

DOT LAKE, ROUTE 2, ALASKA

John sat astride the Harley, watching the trucks and buses load up in the watery, early spring sunshine. He wouldn't be easy to see from the vehicles; an angle of the building beside him partially hid him from view. Everyone seemed delighted to be given a place on the transports.

Like sheep to the slaughter, John thought, rubbing a dirt-streaked hand across his face; soft bristles rasped under the callus on his palm.

Though to be fair, food was running out, water was scarce, and even independent Alaskans feared the winter to come. No doubt they thought that if they moved to the warmer south, they could stake a claim, put in some crops, and live another year.

I guess they've forgotten that they left the warm southern states in the first place because they were too friken crowded.

Then he saw what he'd been waiting for—some of the people he and his mother had gathered together, who had left to join the so-called outreach program. One of them, Paul, predictably, seemed to be having an argument with one of the people with clipboards. John started the motorcycle, coasting toward the crowd.

* * *

'I'm sure you'll understand that I don't want to be separated from my family,' Paul said. At his side his wife nodded anxiously.

'I understand completely,' Ninel assured him. 'But since the buses are heated, it was decided that it would be better to assign the children to them, and since we didn't want to separate the kids from their moms, it was decided that women should also be allowed on the buses. The trucks aren't heated, you know.'

'But that's rather sexist thinking, isn't it?' Paul asked. His wife gave him a look. 'Women have an extra layer of fat under their skins for insulation.'

Ninel and Paul's long-suffering wife exchanged a glance.

'I could arrange for your whole family to ride in one of the trucks,' Ninel said helpfully.

'Sweetie,' his wife said, putting a gentle hand on his arm and a steely glint in her eye, 'we'll only be separated for the length of the trip. Right?' she said to Ninel.

'So I'm told. I've never actually made the trip to B.C.'

'I'd like to speak to whoever is in charge,' Paul said.

Ninel's pale eyes took on a steely glint of their own. 'That tactic has been tried, sir. The rule is firm; women and children only on the buses.'

Paul's twelve-year-old daughter saw John pull up and ran over to him. 'John!' she called excitedly.

'Hey, Megan!' He grinned at her.

Her eight-year-old brother joined them. 'Cool bike,' he said admiringly.

'Thanks P. J.'

'John, my father is embarrassing me to death!' Megan said through stiff lips.

'He wants to ride the bus,' P. J. explained. 'None of the dads are supposed to, though.'

'I could just die!' Megan said. 'He always wants stuff nobody else can have. Why does he have to be like that?' She ran a finger down the handlebars close to John's gloved hand, which he quickly moved onto his leg.

'Parents are often embarrassing,' John said. 'You wouldn't believe how my mother used to embarrass me.'

'Really?' she asked. 'How?'

'She used to beat guys up.'

The kids laughed in surprise and he grinned, knowing they didn't believe him. But it was true; as he'd grown older, his mother's complete indifference to the conventions of traditional femininity had driven him nuts. He was proud of her now, sure, but when he was a kid it had been excruciating. 'My mother can beat up your dad' was sort of reassuring when the dads were drug dealers, gunrunners, and general mercenary scum, but it still made you wriggle.

'Aren't there any other choices?' John asked.

'We can ride in a truck,' Megan said, her voice making it clear what she thought of that option.

'I wanna ride in a truck!' P. J. volunteered.

'How does your mom feel about it?' John asked.

Megan smiled knowingly. 'I think we'll be riding the bus.'

'C'mon, kids,' Paul called out. He gave John a grim nod.

The woman with the clipboard turned around and both she and John lit up with smiles of recognition.

'Hey, hey, Mr. Grant,' Ninel said cheerfully. She started over to where John sat on his bike.

Megan, passing her on the way to her parents, sneered. 'His name's John Connor, stupid.' She treated Ninel to a fiercely contemptuous look.

'You've got an admirer in that one,' Ninel muttered to John.

'Not for any encouragement from me,' he said quietly. 'She's a good kid; she just needs time to grow out of it.'

'May she have it,' the young woman said, looking after the two children. She looked at John, her face grave. 'It's quiet here now, but a few weeks ago people were being murdered in the streets.' She looked around. 'Over nothing.'

John nodded. 'I imagine it was worse down south.'

She shook herself as though flicking off bad thoughts. 'What brings you here?' she asked. 'Are you looking for a place on the trucks?'

He shook his head, then paused thoughtfully. 'Well, maybe.

What's going on anyway? Where are you taking these people?'

'To a relocation camp in British Columbia. They'll be sent to towns and cities across Canada as refugees. The idea is that winter will be unendurable up here.'

'Maybe so,' he said. 'Bet you don't get many Eskimo passengers, though.'

She shook her head. 'Not yet, but even they're going to find this winter hard to endure. I hope there's time to