everyone here had a long list of peculiarities of their own.
But even against that backdrop, Kyle Reese and Star stood out. They weren’t brother and sister—that much Kyle would readily tell anyone who asked. But how and where and why the two of them had linked up, that no one knew. Not even Orozco, and he was closer to them than probably anyone else in the building. It was something Kyle simply wouldn’t talk about. Not even when asked point blank, which a couple of the less tactful residents had done on occasion.
Star didn’t talk about it either.
But then, Star didn’t talk about anything. Whether she was physically unable to speak, or whether the trauma of Judgment Day or its aftermath had sent that part of her personality into a hole too deep for anyone to reach, was just another of the mysteries surrounding them. The system of hand signals she and Kyle used to communicate bore no resemblance to any formal sign language that Orozco had ever seen. Presumably it was something the two of them had created themselves over the years.
But for Orozco, at least, the most striking thing about the two of them was their almost symbiotic relationship. They did everything together, from their work to their sentry duties to the general struggle of life, often with only a hand signal or two between them for coordination.
Right now was a perfect case in point. Over the two years Orozco had been here, and apparently for at least a year before that, Kyle had politely but flatly refused all offers of a real room for him and Star to sleep in at night, preferring instead to stay down here as the night guard’s backup.
But Kyle had politely refused both offers. He’d said that it didn’t count as a victory to kill an attacker if the sentry himself died in the process. Far better, he argued, for a potential attacker to see
It was a duty the boy took very seriously. Normally, any time Orozco got up to check on a noise or movement Kyle would be instantly awake right along with him, one hand on his gun, while Star continued to sleep.
But on those rare occasions, like tonight, when Kyle was so tired that he slept through one of Orozco’s spot- checks, Star invariably woke up instead, watching and waiting until Orozco gave her the all clear. It was as if on some subconscious level their two minds had agreed in advance which one would be on duty that night, and adjusted their sleep accordingly.
Orozco had seen that sort of near-telepathy before, but normally only between members of highly trained and highly experienced military units. He’d only rarely seen it in civilians, and never between kids this young who weren’t related.
The A-10’s engines had faded into the background now. Orozco wondered briefly whether it would find some hiding place before Skynet scrambled more of the HKs, then put the thought out of his mind. That was the pilot’s problem, and Orozco had more than enough problems of his own.
His eyes drifted back to the two sleeping figures in the alcove.
Once again settling his back against the pillar, Orozco laid his M16 in his lap and drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER
FOUR
The half-underground complex of half-broken buildings that made up Fallback One was smaller than the group’s previous bunker had been. It was also a bit more spread out and was thus, at least in Kate’s estimation, more vulnerable to a pincer attack if and when Skynet finally tracked them down.
But it did have a few advantages over their last base. For one thing, it was partially underground, and had a direct connection into the city’s old system of storm •drain tunnels, which meant a somewhat safer escape route. For another, it had a large open space in the middle of the complex where the entire group could gather together for planning or conferences or just plain simple emotional support.
At the moment, though, having everyone here together was looking more like a liability than an asset.
“—glad you got your people out alive.” The audio speaker crackled with the static-laden voice of one of the generals at Command. “Considering the scope of the attack, that’s no small feat.”
“Thank you,” John said into the mike. “What we need right now is some assistance in replacing the gear we had to abandon. We could meet your people wherever it’s convenient—”
“Unfortunately, we’re not in a position to help you resupply at the moment,” the general interrupted. “We can offer some organizational support, but that’s all.”
“Perhaps a partial resupply—” John began.
“I’m sorry, Connor,” the other cut him off again. “There’s another call coming in that I have to take. Good luck.”
The radio went dead. For a couple of seconds John stared at the mike, his face giving away nothing of what Kate knew was going on behind it. Then he stirred, reaching over and shutting off his transmitter. He glanced once at his wife, then turned to the group huddled silently around him.
“Well,” he said calmly. “Looks like we’re on our own.”
No one said anything. Kate looked around the room, her eyes touching in turn each of the faces she knew so well.
Fifty-four. There were fifty-four of them, now that Piccerno was gone: forty-two adults, plus six teens and four children under ten who the realities of life had put on the fast track to adulthood.
There were also, at last count, two babies.
Most of the adults were seasoned, hardened fighters who had been with her and John for years, and on their faces Kate could see only small flickers of concern or annoyance. Hard experience had taught them that disconnecting from their emotions as much as possible was the easiest way to make it through the life they’d been given.
The half-dozen civilians hadn’t yet learned that lesson. Their eyes were wide with disbelief, fear, and the beginnings of quiet panic, particularly the babies’ mothers. They weren’t fighters, and probably never would be.
They were with the group for the simple reason that there had been nowhere else for them to go.
Predictably, it was Barnes who finally broke the silence.
“That sucks,” he declared.
As if that was the signal everyone else had been waiting for, a rustling of murmurs erupted across the room. Kate caught snatches of some of the conversations, curses or pithy complaints lifting themselves briefly out of the general buzz. John let it run for a few seconds, then cleared his throat.
The room went instantly silent.
“You can’t blame Command for their decision,” he said calmly. “They have limited resources, and they have to do triage, like anyone else does.”
“With all due respect, sir,” Barnes said, “I think that’s a load of—” He glanced sideways at two of the children standing near him “—I think that’s ridiculous. Some of us have been fighting this damn war longer than Command’s even been in operation.”
“They’re career brass,” someone from the back of the room put in sourly. “History doesn’t matter, potential doesn’t matter. All they care about is what you’ve done for them lately.”
“I had a boyfriend like that once,” Blair Williams murmured.
“Not for long, I’ll bet,” Tunney said.
Blair sniffed loudly.
“Shelf life of an egg.”
A general chuckle ran through the assembly, and Kate sensed some of the tension fade away.
As usual, John was right on top of it, ready to take advantage of the altered mood.
