John was hyper-aware of everything around him, of Wendy writhing on the floor trying to get her breath…
Tricker flicked a series of kicks at him—low, middle, high—balancing effortlessly. There was no room to dodge; John backed a little, blocking with his forearms and sliding in with his weight on his back foot.
" Isa!" he shouted, driving bladed palms at his opponent's groin and eyes.
Those eyes widened as Tricker slid back in turn, blocking high and low and trying to capture a wrist; that nearly cost him a kneecap, as John snap-kicked in the moment they were in contact. What followed in the next thirty seconds was like a savage, precisely choreographed dance— one that left John's face wound bleeding again and Tricker favoring one leg. The younger man waited, hands up and weight centered; it wouldn't last much longer. It couldn't, not when experts were fighting for keeps. The least little advantage…
After what seemed to her to be an eternity, Wendy got her breath back and struggled onto her hands and knees to watch the two men battle.
"Are you crazy?" Wendy shouted at Tricker, still gasping. "Are you completely insane?" she demanded, tears streaming down her face.
The question and her expression were so convincing that for a split second Tricker thought that he might have made a mistake.
John's booted foot caught Tricker in the side of the head and the agent went down, temporarily paralyzed by the blow. Instantly John followed up with a carotid hold and Tricker's world went black.
John looked at the unconscious man, reached down to check his pulse, then went to Wendy. "You okay?" he asked, deeply concerned.
"I've been kicked in the stomach by an expert!" she snapped. "No, I'm not okay!
But I'll live," she added grudgingly. She took his offered hand and let him help her to her feet, then she got a good look at his wounds. "Oh God, John! Your face!" She reached for him, but he held her off.
"No time," he said. "We've got to get this guy tied up. Help me look for something."
The first thing that John noticed was that the computer screen was flipping through views of rooms a great deal snazzier than this one. Laboratories, by the look of them. "Hey, check it out," he called to Wendy.
She stood by his side for a moment, watching, then shook her head. "So how do we get there?" Then she looked at him and smiled. "That door!"
He nodded, wiping the blood off his chin before it could drip on the keyboard.
"But first things first, all right?" He tipped his head toward Tricker. "See what you can find." it wasn't long before Wendy straightened up with a glad cry.
"Duct tape! The force that holds the universe together."
John had made a happy discovery of his own, a Sig-Sauer 9mm that he found under the desk in a quick-release clip. "Most excellent," he murmured, caressing
the gun.
"Hands tied in front or back?" Wendy asked.
"Back, most definitely." John went to stand beside her. "Let's get him onto one of the bunks," he suggested. "I'll take his head, you take his feet."
They flung him on the bunk and John got to work winding the tape tightly around the agent's hands and feet.
"That's a little snug," Wendy said, looking worried.
"Yeah, but if he gets loose he's gonna try and kill us."
"A point," she conceded, "most definitely a point."
He wound the tape around their prisoner and the bed at his neck and hips, binding him to the bunk until the tape ran out.
"No gag?" Wendy asked.
"No point," John said. "There's nobody to hear him. I'd rather use the tape to make sure he doesn't come after us. Besides, they're risky. Too much chance of his choking to death."
She looked startled, but nodded wisely. This wasn't her world; in matters like these she'd best let John be her guide.
They left the room and looked across the short hall at the door that Tricker had pulled closed. It stood open a foot.
John's body turned to ice and he could feel his blood pounding in the cuts on his face and the lump on his head. Then he shook it off.
"She… it's here," he said quietly. "And it knows we're here."
Wendy looked at his pale face and bit her lip, knowing who he meant and taking fright from his obvious apprehension. She knew instinctively that there was only one thing to do in a situation like this—pretend it didn't matter.
"Aw, you can do it!" she said, giving his arm a little slap. "You handled that guy all right."
" He is human." John looked at her and wished her gone with all his heart.
As though she knew what he was thinking, Wendy leaned in close and kissed his cheek gently. "You need me," she reminded him firmly.
He could see her pride as she said it, and putting his hand behind her head, he drew her close and kissed her. It hurt, but it fed his soul. He leaned back and smiled at her. "I'll go get the gun, then we'll get started," he said.
Wendy smiled and nodded. When he was gone she gave the door beside her an anxious glance, took a deep breath, and rubbed her aching stomach. Looking across the hall, she could just see Tricker lying on the bunk.
So far, she thought, so good.
He needs her? Clea thought. Whatever for? She certainly can't fight. And if she wasn't here to back him up then what was her purpose? It had also surprised her
that Connor was unarmed. To the I-950, that was synonymous with unprepared.
But from what he'd said, he expected her to be here. This suggested an unreasonable degree of self-confidence. But why? What reason had he to be so confident?
He and his mother defeated Serena Burns, her computer reminded her. They have twice destroyed Skynet.
A ripple of unease disturbed her. Then she pushed it away, assuring herself that all of these side issues were unimportant. What was important was that the enemy was here and that she must prepare to deal with him.
Separate them, she thought. Maybe leave the girl until later. Connor is the important one. Connor was the first one she'd kill.
John had made Wendy crouch down and hug the front of the elevator. He stood in front of her, plastered against the wall. When the doors opened it would appear from the outside that the elevator was empty. He waited until the doors closed by themselves, then waited some more. Wendy stirred and he put his hand down to warn her to stillness.
In the security room the I-950 watched, both amused and impressed. She assumed that he was counting to some high number and wouldn't move until he'd reached it. Good tactics, if you were dealing with a human.
Finally John hit the door button and did a forward roll into the hallway, coming up on one knee, his gun pointing down the empty corridor. His heart was beating so hard that he thought he could see the gun in his hands bob to its rhythm. Get it under control, John, he warned himself. Get it under control or he'd be useless
when the time came to face the Terminator.
He signaled Wendy to come out of the elevator, then gestured to her to stay behind him and keep low. When they got to the first door he made her stop several paces short of it, then moved up himself. He listened, then Hung the door open with a crash, pulling back out of the line of fire. He reached around the door frame and found the light switch. When the lights came on he swung back to one knee in the doorway, gun at the ready, then carefully stood and gave the room a quick search.
Then he moved on to the next.
"Hey," Wendy whispered, "shouldn't we—"
John hissed her to silence and with a gesture told her to stay right where she was.
Wendy rolled her eyes but obeyed. She glanced at the elevator; they probably ought to lock it down, but oh well. John knew what he was doing.