“Yes sir.” Connor spoke calmly, evenly. “We’re on the same page.”
Ashdown hesitated a moment longer, then smiled thinly and put the gun down on the table.
“Good. Good. This Command is well aware of your exploits and your valor in the field. We’ve all heard your broadcasts. And I, personally, appreciate everything you’ve been doing for the cause.” He stopped momentarily, and the smile vanished. “So tell us, soldier—what the hell are you doing here?”
Before replying, Connor took his time concluding his study of the bridge, taking in the makeshift electronics, the dedicated but worn crew, the chatting officers. He was less than impressed. His eyes met those of the general as he offered a terse explanation.
“We’ve been able to determine that Skynet is taking human prisoners for R and D. They’re dissecting them. Replicating human tissue for the new model Terminator. I saw the schematics. Based on my knowledge of...” he hesitated, “based on what I know, that’s ten years too early. If the new model goes on line now, this war is over.”
Ashdown nodded, let his gaze meet the expectant gazes of his fellow senior officers.
“A new genesis of Terminator.”
Connor was feeling better. It appeared that he wasn’t going to have to explain everything from scratch.
“Cyborgenic infiltration unit. Titanium combat chasis. Nuclear fuel cell, fully armored, very tough.”
“Yes,” Ashdown agreed readily, “and also the machine that tried to kill your mother, Sarah.” Connor stared at him. Ashdown didn’t miss a beat. “Pescadero State Mental Institution. Escaped. Connor, crazy isn’t going to win this war. Soldiers like you and I are. Don’t give the new model another thought. It’s not going to be a problem because it’s never going to go into production.”
Connor frowned. “How do you know that?”
Ashdown’s grin returned. “You think you’re the only one who knows things in advance? You’ll be briefed on a need-to-know basis.”
“Okay—how about right now? I need to know. My men died down in that hole. So I need to know. Why did we launch that attack? Why did we go down there? And most importantly, what did we find down there?” His expression twisted. “I would’ve asked the survivors myself—except I couldn’t find any survivors.”
Ashdown considered before finally replying.
“Hope. We found hope.” He gestured to one of the other generals. In addition to his insignia in Cyrillic, the other officer wore a second identification patch with the name Losenko. Connor eyed him with interest. The older man’s face was as gnarled as an old Siberian Spruce. Here was a man who plainly had spent time in the lower ranks. Someone who would talk straight with a lower-ranking officer—and shoot him point-blank if he thought the other man represented a threat.
“We found a solution that can end this war once and for all.” As Connor stared at him, he turned and gestured to a waiting aide. The man nodded and turned to manipulate hidden controls. A nearby screen flashed to life. Though he was familiar with the subject matter, the initial images were new to Connor and he straightened slightly, taking in every detail of the portrayed new model.
“We know the machines use short-wave transmitters to communicate among themselves. Thanks to your assault, intelligence has isolated a hidden channel riding beneath the primary.” He was looking hard at Connor. “This secondary channel allows for direct control of the machines. It permits anything—or anyone—broadcasting on it to override the usual communications.”
On the screen, a line of code was isolated and highlighted. It was not impressive, but what it represented was. Ashdown picked up from the Russian.
“Skynet is a machine. And like every machine it has an ‘Off’ switch. Thanks to you and your troops, we now have that switch in our possession. We’re going to shut them down and bomb them back to the Stone Age.”
While he had taken it all in, Connor’s thoughts remained focused elsewhere.
“What about the human prisoners?”
Ashdown’s brow furrowed as he replied.
“What about them? You questioning my humanity? When the time comes, I’ll do the right thing.”
Their eyes locked and held. Finally Connor nodded, tersely.
“Okay, our intel people have found this signal. They’ve analyzed it. They think they know what it does. Which leads to the next question: does it work? Or are our tech teams just spitting theory?”
“Will it work?” Ashdown glanced down at the file on the table. “Yes. Has it been field tested? No.”
A quick surge of adrenaline pulsed through Connor.
“I’ll do it. I’ll test it. Give it to me.”
Ashdown eyed him a moment longer, then looked across at Losenko. The Russian pursed his lower lip as he contemplated the man who had dived from a helicopter into open, storming ocean in hopes that they would allow him to join them.
“Mr. Connor and his tech comm unit have an excellent record. Assuming enough of them survived, I think we should allow him this opportunity.”
“All right.” Looking past the table, General Ashdown directed his words to the soldiers who had brought Connor in. “Take him topside. Prepare for lockout.” His gaze fell once more on the visitor. “If we get this right, the war is over, Connor.” His expression tightened. “Good luck, soldier. We mount our offensive in four days.” Turning, he headed for the far end of the bridge. The other senior officers rose to accompany him.
Only Losenko remained. Removing a small portable drive from a shirt pocket, the Russian handed it over.
“These are the codes for the signal. I have all confidence that your technical people can put together the appropriate instrumentation to propagate it. Good luck.”
Pocketing the drive, Connor nodded.
“Why four days?”
“A ‘kill’ list was intercepted from Skynet. It says matter-of-factly that everyone in this room will be dead by week’s end. You were number two on the list.” He turned to rejoin his fellow officers.
“Who’s number one?” Connor called after him.
Losenko looked back and shrugged, more indifferent than bemused.
“Some unknown. A civilian named Kyle Reese.”
The infirmary was crowded—the infirmary was always crowded. Doctors and nurses, general services technicians, soldiers and supply personnel surged back and forth like the tide, according to whether wounded were incoming or those that had been adequately treated were being moved out. It was a routine that, while far from comfortable, had at least become familiar.
Then John Connor walked in.
Initial feelings of relief and even joy turned rapidly to sorrow as one by one those present realized that he was alone. Hopes that there might be surviving wounded elsewhere vanished with his continuing silence. Had there been other survivors of the mass assault on the Skynet VLA, he would by now have said so.
Approaching the new arrival, a lieutenant with “BARNES” stitched across his shirt spoke for everyone in the room when he inquired softly, “My brother didn’t make it, did he?”
Connor put a hand on the man’s shoulder. He knew Barnes, just as he knew everyone who was permanently assigned to the base.
“I’m sorry.”
Pain flushed the noncom’s face. In lieu of tears he replied, fighting to keep a rising quiver out of his voice.
“If he died fighting with you, he died well.”
Connor nodded, dropped his hand, and pushed on. There was nothing more to be said and nothing else he could do.
In her work among the wounded and the dying, Kate Connor had become entirely too conversant with the persistence of bloodstains. She had long ago given up trying to keep her scrubs spotless. No one expected it of her and, at several months pregnant, she had neither the energy nor the inclination to try. She had rather more important issues to focus on.
Like the man washing his face at the sink.