Dieter clipped the taser back onto his belt and leaned down. Grabbing one of the
Terminator's arms, he tugged and grunted.
"He's heavy," he said in surprise, his voice showing the strain of dragging roughly three hundred pounds of inert mass.
Jordan took the other arm and they finally got it moving. They dragged, then pushed it into the shadows.
"Mom's already here?" John asked as they started off.
"She should be," Dieter said. "What do you Americans say? One big happy family."
"Christ," Jordan muttered.
CYBERDYNE: THE PRESENT
Sarah rolled the last barrel into the fourth elevator and took it to the lowest level, four. She'd already filled all the other elevators with the makings she'd flung together and sent them to the other floors.
Cyberdyne's equivalent of a quartermaster seemed to love ordering in bulk and she'd taken full advantage of his/her thriftiness. I could come up with the makings for a bomb in a public rest room, she thought; fruits of a not-so-misspent life, one the waitress-student she'd once been would have found incomprehensible and terrifying in equal measure. This abundance of stuff was pure luxury.
The one thing they didn't seem to have an ample supply of was dollies. She'd
been able to find only one. When the door opened on four she tipped the barrel she'd loaded and raced for the far end of the complex. Only fifteen more to go, she thought.
Dieter tapped in the test code and the door lock disconnected with a harsh buzzing sound. The three of them pushed through the doors and rushed toward the desk. John slapped von Rossbach on the arm and pointed to the elevator indicator lights. One car was stopped on each floor.
"Hey, if a guy can't depend on his mother, who can he rely on? This is her most excellent MO, believe me." He went over to the elevators and pushed the button for the one stopped on four. Nothing happened. "She's got the door propped open," he said. Excitement seemed to be lending him energy. "I'm going down to three to help her spread the bombs," he said and headed for the emergency stairs.
"John, wait!" Dieter called out, but the boy was already through the door. He turned to Jordan. "Is there anybody else here?"
"Usually on a Sunday there are six security people and a few scientists working and maybe one or two eager-beaver executives," he said. He thought a moment.
"If I know Serena Burns she's probably arranged for the place to be empty."
Dyson turned to the security desk and blinked at the sight of the guard, now slowly returning to consciousness, stuffed under the desk. Jordan shook his head and blew out his breath. Get on with it, he ordered himself. Don't ask questions, don't think, just do it. He set the monitors to show what was happening on each floor.
Most of the scenes shown were devoid of human presence. On four, something
flashed by too fast to register.
"Sarah!" von Rossbach said, pointing a thick finger at the monitor.
"And John," Dyson said, indicating a monitor that showed the boy creeping through a door marked with a big "3."
The rest of the security cameras flashed views of the areas covered, showing two security guards and no one else.
"Those are the ones Serena sent with me to Sacramento," Jordan said.
"Terminators," Dieter growled, looking grim.
"We'd better tell John and… his mother," Jordan said.
"I'll take care of John," von Rossbach said. "Sarah has a laser with her that will take down a Terminator. The boy has nothing."
first teenage hubris, Jordan thought.
"Is this Serena person likely to be here?" Dieter asked.
Jordan nodded solemnly. "The kid thought she might be the one in charge of all the Terminators we've been running into."
Dieter froze in thought, looking for all the world like the Terminator he'd disabled outside. "Can you distract her?" he asked.
Jordan rubbed his jaw, then shrugged. "I can try," he said. "I'll come up with
some story about what happened. That might keep her occupied for a little while.
I don't think she'll buy anything I come up with, though. That woman is smart."
"If John is right, that woman isn't a woman," Dieter said. "Go ahead, do what you can. I'll go help John."
Jordan glanced at the elevators, then followed Dieter to the stairs. He wasn't sure what was up with that, but it wasn't an arrangement he wanted to mess with.
"Wait! "he said.
He went back to the guards' desk and shut each camera down individually. Then he fixed it so that they could only be turned on again using a new password:
"fear." Which I expect to experience more of tonight. He stood up and blew out his breath. I guess that means I've crossed the Rubicon for certain, he thought.
"Okay," he said aloud. "Let's go."
Von Rossbach nodded and they headed out.
Serena sat behind her desk, hands primly folded before her, and worked the last conversation she'd collected between John Connor and Dyson through a series of filters. For some reason, once he'd entered the base hospital, reception had been extremely poor. The 1-950 had been working on it for a half an hour now, using a reconstruction algorithm, and still couldn't make out what they were saying through the static.
Once Jordan had begun speaking again, shortly before he returned to the base, she'd been relieved. Knowing that the boy was at hand, if not actually in her
hands, was satisfactory. She knew where he was and from what she'd heard he wasn't going anywhere in a hurry. At least not pumped up with Demerol, he isn't, she thought.
For now, she was content to ignore him. Serena had bigger fish to fry. Sarah Connor to be exact. She'll be here soon. Everything currently known about the woman promised it.
Five was patrolling outside, as were two of the human security guards. One of those she'd put near the gate with orders to report anything strange. The other she'd assigned to the hospital, where he was watching Connor's room. Six and Seven were on independent patrol of the complex. Now it was just a matter of waiting.
The T-950 looked up in surprise at the tapping on her door.
"Come in," she said.
Serena came as close as she ever had in her life to dropping her jaw in astonishment. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her long legs.
"Well," she said slowly. "This is a surprise."
He came in and slumped toward her desk, head down, looking tired, rumpled, and sheepish.
"So, what happened?" she demanded. "Speak to me, Jordan."
He leaned both hands on the back of the chair across the desk from her, pressed
his lips together, and looked off to the side.
"Jordan?" she said, looking at him from under her brows. "Have you lost your voice?"
She upped her hearing level and found that his heart was beating rather rapidly.
Meaning? she wondered. It could simply mean that he expected to be fired, or that he had hard questions for her, or it could mean something much more dangerous.
"No," he said, raising his hand. He looked her in the eye. "Let me tell you what he told me," Jordan suggested.
She raised her brows. "If you think it will help," she said laconically.
He blew out his breath and began to speak, his eyes keeping contact with hers.
He told her about the Terminators and how they had ruthlessly pursued the Connors. Of how Connor was convinced that the three men she'd sent with him were nothing less than contemporary versions of the enemy they'd met before.
She listened quietly, taking note of the micro-tremors in his voice more than of what he was saying. He's scared, she thought. Because he believes them or because he expects to be humiliated for that belief? For a human, one could be as disturbing at the other. She had time; let him grab enough rope to hang himself.