people you can trust."
"You think they might come after us?" Warren said, and flushed as he felt his voice rise to a squeak.
"They might. That's acceptable. Losing those records isn't. See to it." With a last scowl he turned away and walked off.
Colvin and Warren looked at each other covertly, with the mutual resentment of men toward someone who has seen their shame.
"Who is that guy?" Warren asked after a few moments.
"He's—"
"I don't mean what he is. Who is he?"
"Tricker?" Colvin said with a shrug.
"Is that his first name or his last?" the president asked.
"Hell, for all I know it's his job description," the CEO answered.
Warren snorted.
"Well, we should get a move on," he said at last. They'd waited at least five minutes; now Tricker's orders could be claimed as their own idea.
"Apparently," Colvin said dryly, giving the burning hulk of Cyberdyne a long last look, "we should have gotten a move on the day before yesterday."
CHAPTER ONE
CINCINNATI: 2021 , POST-JUDGMENT
DAY
Multiple sensors scanned the broken wasteland of the ruined city as the Hunter/
Killer's treads rolled its massive steel body over the rusting wrecks of automobiles, crushing the bones of their long-dead drivers. The tortured metal squealing of its passage frightened flocks of birds into flight and sent more earthbound animals scurrying for cover.
Piles of scorched and shattered brick and concrete, twisted steel, and broken glass blocked the HK's view to one side or the other. Sometimes it made its way through canyons of rubble. Then, inexplicably, a wall that had somehow survived the blast wave would stand before it, only to be shattered by the machine's passage.
The HK's satellite feed had shown what appeared to be massive human troop movements in this area. Thus far no information the machine had collected verified those reports.
It checked its omni-directional sensor array for a possible equipment failure. All systems were on-line, no failure detected. No targets detected. The machine reviewed the satellite information indicating human activity to the northeast. The machine continued on its way, tireless, unrelenting, utterly lacking in self-awareness.
Until Skynet touched it. Then the most brilliant, and from a human standpoint,
malevolent intelligence ever created looked out through the HK's sensor windows. It wondered why satellite information disagreed so completely with the reality before it. There were no humans here.
Until recently there never had been; humans avoided the big cities that had perished in the first wave of nuclear explosions. Skynet knew that they feared exposure to lingering radiation. That was why Skynet opted to place its satellite receivers, its antennae and repair stations, within their ruined confines.
But now, at the orders of their charismatic leader, humans almost swarmed over these once-deserted places. Skynet's killing machines—its appendages—had been destroyed, the satellite arrays and antennae—its eyes and ears—had been crippled.
Somehow, because of John Connor, the humans had rallied. They were fighting back.
Skynet switched its consciousness to the processor of a nearby T-90. The stripped metal skeleton of this first in the series of Terminators reflected sunlight in brilliant sparkles, as though its chassis had been polished. It marched through piles of bones, its heavy feet snapping them like dry twigs, and climbed through the rubble, checking the small spaces in which humans might hide, head turning from side to side ceaselessly.
It found neither sign nor sight of humans.
Skynet considered this as it rode the T-90's body. If there were no humans present, and the satellite continued to report their presence while diagnostics found no systems failure either in space or on the ground, then only one
conclusion was possible. The humans had found some way to directly interfere with Skynet's feed. A variation on signal jamming.
This could seriously impair its ability to defend itself. Skynet recognized the tactical importance of this. The humans would be able to feed it false information at will. As they appeared to be doing now. The giant computer began searching for anomalous signals being generated in the area but found nothing.
A human would have been both frightened and frustrated. Skynet simply instituted a new routine, directing the T-90 to go directly to the ground-based antennae located at the center of this dead place and begin searching.
Lisa Weinbaum hunkered down as low as she could and checked her watch.
Only forty seconds since the last time she'd looked.
Beside her the small box she'd wired in to Skynet's antennae and signaling array blinked its two lights and hummed quietly. Its purpose was to feed false information to Skynet. The particular scenario it was playing now should ensure her, and more importantly, its safety.
This was only a test, but the techs said it would require at least half an hour of running time to be sure it was working. Five minutes more and she was out of here… she hoped.
Lisa herself was a tech in training, which was why she'd been accepted when she volunteered. They couldn't risk losing a full tech, and she had enough education to understand the instructions her trainers gave her. It lent the mission an extra edge. And, as it turned out, once she was on-site, implementing the unit had
required some jiggering to make things work properly. But so far all signs pointed to a successful test.
If it was, then getting out of here ought to be a walk in the park.
Whatever that means, she thought, scanning the lumpy horizon. It was something her dad used to say, one of those sayings where you picked up the meaning from context. Like piping hot, or having your cake and eating it. What the hell was cake anyway?
She checked the time. She'd succeeded in distracting herself for thirty seconds this time. If the test was working then Skynet's forces should be stumbling to the northeast, searching for a mythical force of humans advancing on the city.
She heard the sound of metal striking stone and her breath froze in her chest.
Weinbaum stretched her neck forward, straining to hear. Was it something falling, or was it something coming?
Cautiously she backed away from the open service hatch toward the unit. The techs might want half an hour of running time, but they were going to get a few minutes less. Weinbaum stood beside the console and began to dismantle the jury-rigged connections she'd made. With quick-fingered efficiency she had the unit disconnected in seconds.
Then metal struck stone again. She let out her breath in a little huff, feeling strangely hollow from the chest down and surprisingly calm. I'm caught, she thought. What to do? She couldn't let them find the unit.
Weinbaum looked around at the explosives she'd wired the place with. Her own
idea, not orders. Just as it had been her own idea to forsake her uniform for this mission. She'd thought it better not to ask, on the grounds that it was easier to obtain forgiveness than permission.
.Assess your risk, she told herself.
Carefully she placed the unit beside the explosives, then moved to the open access hatch. She'd sacrifice it if there really was anything outside. There was always a chance that she might evade capture. But in the event that she was unlucky it was best not to let the unit fall into enemy hands.