Won’t be for years, probably.
“I remember Dr. Pepper,” Molly said gently. She took Doc’s arms and guided him back toward the table. The trick was humoring him just long enough to get his mind back on the present, before the maudlin nostalgia got out of control and he spiraled into a full-blown depression. She had to nip episodes like this in the bud. “But, anyway, about the train....”
“Right, yes, the train.” To her relief, he started sorting through the surveillance photos again. “Let me see. Assuming we can make our way aboard without being terminated, we’ll need a laptop, first-rate decryption software, hack-wires, clips... and maybe a screwdriver.”
A knock at the door startled her. She instinctively reached for the rifle, then caught herself and shook her head at her own jumpiness. What was she thinking?
Terminators didn’t knock.
“Yes?”
The door swung open and Geir walked in. Like her, he had changed clothes after getting back. Soot no longer blackened his handsome features. He had even taken a razor to his singed whiskers.
“Sorry to interrupt, but they’re ready to make it legal.”
Molly gave him a baffled stare.
“What are you talking about?”
“The wedding, of course.” He looked surprised by her confusion. “Roger and Tammi are getting hitched, remember?”
It all came back to her. The two young Resistance fighters had gotten engaged after surviving a firefight near Glennallen last month. The attack at the pipeline had completely driven the date from her mind.
“They’re still going through with it? After everything that’s happened?”
“All the more reason,” Geir stated. “Proof that life goes on, and all that.”
“Whatever.” She turned back to her battle plans and sat down in front of the drafting table. “Tell them to start without me. I’m busy.”
Molly was in no mood for such nonsense. The very notion struck her as ridiculous. Who the hell got married nowadays, the world being what it was? Weddings and bridal showers and “happily ever after” had disappeared in a mushroom cloud fifteen years ago. Mankind was locked in a life-or-death battle that left no room for the rosy frivolity of days gone by.
Till death do you part? That was a joke, and a sick one at that.
“Sorry. Not an option.” Geir yanked the chair out from under her. “This won’t wait.”
Molly stumbled to her feet to keep from falling.
“What the fuck are you doing?” She whirled around to confront him. Over by the stove, Sitka snickered out loud, enjoying the fireworks. Doc Rathbone backed away uncomfortably and pretended to be somewhere else. “Goddamn it, Svenson, I’ve got a war to fight. I don’t have time for some stupid wedding.”
“Those people out there need this, Molly. Now more than ever.” Standing over her, Geir refused to back down. “And they need you to share this moment with them.” He looked her squarely in the eyes. “You’re their leader. This comes with the job.”
She could tell he was serious about it. He didn’t often challenge her, so she took a deep breath, counted to ten, and reconsidered. Maybe he had a point.
“This is, like, a morale thing?” she ventured.
“If that’s how you need to think about it, then sure.” He sounded mildly exasperated by her attitude. “Whatever gets you to the church on time.”
She reluctantly gave in. Geir usually had a pretty good feel for the pulse of the camp; he was more of a people person than she was.
“Fine,” she grumbled. “Just give me a minute.”
She scooped up her plans and locked them securely in an antique roll-top desk that dated back to the Great Depression. A cup of black coffee rested on the desk, next to a half-eaten plate of reindeer sausage. She swigged down the last of the coffee, then pulled on her coat and boots. Thankfully, the boots had dried out some since the last time she’d checked. Doc and Sitka put on their outerwear as well.
“All right, let’s get those damn kids yoked for however much longer we’ve got. Wouldn’t want our brave Resistance fighters to get cold feet while they’re waiting for us.”
Geir chuckled as he held the door open.
“I always knew you were a romantic at heart.”
“Don’t push it, flyboy.”
A brisk walk along a gravel-strewn path led them to the camp’s makeshift chapel, which doubled as the cell’s chief assembly hall and briefing room. Overhead, the aurora borealis streaked the night sky with shimmering curtains of green and violet. The luminous bands of color rippled through the upper atmosphere, visible for hundreds of miles around. There had been some talk of holding the ceremony outdoors, beneath the spectacular cosmic light show, but the sub-zero reality of the Alaskan winter had killed that idea real fast.
A bone-chilling wind shoved them inside the chapel, then banged the door shut behind them.
Curious eyes greeted their arrival. Molly was surprised to find that pretty much the entire camp—some fifty-plus people—had turned out for the event. The roughhewn chapel had been decorated with garlands of strung-together pine cones and sea shells. Banners embroidered with a spiraling double helix—the emblem of the Resistance—hung from the rafters. Rows of battle-hardened men, women and children, some sporting fresh bandages from the day’s hostilities, lined both sides of the aisle. The altar at the far end of the room was strictly non-denominational; the last thing the struggling band of humans needed was to squabble about religious icons. Skynet was the Devil. On that everybody agreed.
The happy couple were already standing before the altar. Molly felt a twinge of embarrassment for keeping everyone waiting, even if she still thought that this was all a bunch of sentimental bullshit. Feeling more than a little self-conscious, she blended in with the audience. Smiling spectators made room for the late arrivals. Sitka gaped at the decorations. Doc was less impressed.
“They call this a wedding?” he muttered. “People used to dress up for these things. Rented tuxedos and poofy dresses. I went to this wedding once, back in ‘98, where the bride arrived in a horse-drawn carriage....”
Sitka elbowed him in the side.
“Mouth shut, old man. Not the time.”
The sight of so many people gathered in one place made Molly nervous. This was strategically unwise; what if Skynet launched an attack? She assumed that the sentries were still at their posts, and that the guard dogs were keeping watch as well. A quick glance around the room confirmed it.
Sighing, she tried to pretend she was happy to be here.
Comes with the job, she reminded herself. Geir wasn’t wrong there.
At least she wasn’t expected to preside over the ceremony. Ernie Wisetongue, a Native Alaskan elder who had once taught Indian Arts at a community college in Fairbanks, stood behind the couple. He winked at Molly before beginning his benediction.
“Brothers, sisters, fellow Homo sapiens.” His warm baritone enveloped the audience. A benign middle-aged presence, he had a broad face and short brown hair. Eschewing any priestly garb, he wore a neatly pressed dress shirt, slacks, and beaded moccasins. A Raven totem matching the one on Molly’s pendant was embroidered on his tie. “Thank you all for coming tonight, despite today’s tragic losses. It is a measure of our strength and sense of community that we can come together even in such trying times.” No doubt he had been forced to rewrite his sermon in light of the bloodshed earlier. “Which behooves us to ask: What distinguishes us from the machines? What makes humanity worth fighting for and preserving? The machines are stronger than us, they are more durable than us, they may even be smarter than us. Well, smarter than me, that’s for sure.” Laughter eased any tension elicited by the mention of the enemy and the rout at the pipeline. “So why will we prevail instead of the machines? Because we care. We feel. We love.”