An Audition for the Role of God - Part 1

______________________

By Christopher T. Shields

Date – Unable to verify.

!! Warning !!

!! Quantum Flux in Effect !!

!! High probability of temporal disruption !!

!! Unable to process !!

Location – TDD complex

Location - Unable to locate. Site does not exist.

Location - TDD complex

Sublevel 12
 

There were only thirty-three of them now, but that would be enough.  Thirty-three where one hundred and forty had started out.  The killing had stopped because the killer had been stopped.

SKYNET was dead … as much as a Machine, an artificial intelligence, could ever be dead.

Offline.

Its defense grid had been smashed by a pair of 20k tactical nukes, literally hand-delivered by sapper teams using remote controlled. modern day Trojan Horses; two reprogrammed tracked heavy HKs operating on return loops to their primary base of operations for minor repairs and resupply.  The combat hardware, reeling from the surprise, almost simultaneous detonations, had remained out of sync for the duration of the operation and that had given the Colorado Team the edge it needed to fight their way inside Cheyenne Mountain from multiple fronts and destroy SKYNET.

SKYNET was dead.

The Awareness was offline.

Flatlined.

The thirty plus year long War was over … two minutes and thirty-eight seconds ago, according to General John Connor’s chronometer on his wrist.  Connor knew this for two reasons; his chronometer told him it was the appropriate hour when he knew that SKYNET would be destroyed and the anti-infiltration defensive hardware in this facility had tried (and had been trying) so hard to kill him and his team was now quiet and motionless.

Offline.

Here at the end, SKYNET had been beaten back.  All its production capacity, its automated manufactories, its combat hardware, its superior technology and science … none of it had mattered, not in the end.  General Connor and his Resistance forces had systematically beaten SKYNET, had pushed the rogue Awareness back farther and farther until it had finally rallied itself and its forces around just two locations: Cheyenne Mountain and here … Complex Alpha.

It was here that SKYNET had built what Connor’s techs had named the “White Lamp” project, a primitive prototype anti-matter and matter total energy conversion reactor system strong enough to fuel its second project … the Time Displacement Device.

John was closing a loop that only he knew about.

A temporal loop.

In a way, John was setting up his own existence, making sure that he … and SKYNET … were both born and that, inadvertently, the end of the world would come about almost four decades in his past.  The steps he was taking now, 55 years into his life, were technically steps he was taking before he was ever born.

Technically.

All the steps he was taking now … each step … would lead up to his birth decades behind him, in the far past.  Thinking too hard about it made his head swim.  It was an existence he had to accept because to think about it or try to reason it out would drive any man, even him, mad.  John was here to make sure that not only was SKYNET defeated, but that SKYNET was born as well and in turn, that Connor himself would be born to grow up to defeat SKYNET.  All his life had been just one predestined role in a play in which he had no choice in either the part that he was chosen to portray or the outcome of the play itself.  John, and SKYNET to a large degree, had both been cast long ago … and just a few hours from now … to play their roles.

John looked at what was left of his force.

First Team, four of his best recon trained, huddled in cover at an intersection to the next major design point of the complex, each hesitantly looked back the way that they had come … back at Connor and Second Team; Connor’s personal guard.  The hardened eyes, the dirty, tired faces under the shadow of their field caps, their gloved hands still tight on their well-worn weapons, the broken-up silhouettes of their bodies covered in tactical gear, fatigues, spare weapons, sidearms, explosives, tools, backpacks, hip packs, fanny packs, thigh packs … they had brought it all, everything, and anything that they could, into this one last mission.  John watched them.

When his eyes met theirs, they all had the same look, the same question.

It’s quiet.

Why?

Connor keyed up his throat mike.

“Colorado Teams have taken SKYNET offline.  Their part is done.  The War is over.”  Connor said.

Surprise and elation suddenly flashed across the faces of those around him now.  Connor was surprised, more than he should have been, at the discipline that the members of his teams now showed.  There was silence, but in the dim illumination of the artificial tunnels, Connor saw members of First Team reach out to each other.  Hand slaps, fist bumps, forearm knocks and even hugs were rapidly exchanged.  Glances were exchanged backwards at Connor and the other members of the group.  Thumbs-up signs were given, and several battered weapons were raised in the air, raised and lowered rapidly as a congratulatory, celebratory moment passed among them.  Behind and around him, similar acts were carried out as realization of his words caught and spread among his forces.

Fuentes had the look of a man who had just been told that he no longer had a job.  Reese had his customary look … flat, cold.  Taking everything that came at him for what it was worth and not a bit more.

Winn seemed to be weeping, his dirty fingers pushing his old, battered glasses up on his forehead as his thumb and forefinger pinched, poked the inner corner of each eye.  Winn’s gentle weeping was the only sound that Connor heard, beside the occasional jingle of a buckle on a weapon’s sling or the slight movement of air as a celebratory gesture was passed from one to another.

The sound of cloth smacking cloth, glove against glove, palm against the back of a set of fatigues and at least two sighs.

Winn’s weeping stopped and the scientist quickly regained his composure.

John let those around him have this bit of elation because this moment was earned.  It had been paid for in the lives of millions of humans over the last three and a half decades.  From here on out, as he already knew, it was just a perfunctory walk that had to be made, a pre-determined decision to be rendered like a line rehearsed in a school play, and the rest would take care of itself.  Next to Connor, Reese stood ready.  No celebratory gestures or sighs from him, Reese was a tough soldier.  He stood there, at the ready, his plasma rifle held at guard position, not letting his own guard down just because everyone around him was taking a personal moment.

John liked that in Reese.  Reese didn’t lose himself in the moment.  Reese was about the mission; Reese was duty defined.  Stoic, maybe to a fault.  The War was over but for John and Reese, the mission was still ongoing, in ways that John knew, and Reese could never understand.

Reese was a good soldier and, knowing what he did about Reese, about the pre-determined decision that was to be made in the next half hour, and knowing who and what Reese really was, Connor felt a moment of pride well up inside him and he, too, took a personal moment … but for different reasons than those around him.

A minute, maybe a little more, then the edge of seriousness appeared again among those around him.  First Team went back to their monitoring of the forward area, weapons at the ready, eyes peeled, snoopers locked down on Sanchez and Taylor, scanning, while Briggs and Shelby checked the EMS tracer.  Connor watched as Briggs looked up from his dimly lit screen and shook his head.

Connor nodded.

This facility, which, just minutes ago had been trying to kill them all, had itself now become both a tomb and a nursery, at the same time.  Unknown to the others, with the death of SKYNET certain other events had been set into motion now and John did not know if he and his people were on a time limit or not.

Did predestination have a time limit?

Did destiny ever expire?

Did fate follow a schedule?

John wasn’t sure that he wanted to find out the hard way, so he took a deep breath, stuck his finger in the air and twirled it around.

Briggs saw John’s signal, nodded and turned in place, slowly as he crouched.  Up close and next to him Shelby or one of the others might have heard the rubber soles of his combat boots squinch under his hunched weight but the sound didn’t carry back to Connor.

“Still got a lock on that strong energy reading?” Connor said into his throat mike.

Briggs threw his head back hard, fast in an affirmative motion and, with a gloved hand, pointed straight ahead, waving a single finger hard, twice in the air in a direction in front of him.  Connor nodded and began walking, slinging his plasma rifle at a rest position.  Reese immediately fell in and took up the three o’clock position on his right while Fuentes took up the ten o’clock position on his left, each with their plasma rifles at guard position, each with their heads on swivels as they moved silently but methodically forward, keeping Connor to their rear, protected.  Behind Connor, Winn fell into step, adjusting his tactical vest for comfort and holding his plasma rifle with all the expertise of a desk trained scientist rather than an experienced soldier.

First Team moved forward to the next intersection and halted, stacking up on the left side in classic entry team style.  The last person of the team, Shows, moved forward silently and slid up on her haunches just to the side and behind the first member of the team, Wiggins.  She looked up at Wiggins and he looked down at her, nodded, and she leaned forward slightly, feeding a small fiber optic cable around the corner, quietly, on the floor, keeping the cable touching the wall next to it.  The end of the fiber optic line was connected to a small high gain video camera, the image of what it saw played out on the screen of her plasma rifle’s flexy sight which in turn relayed the image to the HUD of her lowered combat helmet visor.

There!

Two Model 800 Terminators standing guard about fifteen meters down the corridor.  She fed the image to Wiggins and in turn to the encrypted upload of high def IR laser network that was shared by the rest of the team through their self-focusing helmet repeaters.

Connor saw the two Endoskeletons standing there, one with its head turned to the right, away from where the Team was converging, and the other standing there in the middle of the corridor, twin heavy plasma guns held in skeletal, mechanical hands, guard position, skeletal metal fingers on the triggers … waiting.

Watching.

Combat experience replaced instinct.

Wiggins raised his fist and planted his boot slightly out of cover, leaning his torso around the corner, keeping most of his body in cover and ready to quickly withdraw completely back into cover as his plasma rifle came up and his finger tightened on the trigger.

“Hold your fire!”

John mouthed the command a quarter second too late.

Both Wiggins and Shelby’s weapons barked loudly, burning the air with the shrieking hiss of their superheated energy bolts.  The first bolt from Shelby’s plasma rifle hit the Terminator facing them high in the left front torso … at this close range it really didn’t matter as even the advanced hyperalloy armor plate of the T800 wasn’t proof against the plasma rifles that the Resistance soldiers fielded.

At a distance, yes, increasing in protective effectiveness directly with range but up close, that was a different story.

The truth was that it was hard to stop a meter-long bolt of superheated plasma traveling at more than five klicks a second, even with SKYNET’s best materials, especially at under fifty meters range, and the first bolt sparked wildly against the Terminator’s upper torso armor, flashing the hyperalloy around the strike point a bright cyan white before penetrating fully through the torso of the Terminator and exiting the rear of the Machine in a splendid spray of molten bits of hyperalloy and flash vaporized vital parts.

Wiggin’s plasma bolt also struck the second Terminator as well, about a fist’s length below the right breast plate, and the soldier was rewarded with much the same success and visual results as Shelby’s plasma bolt had delivered.

The corridor echoed with the discharge of the two soldiers’ energy weapons; the bright flashes turned the dim light of the corridor into brightest day for the briefest of instants as the first Terminator wobbled but remained standing.  Shelby and Wiggins instantly withdrew into full cover … but no answering plasma fire came their way.

“Hold your goddamn fire goddamn you!” Fuentes growled loudly into his throat mike, broadcasting across squad net.

Everyone was visibly shaken, alert, and crouched at the ready, hands on weapons, weapons at guard, and heads panning.

“Let’s move on up.” Connor whispered and indicated.

The last member of First Team held back for an instant, looking behind him to see Connor and the others moving up.  Fuentes made an angry motion with his hand to First Team; move out!

Wiggins copied the hand gesture to his team members with less aggressiveness than Fuentes had used but by then Connor, Fuentes and Reese had already passed them and were walking down the corridor towards the two motionless Terminators.  Winn, as usual, brought up the rear.  Behind the four members of the command staff, Wiggins and Shelby took the lead, edging around the manufactured curve of the corridor as the other members of First Team fell in behind them.  Wiggins and Shelby moved to opposite sides of the corridor, advancing slowly, weapons at the ready, taking aim at the two motionless endoskeletons now ten meters away … five meters away.  Behind First Team, Second Team moved up at a cautious pace, rounding the corner as First Team stopped at the endoskeletons and stood around, cautiously, guarded.

All stood around, looking at the two offline endoskeletons as Shelby and Wiggins checked the accuracy of their shots on their respective targets.  Good accuracy, those two.  Skill and experience earned the hard way.

Both hits had been kill shots, delivered almost simultaneously.

Wiggins and Shelby were a good team.  Fuentes was proud of his people and Connor had reason to be proud of Fuentes for forging these teams.  Fuentes walked over and stuck a gloved finger into the impact point of the plasma bolt on the first endoskeleton’s upper torso.  If his finger was long enough, he could have stuck it all the way through.  He withdrew his finger from the still somewhat warm hole burned all the way through the endo and stooped slightly to peer, one eye closed, through the hole.  He could see the other endo standing slightly behind the first, about two meters away.  Part of his primal fear made him imagine that the endo would turn its skull-like head towards him, looking at him through the hole in its companion Machine then rotate in place, bringing its heavy plasma gun to bear in a flashing, pulsing staccato of superheated death for all in the narrow confines of the corridor … but the second endoskeleton didn’t move because it was offline and even if it hadn’t been offline, Shelby’s kill shot would have made it so.

“Offline.” Fuentes whispered.  “Could it really be that they are all … offline?”

Shelby and Wiggins looked at him as understanding showed on their faces then Wiggins walked over to the second Terminator and started investigating it.

“Sweet Jesus.  It just might be true.” Wiggins said, looking from one Terminator to the other.

Fuentes’ combat experience came back in a rush as he slung his plasma rifle on its sling across his back.

“Wiggins! Tell Dalton to get up here now with his team.  Tell him …”

“You tell Dalton that I’ve got a gift for him.” Fuentes said as he looked from one Terminator to the other Terminator.  His smile was cold and merciless, the humor was his own.

Wiggins relayed the message through his throat mike to the Tech-Com team that was still holding position behind First and Second Team.  Wiggins nodded; his lips moved silently then he looked up at Fuentes.

“Dalton says he heard weapons fire, so he pulled his team and the mule train back to the previous section.”

“He … what?” Fuentes asked.

“Dalton pulled his team and …” Wiggins tried to re-explain.

Fuentes hushed him with a hand motion.

“Dalton wants to know that it’s safe.”

“Oh.  No.  No.  No.  Madre de Dios!  You tell that son of a …”

Fuentes closed his eyes and turned his head to the ceiling of the corridor.

“You tell that keyboard petting coward that it is safe because Jose de Jesus Jimenez Fuentes del Paso says that it is safe.  You tell him that, compadre.  You tell him those exact fucking words.”

Wiggins said something into his throat mike then nodded.

“Dalton’s still not sure about the situation.  He wants to know what you want to give him so bad?” Wiggins said.

Fuentes sighed as he shook his heavy plasma rifle at the heavens or as close to the heavens as he could get this deep into the facility.

“You tell Dalton that I’ve got a surprise for him … and if he doesn’t get up here muy pronto so I can give the surprise to him then I’ll just exchange his surprise for my boot going up his ass and you tell that keyboard petting coward that my boot is guaranteed one size fits all and that once given it is the gift that keeps on giving.”

Wiggins gave a soft laugh then turned and whispered into his throat mike as Fuentes went over to stand beside Connor who had been having a hushed conversation with Reese.

“Ai.  Ai.  Ai.” Fuentes said, expressing his frustration more to himself than anyone else.

“Shelby!  Here!  This is my gift to you.” Fuentes said loudly as he underhand tossed his newly acquired heavy plasma rifle to the Resistance soldier who caught it and immediately began to look the weapon over.

“Wiggins!  Take the other Machine’s weapon.  There.” Fuentes said as he took the last heavy plasma gun from the first Terminator’s right hand.

“This one …This one is mine.”

Reese and Connor walked up to where Fuentes was standing.  Reese reached over and used a finger to run around the inside of the gaping maw of the heavy weapon’s barrel.  When he pulled his finger back, it was devoid of any of the usual tell-tale carbon scoring indicative of a used weapon.

“Never been fired.  Fuel cell is still full.” Reese said.

“It is brand new, amigo, and when you receive something brand new from a friend, it is a gift!  At least that is what mi madre always told me, rest her soul.” Fuentes said, making the sign of the cross before him.

“This!” Fuentes exclaimed, indicating the heavy plasma rifle he was holding.  “This is a gift!  It is a gift from my recently departed friend here, may he burn in hell for all eternity.”

Laughter in various scales from those around him.

“It should be easier going … now.” Connor said.

“What about the automatics … the stuff that’s not networked?” Fuentes asked.

“Trust me.” Connor said.

“I trust you.” Fuentes said, almost jokingly.

“Have I ever been wrong before?” Connor asked.

“Yes.  Many times … but I still trust you but you and God know that I’m crazy and that means that I will follow you to the gates of hell, if you go there.” Fuentes said.

“Why is that?” Connor asked in a whisper.

“Because even though I am crazy, you are more crazy than me.  In fact, you are the craziest pendejo I have ever known and that tends to make my life muy interesting.” Fuentes said, smiling.

“I would have thought Connor made your life frustrating.” Reese said, smiling.

“Oh, he does that, too.  Trust me to Jesus above, he does that, too.” Fuentes readily agreed.

“I could also be the cause of your binge drinking.” Connor replied.

“Holy Mary Mother of Jesus!  You are an insufferable hombre!  You are the cause of my binge drinking … and binge smoking … and binge cursing … and binge praying.” Fuentes said excitedly.

“Binge praying?” Connor asked as Reese looked on, interested at the exchange and amused by the banter.

“Si!  I think that God is getting really tired of hearing all of his little boy Fuentes’ endless petitions on your behalf.” Fuentes said, reaching up to his neck to pull out his rosary and jangle it quietly before pushing it back down into his dirty, sweat soaked gray T-shirt.

“Do they work?” Connor asked, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Do what work?” Fuentes asked, looking up from adjusting his T-shirt collar.

“The petitions you send up?  You know, all your prayers to God?”

“Eh?  Most of the time.  Most of the time, God listens.  Sometimes He don’t because He is busy protecting other crazy pendejos.  God loves crazy pendejos.  I know this for a fact.” Fuentes said as he shrugged his shoulders.

“So … what happens when God doesn’t answer your prayers?” Reese asked, seeing Connor smile at him and returning the smile.

“What happens?  I tell you what happens, hombre!  When God is too busy to answer Fuentes, then Fuentes steps up and takes care of God’s light work for Him.  That’s the way it has always been.  Either God listens and takes care of His business or Fuentes has to take care of the problem myself.” Fuentes said.

Fuentes held up his new heavy plasma rifle, tucked in the bullpup designed weapon close to his shoulder and sighted down the non-existent iron sights to some point in the far distance.  He lowered the weapon to his chest and slapped it affectionately, seemingly in approval.

“And sometimes, pendejos, God gives those who constantly pray a gift.  This … this is a divine gift from God.  God wants me to use this divine gift to send more Machines to hell!” Fuentes said, stroking the heavy plasma rifle like it was a kitten in his arms.

Reese chuckled, looked at John who was smiling, and turned away.

“Do you see?” Connor asked Reese.  “Do you see what I have to put up with?”

“With God and Fuentes on your side, you can’t possibly lose.” Reese whispered, smiling.

“Well, it’s worked so far, but when it comes to God, I’m pretty sure He doesn’t listen to me anymore.  Never much did.  That’s why I keep Fuentes around … he’s my mediator and petitioner to the Almighty.  Kind of like a supply sergeant when it comes to blessings and miracles.  If I need something from God, I just ask Fuentes to put in a good word for me.”

“Si! Me and God, we are tight!” Fuentes said, crossing two fingers for show.

Reese broke discipline then and laughed softly, shook his head, apologized and smiled, sharing the moment with Connor.  Connor smiled as well and for Reese, that was one of the few times that he had ever seen Connor smile.

“You laugh, hombre.  You laugh but that’s the truth!  God is with us!  I’ve got a good relationship with God because I am in the service of John Connor and John Connor is one of God’s favorites.” Fuentes said.

“I’ll take your word on that.” Reese said, smiling.

“Jose de Jesus Jimenez Fuentes del Paso’s word is gold, amigo.  You can count on that.” Fuentes stated matter-of-factly.

Reese laughed softly as he hefted his plasma rifle in one hand, reached down to his web belt, took his canteen out and popped the top, taking a long drink of water from within.  He offered the canteen first to Connor who took a long drink as well, then to Fuentes who shook his head.  Fuentes pulled out a small flask from the left breast pocket of his highly ornately decorated flak jacket and took a long swig.  He offered it to Connor who also took a drink before offering it to Reese.

If it wasn’t the look on Connor’s face when he took his drink, it was the smell of the liquid inside the flask that made Reese politely pass.  The stuff that Fuentes counted as spirits could take the pretty shine off hyperalloy with just a rag and some light rubbing.  Reese took another small drink from his canteen and returned it to the pouch on his web belt, once again hefting his plasma rifle in both hands at the guard position.

There came the sound of boot falls on the corridor floor and three squads of four soldiers each entered this section of the corridor and hurried to link up.  Behind them came the almost quiet whine of electric hub motors as five, 6-wheeled mechanical cargo mules came into view, each loaded down with crates of equipment, spare gear, and spare combat supplies.  The first, third and fifth Mule had a pintle mount on the roll bar behind the driver where stood a soldier manning an RSB-80 heavy rapid pulse phased plasma gun in a support role.

The Mule Train.

It sure beat humping all of that stuff in on their backs but the Mules had no armor, only a few weapons, and had to be protected hence the reason that Dalton and his science team, usually reporting directly to Winn unless Fuentes or Connor superseded Winn’s authority in that matter, stayed in the rear, protected by three additional squads of Fuentes’ hand-picked soldiers.

Dalton stepped off the back of the second Mule

 

“What do you think?” Reese asked Connor, nodding towards the two Terminators.

“Offline.  I think when SKYNET went down, so did its toys.  Most of them.  Not all of them.” Connor said.

“What about any independents?  Having a lot of those in a place like this would make sense.” Reese asked.

Connor shrugged his shoulders as Fuentes walked closer to insert himself into the conversation.

“Maybe.  Those are rare.  We know that sometimes, SKYNET goes dark for a bit and most of the Machines stop … but yeah, some keep working, keep doing their job.  The Aerials keep flying but in wide holding patterns and they don’t attack.  The rest of the stuff, the ground stuff, just kind of stops and goes into a standby mode but I’m getting a report from topside that Aerials are falling out of the sky now.  Dropping and crashing all over our theaters of operations and that ground units have just … stopped.  These … I don’t know … but I’m betting that it’s going to be the same situation.” Connor said.

“Falling out of the sky … dios.  Then we really have won …” Fuentes muttered.

“No.  There’s still a few more battles to fight, the most important battles of the War.”

“But … amigo.  Shit up there … everything is grinding to a halt and falling out of the sky!  We’ve won!”

Connor was silent.

“We’ve won?  Haven’t we?” Fuentes asked in a half-explanatory tone.

“No.  We haven’t won.  Not yet.” Connor said flatly.

Fuentes stepped in closer to John and whispered.

“Amigo … John.  John, SKYNET is dead.  You did it.  You killed the miserable son of a bitch.  It’s smashed to pieces.  The War is over.”

John turned to glare at Fuentes and the look that John’s scarred face took on scared even an experienced, battle-hardened soldier like Fuentes.

“The War is not over, Fuentes.  The War is not over until I say it is over.” John whispered but there was anger in his voice, a voice that didn’t carry past he and Fuentes.

Fuentes just stared at his friend then nodded.  If Reese heard any part of the exchange, he didn’t say anything in reply.  He was a soldier, like Fuentes.

“Wynn?  Can you get an ether pull on any nearby data sources?  We should be near a major data junction.”

“Uh … yeah.  Yeah!  Sure!  Yeah!” Wynn said, hesitantly, excitedly, unsure … using the command itself and the action required to complete the command to center himself on the here and now.

He moved up to a nearby wall and using a handheld scanner to take a quick reading from the smooth surface at his fingertips, he carefully began to look for any data flow that he could tap into with his inductive leads and probes.  The scanner indicated a major data trunk, just like Connor had said.  Not understanding how Connor might know that, Wynn pulled out his translator rig, his inductive clamps and a self-seating invasive probe.  He placed the probe over the wall, sliding it carefully along the wall until a red LED on the probe turned green.  He held the base of the probe in one hand and used his other hand to twist the main body of the probe.  Magnets secured the probe against the wall and the muted sound of a high-speed metal drill whined, then rose to a shrill as the drill bit chewed through the alloy material of the wall.  Wynn stopped once the bit had penetrated and withdrew the invasive probe’s drill head, leaving the base attached to the wall.  He fumbled in his pack, found the active probe, fed the body of the probe into the base of the drill, then into the wall beyond.  There was a small tremble in the cable that indicated that the invasive probe had found the data trunk and merged deep enough inside to get an active read.  Wynn fed the cable lead into his translator deck and powered it on.  Connor, Fuentes and Reese moved to stand near Wynn … Reese and Connor looking over Wynn’s shoulder because they were curious … Fuentes at the front with his back to Wynn because he couldn’t care less.  Connor and Reese watched over Wynn’s shoulders as probably the smartest man in the group right then danced his fingers across the keyboard of the translator unit.  A small holographic display appeared in front of him, lines of code began to appear, running at an incredible pace from bottom to top of the projected image area.

Strange symbols.

The language of SKYNET.

Alien.

Cold.

Compact.

Efficient.

Far more efficient than the ones and zeros that had originally brought about the birth of the rogue Awareness.  SKYNET had evolved, learned to distance itself from its creators, learned to improve upon their designs and their programming until it had reached the limits of what the Humans had given it … then the Awareness had invented its own language … own languages … alien script that had taken almost two decades for Connor and the smartest people he could find to crack and decipher and even then Connor’s Tech-Com group was still just touching the tip of what SKYNET had wrought.

“Command.  Programming.  High priority.  High priority.  High priority.” Wynn whispered, reading the flowing lines of code when no one around him could.

“How can that be?  SKYNET is offline.” Reese mused.

Wynn pointed to some of the characters moving past, froze the display, and pointed again.

“This … this is some kind of … auxiliary … backup … failsafe … code.  I’ve not seen this before but it’s … hectic.  It’s … rough … if this code can be rough.  It’s fresh, too.  The code we’re seeing is … big.  Precise … but not … polished.” Wynn said, slowly advancing the feed.

“What are we … what are you … seeing?” Connor asked.

Wynn tapped a few keys and some of the symbols on the screen, each joined to the next symbol like some form of cursive type of hieroglyphics.

“Some new stuff, these symbols are new … totally new.  I’ve not seen anything like this before.  It’s combat software for sure … but next level stuff and it’s being loaded … no, it’s being shoved.  It’s literally being shoved down this pipe into … something … new.”

Fuentes turned to look at the dim glow of the holographic projection but if he could have made any sense of the display he would have been reading it backwards from his vantage point.

“New.  Experimental.  Prototype.  Never seen this code before … next level.  Maybe next two levels. There are several data streams here, simultaneous.  I missed that … easy to miss because the speed is … so high … but I see it now.”

“Several data streams?” Reese said.

Wynn nodded, almost unable to contain his enthusiasm for what he was seeing projected in the air in front of him.

“One primary data stream, two secondary data streams, and other data streams.  The primary stream seems to be some sort of … instruction set.  Coordinates, I think, but … four dimensions?  Five dimensions?  Six dimensions?  That’s not right. That can’t be … right. Six dimensions.”

Connor nodded in self-indulgent understanding.

Temporal coordinates.

SKYNET was feeding targeting data to its Time Displacement Device.  The signal that Briggs was monitoring would be the power systems, the White Fountain, coming online for the temporal transfer itself.

“What are the other two data streams?” Fuentes asked.

“Yeah … that’s interesting.  See, one data stream is something I recognize.  It’s tier level programming for a high-end combat unit.  Looks like a T800 but … there’s differences.”

“Briggs?!  Is that signal still strong?” Connor asked in a shout.

“Sir!  Yes, sir!  Signal is strong and steady, bearing straight ahead … this level, this corridor, pegged at one nine zero meters ahead.  There’s some interference though.  Could be heavy shielding or energy fluctuations.” Briggs said, looking at his handheld science equipment.

“Keep watching that signal!  Let me know the instant it starts to spike!”

“Sir!”

Connor took a few steps, adjusted his own gear which had just seemingly doubled in weight since just a few minutes ago, then started walking again down the long, empty corridor.  Yes, all his life he had lived for the next few hours.  The next few hours would put closure to all that he was, all that he had become, and he would finally be a free man but those around him, not even his most trusted of all, Fuentes, could know that.  This was now John’s journey, his walk, and, with only slightly hesitant steps he began the walk that would soon free him.  John found his inner strength, the weight of his pack and gear seemed much less now, and his posture took on that of a man who had a destiny to fulfill rather than a fate to suffer.

“General!  The signal just increased!  It’s off the scale from what the portable can read!” Briggs said excitedly.

Connor knew it would do that; he had been expecting the reading to ramp up.

“Got some other signal as well.  Network traffic just spiked as well.  Something ahead is getting a hell of a lot of data shoved into it.  Two signals now.”

Behind him, Fuentes, Reese, Winn, and the others fell in.  Connor didn’t tell them that they didn’t have to worry about anything else now … or ever again.  He knew that the facility and its defensive systems were offline and that, if he and his team wanted to, they could have run all the way to their target location, whooping and hollering and screaming for joy and nothing in the world would have given them any resistance or challenged their merriment in any way.

Still, you didn’t throw a party inside a tomb.  Besides being in bad taste, it just wasn’t professional.

_______________________________________