The future war, p.4
The Future War, page 4
Ray met John at the door of his garage, wearing his usual uniform of jeans, T-shirt, and lab coat with a brand-new gimme cap on his shaggy, dirty-blond hair. He held out a hand with old-fashioned engine grease ground into the knuckles, and John took it.
“Thanks for letting me in,” Connor said.
Ray looked at him curiously. “No problem. Need any help?”
John hadn’t really told him anything, just that he wanted to check something using one of the diagnostic computers. It was clear that Ray was intrigued; he lived to probe the mysteries of the automobile.
“Aw, no thanks,” John said. “It’s not that interesting and I’ll bet you’re late getting home as it is.”
The other man blushed. His adored wife was a stickler for one thing—dinner at six-thirty. Ray had often said that he figured that maybe he was a little henpecked, but he did enjoy his suppers with the family. When the kids got to be teenagers it might not be possible for them all to sit down together every night; while they were small he was more than willing to toe the mark.
“How ’bout I come back around eight, then?” he asked.
“Great,” John agreed. I’ll either be done by then or hopelessly stymied. “Give my love to Marion.”
“Will do, buddy.”
John watched him go with something like envy.
How wonderful it would be to not know the future, to expect tomorrow to be much like today.
Of course, if Ray had known the future he probably wouldn’t have had his two kids. Which would be a shame ’cause they were nice little guys. Sometimes John thought of Ray and his family as a warm fire in a cold world, something precious and rare and forever beyond his reach.
Work! he commanded himself, and got back into his truck to drive it into the garage.
Two hours later John had set up the Faraday cage he’d constructed at home over the motherboard he’d removed from his truck and his laptop, both of which he’d connected to the diagnostic computer. He’d already worked his way through several levels of straightforward programming without finding anything remotely interesting.
Well, I didn’t think it would be easy.
If there was anything to find, it would be well hidden. He just hadn’t expected his hunt to be so stupefyingly boring. John got up and made a pot of coffee. This was going to take a while.
Wait a minute, he thought. If Skynet is sending messages to cars and trucks and so on, then there’s got to be a wireless modem inside that silver box.
And if that was the case, then maybe…He went to his laptop and called up the file of code he’d downloaded from the head of the Terminator they’d captured on their flight from the Caymans. Most of it was incomprehensible, despite the best that Snog and the gang at MIT could do. But if he was right, then sending a line of this text to the truck’s computer should elicit some kind of response.
“Here goes nothing,” he murmured, and entered a selected line.
The response was gratifyingly quick. Four lines of unintelligible, but terribly familiar text appeared. John’s heartbeat picked up and his mouth went dry. Here was proof positive of a Skynet connection. He closed his eyes. Then opened them as he heard the modem connection in the diagnostic machine kick in. A modem that was outside the Faraday cage. He’d forgotten the damn thing had an Internet connection.
John picked up a heavy wrench and slammed it down on the silver box containing the truck’s motherboard, then ripped it from its connection to the diagnostic computer. That made it easier to continue hammering until bits and pieces sparkled across the concrete floor like silicon confetti…
“Jeesh, John, I know computers can be frustrating, but you can’t drive that truck without one.”
John spun around, startled, to find Ray Laber staring at him quizzically. The older man’s face got a bit more serious at seeing the expression on John’s.
“Sorry,” John said, and put down the wrench. “I guess disconnecting it would have done as well.”
“I guess.” Ray walked over and checked the connector, then glanced at the shattered box.
“Do you maybe have an old truck or something I could borrow?” John asked. He thought maybe his voice was shaking, but wasn’t sure. Inside he was shaking plenty.
Ray grimaced. “I picked up a seventy-eight Ford I was gonna restore,” he said. “It’s running pretty good, but it looks like hell.”
“Perfect,” John said. “Can I leave my old truck with you?”
With a snort Ray said, “Well, unless you can carry it out of here on your back, I guess you’ll have to. You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?”
“Yes,” John said. “But I’ve got to go, my mother’s been in an accident. The cop didn’t want to say much, so I think she might be hurt bad.” He waved toward the parking lot. “Key in the ignition?”
“Yeah,” Ray said, concerned. “You want me to come with?”
John hesitated to be polite, then said, “No, better not. I might have misinterpreted the cop; sometimes they can be so close-mouthed over nothing your imagination goes into overdrive. Thanks for the loan.”
“Sure. Let me know how it turns out.”
“You’ll be hearing from me,” John said over his shoulder. He’d check the Klondike first; if they weren’t there they’d probably gone to the Junction. They had a couple of favorite restaurants there.
Enjoy it while you can, guys. I’ve got a bad feeling that restaurants are about to become a thing of the past.
Chapter 4
DELTA JUNCTION, ALASKA
John sat in the parking lot of the Longhouse for a good forty-five minutes staring at nothing—wet green trees, wet gray mud, wet pavement, and wet gray sky, all a blur. Dieter’s truck was three cars over, but there was still no sign of him and Sarah.
Maybe I ought to tell them inside, John thought. Cowardly, sure, but probably a good way to ensure that Mom doesn’t kill me outright.
Tightening his lips, he hung his head. She might never speak to him again—at least not as her son—but she probably wouldn’t kill him, if only because Skynet would want her to. John opened the door and slid out, ignoring the chill and the spray of rain that struck his face and neck. Then he crossed the longest parking lot on earth…
But not long enough, he thought, dodging around a vastly bearded man in a bloodred mackinaw who looked like he’d done a summer’s drinking with spring yet young. I wish it were somewhere about a light-year long. Or that I could just run away.
He pushed through the entrance door, through the hall, and through the inner doors—most places around here had that air-lock arrangement, for wintertime. Hot smoky air full of the smells of cooking and beer struck him, noisy with conversation.
The hostess beside the “Please Wait to Be Seated” sign waved him inside when he told her he was meeting someone already there. He stood at the entrance to a long and dimly lit room, amid a clatter of cutlery and more tobacco smoke than he liked.
Dieter and Sarah, wineglasses in hand, were laughing together at a table in the dim back corner of the restaurant. Candle glow from a small, rustic lamp in the center of the table made his mother look thirty and very pretty.
It seemed selfish to force his news on them when they were enjoying themselves so much. But then, if they’re feeling mellow, maybe Dieter won’t kill me either. He walked toward them, forcing a vaguely pleasant expression onto his face. When he reached their table his mother gave him a knowing smile.
“I was wondering when you’d come over,” she said. “But when I saw the look on your face, I wasn’t about to invite you.”
John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Can I sit?” he asked.
Sarah and Dieter exchanged glances and the big man made a gracious gesture of invitation; whereupon John sat, his hands clasped over his stomach. That was beginning to ache with the tension.
“You want to eat?” Sarah asked, glancing around for a waiter.
John waved her off. “No.” He sat forward, closer to both of them, and his manner made them lean in, too. John looked them both in the eye. “I owe you an apology for my behavior,” he said. “Both of you, but mostly you, Mom. I have something to tell you.” He gritted his teeth. “And I swear, I’d rather cut my tongue out than say it.”
Sarah leaned back, tapping the table with one finger, and studied her son. He looked…ashamed. Something curdled deep inside her, some warning of impending disaster. If John were just any young man, she’d think he was going to confess that he’d knocked up some girl and was planning a low-rent lifestyle with her. But John wasn’t just any young man, and any disaster that could make him look so defeated and so conscience-stricken must be very, very bad.
“Do you want to wait until we get home?” she asked softly.
He shook his head. “I don’t think I can stand to wait.” He shook his head again. “But I don’t know how to tell you.”
Dieter rolled his eyes. “Say it like it’s a report,” he snapped. “Start at the beginning, go on to the end, and stop.”
John gave him a brief smile, then looked down again. “I was reading Mom’s report, and in spite of my resistance, I was seeing the sense of it when I asked myself why I was being such a jerk.”
Dieter made a rumbling sound of protest and John stopped him with a look.
“I know how I’ve been behaving. So I thought about when it had started, and that brought me back to Red Seal Base.” Sarah and Dieter automatically checked to see if anyone was listening, and John was briefly, sadly amused. “Just before the Terminator killed Wendy, she was trying to say something to me. I thought it was ‘enter.’ So I went to the computer and loaded the disk I found in the drawer. Then the Terminator killed her, we killed it, and we left.”
John picked at a hangnail for a moment, then he looked directly at his mother. “But now I’ve thought it over and I think what she said…no, I’m sure that what she said was ‘erase.’”
Sarah made a little grunt, as though she’d been punched, not hard but right in the solar plexus. She stared at her son, her mouth slightly open, and moved her hands awkwardly, as though she didn’t know what to do with them.
“You?” she said, unbelieving. She shook her head, then gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. Sarah stood, still looking at John. “I need to take a walk,” she said, sounding hypnotized.
She slid out from behind the table. Dieter started to rise and she waved him back. Sarah stopped for a moment to look down at John, who could only bear to shoot brief glances at her. Then she walked away from them, briskly, and without looking back.
Silence reigned at the table.
“I’m glad we had dinner before you came in,” Dieter said.
John looked at him, feeling sick. “I don’t think I ever want to eat again,” he mumbled.
“You will. You’d better.” The big Austrian narrowed his eyes. “We’ve got a mess to clean up.”
That shocked an incredulous laugh out of John. “A mess? That’s putting it a bit mildly, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yah, but I don’t have my violin.”
Genuinely shocked, the younger man stared at him. “I can understand if you don’t wanna give me a hug, but I’ve just realized this whole thing is my fault. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make fun of me, okay?”
“You made a mistake,” Dieter agreed. “But you weren’t the only one. I knew you were upset, and hurt. I was the more experienced operative; I should have double-checked your work.”
“It’s good of you to want to shoulder some of the responsibility, Dieter,” John began.
Dieter waved that off. “At this juncture assigning blame is meaningless. And in this case it’s particularly pointless. We’ve been in this situation before, John.” He nodded his head. “And we’ve discussed what’s happening. Events want to happen a certain way. You and your mother and I have changed things three times. The first two times you had nothing to do with creating Skynet, yet you owe your very existence to it.” He sighed. “I suppose it’s only reasonable that fate would choose you to bring it into being.”
“We have no fate but what we make for ourselves,” Sarah said.
John jumped and looked up at her. She was wearing her hardest expression, but she wasn’t looking at him as though he was the enemy.
“This was bad luck and poor performance, brought about no doubt by your having hypothermia and John’s being wounded and in shock. But we’re not going to lie down and wail, ‘Oh, it was fate, there’s nothing we can do.’ We’ve fought Skynet before and won; we’ll go on fighting it until the damn thing’s obliterated. Now let’s go home and get to work.” She turned and walked away.
Dieter watched her go with awe in his face. “What a woman,” he whispered. Then he smiled at John and, reaching over the table, gave him a slap on the back. “Let’s go see what we can do, eh?”
Near the Mosquito River, Alaska
Ninel rode her bike up the weed-grown gravel driveway, then paused just as the house came in sight through the bushes. It was a neat little cottage with a stone chimney and a screened-in front porch. It seemed surprisingly well cared for given the condition of the driveway. Someone moved within the shaded depths of the porch and Ninel tightened her lips, embarrassed at being seen spying on the house. She continued riding.
“Hello the house,” she called out.
A slightly plump woman with short gray hair, wearing a shapeless housedress, opened the screen door and stood on the steps. She had a pleasant, motherly face and alert, intelligent eyes. Ninel warmed to her immediately.
“Hello yourself,” the woman said, and took another step down. “You’d be Ninel?”
“Petrikoff,” Ninel agreed and held out her hand.
“Balewitch,” the woman said with a grin and a slight shrug. She took Ninel’s hand in a firm clasp. “It seemed romantic and interesting when I was young.” She rolled her eyes. “Now it just reminds me of how young I once was. Still, a lot of people know me by Balewitch. C’mon in and have some tea.” She went up the steps and onto the porch, holding the door open invitingly. “Quick, before the mosquitos get in!”
Ninel put the bike on its kickstand and dashed lightly up the steps. Her hostess led her past a tiny sitting room and down a short hall to a sunny kitchen. It was probably the largest room in the house and most likely where Balewitch spent most of her time. The room was painted in soft yellow and pale green with a big farmhouse-style table and ladder-back chairs with rush seats around it. It smelled like fresh bread, with maybe just a hint of the sandalwood scent of pot beneath it.
“You have a lovely home,” Ninel said.
The woman turned from spooning tea into a pot and smiled. “Thank you, honey. I like it.” She poured boiling water into the pot and brought it to the table where two mugs already sat. “It’s mint from my garden.”
“Oh really, how nice,” Ninel said, and sat down.
“Ron said you used to be a lot more active than you’ve been the last little while,” Balewitch said, pouring the fragrant beverage for both of them.
“Yeah, I was going to college in Fairbanks and there was a pretty big Luddite presence on campus. But so many people up here are Luddites that I sometimes felt like we were preaching to the converted. You know what I mean?”
Balewitch nodded as she drizzled honey into her tea.
“So when the opportunity came up to take over this trapper’s run, I grabbed it. Kyle kept me pretty busy teaching me everything I needed to know, so I didn’t even have time to keep up with my friends in the movement, never mind the broader scope of things. But as soon as I could, I got back in touch.” She took a sip of tea, smiled approval at her hostess, then shook her head. “But when Ron Labane himself seemed to be answering my postings, well, naturally, my interest soared. Although”—she carefully put her mug on the table—“I have to admit I sometimes doubt it’s really him.”
Balewitch chuckled, her eyes sparkling with humor. “Oh, I can understand that. I had my doubts when he got back in touch with me at first. But it’s him all right.” She gave a firm nod. “No one else would know the things he knows—about me, about my group. It’s him all right.” She looked at Ninel and smiled. “So tell me all about yourself.”
Perhaps it was her motherly appearance or the sympathy in her smile, but Balewitch was very easy to talk to; she was an intelligent listener who asked all the right questions. Or maybe it was finally being in the company of someone with similar interests and ideas, but Ninel found herself talking more than she probably had all year. When the flow of words ran out, she looked down at her cold tea in surprise. Balewitch grinned and took the cup away from her.
“Well, you’ve at least kept up with the literature,” she said.
“I’m a fast reader,” Ninel admitted. “When I finally got the opportunity to hit the library, I just devoured everything I could get my hands on. And when I didn’t have access, I just”—she shrugged—“well, thought about Mr. Labane’s philosophy. My parents thought that Marxist-Leninist philosophy put forth the most important ideas ever known. But they were wrong. Ron Labane’s ideas will save the human race from itself.”
After a moment Balewitch said, “I suppose your parents saw themselves as revolutionaries.”
Ninel shook her head, smiling sadly. “Maybe before I was born they were. The fire was pretty much gone before I was ten. When I was in high school I discovered the Luddite movement and tried to get them interested, but it was hopeless. I haven’t been back home since I left for college, and I seriously doubt they’ve noticed I’m gone.”
Balewitch patted her hand. “They’ve noticed. Maybe they’ve even discovered the movement.”
Ninel shook her head. “I doubt it. The last time I went to one of their party meetings, the women were trading recipes and the men were talking about baseball. Like I said, the fire is gone.”
“What about your fire?” Balewitch asked. “Still hot?”
