T2 - 01 - The New John Connor Chronicles - Dark Futures (4 page)

"There's got to be another way," John said.

Sarah lit a cigarette and drew back on it. She chewed her lips, then took another drag on the cancer stick. "All right," she said grimly. "We'll wait." She sounded resentful, like she knew better, but then she went quiet and her face softened. She stood and stepped close to him, opening her arms. She hugged John to her tightly, not saying anything, just sobbing. "I love you," she said. "I always have."

And he realized: he'd always known. "I know. It's okay, Mom... I love you, too."

Three hours later, they were in
Mexico
. The two of them, and "Uncle Bob."

LOS ANGELES

The T-1000's shapeshifting abilities were almost unlimited,
 
constrained only by its constant body mass. Its default
 
appearance was that of a young, serious-looking male human. Since arriving in 1994, it had found the value of mimicking a police uniform and using police vehicles.

At the
Pescadero
Hospital
, the Connors had evaded it, stealing a car and accelerating out into the city streets That was a setback, but the T-1000 still had resources. Down the road, within the Hospital's grounds, police and paramedics milled about like ants around a honey jar. A motorcycle policeman rode up to the T-1000, mistaking it for a human colleague. "You okay?"
                

"Fine," the T-1000 said. "Say... that's a nice bike." Its finger became a metal spear, quickly stabbing the man] through the throat.
 
If he
 
lived,
 
he might
 
interfere. Quickly, the T-1000 hid the body in a nearby garden, then slipped away into the night, following the direction the Connors had taken. It had little chance of reacquiring them without assistance, but the authorities would pursue them, and it could easily obtain police information.

Hours passed as it cruised round the city and its mile of sprawling suburbs. The Connors would need to hide somewhere overnight and deal with their wounds from the breakout. As the night passed, the T-1000 listened to the police radio. Numerous messages came through, including several sightings of the Connors, but they were alarms. This was a waste of time, and the trail was getting cold. By now, they would have disposed of their vehicle. In this situation, the T-1000's programming offered no clear solution. It knew very little about the resources
 
and associates of the Connors during this period of their
 
lives, except that they were known to have come from
Los Angeles
.
 
Unfortunately, many records had been lost in the Judgment Day war and the chaos that followed.

As morning approached, the T-1000 returned to the home of John Connor's foster parents: Todd and Janelle
Voights
.
 
It had terminated the
Voights
and their dog before

taking action to acquire Sarah Connor at the
Pescadero
Hospital
. Everything here was quiet.

 
          
It rifled through the pages of letters, diaries, and address
 
books, seeking anything that might suggest the Connors' next move or any hiding place they might use.
 
Among the papers were letters from Sarah Connor to her son, sent from
Pescadero
, but they were not useful. If there was information here, it was too privately coded. The house also contained computer disks, a hard drive, and many video and audio tapes. The tapes were mostly in commercial packaging, but that could be a deception--any of them might
 
contain hidden messages. As the sun rose, the T-1000 played the audio tapes on the
Voights
' sound system. They were all as advertised: various commercial recordings.

It lacked the resources to analyze the other material. Dealing with the disks and hard drive was the most difficult There was too much information on them for the Terminator to waste time reviewing them itself. Nor could it stay here watching the videotapes—sooner or later, someone would interrupt it and cause complications.
 
It dismantled the computer and stuffed everything it needed into a shopping bag. At
10:35 a.m.
, it left the police bike in a downtown alley. Unobserved, morphed its appearance back to that of an orderly whom it had terminated at the
Pescadero
Hospital
. Taking the computer materials, it walked to the police station, where a desk sergeant was seated behind a screen of bulletproof glass, talking to a wildly gesticulating
 
middle-aged couple.

The T-1000 pushed through and handed over the disks and the hard drive. "This came from the
Voight
residence,"
 
it said in the orderly's voice.
                              

"Hey, you can't barge in like this," said the middle-aged man. "Wait your turn."

"This is evidence from the
Voight
residence," the T-1000 said, ignoring this. "The foster parents of John Connor, whose mother broke out of
Pescadero
last night. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

 
"What? How did you get this?" the sergeant said.

"Check it. It may contain information about the Connors' whereabouts." It strode out past the couple, who glared at it with impotent rage.

Minutes later, it found its bike, still parked in the alley. Fine. It left the bike there and changed its appearance once more, this time to that of Janelle
Voight
, John Connor's foster mother. In that guise, it entered an appliance store two city blocks from the police station. As it checked the racks of gleaming video equipment, a clerk approached. "Can I help you, ma'am?" He was a gangly teenager with prominent teeth. He wore a striped shirt and a bright yellow tie.

The T-1000 pointed to the
 
shelves,
 
to an Aiwa integrated
tele
-video unit. "I'd like that, dear," it said, using
Voight's
voice pattern.

"How would you like it delivered, ma'am?"

"I can carry it away, dear, don't worry."

The clerk looked at the T-1000 as if he was dealing with a crazy customer. "That's a large item," he said.

"Are you sure—"

"Trust me on this, dear. I'm stronger than I look."

The clerk still looked dubious. "Well, if you say so. I really think you should feel the weight of it first. We have a very good delivery service."

"Well, perhaps. But is there one all boxed up ready for me if I want to take it away now?"

"Sure. In the pile over there." He pointed, and the T-1000 took note. "Now, how would you like to pay?"

"Like this, dear." The T-1000's right hand suddenly changed,
 
stretching into a two-foot thorn of silvery metal.
 
In one movement, it drove the newly-formed weapon upward through the clerk's chest, then withdrew it,
 
letting him collapse behind the counter.
 
It scooped up a boxed unit, and left the store.

Next, it found a low-rent hotel on

The T-1000 placed the bag and the
tele
-video unit on the threadbare carpet at its feet. "Hello, dear," it said. "I need a room."

The woman shrugged her shoulders, as if she saw eccentric guests all the time and how they acted was none of her business. "Sure. How long do you want to stay, honey?"

"Unknown, dear."

The woman looked at the T-1000 quizzically. "'Unknown', huh? All right, I'll put you down as a long-term guest." She made a note in a foolscap exercise book, its used pages held in place by a thick rubber band, then found a room key on a red plastic ring marked with the number "8." "Let me take you through the rules here..."

Once in the room, the T-1000 set up the
tele
-video and started watching cassettes on fast forward. During the afternoon, it worked its way through several of the videos, learning more about the behavior of human beings, but finding no clues to the Connors' whereabouts. As evening stretched on, it used its improved understanding of humans to conclude that the Connors might attempt to strike back against Skynet through its inventor, Miles Dyson, or Dyson's employer, Cyberdyne systems.

It interrupted its search for evidence and made an action plan.

Though many of its records were scanty, the T-1000 held detailed files about Cyberdyne and its key employees all material that had been available to Skynet in 2029. At
10:00 p.m.
it rode in its policeman form to Miles Dyson's plush, modern house in
Long Beach
. From the street, nothing appeared suspicious; there was no sign of the Connors. So far, they hadn't struck.

The T-1000 stepped quickly to the front porch and rang the doorbell. Someone called out, "Honey, can you get it?" A human male with a gentle, educated voice, but he sounded very busy.

After a minute, the door opened slightly.
 
The young black
 
woman looked surprised. "Yes, Officer?" she said.

"I'm sorry to bother you so late. Is everything here okay?"

"Yes," she said slowly, sounding puzzled.

"No one else has disturbed you tonight?"

"No. Not at all. Are you sure you have the right house?"

"I believe so. Are you Mrs. Dyson?" "Yes."

"Is Mr. Miles Dyson home?"

"He's working, but I can get him."

The T-1000 carried out an assessment. This was the right house, and the
Dysons
were safe—that was important
 
in itself. "No," it said. "There's no need for that."

"What's this all about?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Dyson. It's probably just a hoax, but we have to take it seriously. An inmate called Sarah Connor escaped last night from the
Pescadero
State
Hospital
for the Criminally Insane. You may have seen it on the news?"

She shook her head slowly. "I might have seen something
 
in the newspaper this morning. We didn't watch the news tonight. Miles was busy working and—"

"I understand, ma'am. Sarah Connor was imprisoned for attempting to blow up an experimental computer installation over a year ago. We had a tip-off tonight that she might try to harm your husband or his employer, Cyberdyne Systems. Try not to worry, but please call the Police Department if you see anything unusual."

"Thank you," Tarissa Dyson said uncertainly.

"We'll keep in touch with you. Thanks for your cooperation."

After she shut the door, the T-1000 considered the situation further. It rode off, searching for a public phone, and found one on a corner, outside a 7-Eleven convenience store. Its index finger lengthened and flattened to go down the coin slot and trick the mechanism, and it dialed the 911 police emergency line. When it finally got through, it imitated the voice of the clerk in the appliance store. "It's about yesterday's breakout from
Pescadero
."

"Please, sir, where are you calling from?" A woman's voice, young and harassed-sounding.

"I want to remain anonymous. I might be in danger."

There was a sigh at the other end of the phone.

"That woman who escaped custody," the T-1000 said. "Sarah Connor. Her and the kid—and the big guy from the shopping mall. They're going to target either Cyber-dyne Systems or its chief inventor, Miles Dyson. Maybe tonight. That's what I hear. I think you'd better check it out."

"How do you know all this?"
                                        

"This is important. Please check it out." It hung up. That should produce some more police activity and give additional protection to Dyson and Cyberdyne.

It was nearly
midnight
when the
Dysons
' phone rang. They'd put Danny to bed, but they were too worried to sleep after that motorcycle officer called by.

Tarissa took the handset. "Hello?" she said in a tentative voice.

"Mrs. Dyson?"

"Yes."

"This is Detective
Weatherby
from the Los Angeles Police Department. We've had a tip-off that you and your husband may be in serious danger. We're going to call on you. I'd like you and your family to pack some clothes. I'm really sorry to disturb you like this."