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Book: Terminator Salvation: The Official Movie Novelization by Alan Dean Foster
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Authors: Alan Dean Foster
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maintained towers, the Resistance base’s encrypted signal would be decrypted only at the final points of transmission—an assortment of battered but still functioning translators scattered across the continent. Each had been rigged to self-destruct in the event of its discovery by the machines.
Every month, more were lost. Every month, the voice of the Resistance grew fainter, its area of coverage smaller. But they would keep talking, right up to the end. Whichever end the end turned out to be , he thought.
He settled himself in the chair facing the microphone. Off to his left, the busy technician was intent on his equipment. Checking not only to see that everything was functioning and that the carrier wave was sufficiently strong, but also that it was not being traced. Only when he was satisfied with both did he turn to the waiting Connor and give him a silent thumbs-up.
Connor nodded and leaned slightly toward the mike. He could feel Kate’s eyes on him; watching, waiting, expectant. Though he had performed such broadcasts many times before, the words never came easily to him.
What could he say that had not already been said? What more could he do to exhort those who continued to resist, to encourage those who were still fighting back?
What could he say to Kyle?
He stared at the radio for a moment longer and then leaned toward the microphone.
“I hope he’s listening to this,” he muttered, before beginning his transmission.
“We’ve been fighting for a long time. We’ve all lost so very much. So many of our loved ones are gone. But you are not alone. There are pockets of Resistance all around the planet. We are at the brink....”
CHAPTER FIVE
Where once it had resounded to the laughter and awed exclamations of excited children getting their first close-up glimpses of the stars and the planets, the old observatory now sat silent and ruined. Little of its distinctive green dome remained. Destroyed displays and weather-damaged exhibits lay broken and battered with scant regard for the knowledge they represented.
The pages of indifferently strewn books rustled fitfully in the wind, their words seeming to drift away to rejoin the vanished spirits of those who had originally set them down.
Marching steadily downslope and across the cracked and shattered parking lot without regard to the priorities or interests of either men or machines, the uninhibited chaparral vegetation that had been cleared for the construction of the observatory was now reclaiming its ancient territory. Trees thrust upward through weakened asphalt, while vines, creepers, and incongruously flowered bushes assailed crumbling walls or pushed their way through windows devoid of glass.
For all the destruction, the place was not quite deserted.
While the war with the machines had cost much of mankind access to electricity, fire had never left him. Around the makeshift pit filled with carefully piled kindling and a couple of chair legs had been gathered the remnants of a devastated civilization: several useless televisions, a couple of radios, a microwave oven suitable for storing if not preparing food. Into this dovetailed detritus came three tired figures. Though their discrepancy in size and shape suggested they might as well have represented three separate species, they were in fact all of the same.
A species that was, at present, not doing very well at all.
Wright studied the debris. “Where are the cars?”
“You don’t want to go out after dark,” Reese told him. “Hunter-Killers have infrared and who knows what else. They hunt even better at night.” He stepped over a line of crushed metal and plastic. “We can make a run for it in the morning.”
Settling down beside a scorched depression that had obviously been used as a firepit, he began the work of starting a small blaze. Returning from rummaging through a bigger heap of broken furniture and other unidentifiable detritus, Star passed him a double handful of
Every month, more were lost. Every month, the voice of the Resistance grew fainter, its area of coverage smaller. But they would keep talking, right up to the end. Whichever end the end turned out to be , he thought.
He settled himself in the chair facing the microphone. Off to his left, the busy technician was intent on his equipment. Checking not only to see that everything was functioning and that the carrier wave was sufficiently strong, but also that it was not being traced. Only when he was satisfied with both did he turn to the waiting Connor and give him a silent thumbs-up.
Connor nodded and leaned slightly toward the mike. He could feel Kate’s eyes on him; watching, waiting, expectant. Though he had performed such broadcasts many times before, the words never came easily to him.
What could he say that had not already been said? What more could he do to exhort those who continued to resist, to encourage those who were still fighting back?
What could he say to Kyle?
He stared at the radio for a moment longer and then leaned toward the microphone.
“I hope he’s listening to this,” he muttered, before beginning his transmission.
“We’ve been fighting for a long time. We’ve all lost so very much. So many of our loved ones are gone. But you are not alone. There are pockets of Resistance all around the planet. We are at the brink....”
CHAPTER FIVE
Where once it had resounded to the laughter and awed exclamations of excited children getting their first close-up glimpses of the stars and the planets, the old observatory now sat silent and ruined. Little of its distinctive green dome remained. Destroyed displays and weather-damaged exhibits lay broken and battered with scant regard for the knowledge they represented.
The pages of indifferently strewn books rustled fitfully in the wind, their words seeming to drift away to rejoin the vanished spirits of those who had originally set them down.
Marching steadily downslope and across the cracked and shattered parking lot without regard to the priorities or interests of either men or machines, the uninhibited chaparral vegetation that had been cleared for the construction of the observatory was now reclaiming its ancient territory. Trees thrust upward through weakened asphalt, while vines, creepers, and incongruously flowered bushes assailed crumbling walls or pushed their way through windows devoid of glass.
For all the destruction, the place was not quite deserted.
While the war with the machines had cost much of mankind access to electricity, fire had never left him. Around the makeshift pit filled with carefully piled kindling and a couple of chair legs had been gathered the remnants of a devastated civilization: several useless televisions, a couple of radios, a microwave oven suitable for storing if not preparing food. Into this dovetailed detritus came three tired figures. Though their discrepancy in size and shape suggested they might as well have represented three separate species, they were in fact all of the same.
A species that was, at present, not doing very well at all.
Wright studied the debris. “Where are the cars?”
“You don’t want to go out after dark,” Reese told him. “Hunter-Killers have infrared and who knows what else. They hunt even better at night.” He stepped over a line of crushed metal and plastic. “We can make a run for it in the morning.”
Settling down beside a scorched depression that had obviously been used as a firepit, he began the work of starting a small blaze. Returning from rummaging through a bigger heap of broken furniture and other unidentifiable detritus, Star passed him a double handful of
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