Read Online Terminator Salvation: Trial by Fire by Timothy Zahn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Timothy Zahn
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something Connor had learned from Command, before Command had gotten itself killed.
Kate had also expressed hope that all the T-800s been destroyed in the explosion. That was one of the reasons, Barnes gathered, why Connor was spending the time and resources to sift through the wreckage. Not just to eliminate any remaining T-600s and T-700s, but also to look for any of the newer models that might have survived.
Maybe one of them had. At least one. And Skynet wanted a genuine Resistance chopper to take it to whatever Resistance group it was planning to infiltrate.
Maybe even Connor’s group.
Barnes bared his teeth. Well, the damn computer wasn’t going to get this chopper, anyway. Not if he had anything to say about it.
Williams didn’t even twitch as Barnes climbed carefully back up into the chopper’s cockpit. Either the woman was a lot more tired than he was, or else she simply felt safer with Barnes on watch than he did when she was pulling that duty.
Or else the injury to her leg had driven her into a deeper sleep than usual. He glanced at the limb, feeling a brief flicker of guilt. He’d run her harder that afternoon than he’d probably needed to.
The guilt vanished. She still owed him for that crack about his brother. Lying on his back, he hunched up beneath one of the equipment access covers that Wince had put in and popped it open.
Ten minutes later, he closed it again. He didn’t know anything about chopper electronics, but he knew a jury-rigged circuit when he saw one, and the power wires to the auxiliary fan Wince had installed in the cockpit to help airflow was easy to spot among the mass of other wires.
And as it so often had, Barnes’s pre-Judgment Day expertise in hot-wiring cars had come in handy.
Getting back to his feet, he took one final look at the sleeping Williams. Connor wanted him to forgive her, he knew. Williams probably wanted him to, as well.
But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Not after what she’d done to him.
Not ever.
He climbed back out onto the ground, his boots making little squeaking sounds on the cold sand. He took a moment to give the area around them a careful scan, then headed back out to continue walking his perimeter.
They would follow that cable, just like Williams wanted. Not because she was the pilot and had the final say, but because Skynet was up to something, and there was at least a chance it had to do with the cable.
And when the trail ended, whatever they found at the end of it, he was going to head back to San Francisco to alert Connor about this new T-800 threat. Even if he had to walk.
Even if he had to drag Williams by her sore leg the whole way.
It was a couple of hours before dawn when Jik finally reached the old bridge.
To discover that he was too late. Standing rigidly a meter from the foot of the rickety crossing, its eyes a pair of glowing red embers in the night, was the dark metallic form of a T-700.
For a long minute Jik gazed through the trees at the machine, his mind and heart sinking beneath a bitter wave of defeat. All his hopes and stamina had been focused on this bridge, this frail interweaving of rope and wood. For it to have been so casually snatched away from him was a crushing blow.
Sternly, Jik forced away the emotion. Self-pity was a trap, and he knew better than to let it get hold of him. He’d had more than his share of disappointments and reversals throughout his lifetime, and he’d managed to get over, around, or through every one of them. He’d get around this one, too. All he needed was a little thought, a little planning, and a little ingenuity.
None of which he had at the moment, and none of which he was likely to get until he’d burned some of the fatigue from his mind and body. Taking a final look at the Terminator’s positioning, and the big Heckler & Koch G11 submachinegun gripped in its skeletal hand, he carefully backed away from the river gorge and headed into the deep woods.
A quarter mile away, right
Kate had also expressed hope that all the T-800s been destroyed in the explosion. That was one of the reasons, Barnes gathered, why Connor was spending the time and resources to sift through the wreckage. Not just to eliminate any remaining T-600s and T-700s, but also to look for any of the newer models that might have survived.
Maybe one of them had. At least one. And Skynet wanted a genuine Resistance chopper to take it to whatever Resistance group it was planning to infiltrate.
Maybe even Connor’s group.
Barnes bared his teeth. Well, the damn computer wasn’t going to get this chopper, anyway. Not if he had anything to say about it.
Williams didn’t even twitch as Barnes climbed carefully back up into the chopper’s cockpit. Either the woman was a lot more tired than he was, or else she simply felt safer with Barnes on watch than he did when she was pulling that duty.
Or else the injury to her leg had driven her into a deeper sleep than usual. He glanced at the limb, feeling a brief flicker of guilt. He’d run her harder that afternoon than he’d probably needed to.
The guilt vanished. She still owed him for that crack about his brother. Lying on his back, he hunched up beneath one of the equipment access covers that Wince had put in and popped it open.
Ten minutes later, he closed it again. He didn’t know anything about chopper electronics, but he knew a jury-rigged circuit when he saw one, and the power wires to the auxiliary fan Wince had installed in the cockpit to help airflow was easy to spot among the mass of other wires.
And as it so often had, Barnes’s pre-Judgment Day expertise in hot-wiring cars had come in handy.
Getting back to his feet, he took one final look at the sleeping Williams. Connor wanted him to forgive her, he knew. Williams probably wanted him to, as well.
But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Not after what she’d done to him.
Not ever.
He climbed back out onto the ground, his boots making little squeaking sounds on the cold sand. He took a moment to give the area around them a careful scan, then headed back out to continue walking his perimeter.
They would follow that cable, just like Williams wanted. Not because she was the pilot and had the final say, but because Skynet was up to something, and there was at least a chance it had to do with the cable.
And when the trail ended, whatever they found at the end of it, he was going to head back to San Francisco to alert Connor about this new T-800 threat. Even if he had to walk.
Even if he had to drag Williams by her sore leg the whole way.
It was a couple of hours before dawn when Jik finally reached the old bridge.
To discover that he was too late. Standing rigidly a meter from the foot of the rickety crossing, its eyes a pair of glowing red embers in the night, was the dark metallic form of a T-700.
For a long minute Jik gazed through the trees at the machine, his mind and heart sinking beneath a bitter wave of defeat. All his hopes and stamina had been focused on this bridge, this frail interweaving of rope and wood. For it to have been so casually snatched away from him was a crushing blow.
Sternly, Jik forced away the emotion. Self-pity was a trap, and he knew better than to let it get hold of him. He’d had more than his share of disappointments and reversals throughout his lifetime, and he’d managed to get over, around, or through every one of them. He’d get around this one, too. All he needed was a little thought, a little planning, and a little ingenuity.
None of which he had at the moment, and none of which he was likely to get until he’d burned some of the fatigue from his mind and body. Taking a final look at the Terminator’s positioning, and the big Heckler & Koch G11 submachinegun gripped in its skeletal hand, he carefully backed away from the river gorge and headed into the deep woods.
A quarter mile away, right
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