Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines

C.17

In the back of the pet van John Connor watched through the dividing window over Terminator's shoulder.

He and Kate had finally eaten something and had drunk some water, but she refused to say anything else to him. He almost hated to turn his back on her. She looked as if she were on the verge of going berserk again. There was no telling what she was capable of doing.

Connor hadn't been able to figure out where they were going, although he knew that the desert was off to the east and LA. back the other way. But now they were in an area of grass and tree-covered rolling hills, the occasional long driveway up to a house in the distance, or a small horse ranch nestled against a steeper hill. Pleasant countryside. He figured that a lot of people escaping from the daily grind in Los Angeles came out here.

Terminator drove at a steady sixty miles per hour, on the straight stretches or on the curves, it didn't seem to matter to him.

They were off the main highway, on a blacktopped secondary road that suddenly came around a hill to a broad vista of trees, grassy slopes, and narrow roads that wound their way in and among headstones, classical statues, small family plots enclosed by low iron picket fences, and mausoleums of all sizes, styles, and ornateness.

No one seemed to be here this morning, except for a hearse and a Cadillac limousine parked at the base of a hill in the distance. At the top was a Gothic stone building that was an entrance to a crypt. But there didn't seem to be any people nearby. Nor were there any signs that caretakers were at work this early.

Without slowing down, Terminator made the sharp turn onto the entrance road, flashed past a sign that read valley of peace cemetery, and crashed straight through a tall iron gate, knocking it half off its hinges.

He drove directly across the cemetery, following the narrow roads, finally slowing down and coming to a halt near where the hearse and the limousine were parked.

The morning was cool and beautiful out here, the sun very bright in a crystal clear sky. i

Terminator opened the rear door. Connor jumped out first, blinking in the brightness. He turned and offered his hand to Kate, but she batted it away and jumped down on her own.

"Come with me," Terminator said. He turned and strode up the hill to the crypt entrance that was flanked by tall stained-glass windows showing angels ascending to heaven. Connor almost expected to hear organ music playing softly.

The heavy bronze doors were locked, but Terminator simply pulled them open as if they had been held in place by straw.

Inside, he led them down a flight of stairs into the crypt Coffins were set behind marble slabs in tombs that were stacked five high. The morning light was diffused and colored by the windows, lending the place the solemn air it was supposed to have.

Connor suddenly had an uneasy feeling that he knew who was buried here, but he couldn't stop himself from seeing with his own eyes.

Terminator stopped in front of one of the tombs near the center of the crypt.

Connor pulled up short, hesitating, as he saw what was chiseled in the marble cover of the tomb. He'd never been here before. He didn't even know about this place.

He took a few steps closer, Kate just behind him. The inscription read

Kate was obviously confused. Nothing that had happened to her this morning made any sense. She looked from the inscription on the tomb to Terminator and then to Connor.

"Your mother?" she asked.

"I never knew where she was buried," he said, his voice soft but filled with emotion. "I hit the road the day she died." He looked at Terminator. "Why did you bring me here?"

Terminator didn't answer. Without warning he slammed his fist through the marble slab, shattering it into a million pieces, sending chunks flying everywhere, dust rising from the pulverized stone.

Connor couldn't believe what was happening. He tried to muscle the cyborg aside, but it was like ramming his shoulder into a brick wall. "No! What are you doing?"

Terminator shoved him away, reached into the tomb, and pulled out the polished stainless-steel coffin with one hand as if it were a toy. He slammed it on the floor, popped the locking bolts out of their seats, and threw open the lid.

Connor was speechless. He didn't know exactly what he expected to see after all these years; his mother's skeleton, probably. But he wasn't expecting to find a steel coffin completely crammed with weapons and loads. A.30-caliber machine gun, several Russian-made AK-47 assault rifles, 9mm Glock pistols, a bandolier of H&W stun grenades that U.S. Special Forces used, a LAW antitank rocket, a 40mm Mk-19 grenade launcher with its loads, small bricks of C-4 plastic explosive, and a lot of other weapons, all of which Connor knew how to use.

"Sarah Connor was cremated in Mexico," Terminator explained. "Her friends scattered her ashes in the sea. They stored these weapons in accordance with her will."

Connor's eyes were drawn away from the weapons to a larger piece of the marble tomb on which the name connor was legible. So many years wasted. So many lives lost. So much damage and heartache.

Now this.

"What happened to her?" Kate asked at Connor's shoulder.

"Leukemia."

"I'm sorry," she said, staring at the weapons.

Terminator was going through them, checking to see what had been left behind, in what condition everything was, and discarding some of the things.

"We were living down in Baja when she was diagnosed," Connor said, not looking up. He was still in his own thoughts. Still back in Mexico with his mother. "They gave her only six months, but she fought for three years." He lowered his eyes. "Long enough to make sure."

"Make sure?" Kate prompted.

"That the world didn't end," he said. His life for the past twelve years had been surreal. But these past four hours had been the worst " 'Every day after this one is a gift,' she told me. 'We made it, we're free.' But I never really believed it." He glanced at the weapons. "I guess die didn't either."

He and Terminator looked at each other.

"You know, you were the closest thing I ever had to a father," Connor told him. He shook his head. "How pathetic is that?"

Kate suddenly lunged between them, snatched a Glock 17 pistol from the coffin, and skipped back a couple of steps as she fumbled for the twin triggers. Her father had taught her something about guns too.

Terminator stepped to the left, blocking her exit.

She pointed the pistol at his face. "Out of my way!" The gun trembled in her grip.

"My mission is to protect you," Terminator told her evenly. He took a step toward her and she backed up, keeping the gun trained on him.

"That's enough," she warned. She took another step back and was at the wall. There was nowhere to go. She tightened her grip on the gun and steadied her aim. "Move, or 111 do it. I swear I will. I'll shoot you!"

Connor hadn't moved. "Go ahead," he told her. "See what happens."

Kate was distracted by what Connor was suggesting. She glanced at him to make sure that he wasn't laughing at her again.

Terminator snatched the weapon out of Kate's hand. Her finger jerked the triggers back, past the safety guard, and the weapon fired point-blank into his face.

He flinched, and Kate stepped aside in horror, stifling a scream, not believing what she had just done.

Terminator rolled something around in his mouth, turned his head, and spat out the deformed bullet, a drop of artificial blood on his lips.

"Don't do that," he said mildly.

Kate was beside herself. She didn't know what to do. Where to turn. What to say. "Oh, my God," she muttered. "Oh, my God."

Something metallic banged against the entry corridor wall and clattered down the stairs with a tremendous racket, belching dense white smoke.

It was tear gas. Connor jumped back from the canister as the sharply pungent smoke filled his nostrils and burned his eyes like acid. He had been taught as a kid to breathe shallowly when you found yourself in this kind of situation. But Kate wouldn't know that.

"This is the police," a powerfully amplified voice came from outside the crypt. "We have the building surrounded. Release your hostage."

Connor reached for Kate, but she spun on her heel, managed to skip past Terminator, and was gone up the stairs in a flash.

He tried to go after her, but Terminator kicked the tear gas canister aside and hauled Connor back to a relatively smoke-free niche behind a couple of marble statues of angels.

"Just leave me here," Connor protested. His eyes were red and filled with tears. His vision was blurry at best. "You're wasting your time. I'm not the one you want."

"Incorrect," Terminator replied firmly. "John Connor leads the resistance to victory."

"How?" Connor shouted. "Why? Why me?"

"You are John Connor," Terminator said without inflection, as if Connor had just questioned a fundamental law of the universe.

But Connor shook his head. "Christ, my mom fed me that bullshit from the cradle. But look at me. I'm no leader. I never was. I'm never gonna be."

Terminator grabbed Connor by the throat and lifted him bodily off the floor so that they were eye to eye.

Connor struggled desperately to get free. "What are you — Let go—"

Terminator squeezed harder, as if he were going to choke the life out of the human. "You are right," he said. "You are not the one I want I am wasting my time."

Connor's eyes went wide with rage. The injustice of what was happening to him now was beyond bearing. After all he had gone through. After his mother. After everything. The struggle. All the bullshit for twelve years.

Not this way. He wasn't going to die here and now. Not this way. He slammed his hands into the sides of Terminator's skull, kicking, thrashing wildly, fighting for his life with a rage that threatened to blot out every last sane thought in his head. '

"Fuck you!" Connor screamed raggedly. "You fucking machine!"

Terminator nodded. "Better," he said. He tossed Connor aside.

Connor picked himself up and rubbed his throat as he tried to catch his breath. He had been close to fuzzing out. "Why did you do that?" he croaked.

But Terminator showed little or no reaction.

"You were dicking with me?" Connor demanded.

"Anger is more useful than despair."

"What?"

"Basic psychology is among my subroutines," Terminator said as if he were discussing the weather. He pulled the modified Stoner 63A.30-caliber machine gun out of the coffin, then grabbed a belt of ammunition and efficiently loaded the weapon, pulled the slide back and released the safety.

Connor suddenly remembered what Terminator was capable of doing. "Jesus, don't kill them."

"My reprogramming will not allow it. I am incapable of taking human life."

Connor grinned wryly, still rubbing his bruised neck. "Good to know."