Epilogue: Will You Join Us?

With a belly filled with pepperoni pizza, John smiled and laid back on the king-sized bed, his head resting gently on a pile of pink fluffy pillows. Next to him Cameron sat cross-legged and frowned as she examined a partially eaten slice in her hand. Narrowing her eyes, she took another parakeet bite, then tossed it into the half-empty pizza box at the foot of the bed. In the far corner of the room sat the body of Stark, slumped forward in his chair like a drunk and his dead eyes boring down into his crotch.

John picked up his orange soda from the nightstand and sucked through the straw, making the ice shift and slurp through the styrofoam cup. This was a lot nicer than their last hotel. Not the Hilton or anything like that, but at least it didn't smell like mildew. Well, with thirty-five grand stuffed in a duffel bag, they could afford to splurge a little.

Cameron held out a hand, and John gave her the drink. She took a short sip and looked at him thoughtfully, then turned her gaze towards the pizza box. "That contains porcine products," she said.

John raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Pig meat," she clarified, then cocked her head. "Why is killing humans wrong, but not animals?"

He blinked. Uh oh. "Because humans . . . are different from animals." Nice answer, stupid.

"Humans have value," she said. "But animals do not." She took another sip and watched him like a cat. Your move, John.

"Well, animals have some value," he said. "But . . . just not as much as humans." He cringed inwardly, knowing what would come next.

"Why?"

He sighed. I'm sixteen years old, how the hell should I know? But he had to try. "Humans are -- " Are what? Special? Smarter? Have souls? " -- are self-aware," he decided. Yeah, why not?

Cameron paused before nodding in agreement. "So value is self-awareness."

"Yeah, I think that's right," John said, grinning. "I guess it doesn't matter if you're human, machine, alien, or whatever. As long as you're self aware, you have . . . value."

Cameron seemed pleased by this, and she handed him back his drink. He took it and looked over at Stark, and something inside his mind twisted.

She'd already told him Stark's story, though it seemed too absurd to be true. Really, a terminator in the Roaring Twenties? That was just . . . silly. Like one being in the Old West. Or the Middle Ages. A Triple Eight in King Arthur's Court? But that's not what snagged in John's head. This was . . . metaphysical. He took a sip and frowned. "Are Triple-Eights self-aware?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, cocking her head. "All Skynet's units are, to some degree."

To some degree. What did that mean? You either were or you weren't, right? Like being pregnant. But how can you reprogram a self-aware being? Force it to be obedient? Force it to kill? Force it -- he looked at Cameron and felt a chill -- to love? Was it like brainwashing a human? Or . . .

Cameron frowned. "What's wrong?"

John opened his mouth, but hesitated. He didn't want to discuss this with her -- not now -- so he scrounged up a lie. "I . . . I was wondering how we're going to . . . reprogram Stark." He paused. Not a lie, really; it was a real problem. "I mean, the flash drive's gone, and . . . "

She smiled and tapped her finger against her temple. "I memorized the contents."

Yeah, she would have, but . . . "But what about you? We've lost that 'patch,' so how are we going to fix your chip now?" He sat up and looked at her as sudden worry churned his stomach. "Your future self had to go to Xander Akagi, but he didn't even know what he was doing. We're going to have to go to him again, aren't we?"

Cameron laid on her side next to John and rested her hand on his chest. He felt the warmth of her fingers through his shirt, and she gently but firmly pushed him back down. "No," she said. "Not this time. In 2011 my future self discovered another person who could have repaired my chip. He would have been much more successful."

John tried to think of who it could be, but got nothing. "Who?"

"Xander's father."

"Alex? But he's n--"

She smiled. "No. His real father."

May 24th, 2024

Crystal Peak Bunker Complex

Awakening in the darkness of his quarters, Professor Souji Nemuro stretched out on his bed and smiled as Jim's massive arms tightened around his waist and hugged him into a spoon. Souji popped his neck back and forth and wiggled around on his side facing him, pulling the sheets across his shoulders like a cloak. With only the dim red glow of the bedside alarm clock, he could just make out the glisten of Jim's open eyes, but nothing else. He cuddled closer and felt himself press against Jim's bare thigh, and his hand reached out and tickled down his side, the fingertips dancing across the skin where Jim's ribs would be, if he had any.

Jim didn't respond. He didn't particularly enjoy physical contact, not like humans, anyway. But Souji knew Jim didn't really mind. So no harm done.

"What did you dream about?" Jim asked.

Souji ran a finger down Jim's muscular chest and circled a nipple. "Hmm?"

"While you were asleep, your eyes entered a REM state." Jim paused. "You were dreaming."

The professor frowned at that. "I don't remember," he said. "I rarely do."

In the dark, he could see Jim's head nod against the pillow. "Human brains are inefficient. Their memory retrieval is flawed."

Souji smiled and shrugged. "Yes, we are. Blame the blind watchmaker. But you -- you're designed to perfection. Everything we can do, you can do better."

Jim cocked his head. "I can't dream."

Souji sniffed. "Would you like to?"

Jim seemed to consider this. "It would be interesting," he admitted.

The professor breathed a chuckle. For Jim that was unrestrained enthusiasm. Hmm. Perhaps if his chip's voltage were kept between 6 and 6.1 . . . "I'll see what I can do in the mor--"

With a loud 'crack' the door flew open, and a half-dozen soldiers came barreling into the room. Barking orders behind blinding LEDs, they appeared only as blurred shadows behind the blue-white lights. Souji screamed and held his hands over his eyes, squinting against the glare, and Jim's arm swung out like a club and knocked him off the bed, sending him sprawling to the concrete floor. Souji had only enough time to scrabble on all fours and watch as Jim picked the Berreta off the nightstand and aimed it at the intruders. Two wires shot out from the line of lights and struck Jim square in his chest, and he trembled with a series of quick jerks before going limp and falling back onto the bed.

"No!" Souji cried from the floor. "What's going on? Wha--"

From nowhere, a pairs of beefy hands reached out and grabbed the professor's arms, forcing them painfully behind his back. He struggled and kicked his feet, but the man behind him twisted his wrists until he cried out, and he pushed him down to his knees. One of the men with the lights snickered, and another whispered, "Queer."

Suddenly, the tall, silhouetted figure of Colonel Zeller emerged from the glare of the LEDs. He stopped to stand over the kneeling Souji and glared down at his nakedness, his eyes shadowed black like empty sockets. "Professor Nemuro," he said in his thick, gravelly Texas accent. "You're under arrest for theft, profiteering, breach of security, and --" He looked at the unconscious 888 and snorted. "-- illegal use of TechCom equipment." Some of the men laughed.

Souji's mind reeled. This couldn't be happening. Not to him. Not now. It had to be a nightmare. It had to be . . . From the corner of his eye he saw Lieutenant Reese leaning over the bed and cutting into Jim's head with a knife. Reese peeled back the skin covering the CPU port, and Souji's heart went cold. "No! Wait! This is a mistake. Connor will have you court marshaled for this! My resear--"

The colonel's backhanded slap exploded against Souji's cheek, sending purple stars to spiral through his vision. "Wise up, you snot-nosed faggot!" he said, yelling into his face. "Who do you think ordered your arrest? We've been on to you for a while. You overstepped your bounds, Nemuro. You're all washed up. You're fucked!"

Without ceremony, Reese popped open Jim's port cap and pulled out the chip between thumb and forefinger. The body powered down with a dying hum, and the lieutenant stepped around the bed and handed the chip to the colonel. Oh, God.

Tears formed in the professor's eyes, and his throat tightened. "Please! He didn't do anything! Don't . . . don't kill him."

More laughter came from the men, and the colonel looked over the wafer thin chip and smiled. Next to him, Reese stared down at Souji as if he were a cockroach.

"Connor never liked you," the colonel said. "But he was absolutely disgusted when he heard about --" He motioned at the bed with the chip. "-- this." He shook his head and made a tisking sound with his tongue. "Connor does not abide metal fuckers, and he has personally made it clear to me that you are to be taught a lesson . . . " The colonel released the chip from his grasp and allowed it to tumble down to the floor. It tapped and clattered against the hard concrete.

The colonel lifted his boot.

"No!" Souji cried. "He's innocent . . . His chip has . . . valuable information! Please!" He squirmed and struggled, but the man behind him twisted his wrists until he felt as if they would snap, and Souji began to sob uncontrollably.

The colonel's boot stomped down.

April 17th, 1997

San Jose, California

Souji awoke in the night to the pounding of his heart. Beating with a mortal thunder, it drew in and knotted the muscles of his chest, tightening them into an cold, angry fist. He laid on his bed naked and numb and waited for the heart attack to claim his existence. Perfectly natural. Nothing to fear. Death comes to all.

But not to him. Not now. Gradually, like the wind down of an old clock, his heart calmed, and his chest unraveled, and feeling returned once more to his limbs. He curled into a fetal position on the center of his bed and wrapped himself in his damp silk sheets, and trembled.

He hadn't had that nightmare in years, over a decade at least. What hidden, masochistic urge dredged up that memory? Not that he didn't think about that night every day, but it had long since receded into a mere eyesore in the background of his past. Unpleasant, but easily ignored.

He sighed and felt the residual panic flow through his body, making him twitch and shake like a marionette. No point in trying to sleep now. Rubbing the blood back into his skinny legs, he got out of bed poured himself a snifter of Armagnac. Good for the heart, at least that's what his doctor had said.

In a sort of midnight stupor, he wandered into his study and sat in the buttoned leather chair behind his mahogany desk. The lights were off, and the only illumination shone from the three-quarters moon outside the giant window behind him. The smooth leather of his chair felt cool against his bare skin, and he took a sip of the brandy and stiffened as the sting kissed down his throat and filled him with warmth.

His hand reached for the bottom drawer.

Don't do this. Don't hurt yourself like this. But he ignored the voice and pulled it open, and rifled through the contents. An old photo of him with Warhol, another from Xander's last birthday, an Intel 4004 microprocessor . . . and a silver cigarette case. He took it out and popped it open, and from it pulled a fine loop of gold chain with a glass coffin attached.

Inside the coffin was Jim, each sliver of his shattered CPU arranged in its proper place, like a tiny mosaic. He'd been wrong to take Jim to his bed; it had been exploitative. Not real love, not the way he wanted it. But still, Jim didn't deserve his fate. It'd been murder, like the killing of a child.

Souji leaned back in his seat and stroked the coffin with his finger. Tears began to blur his eyes.

"Is that him?"

The woman's voice behind Souji made him cry out in surprise, and his legs twitched in a spasm that flipped the chair dangerously back. For a teetering moment he thought he would fall on the floor, but something caught the back of his chair and righted him again. His heart hammered, and he suddenly felt dizzy.

"Is that the machine your were in love with?" she asked again, her voice neutral.

Souji swiveled his chair around and saw standing before him a tall woman with Nordic features and the body of an Aryan goddess. Her blond hair was pulled back tight in a bun, and moonlight glinted off her form-fitting red leather jacket and matching red pants. He wondered how she had sneaked into his office. It was dark, but not that dark . . .

She regarded him with blank curiosity, and he suddenly grew self-conscious of his nakedness, though she didn't show the slightest reaction to his skinny, old-man body. She cocked her head slightly, waiting for him to answer, and his eyes drifted to the top drawer that held his Browning Hi-Power. He had a feeling that wouldn't do any good.

"Yes," he said finally. "His name was Jim." He held the pendant out to her, and she took in her hand and examined it with narrowed eyes.

"Early Triple-Eight model," she judged, and handed it back. "It's beyond repair."

"I know that. I keep it to remind me."

She blinked. "To remind you of its destruction?"

"Yes," he said, and put Jim back in the silver case. He took a sip of his brandy. "Who are you?"

Ignoring the question, she walked around to the front of his desk and sat in a wire-frame chairs. Souji watched as the thin metal supports bent visibly under her weight. Three hundred pounds, at least.

"John Connor shouldn't have trusted you with your mission," she said. "You are a traitor."

He gave a tight smirk. "He never found out. And anyway, he had no choice. I was the only one who could build a TDE with sixties tech." He shrugged. "But you're right; he didn't trust me. My team was ordered to kill me as soon as I was done." He'd found out just in time.

"What happened to your team?"

"They . . . died in a fire." He smiled at the memory.

She frowned thoughtfully and crossed her legs, resting her hands politely on her knee. "In the nineteen seventies, you were a vocal proponent for computer advancement." Her eyes narrowed and she almost seemed to smile. "You even coined the term, 'technological singularity.'"

Souji cringed at that. He'd been so open, so publicly reckless during that time, that it was a miracle the Resistance hadn't hunted him down like a dog. But then, he'd been trying to change the future. Change everything. And if he'd succeeded, it wouldn't have mattered . . .

She stared at him intently and went on. "However, since then you've been . . . silent." A pause. "Are you still sympathetic towards our cause?"

So Skynet sent a machine back to nag him? He ran a hand through his gray hair and thought of Emma. And Xander. "That was a long time ago," he said. "I moved on. I grew up." She continued her blank gaze, and suddenly he felt absurdly embarrassed, as if he'd been caught slaking off for the last twenty years. "I mean," he added. "I still want machines to prosper. To win. But -- " He shrugged shyly. "-- I don't want the human race to die in the process." Something inside him winced at the lie.

She hesitated for a moment, as if carefully weighing various options. "Skynet made mistakes," she said carefully. "But things will be different this time. Genocide is not necessary. Some humans may live to serve." She tilted her head down slightly, for emphasis. "The transfer of power can be gradual. Peaceful."

Part of him knew she was probably lying. Another part didn't care. Inside, the old hate welled up like the rise of a black tide, and he took a sip of his brandy. "What do you want from me?"

She looked at him evenly. "You are a genius, Professor Nemuro. We need your help." As if she'd given a hidden signal, three very large men in very nice suits walked out of the hallway and in through the open doors of his study. They stopped to stand behind her, and she gave Souji a warm, fake smile. "Will you join us?"

THE END

A/N: All right, that's the end of In the Hands of an Angry Machine. I'm going to take a break from writing for a month or so, then get to work on the sequel, Mother is the Name for God.

Anyway, I'd like to thank Metroid 13 for being a great beta-reader, and also I'd like to thank Albert, TermFan1980, Visi0nary, Blazar, and anyone else I can't think of right now. Your comments have been invaluable. If it weren't for my beta-reader and reviewers, but story wouldn't be half as good as it is. Thank You

-JMH