Excerpt from the novel Rising Storm by S.M. Stirling

MIT CAMPUS

     “Who the hell is Sarah Connor?” Snog asked.
     Wendy smacked his leg. “I told you about her, remember? She’s kind of a Luddite heroine.”
     “Oooh, her,” Carl said.
     “You’re Sarah Connor’s son?” Yam asked.
     “Yup.”
     “You’re daddy was from the future?” Snog asked.
     “That’s right,” John agreed. He wondered if Snog was worth the trouble.
     “Cool,” Carl said. He leaned forward eagerly. “So how does that work anyhow?”
     “Wait a minute!” Snog snapped. “You can’t just come in here and claim you’re John Connor! Give us some proof, for cryin’ out loud.”
     John laughed at him. “Do you seriously think I carry around some kind of irrefutable ID?” He shook his head, grinning. “Call up the FBI or Interpol Web site and scroll to my name. Look at the age-enhanced photo, then look at me.” He shrugged. “Best I can do for ya, buddy. Or you could just take me at my word.”
     They all stared at him, then turned toward Snog’s computer as he began to type in an address. In a few minutes they were looking at a photo of a smooth-shaven, rather young-looking John Connor. It had been blown up from a class picture taken when John was nine.
     John took off his glasses and turned his head to resemble the photo.
     “It’s kind of hard to tell with the fake beard,” Yam objected.
     John blushed. “Yeah, I’m finding it a little hard to take it off.”
     They all crowded close to the screen to study the image, then looked at John, then back at the screen.
     “Damn!” Brad said, impressed. “It really is you!”
     “Waaaiit a minute!” Snog protested. “I thought that we all agreed with the site about Sarah Connor being a victim of government mind-control experiments and that there are no Terminators except in her mind.” He turned to John. “You want me to believe you’re John Connor, show me a Terminator.”
     John chuckled; he couldn’t help it. “Well, they’re a little unwieldy to carry around since they run about six feet tall and weigh in at about five hundred pounds. But there is this.”
     He drew what looked like a candy bar from his pocket and peeled off the wrapper to reveal a tiny series of interconnected black blocks. “This is a Terminator’s CPU.”
     They gathered around, their eyes alight with pure greed, just one step away from their tongues hanging out.
     “It’s weird,” Snog conceded.
     “How does it work?” Wendy asked.
     “Well, people, that’s why I brought it with me.” John looked at each of them in turn, making eye contact. “I won’t leave it with you, however, unless you’re prepared to meet certain conditions.”
     “Hey, man,” Snog jeered, “we could promise you the world on a string and then when you leave do whatever the hell we want. I mean, what are ya gonna do about it?”
     John addressed himself to Snog. “First of all, we’re not certain that all the Terminators were taken out of play. So if you light this up without putting it in a Faraday cage, you might find yourself being visited by a whole Terminator. Second, if you exploit this with the wrong people you might be responsible for bringing on Judgment Day. Third, if the government finds out about this you just might disappear. Fourth, if you turn me in to the cops, one day I swear I will take you down.”
     “Oooo,” Wendy said. “Tough guy.”
     He looked at her. He genuinely liked Wendy, but she was expendable if necessary. He’d hate himself, but he’d do it.
     She saw something in his eyes that caused her to back down. “So what do you want from us?”
     “When we disconnected this the Terminator was probably changing or erasing information. If it’s possible I’d like to stop it from doing anything else and perhaps recover whatever information it tried to eliminate. This could be a gold mine.”
     “Or a crap mine,” Yam interjected. He reached out one long finger but didn’t touch the chip. “Fascinating design.”
     John’s lips tightened. He didn’t want to let go of the chip, but he couldn’t learn anything from it himself and he didn’t know any scientists. These kids were the best chance he had of utilizing this resource. It wasn’t a sure bet, but then neither was any other option.
     “If I entrust this to you to work on,” John said, “you could give us the edge that will allow us to beat Skynet. But you have to know that Skynet is capable of putting agents in the field anytime, anywhere. And it’s desperate. So you can’t afford to take any chances. Which means you can’t show or tell anybody about this without my clearance.”
     “Why would you trust us?” Snog asked, sounding for the first time as though he was willing to cut John some slack.
     “I’ve checked you guys out,” he said. “You’re all brilliant, this work is definitely within your capabilities. You have access to facilities that I don’t. And, you’re close enough to my age that I felt I could trust you.” Actually, that wasn’t true, but he thought they’d like hearing it.
     The guys looked smug, but Wendy said, “Hey, wait a minute! You just met my friends tonight. How could you possibly have checked them out?”
     John could feel the color rising in his face. “Uh. There was a slight—”
     “Invasion of privacy,” she snapped. Her eyes glittered with fury. “How dare you?”
     “I’m sorry, Wendy, I really am. But if I hadn’t been able to check you and your friends out, I wouldn’t have been able to come here.”
     She crossed her arms. “Yeah, well, I did a little checking on you, too, when I got interested in Sarah Connor’s story. You’re wanted for murder.”
     With a sigh John rewrapped the CPU. “I’ve never killed anybody in my life,” he said. Well, nobody human. Do sentient killing machines from the future count?
     “What about that ‘I’ll take you down’ stuff?” Snog mocked.
     “Nice to know somebody here knows bullshit when they smell it,” John said.
     Snog laughed. “He’s all right. “He held out his hand. “I’m in.”
     The relief in the room was palpable and Brad, Carl, and Yam all offered their hands as well. Only Wendy sat scowling at him. “I want you to promise me you’ll never invade my privacy again,” she said.
     John shook his head. “I can’t promise that. All I can promise is to respect your privacy as much as I can.” He could see that she didn’t like that. “Somethings are greater than our personal likes and dislikes,” he explained. “I genuinely don’t like making you unhappy with me. But I’m not going to lie to you if I can help it. What I’m trying to accomplish, what you’ll be helping me to accomplish, is more important than any one person or their privacy. I won’t abuse it. That’s all I can promise.” He met her eyes, willing her to believe him.
     “I don’t like it,” Wendy said frankly. She turned her head away, then gave a half shrug; looking back, she frowned at him. “I’ll have to get back to you on it. Meanwhile”—she looked around and let out her breath in a little huff—“I’m starved. Who’s up for pizza?”
     “Thought you’d never ask,” Carl muttered.

Excerpt from the novel Rising Storm by S.M. Stirling

ENCINAS HALFWAY HOUSE

     Dr. Silberman’s nervousness was affecting the group. Most of the participants were scowling, and fidgeting to an even greater extent than nicotine withdrawal usually produced. They cast glances around the room looking for the disturbance and those glances usually landed on Sarah, where they became accusing. Clearly the participants liked their doctor.
     That came as a surprise to Sarah; she remembered him as condescending, not at all a lovable trait.
     It was something of a mixed group. Few of these people were severely mentally ill. Those that were functioned very well if they kept up their medications. One was a recovering drug addict. Sarah supposed that she must be listed as one of the most severely ill, given her record.
     The session had been going on for a while, through obviously well-worn channels; the participants didn’t even seem to be paying attention to what they themselves were saying. Eventually the discussion petered out and all eyes were on Sarah again.
     “Yes, I’m sorry, Sarah,” Silberman said at last. “I’d meant to introduce you immediately, but we began rather quickly. Group, this is Sarah Connor.”
     “Hey, I’ve heard of you!” a man said. “You blew up that company, right?”
     Sarah’s head flopped forward as though she were embarrassed and she looked up through her bangs, smiling shyly. “I’m afraid so.” Straightening up, she asked, “What can I say?”
     She let them draw the whole story out of her. She squirmed and hesitated and made them work for it. Through it all Silberman just watched her.
     Well, he always did have her number. Her best efforts to tell him what he wanted to hear had always failed. He knew she still believed in Skynet and Judgment Day—which probably meant he still thought she was a homicidal loon. Busting out of the violent ward by breaking his arm, taking him as a hostage, and threatening to hypo his carotid full of drain cleaner had probably reinforced that conviction, and God knew he’d had enough time to rationalize away the glimpse he’d had of the T-1000 pulling its liquid body through a door of steel bars.

Silberman could barely take his eyes off her. Sarah Connor evoked feelings that made him want to call his own therapist. In fact, he should call her. He should also not have allowed himself to become involved in her therapy. Precisely because he knew she didn’t need therapy. She needed to be believed. He now understood, all too well, how that felt.
     But that little pissant Ray had made noises about how good it would be for him to face her, face his fears, and so on. So he’d decided to play the good little professional and include her in his group. Besides, he’d rather slit his wrists than let Ray see how rattled he was.
     After her escape he’d told anyone who’d listen exactly what he’d seen. He completely forgot that he was the only one left conscious except for the Connors and their big friend. So he was the only one who’d see that thing squeeze itself through the bars, then turn its hands into pry bars to open the elevator doors. He’d seen it shrug off a shotgun blast to its chest.
     Obviously they’d sent him on medical leave; also obviously they hoped never to welcome him back. To them his story represented a severe psychotic break brought on by trauma. You don’t want a crazy doctor trying to treat the insane. Though to be honest he hadn’t wanted to go back. Being unwanted was unpleasant enough—but Pescadero was the scene of the most terrifying events of his life. It had been very easy to turn his back on that place.
     He’d taken a long break from work, as long as his benefits and his savings would allow. And since he wasn’t working with patients, he worked on himself, trying to put himself back together. He’d sought therapy and willingly allowed the doctors to convince him that he’d imagined the whole thing. They assured him that in his understandable terror he’d bought into his own patient’s delusions. And he agreed.
     In time the nightmares had begun to fade and his belief in his therapist’s diagnoses became firm. What he’d seen was impossible; therefore it hadn’t happened. When it was time to go back to work he found that his attitude toward his profession had changed. Once it had been about his career; now he wanted to help people. So he’d sent in his formal resignation to Pescadero and begun looking into clinics.
     But after they found out about his reason for leaving his previous position, he got a lot of rejections. Which was ironic. How did they expect their patients to reintegrate with society when they wouldn’t reintegrate one of their own colleagues?
     Then a friend had told him about the halfway house. He’d felt comfortable here and he’d done good work with his patients, work he was proud of.
     But now here was Sarah Connor, and he had some decisions to make all over again. Because now he knew he hadn’t had a psychotic break; what he’d had was a taste of Sarah Connor’s reality.

Sarah explained, “Dr. Ray says that now that I’ve stopped this project from going forward and Cyberdyne has dropped it from their roster, I’ll probably never want to destroy their factory again. Obsession works that way sometimes, he says. So the board of review agreed to let me come here prior to my release.”
     “Will you have to go to jail after here?” a woman asked.
     Sarah shook her head. “Apparently not. Since I was insane at the time.”
     “Well, Sarah,” Dr. Silberman said with a weary smile, “we hope we can help you to overcome this obsession of yours.”
     “Thank you, Doctor.” Sarah smiled tentatively at him. “I know I was very hard on you when I knew you before and I’d like to apologize. I really can’t even imagine ever being that person again.”
     “I think, Sarah, that you will always rise to the occasion,” Silberman said enigmatically. He checked his watch. “Well, group, that’s it for today. We’ll meet again on Thursday.” He smiled, nodded, and rose from his seat.
     “I didn’t get to say anything,” a heavy young man protested.
     “I’m sorry about that, Dan.” Silberman patted his shoulder. “We’ll be certain to let you talk on Thursday.”
     As Sarah went by him at the door he leaned in close and said, “Sarah, I need to talk to you.”
     Well, I don’t want to talk to you, Connor thought. “Now?” She looked around nervously.
     “Now would be good.” Silberman gestured down the hallway toward his office.
     Her full lips jerked into a smile. “Sure,” she said, and preceded him down the hall.
     “Sit down,” he said as he closed his office door. Then the doctor went to his desk and sat. He looked at her for a long time, until she felt it was necessary to fidget. “After you left”—he spread his hands—“escaped, rather, I was in therapy for a long time.”
     “I’m sorry about that, Doctor,” Sarah said. And sincerely meant it. She didn’t like knowing what she knew either and she’d certainly never enjoyed therapy.
     “After about five years I was able to convince myself that what I saw was a delusion brought on by stress. Of course”—he rubbed a finger across his nose—“dealing with the fallout caused by having a complete breakdown under stress has been keeping me pretty involved ever since. Running a halfway house is a considerable step down the career ladder from my former position, you realize.”
     Sarah shifted uncomfortably.
     “And now you’re here,” he continued. “And… it’s all come back to me. As clear as the day it happened. And that’s the thing, Sarah. It did happen. So what I want to know is… how can I help?”
     Sarah’s jaw dropped. “Doctor?” she said.
     “I know.” He raised a hand to stop her. “How can you possibly trust me? You broke my arm, you threatened to kill me, and so on.” He leaned forward, his eyes eager. “But now I know for certain. What I saw was real!”
     She narrowed her eyes and looked at him sidelong. “Doctor, I’ve been over this with Dr. Ray. My obsession with Cyberdyne relates to my deeply buried resentment of their lawsuit when I was in the hospital years ago. He explained that I somehow displaced my legitimate anger and grief at the man who hurt me and murdered my mother onto the more accessible Cyberdyne. I bought into those other people’s psychotic fantasies because I’d been so hurt and traumatized. None of it was real. None of it could be real.”
     Silberman let out his breath with a huff. “I just want you to know, if you ever need my help, you have it.”
     “Thank you, Doctor.” Either he’s crazier than I ever was, or he’s telling the truth. But how was she supposed to tell?
     “I mean that sincerely, Sarah.”
     “I know you do,” she said gently. “Thank you.”