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Overhead, the light was bright and white. Clean, cleansing. Faintly, as thoughts and mind and the remnants of consciousness slowly slipped away, he fought to compose a final, last thought. It was not about the things he had done that had led him to this place and this point in time. It was not of happier days, or of how his life had gone astray and might have been changed for the better. It was not of food or of sex or laughter or sorrow.

It was of that last kiss, and how he might have done it better.

CHAPTER TWO

Animals appear and thrive and then go extinct. Plants cover ground like a green blanket, retreat, and return with greater fecundity. Life expands, contracts, shatters and recovers, sometimes falling to the margins of survival.

But the Earth endures. No matter the number of species that swarm its surface or fall victim to flood, earthquake, plague, tectonic drift, or cosmic catastrophe, the planet continues its methodical swing around its unprepossessing yellow star. The waves of the ocean roll on, the molten iron at its core seethes and bubbles, winds fitful or steady continue to scour its surface. Ice forms and retreats at the poles, rains drench the equator, and heat shimmers above its deserts.

One such desert in the south-central part of the continent called North America was about to receive a momentary upsurge in heat that was not normal.

The missile came in low and fast on a trajectory designed to evade even the most advanced detection systems. The warhead it carried contained considerably more bang than would have been suspected at first glance. Guided by both its programming and its internal sacrificial intelligence elements, it skimmed along the surface so low that it was forced to dodge the occasional tree and still-standing power transmission tower.

Its target was a flat, burnt-out plain from which dozens of huge satellite dishes rose like shelf coral on a reef. The only sign of life in this technological forest of parabolic growths was a single bipedal figure. Marching at a steady, untiring pace among the dishes, it occasionally reached up to reposition the oversized rifle that was slung over one shoulder.

A sound drew its attention. Turning, searching the sky, it quickly focused on the incoming ordinance. Slipping the heavy weapon free, it aimed and fired with exceptional speed and precision. A shell struck one of the missile’s fins, knocking it off-heading—but only for an instant. The weapon’s internal self-governing guidance system instantly corrected course.

Even as the projectile inclined downward toward a patch of bare ground in the center of the expansive array, the guard was lining up his weapon to fire again. It was not at all concerned with what was about to happen to it.

The bunker-buster slammed into the earth with a thunderous whoom! The guard staggered, gathered himself, and prepared to aim his weapon again. Except that now there was only a hole in the ground to show where the missile had burrowed deep.

Then the world erupted in fire and sound as the warhead, having reached a preset depth, detonated.

Dirt and pulverized rock vomited skyward. Along with everything else in the immediate vicinity of the blast, the single guard was thrown helplessly skyward. He landed hard, rolled over, tried to rise, and sank back to the ground. Heat and flame had melted away skin to reveal the skull beneath. It should have shown white.

Instead, it gleamed.

Red eyes flickered.

Battling against the terrible damage it had sustained in the blast, the T-600 struggled to rise. Directives screamed for response. Servos whined and hydraulics pumped. But internal mechanics had been mortally impacted. That did not keep the Terminator from trying to stand.

Oblivious to the dogged determination of the severely impaired bipedal machine below, a flight of A-10 Warthogs roared past overhead, coming in low and slow. Unlovely and deadly, disdaining the sleek aerodynamics of much faster but less lethal aircraft, they began chewing up the ground in front of them with heavy cannon