Terminator Salvation_ The Official Movie Novelization - Alan Dean Foster [95]
Yet even that was not the end.
Though individually terrifying, the long line of completed Terminators still had to be powered up, still awaited activation. Perhaps that was done in clusters, Connor mused as he warily studied the finished but dormant factory product.
One thing was undeniable: that process was not taking place at the moment. It was even conceivable that activation of additional units had been put on hold until the worldwide destruction of the Resistance had been completed. Or the pause might be nothing more than a coincidence, a matter of timing. Activation of this latest batch of killing machines might occur at any hour, at any minute.
In which case it would behoove human intruders not to wait around to watch.
As he and Reese stared at the glow of a massive finishing furnace, something else drew Star’s attention. Wandering away from the two men, she reached out toward a stack of glistening metal and silicate boxes. Before she could make contact, Connor’s hand reached in to stop her.
Reese stared at the stack. “What are these?”
“Fuel cells.” Connor stared at the mound. “The source of life and energy for the Terminators.” Along with programming, here was something else of critical importance that had yet to be installed in the otherwise completed machines.
Slinging his backpack to the floor, he rummaged inside until he found the coil of detonation cord. Working deliberately, he began wrapping one length of it after another around the stacks of cells. Seeing what Connor was doing, Reese broke off his examination of the inert Terminator and came over to join the older man.
“Let me help you.”
Connor didn’t need any help. But the earnestness in Reese’s voice—coupled with the knowledge of who he was—compelled him to acknowledge the offer.
“Sure. Do as I do.” He proceeded to demonstrate. “This is det cord. Wrap it once around. String it, one to the others. When you run out, let me know and I’ll bond them. Be careful.”
A mechanical humming sound startled them. Looking up and back, their eyes were drawn to an elevator cage. It was moving—down.
Hurriedly, they retreated toward the nearest empty hallway. Behind them, the lift came to a stop and the doors opened to reveal—nothing. Connor grunted.
“False alarm. With everything that’s going on here, all kinds of equipment is likely to short out and start acting funny.” He started to return to the work of wiring the fuel cell stack—and noticed Star. She had gone immobile.
Reese noticed too. Warily, both men scanned their surroundings. The only Terminators in view were on the assembly line, motionless and incomplete.
Except for the one that had been pursuing Connor, which leaped free of the line as it threw itself at its target.
Thrown several feet backward, Connor slammed into the floor and winced as his left shoulder dislocated.
Rolling clear, Reese searched frantically until he spotted Connor’s grenade launcher. As he picked it up and fumbled with a load, he glanced up and saw Star’s eyes fall on the detonator for the C-4 cord. She was picking it up as Reese uttered a silent prayer that he had done everything correctly and pulled the trigger.
He was almost surprised when it struck the Terminator squarely in the back.
Approaching the prone Connor, the Terminator was knocked down the corridor. Rising to his feet and clutching at his shoulder, Connor joined Kyle and Star as they stumbled toward the empty elevator.
Though the elevator welcomed them, it was slow to react as Connor pounded on the switch.
“Come on, dammit!” Please, he thought anxiously. Don’t let it be another short. While they waited for the instrumentation to respond he swapped weapons with Reese, passing him the shotgun and taking control of the grenade launcher. “We gotta get to the Transports.”
As he spoke, his gaze fell on the fuel cell stacks that he and Reese had been wiring. Two of them stood