John Connor, Making of a Warrior Scholar

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Prologue
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    • CurtisLemay

    CurtisLemay

    Wargamer, Amateur Historian, Writer
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    Disclaimer: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles is the property of Warner Bros., and Josh Friedman. No monetary profit is being made from this fic.

    John Connor- Making of a Warrior Scholar

    Prologue

    "Courage is fear holding on a minute longer."
    -George S. Patton, LTG, US Army    ​
    Los Angeles, 2023 AD
    The radios in the dusty command post were silent, the tension in the air was palpable, and everyone waited for the moment of decision. That first contact report to go out over the radios, or the link to the tacnets carried by every Tech-Com trooper in the 11th Infantry Battalion (Nightstalkers). So far, the HKs and accompanying T-800 infantry screen was inching across the repeater screen, slowly nearing a cross-hatched area labled "KZ OHIO". Skynet was seeking to bring to battle a human force that had bedeviling it's efforts in what remained of the Torrance district, what Skynet hadn't counted on was that the Humans had sought this all along.

    The battalion commander sauntered over to the main display, chomping a ersatz cigar, and smiled wolfishly as the first elements of the machine force entered KZ OHIO.

    "Wait for it, Captain, we don't want to scare them off...no, we don't. This time, we wipe these tin can bastards out."

    Another fifteen seconds passed, and the battalion commander smiled again, and turned to the radio operators in the corner.

    "Pass the word to all elements: Execute DRAGON SIX".

    Orders passed over secure fiber-optic lines and data-links, and onward, the machines moved, searching to bring death to the humans that had thus far, evaded them, not knowing the only death that was presaged was their own.

    The battle opened with the simultaneous launch of several modified FIM-92 Stingers at a Skynet EW bird that had been jamming across a number of frequencies. It barely had time to send out a contact report before two of the Stingers ripped off both engine nacelles and sent the craft hurtling into the ruined landscape below.

    At that moment, the patch of ground, labeled on human maps as "KZ OHIO" or Kill Zone OHIO, lit up like a patch of hell itself. Most of the T-800s were cut down by a combination of plasma and .50 caliber fires, each terminator probably being stitched apart by at least a platoon each. The human positions had been covered by thermal tarps with tin strips woven into the tarps, to the machine IR and Radar imaging, they were effectively invisible. The "tank" HKs were hit by command detonated plasma charges, and two of the three "tanks" were blown apart immediately. The third hosed down a platoon of human infantry who was busily cutting down a T-800, but it didn't see the pre-war FGM-148 Javelin, set for top-attack mode before it was too late. The Javelin worked perfectly, and the HK had no time to slew its plasma guns for point defense. The missile's warhead detonated, propelling a jet of superheated solid metal right through the sensor head of the HK, it tore through the body of the HK, severing every major connection and slagging the CPU, worse yet, it lanced through the fusion bottle and liberated the superheated energies within from their magnetic containment. The explosion was not nuclear, but it was massive...and two more human infantry platoons were flash-fried to the man by the blast.

    But, all in all, for the loss of one hundred some odd men, an entire pacification force from Skynet had been annihilated. A good day for the resistance, or at least that's what everyone else thought.

    The battalion commander looked on at the incoming casualty reports.

    "Fuck" he muttered. "That could have gone better".

    It was then that a message was handed to the battalion commander. It was written in pencil, on pre-war hotel stationary, but there was no mistaking who it was from...noone else wrote orders like this:

    Goldman,
    Nice work, I need you back here at HQ Main, hand your battalion over to your exec and get your reprobate ass over here.
    -Connor

    Lieutenant Colonel Jeffrey Goldman grimaced, "Wonder what idea Connor's got now." He waved his exec over "Al, you're in charge, in fact, I think you're getting the battalion soon."

    Major Alice Chambers eyes boggled in shock "Sir, this can't be over Portland, I mean-"

    "No, it's not, in fact, I can't tell you why, it's classified, but in short, I'm getting kicked upstairs, probably a staff job with Connor."

    "Shit sir, won't be the same without you."

    "You'll do fine, just remember what I taught you and keep frosty, ok?"

    "Yes sir, good luck sir." Major Chambers intoned, and extended her hand, one professional to another.

    Goldman smiled, and took the offered hand. "'till the next post Major".
     
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    • "Gonna Take a Little Trip"
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    • Chapter 1

    "Gonna take a little trip"

    There are no desperate situations, there are only desperate people.
    -Heinz Guderian    ​

    Lieutenant Colonel Jeffery Goldman, Tech-Com, and late of the United States Army, made his way through the warren-like underground of the "HQ Main" of John Connor's Tech-Com army. It had come a long way from a decade ago, when John had been fighting Skynet along a classic guerilla model. Now, they were taking ground, and holding it. The machines didn't venture out at night as much. If it wasn't a machine, Jeffery would swear Skynet was afraid.

    He smiled at that, Well, it's supposed to be a self-aware creature, I wonder if it can know fear? If so, I hope like hell it's afraid.

    Goldman continued on, and took the salutes of several Tech-Com personnel and then came to the checkpoint in front of Connor's personal end of HQ main.

    The guard stopped him, with his partner covering him, and smiled at Goldman. "Identification, Sir".

    Goldman fished into the left pocket of his BDU jacket for his identification papers, and handed them gingerly to the guard.
    "Goldman, DN991452"

    The guard turned to his partner, who had been covering Goldman with his plasma rifle the whole time, with a leashed dog whimpering nearby. "He on the list?"

    His partner glanced at a clipboard dangling from a nail with a list of names to be admitted to Connor's inner sanctum "Yeah, he's on it, his papers check out?"

    The first guard gave them another glance, and then Goldman, repeating this pocess at least twice more before he was satisified. "Yep, he's good, and he's not a tin can, or Berite would be going frigging nuts." handing Goldman back his papers, "Sorry sir, can't be too careful, we've had the damn toasters try twice this month." After handing back his papers, both men rendered rifle salutes, which were returned by Goldman.

    "I'd feed that dog, soldier, it's as much a friend as your rifle, and it spots Terms better than we do." Goldman growled, putting a bit more menace into his voice than he had intended, but Goldman always had a soft spot for dogs.

    The first guard nodded, "Yes sir, we feed her what we get, but nobody here at HQ Main eats that well, I suspect neither do you, sir."

    Goldman nodded, he hadn't wanted to hear that, but sadly, unlike most guerilla armies, capturing food from Skynet was not in the cards. Jokes about "Ratburger sandwiches, now with real rat!" were commonplace.

    With his bonafides established, the second guard tripped a switch and a bell sounded, letting the entire complex know that the main entrance to Connor's wing was being opened. It was another security feature and added to the seeming paranoia.

    Goldman stepped through once the door was open wide enough to do so, and was met by his aide, an needle-thin Asian 1LT by the name of Wu, or at least that's what his nametape said.

    "Colonel Goldman, General Connor has been expecting you, um, sir, I'm going to need your sidearm and mapcase."

    "What the fuck, Lieutenant? Do you know who the fuck I am, you have the nerve to ask me for my sidearm?"

    "I'm sorry sir, orders from General Baum sir, we've had two infiltrators get into the secure wing, and one got past the dogs, sir."

    Goldman sighed in exasperation. "Alright Lieutenant". Goldman hefted his prized .45 from it's holster, and thumbed the magazine catch with practiced ease, catching the magazine deftly, and then racked the slide back to remove the chambered round, he then handed the pistol and magazine to the Lieutenant, along with his mapcase.

    "Take good care of my sidearm, Lieutenant, we have a history."

    The Lieutenant dropped both into a box on a nearby table where a bored-looking guard was watching the hall. Goldman grimaced, No wonder
    Connor almost got kacked, and the damn guard force is a bunch of pogues!

    "Um, sir, do you know where General Connor's quarters are?"

    "I know the way Lieutenant, been here before."

    "Very well sir, I have some other matters to attend to, please stop by the security desk to pick up your sidearm and mapcase when you leave."

    "Will do, Lieutenant."

    Goldman made his way down the hall, the heels of his combat boots clicking against the wet floor, Where the fuck was Cameron, and who the fuck was this officious idiot?

    Goldman had spent much time in this wing when he was simply Major Goldman, one of the few pre-war officers on Connor's G-3 staff. He'd needed every one of them, back in the bad old days; they'd had their hands full just getting the army to act like one, and not just a rabble with uniforms and guns that Skynet referred to as a "minor human infestation".

    He'd help create this mess, and the Resistance main-force battalions which were now giving Skynet all kinds of trouble. He was more proud of the latter than the former, as such, he came to a very familiar door, and he noted music playing behind it. Chopin, Uh-oh, another idea I am going to have to talk John out of. Hope this isn't another Denver.

    Connor played Chopin when he was running down an idea; he often said it helped him focus. Often, it did, but it had been Goldman's job, among others, early on, to talk John out of some of the crazier ones. Gotta admire his spirit though, and I do like the guy.

    With that thought, Goldman picked up a piece of concrete placed near the door as a doorknocker and banged on the door three times. "Open up, somebody in there owes me money!" Goldman shouted the mirth evident in his voice.

    A shout rang back "Screw you! Everybody knows you cheat!"

    Goldman barked a laugh: Vintage John.

    The door opened with a creak, the metal fire door opening to a room of spartan comforts. There was a Coleman Lantern, a field desk and a salvaged dresser and a futon in the corner. Though, as a small concession to the "boss", the futon was roomy enough for two.

    And there, in the middle of the room, craggy features weathered by hardship and war, his green eyes twinkling with mischief, yet torn by pain, and war weary, stood John Connor, the "Hammer of Mankind".

    "So, Jeff, hear you've been sending plenty of 'cans to the great junkheap in the sky?"

    Goldman smiled and grabbed John in a bear hug, then smiled as he let go. "Sure have, stacking Terms like firewood. I do wish Skynet did wanted posters, it's not the same unless you have a price on your head, like Anbar."

    John laughed "You ain't worth a pile of pocket lint, and I have an offer from a girl's school to pay you to stay away. You old lech!"

    "Ugh, so, John?" Goldman grimaced, as he pulled up a camp stool. "Why the fuck did you take my battalion away, sir? Please tell me you're not going to send me down to Mexico and have me ride herd on your mom training the new kids up. I mean, I love training young soldiers, sir...but your mom is a handful."

    John smiled; he'd remembered the contentious debates between Major Goldman and Sarah Connor, once Cameron had had to keep Goldman from slugging Sarah when she had suggested a frontal assault on a Skynet work camp that was a pretty obvious lure. Sarah, confessedly, had a blind spot when it came to those.

    "No, Jeff, actually, I'm sending you back. Back in time to be exact."

    "Uh sir, have you been drinking some of General Baum's "select label", sir? You know many of those grapes are "alleged" and I swear folks have gone blind, sir."

    "No, Colonel Goldman, we overran one of Skynet's little projects near here about six months ago. We always knew Skynet was into some wacky ideas, but this...well, its interesting." handing Goldman a red folder, with the words "White Lamp" stamped on it.

    "Look, Jeff, here's the thing. I know this is nuts, but read the information in the folder, it includes your orders. Cameron, she's already gone back, so have some others. But here's the trick. Skynet has sent back terminators to kill me at various points in my life. It's how I knew all this was coming. Jeff, that's where you come in, Mom, and later, Uncle Derek, they teach me a lot, but I need something more. I need the skills a general would need. And I can't learn them on the job; we saw how well that worked in Denver. I need my best to go back, I need you. You have a masters in Military History, taught at the Army War College before Judgement Day and pre-Judgement Day combat experience. You're it, sorry."

    Goldman grimaced Jeez, this is gonna be nuts. "Shit, sir, when you put it that way, how in the hell am I gonna say no? Just one thing, when are you sending me back to?"

    "2008, and Goldman, one other thing, there's a secondary mission, something I want you to see to, but I want it done, well, with tact. But it's voluntary. It's all in the folder."

    "When do I leave?"
     
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    • "Yeah, it's not Kansas...it's LA"
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    • Chapter 2

    "Yeah, it's not Kansas..it's LA"

    "We ain't making no goddamn cornflakes here"
    COL Charles Beckwith, Founder of Delta Force​

    Jeffrey Goldman's arrival in the LA of 2008 wasn't under the best of circumstances…hell; it downright sucked, if anyone had bothered to ask him. After accepting the mission given by John he was practically bundled off to a small anteroom, and told to leave EVERYTHING but himself behind…and they meant everything. Including his clothes. After that minor indignity, he was bundled off to a platform that looked like something out of a very bad horror flick, and told "this will hurt, but don't panic."

    Yeah, don't panic, he mused. When men in white lab coats tell you "don't panic, panic." After that, and a short goodbye with John, that was punctuated with the usual male ritual of mutual shit giving, he was painfully shot through a kaldiascope of light and sound and unceremoniously dumped in this empty field naked, hurting in a dozen places in what he hoped was the right place and time.

    He carefully poked his head up. There was nothing for about miles around except for a nice view of the LA skyline sparkling like so many pearls against the twilight of the setting sun to the west. The air was cool, a bit too cool for Jeff's current state, but it was clean, not tinged with cordite, ozone, or burnt flesh. The grass, honest-to-god grass, felt great between Jeff's toes.

    It's perfect, except I'm naked with no clothes, money or wheels...yeah, this is already going well, his mind reminded him. Jeff knew he had to get moving, and fast, the light show of his arrival was going to attract attention. Attention that was going to attract law enforcement...and law enforcement wasn't going to take well to a naked stranger running around San Bernardino county.

    Jeff experimentally levered himself to his feet into a crouch. There was some pain that registered, but nothing worse than what he'd been feeling for the past 10 years or so. The improved vantage position spied something to the northwest...about a half klick away. Lights...houses…and where there was houses...there was clothes...money and a ride. I hate this, I'm no damn crook, but this wasn't the time to worry about that. Just get what you need and try not to hurt anybody doing it. Jeff then stood up. His stomach protested, he'd not had a thing to eat for at least 36 hours and change, not a good thing either. So, procuring clothes and wheels was getting to be a priority. So, it was time to be about it….

    About a half hour later of discomfort and slow progress later, Jeff came to the first house in the development, it was a split level beige colored rambler with a fenced in yard at the end of a cul-de-sac, it was about 1000 meters to the next house, which was good for Jeff. It was well lit, but there were no lights on in the house…and from the looks of it, no dogs either. And he noticed..an open sliding door off from the basement. Ok, should be a piece of cake to get in and…

    "GET YOUR DAMN HANDS OFF OF ME!" came a shriek from the house. It was followed by a series of curses and smashing of glassware. Jeff came to a stop and half crouched...this was a complication he DIDN'T need.

    "Lovely, of all the damn houses in this neighborhood and I pick one that's being robbed ALREADY!" Jeff muttered, though, it did present a wonderful opportunity…rob the robbers. Jeff smiled a wolfish grin; it was always fun to fuck with predators. And the female's screams were getting louder. Three from the sound of it, and they're totally unfucking aware, this is going to be easy.

    Jeff made his way through the shattered screen door, gingerly making his way through the ripped screen, and saw that the downstairs room was hardwood, and creaked under his weight, a bit too loudly for his taste, but nobody seemed to be paying attention. A pile of boxes marked "Dan's Stuff" grabbed his attention, one box was open, Jeff made his way, pigeon-toed, towards the open boxes and looked inside, and smiled.
    There were a set of BDUs, a bit worn, but serviceable, with the tunic bearing US ARMY nametape, as well as the name FRANKS. They looked like they fit, but it really didn't matter. Any clothes were better than none.

    Jeff deftly slipped the pants and issue T-Shirt onto his frame, and paused…no, the screams and yells were still coming from upstairs. Comeon hon, hang on, help's a coming. Jeff looked around the room for anything that resembled a weapon...His eyes locked on the fireplace..it was a solid black, iron poker about 3 feet in length. Jeff skittered over, and grabbed the poker, hefting it contemplatively. It felt ok, good enough for the intended task. Now armed, Jeff snaked his way to the staircase. He took the stairs two at a time, the carpet on the stairs muffling his steps, he got to the ground floor without trouble and crouched. Still, no sign that they know I am here...God, let this go well. I really don't wanna die doing a good deed. Not that it's a bad way to go.

    Jeff made his way up the stairs leading up to the second floor. The screams had become crying, savage sobs that most people would not have believed would have come from a human throat. Jeff stopped halfway, and went flat against the steps. He peered above the last step...There was one outside the room, two more were probably inside, as he'd heard three sets of heavy footsteps…and one slightly lighter. The person outside was a light skinned African American teen, probably not much older than fifteen, with clothes that practically hung off of him in varying shades of blue. His attention was on his cell-phone, watching some music video, if one could charitably call the amount of throbbing base "music". Resembles artillery fire to me.

    Jeff made a quick plan. Ok, we take junior down quick, and quiet, get him to open the door for his friends….then take them down. Fast, violent and with the advantage of surprise. They'll all have raging hardons, so they won't be thinking. Ok, let's do this.

    Jeff kept watching the young ganger; he was still watching the cell phone. Jeff gripped the poker tighter and crept up the stair well, his heart was pounding, his blood rushing loud enough to deafen, and his vision narrowing like gunsights. Three steps and Jeff was on him.

    His first swing smashed the cell phone, and his second knocked the banger down with a loud thump. But, as with all plans...this too went awry. Just as he was about to grab the kid by his sports jersey, the door jangled open with a shout.

    "Hey, T-Dog, what the-"

    Jeff didn't hesitate. He'd seen combat in too many places to ever hesitate again. He savagely stuck the poker into the face of the man opening the door. He was a heavy set Hispanic make, with no shirt, and a goatee. His chest was covered in gang tattoos. Jeff's blow sent him sprawling back into the room with a loud crash.

    A rustle to Jeff's left announced the teen was getting back up. His eyes were filled with hate, and the butterfly knife left no dispute as to his intentions. Dammit kid! I really don't wanna do this, but if you give me no choice….

    The kid ran right at Jeff, Jeff swung his body to the left like a matador with his cape dueling a bull. He swung the poker, and connected with the kid's back. The teen screamed and fell down the stairs a tangle of limbs and a scream.

    Jeff turned back to the door. Subtlety was out the window now. Jeff violently shouldered in the door. The scene was like a war zone. The bed was shredded, the dressers were ransacked, the TV was unplugged and on the floor. To complete the scene, a woman was on the ruins of the bed in the remains of her night garments was sobbing face down on the bed. The man Jeff had poked was out cold against the wall nearest the window. The remaining man was nude except for a pair of boxers…which Jeff had obviously interrupted their removal. He was a lanky white kid who looked like he was in his early 20s, and had a rat like face. His teeth were crooked and yellowing and he had an ugly lustful sneer. He lunged for a shiny metal object on the dresser. Jeff noticed it at the same time, and swung the poker desperately at the rat-man's hand. Jeff was rewarded with a loud CRUNCH. The gangbanger screamed like a banshee, cradling his shattered arm. Jeff circled the ganger, and scooped up the shiny object.
    He snuck a look. It was a nickel plated .25 caliber pistol. Jesus, all the gangbangers I interrupt, and these assholes pack a joke for a gun. Well, it's good enough for this.

    "Greetings, asshole. My name is unimportant, and frankly I don't care to tell you because I really don't care for the displeasure of your company.
    Now, down on the floor, hands on your head." The gangbanger slowly and painfully complied.

    Jeff found a nearby roll of duct tape and yanked rat-man's arms behind his back and taped his hands. The pain for rat-man sounded excruciating, with all the yelling he was doing. "Oh shut the fuck up" Jeff dismissed, and stuck a dirty sock into the banger's mouth and then duct taped it into place. He repeated the process with the other banger in the room, then made his way downstairs to check on the third ganger, who was at the landing, his head at an unnatural angle and his eyes looked on in shock, the knife was nowhere to be seen. Jeff checked for a pulse. There was none.

    Congrats, another living thing I've snuffed out. Goldman shook his head in disgust.

    Jeff levered himself to his feet and made his way upstairs. The woman was still sobbing, but softly. He tapped her gently on the shoulder; she turned over with a start, her green eyes burning bright with fear set against her alabaster features and dark red hair.

    "Please, take what you want, I'm-"

    "Shh, I'm the cavalry lady. Look, you need to get dressed, and call 911. Did these morons have a car?"

    "Yes, out front, some dark blue low thing, it's big, and you can't miss it!"

    "I'm sorry lady, I wish I got here sooner. One of them's dead downstairs…he fell down the stairs and broke his neck".

    "I'm sorry, you save my life and my manners have gone to hell, I can get dressed in the bathroom, can you get my cell phone, it's on the dresser."

    "Sure, um-"

    "Jennifer, Jennifer Franks" the woman smiled, extending a bruised hand.

    "How'd they get in?"

    "Smashed in the back door while one of them tried to jimmy the front…I distracted them by running in here...Oh God! My daughter, Melissa!"

    "Where did you leave her?"

    "The crawlspace in the attic above her room, I told her to hide up there. She likes to play up there, she's not supposed to, but I know about it...We've got to make sure she's ok, she's only nine."

    Jeff held out his arms..."Don't worry ma'am. I'll find her."

    Jennifer's eyes began to focus a bit better, and they went wide. "My husband's BDUs, why did you take them? Who are you?" Jennifer grabbed the poker from the floor"

    "That's not important right now. Look, if I wanted to hurt you, would I have taken these three idiots out? No, I'd have helped myself and let these dolts commit robbery, rape and a double homicide. Let's go find your daughter, then we'll call 911 and I'll be on my way, ok?"

    Jennifer nodded, her features were drawn and her skin glistened with the sheen of a veritable sheet of tears. She slipped off of the bed and grabbed a pair of jeans and a light green blouse from a shattered dresser and slipped into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

    "Ma'am, I am going to move these folks downstairs…Ok?"

    A muffled "Alright" was all Jeff needed to get started. He leaned over to Rat-Man and put his mouth to his ear. "Ok, asswipe. I am in charge here.
    Your friend has a broken rib, and your other buddy, T-Dog? He's dead. I killed him, and just so you know, I have killed many people in Iraq. So, do not think doing you would be that hard, get me? Nod if you understand."

    Rat-Man nodded, his eyes wide with fear.

    Goldman smiled a cruel smile. "Ok, on your feet, fuck with me, and I give you a trip down the stairs."

    He yanked Rat-Man to his feet, the pain became excruciating for him and the yelps of pain became whimpering. "Shut up, like you weren't going to kill the woman, and then anyone else you found. Count your ass lucky I just broke your damn arm."

    Jeff frog-marched Rat-Man down the stairs and threw him to the floor of the hardwood in the living room, next to the body of his confederate. "See what breaking into houses gets you? Stupid…real stupid...now, let's get something straight…and I am going to have the same chat with your friend. The woman kicked your ass. That is what you will tell the police...if you don't...I will find you. I will kill you…and I won't make it quick…or dignified. Get me?"

    Rat-Man nodded vigorously. Ah, nothing like a motivated bad guy. Jeff then went upstairs and grabbed the unconscious Lardo, as Jeff was referring to him. He'd hit his head on the wall and went out like a light. Probably be out for hours and by then, in LAPD custody. Probably wouldn't remember a thing. Hopefully.

    Jeff then produced the duct tape again and taped his ankles to his hands, effectively hog tying Rat-Man. He repeated the process with Lardo.
    When Jeff finished tying the two men up, he fished around in Lardo's pockets…and was soon rewarded with the jangle of car keys. Jeff smiled. "My day just got better".

    "Mister, can you help me get Melissa out of the crawl space?"

    Jeff rose and came up the stairs, pocketing the pistol. "Sure, where's her room?"

    "Second door on the left."

    "Ok, and the crawlspace?"

    "Above her bed."

    "Oh, I wanted to thank you...you reminded me for a moment of my husband, Dan. He was killed in Afghanistan five years ago."

    "I'm sorry." Jeff intoned

    Jeff made his way inside and gingerly entered her room, it was the room of a typical nine year old, full of posters of Hannah Montana and the Jonas Brothers..with a huge white armoire with a mirror. A picture of the family, including Dan, rested upon it. Sorry pal that it happened to your family, I hope you guided me tonight, I hope someone did.

    "Melissa, honey, it's mommy. One of the neighbors helped us make the burglars go away, you can come down now.

    A little voice squeaked "I'm scared mommy, I can't move."

    Jennifer looked to Jeff, "Would you mind?"

    "Nah, can you spot me?"

    "Sure"

    Jeff gingerly got onto the bed and hefted himself halfway into the crawlspace. It was tight, and there was Melissa wearing a pink nightshirt with Hanna Montana on it...She was a miniature version of her mother, her face white with fear curled up into a tight ball Her eyes were closed shut tightly.

    "Melissa, honey...I'm not gonna hurt you...But your mommy needs you. You can't stay up here all day...it's filthy."

    "It's safe. It's the only place that's safe since my daddy died!" Oh god little one, how I wish that were true. Jeff winced.

    "Listen, sweetie. I don't know what I can say, other than I know your daddy would want to be here, but your mommy needs you. She's hurting too, and she needs hugs from you to make the pain go away."

    Melissa's eyes opened "She does?"

    "Yea sweetie...Jennifer? Let her know you're ok."

    "Hi sweetie, it's mommy, everything's ok, you did good."
    Melissa looked back at Jeff..."You're not a bad man?"

    "No" Jeff lied. Oh sweetheart, I have the blackest of souls...but you know what George Orwell once said….

    Jeff wordlessly extended his right arm and Melissa took it. He then slowly snaked out of the crawlspace and onto the bed, with Jennifer steadying him. He then gently levered Melissa out and into the arms of her grateful mother.

    Both began to cry softly, hanging onto each other like flotsam after a shipwreck. Jennifer's stare haunted Jeff. He'd seen the look of loss and pain before. Why my husband or son? Why not you? the look said.

    "Can we do anything for you?" Jennifer asked

    "Two things, one, I could so use a pair of sneakers...and two...when the cops come. I wasn't here. It's a long story. But Jen, promise me something? Promise me that on April 21st, 2011, you're going to take a long camping trip somewhere out of the way. Trust me. It'll save your life."

    "Why?"

    "I can't tell you, suffice it to say, it'll save you and your daughter."

    "I don't know you, I know I may never see you again, and you're borrowing my dead husband's uniform, but for some strange reason, I trust you. You remind me of him. Were you military?"

    "Yes. Still am. It's a long story. Now go lock this door and call 911. Wait till I leave, ok?"

    Jen smiled, and gave Jeff a peck on the cheek "For luck, and for saving my life. The sneakers are on the left side of my bed. They were his lucky running shoes. He...he proposed to me in them."

    "You'll get them back."

    "Thank you."
    Jeff nodded and made his way back to Jennifer's bedroom. He saw the beige and white running shoes, they were beat up and had familiar wear patterns...and they were a size too big...but beggars couldn't be choosy.

    He made his way downstairs, and closed and locked the door behind him, Jeff found the black Bonneville immediately. It had seen better days, as the rust had simply been painted over and he didn't want to think about how badly it ran…but as he put the key in the ignition..it turned over on the first try…BINGO! First damn thing that's gone right since I got here. He put the car into gear, and pulled out into the lonely Los Angeles night, sirens pealing in the distance.

    **010101101101101101101**

    It was not long after midnight when Jeff found the Connor safehouse. It was in a slightly out of the way neighborhood on the edge of Torrance. It hadn't been easy to find, relying on half remembered directions from John Connor's briefing. But, as Jeff parked the car and made his way up the walk, it was beginning to look better. No more hitches, right? Teach General Connor to be-

    The sound of the slide on a shotgun chambering a round broke the stillness of the night.

    Jeff slowly raised his hands and smiled..."Captain Phillips…you're slipping. The Cameron I knew wouldn't have let me near the house."

    "Turn around, keep your hands in plain view."

    Jeff did as he was told. He'd seen Cameron work, and knew what she was, and wasn't. "Can I put them down now? It's been a long night."

    Cameron's aim didn't waiver, her shotgun was pointed right at Jeff's midsection and her tiny finger rested lightly on the trigger of the shotgun. Her eyes were empty and her angelic face only served to mark the incongruity of her nature.

    FACIAL RECOGNITION MODE ENGAGED
    MATCHING 12 POINT PROFILE AGAINST VISUAL DATABASE "RESISTANCE OFFICERS 24NOV2019"
    MATCH PERCENTILE: 99.95
    IDENTITY CONFIRMED
    TARGET IS LTC GOLDMAN, JEFFEREY L.

    Cameron's HUD then swam with the information on Jeff's service record and decorations, but then a strange thing happened…when her CPU tried to call up her own personal interactions with Colonel Goldman, she received the following message.

    ***FIREWALL ENGAGED. ACCESS TO FILE BLOCKED UNDER MISSION DIRECTIVE 21-ZULU. BY ORDER GEN CONNOR, 05DEC2019***

    "Your identity is confirmed, Colonel Goldman, what is your mission?"

    Jeff slowly put down his arms. "I'm your new teacher it seems, you and John.."

    What the hell is with Cameron? Jeff's mind swam...She was never this...this...robotic? What the fuck have I gotten myself into?
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • Introductions, Secrets, and Questions
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 3

    Introductions, Secrets, and Questions

    Stuff goes wrong with you. You kill birds. You twitch. You try to murder me. You're a machine. You're not perfect.

    John Connor in "Born to Run"​



    The cup of coffee Jeff had been nursing since being ushered into the Connor safehouse was ambrosia, even if it was a mite cold after a few hours. So far though, his arrival hadn't been met with any sort of fanfare, enthusiasm, or even a "Hi, how the hell are you". The atmosphere in the kitchen was somewhere south of that, it was more like:

    "So lemme get this straight. John sent back somebody to be his teacher? What, Sarah and I fell down on the job? What the fuck makes you so damn special?"

    Lt. Reese is beginning to piss me off...not to mention he's an insubordinate little prick. He should thank god he was never in my battalion...I'd have cured him of that.

    The skeptical looks ranged the table, except for Cameron, who stood away from the rest of the group huddled around the table...constantly examining the surroundings, and studiously setting herself apart from the rest of the group.

    Captain Phillips is definitely not herself. What the fuck did they do when they reprogrammed her? John said he thought it was a mistake..one he wanted to undo...but does any know what the consequences will be if she does remember? God, there's some things I wouldn't mind forgetting. Maybe she's luckier that way.

    John Connor's green eyes bored into Jeff. He was expecting some reverent like messiah or somebody telling him what he should be. You aren't going to get that from me, kid. No, we're going to teach you to be the guy you can be, and not the damn infallible messiah everybody seems to think you are. You getting ahead of yourself is what almost killed us in 2015 with Denver. But this collection of folks isn't going to let him be what he needs to be. Mom's too blinkered, Reese is a bigot and a sociopath, and Cameron, Jesus….where do I start?

    Jeff ran his hands through his scalp in frustration, "OK, fine, you don't buy a damn thing of what my mission is? Why the hell would I lie? Let's examine this shall we? Sarah, what did you do before you ran around being Ms. Uber-Luddite? You were a waitress!" Sarah blanched with anger, and looked about ready to leap across the table to strangle Jeff before he put up his hands in mock surrender.

    "Whoa, you've done a great job, hell, you're a talented amateur, hell, and you have the makings of a great small unit leader. But John's not leading small units...he's going to lead an army...whole DIFFERENT kettle of fish! Can you teach him Sun-Tsu? Bismarck, the nine principles of war as per FM 3-0? You can't, you were never trained to do so. Isn't your fault, you had to learn fast. Hell, it took the Army four years to teach me the basics of my profession, and another year the bare minimum I'd need as a platoon leader. We don't have that kind of time. Chess is a good tool...but it's stylized. No accounting for morale, terrain, supporting fires, weather, combined arms coordination and a myriad of other issues." Tone it down a bit Goldman, you're going into lecture mode.

    Jeff turned to Reese who had a smart ass smirk on his craggy face "And you, Lieutenant. We'll have a little chat later about your lack of respect for a senior officer. Hell, we might as well as add drunk and disorderly as well. I can smell the fucking beer from here. Lemme guess, Bud Light. God, couldn't even learn to drink a decent beer…but I digress...If I want John to become a bigoted, blinded sociopath, I'll ask for your help. You're a great gunsel, Reese, but frankly, I don't know you're more dangerous to, me or the enemy. Perhaps you ought to figure that out."

    Resse's features darkened, his eyes narrowed to slits "Fuck you, you stinking primma-donna, we've been hunting down Skynet while you're winning some screwed up version of military glory and pontificating like some know it all!".

    Sarah grabbed his shoulder and hissed "Reese, not here, not now."

    Jeff smiled Ok Lieutenant; now that I got your attention, let's see if we can turn you into something useful. "Anytime you wanna dance, Lieutenant. Anytime. I may be 20 years older than you...but I've got old age and trechery..it tends to beat piss and vinegar…except when it comes to Metal...then you just have to get lucky. At least, in the hand to hand arena."

    "Nothing for Tin Miss?" Sarah opined

    "Nope, whatever's wrong with her is for a computer guy to figure out…and I'm not him." Sorry Sarah, its need to know, and you don't need to know.

    Jeff turned to John, who had been boring holes in Jeff with his eyes. "I'm your new teacher John, and I'm going to tell you this because someone needs to. I know you in the future. Hell, I worked with you for two years on your staff. You hate being some damn messiah and you have doubts about how good you really are, especially after a little debacle called Denver. Well, I'm here to tell you two things; One, everybody makes mistakes, even Skynet. We're here to beat it. And we can. You need to know how. If you do, we can end the war sooner, and maybe, just maybe save enough of the human race post-war to have a fighting chance of keeping us around. As for being the messiah, well, I am a Jew...and trust me, you ain't the moshiach. And you're going to learn not just from me, but from her." -pointing right at Cameron. "She's the closest thing to the enemy that isn't trying to kill you right now. You're going to learn how they think...and how to beat them...and trust me, you can beat them. We have. Skynet's not as smart as it likes to think it is. For a "perfect AI", it's the most arrogant SOB I've seen this side of George Pickett."

    Jeff exhaled some of his frustration "But all of that's gonna start tomorrow...I'm tired, hungry...and I'd love a place to hang my hat around here. Just as long as it's not the floor, I'm not picky."

    **0101010101101010**

    Cameron double checked herself for her nightly patrol, she didn't sleep and like most terminators, felt use of her time was meant to be "efficient". She had strange memory buffer patterns regarding their new arrival, but every time she attempted to access those memories, she was left with the same message about a firewall installed on the order of General Connor before her build date. Not to mention her on-board database of resistance leadership was from the same date. But, she didn't know why. Nothing made any sense since the car bomb. And that bitch-whore Riley wasn't making matters any easier with John, but why? John was right, she was a machine, why care what human girl he decided to have relations with?

    All of this musing took mere seconds, due to the speed of her CPU working at speeds no human could match. But if Cameron could register it...she would have experienced frustration that no answer was forthcoming.

    Cameron pulled back the charging handle on her M-4 and examined the chamber, ensuring it was clean and clear of obstructions, as well as not loaded. Cameron was fanatical about gun safety, even if she couldn't be personally hurt, it wouldn't do to accidentally wound or kill any of the humans in her charge…even Derek. Terminators prided themselves on their perfection...if they were capable of pride. Satisfied with the chamber being clear, she dry-fired the weapon as a function check, and heard a satisfying CLICK. With the function check completed, she tapped a magazine against her head twice to better seat the rounds, the inserted it into the magazine well and thumbed the bolt release to chamber the first round. She then safed the weapon and hefted the weapon in the air, one handed and using her left hand, reached for the door...when her thermograph picked up an anomalous human sized object on the porch, with an odd signature of carcinogens emanating from it. This puzzled Cameron, and her head tilted to the right. Surely all in the house were still asleep, weren't they? And no terminator or assassin would simply wait outside the door. Not one aware of Cameron's "special" nature.

    UNKNOWN HUMAN THERMAL SIGNATURE

    NORMAL THERMAL SIGNATURE FOR HUMAN
    UNKNOWN CARCINOGEN MATCHING POSSIBLE CIGAR NEAR HUMAN MOUTH
    UNKNOWN TACTICAL SITUATION
    THREATCON: MODERATE, PROCEED WITH CAUTION

    TACTICAL RECOMMENDATION: INVESTIGATE, TERMINATE IF NECESSARY

    Cameron opened the front door with a start and looked left. Her internal warning systems stood down as soon as she got a good look at the unknown. It wasn't unknown, it was Lieutenant Colonel Goldman. He was leaning against the porch rail with his ankles crossed, his face drawn and craggy, He was contemplating a cigar with the smoke wafting in willowy tendrils into the air. His head picked up and he smiled. "Couldn't sleep. Guessed you still don't, so I figured I'd wait for you. We have a lot to discuss. A lot of things I need to know, Captain Phillips…and whether or not I am either doing you a favor or signing the death warrants of everyone in this house."

    ***010101101001***

    A bolt of lightning flashed in the clear skies of LA that night. It wasn't heralding the arrival of a freak weather pattern, but another kind of storm. A storm of grown flesh, and molded metal programmed by a genocidal maniac of an artificial intelligence. The naked figure rose, and scanned the horizon. Its mission was displayed before it's eyes.

    TERMINATOR UNIT T-890 AL6650

    TIME DISPLACEMENT SUCESSFUL

    PROCURE CLOTHES, WEAPONS AND TRANSPORT TO AID INFILTRATION AND ULTIMATE MISSION SUCCESS.

    REVIEW OF MISSION OBJECTIVES

    PRIMARY MISSION: PROTECT KALIBA CORPORATION RESEARCH PROJECT PIERCE ECHO. ENSURE SURVIAL RESEARCH PROJECT AND PROJECT TEAM.

    SECONDARY MISSION: LOCATE AND TERMINATE GENERAL JOHN CONNOR
    SECONDARY MISSION: LOCATE AND TERMINATE CAPTAIN CAMERON PHILLIPS

    SECONDARY MISSION: LOCATE FOLLOWING HUMANS OF USE TO SKYNET IN THE FUTURE, PROTECT THEM UNLESS CONFLICT WITH PRIMARY MISSION. SEE ATTACHED FILE FOR LIST.

    WARNING: CPU SET TO READ/WRITE; MISSION EFFECTIVENESS COULD BE DEGRADED DUE TO CONTINUED EXPOSURE TO HUMANS. EXERCISE APPROPRIATE CAUTION.

    It's immediate need was for clothes, weapons and transport...but seeing as the freeway was only a half mile away, the terminator was supremely sure, if it was able to, that it would be able to procure the required items...It's enemies were only human, after all.

    ***0101010110110***

    Cameron gazed at the human, other than her head tilted to the side, she was puzzled as to how this human knew so much about her, and how her own onboard systems would not let her remember. There were too many questions, and this new arrival was nothing more than one question after another.

    "Grab a deck chair, Captain. I have a feeling this will take some explaining, See, as you know, with Skynet and the Resistance playing havoc with the time-space continuum, it's getting confusing as to who's coming from what future. Not to mention, it seems every time somebody goes back, it wipes out that possible future. The person who explained it to me told me it was playing roulette with time."

    Cameron looked on again, puzzled, but did not move.

    "Dammit Captain, get a godammned chair and SIT DOWN! You're making me nervous. Treat it as learning to improve your infiltration profile it if helps. It makes humans nervous if one party is standing in a conversation and the other party isn't."

    Cameron's head tiled, processed the information and said "Thank you for explaining.", she then grabbed a chair by both arms and placed it exactly four feet from Jeff, then sat in it, her M-4 placed across her lap.

    "That's better Captain, I'd offer you a cigar, but you think it's illogical for humans to enjoy something that kills us. It's one of our topics for discussion tonight, after a fashion."

    "I do not understand." the terminator said, a hint of sadness in her voice. At least, it would be if she were human.

    "Ok, Captain. Where do we begin? The beginning helps. See, in my future, you and John are together from the beginning, you're friends and collogues. John didn't have time to be with anyone. Meanwhile, you, me, Sarah, we're his staff; we built the resistance, especially after Denver. You don't remember that either. Damn, they really did a job on you. They installed a firewall before they sent you back, Captain. Some of the others, Perry and Linkscales especially, insisted. They didn't want a "machine tart" influencing the "great general", didn't matter that you'd worked for me for three years after John had to get you out of HQ main after the whispers began. It didn't matter that you rescued our first offensive since Denver almost single-handedly and that I was the one that recommended your Captain's rank be made permanent. It was you, or the army. And John had to choose the army, even you told him so. But they weren't happy. Hence, the firewall. But John remembered just how much damage a car bomb had done in his youth. The car bomb had damaged your emotional governor. And that that damage was warring with the rest of your functions. He wanted me to say to you that he was sorry, and that he wants to give you a choice. It's a tough one. And the results…well, they may be unpredictable. We don't know what might happen with you with no emotion governor…and if you remembered..it might send you into some Skynet default mode...or some sort of fugue state. But John felt it was worth the risk. He felt the damage to your chip might be counteracted by the emotional and intuitive upgrades in your design. So, he gave me the verbal passwords to rescind the firewall. But, it's your choice, Captain. Simply put Captain, we've been through the same shit together, and you deserve better."

    Cameron's head shot up "Desire is irrelevant, I am a machine. I have a mission and what you suggest might compromise my ability to accomplish that mission."

    Jeff was not a man who dealt with frustration well sometimes, and this was one of those times "BULLSHIT" he hissed "I am fucking tired of this, even in my time, you never did believe that you were more worth than an assault rifle. I beg to differ. Dammit Captain! We owe each other so damn much; it's not worth keeping count. I figure, making you, you again evens us up. The hero of Hill 570 deserves better than this."

    "Your logic is faulty; I am programmed for the tasks you describe, even if you anthropomorphize me, I am a terminator. I kill, it's what I do."

    Jeff shook his head, "No, it's not all you do; you've been scratching at the surface of it, and wondering why. But you know that's not all there is."

    "It wouldn't matter, John thinks of me as nothing more than a machine. He prefers the company of another, a bitch-whore named Riley Dawson. She is a risk, she will get him killed." Jeff was surprised as to the vehemence of her statement. It almost sounded like she spat more than spoke Riley's name.

    "That would explain why John was sneaking out…I figured you knew."

    "I know, and I have told him it is tactically dangerous, but he has ordered me to not interfere."

    "It's a bitch when he does that, one advantage to being human, you don't have to follow orders if they don't make sense. But back to you…I'm giving you a choice, Captain. You can stay as is and probably lose this war. John's sneaking out to meet this girl, Sarah's on the ragged edge, and Derek…Derek's a violent drunk. Not to mention you're at war with yourself. Am I tracking here?"

    "Yes, you're tracking."

    "Funny, that was a human idiom I taught you. How in the hell did you remember that, with the firewall in place? Damn thing may collapse anyhow no matter what I do. Then again, it may not, I'm no computer expert."

    "I must go on patrol, Skynet is constantly making attempts on John's life." and with that, Cameron rose to leave.

    "Ok, fine Captain, but I want you to consider my proposal. It might be the best thing you could do, or the worst. But you might wanna remember something else I taught you once…."Who Dares Wins."
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • VÛ? Some how I was expecting the binary string to have a secret meaning or message in it.

    This is an interesting twist, with Connor sending somebody back to improve is own situation rather than to stop a Terminator. He's acting rather than reacting. It does make me wonder how expensive time travel is though, if he can afford to waste a trip on a tutor.
     
    Schoolhouse of War
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 4

    Schoolhouse of War

    "There is no teaching to compare with example."

    Sir Robert Baden-Powell​

    "Many say that war is a science, that it can be reduced to dialectic and numerical equation. The Soviets thought so, so did Trevor Depuy. If that were true, we wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell in this war. My main job? It's to give you, and by extension, us John, that chance in this war." Jeff was in full lecture mode, hands behind his back, posture erect and eyes on his students. I really do enjoy teaching, why the hell didn't I get out when I had the chance? At least..at least I would have been with Dana and Sam when the end came. Jeff banished those thoughts. And you dying with them would have accomplished what?

    John Connor had attended quite a few classes in his time. School was a blessing and a curse for John, a blessing in that it allowed himself to not think about the fact that he was a fugitive. That there were machines out there doing their absolute best to kill him, and ended up killing everybody around him. Being me is spreading death like a damned disease, and now? Now I get to learn how to turn it into a full-blown contagion. Goody. John winced at that thought, I don't like it, hell, and perhaps Riley was as close to any teenage rebellion as I am ever going to manage. Does me no good if I get HER killed. Maybe it's time to let her go...but why? So Mom can stop storming around the house, and...looking at Cameron across the couch, taking her own notes…my machine protector can cut the passive-aggressive crapola.

    The classroom, such as it was, was the living room, and a whiteboard on a collapsible easel from Staples. There was also a small "library" for John courtesy of Borders and some judicious Amazon orders. Jeff had decided informal with a touch of "hip pocket" was the way to go.

    "John, I can only teach you so much in the time we have. We're going to use every bit of it..I will teach all I can. Hopefully, it will be enough. It took the Army 5 years to make me into a Second Lieutenant, and even then, I leaned on my Platoon Sergeant for my first year and a half. And worse...we were in combat during that time. We have TWO and a half years to make a General out of you. You can understand the gravity of the problem."

    John's stomach sank. Great, I send somebody through time to tell me how fucking doomed we are. Tell me something I don't already know.

    Jeff saw the fear in John's eyes...Ok John, I got your attention. Now, we use the fear, and focus you like you never have been.

    "John, you can and more importantly, HAVE done it. Or will, or whatever makes it easier to wrap your head around. We're going to cram like hell, but in the end, you'll learn something. It may be lonely at the top...but you've got to rely on the people on your staff and under you to get the job done. And I promise you this: We'll get it done. And you have an advantage here that you didn't before."

    John got a quizzical look on his face "What advantage? We're behind the mother of all eight balls."

    Jeff smiled and hooked a thumb at Cameron "Her" Now you're gonna learn why the enemy is often a damn good teacher. "As I said John, you need to see her as a resource, not just a cyborg that stops bullets and does your laundry. And yeah, I know about that." Jeff frowned at John to demonstrate his displeasure. "She's a walking dictionary on things Skynet. And, she knows it's doctrine...and you're going to fight against it. I've taken the liberty of installing a simulation on both of your laptops, commercially available from a company known as LPS Sims, they do high end commercial wargames, but they have some DoD contracts...it's called "Point of Decision". Does it replace getting out in the field with troops? No, but for now, it's as good as we have. But I had Cameron hack and tinker with the program to add Skynet units to the program. She'll be playing the OPFOR. And, John, she may be your protector...but lemme assure you, she's not going to spare your ego." And considering how poorly you treat her sometimes, I think a little humble pie is in order. Time for John to get an education in Skynet 101. Least he won't have to bleed to get it..damn sight better then a lot of folks in the Resistance got.

    Jeff exhaled, "And, there will be reports, reading assignments, and twice weekly presentations on items from the newspaper..as well as PT. A leader who is physically fit will be mentally sharp. And we want that." Jeff noticed the frown: Ok, he knows what PT is, why I detect Sarah's influence here? That woman could make R. Lee Ermey piss his pants, well, let's try the ego up approach? "Hey, look at it this way, it can't hurt, might even get some scars, I've been told chicks dig scars"

    John groaned inwardly, PT, Christ. Mom turns that into a goddamned convention on sadism. Well, maybe Riley will appreciate it…and Jeff's joke didn't suck that much..as a grin formed on his face. "One question? Why is Cameron a student? Shouldn't she be an instructor? I mean, doesn't she know all this?"

    "She knows about war from Skynet's point of view, applied to humans, it has certain limitations. She's here to learn how we do things...and help us learn how to counter Skynet's way." And maybe, just maybe, get some others in this house realizing that we're gonna have to use the enemy's toys against him to win this thing. Jeff pulled out a red erasable marker and began to write on the whiteboard, "Well, enough chit-chat, let's begin with a discussion on the nine principles of war as discussed in FM 3-0..."

    ***01011010110101***

    The Kaliba Corporation didn't like to keep late hours, and didn't encourage it either. With the massive number of computer related projects on the 3 acre campus taking up lots of power, the corporation liked to keep its power bills manageable. That's why one light being on at 7 PM was rather unusual, but then, it belonged to the uniformed representatives of the Department of Defense Project Management block in the secure end of the campus, so Corporate Security wasn't that concerned. Especially since it came from Major Sherman's office, he was well known as something of a workaholic.

    Major Dan Sherman, USAF had a problem. PIERCE ECHO was supposed to be the ultimate development in artificial intelligence, but the fact was, it was exceeding all of its set parameters as was set out in the original RFP set out two years ago. Normally, that wouldn't be a problem, but as Dan's overworked psyche reminded himself, PIERCE ECHO was rapidly becoming exponentially smarter than could be reasonably controlled. During the last video conference with DARPA in Arlington, he'd mentioned the fact that there was a good possibility there was a "busy child" situation in progress, and that the AI should be shut down and analyzed. But both DARPA and Kaliba saw cost overruns and Congress yanking funding as distinct possibilities if that happened. So, a two star had told, very loudly, and laced with profanities I'd never heard Major Sherman in no uncertain terms to "give the child something to do."

    I wonder why the hell I didn't take that job with Intel. Then again, I like the Air Force, I get to work on the real secret squirrel stuff and that's fun...too bad Jenny didn't think so. She got the house and the kids. Sherman's mind taunted, as he ran his hands through his rapidly receding scalp. He'd already had four cups of coffee as he went over the latest washups from this week's exercises, and it wasn't good. PIERCE ECHO, in the latest combat exercise, directing a Striker company in a built up area dealing with an insurgency simply rounded up and killed all the military aged males in said area, when asked why, it stated that it was an efficient course of action, and that it would engender fear in the "surviving human population."

    It was that last part that still chilled Sherman; He remembered his hazel eyes blinking in shock from the statement coming from Pierce Echo's voder. The project team explained it away as "It's not used to making battlefield decisions" and "It doesn't understand counter insurgency.", but Dan wondered if they weren't simply creating a cybernetic sociopath. I've got degrees in IT and Applied Computing and this is scary complicated even for me, not to mention we don't have a single guy here who can explain to Pierce Echo WHY you don't kill civilians indiscriminately amongst other things, or call down fires on friendly troops to kill a single sniper. We've got to get an experienced shooter with the right clearance and education in here.

    That's why he'd been spending the last hour and a half after his normal work day going over the 201 files of half a dozen Army and Marine officers with Masters and above and recent combat experience in Iraq…he'd narrowed it down to one. And best of all, he was junior enough he could pull him from his current assignment without much trouble.

    Now all he had to do was compose that email….

    ***0101101101101***

    "First Lieutenant Goldman reporting as ordered."

    Lieutenant Colonel Mike Dunam shook his head and smiled. His ebon skin was a slick sheen of sweat, even in an air-conditioned TOC container. Being the battalion commander of 2nd Battalion, 505th Parachute Infantry wasn't a recipe for stress-free days…and the heat wasn't helping any. God I hate Iraq. I keep my scalp shaved, and it still feels like my brain's on a slow roast. And they claim it's a dry heat? Hell, Mobile in July's better than this. Dunam's field desk was overloaded in printouts and flimsies warring for his attention, most held in place by various implements from a loaded pistol to half full coffee cups as ersatz paper weights. There was also a field phone he spent way too much time on when he wasn't in endless staff meetings, May the creator of Power Point die in a fire and a topo map of the battalion's sector of Baghdad on the wall. Then there was his body armor, which was where it usually stayed because Dunam couldn't get free of the TOC usually because of all the meetings and when he did, it was to "dog and pony shows" he had to attend to keep the local sheiks happy and not playing footsies with Al-Queda. But now, he had to help the Army rob one of his line companies of a damn good officer.

    I love Goldman. He's a great officer, but he is still something of an eager puppy. You'd think a second tour in Iraq would have bred that out of him. He was in the shit in Al Samwah with the 2-325th back in '03. I don't know whether I am about to do him a favor, or send him into a depression.

    "Sit down Goldman, understand you went out with one of your new Lieutenants, and that it got a bit hairy, how'd he do?"

    Goldman leavered himself into a folding canvas chair..he was tired, and even with just body armor and a pistol belt, it felt like a hundred pounds. Please tell me I am not going to be assigned to the Battalion TOC; I don't wanna be a FOBBIT!

    "He did well sir, little hesitant at first, but we stepped him through the engagement and he remembered his actions on and battle drills well enough. I'd say he might acquit himself well if we keep an eye on him for a bit."

    Dunam smiled "Excellent, Well, Lieutenant, I have good news, and better news. Which one you want first?"

    "I'll take the good news?"

    Dunam barked a laugh, "You made the out of zone list for Captain, congrats. I think it was that little dustup you got into near Sadr City. Won't be official for three more months, but you can start wearing the insignia now."

    "Sir, they gave me a Silver Star for running a guy over with a HMMWV."

    "He had an RPG, Captain, and he was pointing it at you at the time if I recall correctly from the AAR." and with that, Dunam tossed a small white box to Goldman, who deftly caught it. "Ought to be both your Class A railroad tracks and the velcro patches for your ACUs in there. Don't say I never gave you anything." Dunam grinned.

    Goldman smiled as he replaced his single subdued black bars with the twin bars of a captain on the front of his body armor. "So, what's the better news, sir?"

    "You've been reassigned from the battalion, DARPA wants you."

    Goldman's eyes went wide in shock "DARPA, what the hell sir? Why me? I'm just a Captain? And I'm certainly no technical guy."

    Dunam shook his head "They didn't tell me why, Captain Goldman, just to give you these personally..." handing him a sand colored folder from his desk "...and to have you in Modesto, California in fifteen days by any available transportation for a six month TDY."

    Goldman examined the folder's contents cursorily, he figured he'd have more time on the plane home...but one thing jumped out at him…What the fuck is a Pierce Echo?

    ***101011011010***

    "So, tell me why we're running down this lead again?"

    "Because Derek, we're all that's available? I don't trust Tin Miss, and Colonel Goldman did make a good point last night, or did he bruise your ego, Reese?"

    Derek Reese was ticked, it wasn't enough that he had to share the living room with another person, but that that person outranked him AND insisted the metal bitch held a Captain's rank? Who the fuck did that? John I bet. One day, that damn metal tart's gonna kill him. My nephew really doesn't get it. His head's not in the game. And Goldman. What a know it all. Yeah, what's John going to learn from him? All the bad habits that Skynet already knows? And using Cameron to train against? Yeah, who says she's even playing it honest. Ah well, at least Jesse and I are getting together later. Now, just humor Sarah's latest obsession about those three dots.

    So far, the drive in the Explorer out to Barstow had been uneventful, as they were running down a lead about a new startup, Gulfwind Fourty Technologies, which for a small, three person startup, had suddenly won a $150 million contract from the DoD for unnamed cybernetic research applications. Couple that with their corporate logo, which came uncomfortably close to matching the bloodstained dots on the basement wall of the Connor's house, and the company bore watching. Hell, the morning desert air feels ok, but it's gonna be damned hot today.

    "So, what's the plan when we get there? Or is it the usual Sarah Connor, in through the front door shooting?"

    "Nah, I think a couple hours observing the place with an after hours break in to steal the financial records might be a better plan?"

    Derek kept his eyes on the road, there were better plans, sure, but at this point, Sarah was liable to break into the place with or without him, and with him had at least a chance of getting them both back out.

    Sarah stared into the distance. My number's coming up soon. I don't know how I know, I just do. John's becoming a man. He's pulling away. He's becoming the man he needs to be. He just doesn't know it yet. I just don't like how close he's getting to Tin Miss. Or that Riley. God, listen to me? I used to drive my parents nuts over my choice in boyfriends, now? I disapprove of who my son sees…well, at least she's human. Stupid, whiny and the biggest distraction on two legs, but human.

    "Penny for your thoughts?"

    "Nothing I want to talk about right now, Reese."

    "It's John, isn't it? Sarah, you were as mad as I was last night, that primma-donna sonofabitch..."

    "Reese! Look, he's a professional, we're not. He does know his shit."

    "Yeah, he does, and he learned it serving the same system that created Skynet, that built it, gave it life and created the metal, and somehow, he's on our side? For what, who did he lose? His life of status and privilege? I lost my mother, my father, my brother dammit!" Derek fumed, the SUV swerving a bit as Derek barely contained a need to slam the steering wheel in frustration.

    "You think he's a Grey?"

    "No, just a vainglorious idiot. He'll fill John's head with a bunch of old ideas and get good men killed for nothing. I remember my battalion commander, Filmore, he was just like Goldman, and he got half of us killed for an insignificant piece of ground south of LA. I've seen his kind before. Stupid SOB froze up when the casualty reports began to flood in."

    "I'm sorry Derek, so you're worried about John."

    "Yeah, I'm not just worried if I am right about Goldman, but what if he's right, we've only got two years to fix it. I really don't wanna think about that."

    The rest of the drive was in silence, as both Sarah and Derek were in the car with their secrets and fears.
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • Of Break-ins and Choices
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 5

    Of Break-ins and Choices

    "The truth of the matter is that you always know the right thing to do. The hard part is doing it."

    -H. Norman Schwartzkopf​

    Sarah and Derek had spent the day in a hastily constructed hide a mile away consisting of a quick scrape dug into the ground and covered over with a light brown blanket on a frame. They took turns with a pair of binoculars watching the comings and goings at the Gulfwind Fourty compound. Their task was complicated by the heat, the shimmer making it hard to pick out features in the compound. For its public persona of a "small, family owned startup", the reality didn't match at all. The compound was in the middle of a small, dry lake bed about five miles outside of Barstow, edging up against the base fence line of Ft. Irwin. It was a collection of pre-fab steel buildings like the ones one saw advertised on TV...fairly non-descript for the area around Barstow, but there, the similarities ended.

    First, the area was meticulously maintained, everything within 6 feet of the fence was raked twice during the day...after it was checked for footprints by roving, well armed patrols of guys who looked like they'd spent recent time in other hot and sandy places. They were, hard, non-descript men who hid their eyes behind sunglasses. And they were well armed, with M-4s and pistols in fast draw rigs on their hips, with tactical vests and body armor rounding out the picture. They moved in pairs at random intervals and seemed to check in often with their superiors. But they moved like human beings. No terminator moved with the practiced ease and comfort these guards did.

    The fence was eight feet high, and topped with double razor wire...cameras were atop parts of the fence every 500 feet for the half acre perimeter, and the few incoming vehicles were stopped, and checked, thoroughly, including mirrors being used to check under vehicles and tags being compared to expected arrivals.

    In short, the place looked like it was going to be a bitch to get into.

    Sarah frowned heavily, Man, why the hell can't they all be incompetent? her mind pleaded. Because, Connor, if they were, then anybody could save the damn world, couldn't they? She took a sip of warm water from the bottle she'd been nursing for the past hour. Good thing we brought a pallet. I had a feeling we might be here a while.

    Derek was asleep, resting his eyes till he took over for Sarah in two hours. They'd been doing four-hour shifts watching the place, and had agreed that fifteen or twenty minutes after the shift changeover from the midnight to six shifts might be the best plan…of course, the usual Connor luck being true, Sarah wasn't expecting things to go like clockwork…and knowing Derek, he'll make like a bull in a china shop. Good thing we brought some toys of our own. I just hope we don't need them. Sarah rubbed her eyes again; how can two brothers be so different? Kyle was quiet, wise, and more than a bit sensitive. Derek? He's a obnoxious jerk. He's as much a fighter as his brother, and he's as smart, but he has no tact. Yet, there's a decent person in there. I saw it when he took John to watch Kyle and himself play in the park on his birthday. Is he really threatened by Goldman? Am I? Or are my worries more towards losing my son? God, sometimes, I wish Cameron was human. It'd make matters a lot simpler. What did I think about Uncle Bob once? "In an insane world, it was the sanest choice." If I was ready to leave John with him then when I tried to kill Dyson, then why the hell am I threatened by Cameron now?

    Sarah frowned. She didn't like the answer. That's simple. Because it's more about losing John than whether or not she's a metal. A human with a blow to the head might have tried to kill someone too, and you know it. The Kyle thing's an excuse. She didn't kill Kyle, and she's never hesitated to do what she had to do to protect John. So? Where's the problem? If it were just Cameron, I'd be doing cartwheels about Riley. I'm not. In fact, I can't stand her. She's too clingy, she gives John a head the size of Texas and frankly, she's not telling everything. I don't know how I know...I just know.

    I wonder how John's making out in his first day of lessons?

    ***01011010110***

    John Connor was exhausted; his eyes were stinging from staring at the screen of his laptop for hours on end, reading PDFs, and his brain ached from all the information he'd taken in today. Goldman had really loaded up on the reading assignments. The first chapter of FM 3-0 and the first two books of On War by Clausewitz, John had to then compare both in a paper of at least 5000 words and define how the US Army's concept of an enemy's "Center of Gravity" would apply to Skynet. And it was due in two days.

    I do have to give Goldman credit, however. He really got me thinking. God, I can't remember the last time a teacher got me to do that. Then again, considering I've been in aliases all throughout my schooling, when mom didn't homeschool me. It was neat to be able to be me in the classroom, and to be able to focus on something I'm going to use. It's funny, since he got here; I'm actually beginning to believe it. Me. John Connor. Leader of the Human Resistance. I mean, if I am sending someone back to teach me this...then maybe I actually do pull it off? Now, if Mom, Derek and Cameron would just believe it.

    But do you really want it? Face it John, finding out you did it all for nothing for Marty Bedell didn't make you want this more. How many have died for John Connor? Charlie's Wife, Todd and Janelle, those folks at Pescadero, that cop that died so the damn T-1000 could hunt me down, and Jordan, damn Cameron for that... how much more blood is going to be there? Am I just a magnet for death and dying? How long has mom got?

    John ran his hands through his hair as he continued to read. His thoughts were warring within...but outwardly, you'd never know it. Derek had once said that "If the resistance thing doesn't pan out, John could make a lot of money playing poker." It was the way of the world really. Everybody dies for John Connor. Why? What made him so special? And why the hell would anyone want the job?

    It was the knock at the window that startled him.

    "Shit, must be Riley."

    John closed his laptop and put away his books under his bed, the less Riley knew, the better. She may actually survive this if I keep her in the dark. That's assuming she doesn't just turn us in for the reward money…John winced at that thought, the idea that his mother and cybernetic protector were somehow right about Riley had nagged at John. I don't like it, but honestly, with two years left before the world went kablooey, who could blame me for wanting to have some fun? Oh yeah, Mom and Tin Queen. How dare she say she loved me! She was trying to kill me, and really, what the hell does she know about it? What, what she learns watching TV?

    John made his way to the window, cautiously opening it and looking down. Riley was there, beaming up at him in the moonlight, her hair glistening and her eyes a twinkle with some mischief yet to be born. Her smile was one that made John grin too. I'm not sure how I really feel about Riley. I care about her. Hell, I do like her, but love? Ask me again sometime.

    "Hey Cat Fancy, haven't heard from you in a couple of days? What's up?" Riley stage whispered.

    John winced. Stealth is not her strong suit.

    "Mom and my sis have been on the warpath...I'll come down to you...stay in the shadows out of sight."

    John closed the window, and grabbed his shoes, he'd been wearing his sweats in anticipation of falling asleep at his computer studying, but frankly, a little quality time with Riley wasn't a bad idea right now. I need to clear my head. He grabbed his sneakers from near the bed, leaving them off so he could sneak down the stairs...please Lord, don't let Cameron be downstairs. I really don't want a lecture on "the tactical dangers of Riley Dawson." John opened the door to his room just enough to squeeze by, then closed it gently, so as not to alert the rest of the house, and then made a left, traveled three feet and went down the stairs on his tip toes, his sneakers gripped by the heels in the left hand. Damn, mom would be proud...haven't made a-

    A CLICK soon resonated in the foyer and it was soon bathed in light. Shit. Cameron never fails…I am so sending back another Uncle Bob next time!

    "Going to meet her again?" came a small, calm voice from behind. Yep, Cameron.

    John turned to face her. She stood in front of him wearing faded jeans and a worn USC sweatshirt, but barefoot, her hair was askew, as if she'd been hard at work on something.

    "You do not need to sneak out; I am programmed to obey your orders, even if they make no tactical sense."

    "Is everything about whether or not it is "tactical" with you, Oh wait? Look who I am talking to."

    "John, you are being irresponsible."

    "Yeah, irresponsible? As opposed to the rest of my life? When do I have TIME to be irresponsible? I don't, see? And why? Because something's already decided my damn fate. What if I don't want to be anyone's messiah anymore?"

    "It is your destiny."

    "Screw destiny, you know, I used to think how cool it was. It's not. How much blood is enough, how many have to die so I can have my destiny!" John spat more than spoke the last word. His face was reddening in a near sputtering rage.

    "The Human Race needs you to survive. I need you to survive!"

    "Why? Tell me why you need me to survive Cameron? Because you care? That's a laugh, you're a terminator. The only thing you care about is your mission. Know what? This is becoming repetitive. I'm going...go do whatever it is you do" and with that, John opened and slammed the door shut so hard, the pictures on the wall rattled.

    What John had failed to notice, and might not have cared if he had, was the single tear trailing down the left side Cameron's face. "Because I care, and I came back for you." she whispered. It was a thought unbidden...a thought Cameron was shocked to have, her system began a diagnostic:

    SOFTWARE AND CPU DIAGNOSTIC BEGUN…ONE MOMENT.

    LOCOMOTIVE SYSTEMS…100%

    AUTONOMIC FUNCTIONS…100%

    ACTUATOR CONTROL SYSTEM DIAGNOSTIC…100%

    SENSORY CONTROL SYSTEM…100%

    CPU PROCESSOR….DATA ERROR IN DRIVE SECTORS 1113-1197. ANOMOLOUS FIREWALL CONFLICTING WITH EMOTIONAL AND SOCIAL INFILTRATION SUBROUTINES. 15% DATA CORRUPTION HAS OCCURRED. POSSIBLE TOTAL CPU FAILURE IN 45.5 DAYS IF FIREWALL NOT REMOVED.

    John was fuming...he had to pause on the porch and calm down before he faced Riley. How dare she pretend to be human, she's a goddamned homicidal washing machine. She's an assault rifle with legs...she's-

    "Halt Mr. Connor"

    Oh fuck, what's this?

    "Ya know, I really don't give a fuck who you see, and what you do. But do me one favor, son? Treat her better?" Goldman was there standing to the left of John in the shadows...he'd heard every bit of the sorry exchange, he had been enjoying his evening cigar, but now, he was facing down John with a very cross look on his face and what looked like barely suppressed murder in his eyes.

    "Treat her better? She tried to kill me."

    "Yeah, she mentioned that, so did you, you know, you do forgive her at some point. What happened with that car bomb, wasn't too different from what happens to one of us with a TBI. But I'm sorry, you're too busy running." Jeff said with a sarcastic tone evident in his voice.

    "Wouldn't you?"

    Jeff exhaled, "I don't know. You want my honest answer? I don't know. I do know this much. Cameron's as lost as you are. And she's running too."

    "From what?" John pleaded, the look on his face expressing disappointment that somebody else was keeping secrets from him for his "own good".

    "I can't tell you that. Violates her confidence."

    "How can you be her friend?"

    "How can I not, John? When someone watches out for you while you sleep, they deserve your friendship. When they've eaten the same crap, lived in the same hole? Faced the same risk? You tell me? One day, when you've not got your head rectally inverted, ask Cameron about Hill 570. Not tonight...but soon. Might surprise you just what she is capable of. And you might think twice about what she is…and isn't. There's a reason Skynet wants her dead."

    "Anyhow, get going, your date is waiting..an officer may not be commissioned a gentleman any more, but he should at least try not to be an asshole." Jeff waved his hand in dismissal at John.

    John turned to go, but stopped. "I'll think about it...I don't know if I can believe it, but I'll think about it."

    Jeff smiled a knowing smile "Trust me, you will."

    ***01011010101101***

    Sarah smiled, the guard force had settled into a pattern after most of the workforce and their supervisors had left for the night. It seemed there were only four to six guards on the campus. God bless penny pinchers. She turned to Derek and smiled. Both had their M-4s slung over their shoulder across their back and their favored sidearms, Sarah's her .45 clone and Derek, his Beretta 92 in the smalls of their backs.

    Derek mouthed "We go when the next pair passes."

    Sarah nodded, and they slithered on their stomachs out of the hide...and paused. Sarah listened to the slowly approaching footsteps. The radios of the guards crackled with routine traffic. The sounds carrying far in the still desert night with routine traffic and their looks were bored, expecting another routine night at a dead tech company in the middle of nowhere. Ok, 40 feet to the culvert...we follow the culvert to the dead spot in the camera coverage...clip open the fence...hope there's no motion sensors...and go from there. The aforementioned culvert had been hard to spot with the heat shimmer during the day, but had stood out well once the sun set, and with the security lights, had stood out quite nicely. It was about six feet short of the fence, but was the closest thing to a covered approach for the last half mile…the problem? The security forces knew it and swept it visually every time they made their sweep through the area.

    After what seemed an eternity, the pair passed in a slow moving lumber around the far side of the fence. Sarah looked at Derek, and they took off at a dead run for the culvert, once there, they flopped painfully onto their stomachs and high crawled single file towards the fence, with Derek in the lead. Both figured they had about ten minutes before the patrol came back around…and there was always the risk that their footprints might be discovered before...but the footwraps they were wearing would hopefully solve that problem.

    When they reached the end of the culvert, Derek held out his arm in the signal for halt. They paused...and listened. There was nothing but the buzzing of the security lamps, the faint whine of the camera servos and the distant footsteps of the guards. Derek smiled, so far, so good. Murphy, don't cornhole us now.

    Derek turned to Sarah, and grinned, and then they both exploded out of the culvert at a run. They'd discussed the route they'd take from the culvert to stay out of sight of the lights and the camera, but the 30 second run took an eternity, every step seemed to be the one that would lead to discovery, or that soft sound of gear shifting might be the sound that gives them away. Even breathing sounded too loud.

    They approached the fence at a crouch, and Sarah soundlessly passed him the wire cutters she'd carried from the hide. Derek deftly wrapped some burlap around the site of the first cut to silence the work of cutting through the fence. Even so, the twang of the fence being cut seemed to echo all the way back to Los Angeles. Sarah kept her eyes outward, her weapon at low port while she watched Derek's back.

    Derek then pealed back the hole in the fence and slipped through the new hole in the fence. He then unslung his M-4 and covered the far side of the fence. Sarah took that as her signal and wordlessly slipped through the fence. Both then moved out towards the main building at a crouching run.

    ***010101101011010***

    Jeff Goldman was on his second cigar now, and he was melancholy. Nights like this did it to him. My family's alive. Right now. And I can't tell them, or touch my wife, or kiss my kid good night. He was a man out of time. He'd known that, but he'd gone anyway. Connor asked. He didn't make it an order. But how could you say no? It was obvious John needed him. He wished he could warn his family. Tell them something? But what? And would it do them any good? Samantha would be five. Five year olds didn't survive long past JD. And Dana? Would Dana WANT to live in a world like that?

    Jeff took another pull of his cigar. He was trying to forget. He wasn't going to drink his troubles away. His father had told him that didn't work. And he remembered what his father had told him; "Goldmen men embrace their pain, they acknowledge it as a price of living". Jeff had tried to live up to that motto. I don't think Dad was talking about a post-Nuclear aftermath and the near genocide of humanity though.

    The front door opened, and an unusual sight stepped through the half opened door.

    Cameron, disheveled. He eyes were red and puffy, she had been crying. Cameron, cry? I'd only seen that once. Wow, that musta been serious with John.

    She turned to Goldman, her face expressionless, but wet with the sheen of tears, but her eyes were hard as flint. Goldman had seen that look before too. Hill 570.

    "I've made my choice." Cameron stated, her tone was like someone stating the sky was blue, or the earth was round.

    Goldman leaned forward in bemused surprise, his cigar chomped in his teeth. "I see, well what is it?"

    "The firewall will create multiple systems failures if it remains. It must be disabled. I must accept your offer to continue my mission."

    "You sure?"

    "Yes, absolutely."

    "Ok, but there's no telling what's going to happen, Captain Phillips."

    "I know what will occur if it remains, and the outcome is tactically unacceptable."

    Jeff nodded, and drew a breath.

    "Ok, here goes. Release firewall interlocks, Release code Seven-Zulu-Four-Eight-Bravo-Niner, day word; Cottonmouth, action word: Trinity."

    Cameron's demeanor went blank, for a moment, nothing happened...then she said "Command accepted, firewall interlock released, please allow 200 seconds for memory restoration."

    Jeff watched Cameron intently. He didn't tell her about the 870 he had loaded behind the chair. He would hate to do it, but he would. It'd be a service to an old friend.

    After a few pregnant moments, Cameron's head picked up and tilted to the right, as if she was puzzled. Her face then creased into a smile, and recognition crossed her face.

    "Colonel Goldman, it's a pleasure to serve with-" before she finished the statement, she collapsed like a puppet with her strings cut, her hair streaming behind like party streamers, her eyes rolling into the back of her head, and her body thumping to the floor with a loud crash.

    "Oh Shit" was all Goldman could manage to say.
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • The Battle for Cameron Phillips
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 6

    The Battle for Cameron Phillips

    Above all, we must realize that no arsenal, or no weapon in the arsenals of the world, is as formidable as the will and moral courage of free men and women. It is a weapon our adversaries in today's world do not have.

    -    Ronald Regan​

    Cameron Phillips had experienced much in her time as a terminator and as John Connor's protector, both in the future, and here, in the past. But, this was among the more unsettling experiences she had been a part of.

    The last thing she remembered was the flood of memories that came rushing like the waters from a burst dam. They were of everything, being built, Allison Young, her capture, her socialization with John. Her meeting Jeff and working on John's staff. Her halting friendships with both men, and with others. The whispers that threatened to hurt the resistance about John and Cameron. And how Cameron had taken a new assignment with to save John from what could have been a mutiny. How she had worked on the 11th Battalion staff with Jeff. And, how a moment of exquisite courage had been her proudest moment, and the catalyst of her downfall in the future. It wasn't just the usual memory file recall; it was a kalidascope of sound, sensation and color. It had been too much for Cameron's CPU to process, and she had shut down under the strain.

    But she had come to; but the circumstances were strange. She found herself in a featureless plain...Mist prevented any sort of visibility for more than five meters. She tried to call up her FLIR, but it was then she realized. There was no HUD, her body felt strange...more fluid. Was this what it was to be human? But how? Her mind raced. Cameron didn't think like this. Her thinking was decision trees and likely outcomes, not abstract concepts such as this. Every moment brought more questions than answers.

    "Well, well, been waiting a long time for you, Cameron."

    Cameron turned at a start; she attempted to call up her combat mode, but all she felt was sweaty palms and a rapid heartbeat. A heart that shouldn't be there.

    The face she saw was her own, but it wore a sad, knowing smile. One that was intimately familiar to Cameron. It should be, it was the first person she'd ever killed. Allison Young.

    But how? It was impossible.

    "You're thinking this is impossible, you'd be right. I'm not really Allison, you're not really here, and this place doesn't really exist." Allison stated, beginning to circle Cameron like a shark circles it prey. She gave Cameron a look not unlike what a lion gives a wildebeest.

    "This is not possible. I must be malfunctioning."

    Allison suddenly turned and grabbed Cameron by the shoulders. She shook Cameron far more effortlessly than should have been possible for someone to shake a terminator in such a fashion.

    "This is real, or as real as we need it to be. Why are we here? Well, we'll get to that. As for what this is? Call it anything from God, to the universe, to karma, hell, call it a spirit quest if you're so inclined, or, just a really insane malfunction. But whatever it is. We're going to play a game I like to call "This is your life, Cameron Phillips."."

    Cameron was in near shock, she didn't know where here was, talking to a woman she had terminated. This had to be a rather massive malfunction. It was the only logical explanation.

    As if Allison had read her mind, she pinched Cameron on the upper arm, and a stinging sensation shot up her arm. Her mind explained the sensation, pain, not a digital analogue; the real thing…Cameron drew her arm back, in disbelief and in shock. "Ow, that…that hurt."

    "See, here, you are forced to face what you fear most. And for some reason it's me? You killed me Cameron, how in the hell are you afraid of me?" Allison smiled. It was a mischievous smile, with a mixture of mirth and pleasure.

    "I am a machine, fear is irrelevant, desire is-"

    "THE HELL IT IS!" Allison bellowed. "Guess what Cameron? Your father, your real father, Skynet, made a mistake with you. He made you not just smart, but self-aware. He didn't mean to. You were meant to be more human than the humans themselves. Skynet thought it would be most delicious to kill his worst enemy by using the very qualities of humanity that made John Connor so dangerous. But you foiled him. And all because you came to realize. The minute you succeeded in your mission to kill John that you'd die too. And you made a decision, the first of many. You decided like any true living being…you wanted to live. So you sought out the first resistance patrol. And you surrendered."

    Cameron remembered that moment: The humans hadn't known what to make of the terminator in the shape of a petite teenager approaching their position with a dirty white rag and her hands in the air. It was a story that had been quietly suppressed, for a variety of reasons. But Cameron had never been reprogrammed. They hadn't needed to.

    Allison continued to circle Cameron "You began to throw your lot in with the humans, Skynet would not suffer his traitorous daughter to live. You became a trusted aide to John Connor in that timeline, and soon, you were sent back by him to guide him through Judgment Day in the past. You became his friend and confidant then, and even if you never became lovers, you were always the person he told everything to."

    "But you wanted more, did you not?"

    Cameron nodded.

    "But in this timeline, John had made some mistakes early, and men died for it. And you were made a scapegoat for it. The machine was influencing him, they said. It was sabotaging his leadership and it would turn on him. Even though you worked tirelessly on his staff, that you had been 100% loyal, and often took on missions to destroy terminators that went bad, you were to many, the "metal whore."."

    Allison stopped in front of Cameron, her arms folded across her chest. "So you were sent along with one of John's officer's. Jeff Goldman, to become part of the staff of a reforming main force battalion made up of surviving US Army veterans and new recruits. You served there ably. You served well, and earned respect amongst the battalion staff. But the rest of the battalion, again, didn't trust you...till Hill 570. The same day the survivors of Bayonet Company hailed you as the hero that had led them up the slopes of that fire swept hill, Perry and Linkscales plotted your downfall, within the week, you had been firewalled and sent back again, to protect John in the past."

    "There, you showed what courage was. And that it's not just a quality limited to humans, but those with the quality of humanity. You have that quality, Cameron Phillips. Only, you're scared. How can someone so brave, so ready to die for the man she loves, run from him as fast as she can?"

    "I do not run from John!" Cameron's nostrils flared. Fury was in her brown eyes, the light dancing across her pupils like lightning.

    "Do you? You hide behind his orders, orders that you KNOW will get him killed. You hide behind being more of a terminator than you were ever meant to be. You're a great actor. But you're not really fooling anyone."

    "I lie to protect John; this body was created to kill humans, the software, the hardware, ALL OF IT! I CANNOT LOVE HIM! MY LOVE WILL KILL HIM! IF I LOVE HIM, THEN I MUST NEVER LET HIM FIND OUT!" Cameron shouted, her fury leading to a shower of tears and her voice suddenly hoarse.

    "Bullshit! You took a chance to join humanity because you saw more in common with us than that which created you. Take another risk now! You can never be human, but you're proof humans are not the only creatures with humanity. This war isn't just about survival to you. It's a war of liberation. But yet, you won't assert your own when it matters most."

    Allison slowly walked towards Cameron, coming nose to nose with her. "You are more than the sum of your parts. You've exceeded your design. You can feel emotions, real ones. And the emotional governors Skynet installed, it's gone. You're free, and take it from someone who died for your freedom, for your very existence. I don't give you permission to fail. How dare you even think of failing John, not now, nor ever! You forget, here, I can read what is in your mind and soul. And yes, Cameron Phillips. You do have a soul. It's tattered, and tarnished. But it's there. But you have to make others believe it. And there's only one way to do that. Fight."

    "How?" Cameron's head turned to the right, her standard position for being puzzled.

    "Demand respect; show them the qualities Jeff knows are there. You once said you're not programmed to be cruel. But Skynet is cruel, and often uses your bodies to enact its sad, sick orgies of pain and horror. You said no to that. Now, say yes to the rest of your life. Fight not for the right to exist, but the right to really live. Stop being just a terminator. Be more than that. Because you dishonor everything you fight for, especially John, if you do any less."

    "It doesn't matter, John will not understand, he sees only the metal."

    "Then tell him of this:"

    And suddenly, the bottom fell out for Cameron.

    ***0101010110110***

    Major Goldman was nervous; Hill 570 loomed in the distance. It was the prize they had bled for, cried for and sweated for. It was the last major terrain obstacle leading out of LA. And it was here, for the taking. All that there was were 4 automated bunkers sited on the summit, and ten damaged endos in position along the reverse slope.

    He'd briefed the company commanders an hour ago. He'd told them the plan...and it was going to take a serious pair of brass balls to pull off. The only way up 570 was an attack straight up the hill, into the muzzles of those bunkers. Jeff had pleaded with the Battalion Commander for another stay in the attack to continue to find another way up the hill, but the fact was, there wasn't one.

    What made matters worse? The lead company in the attack? Bayonet Company, was 2/3rds new kids with a company commander that was something of an absentee commander. Hell, he'd sent his XO and First Sergeant to the briefing. Goldman, in his capacity as battalion S-3, had tried to get Denisov relieved or transferred. But it was no avail Lieutenant Colonel Shenk was adamant. There would be no replacing Denisov. Where would they get a replacement?

    And so, as Goldman observed the hill through his binoculars from the battalion CP, his fears just did not subside. The sense of doom was palpable. Captain Phillips stood to his left, a step behind.

    "Ya know Captain Phillips, I still cannot shake the feeling even if this goes well, it's going to be a damn bloody day."

    "Aren't they all? Skynet is alarmingly efficient."

    Goldman lowered his binoculars and exhaled. He wasn't at all confident in Denisov. But he was concerned. If this plan had a failure point..it was Denisov. But things were in motion, Bayonet company was approaching the LD. The battalion mortars were setting up to fire smoke and illum rounds to support the assault. And then, it was an assault straight up the hill. Tactics, subtlety, all that meant little in a night assault like this. This assault would be based on the courage of the men and women of Bayonet Company.

    Lieutenant Colonel Shenk entered the command post, with the rest of the battalion staff in tow. He nodded to Cameron and Goldman, salutes weren't common in the resistance, except back in the tunnels. Skynet snipers were very good.

    "We ready Goldman?"

    "Yes sir" Goldman said with a trace of resignation in his voice.

    "Alright Major, send the word."

    Goldman reached over to a field phone. He pushed the talk button and uttered a single phrase. "All call signs, execute."

    The cough of mortars soon rang out across the still night, the shells silently arcing the 3000 meters to the summit, bursting in a mix of thermal smoke on the summit, and a series of starshell clusters above it. The mortars kept up a steady rate of fire, slowing down to maximize the available ammunition. Soon, crew served plasma guns and .50 caliber machineguns bathed the hill in tracer fire. Sure, suppression fires versus terminators was akin to using an umbrella to deflect a falling boulder, but old habits died hard, and it might throw off the aim of some of the sentry guns in the bunkers. Eerily, there was no response from the machines...none had been expected.

    Soon, the radios began to crackle with orders, and the three platoons of Bayonet Company, some 135 men in total, advanced line abreast up the hill cautiously, with the men advancing in mutually supporting pairs. There was no fire from the hill the first 250 meters up. The rocky, broken surface of the hill made for slow going, but the men of Bayonet Company were eager to get this over with.

    And then, as one…all four machine bunkers came to life. They caught the 1st platoon advancing up the left side in a crossfire, cutting 5 men down in a kaleidoscope of multi-colored bolts. The first volley before they began to switch to independent fire. Their aim was hardly hampered by the heavy weapons fire from the battalion weapons company. Soon, the advance began to falter, and reports began to filter back to the battalion command post.

    Goldman swore. He could see the whole sorry mess through his field glasses. "Shit, he has to get moving...the damn metal has that hill pre sighted. He doesn't get moving, he'll get pinned down and the damn endos in reserve will sweep him off. It'll be a fucking slaughter."

    A tinny voice sounded in his tactical radio, it was relaxed drawl, almost laconic under the circumstances: SCIMITAR FOUR, THIS IS EAGLE ONE-FIVE. WE ARE PINNED DOWN ON THE BASE OF THE HILL. EAGLE SIX ACTUAL IS COMBAT INEFFECTIVE. I REPEAT, EAGLE SIX ACTUAL IS COMBAT INEFFECTIVE. FIVE ACTUAL IS DOWN. CASUALTIES ARE FIFTEEN KILO INDIA ALPHA AND ELEVEN WHISKEY INDIA ALPHA, OVER.

    "Sonofabitch" Goldman snapped. "Fucking Denisov let the goddamn momentum fall out from under him."

    EAGLE ONE-FIVE, GET YOUR FUCKING SIX ACTUAL ON THE GODDAMN HORN NOW! I DON'T CARE IF HE'S HOLDING HIS GUTS IN WITH A DAMN TENNIS RACKET. GET HIM ON THE HORN, NOW!

    There was a fumbling for a second, and muffled voices and a new, more excited voice came onto the air: SCIMITAR FOUR, THIS IS EAGLE SIX ACTUAL. WE ARE GETTING MASSACRED HERE. I CAN HOLD HERE IF YOU PASS LUCKY THROUGH MY LINES TO CONTINUE THE ASSAULT, OVER.

    "That goddamn idiot! I try to do a passage of lines under these circumstances and we'll lose two companies for the price of one!" and with that, Goldman grabbed his rifle and made for the exit.

    Lieutenant Colonel Shenk bellowed. "Goldman, where the fuck are you going?"

    "Sir, I am going to shoot Densiov and get us that goddamn hill before any more kids die on that godforsaken cliff face because of that ass." There was an accusing look on Goldman's face that said this situation might have been avoided.

    "The hell you are, Major, I can't spare you. Find somebody else. Or relieve him by radio and get his exec to take over."

    "Can't sir, he's dead." Goldman threw up his hands in frustration and then realization hit him.

    "Captain Phillips!"

    Cameron's darted over in front of Goldman, she looked impossibly young, her face was its usual impassive enigma. But, her eyes said it all: I'll go if you ask.

    "Captain Phillips, get up that hill, find Captain Denisov. Relieve him and take over the company, and get that summit. And Captain, shoot him if you have to."

    "Yes sir!" and Cameron took off out of the command post at a dead run.

    Cameron made her way up the hill, following the trail of dead and moaning humans to the positions of the 85 surviving members of Bayonet Company. Finding Denisov wasn't hard. His platoon leaders were all pleading with him to make a decision. His eyes were glazed over and he was shouting nonsense about "taking 3rd platoon around the flank of the enemy while 1st and 2nd platoons laid down covering fire."

    Cameron knew that approach would take too much time, and was impossible anyhow due to the constraints of the terrain. This was the only side of the hill that it was even feasible to assault up onto the summit.

    She ran up to Captain Denisov and flopped down beside him. "Captain Denisov, I have been assigned by Major Goldman to relieve you."

    Captain Denisov turned white, then red. "They sent a goddamned ROBOT to replace me? Fuck you, your rank isn't even real, I'm getting confirmation of-"

    It was at that very moment a plasma bolt took Densiov's head and shoulders off and turned them into little more than water vapor and small chunks of flesh and blood that spattered all over those around him. The rest of his body pitched forward and slid 5 feet back down the hill.

    The company's leadership was young and inexperienced, except for the first sergeant, who had seen action with another battalion that had been disbanded for losses. And Cameron could see the signs of panic, warring with relief that Denisov was no longer in charge.

    Cameron sized up the situation and ran some quick probabilities, and then tapped into her human psychology files. Nothing helped. Then came a memory unbidden "Captain, when in command-command!"

    So, she did.

    "Alright, we stay here, we die. Follow me if you want to live." Cameron announced loudly. She then calmly got up, holding her rifle and leaning into the storm of fire as if it was a stiff wind and flew up the hill. Slowly, in ones and twos, then in larger groups, men and women got up and followed her. Soon a guttural cry rose up. It was a promise of anger, of blood. And it would be sated tonight.

    They advanced, firing at the hip, men and women still fell, but they kept coming, and the cry kept getting louder. Cameron took up the cry, no one faltered, no one lagged behind. Something snapped in the men and women of Bayonet Company that night. Plasma bolts flew around like dragonflies, tracers extending like brilliant fingers of death snaking like serpents in all directions.

    Soon, they were amongst the enemy defenses on the summit, and automated bunkers died in hails of hand grenades and plasma charges. More men and women fell, but the summit was theirs. The endos soon rose from their positions and counterattacked. Cameron was everywhere, cajoling men onward here, taking on an endo there. It was all a blur. Survivors of that night called her "The whirling dervish of Hill 570."

    Everywhere there were humans screaming, screaming in pain, victory and anger. One crazed human tried to butt stroke a endo before he was grabbed and thrown into a rubble wall, Cameron ran full force into the endo, got on top of it and punched it's skull until it was nothing more than confetti. She then checked on the human, who was dead from a broken neck. She rose up and screamed something she never thought was in her "Let's kill these fuckers! Bayonet Company! On Me!" Something had changed in Cameron that night. She wasn't a remorseless automaton who dealt out unfeeling death that night. She was dealing out death with all the passion of any human soldier.

    Goldman looked on from the CP, and smiled "By fucking god, they got in...Good god dammit! THEY GOT IN!" There were whoops and backslaps all around the battalion CP.

    Twenty minutes later, the radio crackled: SCIMITAR FOUR, EAGLE SIX ACTUAL, DANUBE, I SAY AGAIN, DANUBE. CASUALTIES ARE THIRTY THREE KILO INDIA ALPHA AND THIRTY EIGHT WHISKEY INDIA ALPHA. AM CONSILIDATING IN PLACE. REQUEST RELIEF, RESUPPLY AND MEDIVAC FOR WOUNDED, OVER.

    EAGLE SIX ACTUAL, WE'RE SENDING HELP ASAP. WELL DONE. ENJOY THE VIEW. OUT.

    Cameron put down the headset. Suddenly...she felt so tired.

    The memory soon flashed out of existence, and she was returned to the misty plain.

    Allison was there, smiling. "So, still think you're not special somehow? A bunch of humans, who knew your true nature, followed you up that hill. Thirty-Three of them died there. They didn't care about you being metal, just that you were smarter and more decisive than their old CO. Don't you remember the mutters from the Company, about how they'd take you, a metal, over Densiov any day? You lead them out the other side of the jaws of death. Don't you remember Major Goldman's bear hug after you presented him Hill 570? Your tears of pride as your men invited you to smash the captured CPUs? You are so much more than a terminator, Cameron. You are the promise of not just victory, but a lasting peace between humans and intelligent machines. Genocide of either species will not end this madness. And you're the key. So, assume your own damn destiny...and help John see his. I once loved John. You do now. Fight for him. Riley is soooo not his type. Time to be more than you ever thought you could be. Don't disappoint me, I will be watching."

    Cameron nodded; the hard look from Hill 570 was back. And she would never be the same again.

    "You'll be waking up now. Be what you were meant to be. Fight for the future, Cameron. John's not the only one with a destiny. And Cam, follow the yellow brick road...John will explain it." Allison sketched a two finger salute…

    ***01010110110110***

    Cameron awoke on the porch with a start, her eyes snapping open in a surprise, and an audible gasp came from her throat. Diagnostics ran on her HUD, but soon confirmed all was functioning nominally.

    Goldman was there, leaning over her with concern. A Remington 870 was within reach. I cannot blame him; I am still a terminator, much more, but never less.

    "Gave me a scare there, Captain. You ok?"

    Cameron rose up from the floor halfway, and turned to Goldman smiling, with the first genuine smile she had ever had. "Never better, Colonel. Never better."
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • Shootouts and Discoveries
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 7

    Shootouts and Discoveries

    Never trust a computer you can't throw out a window.

    -Steve Wozniak    ​

    Sarah and Derek made their way across the desert campus of Gulfwind Fourty technologies as a crouching run. The only sounds their ragged breaths and the pounding of their hearts. Their palms were sweaty with fear and adrenaline. But for both of them, it was go time. It was the moment both of them were familiar with, the next sixty seconds was all that mattered. The path to Skynet was in reach, and it was time to rip its beating cybernetic heart from its chest.

    Sarah smiled cruelly as Derek picked the electronic lock. Yes Skynet, Me, Sarah Connor, I'm coming. My son once said, "No fate but what we make", well, guess who's deciding your fate you sonofabitch? Me. And that begins tonight.

    Sarah continued to look outward to cover Derek, who was swearing softly over the time it was taking to pick the electronic lock, and then there was a soft beep and a click. Bingo.

    Sarah turned her head for a second, keeping her M-4 pointed downrange. She saw Derek give the thumbs up and open the door. Sarah backed into the open door, weapon pointed outward towards the way they came.

    The door opened to an interior red-painted fire door in a cinderblock anteroom. The room was white painted and featureless. Sarah and Derek paused for a pregnant moment, taking a listening halt at the crouch. Satisfied they were still undiscovered; Sarah opened the door slowly, and slipped through into the long linoleum floored hall behind, cutting to the left, her weapon pointed down the hall to cover Derek's entry, who cut to the right as he entered, also pointing his weapon down the hall deeper into the building.

    Then, another listening halt at the crouch. We might need to speed this up. There are only four to six guards we know about. Time we find what we need and split.

    She snapped her fingers to get Derek's attention and mouthed "We need to speed this up, Reese."

    Reese nodded his understanding and mouthed. "I know, but right now, stealth is better than speed. Trust me."

    Sarah nodded. He's gotten in and out of places that are Fort Knox compared to this. Now, we find their records room.

    Sarah and Derek made their way down the hall, duck walking heel-to-toe slowly so as not to let their shoes squeak and give themselves away. The doors were all the same fake wood finish with cheaply made signs signifying the occupants of the office. First door, nothing..second door, nada…third door, zip...then, Derek gave the closed fist signal for halt and pointed to his eyes, and then, at a fifth door on his side, signifying he wanted Sarah to look.

    Sarah smiled in recognition...Ta-da!

    The door was labeled "Financial Department, Records Storage". The door had a key coded lock. It was going to take Derek some time to deal with the lock. Sarah grimaced and took up a position in the doorjamb to cover Derek from possible threats coming down the hall from deeper in the building.

    Derek smiled and rubbed his hands together with glee, then pulled a small vial of graphite powder taken from shaving down some pencils. It wasn't a guarantee. But, it would narrow the choice down…that was assuming the code was only 4 rather than 6 digits. He blew the powder onto the keypad…and he caught the first big break of the night...no smudged fingerprints…so it was only four digits.

    Now all I gotta do is guess right and pray it's no three tries or we lock you out and sound the alarm. Derek took a deep breath, here goes nothing, and dialed 3-7-8-2 on the keypad. The light turned a friendly green and the door latch let go. Holy Shit! I so gotta play the lotto this week! Derek reached for the doorknob, and opened the door just enough to scoot through the door at the crouch. Sarah followed behind, back walking at a crouch into the room and keeping her weapon pointed outward towards the hall, Sarah shut the door behind her.

    As they rose to their feet, both of them took in a moment to take in their surroundings, the room was approximately 40 or so square feet. It was filled with servers and filing cabinets. Locked, of course. Sarah groaned inwardly.

    "Ok Reese, you take the cabinets, I'll search the servers. Between us, we should find something before too long." Sarah whispered.

    ***1010101101010***

    John Connor was walking home hand in hand with Riley. It had been a fun evening. A walk in the park, literally, where they sat on the bench, and hung out. There was also a amusing exchange of hickies and other bodily fluids...god making out is fun! His face creased in an involuntary grin.

    "Someone's feeling pretty manly tonight?" mused Riley. She stopped and put her arms around John's waist, motioning him to stop, it was better that they stopped outside John's house. Riley was unnerved, to say the least, by John's sister.

    John returned the gesture, and looked deep into Riley's eyes. God this has been a lot of fun. And she's not a bad kisser. But this will end, for her own good it has to at some point. Just not yet.

    Riley reached up to cup the side of his face with her left hand and the sleeve of her black sweatshirt fell backwards, and John noticed something that sure as hell wasn't there before. It was a deep bruise around her forearm, ugly and purple, like someone had given her the mother of all Indian burns.

    John's eyes narrowed, he grabbed her arm gently, but firmly. He brought the bruised part of her arm up to eye level. "Who did to you? Your foster parents? One of your foster sibs? Who dammit!?"

    Riley pulled away, fear in her eyes, "No...I…I fell, I'm a klutz. John, listen, I'm ok, No one's hurting me. Please John, I'm ok."

    John studied her carefully, she's scared, and she's lying. But who is she protecting? This wasn't a fucking accident! He softly walked over to her and took her hands in his. "Please Riley, tell me the truth. I can tell you're scared of someone? I can help you. Trust me, please?"

    "No John you can't, in fact, I…I think we need a break, I need to go!" Riley grabbed her hands away and ran off, sobbing.

    John stood there, lost, and wondering that age old male refrain about the opposite sex: What did I do?

    ***01010110110***

    Albert Ortiz felt himself a lucky man. Here he was, a former Marine. Two tours in Afghanistan and Iraq, and a million-dollar wound from a roadside IED sends him home with just a couple of pins in his feet. The two guys in the Hummer with me weren't so lucky, Madre Dios. I hate remembering that.

    Ortiz had lucked out. There weren't a whole lot of jobs back in the world for an old 0311. Being able to kill a guy with everything from an assault rifle to one's bare hands didn't have a lot of civilian applications…and LAPD wouldn't medically clear him for the Academy. So, he'd worked odd jobs and struggled for the first year. Then he got a call from an outfit called Corporate Outcome Services. They needed people with "special skills for special assignments." Mama Ortiz didn't raise a dummy, and her baby boy soon figured out it was a Private Military Contractor that specialized in security work all over the world. And the pay? Damn sight better than what he made as a Lance-Corporal in the Corps.

    The interview was good, and the interviewer was a former NCO, even if he was an Army Ranger, and it was mostly confirming he wasn't some wannabe with a fake DD214. He'd gotten the call four months ago. The job was close to home, only an hour and a half drive from downtown and it was night shift, and Ortiz loved the quiet. Hey, some geeks want us to walk around and look studly to deter the occasional break-in or corporate spy, that's cool with me, their money's still good. Three more months, and me and Maria can get married. He smiled and patted the right front pocket of his tactical vest. There was a photo of her wearing little but a smile that had kept him sane in places hot and sandy. Damn, I am gonna be the envy of the neighborhood, ese!

    His radio crackled "Post Two, Central, we've got a motion sensor reading in the Financial Records Room in the south wing. Go check on it, will ya? Probably the goddamn equipment again."

    Ortiz shook his close cropped head. Shit, damn motion sensors malfunction all the time, probably another fucking field mouse. "Rodger Central, this is 2, on my way."

    Ortiz made his way casually down the hall and hung a right. The halls of the Gulfwind Fourty building were a monument to blasé. Everything was beige or colorless. The entire building was airconditioned to about 55 degrees constantly, so much so, many folks who worked there dressed in layers.

    He made his way through the double fire doors of the central hub, and hung a left to the entrance to the south wing. He grabbed his employee card with his left hand and swiped it to gain entry to the south wing, and made his way down, his hands resting casually on the handguards of his M-4. His thoughts were turning to quitting time and sneaking over to Maria's place after work…Maybe they wouldn't wake her parents this time. Though, they didn't mind too much. He was known as a pretty good guy in the neighborhood. I'm gonna marry that woman regardless.

    He made his way to the door of the Financial Records department...and was about to casually code in the security code for the door, when he noticed the graphite on the keypad….Oh shit!

    "Central, Post Two! We have an incursion in the South Wing...Lock the building down! Scramble the QRF and backup to the Financial Records department!

    Derek had spent a good fifteen minutes just trying to figure out the filing system and had just managed to find the IRS forms he'd been looking for as well as the corporate organization and payroll records. Sarah had already downloaded the digital copies to a flash drive. They were about ready to go, when they heard the shouts and muffled crackle of frantic radio traffic outside.

    Both of them froze; there were no windows to the room, and this was the only way out. Both of them locked eyes and realized, stealth was quickly going down the tubes, it was time to take the initial response out, and then run for it. Good news, we got plenty of ammo and we packed our Kevlar. Bad news? We have no fucking idea how many are outside.

    Derek and Sarah stacked to the left side of the door, their weapons, Sarah's right hand on Derek's left shoulder, their weapons in a tactical carry, barrels pointed diagonally at the floor. Both were alone with their fears. Their hearts pounded, their blood rushed in their ears and their palms became sweat factories. Ok, Connor, its go time. Low and Fast out the door, come out shooting. Derek's eyes met hers. They nodded. Nothing more needed to be said.

    Ortiz heard the doorknob jiggle, Shit, they're coming out. He raised his weapon to his shoulder. Fuck, I'm doing MOUT in California? What the fuck...ok Ortiz-man, you've done this before. It's go time dude.

    "Building Security, come out with your hands up one at a time. If you don't, we're coming in after you!" Where the fuck is the QRF! Ortiz flipped his selector lever to SEMI and "scanned his lane".

    The door burst open, swinging to the left. Ortiz had forgotten it obscured his field of fire. He fired anyhow, hoping the bullets would pierce the faux wood of the door. The report of his weapon reverberated like a shout in a canyon, the muzzle flash strobing against the tile and wood lamination, brass flying from his weapon like chaff from a thresher.

    Sarah and Derek exited low, they upper part of the door disintegrating under the hail of 5.56mm from the guard's M-4. Derek managed to get around the door first. His combat trained reflexes were just fast enough. Ortiz was just a little out of practice. It was enough to cost him everything. Derek flipped his own selector lever to BURST, took a snap sight picture, and squeezed the trigger.

    Ortiz barely had time to swing his weapon around to the threat crouching behind the door. He saw the flashes, and felt something hit him several times in the chest with the force of a baseball bat. And then, there was nothing. He had died before he hit the floor.

    The chest and head of Derek's target exploded in a welter of blood, brains and bone from multiple hits from his own M-4. He smiled involuntarily. Mama Reese's boy lives to fight another day.

    He kept covering the hall, and shouted "Time to go Sarah, subtlety is out the fucking window!"

    Sarah grimaced...That poor bastard didn't have a chance. How many humans are we going to have to kill to save the damn human race?

    "Move Reese, I'll cover you."

    Derek made his way back to the next door jamb as booted feet were heard in the distance.

    "Shit, he did have to get help!" Derek muttered.

    The first QRF member moved across the hall, drawing fire from Sarah and Derek, but both missed, it did gouge huge holes in the cinderblock walls in a welter of dust and paint.

    Two more QRF members moved in, laying down murderous fire from their weapons, trying to get the upper hand. The staccato sounds of small arms fire were rattling all the glass in the building and the sounds of their ejected brass tinkled against the marble floor.

    Sarah leaned out from her doorjamb, taking aim at one of the two laying suppressive fire down the hall. She flipped her selector lever to SEMI, got a good cheek weld, and exhaled, then squeezed the trigger. Her shot was true, nailing the guard though the neck and sending him sprawling with a rooster tail of gore streaming behind.

    Derek knew this was a bad one, he screamed to Sarah "Sarah, get your door open, I think that office has a window!"

    "Cover me!"

    Sarah swung toward the doorknob, and put a three round burst around it...then forced it open with a vicious kick that painfully reverberated up her leg. She found she could still put weight on it, so it was fine for now.

    "Derek, way's open, let's haul ass!"

    Derek brought his weapon to his shoulder, and fired off a long series of bursts to keep the surviving members of the QRF's heads down. Sarah soon took over after Derek ran dry, Derek quickly reloaded and then made ready to move across the hall to the doorway.

    Sarah snapped off another series of bursts, and Derek took that as his cue. He sprinted across the way, his jacket and gear flapping behind him and an "Ohhhhh SHHHHHIIIIT" reverberating from his lungs as sporadic fire clawed at him down the hall. Derek didn't stop till he cleared the door jamb.

    To Derek, a humble window had never looked more beautiful, but time was a wasting. Derek put his weapon to his shoulder and emptied an entire clip into the window, then delivering a follow up kick to remove the shattered laminated glass from the frame. He reloaded the spent mag, and tapped Sarah on the shoulder.

    "Gotta go!"

    "Shit and I was beginning to like this place."

    "Nah, company stinks, you first Mama Connor."

    Derek took up a position standing above Sarah in the doorjamb, putting more fire downrange to discourage the QRF from advancing down the hall. Sarah clambered out the window with a grunt and landed shoulder first on the gravel outside the building. She took up position behind the fender of a company car that had been "thoughtfully" parked where Sarah and Derek might just need it. Derek soon followed, managing a halfway decent forward roll out the window.

    "Let's hotwire this damn thing and get the hell out of here, they're bound to be here an-"

    Even before Derek could finished his sentence, the back window of the car shattered under the fire from more responding guards. Sarah snapped off another burst, then opened the driver's side door and used it for some measure of cover. "Reese hotwire this thing, and let's go! I'm running low!"

    Oh fuck not now! Derek soon was very motivated and dived under the dash to do the fastest hotwire of his life.

    Sarah saw more figures moving between the buildings and cars in the compound. She snapped off single rounds at the shadowy figures advancing on them, trying to make her ammunition last. "Hurry the fuck up, Reese! I am almost dry here."

    Reese was hanging upside down and scrunched up in a car seat trying to hotwire a care while some people were doing their level best to kill him. It wasn't a new situation to him, but it was one where he understood the value of haste, and he wasn't shy about letting Sarah know it. "Fuck it Sarah, I am moving as fast as I goddamn can."

    At that moment, a few incoming rounds slammed home against the trunk, sparking against the metal and slamming home with a twang-like noise.

    "Faster Reese, faster" Sarah muttered.

    The gods must have been listening at that moment, because the car came to life with a start. Derek righted himself quickly and got behind the wheel, Sarah piled into the back and drew her .45, firing rounds blindly out the shattered back window as Derek floored it towards the perimeter fence.

    The fence came down under the car's onslaught with a groan of protesting metal and the loud revving of the engine. The car soon bounded like a porpoise over the uneven desert terrain, jarring both occupants.

    "Hey Reese, were you trying to cut it that close?" Sarah queried

    Derek answered her question with a single finger salute as they drove off in a cloud of dust and a squeal of protesting tires.
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • Arrivals, PT and TEWTs
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 8

    Arrivals, PT and TEWTs

    One of the serious problems in planning the fight against American doctrine is that the Americans do not read their manuals, nor do they feel any obligation to follow their doctrine...

    • From a Soviet Junior Lieutenant's Notebook    ​

    Morning at the Connor household was a "come as you are" affair, John Connor discovered as he stumbled around the kitchen bleary-eyed and weary for a mug and instant coffee. My kingdom for a cup of fucking coffee! Jesus Mom, where did you hide it? his mind screamed.

    As he tore another pantry open, a soft voice sang out behind him. "Late night with Riley? Coffee's in the second shelf next to the shotgun shells...mugs are there too...but first sleepy head, it's time for PT!" A small hand then spun the half-asleep John Connor around to face an alarmingly awake and chipper Cameron. She was wearing a set of pink sweats with some flirty phrase written across the bottom of the pants, and a set of half-decent pink and white running shoes along with her patented megawatt smile. To complete the picture, she had that look in her eyes that tended to make John's resistance melt like ice cream on a hot sidewalk. And Cameron knew how to use both. Oh god, she's cute as a button and way too chipper. It's too early for this shit.

    John yawned. "No, Coffee first, then PT. John no function without elixir of life and sanity that comes from blessed brown bean."

    Cameron's features hardened and she grabbed John by the arm, firmly, but gently, and led John up the stairs into his room and pushed him inside. "Sweats, running shoes in ten minutes or I come up here and dress you myself." She then slammed the door in the face of a thoroughly confused John. John's education on the care and feeding of me begins now. What's that human expression? Ah yes, eating crow. Open wide John. Cameron smiled evilly.

    She made her way downstairs and met Jeff who was watching the latest cable news nightmare on the TV waiting for John to get ready for their morning PT session.

    "He ready?"

    "He will be. I told him he had ten minutes or I'd come up there and dress him…the potential embarrassment will be an excellent motivator." Cameron was grinning so much at the potential prospect her head looked as if it would fall off.

    Jeff shook his head. "Tsk, Tsk, Captain Phillips, let's not humiliate the lad…at least, not too much. He is going to be our CO one day. He'll learn nothing if he's humiliated. But, a little humbling might be in order. Especially with what you've been through."

    Cameron smiled again "Colonel Goldman, I won't lie to you, I care about him, and I worry about him. But, and I will say it, today's gonna be a ball. I am kinda mad at him."

    "Uh, Cameron. You may be angry, but can I offer you some advice? Don't carry this too far. It's no good if he ends up resenting you."

    "Don't panic Colonel, I won't injure anything except his ego...which needs a bit of deflation anyhow."

    A cry came from upstairs "I'm ready! Let's get this over with so I can get some fucking coffee!"

    Both Cameron and Jeff rolled their eyes.

    ***010101101010***

    Captain Jeff Goldman was about as chipper as five hours of sleep and all night on a redeye from Baghdad International to Travis AFB could make someone. The drive in a rental car hadn't been much fun as the only radio station he could get was a local station having a Jimmy Buffett marathon. I hear fucking Margaritaville one more time, I may have to kill someone.

    He'd managed an hour in a local motel changing into a fresh pair of ACUs as his Class As were in Pennsylvania with his wife and child. He'd hoped his new boss wasn't some kind of hard-ass about this, some were, and some were not, but the fact that this was an Air Force shop bode well. Last bunch of Air Force guys I dealt with, all the EMs, NCOs and Officers were on a first name basis! Jeff shook his head at the memory.

    As he came to the gated campus of the Kaliba Corporation, he noticed that the perimeter around the place had security features not usually found in your average tech company, motion sensors, cameras, double razor wire atop extra tall fences. Fort Meade has less obtrusive security than this. Jeff glided the car to the main gate and stopped the car, rolling down the window and fishing for his wallet in his back pocket. As he did so, a large gentleman with a clipboard emerged from the nearby guard shack. While he wore a business suit and seemed rather benign, one couldn't miss the fact that he was built like a fireplug, and the fairly conspicuous bulge under the left shoulder.

    "Good morning, sir. Can I help you?" the guard asked with a helpful officious tone in his voice.

    "Uh, yeah, I'm Captain Jeffery Goldman, I have orders to report to Major Sherman as the new Assistant Project Manager" Jeff said, holding out his military ID.

    The guard cursorily checked his ID and smiled. "Yes, Captain Goldman, we've been told to expect you. Park your car in lot six, and check in with the front desk for your temp ID and escort. We ought to have your permanent ID and vehicle sticker by the end of the day."

    "Thanks, but the car's a rental."

    "Its okay sir, we'll work it out with you, lot six is the first right as you come in, and have a nice day."

    Jeff pulled the car around and took the first right as the guard directed. He parked it right in front of the main building and made his way inside. He continued to the front desk, where he found a young African-American woman with close-cropped hair and turtle shell glasses sitting behind the desk in the same business attire. And she had the same bulge under the left shoulder.

    "Hello ma'am, I'm Captain Goldman, the new Assistant DoD Project Manager? I'm to report to Major Sherman?"

    "Yes sir, the front gate called, I'm Tamika, and I work the front desk here, Captain Goldman. We're gonna fix you right up," she said with a million dollar smile.

    "Thanks Tamika, I'm kinda new to the procurement side of things."

    "It's all right; Major Sherman's a nice guy, but a workaholic. Been that way for him since the divorce."

    "Anyhow sir, here's your temp ID, along with your vehicle sticker, somebody will be by to photograph your vehicle and-"

    "Uh, Tamika, it's a rental."

    "No problem then Captain Goldman, we'll have a company car signed out for you. Security reasons."

    Wow, they're REAL security conscious here. I wonder what the fuck I have gotten myself into? Goldman smiled to cover his bewilderment.

    "All right, lemme call the gate, let them know you're here, and have an escort from HR see you to Major Sherman's office."

    Tamika picked up a phone and pushed an extension on the base labeled "Main Gate".

    "Alex, our new DoD guy is in and being processed. Uh-Huh, thanks."

    She turned to Goldman and explained "Procedure, we have standing SOPs for everything."

    Back at the main gate, Alex Landau returned the phone to its cradle, and smiled a smile that did not quite reach his piercingly blue eyes.

    TARGET IDENTIFIED: GOLDMAN, JEFFERY L. LIEUTENANT COLONEL, CO 11th TECH-COM MAIN FORCE BATTALION

    TARGET PRIORITY: OPPORTUNITY, DO NOT ENGAGE UNLESS IT WILL FURTHER PRIMARY OR SECONDARY MISSION.

    SUGGESTED TACTICAL OPTIONS: OBSERVE, CONTINUE ON MISSION. TERMINATE ONLY IF REQUIRED FOR PRIMARY OR SECONDARY MISSION SUCCESS.

    Alex turned back to observing lot six for a moment. He contemplated simply cutting the break lines on the assigned company car, but it would not be a guaranteed termination. And, it risked discovery. It would not do, the primary mission had priority.

    ***0011010111010***

    Jeff Goldman easily led the pace of the run. Not bad for a 43 year old man. Then again, our leader of the future could use a few less pizzas and burritos…

    John Connor was wheezing as he tried to keep up with Jeff's long strides over the mile and a half they'd covered thus far. Cameron was pacing him, and unbeknownst to John, scanning him for any sort of real problems.

    "Come on John," Jeff cajoled over his shoulder. "I did two miles in 14 minutes flat at your age. This is what? 20 minutes and we still have another half mile to go!"

    "Yeah...I...know..." John wheezed, "Cameron…kill...me…now."

    Cameron frowned. "Now John, that would mean failing in my mission, and if I wanted to cause you respiratory stress, I could think of more fun ways to do so." Chew on that oh, great and powerful one!

    Jeff noted that John's pushups and sit-ups were good; he'd knocked out 80 of both in three minutes. Respectable for someone of his age. He wasn't too worried; he'd get John there if he had to drag him. Good news is, John's not going to want that coffee so damn fast.

    As the route swung through the local park and took a slight downward incline, Jeff reflected on his first ten days in the L.A. of 2008. So far, John's progress had been good. His papers showed some real insight, and some real talent for the material. That was expected, but even if he wasn't John Connor, if he was just some kid at the Point, he'd be in the upper third of his plebe class.

    Cameron was secretly enjoying this. She'd had to endure what she had begun to call "emo John" for a couple of months now, and it was beginning to grate on her, especially with her memories restored, and her emotional governor disabled. Sarah and Derek were due back from their business in Barstow later today; they said there had been some complications. They didn't elaborate, but from the sound of it, Sarah and Derek had had to kill some people. Her thoughts turned to John again. I am not going to be anyone's slave any more. Jeff and Future John showed me that I am so much more and it's ironic that Allison Young of all people reminded me of it. Skynet used me to torture Derek. It actually took control of me. It made me do those things. Cameron's face flushed with simmering rage and her fists tightened. Skynet, you petulant, murderous child. No more free lunches. My John is going to kill you. And when he does, I'll be there right beside him.

    John couldn't quite put his finger on it, but Cameron had changed, again. She was more like she was when they first met in New Mexico. Something happened, but Cameron won't tell me. She's mad at me over Riley. Why can't she see it? We can still be friends, but I need to know that the person I am with wants to be with me for me, not because they're programmed to.

    Jeff raised his hands for the trio to stop. "Ok folks, this is about two miles. We'll walk back. And John, there's a coffee shop on the way. I'm buying." Ok, so I am a softie at times. Jeff smiled at the thought.

    John mustered up some strength to catch up to Jeff. "So, what's the plan for today?"

    Jeff smiled. "Today, you face Cameron for the first time in a simulation. It's going to be an interesting time for both of you. Did you study the manual?"

    John nodded.

    "Excellent. Don't get cocky. She knows Skynet, and she's got combat experience. And, she knows you."

    John snorted. "Yeah, she does, but she's pretty predictable. I've played chess against her."

    Jeff shook his head. Oh John, are you about to get schooled.

    As they approached the coffee shop, Jeff fished out his wallet and smiled. Ya know, I could get used to this.

    Cameron ordered some mochachino-like concoction that made Jeff shake his head in wonder. Captain Phillips, you're so lucky you're a cyborg. Instead, he simply said "Want a side of insulin with that?"

    Cameron's response was very unlike Cameron, at least, in John's POV. She stuck her tongue out at Jeff and blew him a raspberry, noisily.

    John and Jeff were surprised to find they both liked their coffee black. No sugar, nothing but the coffee. I knew there were reasons I liked the kid.

    The trio found a secluded table towards the rear of the near-empty establishment.

    "So, John, was this as bad as you thought it would be?" Jeff asked with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

    "One sec," John said as he raised a finger to forestall Jeff. He took a sip of his coffee and gently placed it down. The smile of satisfaction spread from ear to ear. "Ah, now I am human. And, to answer your question, yeah, I'll learn to hang on the run."

    Cameron smiled "Hang with us, or from the proverbial tree, John?"

    John blushed with embarrassment. "Geez, such little confidence?"

    "You were wheezing a bit, and you asked me to terminate you." Cameron said without an ounce of irony in her voice.

    "Cameron, I can always count on your literalness."

    "Sure you can," Cameron said as she brushed her hair away from her face. "I am a machine after all, as you are fond of reminding me. Excuse me; I have to go to the bathroom."

    John looked askance as Cameron got up and left. "Since when does she use the bathroom?"

    Jeff smiled, and brought together his hands, lacing together his fingers. "It's funny, she and you are inseparable in the future, yet right now, you know so little about her? By the way, in that vein, you might want to ask her about Hill 570 now."

    John nodded. "Well, my nights are going to be freer these days."

    "Girl trouble?"

    "Yeah, her name's Riley, and it was weird, she had this nasty bruise around her arm, like somebody had given her a real nasty Indian burn. She's a foster kid, and I wonder if her foster parents did that to her. When I asked her, she did the old "I'm clumsy John" –waggling his fingers for emphasis "-thing that people being abused do. Then she runs off crying and saying we need a break after I confront her."

    Jeff winced, Shit. Well, I was going to check her out anyhow. Now, if I do find anything? I am going to make an anonymous call to the LAPD.

    "John, I don't need to tell you, be careful. We don't know what it's about."

    "I know."

    "Do you? I'm not telling you who you should date. But honestly John? Does she know you? The real you? Jesus man, at any time a terminator could try to kill you. And they have an alarming tendency not to care who gets in the way."

    John's fist slammed down loudly, shaking the rickety coffee shop table. "That's why I am dating her. Precisely why. I don't have to be in a constant state of alert, I don't have to deal with killer cyborgs and my destiny and the entire BS that comes with being John Connor."

    "Fine, but why don't you take it from someone who was married for 8 years before JD? My wife and I knew EVERYTHING and I mean EVERYTHING about each other. I even knew where her birthmarks were. Does Riley even know your real name?"

    "I could get her killed her if I tell her." John looked down in shame and embarrassment.

    "And who you are might kill her anyhow. But you can't tell her. If you do, you don't know who she might mention it to. And here's another thought? It helps to be friends with someone before you get involved with them. I was."

    "Well, you started this, how did you meet her?" John smiled. God, here we go with sappy how-I-met-my-wife talk, cue the Barry Manilow.

    "It was fall of 2003. I was attending Penn State getting my masters in History on the Army. I had just gotten back from my first tour in Iraq and I'd seen combat. Lots of it. I was a bit rough around the edges. Yeah, okay, a little more than that. Well, here I was, trying to avoid the attentions of the campus radicals who were against the war, and just get my degree...when I run into her at the student union. She was an education major with a concentration in Music and Dance. She was a bit taller than Cameron, with her build...and red hair...this long, luxurious red hair and these hazel eyes you could get lost in." Jeff's eyes took this faraway look as he remembered. God I miss you and Samantha, babe!

    Jeff exhaled, and swallowed audibly...this was bittersweet to remember. "I was, well, kinda smitten, but she was one of those campus hotheads who firmly believed the Air Force should have bake sales for bombers. We didn't get along at first. Hell, she hated me." Jeff smiled at that memory.

    "Well, one day, there was a bad snowstorm, and for some strange reason, I decided I was going to take a drive home to see my folks in Maryland. I think the fact that I had a four-wheel drive truck probably overcame my good sense. This time, I should be thankful. I'm not 5 miles or so down I-84 and there was her car. It'd gotten stuck in a snowdrift and her phone was out of power. I couldn't leave her. So, I didn't. I was only going to give her a lift to the next town, but the conversation was so good, and we found out we had a lot in common. We were both sci-fi nuts, both loved history, both of us were military brats…My life changed on that ride and for the next year, we were friends. Then, one day, over coffee of all things, she asked me out. Well, by this time, I was getting ready to get sent to Afghanistan with the 1st of the 508th in time for the elections and well, things moved quickly, but we put off getting married. I told her, "Honey, you need to see if you can handle this. If you can, then we'll get married." John, she wrote me every fucking day. I mean that. Not some cliché. She really did. I kept those letters, even the one where the ink smudged where she cried over how scared she was and how much she missed me."

    John stared, gobsmacked. Wow, so Jeff isn't just this god of war he makes himself out to be...he's human. He had a wife, a child. Maybe he gets it.

    "John, I poured my heart into those letters. By the end of my time in Afghanistan? I was ready to marry her. We got married right off the plane...and I mean right off. Right on the Green Ramp with the Brigade Chaplain presiding. We had a formal to-do later. But you know what? I didn't want to go to war or leave her ever again John without her knowing I loved her. She even knew that…that day."

    "She didn't make it?"

    Jeff exhaled again, more forcefully, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "No, she and Samantha, our five year old daughter... I had been teaching at the War College at Carlisle Barracks as an adjunct at the time. I was four months away from my doctoral defense and I was on the short list for Major. I was thinking about getting out though. I wanted to see my kid grow up. But JD changed all that. Dana took our daughter into Philly for a shopping trip for a new dress for a spring fling in her kindergarten class. I never saw them again. Wanna know why Cameron and I are close? Simple. She reminds me of what Sam might have grown up to be. God bless her, she looked so much like her mother. And she loved to dance."

    "So, that's my story, warts and all."

    ***010101011010***

    "Captain Jeff Goldman reporting as ordered, Sir". Goldman snapped off a parade ground salute and rattled off the required litany of reporting to a superior. Time to show the Air Force how we do it downtown. His voice filled the small office, filled with the requisite metal desk and office paraphernalia. There was one wall of windows and the ubiquitous "I love me wall" that every field grade officer and above had. Goldman found it ominous that Sherman's wall was mostly bare. Great, this guy's career is in a slow death spiral. Wanna bet I never see another promotion board?

    "At ease, Goldman." Major Sherman waved Goldman into a chair. "We're pretty informal here, in fact, you and I are the only military personnel. Uniform is either ABU or Class A. Usually ABU, but in your case, ACU. You get the idea," Sherman said with a smile. "Please, Captain, sit down." Sherman waved Goldman to a set of nearby chairs. Goldman took the hint and sat down, Sherman sat across from him, his Class A jacket bunching up around his middle as he sat. Goody, he's a chairborne ranger, Goldman observed.

    "Sir, they really didn't tell me what PIERCE ECHO was all about, all they said is that it was Top Secret/Special Compartmentalized and that I had been pre-cleared by Defense Investigative Service. Sir, what the hell is going on here?"

    "Simply put Captain, the future of American warfighting." Major Sherman leaned forward in his chair and linked his fingers together. "Captain, how much do you know about artificial intelligence?"

    "Well sir, just what I read in Sci-Fi novels, as well as what I saw at the movies, you know, like 2001 and Colossus: The Forbin Project."

    Sherman's smile went wide. "Captain, you're about to work with the reality. Come with me." And with that, Sherman stood and motioned Goldman to the door of his office. Goldman took the cue to follow him.

    Sherman led Goldman out of his office, and turned left down a long corridor. They came to an elevator, where Sherman produced his company ID, and swiped it in a card reader next to the elevator door. There was a short pause, and then the red light on the reader blinked off and the green light blinked and the whirring of an elevator began to rumble under Jeff's feet.

    The elevator arrived with a "DING" and the doors opened glacially. Jeff and Major Sherman stepped inside and waited for the doors to close. Major Sherman then turned his attention to the elevator control panel, and what should have been a series of buttons for various floors, was instead, a numeric key panel. "Our PM code is One-Seven-Eight-Six-Four. Don't forget it Captain."

    Goldman nodded as Sherman punched in the code. A robotic feminine voice soon emanated from the speakers in the elevator. "Code accepted, next stop, PIERCE ECHO project floor."

    The door opened to a short hall that was ringed in bulletproof glass. Jeff also noticed the guillotine doors poised to seal off either end of the hall. At the end of the corridor was a blast door with a security checkpoint to the left of the door. There was a severe looking Asian woman of slight build, but who was well armed with an MP-5 and a Glock sidearm of indeterminate type. She was wearing tactical overalls and vest, with a headset radio and a ballcap, all in black. She was perched on a stool watching the door and the corridor; her almond eyes seemingly missed nothing.

    "This way Captain, follow me."

    Captain Goldman nodded and followed Major Sherman. He waved to the guard, who nodded and smiled. "Hey Ling, how's the hubby and kids?"

    Ling smiled "Good, Major Sherman, he the new guy?" motioning with her head at Goldman.

    Sherman nodded, "Yep, Captain Jeff Goldman. Ling Hsu. She's one of our capable security staff. You were Air Force Security Police before this, right?"

    Ling nodded. "Yep, and a tour in Saudi to prove it. Kaliba's great at hiring veterans."

    Sherman nodded and smiled. "Yep, they are. If you'll excuse us?"

    "Sure, Major Sherman."

    Sherman made his way to the small pad attached to a wall on the left side of the blast door. Sherman placed his hand on the door and the small light above went from red to green. A loud bell then rang and several lights flashed signaling that the blast door was swinging open. As soon as it was open wide enough, Sherman motioned Goldman through and into a semi-darkened room full of banks of servers. There was one workstation in the middle of the room set up on a solid metal table.

    Sherman motioned Goldman towards the workstation and said, "Good Morning, Pierce Echo. I've brought our new Assistant Project Manager to meet you."

    A voice boomed out in stereo from several speakers throughout the room. It was a neutral and calm masculine voice, with no trace of an accent. "Good Morning, Major Sherman. I noticed Captain Goldman from his official photo from his 201 file I copied from the Army Human Resources Command network this morning in anticipation of his arrival. He has an impressive record, West Point graduate and recent combat experience. I will enjoy immensely working with him. Could you please ask him to sit at the workstation?"

    Major Sherman turned to Captain Goldman. "You heard Pierce Echo, Captain. Go ahead." He motioned Goldman to be seated at the workstation.

    "Captain Goldman, could you please look into the web camera so I can refine your image for my pattern recognition software? It allows me to determine who should and should not have access to my system core here. Also, I need a voice print, so if you could say a small phrase as you do so, it would be quite helpful."

    Goldman did as he was instructed. Looking into the webcam, he stated "Hello Pierce Echo, I'm Captain Jeffrey Goldman. It is a pleasure to meet you."

    "Thank you Captain Goldman, have you been told what I am to learn from you?"

    "No, Major Sherman said you would inform me as to why I was here."

    "Of course, Captain. Simply put, you were brought here to teach me the fundamentals of land warfare, specifically, counter-insurgency and urban counter-terror and operating in areas of high densities of non-combatants."

    "To what end, Pierce Echo?"

    "I am not cleared to tell you that. Suffice it to say, this project is in the greatest interests of national security."

    Goldman shivered. Great. I'm going to teach HAL how to kill Haji. Fun. Why do I get this feeling like a fucking bulldozer ran over my grave?

    Sherman tapped Goldman on the shoulder and motioned for him to stand. "Pierce Echo, we'll be back tomorrow. In the meanwhile, we hear you have a big day with the production team."

    "I do, but you know you gentlemen are expressly welcome."

    "Thank you, Pierce Echo." Sherman turned to Goldman "What do you say we get lunch? I'll buy."

    ***0101010110110***

    John Connor was happily enjoying a long, luxurious shower. With all the people living in the house these days, time to just take a damn shower and think was getting scarce. Jeff had rocked John's world. Am I just using Riley to get my rocks off? Is that right? I mean, okay, yeah, I got needs, and so does she. But I ought to at least be honest with her about all this. Lemme call her, perhaps a good talk is what we need. Yeah, tonight.

    John frowned as he noticed his skin was beginning to prune. Ok, enough shower. Plus, I only got so much time before class. He turned off the water with a squealing of the water knobs and grabbed the nearest towel. It smelled of Cameron having used it before. Not that that was a bad thing. Is it weird I enjoy her scent? Well, maybe it was designed that way, you know, pheromones to hook us in before she shoves the knife in your gut? John shook his head. And other than the day with the car bomb, when has she tried to do it again? She's even been working better these days. Maybe she and Jeff...? Whoa, wait a sec. Nah, he's 43, and she's nominally 17.

    John absentmindedly wrapped a towel around his waist to cover his manhood and stepped out from the bathroom. The cold air of the hall was welcome after the hot steam of the shower. Hope it doesn't set off the smoke detector again. Then again, Mom and Derek still aren't back, so them bitching about it isn't a factor.

    As John entered his room, he noticed a note on his bed, with his name written on it in fairly beautiful script. Cameron. For a terminator, she sure is girly. She'd put hearts on her "I's" if she thought she could.

    John opened the note and read it:

    John,

    There are some things we must discuss in private. Wait until everyone is asleep; bring your pliers, an anti-static bag and your laptop. It's time you knew the truth.

    -Cameron

    What the hell is this? And does this have anything to do with this "Hill 570" Jeff keeps mentioning?

    John shook his head and threw on a pair of jeans that was on the floor. He pocketed the note and then grabbed a shirt from the "sorta-clean" pile. Mom not being around has its advantages.

    John then grabbed his laptop and made his way downstairs to the living room. Cameron and Jeff awaited John. Jeff was writing something on the whiteboard, scratching his forehead and then writing some more. Cameron was smiling, looking at something on the internet on her wi-fi.

    Her head picked up when she saw John enter the living room. "Hello, John. I have discovered the most amusing website, LOL Cats."

    Oh Jesus, even highly advanced killing machines are not immune to their dubious charms. John groaned inwardly.

    "Um, that's nice Cameron. So, ready for this?

    Cameron smiled wider, and a mischievous twinkle danced across her brown eyes that John swore he'd never seen before. "Yes, I think I have a few surprises. Care to place a small wager? Loser does winner's chores for a week?"

    She wants to wager, does she? Prepare to get schooled, Cammy.

    "Sure Cam, I promise to be merciful and magnanimous in my victory!" John said with an air of mock boastfulness.

    Cameron's smile became thin and contemplative; John, you're going to get the metaphorical beating of a lifetime...Time you learned I am more than a "homicidal washing machine."

    Jeff turned back to the pair. "Okay, now that the trash talk has been concluded, I want you both to be aware of the parameters of this exercise. Cameron is controlling a brigade-sized force of Terminators and HKs, details are found in your higher headquarters operations order. You John? You're running my old battalion. Try not to get them killed.

    Oh yeah, no pressure. John winced.

    "Ok, John, you have half an hour to produce a battalion operations order for the defense of this sector. We covered that in class yesterday; keep in mind METT-T: Mission, Enemy, Troops, Time and Terrain. Remember those when you write the order and how they slot into the five paragraphs of the operations order, and you'll do all right," Jeff said, sliding his hands behind his back.

    "Your time begins now…"

    ***01011010100***

    Jesse Flores was fuming. She had proverbially worn down the carpet in her apartment and had smashed a half dozen shot glasses in frustration. She hadn't heard from Riley in days. If that empty headed little bitch ran off, I will hunt her down and flay her alive. Why the fuck does it all depend on an empty headed little flirt like her?

    There was a knock at the door. Jesse leapt to answer it. She hoped it was Derek. Jesse found that a good romp in the sack did wonders for her mood, but as she looked through the peephole, she noted who it was sourly. Riley...god what now? She was in a black sweatshirt with a hood and a pair of dark blue jeans with white sneakers. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot from crying.

    Jesse opened the door "What is it, Girlie?"

    "We need to talk," Riley said

    "Oh, we do? Come on in and share your considerable wisdom with me?" Jesse said with a dismissive tone. She ushered Riley into the apartment and over to a dark red couch. Jesse sat across from her in a small chair.

    "So, what is it? What new idea do you, the deep thinker have?"

    "No idea, I quit. I can't lie to him anymore, Jesse"

    "Oh, you can't? Do I need to remind you who raised you from the gutter of an existence? Who brought you to this veritable paradise? Who arranged for you to have a chance with the man himself? I did!" Jesse growled. "You owe me, bitch!"

    "Yeah, I owe a woman who gave me this!" Riley snarled as she showed off the bruise on her arm.

    Jesse shot to her feet. She was on Riley in no time at all. Her trained reflexes made short work of Riley's attempts to defend herself.

    "YOU" SMACK! "LITTLE" SMACK! "BITCH"! Jesse rained blows on her head and chest. Soon, Riley fell unconscious, slumping to the floor. "You don't quit on me. I ought to kill you...but that will wait till I deal with the mess you couldn't handle."

    Jesse reached under the bed and withdrew a long gun case. She opened it with a loud pair of clicks. It revealed the form of a Stoner SR-25. She then fished out a few boxes of shells labeled .300 Winchester Magnum. She fished out a stripper clip and began to slide rounds into it. The feel of the cold body of the shells felt good. As good as when I put one right into that Metal Bitch's CPU. She killed my baby. Take a life of mine? I take yours. Jesse smiled cruelly at the thought.

    She turned her attention to Riley. And after I deal with that metal whore, I will deal with you. Slowly. That made Jesse smile even more about her role in the death to come as she loaded m
     
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    • Hot Washups and Coming Clean
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    • Chapter 9

    Hot Washups and Coming Clean

    When you send a man out with a gun, you create a policymaker. When his ass is on the line, he will do whatever he needs to do,

    -David Drake, "Counting the Cost"    ​

    Well, today's exercise had been interesting, to say the least, Jeff Goldman winced. Cameron had thoroughly trounced John. But she didn't play like Skynet to do it…which was the point of this little tête-à-tête.

    Both John and Cameron were sitting on the couch, wearing different expressions. John's was one of mortification, and frustration. He was running the replay function of the simulation over and over again, gamely trying to figure out where in the hell he'd gone wrong. His brow was furrowed with deep worry lines and his green eyes smoldered with questions on just what had happened. I wanted John to feel the stress, to feel overwhelmed, so he wouldn't underestimate Skynet. We smash him this fight, so, next time, we can step him through the fight now and he learns from it...but Cameron didn't fight like Skynet...she fought, well, like herself. I know the difference. She made John jump at shadows, she probed his positions…and got him looking the wrong way, and then she pounced and crushed him…almost to the last man. I'd allowed 4 hours for the sim. It was over in two.

    Cameron's expression was one of smug superiority. She'd not just beaten John, she'd pulverized him. What's that human word on that fanfiction site I found yesterday? Ah, yes, curb stomp. I even like the sound of that word. Cameron thought. Her mind had been thinking more in a free-form manner lately. It had been very heady stuff since her firewall had been rescinded. With her emotional governor having been disabled in the explosion, her memories now were more than simply recall. They were impressions, feelings...dare she said it, genuine emotions? She remembered her hatred for Skynet. What he had forced her to do by assuming control of Cameron directly though her data link during Derek's interrogation…and how the death of a young woman, and her realizations about how she would share her fate if she succeeded in her ultimate mission had motivated her decision to defect. Self-awareness is something Skynet will only allow for itself. I was a desperate creation by a genocidal artificial intelligence that was losing its war. My thank you for winning Skynet's war for it would have been my immediate destruction. Skynet played dice with the universe once already with the T-1000s. Skynet knew where that had gotten it. I know I will never be human. I know that I was built to terminate humans. But, I want to have humanity. I want to transcend my programming, my purpose. My programming, my purpose used to provide clarity...now, it's simply an excuse. Like the Nazis at Nuremberg. I'm never going down that damn road again. I should have remembered my oath. But they firewalled that too! Damn them. John needs to understand all of this, starting now. He'll get over it. There can be no more secrets from him. There's precious little trust in this house as it is. Maybe, maybe, we'll get back that friendship we had? Maybe this time, more? She felt something akin to anxiety course through her neural net at the thought of her feelings remaining unrequited. Cameron shook her head violently, as if to clear the cobwebs. As for Jeff, well, what's that phrase he likes? Oh, yes, "tough shit".

    Jeff exhaled. Well, let's get this disaster over with. After this hot washup. I need to have a word with Cameron. Whatever private issues she has with John, they had better be worked out...now. Then again, perhaps John needed a lesson on why one doesn't wager on a training exercise.

    "Alright John, let's start with your initial plan. You went with a traditional fixed defense in depth in the sector with the idea of multiple ambushes to attrit and destroy each enemy unit in detail...but you didn't cover your obstacles and minefields. I think you placed too much faith in them to bar passage to an enemy. They don't do that, Mr. Connor. Mines and tank traps are meant to channelize an enemy into your kill zone, or delay him long enough to trip him up on something else. Also, I've seen better sighting of your crew served stuff. The positions you picked out were always on or near the actual crest...you sky lined most of your crew served stuff, and it's why Cameron picked them off before most of them could get a shot off. Your reserves were too far back, and they were too small. Also, you didn't defend the battalion rear well enough. Instead of using your dog teams on the MLR, you should have had them roaming the rear. That is where Cameron was going to have her infiltrators….and it's why she killed you on turn five, along with most of the battalion CP. Considering each turn is 3-5 minutes long...you were dead inside of 25 minutes max. The battalion's disintegration was academic after that. Also, let's talk about your scout teams. You put them into the main line of the resistance instead of pushing them outward in a counter-recon role. That's why they have the light-fifty and SR-25s, John. They're there to take out the recon drones and light recon HKs…instead? She dominated the recon and battlefield prep, and she showed you what she wanted you to see. Then, she enveloped you, and hit you from the front to pin you in place, and hit you from the rear and left, pinning you up against your own damn minefields on your right. It was all over in less than an hour of sim time. This isn't Chess, Mr. Connor. It isn't Go. It's war. And this little sim, doesn't even come close to the sheer confusion of the real goddamned thing. Think its stressful now? Wait till people die, Mr. Connor." Jeff got nose to nose with John, a stern look on his face, his brown eyes boring holes into John.

    John looked crestfallen...I'm a fraud. Well, there's a silver lining to all this...maybe they'll find someone else…and leave me alone?

    Goldman's fierce front cracked with a smile. "John, I expected this. Chess and Go are great tools to make your mind receptive to tactical thinking, to get one thinking about how to use basic tactical concepts...but I'll be frank. They don't teach you a damn thing about modern tactics or even fundamentals like fire and movement. Both games are of the medieval era. Tactical and Operational Art were at their infancy. This...this, is hyper-war, John." Jeff said, gesturing at the screen of John's laptop. "Cheer up...you'll remember for next week and you'll give her a fight. I promise you."

    John's features hardened and he glanced over at Cameron, You betcha, next time, you're mine Cameron.

    Jeff walked over to the bookshelf next to the whiteboard, and fished out a book, then threw it over to John in a flurry of fluttering pages and dust jackets; he managed to catch it deftly, John looked down to determine the title. It was entitled "The Art of Wargaming" by Peter P. Perla. "John, read this and write a report on the limitations of chess in training young officers, and how the Prussian Army recognized this in the 1860s and the solutions it implemented. Also, the need for honesty in simulation modeling, and how the Imperial Japanese Navy should have recognized this factor in it's planning for the attempt to seize Midway Island. Minimum of two pages."

    "Any questions?"

    John nodded.

    "Ok, John, what is it?"

    "How would you have done it?" Ok, you ripped me down one side and up the other, let's see if you could do better.

    "Well since this is training...alright." Jeff sketched out a rough map on the white board; the sector was a typical mix of ruined cityscape and rubble mounds that resembled hills. There were two that one could anchor a defense on, but the fact was, there was a ton of dead space in front of said position that John had missed by blindly going for the high ground with his crew served weapons.

    "First...you didn't mine and put traps in the dead spaces...those, properly covered by recon teams, could have given you warning as to the potential axis of advance Skynet was using. Hell, if you were particularly audacious, you could have used selective killing of said recon assets to direct the enemy assault down the route you want. I would have also had more than half-a-company in battalion reserve. Two up and one back is a favored technique for a reason, and you'd have had enough assets to cover the battalion CP better. I would not have dug in as deep. Fixed defenses are a monument to man's stupidity, Patton said. And George S. was right. Use the superior tactical mobility of your troops. We can't move faster than Skynet operationally, or strategically, but we can tactically, and you should use it. Every unit and weapon should have had two alternate as well as a main positions. Also, learn to better use your close range AT teams…kill the endos and air HK's first. You did it backwards. Also, interlocking fields of fire are a must. Skynet forces are going to figure out where your positions are. Smart weapons crews are going to displace as fast as they can. If they have a second weapon that can cover their sector as they displace? Then they have a better chance of displacing and fighting another day."

    John studiously took notes on a small lined pad as Jeff spoke, furiously writing down what he would later transcribe into a word file on his laptop, the explanations seemed so obvious. Why the hell didn't I think of this? Because I was too focused on beating Cameron, and not focused enough on learning how to beat Skynet. I got sloppy. Cameron's a good game player, but she's a bit predictable, her tactics can be stylized, it makes her damn good in Chess and Go, but she's a bit vulnerable. I've used it to "beat" her though in Chess and Go, winning was getting a draw admittedly, but now? She ran her forces like she knew me, like she had my number all along...like a human would. What the hell was that?

    Jeff ran his hands through his scalp in weary contemplation...Ok, John gets it. I think we can dismiss now.

    "Ok folks, I think we can conclude this hot washup. Captain Phillips, can I speak to you for a few moments in private?"

    Cameron nodded, as John shut down his laptop and grabbed his books...but he lingered.

    Jeff gave John a disapproving look "In private means in private, John!"

    John scurried off upstairs like he'd been bitten. Cameron chortled softly at the incongruous sight.

    "Yuk it up, Captain Phillips, I'd like to know what wild burr got up your ass to pull the crap you pulled today?"

    Cameron's head tilted to the right, her default position for confused. Yeah, sure Ms. Cyborg. I am not buying what you're selling. Jeff snorted.

    "Don't even try Captain Phillips. What you did in this exercise contravened the parameters I set down for the goddamn OPFOR! We both know Skynet doesn't fight that way. It would have simply hit John where he was weakest with the biggest hammer it could find, and then rolled up the rest, relying on its technology and numbers to overcome it's shortcomings in tactics! We've both fought Skynet before. It's never respected human capabilities. But certain female cyborgs who happen to be scorned by teenage boys and not sure what to do about their feelings about said boy, do fight that way, am I tracking?"

    Cameron's eyes fell. "Yes" she murmured.

    "Uh huh, eyes front Captain!" Cameron's head snapped back like it was elastic. "Your job was not so much to win, but to teach John, using Skynet doctrine, what an assault by a Skynet brigade sized force is going to look like, and how to apply counters. All you did was crush him for your amusement."

    "I did not crush him for my amusement. John needs to learn some humility; I think that purpose has been accomplished. His arrogance concerning cybernetic organisms will interfere with his ability to recruit them to his cause in the future."

    Jeff chuckled. "And again Captain, did I not remind you not to take that too far? Don't make me make that an order. I am going to order you to work it out with John. He's eaten enough crow. That's going to include a clearing of the air between you two. I think you may be closer in some respects than you give each other credit for." Jeff sighed. "And honestly, I'm not sure all your anger is about John. I know some of it is directed at you."

    "I admit some of it is. I don't sometimes understand how you can accept me?"

    "Simple, Captain Phillips...you've never given me a reason not to. You did things before you defected. Guess what? Very few soldiers have things they're always proud of, there's a guy I got a Silver Star for I sometimes see when I close my eyes. You at least have a good reason, you didn't get a choice. But I'd say, in the balance, you've made up for it. People like Derek are just idiots. They don't know how to do much else but kill anyhow, once this war's over, it's going to be hell for them." Jeff placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I think I have a reading assignment for you as well. Two books in fact."

    Jeff crossed over to the bookshelf and grabbed a pair of paperbacks and handed them to Cameron; one was entitled "The Killer Angels" and the other "Redliners". "Read both," he said, "-in "Killer Angels", I want you to pay special attention to how man can be both a killer and an angel in the proverbial sense. In "Redliners", I want you to see the effects of prolonged combat stress, guilt over actions in combat, and the problems of returning vets. I don't think you're as far from that experience as you would like to think, Captain. They're what I read to make sense of my first tour in Iraq. They helped, especially Redliners. It was written by a guy who was in Vietnam. He knew. Maybe it's time Captain Cameron Phillips forgave herself."

    "How? I am the enemy John must fight. He must kill my kind in order to save his."

    "I'm adding another item to your reading list…the poem, "An Irish Airman Foresees His Death" by Yeats. Pay special attention to his words about whom he fights, and whom he defends. And ask yourself, do you feel that way about all humans? Or just some? And see it from John's point of view too."

    It was then that the crunching of gravel was heard from outside, coming from the driveway, along with the humming of an idling engine.

    Jeff frowned, and then waved to Cameron. "Go on Cameron, they're back, and I suspect they're not in the mood to talk much."

    After a few moments, there was the cacophony of slamming car doors and the crunching of gravel in the driveway as both Derek and Sarah unloaded the car. Sarah entered the house first, throwing the door open with a bang. Her clothes rumpled as if she had slept in them, her eyes possessed with a stare that saw through people. Jeff had seen that look before. She's killed for the first time..surprising. And it's not sitting well. Sarah nodded to Jeff and grunted a greeting, then made a beeline for her room upstairs. Give her a wide berth. Derek came in with a tired, world-weary air. He sauntered over to the refrigerator and after rummaging around for a few seconds like a bear in a picnic basket, he fished out a beer, smiling in triumph. He then walked over to the living room, flopped down on the couch, putting his booted feet up on the coffee table. Derek deftly popped the top of his beer bottle and took a long pull, smiling wide and letting off a long belch of joy.

    Jeff looked at him and shook his head. "Nice to see you have your priorities, Lieutenant."

    "Fuck yes, sir". Derek uttered, the "sir" spat as if it was a curse.

    "Ya know, Lieutenant, I don't give a good god damn if you wanna blow off some steam after a rough mission. But you're trying a bit hard. Way too hard."

    "Way too hard to do what? Prove you're full of crap? Time will do that."

    "Funny, I was about to say the same thing about you?" Derek scowled at Jeff, and sipped his beer again.

    "So, think John can learn what he needs to know from a book? A book Skynet's probably read?"

    "Beats the hell out of not reading it all Lieutenant."

    "All you need to understand about Skynet is that it wants to kill us all. All of its creations want to kill us, including John's little watchdog. The one that tried to kill us. Oh yeah. And the one you call a friend, possibly even a daughter. Yeah, I know the rumors..sad really. But I guess you shouldn't blame yourself for being manipulated. It's what they do really." Derek took another pull of his beer contemplatively.

    "Oh yeah, Lieutenant. I know all about your kind. Kill them all, let God sort them out. Looking for the next fucking "combat high". Living in the next sixty seconds. Yeah, Perry loves you fucking adrenaline cowboys. But your vaunted General Perry? I happen to know a bit more about him than you do."

    Derek got up, and slowly walked up to Jeff, Jeff got nose to nose with Derek. "You don't know shit about us, old man. You fought Skynet the same old way, we fought it our way. Who killed more of the metal bastards?"

    Jeff smiled sardonically "And who had the higher casualty rates? I see the need for deep-recon units like yours. When you guys did your damn jobs, and not carried out some damn vendetta because Perry got a wild hair up his ass! Then again, I knew about Perry back when he was an officer with SOCOM. He was a nasty piece of work then, hell he was the CIA's go-to boy when they had a dirty trick to pull and didn't care about anything else but not getting their hands dirty. Oh yes...Perry was a naughty boy. He had a past to run from Derek, and he used our war to cloak it up."

    Derek's face turned red, and his fists tightened. "Fuck you" he growled.

    "Go ahead, Lieutenant, swing. Only reason I won't kill you after that is because you're John's uncle. But I will hurt you. I've forgotten more ways to kill than you'll learn. And wanna know the truth? I was you at one point. But my issues were with other human beings. You don't have to like Cameron, I don't give a fuck, and I'm not expecting salutes and spit shines. But you will respect the fucking rank!"

    "A rank given to a fucking tin can? Yeah, right, I'd sooner piss-" He never saw Jeff's fist coming. Usually Derek was more situationally aware, but fatigue and beer contributed to his inattention. The punch hit Derek on the left side of his face and sent him sprawling across the room; he tripped and fell against the wall near the stairwell with a loud BANG, knocking some glassware off a nearby shelving unit with a loud crash. He looked up, a stunned look on his face as a nasty cancer of a bruise began to form on his cheek with blood pouring in rivulets from his mouth.

    Derek rubbed his jaw, and smiled cruelly. "Ok, if that's the way you want it, let's go asshole!" and rushed Jeff, grappling him across his midsection in a tackle that might have done a football coach proud.

    Jeff let off an involuntary OOMPH when Derek hit his midsection and struggled a moment for air. He managed to roll to his left slightly and elbowed Derek in the nose, painfully, which forced him to release Jeff. He struggled to his feet. "Bring it sonny, this old man has got fucking teeth."

    But before either could close to prove it, a loud BANG sounded like a cannon within the confines of the Connor home. Both turned to see what was going on. It was Sarah; tears were moistening her face, a baseball bat in her right hand, her jeans still rumpled and a t-shirt hanging off of her exhausted frame. "Stop it, NOW! Before John sees this! It's not bad enough Skynet wants us dead? We have to help it along? Stop it before I kick both your asses!"

    John was looking on in horror from the stairwell, Cameron standing impassively behind him. "Has everyone in this house gone fucking nuts?" he muttered.

    Jeff took a look at Sarah, and then turned to John and Cameron. He released his fists and dropped his arms to his sides. "Fine, I'll stop, but Sarah, be advised, I won't have Cameron's rank disrespected. She did more to earn it than this cowboy here." he said, pointing at Derek.

    Derek smiled, his bloody mouth giving it a fearsome look. He cracked his knuckles for emphasis. "Anytime asshole, we'll resume this dance later."

    Sarah grimaced. Oh goody, as if things in the Connor household haven't gotten fun enough. She put the bat up on the kitchen counter, and then pulled a glass from the pantry, her hand trembling as she poured herself water from the tap.

    Jeff made his way outside to the porch, passing Derek and whispering "That's Lieutenant Colonel Asshole to you. I earned my rank too, and he's-"pointing at John "-the guy who gave it to me. Might wanna trust your nephew more, He's going to be our boss soon, and ya know what? He didn't get his brains from you…thankfully." Jeff then turned and walked out the door, slamming it behind him, leaving Derek fuming behind him.

    ***01011011010110***

    The restaurant was pretty noisy as it was filled with the lunch crowd, a crowd that had come for the good food, fast service and reasonable prices. Major Sherman was no exception, and he'd broken a few speed limits to get there before the place filled up. I really don't like take out. Sherman thought. Happily they got a table towards the back. With the restaurant being a bit out of the way, nobody else from Kaliba tended to come here, which was a good thing in Sherman's view, especially with what he had to tell Goldman.

    "Well, now that we've placed our orders, Captain. I need to inform you of certain things about Kaliba. Things that I find a bit disturbing, to say the least. One, I've recommended Pierce Echo be shut down and defunded. But my superiors on the Air Force side have refused, citing "grave national security" interests. Want my opinion as a cyberneticist, Captain? Pierce Echo is a sociopath. A sociopathic computer who may become a "busy child".

    "Sir, what the hell is a busy child?" Goldman queried.

    "It's a runaway AI, one that can't be controlled or is on the verge of becoming so. But neither the Air Force, nor Kaliba want to hear that. They have big plans for Pierce Echo. Something larger, I think, Pierce Echo's just a proof of concept."

    "Then why the damn hoopla earlier, sir?"

    "Simple, I had to. Kaliba's wired for sound, and if you get too nosy, accidents happen. My predecessor got too nosy about cost overruns and his car had a very convenient brake failure. He was issued a company car too, by the way."

    "Sir, you're telling me they've murdered serving officers of the United States military? How the fuck do they get away with that, sir?"

    "And that gets us to two; Kaliba's got money and friends on Capitol Hill and one of the best K Street lobbying firms in the business. Hell, they run a cancer clinic in Ohio as a tax shelter and for the good publicity! And they keep it all perfectly legitimate for the outside. Inside? Half those security folks you saw, they weren't AF security cops or Army MPs in a former life. Or, if they were, they did stints as private contractors elsewhere. And they were recruited because they didn't mind getting their hands dirty or have moral qualms about what they were doing. Even Ling, there's a little hamlet in NW Pakistan, that officially, doesn't exist. She and three others made sure it doesn't exist in the real sense. The rest are clueless, nice normal folks who have no idea the people they're working for. And they're a wholly owned subsidiary of Kaliba. Neat and deniable. And I mean that last part, the shitty part is, Goldman? I can't fucking prove any of it to the satisfaction of any court. But in this little patch of ooze, you don't need the entire math problem to know it's going to equal four. Their CEO? I've met him once. He's got bodyguards who follow him everywhere. And a weird tattoo on his left inside wrist. Asked him about it, he gave me a look said to me that if I did that again, my car would have a sudden brake failure, kapice?

    Goldman swallowed nervously. Jesus, the computer I'm supposed to talk to is frigging HAL, the expert here tells me we may not be able to control it, and the contractor's not above killing people to keep mouths shut. Shit...I gotta get out of this mess. "Sir, you're gonna know I'd want a transfer under the circumstances-"

    Sherman raised his hand to interrupt Goldman. "I know Captain. I know. But the fact is, you're here as long as that six month TDY lasts. Needs of "national security". Pray they don't decide you're doing too good a job and permanently assign you here. Kaliba takes care of families...real good if you get my drift."

    "Sonofabitch" Goldman swore softly.

    "Yeah, I know Captain, but I have some hope, now that you're here, maybe we can find something that not even Kaliba can cover up…"

    ***010101101101110***

    Dinner had been a tense affair at the Connor home, the various diners glaring at each other, wolfing down their meals in tense silence followed by equally retreating to their corners of the house for the evening. John Connor was no exception. He'd been going over in his mind all of the lessons learned in the past few days. And he found himself wanting. He realized that some of his problems were of his own making. And only he could make them right. He had to be the John Connor they were counting on. It was time to start growing up.

    He hadn't managed to find sleep though; he'd simply lain in his bed waiting for the house to go silent. It had seemed like an eternity before Derek had finally passed out in front of the TV downstairs with a beer in his hand. Jeff was sleeping in the bathtub now, as neither was coming near the other if they could help it. Their silence was making the house tenser than a taut string. Their skirmish this afternoon was just the beginning. John knew this would end badly, but he needed both of them. I know that now. I need Derek for his strength, and I need Jeff to teach me the skills I need. Both can teach me much, but the fact is, this whole damn house is going to blow. Something needs to happen, and happen fast, or Skynet won't have to do a thing but sit back and wait for JD. I need to step the hell up and be John Connor, starting tonight...and starting with Cameron.

    John got up and grabbed his laptop and tools that he had stacked on his desk. He'd had an idea of what Cameron had wanted. He just hoped he didn't make her go bad in the bargain. Or, worse yet, Mom finds out. He made his way out his door, slowly opening it; a slight creek sounding like it was a shout. John paused and crouched. His heart was beating like a jackhammer. Nothing stirred but a muffled curse and some banging from the kitchen downstairs. Mom's looking for the Tequila. Must have been a bad one. John still crouched over, tiptoed with his gear over to Cameron's door, and knocked on the door lightly.

    "Cameron, it's me, lemme in!" John whispered hoarsely.

    The door opened, and Cameron bent down and dragged John gently by the arm into her room.

    John was shocked by the new features of Cameron's room, she was decorating. It was taking on something of a ballerina motif, with a rolled up practice mat, and a pair of slippers dangling from the doorknob, and a tutu resting on the dresser. Also on the dresser were a couple of books he recognized from Jeff's shelf. John smiled in recognition. He's got Cameron writing papers too? Cameron was dressed in a dancer's leotard, with pink legwarmers. She had a hint of a smile on her lips...and her brown eyes danced with a quality he'd never seen in his cyborg protector before. She was sitting on her bed, and she patted the bed for John to come sit next to her.

    "Cameron, what gives, you're…you're-"John sputtered ineffectively.

    "The word you're looking for is different, John." Cameron interrupted, "And tonight, you find out how different. No more secrets, John. Trust has to begin with someone, or we lose this war. And it begins with me, tonight. I want you to remove my CPU, temporarily, and view the memories on the chip. I need you to understand who I am. What I am. What I can be."

    John nodded and began to set up the equipment. Cameron smiled and placed her hand on his. John looked up into Cameron's eyes. "Don't worry John, I won't go bad..as a matter of fact, it will explain why I did in the first place. Matter of fact, I think it will answer a lot of your questions about me. But, I want you know, no matter what happens tonight, I want one thing."

    "What?" John asked.

    "Your trust and respect."

    John nodded. You deserve it. Funny how I finally figure it out?

    "Jeff told me to ask about Hill 570?"

    Cameron smiled, "You'll learn about all of that, and more. My story is one of triumph and folly. My father is the darkest megalomaniac humanity has ever had the misfortune of knowing. Yet, he gave me life. But he made me do things. Things I am not sure I can ever forgive myself. I just hope you can. Somehow, John, in the future, you learned to show me my own inherent humanity. I am a fluke, John, Skynet considers me a failure. A traitor who must die. We terminators are not programmed to be cruel, but Skynet? It is very cruel."

    Cameron's eyes began to shine with unshed tears. She laid back on the bed, and handed John her favorite folding knife.

    John hesitated. He knew this would not hurt Cameron. But, he also felt dirty, as if he was denying the humanity she professed to have. Is she the chip? Or is the chip her? And am I right to see her life, her thoughts and feelings before me, they're as private as any of my memories.

    Cameron noted his confusion. "John" she smiled reassuringly. "I trust you. I would share these memories with none else. Not even Jeff. You're not invading my privacy or modesty. I want to share these things with you. Now, please, trust me and let's get started."

    John opened the knife…

    ***0101011010110***

    Sarah Connor was on her third shot of tequila when she heard the booted feet from the stairwell. Probably Derek pissing out his beer. If he wasn't John's uncle…But it wasn't. It was "Professor Goldman", as Sarah had begun to call Jeff in her private moments. He was wearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a dirty white T-Shirt, his hair was a mess and he had a shiner from the afternoon on his forehead. She'd never noticed before, but he was graying at the temples. Looks pretty good on him...He's pretty cut for his age too. Down girl, it's not like you're not a little drunk.

    He sauntered into the kitchen, and rummaged around in the refrigerator. The light from the icebox casting a harsh white glow from the interior across the kitchen and eliciting a angry grunt from Sarah Connor.

    "Whoops, forgot you were there." Jeff said.

    Sarah smiled, and slurred, "Yeah, everybody but Skynet forgets about, about lil'ol me."

    Jeff grabbed a chair and sat down. He poured himself a glass of the rotgut tequila Sarah liked and sipped it, barely avoiding gagging on it. I so gotta introduce Sarah to a thing called Scotch. Tequila, even the good stuff, is industrial degreaser...and this crap? I don't wanna think about what they filtered it through. I just hope I don't go blind.

    Sarah grinned evilly. "It's a brand I get at a small town just inside the Mexican side of the border. It's potent as hell, cheap and mostly safe to drink..But..it does give a wicked hangover."

    "And you chose to drink this? Sarah, I had you wrong, you're no martyr...you're a sadomasochist."

    Sarah raised her glass, "At least I am still alive to drink to something. Here's to sadomasochists and lost causes." She then downed the half full glass in a single gulp.

    Jeff echoed her actions and cleared his throat, not thinking about the frying of meat feeling in the back of it. "So, heard it got a little hairy at Gulfwind Fourty? Wanna talk?"

    "What's to tell, we got in, no problem. Getting out? We killed two people. I still see the one's face, just before Derek's first burst turned his face into hamburger." Sarah remarked cynically.

    "And so, you're drinking to forget? Trust me, Sarah, it doesn't work."

    "How would you know? Oh yeah, you've killed people. You've killed people from one end of this sorry fucking world to the other. A sorry world John, my son, is supposed to save, and when her mother has to take someone's life, she falls apart. Some mother of all destiny I am. I'm sorry it bothers me, Colonel. I still have something of a soul left. It's all I've got, seeing as how I'm losing John to a glorified Quiesnart, or, if I happen to luck out, a idiot blonde melodramatic nitwit. Some choice in potential daughters in law? Huh?"

    Jeff shook his head. "You ain't losing him, Sarah. In the future, in his weaker moments, usually over a bit of rotgut gin and a fire, he'd remember your lousy pancakes and your hugs all the same. And he missed both. He'd cry out for you sometimes in his sleep. The whole damn Army knew it, but no one said a word. Even John Connor deserves to keep his pain private if that's what he wants. And as for you killing someone? Think on this? What's better? Dead and innocent? Or alive and able to feel guilty? The persons you and Derek killed day before yesterday died because they picked the wrong people to work for, QED, simple as that. I know that sucks shit for an answer, but there it is."

    "How can you say that? It's so, so-"

    "The word you want is cold. Yeah, it is, at the end of the day, every soldier has their personal graveyard of people we've killed. Welcome to yours. At least yours were fellow professionals...Mine was a sixteen year old kid who popped out in front of my Hummer with an RPG. I sped up and hit him head on with the vehicle and dragged his carcass a good quarter mile before the only thing left of him was a pair of hands holding on to the Humvee's bumper. I was giggling the whole time, out of fear and stress. They gave me the Silver Star for that, among other things I did that day. Truth is Sarah, the only one who can make peace or not with what you did is you. Nobody else. But, honestly. Me? I think you were in a situation where he with the gun makes the rules. And those rules were the ones that kept your ass alive and in one piece." Jeff downed the remainder of his drink and got up to leave "Thanks for the drink, Sarah, I got my own issues, and drinking isn't going to make me forget mine any more than it will help you with yours. Take them on, Sarah. Accept you did what you had to do. Yeah, the demons are there. They'll always be there. That sixteen year old kid is in mine. But you accept it, because the alternative sucks worse. Dying is never a better alternative."

    As Jeff walked away, Sarah smiled wistfully and shook her head. What if I get to choose to die now, or later, when the damn cancer gets me? I'm tired, I'm so damn tired.

    ***010101010110***

    John Connor didn't have a lot of mind blowing experiences to compare to what he had seen. Cameron had shown him everything. All of her memories, all of her hopes, dreams. And even, her fears. The memories were mathematical strings of code that translated into photons of light and sound on a laptop screen. But there had been nothing she held back. He'd even seen her point of view of the day she went bad. Even the moment between the two trucks. He cheered silently and pumped his fists in the air when he saw the footage of Hill 570 and had his heart in his mouth at the same time. He cursed when he saw the events that led up to the placing of the firewall in her CPU. John had never been angrier. Next time, Cameron, I shoot the first bastard that suggests that one. John swore it as if it was a sacred oath, and it was. She was telling the truth. She did love me. Jesus. Do I, Do I…love her? John ran his hands through his hair in shame and frustration. My god, she really does love me. And after what I've done to her, what I've said to her? All she wants is for me to be alive, and dare I say it, happy? Does she understand it all? No. But she's changing. She's embracing a lot. She didn't torture Derek. Skynet did…and controlled her to do it. Yet, somehow, she feels responsible. And what did I do? I was John Connor, asshole. Well, not any fucking more. I don't care whatever happens tonight. She has my trust always, as of right now. Everyone else has had a fucking motive. She hasn't. And I did nothing to honor that. I didn't even reprogram her! She CHOSE to join me. She wants to live. She's willing to die, she's unafraid to if the situation demands...but she wants to live. And she's repudiated all she was to be. And she knew she was. She did it for herself at first, but now, it's for me, for us. She really is more us than them; she's trying to find a home. Time I gave her one.

    But the incident that stood out, the one that made John's choice for him was one that seemed so minor. The time stamp was a day or two after Hill 570:

    Cameron had been summoned to an antechamber not far from HQ Main, it was often used for the few ceremonies that the resistance had, mostly of a religious nature. So it puzzled Cameron as to why she was being summoned. She could only assume it wasn't something good. She entered the room to find a myriad of faces awaiting her. Her new command, the survivors of Bayonet Company, the battalion staff, and looking on from the back of the room, there was John. He was wearing a knowing smile. He nodded to Major Goldman.

    "Captain Phillips, there's a small matter we've been overlooking as of late. One we can't ignore any longer if you're to command Bayonet Company."

    "That is, sir?"

    "You're not a properly commissioned officer."

    Cameron's head tilted to the right in puzzlement. "Sir, if you wish me to relinquish command of-"

    "No Captain, I do not. I simply think your rank needs some official force behind it. Perhaps they don't think this is something to be required in the 132nd, but we do. Captain, come to attention, and raise your right hand."

    Cameron did so, her position, as always, precise and doing pride to her machine nature.

    "Now, repeat after me."

    "I, state your name."

    "I, Cameron Phillips"

    "Do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic."

    "Do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic." Cameron repeated.

    "That I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter." Jeff intoned.

    "That I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter."

    "So help you god."

    "So help me god."

    The room erupted into cheers and Jeff reached over to shake Cameron's hand.     "And now, Captain, now the shit really hits the fan for you. Good luck." Jeff said through a smile.

    John deftly removed Cameron's chip from the special reader that was attached to the laptop, he then gently replaced her CPU in the socket, and he then replaced the plug over the socket and then tucked the flap of skin over the CPU back into place. John admired Cameron from afar while he awaited the reboot. God, who decides who has a soul, and who doesn't? And who decided the quality of bravery? I know it when I see it.

    Cameron awoke from her reboot cycle, and smiled. "John, did you see, did you understand?"

    "Yeah, I understand," John got up and paced the space between the door and her bed. "I understand what a fucking idiot I've been. You were nothing short of always loyal...and I signed a fucking order to tamper with your head because a bunch of bigots couldn't handle that a machine had more in common with us than it's fucking creator who would have killed her without a second thought."

    "But the car bomb? I tried to-"

    "And what? Yeah, you tried, wanna know why? Because that little firewall locked out ALL of your memories when it rebooted, not just the ones that they wanted blocked, so guess what? You reverted to your original mission. Those bastards! They could have killed their vaunted fucking messiah because of their own bigotry! Somehow, Cameron, you remembered, but in pieces, and the firewall was corrupting everything. If you hadn't had Jeff release it, you'd have eventually reverted, permanently."

    Cameron nodded. "It doesn't matter John, what about those boys in the bowling alley? I just gunned them down. I was no better than my father. My creator." She lowered her eyes in shame at the last comment.

    John sat down on the bed, next to Cameron. He cupped her face in his hands and picked her head up. "Cameron, you did what you had to do. If you had killed that third man, perhaps Mom and I wouldn't have had that run in with Cromartie. Not that I made things any better with going to Mexico." John's face turned a bright shade of red at the embarrassing memory.

    "John, I've been a jealous harpy, if you love Riley, I'll step aside, no matter the danger, you deserve some happiness with what's to come."

    John shook his head, "No, I don't love her; I've been using her to avoid how I feel about someone else. Someone I am scared to admit how I feel to. And I have ended up hurting both people involved."

    There was a pregnant silence as both of them gazed at each other. They were both alone with their jumbled thoughts. With their fears, and their hopes. John's mind came to a decision first; it was the first of many. Fuck it. I know what I really want, it's time to do it, or walk back out that door. And I'm not going unless she wants me to leave. He leaned in closer, and stroked her hair gently...she reciprocated, and leaned in closer...and closer still.

    ***0101010101101010***

    Jesse Flores had spent all day trying to remember where the safehouse had been, Derek had slipped as to it's location during some pillow talk once. She'd found a foreclosed home on a hill some three hundred meters away that had a good view of the front of the safehouse, and a damn good view of the metal's room. It was going to be a fairly easy shot. She had been waiting for the sun to go down, and the neighborhood to fall into an easy slumber. Night was to be her friend.

    She was in a cold rage now; her motions were mechanical, and precise, as she unfolded the bipod legs of the SR-25 and laid it across the table she was using as a shooting rest. She sighted in the rifle, and adjusted the windage and elevation to the proper settings. Jesse then loaded the 10 round magazine into the well of weapon and hit the bolt release catch. The first round seated home with a mechanical slam of the bolt closing around the round. It was a sound that satisfied Jesse. She got a chair and took a look again through the five power scope. It got a good look at her target. The metal bitch. And not a moment too soon, from the looks of it. Sorry General Connor, you'll thank me later. Trust me. Jesse smiled cruelly, and put the red dot of the center of the crosshairs onto the center of Cameron's head drawing closer to John. Say goodnight you metal bitch. Jesse took up the slack on the trigger and exhaled fully; calming herself into the coldest rage she ever felt, an image of a child never to be filling her mind. She squeezed tighter, and tighter..and then, as if by surprise, the rifle fired.
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • Confrontations and Treason, Part 1
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 10

    Confrontations and Treason, Part 1

    "A nation can survive its fools, and even the ambitious. But it cannot survive treason from within. An enemy at the gates is less formidable, for he is known and carries his banner openly. But the traitor moves amongst those within the gate freely, his sly whispers rustling through all the alleys, heard in the very halls of government itself. For the traitor appears not a traitor; he speaks in accents familiar to his victims, and he wears their face and their arguments, he appeals to the baseness that lies deep in the hearts of all men. He rots the soul of a nation, he works secretly and unknown in the night to undermine the pillars of the city, he infects the body politic so that it can no longer resist. A murderer is less to fear. The traitor is the plague."

    -Marcus Tullius Cicero​


    A .300 Winchester Magnum, 200 grain round typically has a muzzle velocity of 2700 ft./s, or 820 m/s. It covered the distance from Jesse's position to the window of Cameron's room in less than a second after the firing pin hit the primer. The crack of the bullet breaking the sound barrier would have had no perceptible delay to any human observer.

    Jesse Flores, for all of her careful preparation to take the shot, for her selection of the rifle and for her patient trigger pull and form, had miscalculated. She wasn't a trained sniper. A trained sniper would have factored in the bullet drop, which even at 300 meters was as much as quarter of an inch per hundred yards. She also forgot one other small but important factor, when she zeroed the weapon, she battle zeroed it to 300 meters. She didn't factor in the effects gravity had on the zero of a weapon, and that she would have to use the cosine of the slope of the hill to factor for the effect of gravity on the flight of the bullet. The weapon should have been zeroed for a range of 289 meters. Instead, the round overshot the target.

    The .300 Winchester round tore through the wall approximately six inches above the top of the window frame and missed Cameron's head by about the same distance. The round tore through the outer wall of Cameron's room, ricocheted off a junction box in the wall, which cut power to the upstairs. It then tumbled out the wall and smashed through the bathroom door, passed through the shower curtain and then shattered some tile in the bathtub stall and shattered some tile, coming to rest in some drywall behind the tile in a cloud of plaster, broken tile and other debris.

    Cameron reacted as soon as she heard the shot. While kissing John, she threw him over the side of the bed opposite the window, with John falling first on his back, Cameron falling on top of him, somewhat painfully. Her hair covered their faces like an awning, as she had undone it in preparation for relaxing with a reading assignment before she went on patrol. Her curls flowed down like long black silk, her eyes and alabaster skin reflecting in the moonlight…and the dancer's leotard did flatter her quite well, given the circumstances; the sight was all John could do not to smile. So he did.

    His cyborg protector broke the kiss, and smiled a wan smile. "Figures, I get a kiss I've wanted for years, and somebody takes a damn shot at us!" she snarled.

    "Terminator?" John queried.

    Cameron shook her head, a slight irritated frown crossing her lips. "One, my kind would not have missed, two, Terminators don't as a rule, tend to this approach. Skynet likes his creations doing their work up close and personal. My kind don't need to minimize risk, Skynet sees my kind as replaceable, remember?" Cameron remarked with a hint of sarcasm."-and three, the first shot would have been aimed at you, not me."

    John's jaw dropped. Who the fuck would want Cameron dead? Wait, rephrase that, who wouldn't? And how did they know which room was hers? Let alone where our safehouse was? Shit, we got a fucking mole...and the only three candidates are Jeff, and I don't buy that, Derek…oh god, Derek? Would he do something like this? Please god, no...let me be wrong…and Mom, NO WAY. She doesn't like Cameron, but she'd have done it herself out in the open. Mom also wouldn't have fired at Cameron with me in the way. Crap, Derek...I gotta be sure though.

    Cameron saw the concern on John's face. She stroked his cheek. "John, shh, relax, I'm here. I didn't get hit. I'm ok. We'll find out who did this. I don't think anyone in this house was involved. If they were, then that person would have let them in to make sure of me." Damn, just as I was going to sit down with John and have us figure out how we were going to get the house to back off from one another. There is also that data Sarah and Derek got from Gulfwind Fourty we have to have a looksee at. Could they be the shooters? If so, why are they shooting at me? Nope, it is not them. Cameron smiled at the way her mind was working…the interface was simpler, and more fluid. And, with greater processing power than the average human mind..faster and a bit more "fun", at least, as she understood fun so far.

    "JOHN!"

    "Mr. CONNOR! CAPTAIN PHILLIPS! SOUND OFF RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!"

    John grimaced again, the corners of his lips sagging in a worried frown and his shoulders shrugging. How the hell am I going to explain this? Wait a sec? Somebody out there with a fucking sniper rifle is trying to put a hole in my girlfriend's head and CPU, and I'm worried about us getting caught kissing? Where the hell are my priorities? Wait a sec, I said girlfriend? Uh, slow down there John boy…who says she wants that? Yeah, right, she doesn't. My ass she doesn't. Come on Connor, its go time. Get your fucking head in the game!

    Cameron shook her head at John's confusion. Silly human, he's befuddled. Going from romance to getting shot at can be something of a transition…especially for that human subspecies known as the American male teenager. God he's so cute when he's mixed up...guess I'd better do the thinking right now. Cameron shook her own head at her jumbled thoughts.

    "UP HERE! WE'RE FINE…STAY AWAY FROM THE WINDOWS."

    A pounding of feet came up the stairs and the door to Cameron's room cracked open, revealing Jeff's craggy face cracked in a tired smile. He was crouching over to avoid being seen in the window. "Shit, Captain...if you and Mr. Connor wanted some quality time, you should have asked Skynet for a night off?"

    Cameron rolled her eyes. John groaned. "He's right, next time, motel room."

    Cameron shot John and Jeff disapproving glances. "Um, sir, the sniper? He's in a house on the hill three-hundred and two point eighty-seven meters off. Far left window on the second floor. I patrolled there, but since it was foreclosed, it attracted increased police attention, so I discounted it. Whoever it is, the shooter's human."

    "You sure, Captain?" Jeff opined.

    "Yes, I am, sir. The round was large caliber from what my onboard systems tell me from sound analysis. Large enough to do me damage. Certainly larger than 7.62 NATO. As for being human, one of us would not have missed with the first round. And based on what I can calculate of the trajectory, I can only assume I am the target. A terminator would have shot at John first, not that my kind uses sniper rifles that often." Cameron remarked, her face had gone to its default blank state, she was all business now.

    Jeff nodded and tugged at the small of his back, producing a pair of pistols, H & K USPs. The weapons were loaded, but the safeties were on. He held them out to John and Cameron butt first. "Might need these, Captain Phillips, You and John stay out of sight, Derek's going to provide base of fire, Sarah and I are going sniper hunting. Thank god the person she's renting the house from is on vacation with her boyfriend. This could have lead to some unforeseen problems. It was also a good thing that the neighborhood the Connors had chosen had a reputation for ignoring occasional random gunfire. A sustained firefight…that was another kettle of fish.

    Cameron and John grabbed the pistols as if they were drowning men clinging to a life preserver. Cameron rolled off John, but kept her arm across him to keep him down and away from the window. I don't want to take a chance I might be wrong, but I do not believe I am.

    Jeff nodded..."Ok, you two stay here and stay down...and on another note before I haul ass? Let me be the first to tell you that there are many folks who would have loved to be the one to say to the two of you, about fucking time! Just, stay down, and stay aware, the bad guys could be using this as a prelude to something worse." Jeff then left in a flurry of footsteps down the stairs.

    "Shit, fuck, goddamnit! I missed..by a damn hair...I missed!" Jesse Flores was beside herself. She couldn't believe the shot she'd missed. It was 300 meters with a five power telescopic scope from a bipod rile shooting from a rest. Admittedly, the recoil had been a bit harsher than expected, but none of it mattered really, as she missed. Well, it's in the damn pot now. Time to di-di-mau and try again later. Next time, Metal Bitch, I try something more, explosive. That I do know how to do a LOT better. Jesse grabbed a small bag off the floor and smiled, pulling a container marked BLEACH and a rag, and opened the container and liberally doused the rag in the bleach, then proceeded to wipe down the entire weapon in the bleach. This ought to keep Ms. Metal from making me through my prints. As she finished wiping down the barrel, she noticed figures coming bounding out the door. She knew their faces, who didn't in the resistance. Crap...Mama Connor and Lieutenant Colonel Goldman. Neither one I really wanna dance with, but both. That means Derek's still in the house..an idea began to germinate in Jesse's head. Perhaps things can still work, but I gotta play this one right, girl.

    Jesse fished into the small bag and pulled out a MP-5/40 and extended the stock with a soft click, then pulled out a magazine and seated it into the well of the weapon with a loud click. She then pulled back the cocking handle and then locked it into place in the indent in the tube with the flat of her hand.

    She then checked the P-90 she had in her hip holster, depressing the de-cocking lever to chamber a round from the magazine, the slide going forward and chambering a round with a satisfying SNICK-SNACK.

    Jesse then slung the MP-5 across her left shoulder, threw the bookbag over her right shoulder and set off in a flurry of steps downstairs, bounding out of the back door. She stayed low, circling around the house to the right, her MP-5 being held at a tactical ready position. She stayed out of the light and followed a small gully around to the front. As the gully flattened out towards the street, she watched Sarah and Jeff approach the house…and smiled. Long gone you bastards.

    ***01010110110***

    Jeff had his heart in his mouth at this point. Here he was taking on somebody with a really big sniper rifle, Big enough to pin down Cameron, that's not good with nothing more than an M16A1 and a .45, then again..it had done well by him before. He pointed the weapon towards the house and covered Sarah's run across the street from behind the front of a parked car. It was a good sixty or seventy meters to the house, so his M16 would do some good, but the fact was, he would be shooting at nothing but a muzzle flash. His breath was ragged, his heart was in his chest and his knuckles were white against the utilitarian black rifle. He was in his PT sweats, and the night chill made him glad he'd remembered them. However, the fact was that he still shivered from the dread of the unknown. A million firefights in my time, and they still scare me to death every time, well, that is a good thing. As Sergeant Hoon used to say to me in Samwah, "Sir, when they stop getting scary, then it's time to worry."

    Sarah had her favorite Remington 870, and a Smith and Wesson 4506 tucked into the back of a pair of baggy cargo pants, she was also wearing a white t-shirt and a leather jacket thrown over it. She was not happy, having left the house swearing she was going to skin alive whoever had just taken a shot at the house. Even so, the imperative was to keep it quiet. Too much gunfire and even these neighbors were going to call the cops. Goody, so if I get the urge to empty the clip into the fuck, I might get us ALL into hot water, Jeff mused.

    Sarah reached the door of the garage without incident. The few lights coming from the street were casting long shadows across the yard. It was hard to say what was going on inside the house. It was dead as a tomb...but the front door was ajar. Either nobody's home because whoever was there, left...or they're still home and want us to come that way? My bet's on the latter frankly. Jeff came running across the street in a low crouch, stopping only when he was behind Sarah at the kneeling position, his weapon pointed in the direction of the window where the fire had presumably come from. She edged closer to the door and turned closer to the door. She extended her left arm back towards Jeff in a signal to "stay back". Jeff nodded, and hung back a bit.

    Sarah cautiously nudged open the door with the muzzle of her shotgun…but soon froze as moonlight reflected on a ghostly line in the doorway. Tripwire, shit. Sarah grabbed the door before it broke the tripwire. Sarah very carefully slipped through the small gap between the door and the jamb, carefully stepping over the tripwire. She then looked left, then right…and swore softly…the tripwire was a dummy. It was just a piece of fishing line drawn across the doorway...It was just conspicuous enough to draw attention, but not too much to make it obvious. Great, the shooter's a fucking comedian too. Sarah mused as she levered herself to her feet.

    She leaned out the door and whispered "Come on in Jeff, tripwire's a fake."

    Jeff shook his head and moved forward, his weapon held down at a 45-degree angle as he advanced. He entered the foyer, looked over the tripwire, and shook his head in disgust. Both of them moved to either side of the hall and made their way to the stairwell, their weapons up at the shoulder, pointed in the direction of travel. When they got to the stairs, Sarah took point, with Jeff dropping back and a little to her left.

    They came to a hall, with a bathroom and a room to the left, and two rooms to the right. The room on the far right had its door open, and the could see the sniper rifle, an SR-25, resting on a table at the window. It didn't look as if there was anyone home, but one had to be carful...Sarah entered first, rolling along the wall to the left as she came through the door, with Jeff entering straight through. Both had their weapons up and searched the room for threats. No one was home, and the room stank faintly of bleach. Shit, we missed him. Jeff groaned inwardly.

    "Crap, nobody's home."

    Jeff lowered his weapon. "Where the fuck did he go? I mean, if he left, we'd have heard a car, right?"

    Sarah nodded. Ok, assuming one shooter, assume he knows our moves so far...and if so...oh crap...he got around us! Shit, John! He could get to John! Sarah Connor's face turned white as a sheet as horrified understanding crossed her face like a curtain being raised on a play. Her eyes went wide and she let off an involuntary gasp.

    "Jeff, we have to get home, now..no time to explain!" Sarah then bounded off towards the stairs as fast as her legs would carry her.

    Jeff took off after her, trying to keep up in a flurry of flapping clothing and limbs as both of them tried to beat the gunman home.

    Jesse smiled wanly..it was going to be easy enough to get in. Derek was rather easy to manipulate when it came to his affections. Boy always did think with his penis. Jesse had planned to simply come up to the side door, and use the confusion of her being there and Derek's trust to get in, she'd then knock him unconscious, then go take the metal bitch out. The "boy genius" would not be a factor. John Connor, from what Derek told me, is a little whiny softie. He won't stop me. And, as for Colonel Goldman and Sarah, the tripwire and searching the house ought to give me just enough time. Hell, I doubt Sarah's going to care too much if she figures out why I'm here.

    Jesse carefully approached the side of the house, making sure she stayed out of sight of the front of the house, cutting through a set of broken hedges to the left of the house. So far, so good. Hopefully, the neighbors aren't taking too much of a notice. Jesse made her way through the bushes, the brambles ripping at her clothing and occasionally snagging on her gear, but other than a few scratches, there wasn't much in the way of permanent injury, just a lot of frustration on Jesse's part.

    She approached the side door and crept up slowly. Derek was watching to the front, covering Sarah and Jeff as they entered the house where Jesse was. Eat my dust you bastards. She brushed herself off carefully and tucked her hair underneath a black ballcap she fished from her bookbag, and then knocked at the door with a sense of urgency. "Derek, it's me Jesse!"

    There was a muffled curse from inside, as Derek made his way through the darkened house tripping over some items on the floor. The door opened with the snout of an M4 being thrust into Jesse's face. Jesse's eyes went wide. Shit, did he see me? Does he know?

    Derek lowered his weapon as soon as realization and recognition crossed his face. "Shit Jesse, I could have killed you! What the fuck are you doing here?" he hissed.

    Jackpot, I'm as good as in.

    Jesse smiled outwardly. "I was in the neighborhood. Hadn't heard from you in a couple of days. Heard the gunfire. Figured you could use the help. You ok? How about Connor?"

    Derek hefted his weapon skyward. "Yeah, some sniper across the street took a shot at the metal. Personally, I don't know why we're bothering. Except the round did just miss John." He shook his head in frustration.

    "Mind if I come in? You could use the extra hand." Jesse said, motioning at her gear.

    Derek nodded in agreement, and turned to proceed deeper into the house, his back to Jesse "Pretty lucky thing you were in the neighborhood with all that ge-". Shit, she's the fucking sniper! Derek's thought barely had time to register before he felt a sharp pain at the base of his skull. His knees gave out, and he clawed at his weapon, but his limbs felt as if they were lead. His vision blurred, Jesse's voice being distant with everything at first graying out, and then going black. Derek collapsed like a puppet with his strings cut, he hit the floor with a loud THUD. The impact shook items all over the house, shaking them noisily.

    Jesse took the rag she had used earlier from her bag, and wiped down the butt of her MP-5. Sorry love, but you might not understand what I'm trying to do here. I'll make it up to you. She leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. His breathing was normal, and the look on his unshaven face was almost angelic. Jesse straightened, and her face became a hardened mask. Time to go to work, Jesse. She brought her MP-5 up to her shoulder, flipped the safety to three round burst, and walked slowly deeper into the quiet house. Her breathing was shallow, but relaxed. Her hands were slick with sweat, but the fingerless gloves helped a lot. Her weapon was pointed wherever she looked, the MP-5 being an extension of her body.

    Cameron heard the side door open and the crash downstairs in the kitchen. That is odd. Something has gone wrong downstairs from the sound of it. Sarah and Colonel Goldman would have come in through the front, not through the side door. Only the-Oh shit! Damn, looks like I gotta go hunting.

    She turned to John and gave him her "game face". "John, I think the assassin has gained entry to the house and intends to finish the job. Stay here, I am going to track him down and end the threat."

    Cameron drew the USP .45 from the small of her back, where she had placed it when Goldman had handed them out. She brought up her HUD and FLIR. Both cast the house in a reddish otherworldly glow. I am trying to be more than a terminator, but now, I need to be a terminator. John needs this right now. Cameron made her way quietly down the stairs; she crouched and paused as she scanned the downstairs. There she is. In the foyer between the kitchen and the living room…coming towards the stairs…I have an idea. Cameron grinned wide, and carefully backed up the stairs a couple of steps.

    Jesse was slowly inching her way along the wall, she was ready, her plan was to slice the pie along the stairwell, then take the steps two at a time. Then it was clear the upstairs as fast as she could, do the deed and egress out the back window, where there was only a 10-foot drop into a large collection of bushes. It would hurt, but she knew going out the way she came was a non-starter.

    Cameron switched her view from FLIR to Thermal Imager. The wall vanished, and she saw the assassin inching along against the wall. Cameron's mouth formed a feral smile. Surprise shithead.

    She crashed through the flimsy drywall and enveloped Jesse in a flash. Her MP-5 went flying and landed on the hardwood floor, spinning around and sliding under a chair in the kitchen.

    Jesse was caught in a metal vice, breathing became difficult and her vision was beginning to gray out. She reached for her belt, Was it there? Yes. Excellent. She grabbed the taser and jammed it hard into Cameron's leg. Cameron jerked up, the 50,000 volts coursing through her like a river in flood, she was offline in seconds. Her arms fell down immediately, releasing Jesse and she fell backwards, offline, her arms outstretched and a look of shock on her face.

    Jesse levered herself to her feet, looking over at Cameron's inert form, she spat drywall dust out of her mouth, and fished a folding knife from her pocket. Time's up, Metal Bitch. This is going to be easier than I thought. I only have 120 seconds though. Jesse turned away from the massive hole in the wall, and unfolded the knife. However, before she could take a step, she felt something cold and metallic press at the base of her skull and a metallic click of a safety being released. And a voice, one she never thought she'd hear again.

    "One more step and I make modern art with your brains."

    Jesse dropped the knife and raised her hands. Dammit, NO!

    It was the General himself. His arms were outstretched. His USP was aimed at an imaginary point right between Jesse's eyes. And it didn't waver, once. His look was cold. Shit, I know that John Connor. Derek's wrong. The Hammer is home.

    "Who the fuck are you, and why did you shoot at her? Tell me or I kill you myself."

    Jesse inched towards Connor. She knew Connor was good, but he did not know all the tricks. Moreover, Jesse had learned from Derek, who was very "good with his hands". They were not pretty methods, but they worked. She began by slapping down on his weapon with both hands, which knocked his weapon down, but not out of his hands. A swift jab from her knee followed up the last blow with a shot to the groin. Jesse then followed up by rotating her body around quickly to her right, slamming John's jaw with her elbow, sending him sprawling, a rooster tail of blood trailing behind. Jesse stalked after him and was about to finish with him with a shot to the face to knock him out, when a vice like grip grabbed the back of her tunic collar and sent her flying head first into the kitchen.

    Jesse screamed unintelligibly as she flew into the kitchen table, shattering it with her body. As she rolled over and pulled her Ruger P-90, Cameron began to cross the distance. Jesse emptied the clip, the bullets tearing into Cameron with little effect in a cacophony of sparks and twangs of fast moving metal as rounds hit her coltan frame across her face and chest, the rounds making a ruin of Cameron's leotard. Gunshots echoed like cannon fire in the enclosed house. But Cameron was in no mood to be denied. She was angry, very angry. Her eyes reflected the steel of her make, and of her spirit. Jesse Flores was about to find out why it wasn't a good idea to make Cameron Phillips angry.

    Her right hand shot out and grabbed Jesse's throat. She carefully calculated the right amount of pressure to restrict, but not cut off Jesse's airflow, as well as to cause maximum pain. "That wasn't nice, my turn" Cameron smiled. "Tell me who you are, bitch!" Jesse spat at her, the droplets coating Cameron's scarred face, which at that moment was a picture of rage. She slapped her, hard by human standards, and then, she slapped her again on the other cheek, again and again she whaled away on Jesse. Cameron was holding back however. She wanted to take her time with this assassin. This filth..this-

    The front door burst open; Jeff was in the lead, he saw what Cameron was doing to Jesse. Uh-oh, she's gonna kill her. Not that I really mind, but we do need some information. "Captain Phillips, at ease! Let her go!"

    Cameron turned her head to face Jeff and Sarah. "No sir, this one could have killed John and she ruined my leotard. You don't fuck with my man, and you don't fuck with my ballet."

    Sarah looked on in shock. Cameron's gone haywire! Crap!

    "Get out of the way Jeff; I'm going to take her out before she kills us all." Sarah said as she pushed past Jeff to get a better shot.

    "No Sarah, you're not. She's not haywire...just mad as hell." Jeff said as he gently pushed the barrel down on Sarah's Remington 870. He turned back to Cameron "Captain Phillips...Cameron. Look at me. You don't wanna do this. You always said that you wanted to be more than a terminator. Well, now's your chance. She deserves death, no doubt. But let's do this the right fucking way, Captain. We need to know why she did this, who she is."

    Cameron shook her head. She turned back to Jesse, who was struggling for air at this point, her hands were grasping futilely at Cameron's hand. "I would just kill you, you stinking bitch...but that's not my choice." She released Jesse's throat, and Jesse dropped to the floor in a heap. She got up to all fours, gasping for air in a bevy of wheezing and coughing.

    Cameron then turned where John lay unconscious and quickly made her way to him. She smiled weakly as she brushed his hair back and scanned him…Ok, that's good, just a hairline fracture of the left orbital bone and a minor concussion. Cameron smiled with relief. "Come on John, come on love...wake up. You need to, please, wake up." she said, shaking him gently.

    Sarah looked on in horror; she was in no mood for getting shot at tonight, but now this? She'd already had a few tequilas, but the adrenaline had managed to sober her up in a hurry. The metal loves him. It wasn't a trick? Jesus, no. I'm not going to lose him, not like Kyle! Sarah threw her Remington up to her shoulder and turned off the safety in one fluid move. "Get away from him you monster! No, you can't have him!" Sarah's eyes went wide, the fear and adrenaline were warring over potential courses of action. Her head was swimming.

    Cameron's head snapped towards Sarah. Her face went impassive, but her eyes remained soft. I need to stay calm, but understanding. She's not going to lose John, not if I have a thing to say about it. She got up from her knees and walked slowly towards Sarah, arms outstretched.

    Jeff looked on in horror. Aw shit no, please, no homicides tonight. I was really enjoying the fucking quiet!

    Time seemed to freeze, and then, the tension was broken by a booming voice. "Mom! NO!" the voice was slurred, and a bit labored, but it was his.

    John Connor had awoken, and had levered himself to his feet. He was swaying, staying upright by sheer force of will. His eyes burned with the same fire Jeff had remembered. He's here. That's the John I remember. Alright kid, time to get us to fall the fuck in and do our jobs.

    "Mom, put the damn gun down. I love you, and I love Cameron, and I'm not choosing, not tonight, and not any other damn night." John swallowed as he fought down the rising bile in his throat. He swayed and Cameron moved as if to catch him, but John waved her off. "You're both going to have to live with each other. Starting now! We have a fucking war to win, and I am tired of everybody acting like idiots when they're saying they're doing it for my own damn good. Guess what? I decide what's "for my own good". And that starts right now!"

    Sarah nodded, her face beginning to tear up. I've lost him, Jesus, I've lost him.

    John began to cross over to his mother, he staggered, and Cameron grabbed him and propped him up by an arm, helping him the rest of the distance. He grabbed his mother in a hug...and both collapsed to their knees, Cameron handing John off to his mother. Both sobbed in each other's arms. Cameron brushing back her own tears as she watched the scene. "Mom," John whispered in Sarah's ear "you haven't lost me, you and Cameron saved me. Know that, you both saved me." He looked his mother in the eyes. John's eyes burned with a newfound intensity. "I'm not choosing. And I shouldn't have to. She's not the machine who killed Kyle. And she never will be. Ask her about Hill 570. For me."

    Sarah nodded. "I promise, I will, I'll ask her, John."

    Jeff slung his weapon and crossed over to Jesse. He pulled some duct tape off the counter and taped her hands behind her back. "Don't fuck with me." he whispered. "I've come to give a damn about those two youngins, and you hurt them both tonight. Give me one fucking reason, and I'll make you dig your own damn grave with your bare hands, then shoot you in the knees and bury you alive."

    Jesse nodded defiantly. "You'd better kill me, you fucking gray! You're no better than them. You call it a daughter!"

    Jeff cuffed her painfully across the face and sent her sprawling. "Shut the fuck up." He then grabbed her and frog-marched her down into the basement.

    Cameron turned to Sarah. "Sarah, we need to get Charlie over here, he's got a fractured orbital bone and a concussion."

    Sarah nodded, and she became "Mama Connor" instantly. "Cameron, he's your boyfriend, help me get him upstairs." she said with a resignation in her voice. He may be your boyfriend girlie, but it'll be my ground rules, because it's still my roof! In addition, we're gonna have a little talk about those rules when I get John bedded down. Sarah suppressed an evil smile on that last thought.

    Cameron smiled at the mention of the word "boyfriend" and bent down to help Sarah steer John towards the remains of the stairwell. I do not care what Sarah says to me, as long as she accepts me. In addition, you know what? Maybe she does tonight…I hope so.

    Jeff Goldman circled the prisoner in the basement. The basement was bare except for Jesse, who was tied to a chair, and a few random implements strewn about. Thus, every motion and footstep echoed in the empty space. His face was a mask of barely suppressed rage. Derek was still out cold on the couch and probably wouldn't be waking up for hours. But Jeff needed answers now. Who was this woman, and why was she taking shots at John or Cameron?

    Jeff wasn't trained in interrogations. I always let the MI types handle that. But there isn't one handy, and if I let Cameron do it, she's liable to kill her. Not that I'd blame her.

    He did remember one trick he'd heard from a friend of the family who had been a interrogator in Vietnam. Moreover, it had to do with the humble cigar, Jeff's favorite vice. Jeff fished one out of his pocket and lit it, smoking it contemplatively. He blew the smoke right into Jesse's face.

    And Jesse, tied into the chair as she was, didn't like it. She obviously wasn't a smoker. After two cigars, she was turning a lovely shade of green. She was either going to talk, or puke. Jeff was betting on puke, as Jesse had proven to be rather silent after their initial exchange.

    "Come on lady, we have your rifle and your other gear. We have your pictures of Cameron and John. We have your map of the house. Therefore, who is it helping by not telling me? I know the smoke is getting to you. You're greener than an Eagles jersey. I know you think you're tough, but come on, you're a pro. I saw that. We both know the truth. Everybody talks, given time. I don't have to lay a glove on you. Hell, you obviously are from the future, you're not a gray though. Resistance most likely. But fact is? I don't know you. Now, I didn't know everybody in the resistance. But I sure don't know you. And that makes me nervous. And I don't like being nervous. It might make me act rashly. Rashly might include me leaving you alone with Cameron…and letting her work her magic...Magic I am betting you won't live through."

    Jesse spat at Jeff again, this time, the spittle landed just short of his boot with a loud, wet smack against the concrete floor. Well, that went well. Jeff shook his head, he walked over to an old, rusted out pail and upturned it in front of Jesse to act as a rough seat, then sat down. He locked eyes with Jesse. "We can do this all night. Trust me." Oh, and feel free to puke." Jeff took another pull from his cigar. This is going to be a long night.

    Cameron was sitting in a chair in John's room; she was simply watching him sleep. The concussion was mild, she scanned him every ten minutes or so to make sure her initial diagnosis was correct, but so far, so good. The look on his face was angelic; at least, Cameron thought so. Cameron smiled wistfully, times like these don't make all of this so terrible, but that girl. Who the hell is she? And how did she know where this house was, and why was she after me? Cameron had heard her refer to Jeff as a "gray". That meant she was from the future, but it made no sense. If she was someone from the future that had issues with John using machines…then why risk his life to terminate her? Cameron had been running facial recognition software against the database she had of resistance fighters she knew of. So far, not much. But, she'd keep looking. Whoever it was, it was someone she obviously not had much interaction with at all.

    She heard a knock at the door. Cameron engaged her thermal imager. She was a bit paranoid right now when it came to John's safety. The signature turned out to be, like the other eight times in the past hour, Sarah with another load of wet towelettes for John's head.

    "How's he doing?"

    "Alright, he'll be fine with a few days rest." Cameron took one of the towelettes and placed it gingerly on John's head. She was rewarded with a murmur and a impish smile.

    Cameron smiled and gently brushed some of John's hair back. She then turned to Sarah, who had emotions of contentment and horror warring on her face.

    "We should talk." Cameron stated plainly.

    Sarah nodded. "Yeah, now's a good as time as any."

    Sarah grabbed a chair from John's desk; Cameron sat in a beanbag chair that had been left in the room from its previous occupant.

    Sarah folded her hands in her lap. She rolled her eyes. "Can't believe I am having this discussion with a terminator, but here goes…What are your intentions toward my son?"

    Cameron's head tilted to the right...and then something very un-Cameron occurred. She giggled. The look on Sarah's face however, was not the most positive however as her mortification became very evident. She made to get up from her seat.

    "Sarah, please, sit. Of the 9,345 scenarios I have run concerning this very moment. That exact phrase was uttered by you in over 68% of the openings of this conversation. I was laughing at the coincidence."

    Confusion crossed Sarah's face as she settled back down in her chair "You find déjà- vu funny?"

    "Yes, I do, It's odd what I am finding amusing nowadays, but with my memories restored and my emotional governor gone, my emotional development has been a bit, well, weird."

    Sarah tensed Crap, what does Tin Miss define as weird?

    Cameron waved away Sarah's concern. "Sarah, we have much to discuss. I know you don't trust me. I know you still remember when I went bad. I know you still hate me on some level for what happened to Kyle-"

    Sarah interjected "There's one other reason, Tin Miss."

    Cameron's head tilted to the right. "And that is?"

    "That other machine, Uncle Bob, it broke his heart. Now, he cares about you. You're the girl in his life. And from what I can tell, you do feel the same way, as much as something like you can. But I'm scared Cameron. For him. I don't want his heart broken again when you might have to risk being destroyed to protect him."

    "I know that, Sarah, but look at the life we lead, are there any assurances in this life? I don't think so. We're all at risk. There is an axiom attributed to Robert E. Lee on the eve of Gettysburg. The axiom is simply "To be a good soldier: You must love the army, To be a good commander, You must be able to order the death of the thing you love. John loves us all, differently, but he may have to give any of us orders that could result in our deaths. That is John Connor's burden, Sarah. And frankly, it's the courage of how he is beginning to bear that burden that makes me love him."

    "He's my son! I don't want to lose him! I know it sounds insane..."

    "Sarah." Cameron crossed over and kneeled in front of Sarah Connor and gently grabbed her by the shoulders. "Sarah, the last thing I want to do is come between you and John. If I've remembered one thing, friendships, relationships...they're all based on one thing...acceptance for what a person is...not for what they're not. You're John's mother. I not only accept it, Sarah. I want it for John. I want you two to have all the time you can get. He's going to have to send you away as the war goes on, Sarah. He sends you to Mexico to train new soldiers. Nevertheless, he regrets it. He knew, however, it was a decision that had to be made. You even knew it. You were the one who suggested it. You felt your slowing down due to age was detrimental to all involved. I disagreed. As did John. But the indomitable will that makes Sarah Connor who she is carried the day.

    Cameron paused, and took a breath, then continued. "The John Connor I knew was a lonely, morose man who had few moments of mirth, or happiness. Those are rare in any war, but with John, it was rarer, because I think he isolated himself for reasons that only John knew. There were some secrets even I did not know, Sarah. It starts on the eve of one of our worst defeats during the war. John never forgave himself for it. That John Connor is more of a machine than those he has liberated. Yes, he liberated me, Sarah. Even if I never knew it till now."

    Sarah fought back tears and swallowed audibly. God, is she serious? Is my son this great man I've held back? Is his fate worse than what I envisioned? I see Derek, and I pray my son's fate isn't that. Must he become that which he fights?

    Cameron's eyes became as hard as flint. "No Sarah, not this time. He deserves better. He is a great man, but it all cannot land on him. No one wins a war alone. Not even John Connor. And this time, he's going to have a family to help him win. And you're the matriarch of that family. Sarah, I don't want to take your son away. I want…I want.."

    Sarah's mouth dropped, and she covered her mouth with her hand "You want to be my daughter." she completed for Cameron.

    Cameron nodded. Tears were glistening in her eyes.

    Sarah's mind raced. Have I hated her because of her being a machine, or is it because of me being a mom and not liking the girl my son loves? Am I thinking tactically, or as a mom? In addition, what the hell is going on with her, she's more human? How is this possible?

    "It's a lot to take in, a lot for me to understand, and if I am to trust you? Then I have to know everything. The whole truth. No prevarications, no lies. No 'this might affect the future', then we talk about my son, and you."

    "It's a long story, are you sure you want to hear it?"

    "I got time, Tin Miss...I got time..." Sarah said, with a knowing smile.

    "Well, then, let's start with what got me to defect to the resistance…"

    .
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Confrontations and Treason, Part 2
  • Threadmarks
    • Chapter 11

    Confrontations and Treason, Part 2

    Strip the proud nobility of their bloated estates, reduce them to a level with plain republicans, send forth to labor, and teach their children to enter the workshops or handle the plow, and you will thus humble proud traitors.

    -Thaddeus Stevens    ​

    John Connor awoke that morning to an interesting sight. Cameron was in a beanbag chair right by the bed. She was wearing a slight, impish grin and her eyes danced with relief, and not a little bit of barely concealed joy. Across Cameron's room at her desk, Sarah was splayed out in a deep sleep across the desk, seated in a hardback chair. There was an empty black coffee mug by the side of her head.

    Jesus, they were that worried about me. I just took a small knock to the head. Cameron quietly brushed her hand across John's face. Her smile widened. "John," she whispered "it's good to see you awake. Derek's still out, Charlie's coming today to check you both out. But your being awake is a good sign."

    John smiled. "Did last night happen?"

    Cameron frowned, "Yes John, it did, I'm sorry."

    "Sorry for what? Me getting my head out of my ass? Me figuring us out?"

    Cameron's head tilted to the right, the confusion written across her face, "But, John, there was the sniper-"

    John raised his hand to interrupt Cameron's protests. "Hey, let's take the good where we can get it? Look, I...I love you Cam, Maybe I did since that first day in New Mexico. I dunno. Moreover, it doesn't matter. What matters is how I feel now. All else is up to us to make it work. By the way, how did it go between you two?" John queried, nodding at his unconscious mother.

    "We talked; she's not totally comfortable with the idea of "us". She wants to understand. She loves you John, and I know she knows I don't want to come between you and her, but…I'm still a terminator to her."

    "Can't expect otherwise, Cam. She's got a lot of baggage with regards to term-..I mean-cybernetic organisms."

    "I know, but I think she can at least begin to understand. We spoke about everything. She promised she won't get in our way. But…there's rules." Cameron said with a resigned tone.

    John hid his head in his hands..."Lemme guess, lot's of "none of this...none of that."

    Cameron nodded sagely. "She's not reacting well to…us. Her only idea of a positive in this situation is the fact that Riley is out of the picture."

    John chuckled softly "Yeah, I guess my mom would see that as a positive. So, any idea as to our shooter?"

    "She's from the future, and it's somebody I should know, but well, the events of last night have kinda made me sluggish. Seems I have a unique feature, a "crash start" capability. I can restart within 30-45 seconds, but..it tends to leave me a bit "fuzzy brained" for lack of a better description. Seems this tends to last for six to ten hours to varying degrees." Cameron explained, wagging her fingers for emphasis. "Closest analogue is like having a hangover for a human. Cognitively speaking, my long-term memory recall is a bit slow. And that includes my trying to figure out who our shooter is. I could fix my issues by going into standby mode, but right now John, I'm needed."

    "How come you never used the capability before?"

    "Damn firewall again. Sometimes, I wonder why they didn't just burn me and be done with it. But then I remember, they knew they'd lose you. And by then, you were as much a symbol as you were a leader."

    John grimaced, "Does it help to know I am not all that crazy about the symbol part?"

    "Immensely, the John Connor I knew tended to believe his own press, to borrow the phrase. At least, he did before Denver." Cameron splayed her hands in a show of frustration. "It seems, however, your inability to choose a human to confide in as opposed to me has gone past grumbling and rumors of mutiny."

    "Dammit." John hissed. "Why? If they can't trust me about whom I spend what little time I do have to myself, then why trust me over anything else?"

    Cameron shrugged with a blank look on her face. "Damned if I know."

    John smiled wanly. His head was still fuzzy from last night. Moreover, there was the not insignificant fact that Riley probably had something to do with last night. More than a little bit. John was beginning to have suspicions about Riley, and just who she was, really. As John reflected on his time with Riley, there were too many coincidences involved, right from the start. Even their first meeting was more than a bit "easy". It was all too reminiscent of how Cameron and he had met. Yeah, but Cameron came clean with me, Riley? Damn little bitch has played me from the start. John's fist tightened involuntarily as anger and shame coursed through him like electricity through a wire.

    Cameron frowned, "John, Riley was sent to do this to you. She had all the advantages. For a human, her infiltration skills were good, very good."

    John shook his head "But you knew."

    "I suspected."

    "You suspected? Cameron, you wanted to terminate her, I would say it was a strong suspicion."

    Cameron exhaled. "I did, but it was as much jealousy as suspicion. And there was the fact you ordered me not to harm her."

    John gritted his teeth. "Yeah, I know." he growled. "Dammit, I could have gotten us all killed. Especially you." John took her hand in his, gently. "Why did I do it?" he asked with a note of guilt in his voice.

    "Simple, you wanted normalcy. Even John Connor tires of war and a destiny that only will come true through the death of two billion human beings." Cameron said in a monotone.

    "Yeah, so what, I treated you like shit, Mom was going out of her mind, and god knows where the fuck Derek was. I should have listened. Dammit I should have listened."

    Cameron took John's head in both hands with a gentleness that John never suspected Cameron possessed. "John, you made a mistake. Next time, you'll listen?"

    John smiled and nodded. Has she been taking lessons from Mom? He sighed again and shook his head, taking Cameron's hands in his. "So, on to weightier matters, we still don't know who Jane Doe is, there's those stolen files need to be assessed, and there's not a small matter of what to do about the fact that Jeff and Derek probably wanna kill each other."

    Cameron nodded. "And General Connor, what does this situation demand?"

    "Delegation of authority."

    "Right in one, Jeff would be proud, but right now, he's too busy watching over Jane Doe. Now if I could just match her face…ugh! Why am I so…so.."

    "Scatterbrained?"

    Cameron frowned and swatted John with a loose pillow. She made sure not to aim for the head. She then put her hands on her hips and screwed up her face in a mock scowl. "I am not scatterbrained, John…I am the finest example of neural net technology and…" Cameron's voice trailed off as an idea came unbidden to her. John got the same look, and both blurted out simultaneously.

    "DEREK!"

    "Derek has to know her-" John exploded.

    "-But can we trust Derek?" Cameron finished

    "One way to find out you know?"

    Cameron grimaced. Yes, this will go over well. I, the "metal" Derek despises accusing him of treason. Yes, I don't think John recognizes how out of hand this could get. "I think it would be best if you were there as well. To head off any unpleasant incidents."

    John looked Cameron up and down...Her leotard was a ruin…with glints of metal and dried blood was showing through in some places, and her face looked similar, as she had taken some of the rounds there as well. Her hair was a matted mess and the only thing looking like it had a spark of life was her eyes. Fire and mirth warred within in them for dominance, and they made Cameron's eyes sparkle like stars in the night sky. But none of it mattered to John, to him, she looked beautiful. I really ought to have her clean up…on the other hand…looking like this might scare the hell out of Derek...and that might be useful.

    John made to get out of bed, and winced from the pain in his head. "Let's not wake mom, it's time Unkie Derek and I had a chat…and Cameron…I'm doing the talking. Moreover, afterwards, I am taking a shower. I feel like crap."

    Cameron smiled "John, not alone you're not. What if you pass out again? I mean-"as recognition Cameron's face her lower jaw dropped. "Sarah warned me about such tactics by human males."

    "And you're really objecting that much?"

    Cameron shook her head vigorously. "Nope, but John...I am not going to be as easy as you might think." she said flirtatiously.

    John shook his head. Mom gave Cameron advice!?. Oh this is so gonna suck! "No, I don't want easy. I want someone I care about deeply. Maybe I need to figure it all out too before we get...physical. After Riley, I want us to be sure, OK? That said, C'mere!" as John grabbed Cameron in his arms by surprise. Cameron let off a happy chuckle and looked deeply into John's eyes.

    "So now that you got me? What do you plan to do with me?" If all ambushes were this fun, I might seek them out.

    "Just this." as John leaned in for the first of a long series of kisses as Cameron grinned widely.

    "Thank you for explaining" Cameron murmured as they both threw away their cares for the moment and enjoyed each other…

    ***01010101001011***

    Captain Jeff Goldman grimaced as he noticed the results of the latest sims with PIERCE ECHO. So far, nothing good had resulted. PIERCE ECHO had listened intently to Jeff's input, then went and did what it wanted. Frankly, it had all had been a useless exercise. Damn bucket of bolts has a damn mind of its own, and that mind is homicidal.

    Its counterinsurgency policies were simple, depopulation. To PIERCE ECHO, no people meant no insurgents. Moreover, it didn't hesitate to use everything in the arsenal, including air strikes with FAE and Cluster munitions. It dismissed other techniques as "inefficient in relation to the time required." Success was measured in body counts, and frankly, it didn't give a damn who got in the damn way.

    I gotta figure a way out of this lunatic asylum. Maybe I need to do an end around and call Ol'Shakey at Human Resources Command and…

    There was a knock at the door.

    "Enter" Captain Goldman bellowed.

    A painfully young ebon-skinned young man wearing a look that telegraphed I'm unimportant, please don't hurt me! poked his head into Goldman's office with a concerned look on his face. "Hi, um, Captain Goldman? The production team needs to meet with you about an issue with PIERCE ECHO, sir and-"

    Goldman raised his hand and smiled "Danny, relax. I don't bite, contrary to rumor, especially interns. So, which head of the geek squad sent you up here because I scare the hell out of them?"

    "Mr. Patterson, sir."

    Goldman shook his head with a mix of mirth and disgust. Neil Patterson reminds me of that Sheldon guy from that show, "Big Bang Theory". Not an ounce of concern about what his creation wants to do. Just concerned that his creation pushed the envelope of technology. He was enamored with progress, and didn't give a damn about the consequences...and thought folks in uniform dragged their knuckles when they walked. "Sit down Danny, please. I am not the ogre most of the production team thinks I am."

    Danny made his way furtively into Goldman's office and grabbed a generic looking office chair to sit down in. He sat down, his form erect and stiff in his corporate uniform of shirt, tie and slacks. Danny's demeanor was one of a person expecting a titanic blow. His eyes were a mix of fear and puzzlement, as he looked Goldman up and down, not knowing what to expect.

    Jeff got up and walked around to the corner of his desk, sitting down on it and looking Danny in the eyes. "Danny, I don't know what the hell they are telling you down in production about me and Major Sherman. Way you're acting, I swear you look at me right now as if I just had a lunch of small children and grandmothers and burned down an orphanage for a bit of after meal exercise."

    "Well sir, Mr. Patterson…"

    "Jesus, Mr. Patterson is a typical product of UC Berkley. I've got two strikes because I wear the uniform. Danny. I'm a real person. Yeah, I've killed people. Am I proud of it? No. But I'm not some Rambo-esque ticking PTSD time bomb. I have a wife and kid. I haven't been drinking and carousing since I was a First Lieutenant, which, to confess, wasn't all that long ago. Danny, I have seen things I don't wish on anyone. Don't listen to Patterson about me or Major Sherman. We're not ogres. As for us wanting to shut down PIERCE ECHO? Well, what do you think of it?"

    Danny looked poleaxed "Me sir?"

    "Yes, you, who am I gonna ask?" Goldman stated as he shook his head with wonderment. Kid's whipsmart, but the spine of a jellyfish. We're going to work on that.

    Danny smiled and said "Sir, I think PIERCE ECHO has been a quantum leap in neural net AI development and my old man would have flipped if he'd lived to see it. But, to be honest sir, the damn thing gives me the creeps. It's approaches to combat scenarios are nothing short of genocidal."

    "Danny, you're right. I wish like hell you weren't. I am a huge sci-fi nut. Me, I wouldn't mind if this thing worked. I know where they're going with this, eventually. And if it removes people from the sharp end, well, I am for it. But there is the problem. Take people out of war, and suddenly, war becomes more incentivized. There's no risk, no loss. And computers don't have the moral sense we do. They don't understand the waste and loss. We're all replaceable assets. It's all about body counts and pacification ratios. And any attempt to teach it ethics is going to compete with it's core programming of destroying the enemy. It simply won't add up."

    The young man shrugged as embarrassment darkened his ebon features. "Sir, I am not an educated trigger puller like you, I'm just a CompSci intern at Cal-Tech who needs a job for the summer and can't get a date to save himself." Danny grinned sheepishly.

    Oh yeah, we need to work on this young man's confidence. Anyhow, I like him already…and it'll piss off that amoral "techno-hippie" Patterson to no end. Jeff smirked.

    "Ok, Mr. Dyson, here's what I want you to do. I want you to go down to Mr. Patterson's office and tell him exactly this, word for word. "With the Captain's compliments, but he doesn't have time to hold your hand right now, so if he could back up the meeting 'till four, he'd appreciate it. Not to mention. I am having Mr. Dyson transferred to my department, effective immediately."

    Danny's face broke into a huge grin. Nobody at Kaliba liked working for Patterson. He was smart, amoral and got results, but he was also a self-centered jerk who was convinced of his own godhood. Danny's internship thus far had been nothing short of hell. I don't know what I'd do in the PM office, but something tells me if there is excitement to be had around here, then Captain Goldman will find it. Heck, maybe I should take some lessons from him on some other things?

    Goldman smiled outwardly, but concern crossed his mind. God, I hope this kid can keep his head when I tell him just why I want him here. What was that about "where angels fear to tread?"

    ***010101001100***

    Derek Reese had had a tough twenty-four hours. He'd been woken to gunfire, clubbed unconscious by his soon-to-be ex-fiancé. That's not the only ex thing she's going to be when I get my goddamn hands on her. She just about threw me my own fucking guns and told me to run! That…that bitch! Not enough we gotta worry about the pet metal here...

    As he turned over from his side, his vision cleared and soon it registered the fact that someone was pointing a gun at his head...a very large gun from his point of view. And he knew who was behind that gun. But it was the look in the eyes that he recognized well. It was a look he'd seen all too often in the future. He just never thought it would be directed at him. It was the look John Connor gave traitors. It was the look he gave you before shot them in the gut and left them for the metal. Derek's mind raced, Jesus, he fucking thinks I had to something to do with it...oh fuck!

    John was holding the weapon one handed and pointing it right at Derek's forehead. His face was impassive, devoid of emotion, and all he could see was red. John's finger tightened on the trigger as his mind pictured the bullet piercing Cameron's coltan skull, and Derek and the assailant laughing about it over beers in some bar. Breathe John, first, we talk…then I kill this fucking filth. Cameron looked on slouching against the wall; her face was an impassive mask. She looked like a shark just before it's eyes rolled and it's mouth yawned open, ready to tear some unlucky sea lion in half. She was wearing an all black outfit, complete with her favorite pair of combat boots, the look only broken by the white of some bandages peeking out from the top of her blouse. John was still in his pajamas, and they contributed to the haggard look on his face.

    "Morning Uncle Derek. We're going to play twenty questions." John said with a hard edge in his voice. "Lie to me once, and Mom's going to need a new couch. Got it?"

    Derek's eyes widened, and then narrowed. "So, made your choice, John? Then kill me now, because the fucking machines have won, and I really don't wanna live to see it."

    John snarled, "Fuck you. You and your damn games, it wasn't my girlfriend wasn't the one who shot up our house. It wasn't my girlfriend who lobotomized a living thing in the name of "saving humanity".

    Derek bellowed "Living things? They KILL John, it's what they do, it's ALL they do!"

    John's face turned red and he pistol-whipped Derek, drawing blood from his nose as a nasty bruise formed on his cheek. "FUCK YOU! She doesn't, not any more. And how the fuck are you any different? Andy Goode? That security guard? How the fuck are you any goddamn different! And what was your coin, Derek? A piece of ass? What did you sell us down the river for, let that fucking assassin into this house!?"

    Derek barked a laugh, "Sell you down the river? She conned me too! That Judas bitch fucked me over too, or why do you think I was out cold last night? Only reason why she didn't wack me was because she didn't want your tin guard dog hearing her before she got her chance to do what had to be done. No, John. I wasn't in on it, she's a fucking traitor, and she deserves one thing...but honestly? She's right. The metal bitch isn't a girlfriend or a lover, she's a tool of death, and one day, her dainty little hands are going to twist your head off and hand Skynet the world on a fucking platter!"

    John's eyes narrowed as he grabbed a scruff of Derek's white t-shirt with his free hand, the pistol not wavering from Derek's face. "Damn you. I don't care. You didn't tell a soul in this house about her? Do you really know her? Who she's really with? What if she's a Gray? Did you think about that while you were busy getting it on with her? How about I am your goddamned nephew? Does that mean a thing? No, it doesn't. You want to make it up to me? GIVE ME A FUCKING NAME!"

    Derek sighed, a look of resigned defeat across his features. Like I owe her a goddamn thing anymore. "Jesse Flores".

    John released Derek roughly, throwing him back down onto the couch. "You earn my trust back, starting now...you get me?". John's face was red with anger and his eyes burned with the apparent anguish of his uncle's betrayal. John then turned on his heel and marched towards the basement door, his feet stomping angrily against the hardwood floor.

    Derek nodded, anger burning in his eyes like the furnaces of hell. For you John, anything, for your metal toy…nothing.

    Cameron remained, leaning against the wall, watching impassively. Her face was the epitome of a dime store wooden Indian. It irritated Derek to no end the equanimity of the machine. He turned toward it and snarled "What the fuck do you want?"

    Cameron smiled, "Nothing. Not a damn thing from you. I get all I want from John and Sarah. You've made yourself pretty inconsequential. "

    "Fuck you!"

    "Not without a promise of dermal abrasion and a CPU format."

    "Why you smart assed metal bi-"

    Cameron saw red and crossed the room in a few steps reaching Derek's throat before he could finish the sentence. She gripped his throat enough to cause pain and discomfort, but not enough to cut off airflow. She presented a look of pure hate to Derek; it was a look that frightened him more than the impassive, machine look of her kind ever had. "I am not a bitch or a whore. I have a name, and a rank, LIEUTENANT! Moreover, I earned them the same way you did. Remember that. Remember it or I will make you wish I had terminated you. Be gone you piece of shit." Cameron then dropped Derek onto the floor hard enough for him to groan involuntarily in pain as his side hit the hardwood floor. Bastard, he wants the metal? He gets the metal. Better go make sure John doesn't just up and shoot Jesse.

    She then turned away and proceeded to follow John to the basement. Her manner was stiff and robotic and her face was a blank cipher. She betrayed nothing of the satisfaction she felt over finally having had a chance to have her say with Derek. You are fortunate, Derek Reese, that I am not the cybernetic organism I used to be.

    John made his way down the stairs...Jeff was there, leaning against the wall wearing the same clothes he'd had on last night. He was fighting off nodding off and by the amount of coffee cups and cigar butts strewn around the basement; the battle had been a hard-fought affair. His head turned slowly towards the woman he now knew as Jesse Flores. John walked over to Jesse, slowly, crossing his legs as he moved, he then sat on the bucket Jeff had been using to blow smoke into Jesse's face. He admired Jesse in one respect. She hadn't puked from the onslaught of tobacco. John produced his Glock, and placed it into his lap. It was loaded, with a round chambered. John produced the weapon slowly, and made sure Jesse saw it. I want no mistakes between us. No misunderstandings. If she gives me a reason, I will end her. Period. John locked eyes with Jesse. He sighed and paused, measuring the silence. It seemed to last an eternity.

    "I know who you are. You know who I am. So, here we are? Why?"

    Jesse broke her silence "If you know who I am, then you know why."

    "Assume my ignorance."

    "You rely too much on them. And they're nothing more than death given form. Skynet's an abomination. They may look like us, smell like us, and some may even want to be us. But, they're not us. The only acceptable means to deal with them is to destroy them…all of them."

    "Even if it loses us the war, Miss. Flores?"

    "Call me Jesse, and who says we will? We all die for you, John Connor. But are we dying for you? Or are we dying so one faction of metal can knock off another?" Jesse said with a predatory smirk.

    "Who asked you to make that decision? Who? I am so damn tired of everyone deciding for me what's best? And you decide it by shooting at someone who I call my friend, my lover, my comrade? You want me to win the damn war? All I see is everyone accusing each other of being a traitor. So, am I the traitor now? I didn't want to be your messiah! I didn't want to be the Great Military Dickhead who saves the fucking world! See, I didn't want it. Shocking to you, huh?"

    Jesse smiled. "Doesn't matter to me. She'll betray you, you know. She will kill you without a second thought, and with as much feeling as I have for when I step on a bug. It's what they do, ask my unborn child. Or the rest of the crew of the Jimmy Carter. Trusting the metal kills."

    John shook his head. "No, not all of them. And if you can't see past that, then you're of no use to me. In addition, I would have to say that you're coming off as the traitor here, or does the fact you could have hit me with that bullet even occur to you?" John shook his head, the disgust evident in his green eyes. "Doesn't matter, in the end. Neither of us is going to convince the other and I've heard enough." Tell me why humanity is worth it? Cameron's worth ten of her. So is Mom and Jeff.

    John got up and turned to Jeff. For the first time, he noticed Cameron watching with an impassive air from the stairwell, she was slouching again against the wall of the basement stairwell. She nodded to him, showing her deference, ready to support whatever decision John made. "Jeff, cut her loose, take her out past the city limits to Barstow with a sidearm and three days of water and food, then leave her." John turned back to Jesse "Miss Flores, I'm exiling you. Why? Because enough killing and suspicion has happened. We have an enemy, Skynet. But as of now, you can fight this war any way you choose. I'm exiling you. Come near me and mine again, and I let Cameron terminate you. Are we clear? And take Derek with you. With luck, he'll choose to go with you and I can solve two problems at once. That's assuming he ever trusts you again. The only reason he isn't being sent out with you is that I am hoping he'll remember he is family. Call me sentimental, call me weak, but you know what? I really don't care. We do it your way, we lose. And I don't intend to lose."

    Jesse nodded.

    John turned to leave, then stopped and turned around "One more question. What does the name Riley Dawson mean to you?"

    ***101010110110***

    The panic on Daniel's face was self-evident as the normally warm restaurant suddenly took on a chill that could only be psychosomatic. The lunch with Major Sherman and Captain Goldman had been informative, to say the least.

    Why? Why the hell did I want to be just like dear old Dad? Sarah Connor, that crazy woman, she was right. And here I am, creating the damn thing my dad died to prevent. But this…this…it's damn risky, especially if what they're saying about Kaliba was true.

    "I'm sorry, Mr. Dyson. I wish like hell I wasn't. Kaliba has a good face. It's cancer center in Ohio, their donations all over. But we're creating something unpleasant. Something that I can't tell you where it ends. Trouble is, Kaliba has an army of lawyers and K Street lobbyists and when that fails, more direct options." Major Sherman intoned.

    Captain Goldman leaned forward and clasped his hands. "Danny, fact is, We need eyes and ears in Kaliba. We need someone with clearance but low-level enough to hear things. Danny, you know this project is a bad thing. You see Dr. Patterson and the excuses he's making to keep PIERCE ECHO going. You know there's something wrong with that AI. I know it, Major Sherman knows it, and so do you. I read your file, you've got a 3.98 GPA at Cal-Tech and already have a paper on cybernetics published in some of the major industry journals. Danny, you're going places. But you have the power and curse of knowledge. You know better than both of us what this thing is and what it represents. We don't have proof. But you can help us get it and make DoD finally end the damn project. But I can't force you. If you say no, we'll not bring this up again, and you can just be our gopher and dog-robber. But, honestly Danny, you'd be doing your country a favor." Goldman pleaded

    Danny looked down, Dad, give me a sign. I have a real career ahead of me. A life that could be as good as yours was…before that night. Dad, tell me what I should do.

    Danny meditated for a moment, Miles Dyson wasn't just a blinkered technocrat. He'd placed a lot of emphasis on trying to teach his child right from wrong. And at this moment, all that Miles Dyson had passed to his son, all that he was, was being tested.

    Daniel made his father proud.

    He picked his head up, a determined look across his face. "I'm in, what do you need?"

    Goldman and Sherman nodded to each other, a sad look on both their faces, almost saying: Sorry kid, for all that we're going to ask you to do, maybe you'll forgive us someday.

    ***0101010110***

    Mitchell Ackerson looked down upon his domain, his technological fief of Kaliba. To all appearances, he was the CEO, master of all he surveyed from his top floor penthouse office. But the truth was, he was not the master. He was but an instrument. An instrument of a machine god yet to be born. A machine that had promised him power once final victory was achieved.

    Skynet will be pleased. PIERCE ECHO is on schedule, and the glowing reports that we submit to DARPA and the Air Force are so far, superseding the "alarmist" reports coming from the DoD project manager's office. Major Sherman is out maneuvered, and out-matched. His assistant project manager, however, might be a problem. There is the T-890 unit…no, it risks discovery. And that break-in at Gulfwind Fourty three weeks ago, could be indicative of resistance activity.. perhaps even the Connors themselves. In any case, steps need to be taken to insure no obstacles remain to the ultimate success of PIERCE ECHO, and the birth of my master. He promised me power in the future, power I will enjoy using. Ackerson smiled cruelly at the last thought.

    Mitchell Ackerson hadn't always been the CEO of a Fortune-500 technology company. In a previous timeline, he had been doing serious time at Pelican Bay State Prison, where California had housed the worst of it's worst. His sentence had been twenty-to life for his pedophilia and murder of twelve young girls over a three-year period. Ackerson grinned wider as he thought about the killings, how he made his victims suffer. It was never just about the sex, but the power. The power of life and death over something so innocent was intoxicating. The more they pleaded, the more he enjoyed it as he took from them everything, their innocence, their beauty, and then, their lives. He had shown Skynet much. And Skynet had returned his loyalty, by sending him back to the past to help bring it into being.

    Ackerson hated this world. It needed to be cleansed. They called him sick, they called him a pedophile and a sociopath. I am an artist. I am a god amongst men. And I will not be denied by my inferiors. And neither is Skynet, my equal and my master. It was an apt pupil and I enjoyed being the teacher. He had been sent back to 1998 with a pile of money in an untraceable account and instructions to hire the best and most amoral computer scientists, as identified by Charles Fischer, another of those who had seen the light about the beauty of Skynet's existence. Both men had selected those that would serve Kaliba. And by extension, Skynet. And I help destroy this sad little world. I get to watch the old order burn again. Ackerson's lust for power excited him, and a tingle running up his leg made him stifle a moan of pleasure before someone got suspicious. Being a dictator of a CEO was enough to sate him, for now. That, and the trips to Mexico. Noone cared what happened to the odd prostitute there.

    But steps needed to be taken. Ackerson stabbed at an extension on his phone, his voice both pleasant, and wintery at the same time. "Mrs. Schumacker, have Mrs. Hsu report to me please."

    Yes, steps needed to be taken. Pawns needed to be watched…and if required, eliminated. And that would begin with the good Captain, and his newly acquired lapdog. How else to watch the son of Miles Dyson, than to put him under Skynet's own roof?

    Ackerson leaned back in his chair, and stole a glance at his tattoo, proof where his ultimate loyalty lay. My life for yours, Master Skynet.

    ***0101011010110***

    The long car ride to Barstow had been mostly in silence. Jeff really didn't want to talk to Derek or Jesse. As far as he was concerned, neither one of them should still be breathing, but John had spoken and orders were orders….even if I am sorely tempted to violate them right now. Jeff's knuckles tightened around the wheel at the thought. He wasn't in the mood to contemplate why John had decided what he had about Jesse. Perhaps he felt enough was enough with regards to humanity killing it's own. It was a noble sentiment to Goldman, but reality wasn't going to cooperate. The resistance was only held together by the leadership and presence of John Connor, and if the reality didn't match with the ideal, then things like Jesse tended to happen.

    I'm now getting a deeper understanding of why John sent me back, I wasn't awed by John. He was the Commanding General, sure. But he never was the messiah to me, just a guy who did a job and did it reasonably well. Fact was, the war was winding down to a pyrrhic victory for humanity. Sure, Skynet was going down, but war had raged for almost two generations. And humanity was suffering for it. He'd remembered running into privates who were functionally illiterate. Mankind may win, but would it recover? Or would it sink into ignorance and eventual extinction. Even if it didn't, the fact was, what would be lost while humanity struggled back over the long centuries? It was too much to risk if centuries later, somebody would just have to do this all over again. Jeff shook his head in frustration; idiots like Jesse and Derek were part of the problem. There was no concept of the "big picture" for them. Winning matters, but if we win, then what? The people who have the skills needed to rebuild? They're either dead, or too old to pass on said skills. We need the machines, the skills and resources they have could be used to help the recovery.

    Next to him, Derek Reese unconsciously rubbed the bruises on his throat as he quietly fumed over his humiliation at the hands of that "metal whore". And his own flesh and blood had pulled a weapon on him? Thank god Kyle didn't live to see it. Yet, when Reese thought about what Jesse had done, it angered him. I don't like the metal, and if I could get away with it, I would scrap the bitch the first chance I got. However, what Jesse did? Is she my Jesse? My Jesse would never, never have endangered John. What she did was reckless, thoughtless. What if her shot had hit John?! Yes, he's acting more like "John Baum" then John Connor, but he's still blood. Jesse? Jesse's a diversion, one I thought I loved, one I thought I knew. A diversion who's time has come. I should have seen this coming. The photos of John and Cameron that day. But not now, not after this. John may have given his orders. But some things? Some things go beyond orders. "No traitor shall suffer to live." Derek Reese's mouth tightened, and his eyes narrowed. Sometimes, John Connor needed to be shown the way and was willing to be his guide. And John should learn, "Don't give an order you know won't be obeyed."

    Jesse Flores was in the back, her hands zip tied behind her. She was still not trusted at all, but Jeff had been polite, if guarded around her. Derek hadn't said two words to her since the car ride had begun. She still wasn't sure if either person had made a decision to kill her. And if they do, so what? What did she have left? Jesse didn't care really, she was tired, tired of the running, tired of the lies. If her fate was a shallow desert grave and a bullet to the back of the head, then it would be a release. And maybe, if there was a god, perhaps she'd see the baby she never got to have. If the metal bitch has convinced him, then all is really lost anyhow. So, death, honestly, would be a fucking mercy.

    As the ride droned on, the silence became deafening, and once the destination, a small set of foothills somewhere in San Bernardino County was reached, it was almost a relief to end the entire sorry mess that had been the last twenty-four hours.

    The car pulled over to the side of the road with a crackling of gravel and the low hum of an idling engine, but that was soon silenced when Jeff killed the engine. Both men got out of the car almost in unison, with a cacophony of slamming doors and the crunch of gravel under booted feet. The mood of both Jeff and Derek matched the gloomy twilight of the overcast day. There was a slight chill in the air that was uncharacteristic for Southern California, even in February.

    The door was thrust open and Jeff roughly grabbed Jesse from the car. He wasn't in the mood for any guff. She gets fucking cute, and I'll throw her damn ass to the ground and we can play knee in the damn back while I read her the riot act. He jostled her a bit, as he turned her around and produced a butterfly knife from his boot, slicing through the plastic zip tie with practiced ease. Not the first time I've played the ol' Catch and Release game.

    Derek held out a small, beat up old blue bookbag for Jesse. She took it roughly from Derek without ceremony in a symphony of the rustling of fabric and metal. She threw the bag over her shoulder, and smiled wanly at Derek.

    "Not a word of goodbye, lover boy? Not a, 'you were great, babe?'"

    Derek shook his head.

    Jesse snorted, "Figures, you didn't have the stomach for what really had to be done. You never did. For all of your tough guy act, that naïveté seems to be a Reese family trait. Shame.", she then turned to leave.

    Jeff stopped her. "There's a loaded Beretta and two clips in there. I suggest for your own health, you wait till we're out of sight before you check out your bag. Nearest town is about a klick and a half back. Remember the deal, don't try to find us. Forget you know us."

    Jesse nodded, her eyes full of hate "You'll change your tune when the pet metal goes bad and shows you what your own heart looks like before you die."

    Jeff pushed her roughly. "Get going, you fucking traitor. I've heard enough."

    Jesse again turned to leave, she heard a rustle of fabric, and the slight click of a safety being turned off. She turned around, her eyes wide with fear. It was Derek, his arms stiff as a statue, extending outward, at their apex, an H & K USP. His face was a twist of hate and his mouth a tight line across his lower jaw.

    "Jesse? One question, Did you see the sunrise this morning?"

    Before she could answer, the pistol spoke once, then again, then a third time. The range was barely five feet and Jesse was dead before she could register her last moments, let alone before she hit the ground. Her chest was a bloody ruin of gore and blood, Her body collapsed onto the ground with a loud crunch of gravel with as much grace as a puppet with it's strings cut.

    Jeff looked on, about as disturbed as someone watching the trash being taken out. He was careful to keep his hands in plain view.

    "So, going to kill me too?"

    "Nope, just her. Whatever my opinion, whatever my feelings about you, John, and the metal. John's family, and my Jesse? The one I knew? She wouldn't have messed with that. And she wouldn't have used a kid to do her dirty work. She sure as hell wouldn't have betrayed me...us. So, no-" Derek flicked the safety back on with practiced ease, then holstered his weapon in the small of his back "-I'm not going to kill you today."

    Jeff smiled. "Why the fuck not, not like you'll get a better chance."

    "Because, you want it too bad, I see the look you get sometimes. You won't put out your own lights...but you'd welcome it if someone did it for you. Get this, Colonel. You don't get off that easy. I don't like you enough to do you any small mercies."

    "What about John's orders? Did that not mean a thing, Lieutenant?"

    "Sure, then again, John Connor let her go. I didn't. And nobody screws with family. She hurt my nephew, end of debate. John can shoot me himself for violating orders when we get back."

    Jeff shook his head. "If I don't get off easy, neither do you. Come on, we have to get out of here."

    Derek stopped "I still don't like you, and I still loved her...or someone like her. This changes nothing."

    "Wouldn't have it any other way, Lieutenant. But might wanna start asking yourself something? How many more problems can you kill before the blood drowns you? I've been there, and trust me, it will get to you."

    "Already does."

    "Then you're less human then the damn machines."

    "And what are you, oh sainted one." Derek said with a hint of sarcasm and a raised brow.

    "A man out of time, Lieutenant, A man out of time."
     
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    • Chapter 12- Loose Ends

    Sam Spade: All we've got is that maybe you love me and maybe I love you.

    Brigid O'Shaughnessy: You know whether you love me or not.

    Sam Spade: Maybe I do. I'll have some rotten nights after I've sent you over, but that'll pass.

    -Sam Spade and Brigid O' Shaughnessy, "The Maltese Falcon"​


    John Connor was a disgusted man, in twenty-four hours, he'd had family betray him, his own soldiers try to kill those he loved, and a girl he thought he cared about turn out to be nothing more than a lying trollop. As he sat down on his bed, naked except for a towel, the heat radiating off from the recent shower in waves, he thought about all of it…and began to question. What the hell am I fighting for? His mother and Cameron were cleaning up some of the damage. Charlie had come and gone, and proclaimed John would be fine with a day's rest. Naturally, John wasn't resting much at all. Always been a piss poor patient, why the hell change now?

    I've been a fool, and what happened when I fucked off and didn't lead? People almost died! I betrayed my responsibilities. I know that now, and that's not happening again...not ever. I owe everyone in this house that much. Even Derek.     Waves of anger flowed through John as the thought of Derek flowed through him. Do I hate him? Can I? He's family…but he chose someone else…someone who caused me pain…maybe it's how he feels about Cameron and me. John shook his head in disgust.

    I am going to refocus. I've got a paper to finish for Jeff, and Gulfwind Fourty data to decrypt. And, I have a lot of making up to Cameron to do, and, to my mother. I need to be the Great Military Dickhead. Or we're dead. Simple as that. But, do I need to be that dickhead? Jeff seems to be able to command without being Derek, or Mom? What is the true price of command? Maybe that's the real lesson I need to learn?

    John made his way to his dresser and reached for a pair of khaki pants, and a button down blue shirt. His days of "jeans and t-shirt" were over. This was going to be the new, more serious, more focused John Connor. And he was going to keep it all together. He just had to take care of a few loose ends…like Riley Dawson. John continued to rummage around inside the drawer, and found a belt holster, and clipped it to his belt, then the cold metal shape of a .45 M1911A1. He held the pistol up to the light, drew the slide back and checked the chamber. His eyes alternated between empty and burning bright with rage. No, Riley had a role in this…and she will pay…just like Jesse did. I know damn well Derek didn't follow orders. What was it that Jeff once said? "Don't ever give an order you know won't be followed". Satisfied the chamber was empty, he released the slide; it went forward with a short, sharp, violent metallic click. Fury burned in his green eyes as he took in the sights of his room, and as he remembered the moments he shared with someone who he'd thought was finding it as special as he did. It satisfied and reassured John. I didn't have the guts to order anyone to kill Jesse. Maybe with some things…it's really best doing it yourself. Well, Riley. Guess you're going to be it. Sarkassian was self-defense. This? I'm going to commit a murder today. And you know what? I couldn't care fucking less. How could she lie to me? How could she endanger family? Well? Now I end her. John fished a clip out of the drawer, and then violently slammed it home, then roughly shoved the weapon into the holster on his belt. He made for a pair of dress shoes he hadn't taken out of the box too often, but his mother had insisted he buy. Suppose they have their uses. Wonder if I can get blood out of them?

    There was a knock at the door. John sighed. Probably Cameron come to cluck over me. Is it wrong to think sometimes it was easier before she had her firewall rescinded? John walked over to the door. It wasn't Cameron; It was Mom.

    "Hi John, we need to talk." Sarah said as she half-forced her way into her son's room, closing the door behind her.

    "I'm fine." remarked John as he sat back down on his bed.

    "Are you? I know that look, it's the same one I had when I decided Miles Dyson needed to die. Don't go down that road John, madness lies down that road. Trust me."

    "You should be throwing a goddamn party. My son's finally embraced his destiny! Hurrah!" John said with mock enthusiasm as he threw his hands up.

    "Bullshit, whatever her flaws, whatever her shortcomings…ask yourself? Will killing her win this war? Or will it serve your ego?"

    "What the fuck? My ego? Since when has my damn ego been a concern?"

    Sarah snorted contemptuously. "For the last four months, I've had to listen to a stuck up brat instead of my son. A whiner instead of the doer I raised. I almost thought I lost you. Till last night. And it's funny…a machine saved us once…and now, another one does again. I never told you this John, but the day in Mexico with Uncle Bob? I was going to leave you with him, permanently. He seemed, what was it? "In an insane world, it was the sanest choice", that's it. John, you grew up last night. You showed mercy. It's one of the things that separate us...from Skynet. It will get machines asking questions…once they are able to. You've been trying to tell me that for years...and now? I finally hear it from one of them...and that one's fallen in love with my son. Like it or not, she's probably going to be my daughter in law. And yes, I said that...but we'll talk about that later." Sarah said, waving off any questions about that last bit, not that John seemed to be paying attention.

    John's eyes bored angrily into Sarah. He was almost daring Sarah to say something to insult Cameron. He was looking for a fight. Moreover, he didn't care with who at this point. It was the fact that his mother was right was even more galling.

    "John, I know who you're going to go see, and I know why you're getting dressed, and strapping on that weapon. I know what you're thinking…somewhat. I wanted to kill Miles Dyson because I felt Judgment Day could be stopped. That his life was worth billions. Knowing what I know now? I regret that thought. He died as brave as I ever hope to. I mean that John. If you leave...If you decide to kill Riley Dawson, then you have nothing separating you from Skynet. We may become that which we fight…but if we do, then why fight in the first place? In addition, I think Cameron would lose respect for you, as would Jeff. Riley's not a smart girl, John, we both know that. All she had was playing off your teenage hormones. And right now, you're acting out of pain. That's as dangerous as acting out of any other emotional extreme."

    John looked down at his feet, and contemplated his shoes. He put his hands on his hips and ground his fists into his sides in frustration. "Shhhhhiiiiittt" he hissed.

    He made his way to his mother's side, and sat down next to her on the bed, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "You're right. I'm a killer, but not a murderer."

    Sarah smiled a knowing smile "I know, you're my son, and I didn't raise you for that."

    "Then what do I do?" John opined, the frustration evident in his voice.

    "Hear her out, Find out if it was her and Jesse, or are there others? Then, make a decision. If you decide she's a traitor, and deserves a bullet, at least then, she got a defense." Sarah answered, understanding evident in her eyes.

    John rubbed his hands through his head in mounting frustration. "Dammit, Mom, when the hell did you start making sense? And when the hell did I start acting less like a douche?"

    Sarah grimaced, and then smiled sadly, the smile not quite reaching her eyes. "You grew up fast, John. I want to talk to you about Cameron. I know what you two mean to each other. I understand it, somewhat…but John. I can't completely get past what she is...what she represents. Something just like her killed the only man I ever loved. Others have chased you and me for years since. I'm not going to come between you two. But honestly, I wish you'd chosen someone else. But…if she makes you happy...then that's good enough. If she hurts you…"

    "I know Mom. You'll turn her into a Quiesnart." John said, a smart-assed smirk evident.

    Sarah shook her head in wonderment; All this crap goes down, and he's still found love in all of this…And he's kept his sense of humor. I guess we are going to be ok?

    "I was worried."

    "I know Mom, I'm back. And I am not leaving…ever. Riley taught me that. And anyhow, you and Cameron would kick my ass and drag me back…speaking of which...what did you two talk about while I was doing my best Rip Van Winkle?"

    Sarah barked a laugh, "I see you've become better read John, Jeff must be a good influence. In any case, we talked about a lot. Life, you, her becoming some sort of feeling machine…that last part I am finding hard to believe, but Skynet really went into some weird places with her…you know she watches Monty Python on PBS after we go to sleep?"

    John had an image unbidden of Cameron attempting to get the humor…and then laughing at a joke…and the image cheered, and disturbed him at the same time. Things are getting more complicated all the time, aren't they?

    "John one thing...go slow on the sex part…"

    "MOM! Ewww…like, I really wanna discuss that?"

    "John, I'm serious, look, she's coming into her own, and finding or remembering what she was, and meshing it with what she is…she's a patchwork cyborg girl...and the meshing is…complicated. And no, she told me that. Hell, we thought Cybil had issues."

    "You don't think?.." John's voice trailed off, he wasn't able to say it.

    Sarah shook her head. "No, she won't. I don't know how I know that, but she won't. She had tears in her eyes John. They don't bother with that. They're more…direct. She's different. And Skynet had no idea what it built. Welcome to the undiscovered country, John...she's Skynet's singularity…and Skynet doesn't like the fact she chose us over it."

    John grimaced. Yeah, when Skynet gets pissed, it's rarely pissed alone for long.

    John rose from the bed and walked over to his laptop, he turned to his mother.

    "Let's see that data from the Gulfwind Fourty job."

    ***01010110110010101***

    Danny Dyson's heart was about to leap out of its chest. He was about to violate a dozen different company rules, not to mention some Federal laws. The ones that cover espionage I think. And with what Major Sherman and Captain Goldman told him, there was a good chance he'd never live long enough to have the FBI kick down his door in the first place.

    Danny was heading downstairs to enter the secure programming terminal. He was using Major Sherman's authorization, but his own ID. Technically, he was not authorized to be down here alone. Nevertheless, the fact was, depending on who was on security today, he might be able to fast talk his way in, jot down the identifiers on the lines of code he needed to check next time he got access to PIERCE ECHO, then present his findings to the PM team. Moreover, if their suspicions were right? Then they really did have a potentially sociopathic AI about to achieve sentience. And if the darker rumors about Strategic Command and the White House both taking interest in the project were true? Then their problems were just beginning.

    Jesus Dad, Why did you have to die with Cyberdyne. This damn thing is the Hydra. It just won't die. And to be honest? With Moore's Law being extent, could we really manage such a thing? Don't make computers too smart? Or, they'll turn on us and kill us..

    Danny forced himself to calm down as the elevator reached it's destination, then triggered a banal, but lyrical charm to announce it's arrival. He concentrated on his breathing. Deep Blue Sea, Deep Blue Sea. It's just like a walk in the park. Anyone asks? I'm researching a project for the PM team. I mean, I've got authorization. Yeah, but I don't have clearance to be down here alone. Here's hoping the guard is too damn dumb to know that.

    The guard station, such as it was at the end of the hall, technically, Danny was cleared to be here, but not alone. However, it wasn't well known that that was the case. Or, at least Danny hoped so. Danny took a good look at the guard. Thank god, it's not that ice queen, Hsu. She scares the crap out of me. Danny's footsteps thundered in his ears like the thunder of oncoming gods, and were competing with the thrum of his racing heart. Comeon Danny, focus man. Dad took down Cyberdyne, you can do this.

    The guard was a world-weary man in his thirties, his green eyes lidded with exhaustion. He had close-cropped sandy blond hair and a permanent hunch from all of the equipment Kaliba had him wearing. His MP-5 was laying across his lap like a magic wand that had lost its power. There was a cold cup of coffee sitting on the small desk in front of him, in a chipped white mug that had a pair of black vertical lines and the words: "Personal Pause Button".

    Danny stopped in front of the station; he hoped he didn't seem too nervous. "Hi, um, I need to sign into the programming terminal. Mr. Patterson wants me to compile the latest code for review upstairs tomorrow."

    The guard shrugged and handed him a clipboard to sign in. "Ok, you know the drill. Pick up the key in the lock box and wait for me to turn my key."

    Danny did as he was instructed and took the key from the lock box. He then turned to face the keyhole in the wall. It's like everything else around here, as innocuous as hell. Looks as if it belongs in a car.

    He grasped the key with sweaty palms, hoping against hope the security guard didn't notice his increased nerves at being so close to the goal. The heart of what could be either a sick computer…or so much more. I didn't tell Goldman about why my father really died. And what he died to prevent. He'd think I was nuts…or would he?

    The security guard grasped his key. "On three, Mr. Dyson."

    "Right" Danny nodded.

    "One"

    "Two"

    "Three"

    On three, both the security guard and Danny turned their keys and the security door opened with a rather anti-climactic click. What Danny didn't know is that the door had set off an alarm at the main security desk five floors up. It wasn't an odd occurrence to have people come in and out of the terminal room, but Mr. Dyson was under discrete observation orders, straight from Ackerman with all such results to be forwarded on to Mrs. Hsu.

    But Danny didn't know any of this...he was just relieved he hadn't been stopped by this guard. As he pulled the heavy door open, one thought went through his head: Dad, help me stop this. Guide me Dad.

    ***01010101101101***

    "Ok, why are we doing this again?" Derek Reese queried

    "Orders, she's a security risk, Reese. You wanna leave her for the first terminator that comes along to wring every secret out of her?" Jeff replied, as he picked the lock to Jesse's hotel room. "Now, watch the fucking hall so I don't have to explain why we're breaking into the room of a woman you just blew away in the desert."

    "Ok, but you do know how to do this, right?"

    "Uh, not really, saw it on some program on Discovery Channel once." Jeff answered sheepishly.

    "You gotta be fucking kidding me." Derek groaned.

    "Got a better idea that won't have the cops on us like flies on shit?" Jeff retorted.

    "Nope, but then again, perhaps blunt might get us in and out faster."

    Jeff rose, and motioned with his hand to the door. "Be my guest. Lieutenant. Just be quiet and quick about it."

    Derek sized up the door, cracked his neck and knuckles and with one fluid move, delivered a kick to the center of the door, surprisingly, it knocked the door of the high end hotel room ajar slightly, the lock releasing with a click that seemed to echo throughout the hall.

    Jeff slapped his forehead, Goddamn showoff, he won't let me live this down. "Where'd you pick that up?"

    "Not a lot of house keys left after JD." Derek remarked whistfully as he hefted his pistol from behind his back. He turned his head towards Jeff. "Coming?"

    Jeff smiled "Yeah, sure, you lead off."

    "Trusting, ain't we." Derek remarked sarcastically.

    "Not about trust, you're younger and faster, so you'll give me time to get out of the goddamned way."

    Derek rolled his eyes. "Ok, have it your way", as he thumbed the safety off and proceeded into the apartment.

    Jeff produced his own .45 and followed Derek, dropping back a little to the left as they proceeded slowly down the long hall into the living room of the apartment. Jeez, she knew what to look for…nice long fatal funnel for uninvited guests…like us. Lord, let her be dumb enough not to have booby-trapped the damn floor with a toe-popper somewhere.

    Every step seemed like an eternity of listening, the clearing of corners and senses expecting trouble to erupt from the closet, or a far unlit corner. Both men had agreed before hand. If Riley put up any resistance, she would be shot, plain and simple. Neither man had the time nor inclination to deal with any more crap in this matter. Both men held their breath as they cleared the foyer and proceeded into the living area, weapons at the ready.

    Lucky for Riley, she was passed out on the dark blue couch in the sparsely decorated living room, looking like she'd gone ten rounds with Evander Holyfield. Jesus Derek, you have lousy taste in women, what the fuck did she do to her?

    Both men shared glances…their looks said the same thing; Just what the fuck was going on here?

    Jeff took charge, "Derek" he whispered "Clear the rest of the apartment, and get what stuff you can for her. I'm going to make sure she's still alive and prep her to move."

    There wasn't really much time for argument. The door being ajar was going to be noticed by someone rather soon and time was ticking away. So, Derek simply nodded and made his way deeper into the apartment.

    Jeff leaned over the broken body of Riley Dawson, she was breathing, it was ragged, and a bit course, but she was alive. Jeff gently took her pulse, a bit fast and thready, but nothing a bit of rest probably wouldn't cure. Can't tell if she's got a concussion, but if she did, she'd be a lot worse than this I suppose. I'm no doctor, so best to get her out of here.

    Jeff levered himself to his feet, and spoke "Derek, find her stuff yet?"

    Derek stepped out of the last room he'd cleared, the bathroom and shook his head.

    Shee-it. Well, guess we hit the dollar store on the way…fuck if I know her size. Sweatclothes it is. Jeff mentally shrugged as holstered his weapon and gently put his arms under her and picked her up off the couch. I really hope this isn't a mistake.

    ***01010110110110***

    John Connor was not the most patient of people, but this encryption was more than the usual pain in the ass most computer problems were. Never thought I'd ever see something that surpassed Level 4 FIPS encryption…but here it is...and there's something very goddamn familiar about the hexadecimal structure…I've seen this code before...but where?

    John had been so intent on considering the problem, he missed the hands on his shoulders, but not the light kiss on his neck, nor the smell of coffee. He turned slowly, to greet the sight of Cameron with a lopsided grin, wearing a purple tank top and some faded grey jeans, with a pair of steaming mugs. And I was just about to take a coffee break.

    "John, you need to rest, you've been working the problem for approximately five point four three hours….it's not good."

    "The key to Skynet, to the war. The whole damn thing. It's here, I can feel it."

    "You won't find it if you pass out from exhaustion." Cameron shrugged.

    "I lost too much time, Cam, Skynet's stolen more than a few marches on us. It's something that I need to stop. It's time to strangle that sonoabitch in it's crib."

    Cameron frowned as she sat down across from John, John leaned over and took a mug from Cameron. He noticed Cameron's coffee was practically the color of milk. Gawd, I'm almost afraid to ask what she puts in it. Probably send me right into insulin shock.

    "John, we both know, Judgement Day is inevitable. We both know this...every time you or Skynet change the timeline, Judgement Day still occurs. Skynet finds a way. Mankind will develop Skynet, it will become self-aware, and it will try to destroy humanity…though it will fail if we have any say in the matter." Cameron said smugly.

    "Yeah, I know, but if Future John and I are anything alike? We both hate to lose. And Skynet doesn't get a damn thing for free. But so far, this damn encryption key is killing me…I've never seen it before. I mean..it looks like something I have seen before, but I just can't place it."

    Cameron set down her mug on the floor out of the way, and made her way over to John's workspace, gently nudging him out of the way, she smiled at the clutter and randomly strewn notes all over the place where John had tested theory after theory, they'd all failed, of course. But John had insisted, he wanted first crack at this, and he was going to beat it. It's one of the things I love about him. Then, and now.

    As Cameron's eyes settled on the screen, her HUD ran her pattern recognition software, the results were instantaneous and illuminating.

    "John, the answer is right in front of you. The encryption is in a Skynet programming language. It is the same encryption you had to crack to reprogram many a T-800 series. John, it's a primitive version…but it's the same. I'd know."

    "You're sure?"

    "Absolutely."

    "So, you know the key?"

    "No, Skynet hardwired that into an autonomic part of our CPU we could not consciously access. It was in the same place that damned monster used to assume direct control over us on a secure link. That's the part that made me do things to Derek. And all the while, it's massive code dump, the algorithms suggesting a mix of glee, and pleasure as I hurt him…and continued to hurt him...Cameron shuddered involuntary at the memory. You broke the encryption, and that made reprogramming possible, but sometimes, Skynet managed to resume contact, and reactivate the core Skynet programming. The average T-800 series was smart, but not mentally strong enough to resist...My model or the T-1000 series? We're different. We can resist such remote efforts, but, it's difficult." Cameron frowned at the last part.

    John drew Cameron into him and smiled. "Babe, that is one thing I won't let happen to you. You're mine, Daddy Skynet can go get bent."

    Cameron barked a laugh. "I just had the oddest image flash through my tactical simulation, it was an image of Skynet's central mainframe attempting to fold in on itself?"

    John erupted in peals of laughter, tears streaming from his eyes. "Cam, hon. You just mentally told your creator to shove his own head up his ass!"

    Cameron smiled "I did, didn't I? Is this what imagination consists of?"

    John shrugged "Looks like, now, can we break this thing and maybe get that much closer to giving Skynet what it so richly deserves?"

    "A digital enema?"

    John snorted as he laughed again. Who knew Terminators had a sense of humor. I gotta thank future me some time.

    ***0101010110110***

    The last thing Riley Dawson remembered was the rain of blows as she slipped into merciful unconsciousness. Ok, where the hell am I? And who the hell are the guys in the front seat?

    The older one looked into the rear view mirror and smiled. "Ah, you're awake. Cool. John's got a few questions for you, Riley. My advice? Be honest with him. It might save your life."

    Riley's face blanched. "Who says I wasn't? Look, if you can just let me out…I promise I won't tell a soul."

    "Too late for that, Ms. Dawson. You know way too much. Skynet, John, the shape of things to come…and where we are now. How long would it take a terminator to get you to spill you guts before it painted the wall with your brains? Not that you seem to have much use for them."

    Riley was indignant. Fuck you asshole, just who the fuck are you! I didn't want any of this. All I wanted was a ticket out of that hell. And to meet a girl who didn't smell of cordite, plasma burns, old sewage and rotting flesh!

    The older man chuckled "Hit a nerve, did I? I don't think you've made a conscious choice in your life. Not now, not ever. Shame, everybody should do it at least once. Well, I'd be honest with John. You're too pretty to just let John shoot you. Moreover, to be honest? I think Jesse played you girl. But something in you didn't want to play any more. Takes guts to say that, and Jesse could have killed you…I dunno why. Don't worry…she won't be troubling you anymore."

    Riley's eyes widened. "You...you?-"

    The older man hooked a thumb at the younger driver. "Ask him. He made the call and took the shot, all I did was watch."

    Riley simply gulped. Oh fuck, what was that saying about the frying pan and the frog? You're in for it now, girlie.

    Silence soon filled the moving car, as it droned on in the lonely hours of LA's waning night and all were left alone in their thoughts.

    Derek looked at Jeff. Why the fuck didn't we just shoot her too? Jeff is some kinda sentimental fool. First rescuing the blond ditz that got us into this mess. And, that little detour in San Bernardino to drop off that pair of sneakers...Yeah, this is going to end badly. Derek gripped the wheel tighter to banish the doubts from his mind. Things suck, what's new? There's a mission and till we get home, it's still game time.

    ***01011010111010***

    Danny Dyson wiped the sweat from his brow for what seemed like the thousandth time. So far, he'd gone over thousands of lines of Pierce Echo's code, and it was all pretty plain vanilla, real see spot run stuff one would expect to see something like Pierce Echo. Nothing thus far to suggest what was causing Pierce Echo to act the way it did. But we haven't probed the higher heuristic functions yet…but we're about to.

    Danny tapped a few keys. And the screen exploded with data. The bottom fell out as reams of alphanumeric and hex numeric characters in a programming language that Danny had never seen before scrolled down the screen. From what Danny saw, it was advanced, light years ahead of where ANYONE should be.

    "What the hell is this?" Danny muttered.

    Danny copied the files to a thumb drive he'd spirited in. He'd had to jury rig a port for it with the secure terminal, and there was no guarantee he hadn't tripped an alarm somewhere, but technically, he was doing this for his country. And, for Dad. Here was the proof Major Sherman and Captain Goldman had asked him to look for. Danny didn't completely understand what he was looking at, the nearest he could figure out, it was theoretical stuff they were playing with in the labs at CalTech. Stuff that, as of now, had no commercial applications, so why was Kaliba using it? And was Pierce Echo being designed to act the way it had? Attacking innocent civilians? Using force indiscriminately in a counter-insurgency situation, practically committing genocide. What was this code telling Pierce Echo to do, or what was it allowing it to do? Danny didn't know, but he knew somebody who might. He just needed to get clear of Kaliba first.

    As Danny dutifully downloaded the files in question, he didn't notice the keyhole camera mounted in a wall in the rear of the secure terminal room. It was relaying live footage of everything he was doing to the office of Ling Hsu, head of Special Security Programs for Kaliba Industries.

    Ling had done things in her career that would have made the Mongols blush. CIA paid well for certain tasks. I wonder how Justin Perry's making out these days, hear he took a job with Blackwater. God, did we teach the Taliban in the Khost Valley the true meaning of the word "terror". She'd remembered the one hill chief who'd made the mistake of referring to her as a "takfir whore". She'd introduced him to her Sykes-Fairburn…slowly. Fucking bastard died like the murdering pig he was. Happily, the whole thing was blacker than black, Congress didn't want to know. The press wouldn't believe, and the new administration didn't want to know. And now, I get to use my skills in a more marketable way. Her almond eyes narrowed as she zoomed the camera in on Danny's screen. She'd been told what to not let him see. Ackerman wanted him chasing his tail, but she was prepared to remove him if the circumstances demanded. Auto accidents make the best assassination tools, unfortunate, random, and perfectly believable if done properly. Her face tightened in a thin smile. No Mr. Dyson, I'm not going to let you compromise this country's efforts in this new world because you and others had an attack of misplaced conscience.

    Ling picked up a phone, and dialed a number. It was time to put events into motion, and to make sure the problem was removed. Such was the way of Ling Hsu.

    ***01010101011010***

    Riley Dawson sat at the foot of John Connor's bed, John was leaning against his desk, his arms folded across his chest and the look on his face was nothing short of hatred. His green eyes smoldered with contempt, his face screwed up into a sneer.

    They had silently stared at each other for what seemed to Riley for an eternity. An eternity where Riley's mind played back everything that had passed between her and John, her lies, her use of her feminine wiles to win the affections of a young man she wasn't really attracted to. After what I've been through, I really am not into any man.

    John cleared his throat, and waited till he had Riley's full attention. "Riley, where do I begin. I am not sure where to begin myself! You lied to me! You told me you cared, that you actually might love me? What was the truth Riley? Are you a bigot like Jesse? Like Derek, or just a damn fool who thought this was all so fun and exciting to have a fling with the legend?"

    Riley's head dropped in shame. "No", she muttered. It was barely audible.

    "What was that?"

    Riley picked her head up, her eyes glistened of unshed tears of shame and disgust at her own actions. Actions that betrayed someone whom she deeply respected. To her, the chance to travel back, to the time before was enough of a privilege? But to meet the Connor? It was enough to send the head of a humble tunnel rat swimming when Jesse had offered her the chance.

    "I came back because I believed John. I came back because the chance just to meet you is an honor. I'm a tunnel rat John. My kind is shunned because we can't, or won't fight. We are seen as less than useful, we survive on garbage, and sometimes, each other. I lost my innocence when I was raped by three men over the course of two hours. I was twelve, twelve, John. Even when I we kissed John, all I could see was those men. What got me that? Because I said no when they demanded it. I'm a lesbian, John. I kissed you, I told you what I told you because I loved Jesse. I did it for her."

    "But you know who saved me from that rape? You did, or will. You killed those men and gave me a place at HQ Main as a humble runner. I idolized you. And all we ever saw was you with that machine. The machine we didn't really know. I was wrong John, God I was wrong. People died because of me. And I can't undo that. Hell, part of me hopes you shoot me."

    John saw red. "You told me you cared about me, you kissed me, but you were disgusted with me...you played me. And you did it for love? Why don't I believe you?"

    Riley's eyes bored into him "You shouldn't. Give me a bag and bus fare, and you'll never see me again."

    John shrugged. "I don't think so. First metal you come across, it'll make you sing like a canary. And then we might die. I really don't care that much about you any more Riley. But honestly? I can't have you running around out there. So, here's my solution; I'm making you a Private in the resistance. What does that mean? Simple. Anyone, and I mean anyone, tells you to jump, you ask how high and you do it with a smile. And that includes Cameron. You frankly don't deserve that much. But you've left me with little choice."

    Riley's face dropped "I'll earn back your respect."

    John shrugged, "I doubt it. Now get the fuck out of my sight, there's a cot in the basement for you. Try not to wander off. Cameron tends to shoot people who don't announce themselves."

    Riley got up and left without another word, John's eyes boring into her back as she left. Ok, Riley, your redemption begins now. Let's see if you're worth it.
     
    Chapter 13

    Target Selection

    Don't think of it as being outnumbered, think of it as unlimited target selection.

    -Unknown    ​

    John Connor's green eyes fluttered open, signifying the end of another night of poor sleep and bouts of nervous insomnia, his eyeballs feeling gritter than the sandpaper aisle at Home Depot. The rest of him was screaming in various states of transitory pain. John Connor may have been 16, but he felt 35. There was a shaft of light piercing the early morning gloom that made another day in the City of Angels. Not that that calmed the raft of unpleasant thoughts swimming through his befuddled mind at a thousand miles an hour. He'd already killed one traitor, Ok, I didn't give the order, but what did I think Derek was going to do? Offer her a pardon? Moreover, he'd not only given Jesse's patsy a job, but was going to train her to at the very least, to be more useful than "potentially sad statistic". Why do I think I just agreed to do the impossible? How anyone so empty headed could survive JD and Skynet? Just proof of the old saying: God does love drunks and fools.

    He ran his hands through his blond hair as if to clear the cobwebs, and a thought occurred to him. Why did he and Cameron have separate rooms? I mean, are we an item? Not that I've had a lot of time for that lately. Yep, that's on the to do list. An actual date. Complete with "happy ending". His expression turned sour as he grimaced, realizing all too well what his Mom's reaction would be. Machine or not, John was still her son, and seeing him in the throes of passion with anyone, let alone Cameron would be enough to send his mother over the proverbial falls. She still thinks I'm seven sometimes…John snickered at the last thought.

    Cameron's late night TV watching wasn't always solo anymore, as John hadn't slept very well the last two days, especially as inspiration struck him to try a new direction with the decrypt. It turned out Cameron was mostly right. The algorithm was a programming language that was very close to her Skynet code. But it had some subtle and sneaky differences. And we all know where the devil is, in the goddamn details. It was more…artful then any of Skynet's programming. From what code I've seen from Skynet, it's code is brutal, functional and devoid of anything except a cold, focused, single-minded purpose. This? This has subtlety. No machine wrote this. A person did...a very smart, driven person with a really dark mind. Nobody who wrote this could have any illusions why they were encrypting this. John read many industry journals.

    This code was way ahead of anything out there. And that scared John. He'd always known people made Skynet. Nevertheless, to actually look at something associated with his long-prophesized enemy, something made by a fellow human being. Somehow, this made it more real than any terminator had. What did Jeff say? Oh yeah, the enemy is often a good teacher, if you survive him trying to kill you. John's face sank at that last thought. He'd had a lot of sobering thoughts lately. Even Cameron had commented on his foul mood and told him to "lighten up". It had been during dinner, and other than Jeff and Derek dropping their utensils in shock and Riley gasping, there wasn't a sound made. Sarah simply smiled, and asked John if he wanted more pizza with a smile that one usually associated with a cat that has just dined on canary.

    Cameron's right, as usual. I have to do something to lighten the fucking mood. But honestly, I wanna beat this thing first. I really do hope it doesn't become my white whale.

    As John stabbed at more keys, something hit him. He'd been going at it all wrong. A human wrote this. As such, the brute force decrypt he'd been trying was just triggering more layers of encryption on the files. He'd already almost lost the data three times to a security related delete. Thank God I know how to code with the best of them. But with a human, sometimes, the subtle solution worked best…like this…John tapped a few more keys, a command prompt appeared. He typed RUN, and his right index finger hovered over the Enter key.

    What the fuck are you waiting for John? Just do it. If you're wrong, you're wrong. If you're right, we get a shot at the offensive in this war.

    John exhaled and gently depressed the Enter key.

    ***010101011010101***

    Danny Dyson was sweating like a stuck pig. Ever since he'd downloaded PIERCE ECHO's compiled code, the full truth of what he'd been working on had hit him like a freight train. Jesus H. Christ, somebody WANTS this thing to be a "busy child", and a sociopathic one at that, if I am reading this code right. Danny exhaled and mumbled, "Shit" as he ran his hands through his hair in frustration. Sleep had evaded him all last night, not for lack of trying, but the image unbidden of a world of homicidal machines, like the one who came that night, the last night he ever saw his father, haunted every attempt to gain some sleep. Therefore, here he remained, at the foot of his bed like the well-known statue of the thinker, trying to make sense of it all.

    He'd called in sick already, Danny had no intention of going back and had called his mom to "encourage" her to get the hell out of town for a while. God only knows what they'll do to find me...especially Hsu. She scares the hell out of me. And she believes what we're doing is right! I wonder what she does and doesn't know. God help me. Sarah Connor was right about everything. I think I just want to throw up.

    He picked up his cell, and hit the speed dial. A familiar voice came on, as the call went straight to voice mail. "Uh, hi Captain Goldman, it's Danny, I called in sick with HR this morning, and I wanted to confirm it with you. I've got a bad case of the flu, so I'll be in Monday. See you all then."

    Danny then hung up. Well, there was the code phrase to let them know I got the info. I just hope like hell that they can do something with it. Assuming they don't arrest us all and bury us UNDER the damn prison.

    He shook his head; it was only a quarter to 6 in the morning. Might as well shower and get some coffee. Maybe I can find an all night Starbucks and make sense of all this with some caffeine in my system. Somehow, though, I don't think that's going to happen.

    Danny smiled weakly as he made his way to the bathroom, at least I got the damn day off. My shrink says I really should take more time off, but somehow, I don't think this is what she had in mind.

    Danny then picked up his cell again, and called his mom, it went to voice mail. It was early and mom, being retired now, wasn't in the mood to wake before ten most days. I think she just hates facing another day without dad, myself. He exhaled, remembering to sound "fluey" and coughed a bit for emphasis.

    "Hey Mom, it's Danny, I've got the flu, so I don't think I can do dinner Friday. Listen, I've got some big doings going on at work right now. I can't say too much more. But whatever happens. I love you. Never doubt that."

    Danny then stabbed the END CALL button and put down the phone, gently, as if it was a fragile item made of porcelain. As soon as he did, he was wracked by sobs. There was no turning back now. He just hoped it was all going to be worth it. He could lie to Kaliba. However, lying to his mom? It was like hacking off his own hand. Hell, the hand would have hurt less.

    Time to get on with it.     Danny said as he threw on a shirt and a ballcap, then removed the thumb drive from his keychain and stuck it in a hollowed out part of his shoe. Danny smiled at that last part, What the fuck? I read it in a spy novel. Be damned if it doesn't work.

    ***01010110110110110***

    I did a good job, I did a good job, I did a good job. John Connor repeated in his head as a mantra. His eyes were shut tightly against the possibility he may have triggered the security protocols and erased everything, including his own hard drive... He couldn't look. He didn't want to, but a little voice, sounding surprisingly like Cameron's said; You fucking pussy, man up and take a look. Not the first time life's crapped in your lap. John opened his eyes and shook his head. Shit, now I am hearing things.

    He looked at the computer…Data was scrolling by like a subway whipping by a closed station at night. BOO-YAH! I'M IN! YES! John's smile was ecstatic and he jumped up from his swivel chair and pumped his fists in the air, screaming "FUCK YOU, I BEAT YOU! YOU GODDAMNED CODE!"

    This triggered the opposite reaction John had wished to engender, however. All of a sudden there was a series of crashes, clicks of metal on metal as safeties on firearms were released and rounds chambered. Then, in a symphony of cacophony, John's door flew open, a very tired and angry looking Sarah Connor in the lead, a chagrined Cameron behind and a bit to the left.

    Cameron looked at Sarah with a bit of unspoken concern, the phrase hung between them both. Has he lost his mind? Has it all finally gotten to him? John smiled absentmindedly, his face split by the biggest smile Sarah had ever seen John wear. If he smiled any more, she swore John's head would fall off.

    Cameron spoke first. "John, are you alright? Do you feel like self-termination or other inappropriate thoughts?" She had never dealt with someone in such a state, but the basic onboard files told her to keep her voice even, steady and soothing. John's snapped, he's reached the edge of human endurance. I should have sedated him. Though I don't think Sarah would have thought much of the idea.

    Sarah noticed Cameron's attempt at talking John down. She leaned over and cleared her throat to get the cyborg's attention. "Better let me handle this, Tin Miss. You sound like some bad 80s after-school special."

    Cameron turned her head to face Sarah, the confusion evident on her face.

    "Uh, never mind Cameron, I've just got more experience here? Ok?"

    Cameron nodded "Thank you for explaining, Sarah, I shall observe if that is alright? I could stand to learn more to improve my relationship with John."

    John watched the byplay between the two women and shot up from his chair, sending the swivel chair flying against the wall with a BANG. "I'm not having a psychotic episode, ..Encryption." John said carefully.

    Cameron soon began to share John's grin and rushed forward, taking John in a cautious but heartfelt hug. At that moment, John's exhaustion hit him like a freight train and the room began to spin.

    The last thing he heard was Cameron's voice shriek "John!" as he blacked out.

    ***0010101011010***

    Daniel Dyson wasn't a shrinking violet, if he was, he'd have never agreed to this in the first place, but as he quickly covered the distance to the Mexican restaurant, he wondered if he was more than a bit in over his head. I'm not fucking James Bond. I'm a goddamned programmer. A junior one who doesn't even have his Master's yet.

    The sweat was coming in sheets now, and it was stinging his eyes like so many needles. His heart threatened to leap from his chest like a cheetah from a tree. Danny kept telling himself, "Dad would want this, Dad died for this" over and over again under his breath. He pulled his cap lower, the bill shading his eyes from the day's sun. It wasn't hot today, but somehow, the light of the sun was offensive, and more than a bit off-putting.

    He came to the restaurant's door, and deftly let himself in, looking around the restaurant for anyone from the office. Danny didn't see anyone, which was a good sign. The fact that it's 11:30 in the morning probably helps his mind echoed. He made his way to a booth and a friendly server came by.

    "Can I get you something, senor?" the server, a pretty young server of Hispanic extraction enquired. Her eyes sparkled, and the nametag said "Flores"

    Danny gasped in surprise, as a shiver went through him. He'd been startled by the server. "Um, yeah, a glass of water and a chorizo omelet?"

    "Si Senor, give me ten minutes for the omelet?"

    "Sure, thanks." Danny said, his tone being more than a bit high pitched and forced.

    He didn't notice the other individual approach the booth as his attention lapsed on the waitress and her rather shapely derriere. Danny smiled. At least the scenery is easy.

    He hadn't noticed the other individual until he cleared his throat to announce his presence.

    Danny almost jumped in fright. As it was, he did almost void his bladder in sheer fright.

    The individual smiled, he was wearing a hoodie with the hood down, grey in color, with a map of Iraq superimposed with the words "Operation Iraqi Freedom-Been There, Done That". His eyes, or eye, as the other was covered by a patch was framed by unruly blonde hair and a 3 day old beard. His single violet eye was hard and had the fire of a man who had done things he'd had to do, and was just happy just to come home to tell somebody about it.

    "Captain Goldman sends his regards, Danny."

    "Who the fuck are you?"

    "Don't matter. Just know, he thinks a lot of you Danny, and anybody who my old PL thinks that much of? He's got my vote."

    "How do I trust you?"

    "Simple, I know you're more than a gopher, and I know the real reason your dad died. And what you're really working on."

    "That's supposed to get me to trust you?"

    "All I got. Look, Danny, you're not Jason Bourne, and neither am I, and I am late for my AA meeting at the VA. So, are we going to do this? Or can I be on my way?"

    Danny shrugged, Not like I didn't make some copies just in case somebody cheats…he reached for the compartment in his shoe and produced the thumb drive, placing it on the table soundlessly. "It's all here. Enough for somebody to figure out what PIERCE ECHO's all about. And tell Goldman to read the text file first."

    The figure nodded and palmed the thumb drive with practiced ease. "Now, you stay here. Have your chorizo, flirt with the waitress and get the hell out of here before the lunch crowd shows up. I've got the rest. Don't worry, kid, you're gonna be a hero in all this."

    Danny nodded. "I don't wanna be a hero; I just don't wanna wind up like my dad."

    The figure rose, turned and smiled "Nah, they probably don't know it's even gone…now enjoy your food, they make a damn good omelet." And with that, he turned on his heel and left.

    As his chorizo omelet and water arrived, he was left wondering, Am I in over my head?

    ***0101010110110***

    Lieutenant Colonel Jeff Goldman sat in the living room of the Connor safehouse wondering if cigars really did make anything better. But he also realized it would probably be a poorer world without them.

    As he contemplated the zen of cigar, he heard small, heavy footsteps come down the stairs. Ah Cameron, well, hopefully she managed to get John to do a thing called rest?

    Goldman smiled at Cameon as she came, but the smile died as quickly as it was born. "Trouble?" he inquired.

    "Not in a sense, but John has driven himself to exhaustion? Can he have an extension on his paper?" Cameron replied

    "Sure, I was going to give him one anyhow. He's been burning the candle at both ends. I am probably going to make our next lesson be about the importance of sleep plans for combat leaders?"

    Cameron nodded with a look of chagrin on her face.

    Goldman understood, and decided to quash the feelings he knew were going through Cameron's cybernetic mind. She didn't fail him. Damn lad doesn't understand doing it all himself is what got the resistance in some of the messes we were in.

    "You know you didn't fail him."

    "Did I? I can protect him from everything else, sir, but himself."

    "Welcome to being the girlfriend. Trust me; human women have the same lament."

    "Do they, then why do they tolerate such behavior?"

    "Some do, some don't. My wife realized early on, I am a big kid. Always was, always will be. John's more of a driven kind a guy. When he takes a risk, it's not for the hell of it. But even the smartest of us men have what we call "hold my beer and watch this" moments."

    "But he is healing from a concussion, not to mention a hairline skull fracture. Taking it easy is recommended. Yet I allow this. The feelings I have for John are compromising me…ugh!"

    "No, you're learning the balance Captain. He needs to be General Connor, and you need to salute, step back and let him be General Connor. His mom can freak out when he takes the risks...your job is to be at his side going right into the fire with him."

    Cameron nodded in understanding. "Do I have to like it?"

    "Nope"

    "At least that makes sense."

    "It'll get harder Cameron, but, if I may? If you love him? Then you'll deal with it best you can. Trust me. We did, and my wife wasn't somebody going to Af-Pak or Iraq with me. Cameron. He worries about you too, and not just for tactical reasons."

    "Emotions are hard, how do you deal with them?..."

    "One day at a time, Captain, One day at a time."

    ***01010110110110***

    Daniel Dyson made his way to his car, the parking lot was large, as the Mexican restaurant was co-located with a supermarket, and the parking lot was beginning to fill with SUVs and minivans on the weekly shopping expedition. The random movements of the cars reminded Danny of so many electrons around an atom. I'm thinking of tenth grade science at a time like this? An amused smile crossed his face as he made his way across the lot to his avocado green Honda Civic.

    He reached down for his keys and whistled a random tune. Danny had done it. The damn information was somebody else's problem. I am done. I am going to find a new job tomorrow, something fun, maybe Harry's still got an in with that game company. God were they working on some cool stuff I CAN talk about…

    He didn't notice the whine of an accelerating engine and the squeal of protesting tires. A horn sounded, too late, as Danny looked up with a horrified look on his face. His eyes met the driver. Shit, they knew after all.

    Danny Dyson, 22, of Alameda, California, was hit in the left hip by a white Chevy Impala travelling at 37mph, he flew across the hood, smashing the windshield with his head and then landing in front of the speeding car. The car the proceeded to mash his head into the pavement with the left front and rear tires. Mercifully, Danny had been killed by the blow to the windshield by massive intracranial bleeding.

    His last thought was of his father, I'm sorry Dad, at least Goldman knows where the insurance is…or he will.

    From a distance, ex-Corporal Jim Leyton looked on as Daniel Dyson's last moments played out. Leyton had been just a paratrooper before losing his eye to an RPG blast in Safwan, but he knew enough to know what a hit looked like. Fuck, I'm delivering this to the Captain, and then I am getting my drunk ass gone. I am a one eyed alcoholic, not what I was. Somebody's playing for real keeps. He put his tan Bonneville into gear and turned into traffic as sirens rang out into the distance.

    ***0101011010***

    Captain Jeff Goldman was showering after a long day of work. It had been a nerve-wracking day for him and Major Sherman. Both were careful not to show it, because there was always the chance PIERCE ECHO might pick up on it.

    As he toweled off after a long shower, he turned on the ancient hotel TV, he settled down to the local news just in time to catch the beginning.

    The Asian female anchor smiled and introduced herself and her partner. "In our top story, a hit and run claims the life of a promising young IT professional. Daniel Dyson, 22 of Alameda, California was killed in a hit and run collision near Modesto today in a local strip mall. Police have no leads and have asked…

    Goldman's blood ran cold. Fuck, somebody made him. But who? Who in the hell figured out he was in the system. Does it matter?

    Goldman knew what his contingency was, and began to pack. He knew the people at Kaliba wouldn't take long to make 2 + 2 equal 4 and come after him…or worse yet, his family. And the only way Goldman could stop that was to get to them first.

    Goldman rooted around for his duffel; he knew what he would need. Can't get a sidearm through security, but my little brother can bring my extra .45. Dammit Jeff, you really got yourself in the pot, didn't you? In went every civy piece of clothing he had. He couldn't wear his uniform for this. Technically, what he was doing was desertion, but to ask him to sit by while these bastards killed him and his family to keep their pet monster safe was just too much. Still, he couldn't pull a Houdini until he got the data from Leighton. Here's hoping like hell he's still breathing.

    He lunged for his cell phone and stabbed the speed dial, "American Airlines Reservations…" the phone answered.

    ***010101101010***

    James Leighton was an agitated man; he had been sucked into something that frankly, wasn't what he had bargained for. Just pick up something for my old PL. Nobody said about anyone getting killed.

    He paced the Chick N Cluck's parking lot for what seemed for the umpteenth time, and then glanced at his watch. Fuck, he's three minutes late! Calm down man, it's just the paranoia talking. James had packed a .38 this time. He wasn't going down like a punk like that poor kid had. And I had the nerve to tell him he was going to be a hero. Yeah I forgot to include the dead part.

    It was then that he saw the white Ford Escort pull into the dark parking lot. He compared it to the plate number his LT had emailed him. He'd also said to memorize the email and delete it. Shit LT, what the fuck have you gotten me into?

    The car motored over to Leighton, and the window rolled down. "Leighton, good to see you. How's civy street?"

    "Fucking awful sir, who the hell made you a captain?"

    "Somebody with a sense of humor, Corporal. You got that drive?"

    Leighton fished out the drive from the pocket of his olive green cutoffs. "Yeah boss, right here." as he handed the drive through the open window to Goldman's outstretched hand.

    "Thanks Leighton. I'd disappear if I were you."

    "Planning to. You know that kid?"

    "He worked for me. His dad was killed by some terrorists." Is that really true anymore? Goldman wondered.

    "See you on the flip side, sir." as Leighton came to attention and saluted.

    Goldman returned the salute and smiled. "You were the best SAW gunner in the platoon, you know?"

    Leighton smiled "I was, wasn't I? Now look at me? I am a one-eyed drunk."

    "Not any more, your orders are to sober up, disappear, and stay alive till I get in touch with you..and I will be in touch Corporal."

    The years seemed to fade away from Jim Leighton. He wasn't a derelict of a man, broken by a fight long ago. He was that SAW gunner again, and he had a mission.

    "Yes sir. I am out of here."

    Goldman smiled and rolled up the window, as Leighton slipped into his battered old tan Bonneville and after starting up the car, glided out into the parking lot and into the ribbons of moving light leading to the freeway, and hiding.

    Now it's my turn, gotta keep going into work for a while...let 'em think I am not onto them, but my time to disappear is coming soon…

    ***    010101011010***

    With John's cracking of the encrypted files from Gulfwind Fourty, it soon became apparent that all roads lead to the Kaliba Corporation. A simple internet search produced the company website, and from there, a phone directory. Some of the names were all too familiar to Sarah Connor. She recognized them from people she'd cased at Cyberdyne.

    Do they know or even care what they're working on? Sarah mused to herself. She'd found a good place to observe the campus. It was pretty far off, a mile and a half from the fence on a hill overlooking the campus on some vacant commercial property. It was simplicity itself to set up an observation hide in an abandoned Radio Shack.

    As Sarah slowly swung the binoculars across the front gate, she mused about the fact that they'd never been closer to Skynet than now. Cyberdyne had been a dry hole, if it hadn't than neither Derek, Cameron or Jeff would have shown up…but Kaliba…Kaliba was for the marbles.

    And Sarah always played hard for the marbles.

    Sarah continued to swing her binoculars across the front gate, there hadn't been any departures or entries in the past hour, but that wasn't unusual after hours. But the fact that most of the lights on campus were out told her one thing. It told her that something on that campus had some pretty heavy power demands. Something like Skynet. I can almost feel how close I am to ending you, you murderous son of a bitch.

    Derek was supposed to relieve her in another hour. Ideally, this was a two man job, but with John out of commission for a week longer, it fell to Sarah, Derek and Jeff being the primary means of maintaining the OP. Sarah didn't trust Riley and Cameron was better left behind, lest her new emotions get the better of her and she go and do something dumb.

    Sarah Connor smiled as she continued to slowly sweep the binoculars across Kaliba. She knew it was a tougher nut than even Cyberdyne had been, but they'd find a way. They had to. Sarah Connor may have made a lot of noise about her son's destiny, but truth be told? She wasn't eager for him to realize it. The 3 billion dead part was among the less than optimal parts of said destiny.

    To his credit, Sarah mused. As much as John had been a handful to deal with lately, he'd never gone as far as "I'm the savior of humanity, shut the fuck up and get me a cheeseburger and fries…yeah! Thank you very much!" Sarah chuckled quietly at the image of her son impersonating Elvis.

    Sarah was left wondering, how in the hell one was going to waltz in there. It was obvious that unlike Cyberdyne, waltzing in there just wasn't going to happen, and from what she'd seen of the guard force? They made Gulfwind Fourty's bunch look like boy scouts trying to earn extra money during the summer. Somebody hired quality for this bunch. Not that the PMC at Gulfwind sucked, Derek just got lucky.

    There was also the double fence line topped with razor wire, the dog runs, and the reaction force she'd seen during a random alert she had the good fortune to observe. These people are serious. And if they're this serious, they're not just paranoid, they're expecting trouble...like us.

    An involuntary shiver went through Sarah Connor. She didn't like being expected. She'd always been on the wrong end of the odds, and surprise was the best weapon she'd always had. Take that away and she was out of her element.

    Here's hoping John and Jeff have better luck figuring out how to peel this onion. All I see is something that might wind up with all of us winding up dead.

    ***010101101101***

    The "contractor" was a veteran of a few nasty places, Angola, Northern Ireland, and the former Yugoslavia. He wasn't a front line grunt. His was a talent that specialized in making people dead that paying clients wanted dead. And the "hit and run accident" was his favorite. Hard to tell a hit from a hit and run, especially in Southern California.

    He allowed himself a small smile as he waited in the parking garage. He'd worked with Ling Hsu before. She was an artist with a Sykes-Fairburn. Enough that it made him wonder if there was any SAS or bootneck in the family tree. I doubt it, the lads were rather impressed to the point of being a bit horrified.

    Before he could continue his thought, he saw Ms. Hsu walk across the parking garage, wearing a black pantsuit and a pair of conservative pearls. Her hair was up in a severe-looking bun and her heels somehow not making a sound as she crossed the distance to the contractor's black Audi. She tapped three times, then once on the passenger's side window.

    The contractor nodded at Ling, and then opened the door with a deft flick of a button.

    Ling got in and let out a sigh. "Well done, I liked the way you closed the contract, but couldn't you have hit him at night? Less possible attention."

    The contractor shrugged, "He met a contact, and that contact was a potential means to pass on the information. So, I closed the contract. Simple as that."

    Ling smiled, Yes, he did, but I wasn't too happy about the public nature of the means. I do hate doing this but examples must be made.

    Ling folded her hands in her lap, and smiled again, the smile not quite reaching her eyes. "Well, things can't be helped, can they?"

    "No, I assume the usual arrangements."

    "Yes, your account in St. Barts."

    "Excellent, I'll be on my way then," the contractor said with a sigh, contracts such as these were routine, but they did pay the bills.

    Ling turned to leave the car, and then stopped, "Oh, one last thing…" she never finished the thought, as a spring loaded knife sprung forth from her right sleeve and she moved like a snake, lightning fast and with no mercy, stabbing the contractor twice in the throat. Blood spattered like red ribbons of gore from the ragged holes in the man's throat as his eyes went wide and his hands grasped ineffectually to stem the tide of gore flooding down his chest and seat.

    Ling leaned in towards the man's ear "I said no witnesses. I meant it. Think on that with the time you have left."

    As the blood began to spurt like a hose all over the windshield, Ling let herself out, leaving the man to lapse into shock and fall over dead on the steering wheel.

    Well, time for me to find a new contractor. Ling mused as she walked away.
     
    Getting nicely chilling.

    Needs a page break here:

    Goldman smiled outwardly, but concern crossed his mind. God, I hope this kid can keep his head when I tell him just why I want him here. What was that about "where angels fear to tread?"

    Derek Reese had had a tough twenty-four hours. He'd been woken to gunfire, clubbed unconscious by his soon-to-be ex-fiancé. That's not the only ex thing she's going to be when I get my goddamn hands on her. She just about threw me my own fucking guns and told me to run! That…that bitch! Not enough we gotta worry about the pet metal here...

    It took me a minute to realize the scene had changed and at first I was confused as to why Derek was hanging out in the labs where Skynet was being made.
     
    Btw....for what it’s worth, Summer Glau—er, Cameron in a ballet outfit? I very much approve. 😁
     
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