This is a short short that came to me while doing a bit of research on round ball loads for my Thompson Center White Mountain Carbine. It is rough, but hopefully entertaining, especially, I hope, the surprise ending. As might be gathered from a perusal of my other stories, I like surprise endings.

The American Indian names were taken from history, but only Sheltowee's name in fact refers to an actual historical character used in my story. Hokoleskwa was, in actual fact, a Shawnee chief, not a medicine man, and did not come from the time the story is set in. I highly encourage Googling for more information on these fascinating historical characters.

Certainly I own none of the rights to any of this and should the writers of the series happen upon this and wish to use it for inspiration, contact me and I will sign any release you wish for no charge. Should Summer Glau be willing to ask me herself, I will even write the script.

Now... enjoy!

Blue Smoke and Electrons

Gottlieb Schmidt stared at the tableau in the back of his cave/smithy. The lightning and the weird intangible glass sphere was strange enough, but the naked girl bleeding from multiple wounds and twitching on broken limbs was even stranger. Bones were clearly visible within the wounds, but they were bones of metal, not bone.

"Go to the Shawnee," said a voice from behind him, "get the medicine man. Tell him that Sheltowee wants him to come alone."

Cameron rebooted and instantly surveyed her surroundings at the same time running fsck on her systems and peripherals. There was bad damage to her endo-skeleton, more than she would be able to repair by herself. The organic shell was damaged as well, though not so badly.

"Don't try to move," said a calm voice, "you're hurt pretty bad."

Cameron brought her remaining visual receptor online and looked at the men leaning over her. They'd already splinted her broken leg and applied bandages to her wounds. One of them was dressed in the traditional garb of a Shawnee medicine man, and did in fact look the part, from what she found in her file son American history. The other wore buckskins and and a fur cap.

"Tell us your story," said the second man.

With little else to do, Cameron laid it all out for the two men, Sheltowee, Hokoleskwa and the third man, Gottlieb, who'd come over to listen from where he'd been working on a primitive forge. She told them of their flight to the cave where a time travel apparatus had been constructed, the ambush by the terminator and the subsequent firefight in which the time travel device was destroyed just as it was beginning to activate. According to what she could gather, it had sent her back to a much earlier time.

"The terminator will certainly kill John, now that I am gone," said Cameron, sadness inflecting her voice. "Just as well, maybe. John was so tired of fighting and running, perhaps he will have rest at last."

"No," said the man called Sheltowee, "he will not. I did not fight a war so that my nation would survive just to have an evil golem destroy the world. I won't give up, neither should you, and neither should he."

"But I am wrecked, and have no way to return," said Cameron.

"You have a way to return," said Hokoleskwa, "you must be patient like a hunter. Your wounds will heal, the metal worker can mend your bones. Then you need only wait."

So it was that Cameron Phillips was repaired and came to live for a time in a remote Shawnee village. Her metal skeleton was mended by the smith Gottlieb, who had set up a smithy here in the cave in order to practice his art. Cameron marveled at his ability with such primitive technology.

Hokoleskwa's plan was simply for Cameron to hide in the cave, dormant, until time naturally carried her forward, then she could spring up from her hiding place and deal with the terminator before it could kill anyone.

Just exactly how to deal with the terminator was another problem. Sheltowee and Gottlieb did not know of any way to make "a weapon that could burn metal at a distance". Even modern firearms were not available.

"Its more important that you hit your target in a vital point than what you hit your target with," Sheltowee told her sternly. I've killed bear and cougar with only a little squirrel rifle. If we give you a weapon, you should be able to use it."

Cameron learned how to use the primitive muzzle-loaders and concluded that they might be right. The little .32 that Sheltowee carried would likely as not have no effect, but one of the larger .50 caliber rifles Gottlieb kept in his smithy might well carry the day, should she be able to place the shot accurately enough.

She practiced with it and when she could finally out-shoot Sheltowee, they deemed her ready.

"Go now, Metal Bone Maiden," said Hokoleskwa. "Save our future."

So Cameron went back into the cave, and hid herself high on a ledge with a supply of round balls, lubed patches, and a specially constructed .720 flintlock rifle Gottlieb had made up. She set her alarm and powered down.

The three men sat up long into the night making plans.

Cameron booted up and instantly began to load her rifle. She would have less than a minute, but that was sufficient. She handled the powder carefully, as after hundreds of years it might well have become unstable. Finishing up, she primed the pan and closed the frizzen.

She waited until the terminator fired its weapon at her other self, prematurely triggering the time circuits and sending her back to the late seventeen hundreds. Then she cocked the rifle. John and Sarah ran to the back of the cave, trying to escape.

Cameron pulled the trigger launching the heavy round ball unerringly into the thin access panel over the CPU, smashing it beyond repair and ricocheting around inside the metal skull before it lost momentum. She jumped down and surveyed John and Sarah.

"I have a message for you, John," she said, reaching into the pocket of her buckskin jacket. She pulled out an envelope address to "John Coner".

With a look at the dusty leather-clad girl, John accepted the envelope and opened it. Inside was a letter:

Helo Mister Coner,

"The yung ladee tol me that you was tyrd of fytin, tyrd of runin, an thet you want to just giv up an rest. Well I grant yoo just one our to rest, have Camron tell you her tal. After thet our, you git yerself a rifel an you larn to shoot it proper. She ken teech you lyk I tawt her. Dont fal me.

D. Boone