Author's note: This is a story I've had lying around as a draft for nearly a year now. It was inspired by the movie Cyborg Girl and is only supposed to be a sort of what if version of what would have been possible in S3. It's just some silly idea I had. It has nothing to do with my other stories, nor will I continue the plot or use the idea ever again. I swear…
Eternity Awaits
Chapter One
The past is the key that opens the doors we have locked from the inside.
Memory is the chain that holds those keys.
So go ahead, plunder the past. Search out those stories that may still set you free.
But beware. The flood that lies in memory's wake…
can drown you in a river of regrets,
for the past may be wrapped in a vale of tears.
[Igor Goldkind]
60 years later…
The old man stood in front of the looking glass. Its surface was filthy, its frame mottled, and it looked as if it hadn't been used in years. A long crack ran down the middle of the ancient pane of glass. It had never been cleaned or polished, ever since…
But that didn't matter anymore.
They had won.
Taken a beating, but won.
Muffled sounds of people celebrating drifted into the General's private quarters. He stared at his misty reflection in the mirror. A frail old man stared back at him, his body weak, his face lined and scarred.
At least the dirty glass hides some of my wrinkles…
They still called him The General, even though he had been forced to retire from partaking of active warfare long ago. Age had finally caught up with him, yearning to reduce him to the General he had vowed never to become. The one who listens in to the battle from the reclining comfort of his office chair. The one who makes questionable decisions between luncheon, cricket, and dinner. The one lacking true experience.
Even though he was no longer able to storm the barbed wire fences like a one man mob and reduce anything in his path to a heap of bent and charred metal, he nevertheless still had his head in the game.
He was still the best teacher when it came to showing young resistance soldiers where to aim their weapons to disable a machine with a single shot. He was the one who taught them how to extract a machine's chip before it rebooted. And he was the one older soldiers spoke of in hushed, almost reverent tones and young privates idolized and worshipped like a hero of a bygone age.
The noises from outside had grown louder. Sighing, he turned away from the old man in the mirror and trudged over to the slit-like windows overlooking the plain from the fortified base camp built deep into the steep slopes of the mountainside.
Flares illuminated the darkening sky whilst fighter pilots flew their jet planes low over the mountain in a lap of honour. He shook his head.
Sixty years and we're still using jets…
Only hours before, Skynet's last ramparts had been taken, its bastions blown to smithereens and the evil Machine-God itself destroyed.
He knew she would be back soon. She had been the one who had entered Skynet's stronghold. He had assigned the mission to her and her alone. No one else was to face Skynet in its refuge, he had been adamant on that.
And his Generals still heeded to his every word. They respected The Old Man, as they called him, and would never dare cross him. Even now, he still seemed to emanate a kind of strength, some form of energy which commanded total obedience.
They had ordered all their troops back to base and she had gone on.
Alone. Because hope never dies.
The Commodore of the Old Man's special unit had returned half an hour later and had curtly informed her men that Skynet was now history in this timeline. They hadn't understood the last bit but it made no difference. They had long ago given up on trying to fathom out the meaning of some of the Commodore's rather outlandish remarks. Just why the Old Man had made her a Commodore, nobody knew, given that the navy had also been history for more than sixty years.
Skynet was no more.
It was as if the whole world had released the breath it had been holding. Battle-hardened soldiers broke down and cried, some hugged each other whilst others in view of the mountainside saluted their General, whom they knew to be watching.
The old man smiled slightly and slowly turned away from the window. Just this once, he told himself, he would be observant enough to notice her entering. He also needed to ask her to do something. Something she had promised him over half a century ago.
The day they had buried the Reese brothers. Or what had remained of them. Colonel Derek Reese had died whilst shielding his terminally wounded brother from further deadly rounds of an HK's automatic weapons. His trusted mini cannon was still firing even after Colonel Reese had drawn his last breath and his body had slumped over the lifeless form of his kid brother.
That was the way he would have wanted to go, the General thought bitterly. Not getting shot in the head just like that…
He only wished he could have left their remains to the grass.
…
A sharp rap on the door tore his thoughts away from events long gone. Reluctantly, he let the memories he had dived into fade and returned to his imitation of life. With a sigh, he crossed the room and opened the door.
"Yes?"
His Sergeant saluted him and stood aside. "Private Jenkins would like a word, Sir."
"Alright. Send him in" the General waved the man off.
The Sergeant left the door open and hurried off down the corridor to admit Private Jenkins.
"Oh dear" the old man groaned, as he sat down at his desk and his knee started playing him up again. "I shouldn't get up anymore."
He thought of the blissful warmth his hot water bottle had offered him which had eased the pain in his knee the night before. But his trusted old shrapnel wound from forty years ago would never let him down for long.
With a grin, he let the memories of that long gone day flood his mind. He remembered his platoon's amazement at how they had seen him take on an army of machines single handed, after having been reputedly injured only moments before by that terrible explosion on the minefield. He had miraculously risen unblemished from the ditch he had flung himself into and had danced across the minefield taking down one machine after the other with such precision and grace, his men had ever since rumoured that their General must somehow also be part machine. His grim determination and stoic expression when in combat not helping to derail them from their assumption.
Such was the old man's pleasure at recalling the past, he never noticed the shadowy figure silently glide into the room through the open door and head for the broken looking glass.
A sudden knock snapped him back to reality.
"Come in."
Hesitantly, the young Private entered his General's lair. The old man sensed the youngster's trepidation and smiled. The boy seemed so young…
Just like…
Private Jenkins did a strange little military dance and snapped his heels together, then stood like a statue and offered his General an overdone salute, his eyes staring unblinkingly at the opposite wall.
"Permission to speak, Sirrr" he roared.
The old man winced and nodded.
"Granted. And there's no need to shout, Private. I'm not completely deaf yet."
"I'm sorry, Sir" the young man said in a tiny voice as he lowered his gaze to the floor. He seemed to shrink under his General's piercing stare.
"Calm down, lad" the old General said softly, trying to reassure him. "What was it you wanted?"
"Well, Sir, since the war is practically over, I would like to keep a promise I made to someone" he declared nervously, shuffling his feet.
"And?" the General inquired, his curiosity aroused. "What kind of promise?"
I hope she keeps her promise…
The young soldier cleared his throat and spoke, still not looking at his General.
"Well, Sir, you see, my fiancée and I promised each other that we would—"
He fell silent as the old man lifted a hand.
"How old are you, son?"
"Nineteen, Sir."
"And your fiancée?"
"Seventeen. She'll be eighteen in two week's—"
"You have my blessings."
His voice cracking slightly, the old General inclined his head and closed his eyes.
Private Jenkins took this as a hint that he should leave.
"Thank you, Sir" he said in almost a whisper before he saluted and turned on the spot, striding towards the door.
"Wait."
The young soldier stopped dead and turned to face his General, who had risen to his feet.
"Yes, Sir?"
"Promise me" the old man said with a quavering voice. "Promise me you'll never let anything get between you. Promise me you'll always take care of her. While you still have the chance."
Jenkins opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. He simply stared at the old man and nodded, before finally managing to find his voice again.
"Promise" he said hoarsely.
The General had a faraway look in his eyes and his gaze seemed to penetrate the young man's very soul.
Promise…
The old man's body shook slightly as he drew a deep breath and folded his arms over his chest.
"Three weeks special leave for you and your fiancée" he suddenly instructed an astounded Jenkins. "You'll need the time for the preparations. And don't forget to celebrate."
With a smile, the General walked up to his subordinate and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"I suppose she is with us?"
"Yes, Sir" Jenkins replied breathlessly. "Private Young, Sir."
"Young…" the old man repeated, as if the name had jogged his memory and brought back something he had long ago forgotten.
"She's not … related to an Alison Young by any chance, is she?"
Private Jenkins' cheeks were flushed as he stammered an answer.
"That … that was her grandmother's name, Sir. She was in the resistance fifty years ago. Did you know her, Sir?"
"Yes, son, I knew her" the General said with a weary sigh.
"And now please go. Dismissed."
"Yes, Sir. And … thank you, Sir."
The young man snapped his heels together and gave a brief salute before turning and striding out the door.
…
The mirror showed a single tear run down the old man's lined face. He had tried so hard to forget, so hard to remain unfeeling towards the people around him. It was only concentrating on his self imposed mission which helped him remain the man he had always been destined to become.
Fifty years ago…
Alison Young.
She had looked just like her. That alone had sufficed to break his heart every time he had seen her. He had not been able so stand being close to her, even occupying the same room had made him nervous. He had known all along it wasn't her and Alison couldn't help how she looked; she didn't even know. Nobody knew.
The poor girl had been so young and had never understood why he seemed to hate her, shunning her the way he did and keeping out of her way.
She had liked him, he had been different, there had been something about him that had set him aside from the others. He had been a mystery, and she had tried so hard to solve the riddle this boy impersonated. She had been infatuated by his determination, the way he seemed to know things other people didn't. Secrets.
But someday she had given up on her teenage crush and had regarded him solely as her General. She had eventually become chief radio operator and had continued to serve in the resistance for years at a remote outpost, before the whole place had been blown up by metal.
He had never seen her again. He had never even known she'd had an offspring.
Good for you, Alison. Good for you…
It was on days like these, when the memories took hold of him, that he missed her the most. And the pain in his chest he always felt when thinking of her seemed to have intensified. In the last few months he had started having trouble breathing when he became upset or strained himself. He supposed his pump was on the way out.
Nothing lasts forever and we all know hearts can change…
Breathing a sigh, he took a step towards the mirror, intent on trying to discern the first ever scar he had acquired. It ran right down the side of his left cheek close to his ear, but he could hardly see it for wrinkles.
"Jeez, I'm older than God."
The dull surface of the mirror rippled and his reflection was distorted. Instinctively, he took a step back, and then rolled his eyes.
"How come I never noticed you come in?"
He shook his head at his now clear reflection.
"Come on, Commodore. I know you're there. You glitched."
His reflection faded and the mirror turned into a shining silver sheet which liquefied and silently slid to the floor where it formed a quivering puddle. A shimmering blob erupted and stood erect, gradually taking on human form.
"I did not glitch, Mr. Connor. I merely found your statement to be of the amusing kind" the red haired woman said, giving him a withering look.
He waved her off, glancing at the original mirror still hanging there.
"Whatever. I saw it. And you took even longer this time. Was the mirror more complex?"
"Not at all" she replied curtly, before raising an eyebrow. "We're just all getting older."
John let out a snort of laughter.
"As if you'd notice the years that have passed you by."
"I don't" she informed him with a crude smile. "But observing you has always been of great assistance to help keep it in mind."
"Oh, thanks" he grumbled, shaking his head. "That's just what I need. As if that mirror isn't enough to show me how time flies."
Catherine Weaver turned away from him and marched over to his desk where she sat down and regarded him business-like, as if she were about to conduct a meeting.
"And speaking of time, Mr Connor, it has been acquired."
John beamed at her and sat down opposite her on the high backed chair facing his desk.
"I expected nothing less, Catherine. Well done. Is it functional?"
"In perfect working order" she replied, placing her hands together on the desk and throwing her hair back.
John interlaced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair.
"Well, Catherine, it seems your time is up, then. And about time, too."
Her haughty expression faltered and she slowly tilted her head to one side.
"Please don't do that" John cried, abruptly sitting up straight.
"I'm sorry, Mr Connor" she said softly, closing her eyes and inclining her head.
"I am merely confused as to why my time should be up."
"Because you're going back to 2008. You've fulfilled your mission here."
John's eyes were bright as he spoke. Catherine was intrigued at how his determination seemed to conquer his age.
"No, Mr Connor" she informed him quietly. "I have not fully fulfilled my mission. And neither have you."
He knew what she was getting at. She had intended to find John Henry and use him against Skynet. That was why she had created him. John Henry shared Skynet's basic code. They had been one of a kind, like brothers. And he was supposed to have been the key to success. The way to stop Skynet.
She had explained it all to John shortly after they had arrived in 2027. That they needed to fight Skynet in the future to prevent it from recreating itself in the past. Or something like that. John hadn't understood her revelations about closed causality loops in space time. All he knew was that he also needed to find John Henry, to whom she had continually referred to as her son.
But she had never found him nor had he contacted her. And the chip John Henry had consequently stolen had stolen John's hope of ever returning home.
"Yes you have" John insisted. "You've stopped Skynet. That's all that matters now. You don't need John Henry for that anymore. You did well on your own."
"Mr Connor, I do not agree. John Henry has—"
"I know he's still got her chip" John bellowed. "I've thought of nothing else day and night for the past sixty years. And now it's time to think of other things, as well."
Catherine regarded him with confusion.
"I would be grateful for a little more precision on your behalf, if you please."
John rolled his eyes.
Jeez, if she gets any slower she'll be going back in time of her own accord…
"Do you remember Savannah, Catherine?"
"My daughter" she replied promptly with a curt nod.
"Your daughter" he repeated imploringly. "Did you never ask yourself what became of her? Did you overlook the fact that nobody has ever heard of a Savannah Weaver since we arrived in this godforsaken hole?"
Surprise was prominent in her features as he continued.
"You always told me you cared for her. Now you can return and show her you can be her mother. You haven't changed, you're still the same. She won't notice anything."
"But Mr Connor—" she began, before braking off as John held up a hand.
"No. I know what you're going to say. I'm staying here. I still have my mission to fulfil. It's too late for me, anyway. Imagine what my Mom would say when this old goon hobbles up to her and says 'Hi Mom, it's me, John, I'm back. Sorry I'm late'. No, I'm not resting until I've found John Henry… and her chip."
Catherine was impressed by this human's profound devotion and commitment. She leaned forward and fixed him with eyes devoid of any warmth, yet spoke in a remarkably soft and sympathetic voice.
"And what do you intend to do once you have procured the chip?"
John stared at her incredulously.
"Isn't that obvious? I'll send it back so you can restore her. You always claimed you would be able to do that."
Catherine nodded.
"And my claim has as yet to be proven just. But unfortunately, you have omitted to take into consideration the fact that only objects surrounded by living tissue can be transported. Thus you cannot return the chip."
And she says she doesn't age…
Putting his head in his hands John let out an audible breath before shaking his head and looking up at her again in disbelief. Choosing to ignore her rather pronounced offended expression, he continued to explain.
"I haven't forgotten appearing butt naked twice, Catherine. I know inert objects don't go through. The chip will still be inside John Henry's head, of course. Once he's back you can do your magic and return her to her body. Perhaps you can also restore him to his system, repair him or reprogramme him or whatever."
Catherine's face displayed something John could only think of calling the liquid metal equivalent of being stunned. She sat back in her chair and continued to stare at him with cold eyes, her slightly open mouth betraying her astonishment.
"I wonder, Mr Connor" she began, before she paused and inclined her head, looking at him like a school mistress, a tiny smile present on her lips.
"I wonder if the trust you put into our kind is courtesy of your cyborg. I would have thought you would have adopted your mother's attitude when facing John Henry."
"You mean blowing up the building and using thermite on him?" John presumed with a grin, imagining one of his mother's favourite pastimes.
"No, Catherine. I remember you telling me you hired Agent Ellison to teach John Henry that human life is sacred. I'll go one step further with that. Maybe you can teach him that every life is sacred. Especially … hers."
She re-adopted her business-like posture and regarded him strangely, a secret, crooked smile present on her lips.
"How do you know that is what she would want, Mr Connor? Perhaps she would prefer to stay here. With you."
"What! With a tottering old ruin like me?" John exclaimed breathlessly.
"Come off it, Catherine. I want her to learn to live, to lead a real life."
"That would be a life without you" Catherine concluded. "But what about the both of you, then?"
"We'll always have Red Valley. We didn't have, we lost it. But we got it back today."
Today…
A schoolgirl's smile, bright and innocent, the first few moments he had shared with her, her words, her way of establishing contact with him. It all came flooding back as if it had happened only yesterday. He had clung to every second they had had, every whisper in every waking hour, imagining dreams they had never shared. And then he had started to believe it had all been part of someone else's life. Until today.
Today…
Today Skynet had been defeated. The world would be reborn. And so would she, he could feel it. Finding the rogue terminator was only a matter of time. He had given order that every disabled Triple Eight was to be returned to base camp for inspection. He knew they would find him eventually. If only he could hold on long enough…
"Catherine" he suddenly addressed her, looking her imploringly in the eyes.
"You promised me something a long time ago. And it's done now. Please, Catherine, just this once."
She gazed at him impassively for a while, before abruptly rising to her feet and giving him a curt nod.
"Very well."
…
