Third Chance.
A Terminator: Salvation fan fiction by xahra99
Chapter One:
In which we learn that Marcus Wright is still not dead, and why.
A bitter winter wind swept down the corridors of the New York Resistance headquarters. It did nothing to dispel the fug of socks and sweat. The HQ smelt like every Resistance base Marcus Wright had ever been in.
It smelt a bit like prison.
He had arrived in New York two weeks ago aboard one of the West Coast Resistance helicopters. A few of them had travelled to the city to help the Statesiders destroy their own Skynet facility. The Resistance had sent not one but two 'copters; one each for John and Kate Connor. The West Coast leaders were nothing if not practical, and they had known that there had been a good chance one of the helicopters would not survive the journey. Marcus had ridden with John and Barnes in the first 'copter. It had been an awkward flight. Barnes had had the grace to apologise to Marcus for shooting him, but Marcus still didn't trust the man. And Connor...well, Connor was the next best thing to a messiah the Resistance had, but he didn't talk much.
The New Yorkers treated them all like heroes.
Marcus didn't care much for the kudos, but he thought he understood. The West Coast victory hadn't made much difference to the machines in the east, but they'd proven that Skynet could be stopped.
Even if it was all a fluke, he thought grimly to himself as he trailed one hand along the cast-iron pipes set into the wall. The New York bunker in winter was very different to San Francisco in summer. The Resistance had set up headquarters in the basement of the Natural History Museum. It was cramped, dark and cold. It was also crowded.
The humans who had survived the apocalypse were a new breed. They shot first and asked questions later and they had gotten extremely good at killing Terminators. It had seemed easier all around not to tell the New York faction what Marcus was. The subterfuge was necessary, but it put Marcus on edge. So when someone tapped him on the shoulder he spun around and was relieved to find a familiar figure standing behind him.
It was Blair.
Marcus blinked in surprise.
Blair hadn't come to New York in a 'copter. Connor had sent her off on a recon mission a few weeks ago, and Marcus hadn't seen her since. He stared at her as if she was a ghost, taking in every detail.
He knew that she couldn't have been grounded long because the ochre face paint she always wore on missions was still streaked over her eyes. Her hair hung loose in a beautiful and gloriously impractical mess. Three layers of silver chains dangled around her neck.
Blair grinned. "Marcus!"
Marcus said nothing in reply. Instead he stepped forwards and hugged her. He found human contact much easier these days. Blair twined her arms around his neck as fiercely as she always did, and Marcus held her gently, the way he always did.
"I won't break," Blair said. Her voice was muffled against Marcus' leather jacket.
"I know." Marcus told her. He tightened his grip just a bit, but he still held her gently. She smelt of sun-warmed leather. The scent was nearly strong enough to dispel the chill that permeated the dank tunnels. Their shared body heat seeped through Marcus's coat. It felt pleasant and familiar and no doubt far better than Marcus deserved.
Blair was one of the things he liked about this new and different life. He'd missed her.
The sentiment seemed like something that would be good to say, so he muttered, "I've missed you," into her hair. Marcus had never been particularly eloquent. "It's been a while."
Blair took the hint. "Mmm. Yeah. Let's make the most of it." She stretched and pulled away from Marcus. Her leather flight suit creaked. "I'm not here for long," she said. "And I think Connor's got something for you, too."
"What?" Marcus asked.
"He wouldn't say."
"Where's your stuff?"
Blair's grin got wider. "In my bunk. Wanna see?"
"Hell, yeah." He looked around. "Which way?"
Blair bowed and ushered him elaborately down the corridor. "Come and look."
Marcus followed her down the corridor, trying not to gaze at her ass in the tight suit as she walked. A few people greeted him as they passed. To Marcus's surprise, more people acknowledged him than Blair. When he commented on it to Blair, she just smiled at him and said. "I've just arrived. You've been here, what, a couple of weeks? They know you beat Skynet in San Francisco."
Marcus looked down at the red rag tied around his left arm that marked him out as a West Coaster. The New York factions wore a green stripe that had started off as a patch of Lady Liberty but simplified with time. "They don't know me."
Blair held back the curtain to a small dorm room. "Does it matter?" she said as Marcus ducked inside. "You're a hero, these days. We all are."
Marcus snorted. "Right. Big damn heroes."
"Yes, right." Blair said. She sounded amused. "Marcus, why'd you find it so hard?"
There was a part of Marcus that was hard, but he didn't particularly want to mention it. He just shrugged. Blair didn't press the issue and Marcus held his peace as they walked down the dorm.
The room was a long corridor with one dead end. Floor length green curtains separated each bed from its neighbour in a vain attempt at privacy. Blair tossed her jacket down on a camp bed about two-thirds of the way along. "This is mine."
She reached up to untie the laces that held the curtains back, but Marcus was faster. He reached over her head and yanked the ties free. The curtains fell down around them. Their drapes transformed the camp bed into a dim green cave.
Blair kicked off her boots. Marcus tugged off his jacket. He slid his hands under Blair's legs and picked her up. She wrapped her legs around his hips. Her necklaces were cold against his throat. The dorm was freezing, so they both unzipped the bare minimum. It worked, somehow.
"You smell of sun," Marcus growled against Blair's neck.
Blair moaned as he arched hard into her. Her neck curved back and her black hair tangled on the pillow. Marcus cupped her face tenderly in his hands. His fingers traced from Blair's jaw to her hairline. He liked the way his skin showed up pale against her olive tan.
Blair writhed. "Oh!" she ground out. "Fuck me!"
"Yeah, fuck her, Marcus," a voice said from the opposite side of the curtain.
Marcus slowed. He would have stopped if Blair hadn't grabbed his shoulder."What...are you doing?" she gasped.
"I thought-"
"There's nowhere else to go! Ignore them!"
Marcus buried his face in Blair's neck and picked up his rhythm. She wrapped her legs around his. Their mouths touched hot and frantic. They didn't hear the next objection. By the time the old campaigner's protests had faded into snoring silence, they lay shoulder to shoulder under a threadbare woollen blanket and Marcus's old coat.
Blair picked up Marcus's hand and ran it idly over her stomach. "Maybe I'll...you know," she said.
Marcus shrugged. He was pretty sure that he couldn't give Blair anything except a computer virus. Since the nuclear apocalypse, most men fired blanks. Children were treasured in this new world, and life was hard. Skynet might not have to kill the human race; they'd just have to wait until they died out.
"I never wanted to be a pilot." Blair said sleepily. "Never would have been a pilot, if it weren't for this war."
"Lots of people're things they'd never have been before the war." Marcus said.
"Yeah. Like dead."
Marcus slid a hand around her shoulders. He traced the outline of her collarbone and thought of the steel tendons and wires that ran beneath his skin. "What did you want?
Blair shrugged. Her narrow shoulders tensed against Marcus's chest. "A dancer, perhaps, or a model. I was a kid. Stupid, huh? I don't think I'd decided when Judgement Day hit us. After Judgement Day, I just wanted to survive. Instead, I got the skies. And I'm happy."
"You're happy?"
"Don't sound surprised. You have no idea about yourself, do you? I love you. I don't care what you are."
"You don't." Marcus tried hard to keep the bitterness from his voice. He wasn't sure that he succeeded. "What about the others?"
"What about them?" Blair lowered her voice.
"We're not on the West Coast anymore. They don't know me here."
"I know. But-"
"Once they do, there's three ways it's going to go." Marcus held up three fingers on his right hand. "First way." He folded one finger down. "They don't trust me. They take me out. Me, and anyone else who gets in the way."
"Things won't go like that," Blair said loyally. "Folks like you, Marcus. You're a good guy-"
He interrupted. "Second way." He folded the second finger down. "It goes okay. They think I'm a good sign. That all Terminators will become sentient and leave the war of their own accord. But we both know that won't happen. I was made like this. I didn't choose.'"
"Marcus, I don't think...."
"Third way. They think the Terminators are going underground. That I'm some sort of sleeper agent. That I'll tear open the Resistance from inside. They think I only offered Connor my heart so that Connor'd let me live. So they let things lie, but they still don't trust me."
"It won't happen like that!"
"Won't it?"
"No." Blair said simply. "Marcus, what's bothering you? It isn't like you to be this talkative." She traced thin fingers over his ribs, and placed her palm flat over his heart. "Or this bitter."
Marcus shook his head. "Sorry. This place, though. It bothers me."
"Why?"
"Everybody here's spent most of their lives fighting the machines."
"So?"
"So I am a machine, Blair. They'll find out, sooner or later."
She cocked her head. "That doesn't matter."
"I wish it didn't."
"It doesn't matter right now." Blair's hand moved downwards. Her watch beeped. "Shit." She flipped the blanket back, reached down to the floor and glanced at the watch's luminescent face. "Shit," she repeated.
Marcus was instantly on alert. "What?"
"Remember when I told you Connor had a mission for you?"
"I really wasn't paying attention." Marcus said. "And I really don't give a damn about Connor right now."
"Well, Connor wants to see you."
"When?"
"In about...oh, fifteen minutes. Ops room B."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I wanted you all to myself for a while." Blair said. She walked her fingers down Marcus's neck. Her touch made him shiver and soothed him more than he would admit. "We've still got time."
Marcus knew that it took ten minutes to walk from the dormitory level to the command bunker down on the third level. Being late was something a human would do, so he said nothing.
He left the dorm slightly more than five minutes later, pulling on his leather jacket as he walked. The jacket smelt of Blair; of sex and sweat and Californian summer sun.
"You're late," Connor said as soon as Marcus opened the inch-thick steel door of the ops room.
"I know," Marcus said. As he closed the door behind him he added, "Sorry."
"Doesn't matter." Connor said. His voice was hoarse. He looked gaunter than he had when Marcus had first met him. The outline of a cardboard packet was visible in his breast pocket. Connor had survived the operation. Keeping him alive was more difficult. Connor would have to take anti-rejection drugs every day for the rest of his life. The drugs were hard to come by. The Resistance fetched them willingly-but the price of Connor's medication was measured in human lives.
Connor coughed."I've got a job for you."
Marcus nodded.
"New York intel's found a bunch of programmers holed up in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Seems like they've developed a script that'll allow us to interact with Skynet systems more effectively. Maybe even reprogram Terminators. Not just motorbikes. The real thing."
"Reprogram?" Marcus asked. He recalled the white, blue and red of the San Francisco Skynet database. He still saw the patterns in his sleep but he could no longer hold a clear picture of the network in his mind, just like he couldn't conjure a clear picture of the early twenty-first century anymore.
Connor heard what Marcus meant, rather than what he said. He turned abruptly away, hands dug deeply in the baggy pockets of his combat trousers. "Don't worry," he said over his shoulder. "We won't use you as a test subject. But my mother told me that we would be able to use Terminators to protect ourselves from the machines. This could be the first step."
"Sounds...interesting." Marcus said.
Connor dug through a pile of papers on the desk behind him. He pulled out a map and turned back to Marcus. The cyborg watched as Connor smoothed out the creases and placed the map softly, almost reverently, on a clear desk. He stabbed a thin finger at a point on the map. "We'll drop you here. It's the closest road access we've been able to find. The wilderness has pretty much reclaimed everything between there," Connor traced an imaginary circle on the map, "and the base." He marked another spot."The base is here."
Marcus peered at the map. It looked like a long way. It looked, in fact, like suicide. No wonder Connor had offered him the mission.
Even back in the days when the roads were clear and people could travel unharmed, the programmers' North Carolina hideout would still have been considered remote. There were very few highways marked. Most of the smaller roads would have been reduced to oblivion by ten years of neglect. The vast majority of the map was marked as forest. "Looks difficult."
Connor's voice was grim as a burst of machine gun fire. "It is. The forests down there are swarming with machines. The New Yorkers already sent some men in."
"What happened?"
Connor's face was bleak. "They died."
"All of them?"
"All of them." Connor said. "But you've got a better chance than any of those poor bastards ever had. Besides, the code might help you."
"How?" Marcus asked sceptically.
Connor shrugged. "The code's supposed to reprogram the machines. It might let you sync directly into Skynet."
"Did that back in San Francisco."
"Without the chip. An ability like that might come in handy, one day. "
It might not, Marcus thought. He dragged what little he knew about computers from the back of his mind. "Can't the programmers just upload the software?"
Connor shook his head. "Won't work," he said. "Satellites down. No broadband, either."
"Phone lines?"
Connor looked at Marcus like he was crazy. "No such thing. Not anymore. There's no other way. That's why I'm asking you to go. Yes? Or no?"
Marcus nodded. "Yes."
"Good." Connor said. He actually sounded pleased."You realize that I'll have to clear things with the New York command first? Once that's done, you'll-"
He paused as the ops room's thick steel door opened. Both men turned around. Connor's eyes narrowed, but the lines on his face abruptly relaxed as Kate entered. She stepped over the doorframe carefully. Her right hand rested on her increasingly pregnant belly.
"Am I interrupting something?" she asked brightly as she closed the door behind her.
"No." Connor said. "We're almost done." He turned back to Marcus. "One thing."
"What?"
"The generals are gonna want to know why I've picked you. I need to make sure you're okay with that."
Marcus realized the implications immediately. "You're going to have to have to tell the generals what I am."
Connor nodded.
Marcus cursed. "Shit."
"Is it a problem?"
He shook his head. "Doesn't have to be."
"Good." Connor tucked the map into his trouser pocket. "That's settled. Meet me upstairs at fourteen hundred hours." He turned to Kate. "Everything okay?" His voice was brusque, but the tenderness in his eyes as he looked at Kate told Marcus all he needed to know about their relationship.
Kate nodded. "Everything's fine. I just came to find Marcus." She looked up at the cyborg. "I'd like to ask you something, if you're free?"
Marcus could think of no good excuse. "Sure."
Connor nodded to both of them and left. Kate stood awkwardly opposite Marcus. She fiddled with the hem of her sweater. Marcus wondered what had brought her here. "What do you want?"
Kate flinched almost imperceptibly at the harshness of his voice. She curled one hand protectively over the swell of her belly and spoke with dignity. "All I want to do is say thank you."
"It's been a while."Marcus said ungratefully. "Why now?"
You've been avoiding me."
"I haven't-" Marcus began to say. He paused when he was only half way through the word.
Kate nodded. "Yes, you have."
Marcus shifted uncomfortably. His augmented hearing picked up the quiet movements of Kate Connor's body: every inhalation, every heartbeat and every sound. He consciously curbed his senses. He could give her some privacy, at least.
"You would have given Connor your heart." Kate said flatly.
Marcus shrugged. He wanted to leave more than anything, but he knew that Kate would only find him again. He thought it best to get this awkward conversation over with as quickly and as cleanly as possible. "Sorry it didn't work," he said, and felt like a fool.
Kate shook her head. "It was a very brave and very stupid thing to do," she said. She patted the bump again. This time the gesture was affectionate rather than defensive. "Thank you. From both of us."
Marcus felt like even more of an idiot. "Don't mention it," he told her, and meant it. He didn't like to be reminded of his failure. He'd been perfectly prepared to donate his heart to Connor. It had been his last chance at salvation. It had been refused.
"There's another reason I wanted to speak to you, you know," Kate said.
"What?"
"I've tested the samples I took before the op."
Marcus said nothing. Kate had taken several fragments of Marcus's tissue for testing while he lay, heavily sedated, in the field hospital. The results of those tests had made his redemption a work-in-progress. He hadn't realized she'd kept the samples.
"You know that your tissue can't be used for human transplants," she said.
Yeah, Marcus thought. Turns out I'm less human than a pig.
"Have you ever given any thought to what it could be used for?"
"Guess not."
"You heal so fast, it's a pity we can't replicate the effect in human patients. In fact, if I'm right, your body will repair itself as long as there's a patch of skin on your frame. The only exceptions are your heart and your brain, so you're vulnerable to concussion, thrombosis and shock just as we are."
"I learned that back in LA."Marcus told her.
Kate ignored him. "You feel hunger, thirst, heat and cold, as well, but it can't damage you. Connor told me that you made it through the south-west deserts alone. You never would have managed that if you were human."
"Lucky me," Marcus said, "I try not to think about it."
"Why on earth not?" Kate asked, as if she couldn't understand anybody wanting to stay in ignorance of anything.
"I don't want to be like the T600s."
She laughed. "Marcus, believe you me, you are nothing like the T600s."
"I don't want to know if I'm immortal. If my body'll keep crawling even after the legs are blown off. If I'll be the last man who remembers proper beer, in a real bottle. From a shop. Or a baseball game in a stadium rather than a hangar. I just, you know, I liked it when everybody thought I was human. When I thought I was human."
"I understand." Kate said. "But..."
"How?" Marcus demanded.
Kate stared at him. She said nothing. Perhaps there was nothing to say.
Marcus sighed. Nobody could understand, but maybe Kate, with her studies and her medical knowledge, could guess. Or maybe he'd have better luck with Connor, or some of the older guys, who thought so much about fighting the machines they practically were machines themselves. "Never mind." He sighed. "I'm sorry."
"You've got nothing to apologise for." Kate told him.
Marcus knew the words for a lie even before they left her lips. "I've got to go," he told her, even though the meeting was a half-hour away.
"I understand." Kate said solemnly. "Take care."
Marcus muttered an apology, and left. He skulked off into the dingy grey tunnels of the base's living quarters feeling like a jerk.
It was the last place he wanted to be.
If Marcus had been on the West Coast he'd have wandered up to the surface and climbed up one of the ventilation shafts to watch the sun set across the desert. In the old days, he'd have jacked a car and driven for miles. But here in New York, space was at a premium, and Manhattan's streets were choked with rusting hulks. There was no way he'd be allowed up to the surface, not without permission. He decided to go find Blair, ride out the wave of cabin fever. Maybe by the time he'd caught up with her, he'd be halfway decent company.
Somebody shouted his name. "Marcus!"
For a moment Marcus thought the voice was Blair's, but the pitch was all wrong. The sentence was repeated, and he finally placed the accent. It was Reese.
Marcus stifled a groan. Kyle was the last thing he needed right now. But he owed the kid more than silence, so he forced a smile as Reese ran up, ducking his head to avoid the heating pipes.
Kyle had flown with Kate Connor in the second 'copter. At first Marcus had thought Kyle an odd, but welcome addition. The kid didn't lose his head in a crisis. He was useful. Connor liked him. Later, he'd learnt from Connor that Kyle was important. That he'd do great things. But there was a shadow in Connor's eyes whenever he looked at the kid, and Marcus had deduced that the great things Kyle was destined for weren't necessarily great for Kyle.
"How're you?" he offered.
Kyle grinned. "Pretty good. They've got some neat stuff over here. They're teaching me munitions. It's fun." He scratched his head. "Actually," he said, "I was wondering if you knew anything 'bout explosives. Thought maybe you could teach me."
Marcus shook his head. His sole experience with munitions had been a close encounter with a magnetic mine. He had no intention of repeating the experience. "No."
From the disappointed look in his eyes it was clear that Kyle had expected more. Marcus shrugged. He was too tired for Kyle's questions, but not tired enough that he didn't feel guilty about it. He checked his watch. "I need to go."
Kyle looked even more disappointed. "A new mission?"
Marcus nodded. A barrage of small bodies slammed into his legs. They both moved to the side of the tunnel as a few kids stampeded past. Marcus reached up and grabbed a couple of the ceiling ducts for balance. He relished the warmth that seeped through his gloves.
Kyle watched the kids run away. It didn't take much processing power for Marcus to guess what he was thinking. "You missing Star?" he asked.
Kyle nodded. Star had been left behind on the West Coast, because everyone except Kyle had agreed that it was better not to bring a little kid to New York. She still didn't talk, but she had lost the half-feral alertness that had marked her from the other children. "D' you think she's okay?"
Marcus shrugged. "She'll be fine."
Further down the corridor, the kids had stopped running. A little girl with dirty blond plaits lifted a carrot to her mouth with an expression of supreme contentment. The new breed of kids worried Marcus. Most of the younger children had known nothing but running and hiding. They didn't complain and they didn't cry. Kids used to annoy him. These children broke his heart.
Marcus's watch beeped. He checked the time and frowned. "Look, I've got to meet Connor topside."
Kyle's attention snapped back to Marcus."Your mission?"
"Yeah." Marcus said briefly. He could tell that Kyle wanted to ask more, but the boy said nothing. The New York command was mostly ex-military. They had a more formal leadership structure than Connor, did, and they frowned upon gossip. "I'll try and catch up later."
Kyle nodded. He punched Marcus's arm, pulled his knitted hat down over his ears and headed off down the corridor.
Marcus headed to the surface via Blair's dorm. The cubicle was empty; although Blair had left a few traces of her presence in the short time she had inhabited it. Her leather jacket was slung carelessly over the bed, and she'd left a message scrawled in wax pencil on the corner of the small mirror. See you later. XX. B.
Marcus scrubbed the grease from the glass with his sleeve. The silvering had begun to peel away from the mirror and the glass was marred with dark patches. He saw a reflection of his own suspicious eyes; a fragmented curve of cheekbone with the endoskeleton beneath pressed hard against the skin.
Marcus turned away.
He left the room and headed upwards; to the top levels, and to Connor.
The red rag on his sleeve and Connor's name was enough to get Marcus to the second level of security, where he waited as the guards sent messengers inside the command bunker to tell Connor he had arrived. After a while one of the guards beckoned Marcus forwards and escorted him through the corridors. Each passage was lined with computers; each machine tended by a pale-skinned tech type who barely looked up as Marcus walked past. Green code scrolled across each monitor. Marcus glanced curiously at one machine as he passed, and he made out the words 'transport', 'prisoners' and a set of co-ordinates that looked like map references before his human brain caught up with his machine cortex and he realized that he really shouldn't have been able to read the text.
Shit.
Marcus closed his eyes. Ciphers danced on the screens of his eyelids. His boot hit something hard and he stumbled. His body compensated automatically. One hand caught the back of a chair. Marcus pushed himself upright and looked around. He wondered if anybody had noticed. The tech sitting in the chair turned and gazed at Marcus incuriously for a moment before she settled back down to her work, but nobody else gave a damn. Marcus could count a dozen like her in this corridor alone. For all he knew, there were hundreds more. The kids that Marcus had given wedgies to as a child were the leaders of this new and different world. People who could work with computers were valuable these days.
And idiots like me who just want to get themselves killed are ten a penny, Marcus thought grimly as he walked past another shotgun-toting guard.
To be continued...