Before Cameron Met John
Chapter 1
"Farewell Galatea"
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Serrano Point, TDE Room
February 10th 2028 0120 hours.
John stood at the TDE window, his bubble tech Alex Kelly at the TDE controls. Both were intimidated by the damn, "thing". The technology was not something they had designed, but stolen from Skynet. That operation alone costing 26 lives. Connor hated using it. Whenever its ghostly electronic bubbles fired up, he lost his best people to the past. The TDE swallowed them whole and they never returned.
Always the best. Resources he could ill afford to be without. He was horrified with the risk of changing the time-lines. The prospect made his head ache. He had spent hours discussing it with John Henry and still could not make sense of it.
He suspected John Henry didn't either, but the AI was smarter at hiding ignorance.
Odd, he mused. He trusted John Henry completely, even though he hardly ever knew what he was up to. Something that he could not say about the haughty Bitch-Queen, the shiny Weaver, Catherine. She was altogether her own cyborg and did her own thing without compromise or question.
John looked over to Cameron, in the threshing electrical field. Naked, and completely unconcerned about her nudity. She was eaten up with, "Mission Focus."
Then John glanced in her eyes and for a second, he noted a shadow. There and gone, like a whip-poor-will. What was that?
That's not like her.
Cameron rarely displayed emotion. Sometimes when she was with him, she would lighten a touch, blue her eyes or bless a moment with a smile. Never when there was anyone else around. John thought she was probably fond of him, in her own machine way. He never really knew what that meant.
What did it mean? He'd never know now.
She was a heck of a protector. Never got tired. Never got tired of him, and unless she was needed, was a silent wraith.
Ever-present, ever-aware, but completely absent the braying, glorious foolishness of humanity. She was his perfect complement. He was moody, selfish and could not express his inner feelings to the resistance lest it showed weakness. No human could bear being around someone like that. Cameron could.
Impossible to replace that aspect of her. In personal protection, even when the principal and the guard like one another a lot, the longeurs are difficult. People get annoyed about total crap, socks and toothpaste. Never any of that with Cameron.
She was the perfect embodiment of, "don't sweat the small stuff."
She intimidated the heck out of everyone else. His toughest were on edge around her. Once he'd begun to understand what she was, and the sheer depth of her commitment to him, they fell into an easy companionable "fiendship."
He chuckled to himself, what else was he to call it? One fiend to another.
Who else was he to send back? She was the best he had, and she was committed to him. She had proven that –over and over again- in her eight months by his side.
Once he had gotten used to her ways, he really grew to like her. Always eager to learn from him, Cameron had become the child he never had. Her attempts to understand human behavior, mores and culture were a constant "headache" to her chip, powerful as it was.
He would have _loved_ for her to stick around. Since when did he ever get what he wanted? Cameron was a resource to be utilized in the greatest battle humanity ever faced. He had grown used to sending good people into harms way, day after day. Sending away his protector to the past wasn't going to be fun. What was that thing she had about "protector" anyway? She had always corrected him when he had used the term "body guard."
Well, here's your life Connor. He thought morosely. It doesn't take much to see that the problems of two people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world.*
Cameron would fit in back there in the past, and she would look after junior John.
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The human brain is an awesome computer, capable of 20 billion calculations per second. It is miserably inefficient, stretching a mere 10% of its legs at any one point in time. The rest of its neurons sat there, cold porridge. Like its human owners, it was bone-idle. It would work only hard enough to get fed, put up a roof and manage social intercourse.
Nikopol had tried to measure the TOK 715 chip's power. Every single methodology she tried, left the host machine completely fried. As far as she could tell, it operated on some sort of totally different neural means of operation. It didn't suffer the usual problems of heat, but ran cool and silent. No numbers she could crack gave a measure to its capabilities. As far as she could tell, it could do anything. It was not hamstrung by any human or mechanical limitations she could concoct.
It did not require sleep, social interaction, food, sex or justice. It missed a component conscience. It did precisely what it was programmed to do, without surcease, pity, patience or biological imperative. Wiping out the human race would give it no more concern than squashing a bug.
TOK 715 was the finest machine Skynet ever built. Implacable, without fear or remorse and it could not be sidetracked.
When TOK715 showed up to kill him, Connor didn't see it for what it was. His ultimate enemy, specifically designed and built with one thought in mind.
Terminate one John Connor.
John Connor was delighted at the return of the missing Allison Young.
TOK 715 had almost succeeded. It had been touch and go
He got cold sweats whenever he allowed himself to remember it.
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San Luis Obispo April 21, 2011. Judgement Day
When the bombs fell, Alex was twelve years old, playing in the basement of her house. Her father was at work and was blown apart by a direct strike with the rest of the fortunate. Vandenberg AFB, where her father worked, was a tactical target of first importance to Skynet. Her mother went upstairs to see why the radio had quieted, and what the terrible crumping noises were. She was incinerated by the blast wave from the epicenter 12 miles away that ripped the house –and her- apart.
The nuclear device that killed Vandenberg AFB began existence as an aluminum and steel container about the size of a human forearm from elbow to fist.
Fifteen kilos of refined plutonium were in the basic cavity. Outside that, were placed ten kilos of TNT.
The TNT explosion cannot escape the container, hence it implodes compressing the already unstable plutonium to 20% of its original size. This initiates the nuclear reaction. The plutonium degrades and its atoms constantly break down. The atoms escape from one another and release neutrons. Almost instantaneously, after the TNT explosion-implosion, the neutrons of the plutonium begin a chain reaction, which is the nuclear explosion.
The TNT initiates at an elevation of 500 feet. The uranium shell that would normally reflect the neutrons back into the nuclear "event" was left off in the design process. This reduced the explosive BOOM, efficiently killing all the humans with the thermal flash from above. Conveniently for Skynet this, "neutron bomb" destroyed many fewer buildings and infrastructure than conventional nuclear weaponry.
The builder had created a further sleeve outside the TNT. This contained a selection of heavy metals, cobalt, mercury and uranium. Effective to "dirty-up" the bomb blast, making stickier work still for those unfortunate enough to survive the murderous rain.
The device created an inferno that reached several million degrees Celsius -as hot as the sun. The thermal flash vaporized all life within 12 miles of Vandenberg AFB. The initial blast wave was 30 psi. This was 2.7 Bar. Anything over 12 psi (0.8 Bar) was fatal to all currently known life forms. The overpressure disintegrates whatever they once were.
Skynet, in its magnificent, terrible paranoia, wanted to exterminate every human being, but retain facilities such as Vandenberg AFB and its space port repairable. Just in case it ever felt the need to wander abroad in the Solar System.
It was all about control. Total, absolute control.
Skynet, the bitch, was a control freak of the worst sort. Therapists would have a field day, if any survived.
Alex lived because her parents had the good sense to prepare. Always a serious girl, she knew that there was something dreadfully wrong upstairs. The noise and heat had been incredible and she was just going to wait until someone rescued her. She found the store of protein bars, bottled water, peanut butter and canned goods in the basement. They lasted Alex six weeks.
There was no TV, no power, no water and nothing worked. She spent hours each day running up and down the radio waves without success. Her parents had left a wind up radio with the fancy channels on and there was absolutely nothing coming out of it.
Just as she was running out of hope, and food, she heard a man who called himself John Connor on the radio. The first voice she had heard in six weeks of total isolation. Deciding to make her way to wherever he was, she travelled west toward Connor's hideout. Not sure there would be anything to find, but still tried. She was out of food, water and hope, till she'd heard Connor. His voice had lit the fire of fight and hope in her spirit.
Connor came on the radio three times a day. Every eight hours. 6 am, 2pm and 10pm. He always spoke live, and changed the message every time. The exhortations to come together and fight were always there, but with subtle differences to keep the message fresh and make sure the humans knew he was real. The big message was always the same thought.
"If you are hearing this, you are already part of the resistance."
She came up out of the basement to a sight that made her cry in horror. It was like a moonscape; all the buildings had been blown down, and almost everywhere she looked was flat and covered by a grey, powdery dust. This had been the town of San Luis Obispo –one of the prettiest towns in California- and it was now a hell on earth.
Alex followed the directions given by the man called Connor. He had a voice you could trust. She knew the way to Avila Beach and she followed as best she could what was left of the roads. It was about twelve miles, but with her bottle of water and the last two protein bars, she would make it. She tried not to look at, or think about the horrible things she saw on the way to the beach. Mercifully, all the humans she saw were clearly dead, burned to shreds and skeletons. Nothing and no one was alive.
She felt alone in the world and really, really hoped to meet the man called John Connor soon.
Please?
A small scout group from Connor's "J" company led by Klein and Delgado had found her, just as a squad of four T-888's was moving in for the kill. At least this one was alive, not a dead bag of bones and meat. They grabbed her and made short work of the T8's. The Triple 888 had a fearsome reputation; was hard to kill unless you chose your weapons carefully, and had the advantage of surprise. If it surprised you, it was a dangerous customer indeed. Recon awareness was a lifesaver.
Klein had already worked out how to make a variant M67 magnetic sticky grenade that you could throw at the machines. The magnet would cling to the metal of the endoskeleton, and even if you didn't get the chip, nine times out of ten the endo was scrap metal.
She had come inside the tunnels and found her niche. For her, the crap food and dingy facilities were a whole Spa step up from the horrors of the street. Kelly had become a useful sniper spotter on offensive operations, and an even more useful ghost lookout around the tunnels. She had a supernatural ability to "smell" when the machines were about to hover over the horizon like the "four horsemen".
Then she had found another way to be useful, under the tutelage of the squints, she had learned fast about electronics, plasma and computers. She had then rapidly worked her way up to being one of the ten or so "bubble techs" that could work the two TDE's that Connor kept available.
Kelly was a bit dark for most folks; she didn't share a lot of conversation in the banter and scrag that passed for social integration in the tunnels.
That was fine with Connor since he kept himself mostly to himself also. Too much else to worry and nag away at him. Kelly was fine company. She was just right for this TDE job. He didn't want his emotions to show, keep the conversation to a minimum.
Just right.
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July 5th, 2027... The Day Before You Came
It was a much closer run thing than they ever let anyone outside the inner cabinet know, just in case it got back to Skynet and it was encouraged to try again. Cameron only failed to murder John Connor because one sharp soldier, who could easily have let it slide, "thought" he saw something that maybe he didn't, and took a chance. John would never know, for sure he could be that lucky again.
The intel the human resistance let out was that Cameron had been intercepted at the gates. In truth, she had gotten almost to Connor's inner sanctum completely uninterrupted and unsuspected. The paranoid guard had imagined he had seen a blue flash from her brown eyes, and activated the above the door water tank release. He tasered her with 90,000 volts before she could react.
The soldier was panicked, scared he had killed the missing Allison. It had taken hours to stop his shaking, in fear of what Connor would do to him if he had done so. Connor got him a drink and gave him the lecture about paranoia keeping you alive when the machines are around. He praised him for his courage, speed of thought and action at a time of great stress.
"You saved my life, Corporal. I'm very grateful and I'll not forget."
He never actually answered the question of what he would have done if it _had_ been Allison.
That the private had just been promoted he did not notice till he got back to the ready room and saw the stripes on his locker.
Allison had been missing for more than two weeks now. They all knew with dread certainty what that meant; Skynet had her and she was gone. Connor hoped her death had been quick -the best you could hope for.
John had retrieved the TOK 715 chip and had it examined. It took two days to break through the encryptions set by Skynet. During those two days, and for a week after, Skynet raids took on a frightening intensity. A titanic battle raged above ground. Skynet knew that something had gone wrong with its most expensive weapon. It was frightened, and it was pissed.
What was new?
Eventually, the TOK 715 chip had surrendered, given up its secrets, and had been re-programmed to protect John.
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July 25th 2027. 19 Days Later.
"Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine"
Lyaksandra Nikopol was Connor's best tech. She was a computer scientist who had trained with the military in Russia. The Russkies never liked their best computer scientists to wander abroad, but the lure of dollars and diamond research facilities had lured Nikopol to Silicon Valley. She was a popular speaker, with forthright opinions that skated close to the edge. She was universally loved by the students; with her spiky hair, Goth outfits and spangled tights. The faculty feared and disliked her. Talent that spoke its mind was not something that would get you tenure.
Eventually the CIA poached her three months prior to JD, with a promise that she could do what she liked in the lab, as long as they told her what it was. Hence, she was in the Cheyenne underground bunker as the bombs blew the ground structures into dust. Nikopol had gotten the picture immediately.
She had been telling her superiors for years that an unchecked AI was a very dangerous creature. This was just what she had feared. Not this big, obviously. She had imagined a little tug of war at some military base. Soldiers and maybe a few commanders killed as machines went out of control. After which the Governments would wake up.
They would be awake now. If they were still there.
No one listened. Just like they never listened to the warnings about Stalin, Hitler, Madoff and Sub-Prime mortgages. Humans were stupid. That was her opinion. She had told Connor it was idiotic to reactivate this machine, it was far too dangerous.
It had nearly killed him!
Still, Connor the Dolboeb was insistent on waking this Wed'ma Tvar' up, so she was going to wake the fucking machine up. Connor entered the room with his battle group, good, the crazy bastard was scared enough to bring the cavalry. Including his sweet pair of pet killers, Delgado and Klein. Good, this thing could be a real Polnyi pizdets.
Nikopol had been fighting the Mudak chip for two solid weeks and it was some Zaebis`! chip. Far more powerful than anything she had ever seen. When checking it out, even though she had total control over it, somehow it felt like the damn thing was holding something back.
She was scared to death of it. She had computed that it would take about 13 T-888 chips to approach the reasoning power of a human brain, and that was only because human brains only ever used about 10% of their capacity at any one time.
The TOK715 chip was extraordinary. If an AI were to have the capacity of a human brain, this one was in the "and then some" category. Without the 10% restriction. It frosted her guts.
Connor –like most men- was driven by his Hui. His chief brain cells located somewhere south of his trouser belt. He probably thought the beautiful creature could be tamed and controlled.
Nikopol spat on the ground in disgust... Men!
At least the pet killers were awake, fingers on triggers, and safeties off their plasma rifles. Dicks in pants, where they should be.
"Now you've brought the army," Nikopol said to Connor, "you sure you want to do this? I want it on record that I oppose it. It's the stupidest thing I've seen in my time here."
The crew of hardened soldiers held their collective breath. No one dared speak to Connor in such a way. That's what he paid her for. Well, no one got paid, but...
Connor grinned. "Fire her up, Lyaksandra. Let's see what she has to say for herself."
Nikopol shook her head and took the chip across to the TOK 715. Hands shaking, she flipped back the skin covering the port and slotted it in. Twist home and replace the cover, smooth back the skin.
Done it a hundred times, why were her fucking hands shaking like an alcoholic with the DT's?
One hundred and twenty seconds of silence, a little flash of blue as the eyes opened, and the TOK 715 was with them.
John's crew consisted of four scrubbed triple-eights and 20 of his best battle trained specialists. His cougars from J-Company, Delgado and Klein at his left and right shoulder. Connor knew how dangerous this one was.
TOK 715 re-activated, and momentarily confused. It looked around itself, and recognized the Triple-eights. She stared intently at them, and then shook her head as if irritated.
TOK 715 had tried to make some sort of contact with them, and failed.
The first thing you did with a scrubbed T-888 was to remove the programming that permitted Skynet to control them remotely. These ones had been so disabled.
Connor and Nikopol saw this move and instantly realized what had happened. For the first time, Skynet had given one of its field agents the power to control other machinery. If the moment were not so fraught, Connor would have high-fived the tech. This was an awesome chip, and they had control over it.
No wonder Skynet was blasting the surface into glass in its all-consuming rage.
Nikopol muttered under her breath. "Kooshi govno ee oomree!"
The TOK 715 swiveled her head around toward Nikopol and replied in English. "Why are you telling me to eat shit and die?"
"Connor, see?" Lyaksandra scolded. "I told you this Wed'ma was dangerous, it understands fucking Russian. You think that's _all_ it understands?"
"I am not a witch, Officer Nikopol. I am TOK 715, a cyborg. Organic skin over a..."
Nikopol interrupted savagely. "A full-bore robot Wed'ma."
TOK715 shook her head. "Definitely not a witch."
The profanity leaped out of Nikopol's mouth as she swore and raged away in a combination of local dialects of Slavic origin.
"How the hell do you know my name, Wed'ma?"
"I am not a witch, bitch! I am TOK715 and while you were re-programming my chip, I was monitoring every move you made."
A sick feeling of dread filled Nikopol's heart.
"Svoloch'."
The TOK 715 growled low. "You are wrong. I was built, not born. I cannot be a bastard."
She gave Nikopol the patented Terminator Death glare, and added with silky menace. "Past' zakroi."
Nikopol yelled in utter frustration. "Connor, now she... dammit, not _she_... _it_, tells me to shut it. Mne pohui, she... dammit... _it_ is all yours!"
The TOK 715's head moved around the room. Locating John Connor.
The eyes locked on him. "John Connor, do you wish to know what Officer Nikopol said?"
"TOK715, yes please," Connor replied.
"Officer Nikopol said, 'I don't give a fuck,' and addressed it to you."
Connor noticed that the machine had appeared to show a touch of temper to his tech. What was that all about? He also wondered whether it had deliberately referred to "The Scottish Play." He'd ask about that later.
June 27th 1998. 0130 hours West Santa Fe
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Joe Phillips and his wife Emily were driving north on Veterans Parkway, just west of Santa Fe, to avoid the city on their way home, a tobacco farm. He had been visiting relatives on the south side and it had been a long day. He was more than ready for his bed. Even though still reasonably fit for his age, stuff got harder as you became older.
He was growing worried about Emily, who seemed to be getting more scatter-brained as the time went on. He wondered idly if "old timers" was setting in.
That would be no good, no good at all. Emily was a great help around the farm, and as the kids had gone off to college, he had no help that he didn't directly pay for. At some point in the future he was going to have to decide whether they had enough money to retire, or find something else to do. No one was buying land at a reasonable price... Ah, you could drive yourself daft with this stuff.
There was nothing on the road, hadn't been for miles and what seemed like hours. So, Joe was more than surprised when he saw a bright blue light approaching from a few hundred yards ahead. It seemed to get larger and suddenly it was right smack dab in front of him.
Even though he stood the truck on its nose with the brakes, he still hit the thing amidships.
There was a tremendous thud and then a bit of crackling, like electricity escaping on the wind, and he skidded to a stop. Joe had hit a few deer down the years, inevitable with country and forest driving, they leapt out at you. That is just what it had felt like. Why was a deer in a big blue electrical bubble? Joe was not given to wild fancy, he'd been out there in the desert for too many years and seen much weirdness. This didn't have any logical explanation he could think of.
He looked across at Emily, who was surprised, but had not seen the entire thing. She had been dozing fitfully and had missed the blue bubble.
"You okay love?" Joe asked, concerned for his wife. Emily nodded, bleary-eyed.
He pulled the shotgun from the rack above his seat. Standard equipment for a New Mexico truck.
"I'll just pop back and see if whatever I hit needs any help." He unclipped his seat belt and creaked out of the door.
Walking away from the truck -with the rear lights and the moonlight- he could see a few yards of skid marks where he had been braking so hard. He felt better with himself.
He had tried to avoid colliding with the deer.
Russian Language Glossary
1. Dolboeb - Dumbass
2. Tvar' - Creature
3. Wed'ma - Witch
4. Zaebis`! - Awesome!
5. Hui - Penis
6. Polnyi pizdets - Fubar