Summer 2007

Sarah Connor completed a round of chin-ups and lowered herself and exhaled. She picked up a towel and wiped the sweat from her face and upper torso. Her workout routine was designed to achieve peak resilience and stamina. It was a unique discipline yielding her desired equipoise. Her body remained shapely and deceptively feminine - even alluring, yet was as hard as nails.

Sarah realized early on she could never achieve the natural upper body strength of a male; to try would only add undesirable bulk to her framework and slow her down, but with the perfect balance of flexibility and tone she could channel an attacker's brute strength to her advantage. It had served her well especially when it came to defending against the advanced tactics taught to the military elite, and more recently discovered in the baseline programming found in the algorithms of a T-888's neural net processor.

She bunched up the sweaty cloth and tossed it into the clothes hamper and in the same motion she picked up the fresh bath towel waiting on her bed and headed for the shower.

After a few moments of adjusting for the perfect blend of hot and cold water she pulled off her tank top and started to slip out of her gray workout shorts when she sensed movement just outside her bedroom door. Then she saw it; just within the range her peripheral vision, a silhouette hurried down the hall. She was no longer alone and she was certain it wasn't John or Cameron. She needed to get to her guns. Sarah quickly surveyed the bedroom and took a calculated risk. She leapt sliding across the hardwood floor and made her way under her bed where she kept a small weapons cache hidden in the box spring.

Sarah's forearms, thighs and knees turned beet red from friction burns as she flipped over on her back and reached for two nine-millimeters. She retrieved both weapons, cocking them making sure both had bullets in the chamber. She held an ear to the floor trying to pick up the vibrations of footsteps, but there were none. Yet she could hear what sounded like the rustle of metal coming from one of the outer rooms. If this was a T she needed to come up with a plan, two guns wouldn't be enough…

She quickly put the guns down for and reached into the box spring for some of the C-4 and a mercury detonator. Rapidly she affixed it the C-4 to the side of the bed panel attached the detonator and armed it under the bed sheet, and all without a moment to spare.

A dark figure appeared in the doorway and crossed from one side of the room to the other as if it were a ghost. From Sarah's vantage point all she could see were the silk shoes worn by ancient elite Chinese assassins seemingly floating across the hardwood floor, although she did not make the connection. Eye movement was all she allowed herself, and her eyes followed the intruder as it entered the bathroom to inspect the running shower. Sarah held both guns cross armed as if she were in a pharaoh's tomb and then using her back muscles spun herself out from under the bed, but the movement betrayed her location before she was clear. The Chinese warrior saw her and almost instantly a device sprung from its hands as if it were a serpent's strike.

Like a lightening bolt, Sarah felt a burning pain piercing through her entire body. The intruder had unleashed an ancient Chinese chain whip on her, its blade cutting through the arch of her foot and protruding though her instep, blood gushed from the open wounds. The attacker spun the ancient device wrapping it around both her ankles, and with a wicked jolt began to drag her in its direction, her face crashed against the polished oakwood breaking her nose; a geyser of crimson red smeared the surface of the floor behind her.

Sarah was in agonizing pain. She trembled fighting wildly against her aggressor; she let loose a stream of profanities and as soon as she was facing upwards again she lit up the room with hot lead and gun smoke firing off all thirty rounds into what looked like an ancient Chinese warrior, sending it crashing through the shower doors and shattering glass in all directions.

In shock and with a surge of adrenaline Sarah pulled herself up and unwound the chain whip from around her ankles, she hesitated only fractionally and then screaming yanked the blood covered barb through her foot. She held her head back, gained as much composure she could, grabbed one the handguns and scurried across the floor. She made her way to the jamb of the hall doorway and pulled herself up in a sitting position. She reached under the chifforobe next to her and freed a loaded clip. Heavily hyperventilating she released the empty clip and reloaded trying to control her breathing. She held the gun up in a two handed stance and shaking uncontrollably she tried to keep it aimed at the bathroom's doorway.

Whatever this thing was, it was stirring again and coming around. Sarah forced herself to rationalize her predicament, if this was a T, then why the costume? If it wasn't then what was it? No human could withstand being shot point-blank with thirty consecutive rounds. The only thing Sarah was certain of was that she was not its primary target, it was John. She wasn't going to let this thing get to her boy. She would do whatever it took to keep that from happening. She fought in futility to steady her aim, but did not fire as the creature sprung back to life and turned swiftly in a face off. But instead of attacking her, it too seemed to be sizing up the situation, and with its eyes firmly locked onto Sarah's, it made no other sudden movements. It slowly and cautiously got back on its feet; fragments of glass falling all around it with an unmistakable sound.

The masked figure stood before Sarah and the shaking gun. "What are you?" she screamed "What do you want!" but it said nothing drawing closer, then eye level and finally face to face with her, unsheathing it's sword and pressing the blade against her neck. She returned the fatal gesture by pressing the barrel of her gun against it's forehead. "Go ahead you bastard - go ahead! Spatting blood uncontrollably she stood her ground gritting her sanguine stained teeth.

For the first time the warrior broke its silence, "Lì shǐ jiā" it said and without warning sliced open Sarah's throat. She thought only of protecting of her son and tried to fire off a final round, but her arms were too heavy. Her knuckles hit the hard wood floor releasing the weapon with a thud. Her body grew limp and followed sliding into the pool of her blood, but Sarah had just enough presence of mind and life in her to thrust her head backward slamming it into side of the bed to trigger the mercury detonator.

John and Cameron were about a block away, when the house exploded. "Mom!" he screamed violently, but Cameron pulled him back.

"No John, we must run!" she said, grabbing his arm and turning him around.

John's expression was wild and tormented, and at first he stuggled with Cameron, but he knew he had no choice. He followed her lead and started running in the opposite direction. If his mother was indeed gone, her last wish would have been for him to run faster.

A second explosion sent them flying face first to the ground - dirt flying in the air, as giant plumes of smoke and a blinding flash of light behind them consumed the sky.


Sarah eyes sprung open in horror as she awoke gasping for air. Oh my god, she thought, Oh my god! It was another of her night terrors. She checked to see if she was still in one piece. "Holy shit." she managed to say out loud with a huge sigh of relief "That was too real," She had fallen asleep on the porch swing, while reading Sun Tzu' "The Art of War." The book sat resting on her abdomen. She swatted it off of as if it were alive and capable of biting her. Perhaps it was, and maybe it did.


A Short Time Later

A large White-lined Sphinx came to rest under the porch light. Sarah saw it land spreading its great dark olive, light brown and tan forewings twitching and taking in rays of its newly found artificial sun. From the porch swing Sarah noticed how the reddish pink band on the moths black hindwing matched the fading paint.

The tranquil moment was a far cry from the night terror she'd endured just before sunset, but it was also one she'd already experienced to a lesser extent days before. In fact it was a faint memory of ancient Chinese armor that aroused her to find a copy of the annotated version of The Art of War.

Ever since she'd been in the sanitarium under the supervision of Dr. Peter Silberman, Sarah experienced a regiment of frequent and recurring nightmares, but not just any nightmares; Sarah's were more like precognitive threads weaving a tapestry of hers and John's destiny.

Sarah's visions always started as a waking dream; she in Kyle's arms and his reassuring her of her strength, his love, her duty, and the mission. "Sarah, wake up." He would beckon. "Where's our son, Sarah?" he would beg. "He's the target now. He's all alone. You have to protect him." He would remind her. "You're strong, Sarah. Stronger than you ever thought you could be." He would assure her and when Sarah hinted at futility, he would challenge her as she challenged him when he gave up so long ago, "On your feet soldier!" and then he would fight the wrath of eternity to embrace her; embrace her with such passion that he lived once again. "I love you Sarah. I always will. I'll always be with you." Then he would rivet their eyes and repeat the mission, "Remember the message? The future is not set. There is no fate, but what we make for ourselves." And then Kyle Reese's life energy would become one with Sarah's and open the doorway to another of Sarah Connor's gateways beyond.

Sarah recalled the time before the visions began, before she was locked away in the insane asylum. A time when she was called Canela a Mexican nickname meaning cinnamon, chosen for her mainly because it sounded like Connor and because it was easier to pronounce for El Padrino Enrique.

Enrique - The Godfather was an unassuming good natured white haired man and the mastermind behind one of the largest Latin American gun smuggling operations of its time.

He was almost brought down at the height of his empire when his son Enrique Junior was detained by two crooked Mexican Federales in a messy extradition for extortion plot devised by one of his more rancorous competitors. It was a conspiracy designed to draw international attention away from a clandestine U.S. military operation based in Latin America, and more to the pont a high-ranking government official by exposing the inner workings and making culpable the Padrino organization instead. The whole thing was rotten to the core.

Kyle had provided Sarah with precise and deciding information about El Padrino - where she'd find him in Mexico, how to approach him once she found him, and what to say to him when she did. Information the John Connor of the future instructed Kyle to repeat to Sarah word for word.

In their short time together she learned how she would seize the opportunity to forge an unbreakable bond with the Mexican arms dealer, one that would eventually provide the young waitress with the means to amass an arsenal of sophisticated military weapons caches. Weapons she and young John would need early on, and in the future would be essential at the onset of the resistance.

In an elaborate scheme she and John would become players in a long con that resulted in Enrique Junior's escape at the border in Baja California. It was done without him spending a single day behind bars or the firing a single shot. Folklorists in Wahaca still recall it today as El Ajedrez Del Norte.

The Chess Game of the North. Sarah sighed, choosing to remember Enrique Junior as he was in the desert with her tough talking adolescent and his T-800 model 101, and not the aging FBI informer Cameron executed a few months ago. With a sense of melancholy she thought fondly of Enrique's father El Padrino, teaching her son the art of playing chess when he was just a little boy. How ironic, she thought, now both are gone, but the legend of El Niño John, Canela, and El Padrino still lives on in Wahaca. A reminder that some battles can be won without guns; even the Connor's needed to be reminded of that from time to time. She spun a wisp of her hair between her thumb and index finger, thought about how much John had changed, and turned her attention to the book she'd swatted away earlier and began reading chapter three, The Principles of Warfare.

It had been well over a year since the Connors had some downtime. School was out for the summer and now they were playing the hurry up and wait game. Derek Reese had suggested the Connors including Cameron needed to stand-down and lay low for a little while. They had become a somewhat of ragtag team and seriously needed reorganization. He emphasized how he was the least recognizable of the bunch and how they would all be at an advantage later on, if he were allowed setup a few more safe houses, hide cash, and move some of the weapons Sarah had hidden in several remote areas. He'd used a black marker to indicate areas on a map that would be unreachable in the future and convinced Sarah to either move or lose whatever she had there.

Although Sarah didn't entirely trust Derek, she was also sensible enough to have some faith in family and John's Uncle Derek was family. He'd come up with a good plan, and so the Connors were doing the inconceivable. They were taking a well-needed vacation.