DAY ONE – 5:00 p.m.
It is a common belief that one can never be the absolute best at anything in this world. There is someone somewhere else on this planet that will always be better than you, regardless of your area of expertise. I respectfully disagree with this sentiment.
I've known John over sixteen years now and I have yet to meet one person who comes close to matching his knowledge and experience with technology. Even Cameron is unable to comprehend John's ever-increasing catalogue of how machines work, how they function, why they function...His knowledge seems to increase exponentially—faster than her mind, faster than anyone's.
I never taught him anything about machines, about technology. I couldn't even if I tried. Kyle knew a lot more than I did on the subject, but there are times when I wondered if it was he who taught John what he knows in the future or the other way around…
Each part, each piece, John could predict their usefulness. Their purpose. The best possible scenario for their creation. If they were useless, he still wouldn't throw them away. In the event that he needed them, they would be there. It was a trait I thought was a weakness in John. I did not see how being resourceful could benefit him when he had an army to lead in the future. I did not see it then, but I see it now.
People are correct when they believe that they are not the best at learning, adapting and utilizing new technology.
Because John will always be better than them.
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"This isn't the safe house."
"No, it's not," Cameron replied, stepping out of the truck to scan the surrounding area for any sign of John or Sarah. There was no sign of fresh tire tracks. No heat signatures save for small, reptilian creatures. No sign of humans.
"Well, this was a damn bust." Derek was not amused at this turn of events. Sarah had given them the coordinates to the new safe house after the entire Riley and Jesse debacle had brought attention to their last temporary home. And the coordinates led straight to the middle of nowhere. "This is the fucking desert!" His eyes narrowed, surveying the expanse of arid land before them. "She planned this."
There was nothing here. The air was warm—too warm—and dry, like a parched throat after a hangover. Tumbleweeds floated on soft gusts of wind that would periodically stop to take another breath. The rounded green heads of barrel cacti sporadically protruded from the ground, a bit of color injected into the dull landscape.
Cameron tilted her head to the side, examining Derek's expression. "You're not surprised."
He shook his head, chuckling silently, "No, I'm not. Things have been getting out of hand lately. It was just a matter of time before she stuck to just trusting herself."
"John trusts me," Cameron said, no sense of conviction in her voice. But he could hear it in his head.
Derek laughed. The machine was so adamant that John Connor trusted her that he couldn't leave her behind. What she didn't count on was Sarah Connor's influence. "He might trust you, but Sarah doesn't. As long as she's alive, the only ones she'll trust are herself and her son. Herself first."
He watched as Cameron processed this information. Her head tilted back to its regular position, her body stoic and motionless. Her sallow jacket blew slightly with the breeze, swaying back and forth. Dark chocolate hair flowed along with it, more erratic than the jacket's simple pendulum pattern. It contrasted well with her fair complexion, creating an image of such simplicity and yet, such beauty.
It's unfortunate that she was a goddamn robot.
He could never forget Cameron's programmable nature. Her flawless appearance was a ruse. A diversion. Something that in this day and age, before J-Day, would buy her time if she ran into some rather horny individuals. John Connor was a smart man.
Cameron caught his gaze and spoke. "We have to find him."
Him. Derek noticed she focused only on John. Only on her mission. Sarah was expendable.
"Harder said than done." Sarah didn't want her and John to be found. That's why she sent him and Cameron to the weapons cache. And then to the middle of the goddamn desert.
Cameron was unfazed. "Driving back will be inefficient. They would have taken a different direction." She turned her head, staring at—but not seeing—the wide expanse before her. "Their movements will be almost impossible to predict."
Derek smirked in her direction. "So, what then? You plan to magically figure out where they are?"
She pivoted, looking him in the eyes. "No, not through magic. That option is not realistic." Derek rolled his eyes. "I can locate their current location through other means." Derek grew wary as she walked back towards the truck and opened the door, rifling through the contents of the glove compartment before returning to Derek's side. She held a global positioning system in her hands.
"Don't you have a built-in one of those?" He asked, crossing his arms and looking at her skeptically.
Cameron stared back. "I was not built with that type of communication in mind. It would cripple several of my other systems to make room for satellite communication. It would be impractical and increase the likelihood of a system malfunction due to abundant processing overload."
Derek sighed. "So, let me guess, you're going to access a tracking device you left in their vehicle?"
"No," she responded. "Sarah would expect that and did a sweep of the vehicle before we left. I'm going to utilize a precaution I gave John in the event that I malfunction again and try to harm him."
"A precaution?"
"Yes, a kill switch device directly linked to an explosive inside my head. There is a transmitter inside which I can use to determine his location."
Derek couldn't believe what she was saying. A kill switch device? To destroy her? It made sense. She was very protective of John Connor. Enough to let him destroy her, even though Terminators were all about self-preservation. But wait a minute…"You gave him a device to kill you in case you were trying to hurt him, right?" Cameron nodded. "Then why would you include a tracking device inside it? Wouldn't that give you the advantage in the event that you glitch out and try to kill him?"
Cameron remained impassive. "The kill switch will only trigger the explosive at a specific range. Five hundred meters. If I am not nearby, it will not activate. This way, if I know where he is, he will not have to constantly worry about my mission and me hurting civilians in order to find his location."
He hated to admit it, but she had thought this through. Leaving no stone unturned, that's how they worked. Solving a problem from all angles, all its variables and possibilities.
Derek hated them for it.
"I take it you planned this way in advance?" he asked, wondering if she had any other tricks up her sleeve. What other fail safes did she have planned in the event that things didn't work out how they were supposed to?
"No, I did not account for the tracking device and its use in keeping civilian casualties to a minimum," Cameron said mechanically in that perfect tone of hers. She tilted her head again, emanating thoughtfulness.
"It was John's idea."
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The boat had stalled about thirty minutes ago. John was dead in the water.
"This is ridiculous," he exclaimed, pulling the cord on the motor again and again. He knew how to operate a motorboat. His mom had taken him out before this several times, preparing him for any possible event he might be thrust into in the future.
"Have to learn how to drive a car, how to drive a boat, how to drive stick," he mimicked, gesticulating wildly with his hands, creating a poor impression of his stubborn, hard-assed mother. "I wonder when I get to start the plane lessons," he ground out bitterly, yanking even harder on the cord.
The motor started.
"About damn time." Moving to the steering wheel, John aimed the vessel towards a nearby pier. His mother had warned him before she left to get groceries to meet her seven miles south along a small, wooden pier with two cabins and a buoy just offshore. She mentioned that it was abandoned…
"Groceries my ass," he grumbled. John knew when his mother was lying. Charley had just picked up groceries the day before and her sullen look combined with her half-hearted attempt at placation due to leaving Derek and Cameron behind let him know she was in pain. But what pain, he wasn't sure of. It was likely that Charley knew…
…Charley. He'd watched as Charley shot back at their pursuers. Screamed at him to get on the boat. Stared in horror as two rounds entered and exited through Charley's upper body. It took only seconds for him to turn around and start driving the hell out of there, but those few seconds were sheer terror. Years of experience had taught John not to dwell on the death of a loved one…but Charley wasn't just "a loved one." To John, he was the only father he'd ever known. Kyle Reese was just a name to him. Charley was the only one who'd shown him how to take charge of his life and not let others run it for him. The only one who he could talk about girls with. The only one he completely and utterly trusted who wasn't his mother.
Charley, whether he knew it or not, was John's father.
And now he was dead.
Wiping tears from his eyes with his sleeve, John drove the boat into port. Now was not the time for reminiscing. He had to find his mother and figure out what to do. Where to go.
Disembarking, John tethered the boat to the dock and started walking. It would probably be best to wait here. At least she knew where he was. Checking his pockets, he realized his cell phone must have fallen out while running for the boat. Nice one John, what's next? Run into a T-888?
He exhaled, exhausted, and sat down on a nearby, rotted log. Fingering the locket around his neck, John's thoughts drifted to Cameron and Derek. His mother hadn't told them of their latest pit stop. Had she even told them the correct coordinates for the new safe house? Was there a new safe house? It was so unlike her to not have a backup plan. Well, other than her current "hide out next to those abandoned cabins until I show up" plan. And that was working quite well, he had to admit, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.
Cameron would find him, though. The tracking device installed in the locket was unknown even to his mother. At least he'd be less vulnerable once one of them arrived.
For now, he'd have to rely on one of the pistols in the boat. Standing up, John stretched his tired limbs, shuddering as a few of them cracked. Lumbering towards the boat, John took note of the two nearby cabins, the canoe with a hole in it and the sketchy motor on his current ride. Escape would be difficult if he was ambushed. Maybe he should get rid of the boat…
But it was his best chance at escape. Grabbing a .45mm from one of the compartments on the boat, John nabbed a blanket as well. It was starting to get dark out. The wind was picking up and the temperature was starting to drop. Finding a comfortable position, John pulled the blanket over his head and kept watch on the tree line just past the cabins.
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Sarah Connor was not happy.
John was missing. Charley was dead. She had a transmitter hidden inside her and—God, John was missing. How could she let this happen?
Adjusting her hand on the steering wheel, she fumbled around for her cell phone and tried calling John again. The rings started going in.
RING.
Hopefully he was at the rendezvous point. Charley had told her about an empty pair of cabins down the coast that would easy to spot if they had happened to escape by boat. He gave both her and John directions by truck in the event that they were separated.
RING.
Derek and Cameron were distracted and, unless they caught wind of some unusual news—an explosion at a supposedly abandoned lighthouse, perhaps—they likely wouldn't run into them again.
RING.
They had lived off the grid for sixteen years—sixteen years—and they had only run across two Terminators. Now, Derek and Cameron get involved and it seems like the supply of Terminators is endless. They'd be better off without them.
RING.
"Dammit!" She shut her phone. He wasn't answering. Or maybe he couldn't answer. He could be out on that damn boat with bullet holes in him, bleeding out, passed out, waiting for her to arrive…
HONK. HONK. Swerving wildly, she narrowly avoided a head-on collision with oncoming traffic. Stupid. Stupid! She had to focus on driving. She'd be no help to John if she got into an accident now.
"John is smart," she said aloud, believing in her instincts. "He knows what to do. Where to go. How to take care of himself." She hit the dashboard, frustrated. This was all her fault. She had brought them to Charley. She was weak, alone, and sought solace in Charley. Even allowing herself the slightest amount of comfort, a minute of feeling of safety, could lead to their deaths. She knew this already.
John didn't deserve this—death around every corner. He deserved better from her.
She laughed derisively at herself, "Hypocrite." Here she was berating Derek and Cameron just days earlier for not being trustworthy and she went and blew them off, lied to them and ended up getting Charley killed because for a little while she just wanted to rest.
Well, now she knew. She couldn't rest. It cost too much to rest. Too much to sit down and take a breather. She'd let death take care of that. Her corpse could get as much sleep as it wanted, but until then, she'd keep moving.
And with that thought, she pressed harder on the gas, flying down the highway to the rendezvous point.
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…Fifty-five hours remaining.
Fifty-five hours and John Connor would be outside a nuclear power plant in San Luis Obispo County.
Fifty-five hours and an assassination attempt would threaten the life of John Connor, but he would survive.
Fifty-five hours and one individual would succeed in saving the life of John Connor and put into motion a possible victory for the human resistance against SkyNet in the year 2029.
Intervention was needed.
That individual needed to die.
"Hey, watch where you're going, asshole!" He had run into someone and knocked them over. The black leather jacket he was currently wearing creaked upon impact. It sounded like the resistance made by the human body when one tried rotating their neck three hundred-sixty degrees.
He smiled awkwardly, remembering the rewarding sound when several resistance members had tried dismantling him after setting a trap, which resulted in his electrocution and the temporary shutdown of his body. He woke up seconds later, aware of their ambush. Their attempt had failed and he had won. He had been victorious. Victory required acknowledgment. Humans smiled when victorious.
Acquiring clothes was the easiest of his objectives. It had stopped the stares from humans inspecting his naked body, particular his genitalia. The human body mortified them. Odd, considering the value they placed on human life.
"I said, watch where you're going! Wipe that damn grin off your face!" The human was standing in front of him now, an accusatory look directed this way. In one point seventy-two seconds a flick and rotation of the wrist could rotate the human's arm full circle. It would produce the satisfying sound of a leather jacket.
It would also blow his cover.
"What's your name, asshole? I wanna know who's ass I'm gonna kick!"
He stared back at the taller, much more rotund, individual. "My name is Jacob." He smiled again, trying to placate the man, but it appeared as though a sneer. "Please, do not be angry. I am sorry to have caused you distress." He did not have time to deal with this man's anger.
The overweight man did not expect appeasement. "Uhh…" he said, staring dumbly back. "I'm not distressed! What are you tryin' to say? That I'm stupid? That I'm emotional?!" The man's fist reeled back, winding up for a punch.
This situation had to be defused as quickly as possible. The sidewalk was crowded with people, but this confrontation could not be avoided. Sidestepping the punch, Jacob caught the man with a right hook in the neck, temporarily halting his breathing. He would lose consciousness and likely regain a regular breathing pattern within minutes. Unless he had other complications, of course.
Continuing down the sidewalk, Jacob eyed the stores. He would not find what he was looking for in downtown Los Angeles. There was a weapons storage locker thirty-seven miles from here. He had plenty to do between now and his accomplishing his mission objective.
There was a commotion building behind him due to the altercation with the fat man. He needed to leave the area. Examining the area, Jacob caught a woman about to enter her convertible two meters ahead to his right. Deviating from his path, he intercepted her entering the vehicle. Throwing her to the ground, Jacob demanded her keys. She complied.
With the amount of people around, it would be only minutes before the authorities were notified of the stolen vehicle. But by then, he would have another one. His focus was on the mission.
In fifty-four hours and thirty-nine minutes, John Connor and his savior would die.