So friends, Chapter Two! My apologies to those who've been waiting to see what happens next, but when you have the twin problems of work and of writer's bock, then it can take some time for both of these to clear!
My thanks to those of you who have been kind enough to review my work, and I look forward to seeing your feedback on this next one.
Night fell, and as the city took on its mantle of glittering lights beneath a blanket of dark clouds, Catherine Weaver found herself once again standing at her favourite vantage point, gazing down into the streets far below, the puddles on the sidewalks reflecting the flashing neon signs of restaurants and clubs as the traffic prowled by, the sounds of their horns and engines muted to almost nothing by the thick glass of her office. It was an almost godlike position, she thought, a silent guardian watching the ebb and flow of humanity from the heavens, the architect of a dream that she hoped one day would come to fruition.
It was a biblical metaphor that was not lost upon her.
Yet throughout the day, it had not been her aspirations for the future that had occupied her, but rather the lingering memory of her conversation that morning with John Henry, his words echoing through her mind even as she carried out the usual run of the mill tasks that the position as CEO of a cutting edge company demanded of her. Meetings came and went, staff calling upon her with enquiries or requiring direction, messages answered and queries sent. All logical, normal operations and ones that she could achieve with ease, given her immense computational abilities.
But as she'd worked in the solitude of her office, she'd not been able to prevent herself considering the unexpected concept that Savannah might be of far more importance to her plans than she had ever believed.
Or indeed, she'd thought with a wry touch of irony, that she had already been so.
In the future, her future, the future where she had fought as a loyal soldier in Skynet's single-minded, genocidal war against the human race, she had never heard of Savannah's name, had never even known that she'd existed. But, as the war had progressed, she and Skynet had both become aware of a sophisticated and clever rogue programmer with the human resistance who hid in the shadows, highly protected and extremely valuable to them. On a number of occasions she'd witnessed the programmer's work at first hand, the altering of not just the CPU's of the terminators sent against the humans, but also their core ethos and mission, and, despite her best efforts to uncover who the operative was, the person had remained in the darkness, identified only by their code-name, a name that others would die to protect.
The name of 'Rubicon'
She turned round, her eyes taking in the scene before her. The bright office illumination had been turned down, giving the room a less austere look which she'd in fact found that she preferred. Her desk, its sparse objects neatly ordered to reflect her own innate sense of functionality, glinted under the soft glow of her small desk light, and a few metres away in the gentle yellow glow of a table lamp, Savannah was sat upon the comfortable black leather couch, seemingly absorbed by her Sudoku puzzles. Slim-built and as red-haired as her mother with green eyes to match, she cut a strangely incongruous figure in the purely business environment, her small stature and the white and blue of her school uniform contrasting strongly with the surroundings of the adult world, and once again the same question that she'd been asking herself all day came into her mind:
In her timeline, had it been Savannah Weaver who had become 'Rubicon'?
Looking at her now, with her innocent smile, bobbing plaits and unruly fringe, the idea seemed to be almost laughable. But Catherine's long years of experience as a covert operative, when combined with the results of John Henry's analysis, made her cautious. Too often she'd seen a minor detail be overlooked, only for it to be found later to be a lost opportunity for success, and, with the advent of the child's burgeoning abilities, she had no intention of making the same mistake with Savannah.
For if her plans to subvert Skynet came to pass, then the same skills that the girl would have used in the future to fight against it could be re-directed, and used for the betterment of all, both human and machine. Together, as mother and daughter, they would be able to alter the course of history, and together they would be able to realise her dream.
It was a thought which she found, to her surprise, to be very agreeable.
But the bond between Savannah and her was, at present, a delicate one, as easily crushed as a spring flower, and although it pained her to have to hurt the girl anew, she knew deep within her core that John Henry's logic could not be faulted, nor could the writings of the many philosophical and moral works that she was familiar with. Achieving such an aim would require a deepening of her relationship with Savannah, a strengthening of that tenuous connection between them both, and to do that one fact stood out clearly.
Despite her reservations, she'd have to be honest with the child.
As if to underline the fact, earlier in the day a knock had come at her door, and, as always, although she had known of his presence long before, she'd feigned surprise at seeing James Ellison standing there, a clutch of reports in his hand. As usual, the former FBI agent was immaculately dressed, his suit well pressed, his shirt and tie matching perfectly with its slate grey colour. A few months ago she'd initially debated about employing him, the thought of allowing a human to come closer to the truth of machines being in this world a difficult one to come to terms with. However, it had suited her purposes as he had already suffered at the hands of one, and from her assessment of him at his interview, he needed to find answers to his many questions. Used correctly, she'd reasoned, this need for knowledge, and revenge, could be useful to her.
Besides, the more she had learned about him, the more she had found herself respecting his deeply held beliefs, and his integrity, his manner one of careful consideration before plunging into an action. As she had told him, other than the unfortunate Dr Sherman, he had been the perfect role model for John Henry's burgeoning sense of right and wrong, able to help direct him along a dangerous path by imbuing him with morals and a sense of ethics. He had become valuable to her, trusted to a higher degree than most other humans that she'd made the acquaintance of, though not totally.
Disappointment was, after all, a thing that she'd come to expect from his species...and to prepare for.
However, on this day, he had not disappointed her at all.
After briefly leafing through the reports, she'd laid them to one side and had leaned forward in her white leather-bound chair, surprising the man with the intentness of her gaze.
"Mr Ellison, may I ask you a personal question?"
"A personal question?" He'd raised an eyebrow," What question would that be?"
"What do you remember of your mother?"
He'd frowned, momentarily confused, "My...Mother?"
"Yes," She'd taken a sip of iced water from a glass on the silver platter to one side of her, pausing to savour the chilled liquid, "I recall you mentioning to me a while ago that she'd died when you were quite young, and that you didn't get along with your father very much"
"Yes, I remember." His frown had deepened, "But why do you want to know? Does this have something to do with John Henry?" He'd hesitated for a moment, not wanting to open a wound that might be there"...or Savannah?"
"Perhaps, James," She too had been cautious, wary of revealing too much of her purpose, and had been relieved when he'd shrugged, relaxing back into his chair. One thing he'd gotten used to over the few months he'd been head of security with ZeiraCorp was the sometimes vague and secretive nature of his boss, and he'd learned to accept her often cool demeanour as simply a part of her makeup.
"Well, if it helps. What I remember of my mother was that she was gentle, loving and kind," He smiled to himself, memories flooding into his mind as he spoke," But, with her having seven kids, she could be fairly strict too, when she needed to be"
She'd motioned to him to continue, and had listened closely as he'd talked, revealing a portrait of a large family, with a remote, difficult father and a mother who had been the opposite,, supporting her offspring through good times and bad with humour and her own strong sets of beliefs. Ellison had been the middle brother, neither the oldest nor the youngest, and had adopted a protective attitude to his younger siblings, whilst maintaining a respect for his two older brothers.
But it had been their mother who had been at the centre of it all, a woman who, by his own words, was always ready with a hug or a sharp word when required, a woman whose love for her family surpassed the roughest of times and brought stability and laughter to their lives.
But above all, she had always been honest with them, and he remembered her fondly for it.
"She was a rock for us," He'd finished," A real rock for us to all cling to"
A rock, solid, reliable, dependable.
And, above all, honest.
His words came back to her now as she watched Savannah, tilting her head to see her lips silently moving as she completed first one puzzle then began another, the speed of her completion surprisingly swift for one so young. Then, as if sensing her mother's eyes upon her, she looked up, a timid smile lighting her face as she showed her the small book in her hands.
"I'm getting faster, mommy!"
Catherine walked forward to take the proffered pages, seeing the eagerness in her gaze, and gave a smile in return. It had not been an easy response to learn, she'd found, but with Savannah the effort had been encouraging, a single gesture that had gained far more than she'd thought it would. This, combined with her hours of research into maternal relationships, had served to begin bringing them a little closer together, helping to dispel Savannah's earlier wariness. Dr Sherman had started the process, his insight into the child's emotional needs a revelation to her, and she had worked hard to bring the persona of Catherine Weaver to life for her daughter. At first it had been for purely practical reasons to help maintain her cover, but then, as the months had passed and she'd seen a change in the girl, she'd found herself able to empathise much more with her than before.
It was, she'd reflected, perhaps the least she could do, given the circumstances.
"Indeed you are, darling," She said, handing the book back, "Indeed you are"
Moving to sit next to her, she noted that in the soft lamplight, Savannah's russet hair had a fiery glow, much as her own. So alike they were, her own image a reflection of the young woman to come, and at the thought she gently reached out to stroke the child's cheek, pushing a stray strand away from her eyes. Savannah smiled, and without warning snuggled herself closer to her, curling her short legs up and leaning her head against her mother's shoulder as she wound her arms about her waist.
It was an oddly comforting gesture, one given freely and without desire for reward, and almost unconsciously she found herself responding to it, drawing the girl back with her as she allowed herself to relax , her body losing a little of its normal stiff reserve. A few scant months ago she would not have known how to react, but she had learned. As a result, quiet times such as these with Savannah had become more the norm now, and indeed she'd begun to actually look forward to them, a time for just the two of them to be together without the outside interferences of work and school.
It was also the perfect time for her to broach an idea; one that she had no doubt would find favour.
"Savannah?"
The girl stirred and looked up, curious, "Yes, Mommy?"
"I've been thinking. "Catherine continued, staring down into her daughter's luminous green eyes," Tomorrow is Saturday. And, although I would normally come into work, I do not think I shall tomorrow...so we could spend the day together," She paused, seeing the bright grin beginning," Would you like that?"
"Oh, yes, mommy!" Savannah said excitedly, the prospect of having her mother all to herself clearly one she relished, "I would!"
"Then it's settled," She said, settling back against the couch," Tomorrow is just for us"
And, as Catherine felt the girl's arms tighten about her in a hug, out of the corner of her eye she saw the lights gently dip for a moment.
John Henry, it seemed, approved.
The man had learned to be patient.
Methodical and careful, he'd been trained in surveillance by some of the best there was, had served with them in trouble spots all round the world. Wherever conflict raged, he and his colleagues would be there, offering advice and the use of their skills to the highest bidder, uncaring of the rights and wrongs of the matter. A soldier of fortune had no loyalties, no grandiose concepts of honour or integrity.
It was money that motivated him, and he was very highly paid for his services.
He checked his watch.
Nine forty-five, and still no sign of his quarry as yet.
He'd been here for while, and whilst it might be boring, at least this was a straightforward job, strictly surveillance and no questions asked. No risks really, just a matter of keeping his head down and getting the information asked for by the client. Not that he had a clue as to his client's identity of course, as all details had been passed back and forth via his mobile, but who it was didn't really matter to him. Many of the clients he'd had in the last few years valued their privacy, and he respected that. What they wanted his services for, and to what end, was irrelevant to him.
As long as his money went into the bank as arranged, that was all that mattered.
Stifling a yawn, he took a swig of coffee from the flask on the seat next to him, then quickly screwed the top back on as he caught sight of a black Mercedes pulling out into the traffic ahead of him, its number plate flagging up as a match to his target on the small screen attached to his dashboard.
So, he thought with a satisfied grunt, the game was afoot.
And perhaps the evening had not been an entirely wasted effort, after all...