Metal Guru
12
Sarah was the first to react, rising slowly to her feet from the crouch position. It was her second journey through time. It didn't get any easier with repitition.
"Where are we?"
Cameron rose up beside her and scanned the desolate landscape, all shattered buildings and sooty burned out car hulks. She checked the horizon and angle of the sun then compared it to an internal database Sarah couldn't begin to fathom. "Los Angeles," she announced finally. "2029."
Teddy Paulson attempted to get up but fell over instead, the CIA director's pale naked old man's body sprawling in the dirt. Sarah didn't move to help him. She didn't like the man. Never would.
"Where am I?" he groaned climbing to his feet unaided.
"Los Angeles."
"Bullshit. This is some kind of trick. It's a movie set of some sort. You're trying to deceive me."
"Why would I even bother?"
Paulson noticed the two women were nude. And so was he.
"Where are my damn clothes?"
"Possessions don't pass through."
"I had a watch. A gold Rolex. A personal gift from Ronald Reagan."
"Possessions don't pass through," Cameron repeated.
"Dammit, this charade has gone on long enough! I want----"
Paulson broke off. The sound of gravel crunching. They all heard it. Someone was approaching.
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Jeb Morales was 17 years old and already a deserter and a murderer. He'd run away from his militia platoon in Ventura county, finally having had all he could stomach of taking orders and being shot at by the machines. He'd gone AWOL during sentry duty, putting a bullet in the back of his platoon leader then high-tailing it for Mexico while the getting was good. Word was the living was easy south of the border, metal left you alone and the senoritas queued up to suck American dick.
Sweet.
All Jeb really cared about was getting high. An ignoble ambition in peacetime, during a war of extinction it seemed positively perverse. So far he'd blundered his way across the countryside in various states of intoxication without encountering trouble more serious than a bad case of sunburn. The devil looked after its own it seemed. He'd traded his spare rifle the day before for a case of Night Train and an ounce of weed. He was badly hungover. The weed had been mostly stalk and merely added to his headache.
He was almost on top of the three strangers before he was aware they were there.
WTF?
Two women and a gnarly old dude. All three naked. As his sore brain tried to make sense of it the old man grabbed his sleeve.
"Son, listen to me. I need your cellphone. This is very important."
Jeb shook him off. "The fuck's a cellphone?"
"Son, listen carefully. These women are escaped felons. There's a reward for their capture. From the CIA no less. I'll personally see that you get it."
"The fuck's the CIA?"
"It's an acronyn, son. Stands for Central Intelligence Agency. We take orders direct from the President."
"The fuck's the President?" Jeb didn't care for the old man distracting him while he tried to concentrate on the naked women. Now they were a sight to behold. His gaze roamed hungrily back and forth. They weren't even bothering to cover up. Everything was right there on display. Swe-ee-et. Maybe he wouldn't have to go all the way to Mexico after all.
Teddy Paulson lost his temper. "Dammit, are you a retard? Give me your damn cellphone. Now!"
That did it. Jeb lashed out with his rifle, the stock connecting solidly with the old man's shoulder. He'd been aiming for the head but he was a mite hungover. Still the old man fell down easy enough. He took more careful aim.
"No!" Despite herself Sarah stepped forward. She couldn't just stand idly by while Paulson got his brains beat out. "Leave him alone."
But Jeb was past caring. He cuffed the woman away with his left hand. He'd deal with her good and proper just as soon as---
Cameron punched him once. It was enough. More than enough. Jeb's head jerked back at a sickening angle with a sound like a dry branch breaking underfoot. The teenager, the deserter, the murderer, the would-be lothario fell to the ground, twitched once, twice, then lay still.
"You didn't have to kill him," Sarah admonished rubbing her jaw. "I can fight my own battles."
"It's too late."
"He probably has friends. Family. People who care about him."
"I'm sorry for their loss."
Cameron recited the words as if by rote. But Sarah knew that apart from her son and possibly herself, Cameron cared little if humans lived or died. She should have intervened sooner, when Paulson had begun his self-serving little speech.
Too little too late.
Sarah pulled the backpack off the boy's body. He wouldn't be needing it anymore. He'd packed spare clothing. Good. They wouldn't have to strip the body. And a pair of boots. A size too big but what the hell. She selected fatigue pants and an almost clean shirt then tossed the pack to Cameron. The cyborg chose jeans and a tanktop. That left Paulson with a pair of torn dirty jeans and a tee shirt. He gazed at them with distaste. He'd never worn jeans in his life, let alone ones that stank of piss. Even in his leisure hours he habitually wore a suit and tie of the finest quality material.
"Put them on," Sarah instructed. "This isn't the time or place to wander bareass."
"He didn't know what a cellphone is. Or the President," Paulson said, mystified.
"The President is dead," Cameron told him. "And cellphones no longer function."
Paulson nodded without really hearing. The desolate landscape extended as far as the eye could see. No way could Connor have organised this. But that meant...
"My God. It's all true, isn't it? This is the future. What you said. It really happened."
Sarah tugged the boots off the boy and threw them to the CIA man, who gazed into the far distance with uncomprehending eyes. Sarah knew the look well. Had seen it in Miles Dyson. Charley Dixon. And herself, all those years ago. The impossible made real, incontrovertible fact.
"Here, put these boots on. Cameron can go barefoot. You can't."
Paulson did as he was told, all the fight suddenly knocked out of him. "But how? What happened?"
"Judgement Day. A thermo-nuclear exchange. Skynet's attempt to eradicate all human life from the planet." Cameron's voice was matter of fact, emotionless. She could've been listing the football results.
The boots went on. They were still warm. And by some small miracle a perfect fit. "What about our armed forces? Didn't they fight back?"
"Most were annihilated in the First Strike. There were isolated pockets of resistance."
"What about the President? There are procedures, bunkers, safe havens."
"Destroyed."
"And the line of succession? Vee Pee, Senate, congress?"
"Eliminated."
"You mean there's no President? No administration? Nothing?"
"Correct."
"I can't believe it."
"Yet true nonetheless. Belief is not required for something to be fact."
"Did the CIA have plans for a computer system to control the nuclear arsenal?" Sarah asked.
"Uh - yes. How did..? Never mind. Project Icarus. Joint NSA/Pentagon op. Top secret, naturally. It dates back to Reagan's Star Wars initiative. Intercept the missiles in the high atmosphere before they make landfall. The window of opportunity is tiny. Mere seconds. In terms of the command loop, people can't react that quickly so---"
"So you let computers do it," Sarah finished. "Real smart."
"Under our auspices," Paulson insisted, bristling at her tone. "There are safeguards built in."
"Obviously not safe enough."
"When I get back to my office I'll have someone at the Pentagon bring me up to speed. I have security clearance at..." he trailed off. Then. "I don't have an office anymore, do I?"
"You might still have an office," Cameron said. "Just no walls or ceiling."
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13
They headed north, keeping mostly to the wider streets. Cameron took point, then Sarah with the rifle slung over her back, and Paulson bringing up the rear. A very distant rear. The CIA spook was lagging behind.
"Try and keep up," Sarah told him for what seemed the hundreth time.
"I could carry him," Cameron suggested.
"No. He has to learn." Vindictive? Well, who could blame her.
She handed Paulson Jeb's water bottle. It was already half empty. "Don't drink it all. Just sip---" She broke off; he'd upended the bottle and chugged it down. "What did I just tell you?"
"I'm thirsty."
"And I'm not? You selfish SOB."
"You can't talk to me like that!"
"Wanna bet?"
"I could pick up a phone right now and vanish you. Just like that. Don't think I haven't done it before."
"Go ahead," Sarah smirked. "Make the call."
Paulson seethed with frustration, his bony hands balled into fists. "Where the hell is everybody?" He began yelling. "HELLOOOOO! IS ANYBODY HERE?"
"Jesus, shut up!" Sarah moved to silence him.
"Don't you touch me!" He took a step back, suddenly fearful. "You know what the communists called people like you, Sarah? Useful idiots. You brought me the girl. That should have been the end of it."
"The end of you more like."
"Don't you look at me like that!" He could see the contempt in her eyes. "You know what Dick Nixon once told me? We think and do things others would find morally reprehensible. Yet we think and do them all the same because it's in the best interests of our country."
"In other words, the ends justify the means."
"Precisely!"
"Some means. Some ends."
Paulson continued with his self-righteous justifications but Sarah tuned him out, preferring not to listen. Cameron was behaving oddly. She'd stood rooted to the same spot for several minutes, staring blankly at a building across the way.
"What is it? she whispered going to stand beside her. "Trouble?"
"Yes."
Sarah made sure the rifle was loaded. "Metal?"
"Things are different."
"Different how?"
"That building shouldn't exist."
The building was a half-toppled apartment block, seemingly the same as the many others they'd passed.
"It shouldn't exist," Cameron continued. "I have accessed my memory cell. This building is destroyed."
"Perhaps you're mistaken."
"I'm never mistaken."
"You've been this way before?"
"Yes. The building is flattened."
"So what does it mean?"
"It means things are changed."
"Changed how?"
"History is altered."
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If Sarah hadn't known cyborgs didn't feel emotions she'd have said Cameron was thoroughly depressed. She continued to stare balefully at the building she insisted didn't belong.
"How is history altered? Did we do something?"
"No."
"Then what?"
"This has to do with John jumping forwards. It changed things. It is possible the resistance is losing the war."
"That's impossible. Future John---"
"Doesn't exist here."
Sarah frowned. She'd assumed there were now two John's - her teenage son and the John her age, the great leader, the man she'd raised him to become. The prospect of meeting him, this familiar stranger who had changed all their lives in one way or another, gave her butterflies in the stomach.
And now he doesn't exist?
"What are you two whispering about?" Paulson shuffled over suddenly suspicious. "Is it about me? You're planning to abandon me, aren't you?"
"Don't think it hasn't crossed my mind." Sarah touched Cameron's arm. "We should move. Find people. Get some real information."
"If there are people left to find," Cameron replied cryptically.
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14
On Judgement Day there were 22 million automobiles in Los Angeles county. When the bombs dropped some 10 million were in transit on the 20,771 miles of interstate, freeway and public road. Most of them are still there. Along with their occupants.
"Four in this one. Two adults and two kids, infants judging by the size of the bones. And look - Disney souvenirs. A family day out to Anaheim, no doubt."
Teddy Paulson peered into the rusting hulk of one such automobile and gave a running commentary on what he found. He'd taken a morbid interest in the vehicles they passed, especially the ones that hadn't burned on that terrible day, gawping at the dead and speculating on their demise.
Sarah waited impatiently. She'd threatened to leave him behind several times if he didn't keep up. But the old man seemed to know it was an empty threat; she felt responsible for bringing him here into this nightmarish landscape and couldn't bring herself to abandon him.
Paulson wrestled the door open before Sarah realised what he was doing. It creaked open on rusty hinges and a breeze circulated the interior for the first time in decades, causing the smaller bones to shift and rustle against each other. A large cloud of dust billowed out, enveloping the CIA man in powdery white ash.
"The dust of civilization!" he exalted, raising his arms high. "Babylon's ashes! For our sins, Sarah! For our sins!"
It's done something to his mind, Sarah thought. Made him crazy. Or a different kind of crazy. It would've been kinder just to have shot him.
Cameron strode towards them. Her feet were still bare but it didn't seem to affect her mobilty. And pain or discomfort were alien concepts. "Look," she said, pointing at the horizon. "We are not alone."
On the far horizon silvery aircraft of advanced design hovered above some shattered buildings.
"What are they?" Paulson asked, fascinated.
"HunterKillers."
"What do they do?"
"The clue's in the name."
As they watched white beams of light lanced down, throwing up plumes of smoke and debris where they struck the ground.
"Laser cannon," Cameron explained.
"What are they shooting at?"
"Humans."
Yellow beams of light sprang up from the buildings, seeking the hovering craft but mostly falling short.
"What's happening now?"
"Plasma rifles. The human's are fighting back."
"All right! Give 'em hell, boys!" Paulson punched the air like it was a ballgame with nothing at stake but a glittering prize and a commiserating pat on the back for the losers.
The yellow beams petered out one by one as the white beams intensified. Finally the HKs ceased hovering and moved away, heading towards the coast.
"Did we win?" Paulson asked more in hope than expectation.
"No."
"Sonofabitch! Those goddamn robot sons of bitches!"
"I'll second that," Sarah added.
"And I'll third it," added Cameron.
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They rested in a small park where office workers had once chatted and eaten lunch, planned weekends away in the mountains or the beach and shared the latest gossip. Now it was wild and overgrown; nature seizing back what mankind abandoned. The light was beginning to fade. Sooner rather than later they'd need to find shelter.
"People are here," Cameron stated, staring off into the undergrowth.
"Here? Now?" Sarah eased the rifle off her shoulders. It was rusty, badly maintained by the boy. There was a good chance if she used it it would explode in her hands.
"This is a garden."
"A park," Sarah corrected. "Once. A long time ago."
"A garden. Now." The cyborg was insistent. She pointed. Sarah looked in that direction.
My God, she's right. Lettuces. Cabbages. Some kind of root vegetable. Tomato vines. I never noticed. Grown haphazardly, not in neat rows, presumably for disguise.
"Where there is a garden," Cameron stated. "There will be gardeners. We wait."
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They didn't have to wait long. Twenty minutes later a young girl, possibly ten years old or even younger, came skipping through the tall grass, seemingly without a care in the world. Cameron seized her from behind, clamping a hand over her mouth to stifle any cries. Sarah knelt in front of her and smiled.
"Don't be afraid. We won't hurt you. We just want to talk. My name's Sarah. What's your name?"
"T...T...Theresa."
"Okay, Theresa, can you tell us----"
But the girl fidgeted, twisting round in Cameron's grasp. "Allison? How did you get in front of me? I thought you were walking behind with John. And why are your feet bare?"
"John?" Sarah nudged the girl so she was facing her again. "John Connor?" She hardly dared hope.
"Yes. He's with Allison. At least I thought he was. Are you two playing games with me again?"
The tall grass swayed and parted. Two figures. They stopped dead.
"John!"
"Mom?"
A mother and child reunion. The tears streamed down Sarah's face. She hugged him tight.
Beside John a familiar face looked at an equally familiar face. Her own.
"John?" Allison Young demanded. "Who is this girl? Why does she have my face, John? WHY DOES SHE HAVE MY FACE!"
-000-
Jameronison? Jallisoneron?
Last update for a little while. Holidays.