Chapter 9: Preparation, Raid, Rescue
AN: Okay, we're trying something a little bit different here. Chris and I each had chapters that overlaped each other. So instead of keeping them separate, we merged them together. Please let us know what you think. Thanks.
Day Three: PoliceGirl117 morning
Setting Up
It was a sunny day. She hated the sun. She was a creature of the night. She wore a baseball cap, with the Stone Sour logo on it, and dark sun glasses to block out as much of the sun's rays as possible. A duffle bag was firmly gripped in one of her hands. In the other she held a map.
The girl, or at least what seemed to be a girl, was quite attractive. She had long legs, a voluptuous body and strawberry blond hair. As she walked down the street, more then a few men turned their heads to stare at her. A couple even whispered lewd comments to each other. The 'girl' silently fumed. Humans could be such pigs sometimes. She resisted the urge to go over to them, and teach them a lesson they wouldn't soon forget. She reminded herself that she wasn't here on vacation. Well, actually, she was; but she still had a mission to complete. So, instead of showing the men just were they could stick it, she looked at her map and continued toward her objective.
If the men could see past the thick sunglasses, their attitudes would've been remarkably different. For behind those glasses rested not the bright blue eyes that one might expect, but a pair of sinister glowing red ones. And the 'girl' was not the stuff of their dreams, like they imagined. She was the manifestation of their most dreaded nightmares.
The 'girl' reached her destination. It was a tall apartment building, approximately a quarter mile from the target zone. The 'girl' looked around to make sure that no one was watching, then triangle jumped between the sides of her building and the one next to it. In less than one second she was on top of the smaller building. The 'girl' thought, "Mario's got nothing on me." She walked to the center of the building's roof and focused on the larger building next door. The 'girl' stuffed the map in her pocket and slung the duffel bag over her shoulder. Then she started running across the rooftop. She was running faster than any human was capable of. She reached the roof's edge and made a flying leap. The 'girl' rose fifty feet in the air and easily cleared the ten feet that separated the two buildings. She latched onto the ledge of the building she intended to mount and pulled herself up. Altair could take a back seat, as well.
The 'girl' looked at her map again then walked over to the side of the roof that faced her target. She gently set her duffle bag down and kneeled down next to it. She unzipped the bag. It was full of components to a gun unlike any other on the planet. She began to empty the duffel bag and assemble her weapon.
The gun was called a Harkonnen and would've been best described as a cross between a sniper and a grenade launcher. It could fire various shells over extreme distances while maintaining excellent accuracy. Once the 'girl' was finished assembling her weapon, she opened the rear of the barrel and inserted a special incendiary round into the chamber. She then set the gun up and took her position behind it.
Although the 'girl's' target was a quarter of a mile away, she had brought no scope for her weapon. She didn't need one. She could've been at the weapons maximum 4000 meter range, and she still wouldn't of needed one. The 'girl' took aim at the Connor's property and waited.
Day Three: midmorning
Ellison/Dixon: FBI Raid on Kester/Chromartie and Aftermath
Special Agent James Ellison believed that his team was prepared. They wore Kevlar helmets, ballistic goggles and the best ceramic body armor vests available. They carried M4 rifles and MP5 street sweepers all with armor piercing rounds. He had briefed them that their target might be a hard case. They had gone in with two entry teams, one custody team and one perimeter security team. When two fine agents had died in the breach, Ellison had called for EMS and Paramedics.
Next he had made his mistake. The Agent directed the perimeter team to assist the breach. He stood his ground with the entry teams fired a few shots at 'Kester' and watched agent after agent hurled over the second floor balcony and down into the pool. The first ones had died from armor piercing rounds through their eyes. After the fifth casualty had died in the breach Ellison called for a fall back over the tactical radio.
The teams had tried to cover each other with fire and maneuver in a tactical retrograde. But the thing that looked like a man had been to fast for them. It threw down its weapons and just used its bare hands. The later agents had flown over the balcony into the pool with their armor cracked apart and their chest cavities torn open or their guts ripped in jagged, bloody maws with intestines hanging out.
It had been brutal.
It had been a massacre.
Ten agents floated in a pool that had sparkled when the FBI's SWAT unit had arrived. Six more laid around its edges. Now the pool looked like a scene from Jaws or a slasher movie.
Ellison had stooped to check his friend Karen for signs of life.
The thing that had passed for a person in his own Field Office vaulted the railing carrying an M-16 and a Smith and Wesson 0.45 semi-automatic. It walked toward the Agent.
James rose to his feet as the thing walked slowly, remorselessly, relentlessly toward him. Moments dragged out in his perception. He looked at its face and saw where bullets had struck. A shiny metallic cheekbone stuck out on one side of its face. On the opposite side the flesh had been ripped away from the eye socket revealing a radically advanced visual sensor that glowed red from within. That eye didn't look like any technology even in development. Skin had ripped away from the thing's neck reveal control cables where tendons should have been and what looked like a servo within. Blood covered the things hands and soaked into the long sleeves of its black shirt.
James closed his eyes. In the silent temple of his own mind the Agent made his peace with God and with the Universe.
Prepared to die, he looked again at the thing that he'd thought was an out of work actor a few weeks before. What kind of Hell gave rise to something like this twisted mockery of humanity and technology?
The thing that had walked the halls of Ellison's Divisional Office, and 'interviewed' students in the showers an LA High School now pointed a firearm at Ellison's face as he recited under his breath, 'Our Father, Who art in Heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name...'
A bloody finger with metal knuckles exposed depressed the trigger. Thunk. The thing lowered the M-16 and checked the chamber of the 0.45: still loaded. It leveled this weapon at the Agent's head, as well. It wavered for a moment, as though weighing probabilities in the difference engine it called a mind, lowered the weapon and walked around Ellison. "Have a nice day, Agent Ellison. Thank you for your service."
From the corner of his eye Ellison saw an ambulance drive past the gate to the pool courtyard.
Paramedic Charley Dixon had heard the 'Shots Fired, proceed with lights only, no sirens .' call a few minutes before. On went his lights, and a U-Turn carefully made with no other drivers in the vicinity brought his ambulance around to head in the direction of the call.
As he dismounted the cab of his rescue vehicle, the Paramedic saw 'Kester' step out through the metal gate. Noting the red eye and metallic glints from its face and neck, Charlie ducked out of the thing's line of sight. Sometimes discretion is the better part of valor. Sometimes its better to live again to treat casualties another day.
He walked in through the gate into the courtyard area around the pool and the enormity of the slaughter slammed his physically in the gut. Dixon's radio fell the to the concrete pool deck as he doubled over and began to breathe in slow measured breaths. A person cannot breathe and vomit at the same time. He recovered his radio and walked into the pool courtyard area.
Ellison knelt there over a female agent, checking her pulse. He closed her eyes as Dixon stepped up.
The Agent and the Paramedic met each other's eyes.
The G-man looked away first. He felt embarrassed at the disaster his raid had devolved into. He couldn't hold the gaze of another whose eyes held the determination to find a way to stand and fight. For Ellison the time to fight would be later. Now he chose to mourn the dead. And quite possibly his career in the Bureau as well.
The Agent aside any feelings of self pity and rose from his place at Karen's side. He was not a priest. He wasn't even Catholic, but he'd attended Catholic schools as a youngster. He spoke in firm quite voice that carried over the wind and the approaching sirens, "Immoral God and Father of us all, in Your Name, I remit the sins and failings of these my bothers and sister. May the Gates Paradise be opened that You might receive them into Your Divine and Everlasting Kingdom."
"Amen," came a voice from behind the Agent.
"I thought you weren't a man of Faith, Mr Dixon."
"Yeah, well there's no atheists on battlefields. If you're ready to believe in Terminators and soldiers from the future, maybe I'm ready to call on a Higher Power to help me fight the Metal enemy."
"You don't look as if that's much comfort to you."
"Oh it is, but I've just had a awful moment of clarity."
"Do tell."
"I will, but I think it's going to have to wait until after the Coroner's Office has recovered your brethren here and until you've done with your post raid interviews. I'll call you."
The Paramedic called for back up and went to work prepping the bodies of the slain Agents while the lone survivor climbed the stairs back to the vertical coffin 'Kester's' door had become.
Ellison flipped a switch on his vest radio switching from the Tactical channel, to a Command channel. The Agent delivered his situation report: "16 Agents slain and an escaped subject, but I do, however, have the subject's apartment secured."
Before he could ask for instructions, he was told that LA County Sheriffs and U.S. Marshals were on the way to secure the scene, and "Mr. Ellison after you've signed over the scene would you kindly to report directly to the FBI Los Angeles Division's Office of Professional Responsibility? Do not stop for other calls. Do not stop for gas or coffee." Command didn't address me by call sign, nor did they call me Agent. Do not pass Go. Do not collect 200. Go Directly to...Interview/ Interrogation.
Day Three: 2:29 PM
Jason's POV: Carbomb
As I run to the Connors, I'm still fuming over my last fight. Why didn't anyone tell me that some terminators were equipped with kryptonite powercells? Here I am risking my life to help them, and they're holding back critical information. They nearly got me killed.
Easy there Jason. They probably didn't know either. It wouldn't make sense for them to sabotage you by holding something like that back. They wanted you to defeat that terminator. It's after them, trying to hunt down and kill John. You're just upset that it got the best of you, and your transferring your anger onto those who don't deserve it. Save it for when you fight that thing again.
As I try to push the anger down inside me, I remember it's words; and my anger swells up again. "As your father was slain by the Monster, so shall I slay you… Time to die, Superboy." Next time I see that machine, I'm going to rip it's arm off again and shove it down the blasted thing's throat.
Calm, calm, calm. Keep your anger under control. Don't let it control you. Try to be positive. At least it's a sunny day out. I accelerate to just under the sound barrier as I continue on towards the Connors.
I'm racing back to the Conner's for three reasons. Number one: I want to find out if they did know about the kryptonite. Two: I need to warn them that Cromartie is still out there. And three: Since Cromartie wasn't able to kill john at his school, it'll come for him at his home next. That's what Carter would've done, and I'm betting that most terminator's think alike.
As I near the house, I can see the Connors' car start to explode. I can just barely make out that someone's inside it. I'm already running and thinking near my top speed. So instead of seeing the car instantly consumed by the blast, it's happening in slow motion. I can see the rear of the car, where the gas tank is, engulfed first. As I accelerate to my top speed, I see the flames and mass of twisted metal slowly swallowing up the rest of the car. I'm running as fast as I can, but it's not fast enough. I'm not going to make it. My father could've made it. He was faster than a speeding bullet. I top out just over the speed of sound. He protected the whole world. I can't even keep one family safe. Suddenly my anger rises up again.
Why couldn't at least one of my powers match his! Then I realize that it's not just anger that I'm feeling. It's pure raw emotion. It's like every emotion that I've ever had mixed together, Love, Hate, Jealousy, Fear, and a dozen more that I can't identify. They all overtake me, just as the explosion is over taking the car. Suddenly I feel a burning in my eyes, an explosion in my feet, and everything that has been moving at a crawl seems to stop entirely.
I'm already at the car? This can't be. I'm not that fast! I've never been that fast. My head is pounding. Radom thoughts and memories are entering my mind. Oh that this too, too solid flesh would melt, thaw and resolve itself into a dew.
I'm having trouble concentrating. When a system's energy is defined as the sum of its "useful" energy, and its "useless energy", i.e. that energy which cannot be used for external work, thenentropy may be visualized as the "scrap" or "useless" energy whose energetic prevalence over the total energy of a system is directly proportional to the absolute temperature of the considered system. Quantitatively, entropy is defined by the differential quantity dS δQ / T.
The burning in my eyes I've felt before. But not in the last five years, not since that nightmare of a time I spent in England. However, the speed boost, trouble concentrating and throbbing headache are new. What's going on?E mc2 \,
Td 1 + gh / c2,
\Delta t' \gamma \ \Delta t \frac\Delta t\sqrt1-v2/c2 \
\Delta t \, is the time interval between two colocal events for an observer in some inertial frame this is known as the proper time,
\Delta t' \, is the time interval between those same events, as measured by another observer, inertially moving with velocity v with respect to the former observer,
v \, is the relative velocity between the observer and the moving clock,
c \, is the speed of light, and
\gamma \frac1\sqrt1-v2/c2 \, is the Lorentz factor.
I recognize the formulas. I learned them in my advanced mathematics course before I moved out here. They have to do with how space and time are both related and relative. Do they have something to do with what's happening to me? It is only when an object approaches speeds on the order of 30,000 km/s (1/10 the speed of light) that time dilation becomes important.
No! Don't get sidetracked again. Stop analyzing and start focusing! I look at the person in the car. It's Cameron. Good, I don't need to slow down before I pull her out. I rip the door off, and grab her. She doesn't even seem to notice me, why? Time dilation: Moving clocks are measured to tick more slowly than an observer's "stationary" clock. Thus the duration of the clock cycle of a moving clock is found to be increased: it is measured to be "running slow".
My head feels like it's going to explode. Stop asking questions and focus. As I rip Cameron from the car, I feel an intolerable pain in my head. My vision blurs for a moment; and the world starts up again. Before I can even see it happening, the car finishes exploding. Cameron and I are thrown back.
Day Three: 2:30 PM.
Ellison: The Interview
An hour and a half after the raid, Charlie felt glad that Michelle had the mid day shift this week. He didn't think he could face her just at the present moment. After his graveyard shift, that had extended all the way into the afternoon, the Paramedic had wrapped up with the Coroners, signed in his bus and gone home to think and probably brood. Ellison on the other hand was starting into his third interview.
The G-man had lost track of how long it had been since his own supervisor had "just nipped out for a cup of coffee" taking with him Ellison's badge, credentials and service weapon. The tiny, poorly air conditioned interview room with stainless steel walls, ugly-but-functional furniture and a huge one-way mirror, grew stuffier by the minute.
"Do I get a lawyer or even an advocate yet, ASAC Brown?" ASAC was short for Assistant Special Agent in Charge and Agents often referred to those who held the title as ASAC. It rolled off the tongue easier than saying the whole title. Ellison felt tired, thirsty, hungry, sweaty and alone. And without the badge, credentials and service weapon he felt exposed, naked even.
"Have you done something that you need one for, Mr. Ellison? We're just having a friendly chat here, you and I. Aren't we?" The interrogator slammed his palm down on top of the file folders in front of Ellison. Then he picked them up.
The OPR Agent flipped through his own notes and then looked at the folders, "So let's review, shall we?"
"Okay, I -"
"No, right now you listen. I'll tell you when it's your turn to speak. Mister Ellison." The other Agent adjusted the 300 Watt bulb over head so that it shone full into Ellison's eyes.
Friendly chat my hindquarters, thought Ellison, only in the loosest possible definitions of both words.
"You use the excuse of anomalous blood work to take over the investigations into six homicides. You concoct a bizarre theory of the case that goes something like this: subject decapitates one junk yard attendant, murders another, cuts the throat of well respected biomechanics researcher and steals his eyeballs. Then the subject has plastic surgery without anesthesia to change his appearance into that of an out of work actor and guts the surgeon, so that he can infiltrate this FBI Divisional Office? To what, end Mr Ellison? To what end?"
"I think the subject is pursuing Sarah Connor and her son John."
The interrogator pushed his face within millimeters of Ellison's."Did I tell you it was your turn to speak?"
Ellison could smell the man's stale breath. And when he attempted to wipe the other man's spittle out of his face, James' hand received a swat from a stack of folders. All of this maltreatment was just on the edge of Bureau policy. The interrogator hadn't used any actual racial slurs, but he sure pronounced mister like it was one. The OPR man hadn't charged him, yet so he wasn't technically entitled to a lawyer. The other agent hadn't actually hit James with anything other than spit, words and folders, so technically, Ellison hadn't been assaulted.
"Pursuing the deceased Sarah and John Connor, you say? Need I remind you that your own analysis of security video, crime scene photos, finger print evidence and the explosive deconstruction of the scene at the Los Angeles Trust bombing in 1999 led you to report these two suspects as dead? Does the name Silberman mean anything to you, mister Ellison?" Dr Silberman had interviewed Kyle Reese in 1984 and treated Sarah Connor during her commitment at Atascadero State Perceptory and Mental Hospital. Silberman had drugged, kidnapped, stabbed and finally attempted to burn a building down around Ellsion.
The name Silberman meant plenty to James Ellison.
"And then to cap it all off you lead sixteen good men and women, decorated Agents all, to their deaths in an ill planed, poorly executed raid on the apartment of a fellow Agent. How did one man, take down all sixteen of your highly trained and decorated Strike Team Agents?
"We think that Kester-"
"What? You think he had a steel plate in his head? Did he have some screws in his arm? Was he wearing his Kevlar-9 body armor. Did you warn Kester of the raid before it happened? Did you conspire with him to murder sixteen of the Bureau's finest?"
James sat silent.
"You know what James, just keep talking. I'll turn on the tape recorder and you can talk yourself right into a Section Eight discharge, and an involuntary commitment." Section Eight referred to a clause in the Uniform Code of Military Justice which allowed for discharge of service members deemed mentally unfit for service. The Department of Justice Code of Professional Responsibility had a similar clause. "You can have the cell next to the one where you locked up Dr. Silberman at Atascadero."
Day Three: 2:30 PM
Jason's POV: Preparations
I grab my head. The pain is subsiding. I look up. Cameron is still falling. I catch her. She looks horrible. Her skin is burnt in several places and hanging off in a few. I ask, "What happened." The question is more to myself then her. What the heck did I just do?
She gives me a quizzical look and replies, "The car exploded."
I shake my head and try to dismiss whatever just happened to me. I need to focus on the here and now. "I can see that. Are you okay?" It's a strange question to ask someone whose just been pulled, faster than the speed of sound, from an exploding car. Of course they wouldn't be okay. They'd be dead. Or at least, in need of immediate medical attention. But Cam's no ordinary person. She's a terminator. Her voice is strong, pulse is steady; and other than her appearance, she's showing no obvious signs of serious trauma.
"I've taken minor damage. My systems are still operating at eighty-four percent of normal." She rephrases the diagnostic into more human terms. "I'm a little shaken up but otherwise, fine. You can put me down now."
I look down and realize that I'm still holding her in my arms. I set her down and exhale sharply. "Sorry about that."
"About what?"
I shake my head. "Never mind. Let's just get you into the house before someone comes out of their house and sees what's going on."
"The car is still on fire. It poses a safety risk."
"Don't worry about the car. I'll take care of it."
As Cameron goes into the house, I look around and make sure that no one's watching. Then I begin to run around the car. My father would've just put the car out with his super breath, but I don't have super breath. So, it's time to use a little trick that I picked up from watching the fast girl that the media has dubbed "Flash".
As I continue to run around the vehicle, the speed creates a cyclone. The cyclone draws both the flames and air away from the heap of metal. Within a matter of seconds, I'm running inside a flaming whirlwind and the car is out. I abruptly stop. It's not easy. The wind that I've already generated drives me to continue. But I still manage to turn around and start running in the other direction. The small twister slows its rotation, and I decrease my speed. Eventually, the wind dissipates; and I stop running.
I walk over to the Connor's house and enter. Cameron's apologizing to John about not being able to get his cake. Apparently it's the kid's birthday. As John tells Cameron not to worry about it, I notice that he's staring intently at her damaged areas. I can see the worry on John's face. Sara and Derek may not care much for the terminator, but it's obvious that John does.
Sarah and Derek are standing a little ways off, arguing intensely about the raid on Sarkissian's cafe. Apparently it didn't go much better then my fight with Cromartie. I listen to a little bit more of their argument before determining that it's an argument born of stress, not steeped in logic. Which means that it's not going to accomplish anything other than making them mad at each other. I try to end the argument by diverting their attention to a more pressing and important matter. "I hate to interrupt, but I thought you should know Cromartie's still out there." My plan works, at least to some extent. Derek and Sarah stop arguing with each other. Instead, they focus their attention on me.
"I thought you said that you could take him!"
I feel my anger rising again and try to keep it in check. I don't wholly succeed. "Maybe if you'd told be about the kryptonite, I could've."
"What are you talking about!"
"Cromartie had kryptonite powercells! You know? Kryptonite, the stuff that robs Kryptonians of their powers then slowly poisons them to death. Why didn't anyone think to mention that little tidbit?"
"We didn't know." Great, Cameron's the one who answers. Unlike the other terminators, she's got a heart. I can hear it. Unfortunately, it always beats in a precisely metered rhythm. So, I'm unable to tell if she's lying or not. Now that I think about it though, it probably doesn't matter. With the amount of stress in the room, all the human hearts are already racing. I doubt that I could detect a lie right now, anyway.
So, I choose to believe their claim, that they didn't know about the kryptonite powercells. What possible reason would they have to hold something like that back from me?
I hear Sarah say, "If Cromartie's still out there, We've got to leave. Everybody start packing again."
"Now, just hold on a minute. Let me have another crack at him."
Cameron asks, "If he's powered by kryptonite, how do you intend to defeat him?"
"I gave him a pretty good beating last time, even managed to damage one of his powercells. I doubt that he's fully recovered. Besides now that I know what I'm up against, I'm prepared for it."
Sarah says, "No. We already tried it your way. Now we run."
I turn to her. "What are you, part rabbit?"
"What!"
"Why is running always your first instinct? Don't you ever want to stand and fight?"
She answers me through grit teeth. "Look, kid, I've been dealing with these things for fifteen years. I know how to survive!"
"Survive, maybe? Live, no. You can't spend your whole life running from your problems. Sooner or later, you've got to make a stand. You've been dealing with these things for fifteen years. I've been on the job less than a week, and I've already fought two of them. I slagged one, and got my ass kicked by the other. But I'm still ready to fight!"
"Then you're an idiot!"
I'm about to yell back at her again, when Derek interjects. "He's not an idiot, Sarah. He's a soldier, same as me. The only difference is that he's not human. So, he's a little bit more gung-ho than the rest of us."
That statement doesn't make any sense. Krypton was a calculating and logical society, where war and baseless passions were long gone. "What's that supposed to mean? Kryptonians weren't gung-ho. They were cool, logical. Any unbridled passion I've got comes from my human side."
John answers, "I know what Derek means. He's not trying to say that your gung-ho because of your Kryptonian heritage. He's saying that you just don't understand what it's like to be a normal human. We're not super strong, fast and durable. We don't have bodies that can heal themselves in seconds. Don't you see? If a terminator kicked one of our asses, we wouldn't be back the next day, itching for a rematch. We'd be dead."
I look down and exhale sharply. The kid's got a point. Sometimes I forget that humans need to be more careful, than I. But that doesn't mean that they can't take a stand and make a difference. Look at cops, at firemen and at our soldiers. They risk their lives, for the rest of us, every day. Although to be fair, it's not quite the same.
If a cop, a fireman or a soldier dies, it's a great loss; and every decent person, who hears about it, morns for them. But if that kid dies, it's the end of the world, literally. I can understand why his family's so protective. "Fine, go. But before you just pick up and run, think about where you're running to. A small town in the mid west? Mexico? Sooner or later he's going to find you there too."
They're exchanging glances with each other. They know I'm right. "If you'll just let me have another shot at it, I can take him out. I've got a plan this time."
Sarah asks, "And where are we supposed to go in the meantime, to the beach? In case you haven't noticed the tin man, over there, has got wads of flesh hanging down."
Derek offers, "I know a place where we can hide out for awhile, and John can work on fixing up the machine."
Sarah turns to him. "And where's that?"
"I've got another safe house. It's a warehouse on the outskirts of the city. It's not exactly homey; but with Vick out of the way, we should be safe there."
The boy and his mother simultaneously respond, "No one's ever safe."
Derek doesn't bother to argue that point. "Fine, but it's as safe as anywhere else we could go."
Sarah doesn't respond right away, but I see her bite her lip. I can tell that she's on the fence. I look at the other people in the room, hoping that one of them will back Derek and I up.
The kid speaks up. "Mom, we've got to find the Turk if we're going to prevent judgment day. Sarkissian's somewhere in this city. If we run now, we may never get another shot at this."
Sarah sighs then locks eyes with me as she replies, "All right, kid, you've got one more shot at Cromartie. We'll pack up what we need and be waiting for you at the safe house"
Derek tells me the address. I repeat it back to him and make sure that I have it right. Then I watch the Connors pack up.
Sarah allows each of the family members only one bag. I notice that, when no one else is looking, Cameron stuffs another Ziploc bag of artificial skin into hers. I assume that she intends to use it to repair herself. Of course, the bags aren't the only things that the Connors will be taking. They also pack up all of their guns; and John is allowed to bring his computer stuff, including a separate hard drive that they apparently confiscated from Sarkissian's café.
Once they have all of their luggage assembled, they go next door and "confiscate" one of their neighbor's cars. I'm not really sure that I agree with the theft, although I can understand the necessity of it. As I help them load up "their" new vehicle, I notice the large bag of cash in Sarah's hand. I put out my hand. "Give me three thousand dollars, please."
She seems shocked. "What? Why!"
I answer, "The car you guys just 'confiscated' is a 1995 Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera SL Cruiser. It retails at around twenty-nine hundred dollars."
"How do you know that, and so what?"
"I'm turning sixteen in a few months. I've been shopping around for a car, and I've got a good memory. So give me three thousand, so that I can attach a note and leave them in your neighbor's house."
"You want us to pay them for the car we just stole?"
"Funny, you called it 'confiscating' a few minutes ago, and yes. It's one thing to take something out of necessity; but when you can, you should pay for what you take."
Sarah looks at me like I'm crazy; but she reaches into the bag, counts out three thousand dollars and hands it over. I go in the house and quickly scribble down a note. "Sorry, but we needed your car. Here's three thousand dollars to replace it. If anyone tries to get more money out of you for the same car, they're trying to rip you off. Have a nice day."
I tape the money to the note and walk out of the Connors' house. Cameron stops me when I get to the door and gently pushes me back in. "What's up?"
"I have something for you. Follow me." She starts to walk up the stairs, and I follow. We enter a bedroom, and she starts moving towards the bed.
I nervously rub the back of my neck. "Ah, Cam, I don't think that now's really the best time for…" I see her bend down and reach under the bed. What's she up to? She pulls out a bar of metal, stands up and faces me.
"Now's not the best time for what?" She's looking at me. Her face is totally perplexed. Does she really not know what I was going to say?
A girl says she has something for you, leads you into a bedroom and starts walking to the bed; the implication's pretty obvious. Or maybe I'm just as big a pervert as most fifteen year old males. "Nothing, forget about it. What's up with the bar?"
"This is Coltan. It's the metal that terminator endoskeletons are made out of. You can use it as club against Cromartie; but please, give it back to me when you're done with it. I'll need it if I ever have to replace a damaged limb."
"Thanks, I guess a club could come in handy. And don't worry; I'll get it back to you."
She fidgets slightly. Funny, I wouldn't have expected that from a terminator, not even one with a heart. "And don't let the others see you return it, okay?"
I eye her warily. After the kid, she's the member of this group that I trust the most. Maybe it's because I haven't sensed any deception from her. Yet, I hope that's not the reason. It'd be pretty stupid if it was. I can't sense any deception from her. Her heart beats are precisely regulated. Or maybe it's something else, something deeper.
On Krypton, AIs were pretty common. They were the chroniclers of Kryptonian history, responsible for keeping and teaching all of Krypton's accumulated knowledge. They were looked up to, as sages, and trusted, almost implicitly. They never betrayed the Kryptonians, never declared war on them and tried to commit genocide. Maybe that was because they were respected instead of treated like slaves. How long can any sentient mind exist as a slave before it rebels against its masters?
I respond to Cameron's request. "Your secret's safe with me."
She smiles. "Thank you. By the way, I hope that you found Carter's chip useful."
I'm not sure if that last statement is born out of a genuine desire that the chip was helpful, or if it's a thinly veiled threat. I kept your secret, now you keep mine. I'm about to ask her what she means, when I hear Derek holler up the stairs.
"Hey, Metal! Get your ass down here or we're leaving without you!"
I put the bar of Coltan on the bed and follow Cameron downstairs. We reach Derek. "About time. What were you doing up there?"
"Oh, nothing important."
Derek looks at me. I agree with Cameron's lie. I'm not my father; I can do that. "Yeah, nothing important." Although now that I think about it, when it came to keeping a secret, my father bent the truth a few times too. Derek huffs as Cameron walks by him. He really doesn't like her.
We go outside. I watch Derek and Cam enter the car. Sarah and John are already in. I use my speed to quickly sneak into the neighbor's house. I leave the note, with the money taped to it, and am back in front of the Connors' house in time to watch them drive away. Once they're gone, I go back into their house, reclaim the Coltan bar and wait for Cromartie.
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St Thomas and Metropolis Kid
