Chapter 9

Few illuminated windows in the scarce dispersed houses of the village, which name Tim didn't even memorize, were the only signs that people actually lived here. For someone like Tim, coming from the bustling city of San Diego, this was a model backwater settlement and he began to seriously ask himself what people did for living in such small, remote villages. There were no workshops, no factories, he just noticed few scattered farms, each far away from another. In the village itself, he only noticed a small grocery shop, which was naturally closed at this time and nothing else that could be regarded as some business to earn for the living. And yet there were buildings along the main road that witnessed that people lived here, or, at least, used to. Well, to be honest; it was completely dark and he could have missed some bigger buildings, standing more distant to the road, but he somehow doubted that that could be the case. The village simply didn't look like there could have been any such buildings.

Oh well, at least they have paved roads! That's already something! His thought was interrupted by sudden recognition, that he had absolutely no idea where he could find a doctor, if this village even had one. Judging from the number of houses he'd seen so far it could be that there was no doctor here. He sighed and slowed down to crawling speed, trying to see through the dark, his efforts assisted actually only by the car's headlights. Here and there, but too far apart to be of any real help, street lamps threw their weak light on the road. The circle of light beneath each mast was not exactly bright even in its center, getting weaker as it spread out and about 20 feet from the center the darkness already won the battle against the light.

For few minutes he drove slowly along the road, cursing backcountry in general and this remote village in particular, when his eyes suddenly lit up. Not far away ahead, a bright neon sign signaled a saloon and according to the numerous cars, parked in front of the building, it was definitely open. OK, numerous might have been a little exaggerated. After a second, more thorough look, he could count four cars, all battered pickups, parked in front of the porch, leading to the door. What else could these country bumpkins drive than an old, run down pickup. The real workhorse of the nation. He snorted quietly and had to remind himself that he should restrain himself from such open display of his feelings in the presence of inhabitants.

He didn't elaborate on his disdain any more, for he stepped on the accelerator to reach the saloon as soon as possible. In few seconds he parked his SUV at the end of the row of parked pickups. He switched off the engine and remained seated for few more seconds. Suddenly he got a bad feeling; perhaps it was even slight fear, creeping into his bones. These guys, especially if they've already had few beers or even something stronger, were most definitely no nonsense brothers. He should behave correctly; otherwise he could find himself flying out of the saloon faster than he would have gotten in. He sighed, opened the door and stepped out. After a second of hesitation, he slammed the car door shut and stepped on the porch towards the door.

"Nice ride you've got there, boy!" A voice from the darkness stopped him dead in his tracks and he even winced a little, so unexpected was the sound of another human being here. He didn't see anyone before and the voice clearly surprised him. He tried to see through the darkness and finally saw a man about forty years old, dressed in worn out jeans and faded flannel shirt, with a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, stepping out of the darkness. He had a long black hair, carefully bound into a pony tail and even in such sparse lighting he could see that he was at least partly of Native American origin. What a joke! Exactly the way they portray the first encounter of a big city boy with a small village people in the Hollywood movies! Did I land in one such movie by mistake? The thought shot through his brain and his initial discomfort or even fear after the man talked to him, remained there, albeit not so strong. Only after he carefully looked into his face which gave away a quite friendly impression, did it begin to subside and he felt bolder again. Then he turned to look at the cars and grinned involuntarily. His SUV really stuck out of the row of battered pickups like a sore thumb. Even though they had already used it on the terrain it was still far too clean and in far too good condition for the company of off road proved pickups.

"Sure, I like it." He decided to at least try to look as nonchalant as he supposed would be correct in this milieu. He put his right hand in the trouser's pocket and turned fully to look at the man who was now standing about five feet from him.

The man grinned at him, spit the cigarette which had clearly been out for a long time now on the ground and crushed it with his boot carefully. What unnecessary action! Maybe he's really that careful as to crush an extinguished cigarette or maybe he's just pulling up a show for me? Tim didn't come further in his elaborations as the man turned to look at him again and shook his head while smiling at him indulgently: "Boy, you're looking for trouble if you go in there and behave like that."

Tim's grin slowly vanished and he slowly pulled his hand out of the pocket, while his whole body tensed as if he would be anticipating something bad coming his way.

"Whoa, stop right now, boy! I'm not here to do you any harm!" The man raised his hands with palms turned towards Tim and grinned wider at him. "I'm just warning you that there are some not so friendly farmers in there and according to the time they've already spent in the saloon, they might be just a little bit cranky if a dandy like you waltzed in and tried to talk to them."

Tim knew that the man was right and sighed: "I know that I'm not exactly the country type. But I've got a friend who's injured and I need to find a doctor. I was just hoping …"

"… that you'd ask if there's a doctor in this village, and how to get to him, right?" The man finished Tim's sentence and nodded more to himself than to Tim. He turned towards the road and spit on the dusty ground again. After he turned back to Tim, who was looking at him with slightly widened eyes, he smiled. This time even his eyes smiled a bit: "I'll tell you boy. There is a doctor in this village and if you hurry, you can even catch him before he is called somewhere else or goes to bed."

Tim suddenly felt slightly embarrassed that he looked at the man so distrusting and nodded: "I'd be very grateful, sir."

"Don't 'sir' me, boy! I'm a simple man and I'm not used to be talked to like I was some British nobleman." The man snorted in disgust and continued after a while: "So, you turn back to where you came from, take the third road to the left, continue along it for about half a mile and then turn right on the dirt road. Along this road there's a house where the doctor lives, the first one after you turn on it. But be careful! He lives with his mother and she can be quite unpleasant or at least overprotective of her doctor son sometimes. Should she try to convince you that the poor doctor isn't at home don't accept it; insist that you need to see him and tell her that The Beaver told you that he'd be there."

Tim nodded: "So, your name is 'The Beaver'?"

The man laughed aloud and shook his head: "Of course not! But she'll know who sent you."

Tim felt a bit stupid and smiled apologetically: "Sorry. Thank you very much for your information." He already started towards his car, but stopped again and looked at the man: "Am I too impolite if I ask you for your name? I'm Tim."

The man laughed again: "No, boy, you're not too impolite." Then he turned and vanished into darkness like a ghost, leaving the young man behind.

Tim stood there rooted to the spot with open mouth for few seconds, gazing after the man, who disappeared into darkness. Then he shook his head and started towards his car. Right! Don't ask stupid questions if you don't want to get such vague answers.

Glad that he didn't have to enter the bar and challenge his luck after all, Tim turned the car and started back along the street, carefully watching the crossings and as he counted the third one, he turned left. 'Continue along it for about half a mile.' The words the man said to him caused him to pay special attention to the road. When he was almost half a mile from the crossing, he noticed three dirt roads on the right side. "All right! It's never easy. Now … which one should I chose?" He murmured into his chin while craning his neck to see if he could spot some light in the general direction of the three dirt roads. But he could see none, so he sighed and turned onto the first road. He shook off the thought that the man had maybe lured him into a trap by telling him something he wanted to hear. Could it be that there is something or someone waiting for him at the end of this road? He shook his head and continued. He had to trust someone and the man looked trustworthy enough.

After driving for almost a mile and seeing no houses at all, he decided that this must have been the wrong one and started to look for a suitable place to turn back. Unfortunately, the road was embedded lower than the surrounding fields and it was too narrow to turn the car on it, so he had to continue for another half mile before he reached the place where he could turn. Cursing under the breath for loosing precious time, he finally turned the car and hurried back to the main road.

Choosing the second road, he slowly began to grow nervous. He was losing a lot of time, time which was important for John to get help. He drove faster than he should and in a moment, as his attention wasn't completely on the road, he hit a deep pothole that shook the car vigorously and almost lifted him out of the seat. Strange sound coming from the front left wheel caused him to curse loudly this time and he stopped the car to check if anything was broken. As he stopped, still cursing, he opened the door and stepped outside. His eyes swept the surroundings and he saw a weak light shining between the trees on the right side of the road. "This must be it!" His mood suddenly improved and he stepped around the car to check the wheel, which caused him to stop here. In the weak starlight he didn't see anything, so he squatted to check the tire. He could feel that it was obviously still undamaged and sighed relieved.

He straightened and checked the light, gleaming through the trees, again. Judging by the intensity of the light, he could tell that he was very close to the house and smiled satisfied for apparently finding the right one. While he looked at the light, he suddenly registered the sound of a car engine, nearing him quite fast. His eyes narrowed at his car, judging if the oncoming car would have enough space to pass it and, although he didn't see quite good in the dark, he judged that he stopped the car close enough to the edge of the road, so that even a big truck could drive by without a problem. Still, he wasn't quite sure, so he decided to get into the car before the oncoming driver would reach him. The headlights of the car already flashed through the darkness and according to the way they jumped up and down, Tim believed that the driver must be driving very fast, probably way too fast for the condition of the dirt road, where areas without potholes were rarer than the areas, covered by them.

He was just about to open the door of his SUV as the fast approaching car came. The engine roared like the driver would be on the race track rather than on the open road and the headlights blinded Tim for a second. And that was the fateful second. Before he could pull the door handle, he heard wild screeching of the brakes and felt how something hit him like a sledgehammer. In a second his world went black and he couldn't even think of how he'd screwed it up before the veil of darkness spread over him.

The radio was booming an old heavy metal song that only middle aged or even older lovers of such music still recognized and the man's head lolled from side to side while he was trying to sing along the screeching voice of the band singer. His attempts of singing would chase away any bear or wolf or any wild beast for that matter, so out of tune it was. He had had a few drinks in the saloon and he was in the stage of feeling almighty and above the profanities of everyday's life, just on the verge of being the divine savior of everyone and everything alive in this universe. Actually, he had had a few drinks too much after he already got drunk somewhere else, where he celebrated his new job with his friends, who, wisely enough, decided not to continue the bar tour, which he proposed and even tried to talk him out of his intention, naturally without any success. As he sat in his car and turned the engine on, he felt invincible and turned the radio on blasting full power. After he turned from the main road to the dirt one, he stomped 'pedal to the metal' and drove with speed that even a sober driver wouldn't be able to control completely. The potholes shook the car almost constantly, but in his drunken stupor he didn't notice them and belled aloud to the music while trying to drive even faster.

Suddenly he noticed a car, parked along the road and a young man, who was just reaching for the door handle to get into it. Had he been sober, he might have made it past him, but in his alcohol induced state, he hit the brakes furiously instead of trying to avoid the obstacle. It had been a little too less and a little too late. A half screamed curse died abruptly on his lips as he felt how he hit the man and saw how his body whirled through the air, crashed on the road and remained there unmoving.

He managed to stop before he overrun the boy, lying in the middle of the road like a broken puppet and for few seconds only loud music chased disturbed the silence of the night. He sat behind the wheel, gripping it so tight that his knuckles turned completely white. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck …" He repeated the same word endlessly, like he would have put it on the loop play while his eyes stared glassily at the battered body in front of his car without blinking.

After few seconds he finally regained his senses and reached for the knob on the radio to turn it off while staring at the body in the middle of the road. Now only the soft sound of engine, which still ran, could be heard. The man slowly reached for the key, switched the engine off and opened the door. With weary steps like he would be hundred years old, he stepped over to Tim, who was still lying where his body hit the ground like dead.

The man slowly got on one knee and shook Tim, to wake him up but with no success. The boy remained unresponsive and the man began to panic. He couldn't see if the boy was breathing or not, he couldn't feel if his heart was still beating and in his seriously diminished mental capabilities he concluded that the boy must have been killed in the crash.

What the fuck am I going to do? I can't let them get me! He raked his fingers through his hair in desperation and tried to find a solution to this problem. He was drunk, but still not drunk enough not to know what would happen, should he be caught by the police. I have to bring him somewhere. They may not find him. He suddenly felt better after finding a solution of his problem, a solution, which he at the moment found as best possible.

He rose to his feet again, looked over to the SUV, parked at the side of the road and noticed that the engine wasn't running. That won't be a problem. They'll find a car and they'll think that some punk stole it and left it here. He nodded to himself and quickly stepped to the trunk of his car. His steps were insecure and walking in straight line was something he was momentarily managing only with absolute concentration. But the horror and the shock that got him in its tight grip, gave him strength and limited clarity and he managed to open the trunk without any further problems. Then he returned to Tim and grabbed him under armpits. He began dragging him towards the trunk of his car but staggered significantly after he made his first few steps. He might have been under adrenaline rush, but Tim was still bigger and heavier than him and dragging such a guy as dead weight was something that even completely sober man of his built and strength would find challenging.

He somehow managed to drag the still form of the boy to the rear end of his car and after quite a long time of panting, pushing and cursing, managed to stuff him into the trunk with significant troubles. After he finally closed the trunk door, he leaned against the car roof with his elbows, leaned his forehead against his palms and panted heavily for few seconds. Come on! I've no time to throw away! The doc might have heard something and could come here to check it. I have to go!

Still breathing heavily, he managed to open the driver's door and sat in the car. As he got out of it before, he left the keys in the ignition and needed only a second to start the engine. Then he drove off like all the hell's furies would be hot on his tail. After few seconds only a slowly settling could of dust and an abandoned SUV at the side of the road witnessed that something happened here just moments ago.

The head beams of the car illuminated the forest, throwing crooked shadows of the trees and bushes, making them look more like some of Tim Burton's strange creations than what they actually were. The light cones jumped up and down, just like the car, driving over the rough terrain, hitting the hole or a protruding root every now and then. The man behind the wheel had to clutch fiercely to the steering wheel not to be thrown out of the seat each time the car jerked again. His white knuckles and his haunted look, drops of sweat riding down his forehead that he tried to wipe with the back of his hand or a sleeve every now and then, attested to his almost panicked state of mind. After he drove off from the site where he hit Tim, he couldn't stop thinking of what he'd done. He was aware that he probably killed an innocent young man by driving in his drunken state. Strange though, he didn't look or feel that drunk anymore. Perhaps it was due to the fact that he was driving a presumably dead man in his trunk; perhaps the adrenaline, still coursing through his body in excessive amounts, caused him to think more clearly. He knew that he screwed it big time but he still wasn't sober enough to admit to have done a terrible mistake and to stand to his deeds. He still wanted to cover it and pretend like nothing happened at all.

He was driving deeper into the forest, trying to find a place, where he could dispose of the body in the trunk and disappear into the night. He knew these forests quite good and was sure that he'd find some appropriate place very soon. Place, where the body wouldn't be found for a long time if ever. There were very few people roaming these dark forests at this time of day and majority of them had something to hide or were in here because of some unclear, maybe even dark business of their own, business that they wouldn't want to be revealed, so he was reasonably sure that his secret would remain a secret until all evidence of it would disappear. Should one of these questionable souls ever find the body, they would probably be more than reluctant to inform either the rangers or the police, fearing that their own secrets might be brought into the daylight, should law enforcers begin to swarm around these areas.

The car lights illuminated a small clearing in the woods, with just enough place to turn the car, surrounded by thick bushes and tall trees. A perfect place to hide something, for the clearing was well hidden behind the bushes and no uninvited looks from outside could disturb the serenity or perhaps the nightmare, hiding behind all the bushes. The car stopped and almost immediately the door opened and the sweating man climbed out. He had to take hold at the car roof for a second to steady his trembling knees and drew in some deep breaths before he could go any further. The whole thing got to him much deeper than he thought and he realized that he would probably be haunted by this gruesome event for the rest of his life. Still, it was better to be haunted by nightmares than to sit in the prison for who knows how many years. At least the man believed it right now.

He stepped around the car to the trunk, opened it and pulled Tim's body out of it, not without difficulties. Uncharacteristically gentle for someone who just decided to hide the body, resulting from his reckless handling, he laid Tim's body on the ground, feeling the wave of guilt sweeping over him again. Well, he could at least not be too harsh on the poor guy, who's only mistake was that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He reached for the shovel, lying in the trunk, but hesitated for a second. Would it really be the best to bury him? Or would it be even better to just dump him under the bushes and let the wild animals do the rest? He knew that there were not exactly few big predators roaming these forests and they would probably be the best solution to let the body disappear without leaving any trace at all.

For few seconds he stood there unmoving, hand on the shovel and his eyes looking at the body on the ground without really seeing it, while he contemplated what would be the best way to get rid of it. Then life returned into his eyes, he shuddered a little and let loose of the shovel. He bowed to Tim, packed him under the armpits and began to drag him towards the thick bushes, surrounding the small clearing.

It was quite an effort for him to drag Tim's body towards the bushes and after he finally made it, his face was again covered in sweat, this time not only from his inner mental torment but also from physical effort. He dropped Tim near the bushes and swept over his forehead and eyebrows with the sleeve which was already wet from his former attempts to wipe his sweating face. His eyes wandered to Tim again and his face scrunched in a grimace, revealing his inner turmoil.

"I'm sorry buddy. I really am. But it's the only way." He murmured more to himself than to Tim and turned on his heel abruptly. In few quick steps, which more resembled fleeing than walking, he reached his car and got in without glancing back. The engine started and in just a few seconds he managed to turn the car and leave the clearing the same way he came.

In a matter of few moments even the shimmering red light of the car taillights vanished and the quiet of the night forest returned. Creatures of the night resumed their chirping, they went after whatever they did during the night and sounds of all possible forms could be heard again. Nothing revealed that only minutes ago a real drama happened here. A young man had been dumped here as dead to be taken by the predators to erase any proof that someone made a terrible mistake and took an innocent life.

After Jeremiah left them, Derek and Sarah sat in silence, awaiting the appearance of the terminator, which had been assigned the task to get the required information from them. They gained no false hopes that they could escape. Not now, not from here. Sarah still pondered over the things Jeremiah told her and felt how her stomach clenched into an ever tighter knot. She was aware that John was in grave danger. Even Cameron in all her fierceness couldn't protect him should these guys set out to find him. Besides; she was the second target of the company and they knew what she was, so they would know very well how to disable her. They would come prepared for her. Sarah was sure they would sent everything they've got after her son and his fiancée and according to what they had seen up till now, that was probably more than enough to defeat and capture them both. She believed that the terminator, named Mr. Muscle, who was to exert its torturing skills on them both shortly, wasn't the only terminator that Kaliba had to offer. And even Cameron could not compete with two or more terminators. After all, she wasn't designed to fight other machines, that much was absolutely clear to her.

Derek looked at the wall darkly, trying to find a way out of this shitty situation and fearing that the company might already be hot on John's tail and that everything Jeremiah told them was only a maneuver to make them believe like they'd need their information about exact location of John and Cameron. Everything suddenly seemed very surreal and he asked himself for the umpteenth time why didn't he stop Sarah as she decided to break into the facility. But, as usual, there was no use crying over the spilt milk and his main preoccupation should be how to withstand the torture that, of its inevitability he was sure, would start very soon, with only one goal: breaking them before they would be killed. After his interrogation in the future, as he broke and told Cameron everything, he swore that he'd never again betray John Connor. Funny … now I'm in the position that I have to protect the terminator, who initially interrogated me and broke me. If that's not a paradox, then I have no idea what this word means.

After few minutes the door opened again and heavy steps announced the arrival of Mr. Muscle. Sarah sighed: "Here we go again!" and cast a resigned look at Derek. He didn't answer, he just nodded and his face darkened even more.

The heavy steps stopped for few seconds behind their backs. Neither Sarah nor Derek tried to turn to see what was coming upon them. They knew what was in the store for them today and didn't have to see for themselves to confirm their expectations.

The steps resumed and slowly the body builder-like terminator rounded Sarah and stopped in front of her. Its eyes looked at her expressionlessly and they reminded Sarah of a look that a snake must give to a mouse before grabbing it, with one minor difference: she believed that the snake showed more life than this machine. There was no life in these eyes, no expression on the face, set in stone.

Sarah grinned and snarled at the machine: "So, you're back to get something out of me, tin can? I'll have to disappoint you though. I won't tell you anything."

The machine stared at her for few seconds, probably contemplating the best possible answer and replied with cold mechanical voice: "I disagree. In due time you'll give us the necessary information."

Sarah grinned wider: "I wouldn't bet on it." She tried to continue her ranting and challenging the machine, but Derek cut her off: "Sarah, don't accept its game. Stay quiet and don't say anything that might possibly be useful to them."

Sarah knew that Derek was right, but she had to vent her frustration and anger. And yet … after hearing Derek's serious warning, she rethought it again. Derek knew the interrogation techniques that the machines used in the future and she was sure that he was only trying to help her to prepare for the inevitable oncoming torture. She just nodded: "OK, Derek!"

The terminator still gazed at her unblinking and not a single muscle moved on its body. Sarah grinned at him: "Don't try the same approach again. I won't break under your stare. I have had enough experience with staring contests to know what you are up to."

Derek chuckled humorlessly at her words, remembering his many staring contests with Cameron. He lost each and every one of them and he didn't believe that Sarah could be that much better than him to win such a contest: "I'm not sure if it's a thing you could win, Sarah. But you're welcome to try, nevertheless."

"I have no intentions to win it. I'm just trying to make things clear for the metal here. I'm just trying to tell it that it won't break me by staring at me. I've had enough experiences with our resident terminator to gain any false hopes of winning a staring contest with a machine. I don't need to accept its challenge at all." Sarah chuckled back.

The terminator's eyes finally blinked and turned to Derek: "You're talking too much!" It stepped over to Derek and slapped him so hard that he'd tip over together with the chair, hadn't it been fixed to the floor. Derek's head almost touched his shoulder, again, but he straightened up immediately and grinned at the machine: "You hit like a baby!" He knew that he could only make things worse, but he couldn't help himself not to respond in such a way. Although he just advised Sarah not to accept the machine's game, he instantly forgot all good intentions and hate and rage burned in his eyes as he stared at the terminator. His cheek already hurt a lot, being hit for the second time and he really expected that should the machine hit him a third time, he'd lose at least some of his teeth. He already had a feeling that some of them were not sitting tightly in the gums any more.

The machine's face remained expressionless and it gazed at Derek like it would be frozen in time and place. It was obviously only trying different approaches to interrogation and not trying to kill him or even acting out of anger. According to its face, it was highly unbelievable that it would experience any kind of emotions at all. Then it turned to Sarah and stepped to her. Before she could react, it reached for her hands and tore the rope that held her tied to the chair.

Sarah gasped in surprise, but before she could say anything, the machine tore the remaining restrains too, so that she was now free of them. For a second a thought crossed her mind to try to run, but she discarded it immediately. She wouldn't even be able to stand up before the machine would get her. So she waited and only looked at the machine in surprise.

The terminator didn't waste any time. It grabbed Sarah by the collar and lifted her out of the chair like a small kitten. She tried to protest, but before she could utter a single word, it set her back down on her feet: "You're coming with me."

Derek cursed under his breath. It was happening again; the machine would interrogate, or, better to say, torture, each of them separately, just like it had always happened in the future. He tugged at his restrains and yelled: "You metal mother fucker! Leave her alone. Take me!" The veins in his neck threatened to burst, with such force he tried to break free. He instantly forgot the pain in his cheek, he only saw a machine, dragging Sarah away to torture her.

The machine slowly turned towards him and gazed at him coldly for few second. "You're next." It answered laconically, turned back to Sarah and pushed her towards the door so that she staggered towards them. She tried to remain upright, but the machine pushed her too forcefully and she fell on her face halfway to the door. Her nose hit the floor with almost undiminished momentum and she felt how it broke. Even though she tried to catch herself with her hands, she failed to react on time. The copper taste of blood instantly filled her mouth and she had to spit the blood out.

Derek watched in horror how Sarah crashed to the floor and he also heard the annoying crunching sound as her nose broke upon the impact. "You bastard! Mother fucker!" He couldn't restrain himself and he roared like a wounded bull at the machine. How dare this metal hurt Sarah!

The terminator watched everything calmly, obviously completely detached and didn't even react to Derek's yell, nor did it pay any attention to Sarah's moaning as she tried to position her nose bone. It simply stepped to Sarah, pulled her up and put her on her feet again. "Go!" Its voice was unchanged: cold and emotionless.

After it frog-marched Sarah out of the room, Derek finally stopped roaring his rich repertoire of curses at the machine. He knew that it would bring no effect at all, but he was so mad at the metal that he lost self control. After the door closed again and he was left in the room alone, he suddenly asked himself why he reacted so strongly to the fact that Sarah was brought to the interrogation. Was it just because she was John's mother and therefore important for the future? Was it perhaps because she was such a strong woman? Or was it perhaps because he really liked her? Actually, 'like' was insufficient description of what he felt for her. He admired her and he looked up to her as if she were an idol on the pedestal. She was the strongest woman he ever met and for someone, who had spent almost entire life between hardened resistance fighters, it was very unusual to look upon a woman, who never fought in the war as she'd be the war goddess herself. He was used to strong women, but Sarah Connor was the toughest one he'd ever met. Even before he came back in time, he looked up to Sarah Connor as the legend of the resistance, whom every single soldier respected, although no one knew her. John, future John, did a good job at presenting his mother's virtues to the resistance. He planted the picture of her in the minds of his men, a picture that remained there as an axiom, never to be forgotten, always to be looked upon with awe.

His head fell down to his chest and he closed his eyes. He knew that very soon he'd hear Sarah's screams. He had no doubts that the machine would torture her with intention to break him. It was an old, but still quite successful interrogation technique which the machines applied extensively in the future too; they would at first watch the group dynamics and find out who was the one, whom the others liked the most. Then they would pick up this person, preferably a woman and began torturing her, while all the others had to listen to agonizing screams. And all too often one of them broke in hope that his cooperation would save the tortured one. As it later came out without exception, such hopes were false. The machines would kill them both: the tortured and the one who tried to save them.

He also knew that it was just a matter of time before Sarah's screams would begin to tear down his defenses eventually bringing him dangerously close to the breaking point. He could take it with torture; but he wasn't sure if he could listen to how the machine would torture Sarah. And yet, he had to be strong. He knew that no matter how tempted he might be to save Sarah, she would never forgive him should he say anything about John. Then a though crossed his mind; Sarah would kill him with her bare hands, should he tell anything about John. But … what about Cameron? Could he tell them something about the cyborg?

After few second of pondering on the thought, he shook his head … no, Sarah would never forgive him even if he'd say anything about Cameron. After all … Cameron was never more than three feet away from John and should they know where to find her, they'd find John right beside her. Additionally he suspected that Sarah might have been prepared to decapitate him even for betraying Cameron alone. He didn't miss how she bonded with the cyborg girl since their winter vacation. Not that he'd approve of it, but he accepted it and even he started to look at Cameron differently, accepting her as a part of Connor clan. No … that was absolutely impossible … betraying Cameron was something he would never do … not anymore.

The seconds turned into minutes and he soon lost the feeling of how long had it been since the machine took Sarah away. Suddenly he winced. A faint woman's yelp penetrated his mind. He shook his head as if he could chase the reality away by such action. He knew that it was useless, but he still squeezed his eyes shut. He had no doubts that it was Sarah's voice and he knew with certainty that her cries would become stronger and more agonizing with time. He tried to breathe deeply to calm down, but the effect he achieved was exactly the opposite. His agitation grew and as Sarah's second cry, this time louder and longer, reached his ears, he was already trembling in rage and his eyes flashed angrily towards the wall, from which's direction the cries could be heard. He squeezed his eyes shut and grinded his teeth, ignoring the searing pain that it send down his bruised jaw, hoping to somehow filter out the screams.

Sarah's cries gradually became stronger and more tormented and, just like he anticipated, they cut into his very soul like a hot knife through the butter. He had to constantly repeat that she would never forgive him should he say anything to the interrogators just to stop them from torturing Sarah. There was definitely one of them just behind the door, waiting for him to break down and to call for them. He knew that without seeing it. The interrogation techniques of the machines and their allies which he experienced in the future didn't change just because some of them travelled back through time. It was clear that everything that happened here was a work of machines and greys, sent back in time for whatever reason it might be. He suspected that it was not only to kill John, but also to assure the creation of Skynet. He knew that there were not only terminators sent back, but also others, scientists and unscrupulous specimen of human breed, trying to assure and accelerate the development of that certain AI, called Skynet.

While he occupied himself with trying to get the picture of the whole situation, as distraction and attempt to somehow filter out Sarah's cries, they grew even louder and more haunting, but then stopped abruptly. This sudden silence caused him to instantly abandon his train of thoughts and his ears perked up to hear what was going on. The silence scared him far more than the tormented cries of Sarah Connor. Could it be that the machine killed her? He felt his heart flutter in fear at this thought. He finally realized that he cared for Sarah much more than he should. He cared for her as a woman, not only as a mother of his general or as his brother's love of his life. He had felt like that for quite a while now and as it seemed at the moment, there was a realistic possibility that he would never be able to somehow show it to her.

Before he could carry on with his inner monologue, the door opened again and the terminator entered the room. His hands and sleeves were covered in blood and there were even some drops of blood on his face, which calmly stared towards Derek. Derek tensed up and his face scrunched up in hate, hate towards this machine which was covered in Sarah's blood.

The machine stepped in front of him and looked at him with dead eyes and unmoving face. Derek was on the verge of exploding into its face, but remembered his own advices, given to Sarah, that that was exactly what they wanted to achieve, so he bit on his tongue with such force that he tasted his blood again, this time caused by his own teeth.

While the terminator gazed at him unfazed, Derek managed to gradually calm down, regardless the volcano, erupting inside him and gave the machine a crooked smirk: "So, you finally got your way. You finally killed Sarah Connor!"

The machine continued to stare at him for a while, but after few seconds it responded without moving a single muscle: "No. Sarah Connor is still alive. My instructions were to interrogate her but not kill her. So I didn't terminate her." After few seconds in which Derek's heart swelled in happiness that Sarah was still alive, the machine added in somehow sly tone: "Yet."

Instantly Derek's attention had been woken by this small word and he felt how his hopes deflated again. It was obvious that this machine was at least semi self conscious and that represented the possibility it could break free of its preprogrammed pattern sometime. It showed to Derek, that the terminator probably would kill Sarah out of its own will, were it not bound by the directive to obey the commands that it obviously found wrong and would find the first opportunity to disobey or at least ignore them. And this possibility, that this terminator could break free of the restrains that its programming put on its actions, scared him more than anything else. It would be unimaginable that the machine would not follow the commands. It would be like the hell unleashed. But he had to find out more about what happened to Sarah, so he pushed such thoughts into background.

"So, she told you nothing and now you came back to see if I would break down and tell you what you want to hear?" Derek snorted contemptuously at the machine but in the next moment his head jerked backwards with such a force that his neck would probably snap, would it not have been for the backrest of the chair against which his head crashed violently. He believed that his skull was close to cracking, such was the force of the impact. If the blow which the machine delivered to him wouldn't almost render him unconscious the impact of his head was very nearly strong enough to do the job.

He felt dizzy but remembered not to shake his head on time. Should he move it too abruptly, it would only cause him further pain. After few seconds he composed himself so that he could think semi clearly again. He felt intense pain in his jaw, guessing that it was still in one piece, but just barely.

The terminator stared at him: "You will tell us where to find John Connor."

Derek managed to give him a pained smirk, feeling how the blood from his mouth trickled down his chin: "You can dream of it, tin can." Even trying to curl his lips upwards caused him severe pain.

The next blow came from his left side; this time not aimed for the head but under his ribs and Derek could swear that he heard at least one of ribs snapping under the violent punch. Sharp stabbing pain caused him to almost lose his consciousness. But he knew that the machine was using just enough force to make the most pain, while still keeping him alive and conscious. Although, the fact that Sarah was obviously still unconscious, spoke that it wasn't always completely in control of the situation. So he tried to breathe shallowly and spat blood towards the machine: "Nice try. But not good enough."

The terminator didn't bother to answer him; it didn't even hit him again. Instead, it reached into the pocket of its pants and pulled out a knife. It opened it and began to cut off the buttons on Derek's shirt. It worked precisely, quickly and in few seconds, all the buttons were cut off. Then the machine grabbed the sides of his shirt and ripped it from his body.

Derek's eyes fell down to the spot which the machine hit before and noticed the ugly bruising already forming there. It hurt like hell and he was now sure that at least one of his ribs was cracked. Why did it cut the buttons off before ripping the shirt? A sudden thought crossed his mind and he almost snorted in realization that he was having such stupid ideas while his life was hanging on a thin thread.

The machine then put the tip of the knife on the left side of his chest and pressed just enough to break the skin and a small trickle of blood began to flow down his chest. Then the machine began to slice his skin towards the nipple, causing Derek to scream in pain. He had been determined not to show the machine that it hurt him, but it pained too much and he decided that it would be better to scream than to try to remain stoic, but eventually break down and talk.

The slicing continued for few minutes and soon Derek had a surreal pattern of blood covered cuts across his chest and abdomen. And yet, none of the cuts was dangerous, none of them was deep enough to seriously endanger his life. They were just deep enough to cause the maximum pain, without being life threatening. His screams slowly subsidized as he felt numbness creeping into him. The pain gradually evolved into something throbbing in his gut but not so intense that he'd have to scream. The machine's eyes revealed nothing as it gazed intently into his face. But after it achieved no effect, it changed the tactics. It carefully wiped the bloodied knife with the remains of Derek's shirt, closed it and put it back into its pocket. Then it looked at Derek coldly again: "There are many more methods that we'll try on you. Some will be much more painful than the ones that I already applied. It would be more acceptable for you to tell us what we need to know and it might spare you some of the most painful moments and kill you quickly." Its eyes didn't blink as it spoke and absolutely no emotions could be seen on its face.

Derek managed to even his breathing after the machine stopped slicing him like a piece of meat and looked at it, grinning shakily: "I know exactly what you will try on me later. I've been through such interrogations before and am prepared for them. You won't get any information from me."

The machine tilted its head and Derek found it unbelievably annoying to see this machine making the same gesture that Cameron applied so often. In spite of being a machine too, Cameron evolved well beyond what her creator intended her to and was light years away from this one. Derek realized that he lately even found her head tilt amusing, but seeing the same gesture on this machine made him feel nauseous. For few moments they stared into each other's eyes, Derek knowing very well that there was no way to win a staring contest with a terminator. He tried it too often in the past with Cameron to gain any hopes to win it. But he still could show this tin can that he was not afraid of it that it didn't manage to intimidate or scare him.

The staring contest continued for about two minutes and neither of the contestants was ready to give in. Finally Derek lowered his eyes, although he felt like he could go on for a very long time. But the pain under his ribs, in his jaw and the now throbbing cuts on his torso made it almost impossible to keep his head up.

The machine showed no expression, it just continued staring at the top of Derek's head. Then it abruptly turned, stepped towards the door and left the room without uttering a single word.

TBC

I hope you don't hate me now. Just as things started to look better, the events took a turn to worse. Just remember one thing ... it always gets darker before the dawn.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I really appreciate it and it helps me to understand what I'm doing right and what not. I'll try not to disappoint you.