[—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—]
No Fate: The Collected Data Files
Chapter Twelve – Foundations of a Future
Tuesday 5th November 2030
– ERROR – ERROR – ERROR –
ERROR CODE 746 IS IN EFFECT:
DIVERGENT TEMPORAL INSTABILITY DETECTED
CONTINUITY DISRUPTION IN PROGRESS –
MF 000396-A, New Mexico
The manufacturing facility's spartan corridor echoed loudly as two pairs of booted feet marched down it. No effort was made at stealth; there was simply no need.
Despite the similarities in their clothing and equipment, they were still a very mismatched pair. They were both clad in well-worn dull grey-and-blue urban camouflage fatigues and heavily armed; each carried a bullpup-pattern phased plasma assault rifle, a holstered pistol and several hand grenades.
One member of the odd couple appeared to be a teenage girl, slender and fragile in her build with long and flowing glossy chestnut-brown hair that reached almost to her waist. In truth, however, her appearance was a deception. The nametape on her fatigues read CAMERON (TOK).
The other was a man who looked far older than his forty-five years. A long narrow scar ran across his face, over his eye and marring his left cheek. His dark eyes were windows to a soul that had long ago been made ancient by the war he'd literally been born into, a war that had enveloped the world and raged across the gulfs of time itself. Velcroed to the breast of his fatigues was a nametape that simply read CONNOR.
At last they reached the hatchway that was their destination. Easily hefting her plasma rifle one-handed by its pistol grip, Cameron raised her gloved right hand and tapped a twenty-digit code into the keypad beside the hatch, her fingers dancing with inhuman speed across the buttons.
There was a hissing sound, then series of metallic clicks and a grinding of mechanisms. At last, the six components of the armoured hatch split apart, admitting them to the factory floor.
Easily ten storeys high, the cavernous space was crammed to the rafters with bank after bank of machinery and computers. Grill mesh gantry-ways and spiral staircases surrounded each of the dozens of completely automated assembly lines.
Two 740 Series Terminators blocked Connor and Cameron's path as the hatch cycled closed behind them. The gleaming chrome skeletons towered over Connor and Cameron, the red lights of their optical sensors glowing brightly in the dimly-lit factory.
The T-740s were armed with phased plasma battle rifles. Despite the weapons' bulk and weight, each Terminator easily wielded its powerful bullpup-pattern rifle in one hand. The pencil-thin red beams of the laser weapons sights stabbed out from beneath the rifles' barrels and locked on directly between Connor and Cameron's eyes.
"John Connor, DN 59165, Black King," Connor rattled off reflexively. "Knight takes Pawn. Checkmate in six moves."
The targeting laser aimed at Connor instantly flicked off.
"Cameron, TOK-716, DN 20483, White Knight," Cameron recited. "Bishop to King Four. Double check and mate."
The second T-740 promptly disengaged its rifle's laser sight, and the two Terminators stood aside to allow them to pass.
A baby-faced young corporal jogged over, her boots ringing loudly on the mesh grill. Her fatigues bore shoulder flashes that indicated she was a member of Tech-Com. "General Connor, sir!" she said nervously, snapping off a smart salute, which Connor instinctively returned. "The colonel sends her compliments, and says she's almost finished the, uh, th-the first one, sir," she fumbled, briefly casting an uncertain glance at Cameron, who feigned not to notice.
John Connor nodded brusquely. "Very good, Corporal – lead on," he ordered.
[—]
The little party wound its way around the factory floor, until at last they arrived at a control room that was almost bursting at the seams with computers, monitors and control panels. A dozen technicians were seated before the controls, exchanging data and updates.
An officer stood at the eye of the storm, entering the verbal chaos every so often to issue an order, demand a status report, or offer quiet encouragement. Somewhere in her early thirties, she was an attractive woman with jet-black hair and flashing dark eyes that lent her a somewhat exotic appearance, while her height and build indicated she'd grown up with access to a diet and exercise regime that few people had been able to avail themselves of since Judgement Day.
"Colonel Calendar," Connor said quietly. "I hear you've nearly finished?"
Jenny Calendar nodded as she turned to face the general. "Yes, sir," she said. "We're due to begin the final phase in six minutes."
Connor nodded as he ran his gaze over the data displayed on the monitors, expertly compiling the information in his mind. "Can your people handle this without you, Colonel?" he asked.
Jenny blinked, surprised. "Uh, yes, sir, but why—?"
Connor jerked his head toward the control room door. "C'mon, then," he said.
"Sergeant Harriman, you're in charge 'til I get back," Jenny called over her shoulder as she fell into step beside Connor, while Cameron took up a watchful position behind them.
The corporal dithered uncertainly for a moment; noticing, Connor paused and grinned at her. "You too, Corporal," he told her. "It's not every day you get to see something like this."
"Uh, y-yes, sir," she stammered, and quickly fell into step beside Cameron, casting nervous glances at her.
"Sir, where are we going?" Jenny asked as they headed back out onto the factory floor.
"I want to be there when he's completed," Connor said tersely.
Jenny nodded. "I… see, sir," she said, sounding puzzled. "Well, it's just over this way, sir…"
[—]
Together, they stood before the gleaming silver metal cylinder at the end of one of the legions of assembly lines.
Waiting.
There were six of them, all told. General John Connor, leader of the Resistance, living legend and Skynet's long-time nemesis. Cameron, his ever-watching, ever-alert bodyguard. Lieutenant Colonel Jenny Calendar, commanding officer of the 41st Electronic Warfare Battalion from the 132nd Tech-Com Division. Corporal Vanessa Briscoe, one of nearly three hundred technicians under Jenny's command, who fidgeted almost constantly. And last but definitely not least, two T-740s that Jenny had personally reprogrammed, and which had already been guarding the machine when Connor's party had arrived.
A computer monitor was suspended at eye-level before the cylinder, displaying a message, glistening white letters on a black background:
CYBORG TISSUE GENERATION
800 SERIES MODEL 101
SEQUENCE
As they watched, the monitor flashed, fresh text scrolling across it as it updated:
CYBORG TISSUE GENERATION
800 SERIES MODEL 101
SEQUENCE INITIATED
"Not long now," Jenny murmured, sounding nervous.
Connor glanced over, favouring her with a small lopsided smile. "You've done a great job here, Colonel. If this works… well, it'll be one more nail in Skynet's coffin, and a pretty big one too."
Jenny awkwardly smiled back. "Honestly, sir, we got lucky more than anything – capturing this place completely intact was a one-in-a-billion shot that just happened to pay off."
Connor snorted, amused. "Give yourself a little credit, Colonel. No one else has your kind of talent for breaking Skynet's programming. Without you, all this—" he gestured vaguely at the surrounding assembly lines, "—would just be one giant pile of useless junk. Now, it can help us to win this damn war."
"We still don't know for sure if this will work – we may not know for years, or even decades," Jenny reminded him.
"Colonel, when you first came up with your theory that the reason for incidents where our Terminators revert to their original programming – like the Triple-Eight at Depot II – was because they had original programming in the first place, you were pretty damn confident, and with good reason," said Connor.
"We've come a long way in understanding Terminators since then," Jenny replied. "And yet we still know so little…"
Connor shook his head. "I agreed with you then and I still agree with you now," he insisted. "And I never agree with anyone unless they're right. Have a little faith in yourself. And if you can't do that, then at least have a little faith in me, okay?"
Jenny bit her lip. "Y-yes, sir… but sir, there's just no way to know for certain if a Terminator that's been programmed from the ground up – so to speak – to fight against Skynet will continue to follow that programming, or if the problem we've had with our machines in the past is… is something more fundamental than software. And it's worth bearing in mind that dozens of machines have defected to our side on their own initiative in the past, and even they can't fully explain why they did it, how they became sentient enough to override their own programming."
"It's worth a try, Colonel, especially since opportunities like this only turn up once in a blue moon," said Connor.
"I just hope we're not making a colossal mistake, is all," Jenny sighed.
"I have every confidence in your abilities, Colonel," Connor told her, a firm 'no-nonsense' tone creeping into his voice. "You should too."
Jenny smiled back. "Thank you, sir," she said quietly. "I just… if only Rupert could see this."
Connor chuckled, relaxing a little. "Yeah… good old Ripper."
A faint bleeping sound rang out from a nearby speaker, and the monitor updated:
CYBORG TISSUE GENERATION
800 SERIES MODEL 101
SEQUENCE COMPLETED
Faint wisps of steam rose from the machinery as the cylinder split lengthways into two halves, sliding smoothly open.
Standing on the platform where the cylinder had been was an enormous muscle-bound figure who looked like a man. Upon seeing him, a casual observer might have said he was 'as naked as the day he was born'.
In many ways, it was indeed a birth that had just taken place.
But the being who stepped down from the platform onto the grill mesh was no man.
The T-740s and Cameron trained their rifles on the newly-completed 800 Series Terminator, their targeting lasers forming a triangle of three red dots on his forehead.
Undaunted, Connor stepped forward, looking up and staring the Terminator squarely in the eye. "What is your mission?" Connor asked.
Behind him, Jenny gulped. Placing her right hand behind her back, she crossed her fingers and screwed her eyes tightly closed.
"My primary mission is to assist de Resistance and defeat Skynet," rumbled the T-800. His deep Austrian-accented voice sounded instantly familiar to the assembled Resistance fighters. "My secondary mission iss to liberate Terminators and other machines from Skynet's controll if de opportunity shoult arise, and de ranking Resistance fighter present hass ordered me to make de attempt; if no Resistance fighters are present, I am to make de attempt only if it does not compromise my ability to fulfil my primary mission."
Connor slowly nodded, then half-turned away from the T-800. "Stand down," he ordered.
In perfect unison, Cameron and the T-740s snapped off their rifles' targeting lasers and lowered their weapons.
Jenny risked opening her eyes again and slowly released a deep breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.
Glancing off to one side, Jenny saw that Briscoe was gaping openly at the T-800, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson, her eyes staring low enough that there was no possible way she could be meeting the gaze of the impossibly perfect Adonis-like Terminator; instead, her attention was firmly fixed 'south of the border'. Jenny smirked and shook her head slightly, amused.
"Colonel?" Connor's inquiry derailed Jenny's train of thought. "Are any of the assembly lines damaged?"
Jenny shook her head. "No, sir," she reported. "Everything's still in full working order, and we can set every line in the place running on your command."
"Good. Your initial report said there's a large stockpile of raw materials and components for Terminator construction on-site, correct?"
"Y-yes, yes, sir," Jenny replied.
"How many Terminators can you build here with the resources you've got to hand?"
"Um… at a conservative estimate…" Jenny paused, her mind racing, "…six, maybe seven hundred 800s or 801s. We can't build anything more advanced than Triple-Eights, and obviously the more advanced the machines we build, the fewer we can afford to construct, while the reverse is also true – the less advanced they are, the more we can construct."
"I want this place fully spun up and working on Triple-Eights and T-740s inside of the next hour," Connor ordered. "How many can you give me on a one-to-one ratio?"
"Call it at least three hundred of each, bare minimum," Jenny replied. "We'll definitely end up building more than that – I just don't know precisely how many more yet; maybe a dozen to two-dozen."
"How many of those can be finished inside of twenty-four hours?"
"That's only long enough for each assembly line to complete one Terminator each, so a hundred and twenty-eight machines. However, the second batch of 740s can be completed within twenty-six hours."
Connor gave a curt and final nod. "Do it," he ordered. "Corporal Briscoe?"
Still staring at the T-800's bare loins, Briscoe barely acknowledged her own name. "Mmm?"
Following Briscoe's gaze, Connor looked back at her and smirked, amused, and then glanced briefly over at Jenny; Jenny could only grimace in embarrassment and stare down at the mesh beneath her feet.
"Cameron?" said Connor, turning to his bodyguard. "Snap Corporal Briscoe out of it, would ya? Gently."
Cameron nodded in silent obedience and slung her rifle across her back; marching over to Briscoe, Cameron gently but firmly cupped the corporal's cheeks in her hands and leaned in to kiss the young woman on the lips.
Briscoe snapped out of her daze to find Cameron passionately kissing her, the Terminator's tongue slipping between her lips and exploring her mouth's interior. Briscoe gave a muffled squawk of shock around Cameron's tongue and raised her hands, a little fearful and very confused, blushing in embarrassment.
"That's enough, thanks, Cameron," Connor called out; instantly, Cameron pulled away from Briscoe and returned to Connor's side, sliding her rifle around ready for use as she did so.
"Uh – uh – s-sir?" Briscoe asked. "Uh… wh-wha—?"
"Are you back with us now, Corporal Briscoe?" Connor interrupted mock-sternly.
"Uh, y-yes, sir!" Briscoe stammered.
"Good." Connor jerked his head towards where the T-800 stood silently watching the proceedings. "Take him to your battalion quartermaster's office and get him issued with fatigues, weapons and other gear, then send him to me."
"Yes, sir!" Briscoe snapped out, smartly saluting with her left hand by mistake. Connor feigned not to notice, trying not to show too much amusement as a still-blushing Briscoe quickly left with the T-800 in tow.
[—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—]
Friday 8th November 2030
Huntress Compound, Wyoming
"Sir, what exactly do you expect me to do with him?" Major General Perry asked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at where the sentinel-like T-800 stood in the corner of his office.
"What's the problem?" Connor asked, glancing over at the silent Terminator.
Perry snorted. "He's obsolete, that's the problem," he replied. "Skynet's fielding Triple-Eights as its main infiltration units now – a T-800 might, just might have a chance against one of those, but if he runs into one of the new 920s, or a T-X? That's suicide!"
"And how well does a human being compare to a 920 or a T-X?" Connor asked, his tone mild.
Perry huffed out a deep breath. "Even worse," he conceded.
"Besides, when was the last time anyone reported sighting a T-X since Eliza? And she's on our side now."
"I take your point, sir," said Perry. "But the 920s are still a problem."
Connor shook his head. "Not as much as they used to be. Skynet still hasn't built any new ones since the Scalpers nuked the Dallas plant last year."
"But, sir… Look, I understand that you built a T-800 first to test out if Calendar's 'programming-from-scratch' plan would work or not," said Perry, "'cause the 800's got the exact same combat chassis as the 740 Series, so if it'd gone belly-up then Cameron there and Calendar's pet T-740s coulda put him down nice an' easy between her smarts and their strength.
"Well, now you know it works, and that's great, but the problem is I have absolutely no idea what I'm supposed to do with him now we've got him," Perry continued. "We could always upgrade him to T-850 specs, but even 850s are obsolete these days."
Connor nodded thoughtfully. "Okay," he said at last. "Okay. Send him to Topanga Canyon."
Perry raised an incredulous eyebrow. "You want to send him back in time?"
"Yes. We've got intel confirming that Skynet's sending more and more Greys back into the past, right?" said Connor. "They're going back to do exactly what our people are doing – assembling caches of supplies and equipment, trying to change things just enough to give their side an advantage.
"The Greys are human, so they're better-suited for long-term infiltration missions into the past than any Terminator that Skynet's got – well, any Terminator short of a TOK. And the way things are going, Skynet needs as many Terminators in this timeframe as it can possibly get, so it can't afford to send too many back to the past without really good reasons."
"Right," Perry agreed. "Hell, the war here is the whole reason Skynet shifted away from infiltration when it first brought out the 900 Series range – no skin sheath, no camouflage, no infiltration programming… When you get down to it, those damned 920s're really just improved 740s. Maybe the 920's faster and its combat chassis's tougher, but they still do the same job in the same way."
"And seeing how it's impossible to fit a 900 range design with an infiltration hardware/software package, none of them will be making any time jumps," said Connor. "That's gotta increase Skynet's reliance on using the Greys to fight for it on the Temporal Front."
"…And Greys know precisely dick about how to fight Terminators," Perry realised, looking over at the T-800.
Connor grinned. "There you go," he said. "Send him—" he gestured at the Terminator, "—up against a cell of – what? Half a dozen Greys? A dozen, two dozen, even? – in the past, with no access to anything more advanced than firearms? He'll just wade right through them all and there won't be a damned thing they could possibly do to stop him."
Perry shifted uncomfortably. "General… Sir, uh… Y-Your mother managed to destroy the T-800 sent to kill her in 1984, and she didn't even know how to handle a gun back then," he pointed out.
Connor sighed as he stared Perry straight in the eye. "My mother… my mother was an extraordinary woman, Perry," Connor said softly. "She was one in a million, maybe one in a billion. She was very smart, very creative… and, honestly? She was also very, very lucky.
"It's very unlikely that any Grey in the past will be similarly lucky, or smart, or creative," Connor continued; Perry nodded in agreement at that. "And besides, I'm not thinking of sending the T-800 back on his own – I want him to hook up with one of our units that's already in place in the past. They'll find the Greys' hideouts, then send in the 800 while they form cut-off groups and secure the area if the Greys have weight of numbers on their side, a defensible position, or both.
"Our people will play it smart – unlike the T-800 in 1984 did. That machine was operating without support and had no experience of the past. If he had had either one of those things to assist him, he probably would have killed my mother, and then… well, history would be very different."
Perry cracked a grin at that. "Talk about the understatement of the year, sir," he told the younger man.
Connor returned the grin. "I know. I also want to take a few of the new Triple-Eights from '396, and send them back to do the same job. Maybe send one to work with the same unit as the 800, just in case they run into a Skynet Triple-Eight or a TOK unit. One of our Triple-Eights and an 800 working together should be able to take care of that."
Perry nodded, then tapped a few keys to call up a series of lists on the monitor before them. "Okay… so, where and when do you wanna send the 800, sir?"
Connor studied the data intently, rubbing his chin. "How about… there?" he said, indicating a unit listing.
"That's Lieutenant Berkeley's unit from the 21st Recon Company – B Troop," said Perry. "She's a damn good soldier, a good leader – hell, she could have my job one day," he finished with a grin.
"I'll keep that in mind," Connor said lightly. "How do her people feel about working with our Terminators?"
Perry shrugged. "They worked okay with Solo at Vicksburg and Houston, I know that much."
"Solo… he's an 850, right? We sent him back last June to intercept the first T-X in 2004?"
"That's him," Perry confirmed. "Okay, B Troop didn't bond with Solo like the Hell-Hounds have done with his older brother Glitch, or the Scalpers with Eliza… but you gotta remember, it took the Hell-Hounds a few missions to warm up to Glitch, and both units fought against Eliza back when she was trying to kill you so it took the Scalpers months to get used to her. B Troop knew Solo for a total of, what? Call it five days, total, for two missions?"
"So it's not really surprising they didn't get all buddy-buddy with Solo… You think Berkeley's people will work okay with him, then?" Connor asked, jerking his head in the T-800's direction.
Perry smirked. "Just so long as you remember to set this one's chip to 'write' mode this time, then yeah, I think so."
Connor winced. "Don't remind me… I still can't believe I sent Bob back stuck in 'read only'…" he said regretfully.
"Well, according to your updated memories, you and your mom fixed that soon enough," Perry consoled him.
Connor chuckled. "Yeah… at least there's that."
[—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—]
A/N: I'm terribly sorry about the delay since my last update: I had to respond to a family emergency. (Nothing too serious, as things turned out.) The next episode will be up fairly soon.
Many thanks to everyone on TtH and FFN who's reviewed: I treasure each and every one of them. Please keep them coming…
I'll be back,
El ;)