A black SUV screamed down the main road and weaved in and out of the mid afternoon traffic, cutting off several cars and earning angry beeps from other motorists in protest at the madman in the car driving like a lunatic. The car approached an intersection as the lights turned red but instead of stopping the driver put a foot down on the gas, accelerating further. Cars passed from left to right and vice versa at the crossroads and the SUV charged straight ahead at speed. They screeched to a halt and skidded, trying to turn away from the idiot surging forwards and ignoring basic common sense. More horns blared angrily at the wacko who seemed to think the Highway Code didn't apply to him.
"Screw you too," Knowles growled at an old lady in a Buick as he roared past her, missing the front of her car by inches. He didn't have time to waste stopping for traffic. Seconds later he was through and pushed the gas down to the floor, pushing the car far above the speed limit.
He pulled out his cell phone and pressed 1 on the speed dial – his wife's number – and pressed call. He held the steering wheel with one hand and held the cell to his ear with the other. "The number you dialled cannot be recognised. Please hang up and try again."
"Damn it!" Knowles shouted and threw the phone into the passenger footwell in anger. He'd tried half a dozen times since taking off from Ellison's house and each time he'd heard the same message. Thoughts of what might have happened to them ran through his mind; grizzly visions of his smoking home riddled with bullets and blasted apart; his wife and two girls laid out in pools of blood, bullets in their skulls...
Finally he reached his street and leaned forward against the wheel, peering to see his house in the distance. As he got closer he saw it; a detached, three bedroom, ordinary home, with a small but tidy front lawn and a drive at the side with his wife's car still parked up. The doors were closed and all the windows were intact, but he couldn't see any movement inside.
The car swung into the drive and Knowles pushed the door open hard, launched himself out and onto his feet and ran around it to the front door, keeping the keys in the ignition and leaving the engine running. He pushed the front door open and ran through the living room, hearing noise in the kitchen at the back of the house.
"Kate!" he stormed into the kitchen and saw her standing over the oven, stirring a large stainless steel pot. Spices wafted into his nostrils but the smell that would normally have his mouth watering when he came home was completely ignored this time.
Kate, his wife of seventeen years, turned around to see her husband red in the face, wearing black tactical clothes and with a large gun still strapped to him. "What's going on?" she looked at him as if he'd grown a second head. She could see he was afraid, and it made her nervous.
"Oh thank God!" he blurted out, seeing she was alive and well. "I've been trying to call you; I couldn't get through."
Kate slid her cell phone across the kitchen counter towards him. "No signal," she said as he picked it up and saw there were no bars on the little satellite dish icon. "It's been really weird for the last hour or so; what's going on?" she asked him again.
"Where are the girls?" Knowles ignored her.
"Amy's in her room and Melissa's around Simon's house; he's coming over for dinner later."
Simon, Knowles' eyes lit up at the mention of his fifteen year old daughter's boyfriend as an idea took hold. He'd never been fond of Simon; it wasn't his fault, Knowles knew subconsciously: he was a rich kid who'd never done a day's hard graft in his life. He never trusted rich people; they normally got rich by screwing someone over and they passed those same genes on to their kids. Simon seemed nice but that had always made Knowles distrust him more. But he had a car.
"Get Amy, drive round to Simon's and the two of you and Melissa borrow his car; take it down to San Diego and stay with Mike and Jenny for a few days." Mike had been his buddy in the Marines; his squad 2ic and the best man at his and Kate's wedding.
Kate took a step closer to him and eyed her husband with suspicion. "Tell me what's going on," she all but ordered him.
Knowles sighed, knowing he had to tell her something or she wouldn't budge, and her stubbornness wouldn't be any match for what was coming their way. "The contract I took, the one I said seemed too good to be true: it was."
"What have you gotten involved in?" she asked suspiciously, wondering what the hell he was talking about. She'd always been wary of his private security career; she'd been convinced he was going to get himself killed out in Iraq or some other hellhole.
"The firm I'm running security for is up to something," he told her. "I stumbled across something I shouldn't have and now they're coming here. You've gotta go, now."
Kate saw the abject fear in his eyes and realised that whatever was going on, he was deadly serious and he wasn't going to take no for an answer. He'd already left the room and gone upstairs, taking three steps at a time as he bounded up to the second floor of their house and into his youngest daughter's bedroom.
"Dad!" Amy protested, turning from the laptop at her desk to confront him. "Haven't you heard of knocking?"
He ignored her and pulled a duffel bag from the top of her wardrobe, opening it to reveal her vast collection of clothes. "Pack your bags," he told her sternly. She stepped forward to challenge him, annoyed at the invasion of her privacy, but he was having none of it. "Amy, if you don't pack this bag then I will; and you know what my fashion sense is like."
Amy snatched the bag from his grasp and started to pull tops and jeans off of hangars and stuff them inside. "Fine," she rolled her eyes, exasperated. No way was she going to let her dad pack her clothes for her; he was the worst dressed guy in the world. Knowles heard his wife coming up the stairs and turned to her. "You pack too," he told her. "We're out of this house in two minutes."
Kate nodded nervously and disappeared into their bedroom to pack, and Amy pulled her cell charger from the wall socket. She took her laptop from the desk and started to insert that into her bag as well. Knowles quickly grabbed it, pulled it out and put it back on the desk.
"Dad," she moaned, "I can't go without my computer."
"Yes you can," he said absently. "I never had a laptop as a kid and I turned out fine." He didn't know much about AIs but he reckoned they could probably track their movements, cell phone conversation and even internet use. Kaliba was plugged into everything, from what he'd seen, and he wasn't going to give them any avenue to exploit. He saw the square bulge in Amy's jeans pocket and realised something else could give them away, too. "And the iPhone," he held his hand out.
She shook her head adamantly this time, digging her heels in. "No way," she said. "I can't live without it; how am I meant to call my friends?"
"You don't. You can't live without it? You'll die with it," he snapped. They didn't have time for this crap. "Phone. Now."
"You suck, Dad," Amy grumbled under her breath as she reluctantly handed over the phone to her dad.
"Yeah, yeah," he rolled his eyes. At least she'd be alive to not like him, he thought. "I'll buy you a Kindle if you just do what I say." As a father of two teenage girls, he knew full well that bribery was often the most effective way to get their cooperation. He rarely ever used it but this was an emergency.
Amy noticed the assault rifle strapped to her dad's chest and swallowed nervously. "Dad, why have you got a gun?"
"Doesn't matter," he said. "Go pack a bag for your sister; you've got two minutes." He left the room and went into his bedroom, where his wife was finishing packing a bag. Only a small one, he noticed; she knew he wasn't going with them.
He pulled out a metal lock box from inside a dresser drawer and turned the key already in it. Inside was a snub nosed .38 revolver, already loaded and with a box of spare rounds. He pulled the gun out, reached for Kate's hand and pressed the weapon into her palm. "Take this," he said gently as he handed it to her. She tried to push it away but he held it fast to her. "Just in case. Get down to Mike and Jenny and stay for a couple days. Don't call anyone, and I mean anyone."
"Are you gonna tell me what's going on?" Kate asked as she finally took the pistol, slipped it into her bag before zipping it up, and putting the case over her shoulder as she carried it out of her room and through the landing, down the stairs where Amy was already waiting with her own bag and one for Melissa – whether it was her favourite clothes or ones his eldest daughter wouldn't be seen dead in, depended entirely on Amy's mood and how well they were getting along. He'd been working so long on the Kaliba job he hadn't seen them in two weeks, so he had no idea.
He pulled Kate close to him as Amy got into the passenger seat of the family car. "I promise I'll tell you when it's over," he said softly to her. He leaned in to kiss her but she turned away, supremely pissed off, and she ducked into the car and closed the door. The window was still open and he leaned into it, meeting her eyes for a moment. "When you get to Simon's, do whatever it takes to get his car. Bribe him if you have to, and leave this one with him. Don't tell him or anyone else where you're going. Get down to Mike and Jenny's and don't get out of the car until you do. I'll call you when it's safe."
"You better tell me what this is about later," she said angrily as she backed the car out of the drive and rolled away, quickly disappearing around the corner and onto the main road. Knowles felt a pain in his chest watching them leave, knowing he might never see them again. He couldn't risk them, though. Their best bet was to get well away from him and keep hidden. He'd have to check in with Mike later on and let him know Kate and the girls were on their way. Until then he had to figure out his next move.
Sarah pushed her sunglasses further up her nose to block out the glaring sunlight, and adjusted the peaked cap for the hundredth time as she carefully watched people passing by outside their car, watching for the merc she'd seen before and scrutinising everyone she could for any signs they recognised her. They'd driven from the safehouse, through the desert and back into the bloated urban sprawl of LA County, further west into the tiny Oxnard Airport, following the directions Danny had given them. The airport wasn't busy but there were enough people there to make her distinctly uncomfortable. She looked across to John, in the driver's seat, and wondered how he could seem so calm and collected.
"Relax, mom," he said, noticing how tense she was. Even more than usual; she'd reached for her Glock a couple of time when people looked for even a fraction of a second too long. A security guard had tapped on the window at one point and she'd nearly jumped through the roof. It had taken her a supreme act of will not to pull out the gun. Luckily enough he'd had no idea who they were and had only wanted to tell them to move out of the handicapped parking zone.
"How am I meant to relax with Kaliba and the feds after us?" she asked. She spotted a security camera bearing down on them, attached to a lamppost and watching the car park. "Goddamn September 11th," she muttered. From what she'd read about the subject practically every airport in the world had beefed up security and surveillance since then. It made life more and more difficult for them to operate, and she ached to get back to the isolation of the desert; away from any cameras, cops, or people in general.
"After being hunted by HKs and endos the feds are nothing," John tapped his fingers against the wheel.
"Guess so," Sarah shrugged. She looked out of the windshield and saw the helicopters in the distance on the far side of the runway, over half a mile away and barely visible; they couldn't make out any details at least, and the small propeller driven planes taxiing for takeoff kept getting in the way. She couldn't see any signs of the silver helicopter Danny had told them about. Was he luring them into a trap, or sending them on a wide goose chase?
She watched John staring outside at the airport runway, his attention not wavering for a second as he scanned it like a hawk. She didn't know what to say to him; she had so many questions about the future but she wasn't sure if he'd really want to talk about it; a lot of soldiers she'd met had been reluctant to talk about their experiences in war, and what he'd just been through could be described as no less than the worst war ever fought in human history.
"How'd you meet Savannah?" She asked, deciding to start off with something smaller.
"She found me," John said to her. "Her and Ellison; they'd waited years for me, just to get me back here. I never would have found Cameron without them – I wouldn't have even made it without them." He'd felt alone for so long now but he'd realised in the future he couldn't do it all on his own. Nobody could survive this alone.
"How?" Sarah asked, now her interest was piqued.
"You buried Cameron and he knew where; he led me there and we dug her up with the guns – thanks," he smiled gratefully at her. "I needed those weapons," more than she could ever have anticipated, he thought. "We used up every last bullet."
There was another question on the tip of Sarah's tongue but she wasn't sure if she really wanted to know the answer. She hesitated for a moment before deciding to push on and ask anyway. "Where was I in all this?"
John swallowed sadly and his face fell a fraction of an inch. He looked down at the dashboard and clenched his jaw as his whole face tightened uncomfortably, recalling Ellison's story about how his mom had died. It hasn't happened yet, he reminded himself. "You... didn't make it," he said.
Sarah looked away awkwardly for a moment, not sure what to say to that. She'd figured from the look on his face even before he spoke that she must have died. "How?" she asked, dreading the answers after all the worries and tests she'd had done lately. One word rang through her mind, even more inexorable than Skynet and the looming Judgement Day.
"Kaliba attacked Ellison's house; you held them off so Ellison and Savannah could escape."
Strangely, morbidly, a sense of relief swept over Sarah at hearing that. She'd gone down fighting; she'd been killed by Kaliba's goons. That wasn't so bad, she thought. "At least it wasn't cancer," she shrugged. She'd hated the idea of dying from cancer ever since Cameron told her about it; it was one thing to eat a bullet trying to stop the machines from taking over the world, that wasn't so bad – it'd be quick and at least she'd have given it her all. But having some insidious... thing growing inside you, totally malevolent, eating you away slowly from the inside: not how she wanted to meet her maker.
'Cancer'... that one word resounded in john's head and bounced around his skull like a pinball. He recalled exactly what Cameron had told him in the motel before they'd both gone through time. 'She's lost eleven percent of her body mass...'
"Mom, are you sick?" John asked, feeling himself turn a shade paler. He'd come back in time to save her from being killed by Kaliba: had he just traded a quick death on her feet for a slow, agonising one? The thought that he might not have changed anything, that he couldn't save her, sent an icy chill down his spine and tightened his chest. He felt slightly sick at the thought of it.
"I'm fine," Sarah replied quickly, looking forward as a twin engine Cessna took off into the sky.
John knew his mom well enough to know when to back off, so he decided not to push it further. He looked out but still couldn't see any sign of a silver helicopter. It didn't help that the airport terminal blocked much of their view of the other side of the runway, and half of the helicopter landing pads were obscured. He opened the door and stepped outside into the bright sunshine, taking out a pair of large black binoculars with him.
"What're you doing?" Sarah looked around nervously. "People are going to see us." The airport wasn't exactly heaving but there were still enough people around – and security cameras – to make her uncomfortable about getting out of the car.
"We'll be fine," John said. He realised that at some point in the past they'd fallen back and started being defensive; reacting to protect people on the blood wall, keeping hidden from Cromartie, and generally having no idea on their next move. That had to change; now he was running the show, not his mom, and they were going on the attack. That meant taking risks but so be it.
He shut the door, adjusted his own shades and baseball cap – knowing very well how to disguise his face from the public and from security cameras. He kept his head level and didn't look up at the CCTV. According to Danny, Skynet was active: it was online and it had a thirst for knowledge and information. If it was anything like John Henry it was probably sifting through terabytes of information online, and seeing as it already seemed to be trying to hunt him down – judging from all the mercenaries who'd attacked them before and killed Charley – chances were it was monitoring CCTV cameras throughout the region, so he still had to be careful.
Sarah hurriedly followed after him, and joined John at the other end of the parking lot. As she caught up with him she realised that things had changed and now suddenly she wasn't calling the shots anymore. She didn't know what to think about that; she was so used to being in charge, and being the only person she could depend on, that on the one hand it made her uncomfortable. A selfish part, deep down inside her also felt relieved that someone else had now taken the burden from her, though she chided herself that that person was her son, the very person she'd wanted to avoid putting all this on. She was also worried about him leading when Cameron could influence him, but she realised as he led them across the grass verge and past the terminal building that he'd taken the decision squarely out of her hands.
They walked around the side of the airport terminal; it was only a small facility, built to handle light domestic flights only, so it didn't take them long to make their way around the building. The runways themselves were on the other side of a twelve foot chain link fence, with curls of razor wire on top. Even though it was only a very minor airport they still took security seriously.
Eventually they cleared the terminal building and walked around the perimeter fence. John stopped and put the binoculars to his face and looked towards the helicopters out on the field, glancing from one to the next as he searched for a silver chopper.
"Aren't we going to look suspicious?" Sarah asked, gesturing to the field glasses. John put them down for a moment and looked around.
"Not really," he said, pointing to three guys in their early twenties, a hundred yards or so away from them doing the exact same thing. He looked around and saw several plane spotters, all with binos, all looking up at the sky or at the aircraft on the strips. They were just two more people who blended in with the crowd of enthusiasts. John couldn't see the appeal of standing around at an airport for hours looking at planes, but it made good cover. He just hoped nobody came and asked him questions about aircraft as he didn't have the slightest clue.
He looked through the binoculars again and swept them slowly to the right. There wasn't a single silver helicopter landed on the field. He sighed, disappointed. It had been a long shot; chances were even if Danny was telling them the truth that the odds of it being there when they were would be slight.
A rotary engine whirred up in the sky and John moved the binos up, catching a flicker of movement in the upper limits of his view through the lenses; a faint dot approaching in the air. It grew closer until they could both hear the whirring of its blades, and John got a good look at the aircraft as it hovered over the field and descended towards the grassy field enclosed within the fence.
"It's silver," John commented, his lips pursed into a tight smile and he felt the kind of tense anticipation he'd had before in the future when he'd been waiting to ambush a terminator and saw something approaching. He felt like a predator that had just caught the scent of dangerous prey.
He was aware that Sarah couldn't see too well but that didn't matter; only one of them needed to have eyes on the helicopter as it landed. This could still be a wild goose chase, he thought. The aircraft was unmarked, which in itself aroused suspicion. Every other bird in the airport – plane or helicopter – had a serial number on the tail or the wings. This one was completely blank. The FAA would probably have a thing or two to say about that, he thought.
The helicopter lowered down until it landed and the blades started to slow. A side door slid open moments after it touched down and seven men stepped out, wearing jeans, sunglasses, and a variety of jackets, despite the punishing California heat – or is that just me, still? John wondered. He knew it'd take time to get acclimatised to pre J-Day California but even so...
"Is it hot or is it just me?" John asked his mom. He turned to her and saw beads of sweat around her temples and her neck.
"Boiling," Sarah answered. She was too focused on the helicopter – despite not being able to make out any details without binos – to worry about wiping sweat off or trying to cool herself.
"Makes sense," John nodded grimly. He took notice of the jackets they were wearing; two leather, one denim, and the rest were something else – not what he'd be wearing in this heat. They weren't wearing them to keep warm; they were wearing them to hide something. "They're armed," he said. He watched as the last two men out of the chopper pulled long black bags out with them. The men filed away from the helicopter and walked across the airfield.
John put the binoculars down and turned to face his mom. "Danny was right," he said to her, "Silver helicopter, just like he said, and half a dozen guys I'd bet anything are mercenaries."
"That puts Danny at notch one," Sarah said harshly. She still didn't trust the spoilt little brat and probably never would.
John said nothing, sharing at least some of his mother's sentiment. He didn't trust Danny either, yet. The difference between him and his mom however was that he could actually be reached, it was possible for Danny to prove himself to him if he really wanted to; chances are it would take Danny to die helping them – like his father – before Sarah would be swayed.
"Heads up," Sarah said as the seven mercenaries marched out of the airport perimeter and into the parking lot, only a few metres away from them. John handed his mom the binoculars and watched the men from the corner of his eye whilst pointing up into the air at a plane coming in to land and pretending to be interested. The men passed by behind him, laughing, joking and chatting to themselves like a group of guys out on a stag party, and John looked back to his right as they headed towards a pair of black SUVs. He caught a good look at the bags two of the men were carrying; they looked heavy from the way the men were heaving them, and judging from the length and width of them he figured they held the team's assault weapons. The airport was so tiny, handling mostly propeller-driven airplanes and some helicopters, that it probably didn't even have a security desk.
They all had short hair and looked lean and muscular; they were mercenaries all right, John thought. They had ex military written all over them. He felt sorry for the poor bastards; they, like Danny, didn't even know they were bringing about the end of the world. He reckoned none of the engineers he'd mentioned knew about it either.
"They didn't recognise us," Sarah noted with satisfaction. They'd just walked right on by. Of course, her hair was blonde, they were both wearing hats and shades, and these guys wouldn't exactly be expecting to see their targets – assuming they were their targets – the moment they landed. They probably wouldn't even be on the job until they got changed into tactical gear and armed themselves.
"That's the recon sorted," John said as he turned and headed back to their Lexus and got into the driver's seat. Sarah joined him a moment later. He watched and waited as the mercenaries in their SUVs left the parking lot and joined onto the main road. He gave it a few minutes before he started it up and pulled out of the bay, drove out of the lot and onto the same road the Kaliba goons had taken before, but in the opposite direction from them.
"We're not following them?" Sarah asked. "What about declaring war on Kaliba?"
"Doesn't mean we go in guns blazing," John said evenly as he took the next right. It would have been tempting to have gone after them, found out where they were going and set up an ambush; whittle down their numbers a bit and make Kaliba more manageable, but those were his mom's kind of tactics, and as much as he loved her, as great a fighter she was, it hadn't worked out too well so far.
John had no intention of following them; he didn't need to know where they were going, and if they were going after them then the last place he wanted to be was up their asses keeping an eye on them; he'd seen in the future how in the blink of an eye the hunters could become the hunted. This was his war and he was going to fight smart. They had their first intelligence confirmed and they now had a slight lead to Kaliba. The pilot would know exactly where their base was. "Let's see what Ellison comes up with," he said as he took the next road heading east, taking them towards the highway that ran north of Los Angeles. He didn't want to enter the sprawling metropolis and was more than happy to keep to the sparser surrounding areas.
"When this is all over I want to leave LA," John said. "It's too crowded; too many bad memories here."
"Memories don't leave you," Sarah told him. "Doesn't matter where you go." She knew that all too well; the memories of Kyle stuck with her, and even leaving LA, years later she'd recalled sights, feelings, and even smells that reminded her of their time together. Every other man she'd slept with, except for maybe Charley, in her mind's eye she'd pictured Kyle instead.
"We can start over," he said, "live our lives again."
The idea appealed to Sarah, she had to admit. She pursed her lips and looked out the window at the scenery whipping by as she tried to imagine her life if they stopped it. She couldn't picture it, though. "It'll be the same as before," she said sadly. "On the run from the law, always looking over our shoulders, and always wondering if we've really stopped it."
"That's where you're wrong," John shook his head, a sly smile parting his lips. "Cameron can take care of that."
"How?" she asked, not sure if she liked the idea of leaving her future life and freedom in the hands of an all too glitchy cyborg.
"Cameron merged with John Henry in the future; they're the same person now, and Weaver gave Cameron... upgrades. She'll know if the FBI are onto us, she'll know if there's another Skynet. If it happens again she can nip it in the bud before it starts."
"I don't trust her," Sarah said simply, laying her cards out on the table in full. "How am I supposed to when she tried to kill you and took you away?"
"She didn't. I chose to go. I didn't have to follow, but I made the choice. I went through hell to find her but I'd do it again in a heartbeat if I had to. You know why." John stopped for a moment and saw his mom's jaw clench, her face tightened and she was clearly wrestling with the implications of what he'd just said. "I trust her, mom. I'm asking you to do the same."
Sarah sat in silence as myriad thoughts ran through her head. She saw a flash of John when he was twelve, convincing her not to smash the other machine's chip, the flashes of leadership that had briefly emerged back then. It was more now; he clearly wasn't a kid anymore. What happened between them in the future? She asked herself. What had happened to make her son trust the machine so much, to care about it enough to risk his life jumping through to an unknown, dangerous future like that? She knew her son, though; he wouldn't budge on this. He'd defended Cameron before and she realised he always would. Constantly suspecting Cameron or trying to get John away from her would only drive a rift between her and her son, when she'd only just gotten him back. She wasn't going to risk losing him again.
"I'll play it your way," she finally said. "I'll lay off her." For now, she thought. The machine had one chance and that was it; if it blew it then she'd be ready and waiting with the thermite.
"I missed you, mom," John smiled happily, turning to her for a brief second before setting his eyes back on the road.
"You too," she replied. "What was it like in the future?" She remembered every word Kyle had told her about it, but imagining it wasn't the same.
John's smile faded at the haunting memories that would be with him for the rest of his life. He hadn't yet had any nightmares about it but he knew they'd start sometime soon and then they'd never go away. "Hell," he summed up in one word. He decided not to tell her that in the first few days he'd been captured, barely escaped alive, been beaten up, robbed and left for dead. Nor that Kyle had hooked up with Allison; he didn't think she'd want to hear about that. "If it hadn't been for Savannah and Ellison I never would have survived." And if it hadn't been for Ellison and his mom, he realised he never would have gotten Cameron back. "Thank you," he leaned over and kissed her cheek.
"What for?" she asked, genuinely confused now.
"For not burning Cameron," John said. "For the guns, the clothes... for everything."
For the first time in a long time, Sarah genuinely smiled. She had her son back, and soon all would be right with the world.
Ellison and Savannah were led through the dingy, unused industrial complex by two burly, leather clad heavies with dark hair, pale skin despite the California sun, and both with cigarettes clamped between their lips. The sun was shining brightly but it didn't make the place seem any more cheerful. Abandoned factories and warehouses lined the area and created a maze that would be easy to get lost in.
Before leaving the desert safehouse Savannah had changed into some of Cameron's spare clothes that had been packed there a long time ago; dark grey combats that were a little too long in the leg, a black t-shirt, and boots that fit comfortably – by stroke of luck it had turned out they were both the same shoe size. She felt a lot more comfortable now, in better clothes than skirt and sandals; it might be what a lot of people liked, but not her. She'd pick function over fashion, any day.
"This place creeps me out," Savannah said quietly to Ellison.
"It's just a little run down," he replied. He knew that Malenkov liked to keep his business away from his upscale home in Beverley Hills. He actually lived in a gated community there, in a house that Ellison couldn't have afforded in two lifetimes on his Zeiracorp salary. Sasha Malenkov had greased the right wheels with the US Government, all right. Uncle Sam had made him extremely wealthy.
"It's not that; in the future this place is a Skynet repair facility." She remembered when the pair of them had travelled to LA in the future, to wait for John. They'd spotted this place on their journey and had almost been spotted by patrolling Centaurs as they'd tried to slip past it. She looked at the younger version of her surrogate father and thought back to how he'd looked after her back then. Despite her skill and knack for survival it had been his cool head that had kept them alive and her from going off the deep end. The amount of times when she'd wanted to just open up on a machine and he'd talked her out of it – saving her life in the process – was too many to even count.
The two heavies led them into the same warehouse as they'd led Ellison and Sarah before, through to the vast, cavernous interior. Their footsteps echoed slightly in the large, empty open space.
"Weapons?" The shorter one – the uglier of the two – looked at them expectantly. Ellison opened his jacket – a beige lightweight one he'd taken from his own house after changing into more suitable clothing than the usual suit and tie – and pulled out a Glock 17 from a pancake holster within.
"And you?" the taller one stared at Savannah. She handed over a Sig Sauer but the two men weren't satisfied; one at a time they frisked them, taking slightly longer to do Savannah than Ellison, much to her irritation. He pulled out a combat knife that she'd taken from the stores underneath the safehouse's floorboards and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.
"He is inside," the taller of the two told them. "Waiting for you." Savannah caught the shorter one leering at her and make no attempt to disguise his lecherous stares.
"Maybe when you're finished with Mister Malenkov, we can have some fun," he winked at Savannah and smiled. She managed, barely, to stop herself from shuddering at the thought of his suggestion. He was no different from the men she'd whored herself out to for drugs and booze when she'd gone off the rails: fuck-ugly old men, unable to attract a woman using their looks or personalities, who'd happily taken advantage of a vulnerable teenage girl who'd needed help. He disgusted her.
"Maybe not," she glared icily at him. He grinned again, reached out and brushed his hand against her ass. Savannah instantly whirled around and threw a vicious punch into the goon's face, smashing his nose in a shower of blood and dropping the man to the ground, reaching into her hair with her free hand at the same instant in almost a blur of movement. She saw the other heavy reaching for his gun and she pulled the vegetable knife out from under her long hair. She thrust it forward as the barrel of his pistol pressed against her cheek, and she held the blade against the man's throat. He stared at her with a mixture of contempt and surprise; how the hell had a woman like this managed to hide a knife from them, and on top of it all, bring it out so fast the first he'd seen it was when it was pressed against his throat?
"I should blow your head off," the man spat out, flecks of spittle spraying Savannah's face, joining the reeking smell of fried food and cigarettes that assaulted her nose.
"You could do that, but you'll just die slower than me," she commented, glaring at him with mutual hatred. The shorter man got back up, drew his gun and pointed it at the back of her head. Ellison could do nothing but watch as the three of them were locked into a Mexican standoff.
"Drop the knife," the shorter one with a now broken nose snapped.
"Let them come," Malenkov's voice boomed from the open doors of the shipping crate. He stepped towards them and surveyed the scene before him. On his order, the two heavies lowered their weapons and pocketed them. Savannah hesitated for a moment before she too withdrew her blade, albeit reluctantly, and handed it to the taller one.
"I'm sorry," Malenkov said amicably, gesturing for the pair of them to follow him into the container. They entered and sat down at the wooden seats in front of the desk whilst the arms dealer himself took the leather seat behind it and leaned back. The two guards stood outside; the taller one helping the other with his bloodied and broken nose.
Savannah's eyes opened wide at the sight of the weapons on racks and shelves that lined the walls of the container. Assault rifles, shotguns, pistols, grenade launchers... there was even a Browning M2 .50 cal along the back wall, behind Malenkov, just above a minigun mounted like a trophy below it. The place was virtually an armoury; this guy's better tooled up than some army bases, she thought. Now she could see why Sarah had come here, and probably had to endure the same two insufferable goons outside as well.
"It's nice to see you again, James," he smiled at Ellison. He turned to Savannah and extended his perfectly manicured hand. "I don't believe we've met," he said to her, a slight smile on his face, but not the lecherous grins the other two had worn.
"Savannah," she replied curtly, not bothering to take his hand. This guy might be someone to some people, but not to her.
"Lovely to meet you," Malenkov smiled politely as he withdrew his hand. If he was bothered about her not shaking his hand he didn't show it. He turned to Ellison with a quizzical look. "I was not expecting to see you so soon, James; you haven't used all the weapons I sold you already?" He hadn't heard of any small wars being fought anywhere, and he knew Ellison wouldn't sell the weapons himself; he was too straight an arrow to enter his world. He would love to know what the man had used the weaponry for but one of the key requirements for arms trading was discretion: it was best not to ask questions he didn't really need to know the answers to. Idle curiosity had ruined deals and cost the lives of many men he'd known in his world.
Ellison shook his head slowly. "No; we don't need anymore guns, Sasha."
"Then, if I may ask; what are you here for?"
Savannah leaned forward and decided to get straight to the point. "We need information," she said. "Ellison says you're well connected."
Malenkov leaned back in his chair and looked at the red haired young lady. She was abrupt, straight to the point – bordering on rude – and he liked that. She spoke her mind, and that was something he wasn't used to. He wished more people did; he often had to deal with yes men and unfounded pleasantries when he just wanted to get down to business.
He leaned forward and brought his hands together, his interest piqued. "And what information do you require?" he asked.
"About a man," Ellison replied. "Andrew Knowles: a mercenary; mid forties, dark hair and living in LA. We think he's ex military. He's working for a company called Kaliba."
The Ukrainian took a pen from his desk and jotted down notes onto a small sheet of paper. Andrew Knowles... is there anything I should know?" he asked. "You have friends still at the FBI; are they unable to help you?"
Ellison hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to tell him. He wouldn't believe them if he told them the truth again, he hadn't done so last time but he'd still been happy to do business with them. "I have reason to believe it's not safe to contact them," he said. Ever since 9/11 there was software in place to monitor communications and filter through for certain words or phrases that could be linked to terrorist plots. He had to assume that Skynet had a similar ability and would be searching for any mention of itself, Kaliba, or even Knowles. It might be extreme but he had to play it safe and assume the absolute worst case scenario. "The people we're after – Kaliba – might be monitoring our communication, but they won't suspect you." That much was true; he hadn't officially dealt with Malenkov in two years; the Ukrainian should be a safe bet.
"What do I get from this arrangement, if I agree?"
That caused a pause for both Ellison and Savannah; the pair of them both knew they didn't have any real funds anymore. No cash and no assets; they were essentially living off what they could scavenge.
Malenkov noticed their hesitation and realised that Ellison must be desperate indeed. He turned to Savannah and looked her up and down. She was young, fit, very attractive, and intelligent, from what he could make out. "I'll do this as a favour to you, James," he said. He looked at Savannah again for a moment. "Young lady, you're clearly a woman of great skill; defeating my guards like you did. How would you like to work for me?"
"No thanks," she said without a moment's hesitation.
"Don't be so hasty," Malenkov said generously. "You'll make good money; more than you ever dreamed about."
"I don't need money," she replied simply. After living in the future money had only been good for burning to get some heat or to cook food, or in the case of coins, melting down and turning into shrapnel. She remembered constructing claymore mines in the future using plastic ice cream tubs, homemade plastic explosive and a bag of bullion they'd taken from a bank. Ironic to the world now, money had become the least sought after commodity after J-Day.
"Don't decide now," Malenkov said with a smile on his face, as if he hadn't heard her decline his offer. "Think about it, and make up your mind later." Unlike his crude bodyguards, he didn't see the young woman – attractive as she was – as a piece of meat, but he'd only seen a glimpse of her skill with the blade – both concealing it and deploying it so quickly his men had been taken completely off guard – and realised she would make an excellent edition to his enterprise.
"I'll do this for you, James. In return, you'll owe me a favour. Of my choosing; when, where and what I wish. Agreed?"
Ellison thought about it and found himself stricken with indecision: they needed information on Knowles, and whatever could lead them to Kaliba from him – and they needed it with minimal risk to themselves – but the idea of being indebted to Malenkov worried him deeply. Did he really want to end up in the employ of an international arms dealer – sanctioned by the CIA or not? He didn't really want to go down that road.
"I'll take the favour," Savannah volunteered herself. "One job; and it better not involve sex."
Malenkov held his hands up in front of him in protest. "I'd never suggest such a thing," he said reassuringly. Nothing like that, but I name the job; when and where," he told her. He had a few ideas in mind; ways he could utilise her skills. She wouldn't come to work for him, but if he had her just as a one off then he would have to choose carefully.
"Done," Savannah nodded curtly to him. If it meant taking out Skynet and stopping all this then she'd do it; she just hoped it wouldn't come back to haunt her later.
Malenkov pulled out a cell phone from a drawer in his desk and placed it on the wooden worktop, sliding it across to Ellison. "Take this," he said. "It's a pay and go cell with fifty dollars' credit; only I know the number. I'll call you when I have something." He nodded at them and the two took that as their cue to leave. Ellison led the way out and the taller of the two guards gave them their weapons back. The shorter one was nowhere to be seen, and Savannah guessed he was trying to fix up his broken nose. She smirked slightly as the remaining goon shoved her pistol and knife into her hands and watched her warily, clearly hating her but at the same time not wanting to piss her off.
"One last thing," Ellison turned to Malenkov as he put his pistol back into its holster. The Ukrainian looked up at him, listening intently to whatever the man had to say. "These people, Kaliba: they don't mess around – they flew a prototype drone into a building to kill Catherine Weaver."
"Zieracorp," Malenkov nodded knowingly. "I heard about that; the official report says a Cessna lost control and crashed into the tower."
"I was in the tower – in same the room it crashed into: it wasn't a Cessna. The official report isn't exactly what you'd call accurate," Ellison countered. Either Kaliba had cleaned up after themselves or they'd bribed, blackmailed or threatened someone into falsifying the report to cover it all up.
Malenkov smirked at him. "That's usually the case."
The sun shone brightly and its rays beat down on the small safehouse in the desert. All the windows were open but it didn't stop the temperature from climbing up into punishing levels. Three occupants were still inside, roasting as if they were in an oven.
Inside the main room, the couch had been pushed back against the wall and the floorboards underneath had been extracted, propped up against one corner of the room. From the hole in the floor Cameron extracted a pair of AK-47s, placed them onto the ground next to her, and reached in again to pull out white boxes marked 7.62x39mm, 100 rounds. She took out a cleaning kit from under the floorboards, quickly disassembled the AKs and started the monotonous process of oiling and cleaning the weapons.
Sweat dripped from her temples, her neck, and armpits, and stained the t-shirt she was wearing. Droplets ran into her eyes and without conscious thought she blinked them away; the action had been designed by Skynet to be dual purpose: both to appear more human but also because any blockage to the eyes could also obscure a terminator's vision just as it did with people. Other than the blinking, however, she showed no sign of distress from the heat as she worked.
"Aren't you hot?" Little Savannah asked, sat on the couch and watching every move Cameron made. She wiped the sweat off her own brow and wiped it on her dress. It was too hot and sticky, and they didn't have any clothes to fit her, so she'd had to wear the same things for days and she didn't like it.
"No," Cameron replied simply. Technically it wasn't true; she could feel the heat but it didn't bother her. But it would be easier to tell Savannah she wasn't hot.
"Can you feel heat?" Savannah asked her. "The basement at mommy's work was cold but John Henry never put on a sweater. Are you like him?"
"Yes," Cameron smiled slightly as she answered. "I'm like John Henry."
"But there's no cord in your head," the young redhead looked at her inquisitively. Cameron stared back at her and her face softened slightly. Did Savannah know she was a machine? Had she known John Henry was a machine, or did she think he was a strange human who lived in the basement and had a fibre optic cable connected into his skull?
"I don't need a cord," Cameron said. "You know what I am?"
"You're a robot, like John Henry."
"Cyborg," Cameron corrected her.
Savannah just stared at her, confused. "What's a cyborg?"
Cameron considered what to tell her: a full technical description would probably confuse her. "Like a robot," she settled with, "but more advanced."
Now Savannah was interested. She looked up at Cameron as she threaded a cloth attached to a length of string through the rifle's barrel. "Can you do anything cool?" she asked. "John Henry made the lights go funny."
"How about this?" Cameron asked. She made her eyes glow bright blue beneath the organic orbs and Savannah's face beamed even brighter. She returned the smile, finding herself glad that the younger Savannah was happier. She'd spent much of the past day and a half in her room, crying. Seeing her upset had disturbed Cameron, and she'd wanted to distract her from her pain. She was surprised that she felt empathy towards someone who wasn't John; she knew it was a remnant of John Henry, but it was now part of her and as such she felt his concern for her.
"Or this?" Cameron spoke in Ellison's voice.
"Can you do Sarah?" Savannah asked.
It took a fraction of a second for Cameron to adjust her vocal synthesisers to match the exact tone and resonance of Sarah's voice. "No one is ever safe," she said, impersonating John's mother perfectly. "Do your homework. Go clean your room. I'll make pancakes." Savannah lay back on the couch and erupted into a fit of giggles at the impression.
"She only ever made pancakes," she recounted. The only time she'd eaten anything different since living with Sarah was when they'd eaten Chinese takeout a few nights ago. "Sarah's a bad cook," Cameron said, her voice returning to normal.
A moment's silence passed between them. Cameron reassembled the first gun, satisfied it was sufficiently clean, and started to work on the second. The AK-47 was able to operate even when it hadn't been cleaned for protracted periods of time, but she wasn't willing to take chances. Not with John's life and the future at stake. Savannah watched her work, but there was something she was confused about.
"How did you get out?" she asked. "Sarah buried you. Did John wake you up?"
Cameron interpreted what she was saying for a moment and nodded. "John woke me up," she confirmed.
"Did he kiss you, like in Sleeping Beauty? Sarah said he better not have."
The cyborg's lips parted into a sly smile, revealing her perfect white teeth. "There was kissing," she winked conspiratorially. "Don't tell Sarah." She knew John's mother would have to find out eventually but she also knew John, and knew he'd want to tell her himself.
"I won't," she shook her head. "Cross my heart." She looked at the rifles and the boxes Cameron was working on and slid off the sofa, onto the floor next to the brunette. "Can I help?" she asked. "I'm bored." Cameron pushed half a dozen magazines towards her and two boxes of ammunition. She opened one box and tipped the rounds out onto the floor, then held up one of the black metal magazines in front of Savannah, and a single bullet. She pushed the round into the top of the magazine with a metallic click.
"Fill these with bullets," Cameron instructed her. "Thirty to a magazine." Savannah nodded and started to slowly slot bullets into place, pushing them down and smiling again, glad to be helpful.
"Like this?" she asked as she pushed a round inside.
"Yes."
"You'll need more than that against Kaliba," Danny stood in the doorway, holding a plastic bottle of water in his hand, and sweating just as much as Cameron and Savannah. He'd watched the cyborg and the little girl together, fixing the guns, and he couldn't help but laugh on the inside. These people had no clue what they were dealing with. "You can't do anything against them; we need to call the police, or the army or something. Marines, air force..."
Cameron and Savannah stared at him as he leaned against the doorframe. He'd interrupted their conversation when they'd both been enjoying each others company. "They won't believe you," Cameron said to him. "They'll try to arrest us if we told the police, or Kaliba would attack us."
"We've gotta try," Danny protested. "Kaliba's got its own private army, unmanned drones controlled by an AI; and what've we got? A few guns. We don't even have a plan, do we?" There was no way they could fight Kaliba, no matter what they thought. And the truth was he just wanted to go home. This was all too much for him; he wasn't a spy or a soldier or anything; they didn't need him. "Call the FBI; tell them they're supplying terrorists or something. Make it an anonymous call, even. Let them deal with it."
Savannah looked at Danny and then at the ground, her and Cameron's fun effectively shot down by him. Cameron stared at Danny and got up to her feet. "We don't know where Kaliba are," she reminded him sternly. "Honestly, I never knew where we went: they picked us up and an airfield and flew us in a helicopter. Blacked out – no windows in the back or anything; took us out to the middle of nowhere, a mountain range somewhere."
It was strange, Danny thought, hearing his own words repeated to him in his own voice, by the cyborg. He still wondered what the hell she really was capable of.
"I never said you could leave your room," Cameron added, her eyes glowing angrily as she glared at him.
"So I'm still a prisoner?" Danny asked irritably, fighting down his nervousness for a moment. He stepped back as Cameron moved closer to him, anger giving way to fear. She freaked him the hell out. "I mean... I told you the truth..."
"We haven't verified that yet," she replied quickly.
"And when you do?"
"It's John's decision," Cameron said. "You're safer with us."
At that, Danny rolled his eyes and snorted. "Not likely," he muttered.
"Go back to your room," Cameron ordered as she stepped forward, closing the gap between them. She could tell Danny was afraid of her, and she decided to use it to her advantage. "Don't come out unless I tell you to. Don't try to escape: I'll hear you. Understand?"
Danny stared back at her for a moment before deciding it was in his best interest to do as she said. As frightened by Sarah, John, and everything that had happened recently, Cameron was the worst by far. "Yes," he replied meekly. He turned and went back to the room, or the cell, he'd been assigned to, resigned to being kept under house arrest.
"I don't like him," Savannah said as she loaded the last bullet into the magazine, holding it up to Cameron for inspection. She took it and pushed the top round down, satisfied it was in properly. She smiled at the girl and earned a beaming grin back.
"I don't like him either," Cameron said. But Danny Dyson was right about one thing: they were severely outgunned. John had told her not to go online or to hack into anything, but if Danny was correct – and she saw no reason why he'd exaggerate their capabilities or assets – they were at an extreme disadvantage. She activated her wireless capabilities and connected to the nearest satellite in orbit, using several tricks to mask her presence, she began to search for what she needed to help even the odds.