Author's Note: Thanks to all who reviewed the first chapter. Sorry if it
was a little hard to get into, I hope this next chapter will shed some
light on the story. Enjoy and review!!!
--Chapter II: The Directive-
Anderson stood at the jagged hole punched out of the concrete barrier of the briefing room. The opening was just at eye level and was only a couple feet off the ground outside. He gazed out into the dark oblivion of what was Los Angeles. Before him lay an endless sea of dust, steel, and death. All around him was death. What troubled him the most was that for hundreds of miles, there was not one breathing thing outside the protection of the Human Resistance. They were fighting a war against a foe that couldn't smell or taste. They were fighting a foe that was without emotion--a relentless horde that would not stop until every human was emotionlessly exterminated.
The creation had rebelled against the creators. And the creators were dying.
Anderson was aroused from his trance by a voice that had entered the room unnoticed. "It's peaceful tonight, isn't it?" He turned to see a medium- built, middle-aged man standing beside Sergeant Quinn. Along the left side of the newcomer's face ran a deep scar; his hair had begun to turn gray, but was still mostly dark. Anderson straightened his body and gave a crisp, respectful salute. "General Connor," he said sternly.
Connor moved past Quinn and motioned for Anderson to lower his hand. "Please, Nick," Connor said. "There are no ranks in this room. You are my equal and we will conduct business as such. To the privates out there, I'm a general. To you, I'm your friend."
"With all due respect, sir," Anderson replied, "you are my commander."
Connor turned back to Sergeant Quinn, who had remained in the same position. "Thank you, Sergeant. That will be all." Quinn saluted and moved quietly out the door. Connor turned to face Anderson and shook his hand. "It's good to see you, Nick."
"You too, General. It's been too long."
Connor nodded with a chuckle and moved to the makeshift table in the center of the small room. On the middle of the table was a slowly burning candle, which Connor moved to the corner. In its place he unfolded an aged map of what used to be the southwest United States. "No doubt you can guess why you've been called here," he said to Anderson, although his eyes were still fixed upon the map before him. "We've uncovered a threat. It must be dealt with."
"I've guessed as much, sir," Anderson replied.
Connor looked at him. "I'm not going to lie to you, Nick. This war is getting harder to fight with every passing moment. We are losing men and the machines are gaining technology. We've fallen behind. Sometimes I wonder how long we have until we can no longer fight them."
"We can fight them, sir. Every human in the resistance would unquestionably take up a weapon for you. They look up to you, sir. They'd follow you anywhere."
"I know," Connor replied. "At first, I wondered if I had what it took to lead these people. I wondered if I could protect them, if I could give them something to fight for, you know?"
"And you have, General."
"I have you to thank for that, Nick." "Sir?"
"Without the Shadow Rangers I wouldn't exist. It was you and your men who uncovered the displacement equipment, and because of that we were able to send Reese back. If Reese hadn't gone back, Nick, this war would've been over long before it ever began."
Anderson nodded. He remembered when he and his squad, the Shadow Rangers, extracted the time displacement unit that sent Kyle Reese to 1984 in order to guard Connor's mother against a Terminator sent back for assassination. Anderson never could understand how Reese was chosen over some of the more experienced men, but the general was adamant in his decision that the young man be the one to go back. Even if Reese hadn't volunteered to go through, Anderson knew that Connor would've selected him anyway. There was something about Reese that Connor always respected, almost admired...
"That's why when I started the Shadow Rangers I knew you were the man to lead them," Connor said. Anderson must've have lost concentration thinking about the events with Reese. "You think like me, Nick. You always have. I knew that if I could trust anyone to lead this squad, it would be you. I wouldn't have anyone else be the final word out there."
"Thank you, General."
Connor held up his hand, as if to delay the gratitude. "That's why I need your help again. The war rests on this."
"What is it, sir?"
Connor removed a series of folded papers from under the map gave them to Nick. "They're transmissions, Nick. Directly from..."
"Skynet," Anderson muttered as he scanned the transmissions. "According to this, it's building an army. My god--these numbers. They can't be right."
"I wish they weren't. Skynet's manufacturing an army bigger than the multitudes of Hell itself."
"For what purpose?"
"They're going to strike. And hard. Right now, they can't find us. But with that amount of fighters, it won't take long. But not all of them are for us."
Anderson looked up from the paper. "What do you mean 'not all for us?'"
"It's a convoy. Some of them are moving. They're heading south."
Anderson shuffled through the papers. The transmissions gave encrypted directions. But to what? Anderson shuffled through some more. Readouts, status reports, system operations, and then...
"Oh my God," he whispered. He looked up at Connor. "There's another displacement depot."
Connor nodded slowly as he looked down at the map. "We thought we blew the only one, but we should've known Skynet would've backed itself up. There's one more depot that we know of"--he pointed to a spot around what used to be San Diego--"here, just beyond the San Diego Ruins. That's what the machine convoy is for." He looked up at Anderson. After a brief pause: "They're sending another Terminator back, Nick"
Anderson sat down on a chair next to the table. Connor continued speaking. "We weren't sure what to make of the transmissions when we first intercepted them. We thought it could've been a trap to lure us out in the open. But more came. The machines call the depot 'The White Throne.'"
"That's from the Bible," Anderson said. "It's the place where all humans are condemned. It's called the Final Judgment."
Connor nodded. "I guess Skynet's more superstitious than we thought," he replied. "But that's not all. We found reports that indicate they're not sending the machine to 1984, but instead somewhere around the early 1990s, when I was a boy."
"It's much easier to assassinate a child," Anderson muttered.
"That's no doubt what they think. But there's more," he continued. "A T- 800 is not going back. The reports indicate that they're sending something 'new.' A prototype, we don't know the specifics, but we know it's the most powerful cyborg they've ever created. It has some sort of chameleon-like technology. It's a shape-shifter."
Anderson stood up and removed a folded piece of old paper from his shirt pocket. He threw it on the table and moved back to the hole in the concrete wall. "Read it, General," he said with his back turned.
Connor studied it but didn't say a word. Anderson looked back to see that he had sat down in the chair. Anderson moved away from the hole and walked back toward Connor. "I wasn't sure if this was valid when we uncovered it," he said. "We were deep in machine territory and intercepted some communications of our own. I hoped to God it wasn't true, but after hearing what you told me, sir, I'm sure this is the thing they're sending back. They call it the T-1000."
Connor continued to read the paper. Before him were specifications and modifications that this new Terminator had been equipped with. It was made entirely of a liquid metal with the ability to move through virtually anything and the capability to form weapons with its hands. He set the paper down and stood back up. "How can they create something like that?"
"I wish I knew."
Anderson watched as Connor gathered the papers off the table. "It doesn't change things," he said sternly. "Your orders are still the same."
"With all respect, General, what are my orders?"
"The directive is this, Captain: you and your squad will set out for San Diego in 5 hours. The remaining Rangers are being brought here. From here, you will make the move to the Ruins and get to the depot before the machines do. Skynet's transmissions show you should have a good head start before the machine convoy is ready."
"You want us to destroy the depot? I will admit, it may be a bit difficult, but I'm sure my team could..."
"You're not going to destroy it, Captain," Connor said. "If you destroy it, that machine army still reaches us and all is lost. No, you and your men will make use of the depot. It's time to change things."
"Wait a minute, sir," Anderson said. "You're not actually saying that the Resistance will try to send someone back to fight this 'T-1000,' are you?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying, Nick. Something has to be done. If they succeed, I don't exist. If the depot is destroyed, we all die. But if you make it to the depot before they do and use the equipment, then they'll think that the T-1000 is going back through time unknown to us. You and the Rangers are the best the Resistance has to complete the mission."
"This is crazy," Anderson said, shaking his head. "Even if my men did make it out there, which is slim to none, no human can stand a chance against a Terminator as advanced as this T-1000 in the 20th Century!"
Connor sighed and looked at Anderson. "You're right, Nick." After a short pause he bent down toward the candle. "That's why it's not a human we're sending back."
"What?"
Connor blew out the candle and moved to the door. "Come with me and I'll show you."
--to be continued.--
Please review...ideas are also appreciated. If you have any ideas, leave them in the review or e-mail me (address is in my author profile)!!!
--Chapter II: The Directive-
Anderson stood at the jagged hole punched out of the concrete barrier of the briefing room. The opening was just at eye level and was only a couple feet off the ground outside. He gazed out into the dark oblivion of what was Los Angeles. Before him lay an endless sea of dust, steel, and death. All around him was death. What troubled him the most was that for hundreds of miles, there was not one breathing thing outside the protection of the Human Resistance. They were fighting a war against a foe that couldn't smell or taste. They were fighting a foe that was without emotion--a relentless horde that would not stop until every human was emotionlessly exterminated.
The creation had rebelled against the creators. And the creators were dying.
Anderson was aroused from his trance by a voice that had entered the room unnoticed. "It's peaceful tonight, isn't it?" He turned to see a medium- built, middle-aged man standing beside Sergeant Quinn. Along the left side of the newcomer's face ran a deep scar; his hair had begun to turn gray, but was still mostly dark. Anderson straightened his body and gave a crisp, respectful salute. "General Connor," he said sternly.
Connor moved past Quinn and motioned for Anderson to lower his hand. "Please, Nick," Connor said. "There are no ranks in this room. You are my equal and we will conduct business as such. To the privates out there, I'm a general. To you, I'm your friend."
"With all due respect, sir," Anderson replied, "you are my commander."
Connor turned back to Sergeant Quinn, who had remained in the same position. "Thank you, Sergeant. That will be all." Quinn saluted and moved quietly out the door. Connor turned to face Anderson and shook his hand. "It's good to see you, Nick."
"You too, General. It's been too long."
Connor nodded with a chuckle and moved to the makeshift table in the center of the small room. On the middle of the table was a slowly burning candle, which Connor moved to the corner. In its place he unfolded an aged map of what used to be the southwest United States. "No doubt you can guess why you've been called here," he said to Anderson, although his eyes were still fixed upon the map before him. "We've uncovered a threat. It must be dealt with."
"I've guessed as much, sir," Anderson replied.
Connor looked at him. "I'm not going to lie to you, Nick. This war is getting harder to fight with every passing moment. We are losing men and the machines are gaining technology. We've fallen behind. Sometimes I wonder how long we have until we can no longer fight them."
"We can fight them, sir. Every human in the resistance would unquestionably take up a weapon for you. They look up to you, sir. They'd follow you anywhere."
"I know," Connor replied. "At first, I wondered if I had what it took to lead these people. I wondered if I could protect them, if I could give them something to fight for, you know?"
"And you have, General."
"I have you to thank for that, Nick." "Sir?"
"Without the Shadow Rangers I wouldn't exist. It was you and your men who uncovered the displacement equipment, and because of that we were able to send Reese back. If Reese hadn't gone back, Nick, this war would've been over long before it ever began."
Anderson nodded. He remembered when he and his squad, the Shadow Rangers, extracted the time displacement unit that sent Kyle Reese to 1984 in order to guard Connor's mother against a Terminator sent back for assassination. Anderson never could understand how Reese was chosen over some of the more experienced men, but the general was adamant in his decision that the young man be the one to go back. Even if Reese hadn't volunteered to go through, Anderson knew that Connor would've selected him anyway. There was something about Reese that Connor always respected, almost admired...
"That's why when I started the Shadow Rangers I knew you were the man to lead them," Connor said. Anderson must've have lost concentration thinking about the events with Reese. "You think like me, Nick. You always have. I knew that if I could trust anyone to lead this squad, it would be you. I wouldn't have anyone else be the final word out there."
"Thank you, General."
Connor held up his hand, as if to delay the gratitude. "That's why I need your help again. The war rests on this."
"What is it, sir?"
Connor removed a series of folded papers from under the map gave them to Nick. "They're transmissions, Nick. Directly from..."
"Skynet," Anderson muttered as he scanned the transmissions. "According to this, it's building an army. My god--these numbers. They can't be right."
"I wish they weren't. Skynet's manufacturing an army bigger than the multitudes of Hell itself."
"For what purpose?"
"They're going to strike. And hard. Right now, they can't find us. But with that amount of fighters, it won't take long. But not all of them are for us."
Anderson looked up from the paper. "What do you mean 'not all for us?'"
"It's a convoy. Some of them are moving. They're heading south."
Anderson shuffled through the papers. The transmissions gave encrypted directions. But to what? Anderson shuffled through some more. Readouts, status reports, system operations, and then...
"Oh my God," he whispered. He looked up at Connor. "There's another displacement depot."
Connor nodded slowly as he looked down at the map. "We thought we blew the only one, but we should've known Skynet would've backed itself up. There's one more depot that we know of"--he pointed to a spot around what used to be San Diego--"here, just beyond the San Diego Ruins. That's what the machine convoy is for." He looked up at Anderson. After a brief pause: "They're sending another Terminator back, Nick"
Anderson sat down on a chair next to the table. Connor continued speaking. "We weren't sure what to make of the transmissions when we first intercepted them. We thought it could've been a trap to lure us out in the open. But more came. The machines call the depot 'The White Throne.'"
"That's from the Bible," Anderson said. "It's the place where all humans are condemned. It's called the Final Judgment."
Connor nodded. "I guess Skynet's more superstitious than we thought," he replied. "But that's not all. We found reports that indicate they're not sending the machine to 1984, but instead somewhere around the early 1990s, when I was a boy."
"It's much easier to assassinate a child," Anderson muttered.
"That's no doubt what they think. But there's more," he continued. "A T- 800 is not going back. The reports indicate that they're sending something 'new.' A prototype, we don't know the specifics, but we know it's the most powerful cyborg they've ever created. It has some sort of chameleon-like technology. It's a shape-shifter."
Anderson stood up and removed a folded piece of old paper from his shirt pocket. He threw it on the table and moved back to the hole in the concrete wall. "Read it, General," he said with his back turned.
Connor studied it but didn't say a word. Anderson looked back to see that he had sat down in the chair. Anderson moved away from the hole and walked back toward Connor. "I wasn't sure if this was valid when we uncovered it," he said. "We were deep in machine territory and intercepted some communications of our own. I hoped to God it wasn't true, but after hearing what you told me, sir, I'm sure this is the thing they're sending back. They call it the T-1000."
Connor continued to read the paper. Before him were specifications and modifications that this new Terminator had been equipped with. It was made entirely of a liquid metal with the ability to move through virtually anything and the capability to form weapons with its hands. He set the paper down and stood back up. "How can they create something like that?"
"I wish I knew."
Anderson watched as Connor gathered the papers off the table. "It doesn't change things," he said sternly. "Your orders are still the same."
"With all respect, General, what are my orders?"
"The directive is this, Captain: you and your squad will set out for San Diego in 5 hours. The remaining Rangers are being brought here. From here, you will make the move to the Ruins and get to the depot before the machines do. Skynet's transmissions show you should have a good head start before the machine convoy is ready."
"You want us to destroy the depot? I will admit, it may be a bit difficult, but I'm sure my team could..."
"You're not going to destroy it, Captain," Connor said. "If you destroy it, that machine army still reaches us and all is lost. No, you and your men will make use of the depot. It's time to change things."
"Wait a minute, sir," Anderson said. "You're not actually saying that the Resistance will try to send someone back to fight this 'T-1000,' are you?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying, Nick. Something has to be done. If they succeed, I don't exist. If the depot is destroyed, we all die. But if you make it to the depot before they do and use the equipment, then they'll think that the T-1000 is going back through time unknown to us. You and the Rangers are the best the Resistance has to complete the mission."
"This is crazy," Anderson said, shaking his head. "Even if my men did make it out there, which is slim to none, no human can stand a chance against a Terminator as advanced as this T-1000 in the 20th Century!"
Connor sighed and looked at Anderson. "You're right, Nick." After a short pause he bent down toward the candle. "That's why it's not a human we're sending back."
"What?"
Connor blew out the candle and moved to the door. "Come with me and I'll show you."
--to be continued.--
Please review...ideas are also appreciated. If you have any ideas, leave them in the review or e-mail me (address is in my author profile)!!!