Author's Note: To the reviewers-you guys are driving me to keep this thing
going. Continue dropping some comments and don't hesitate to give a few
ideas. To new people-please review as well; anything you have to say is
greatly appreciated. Now that that's out of the way: ENJOY!
--Chapter III: An Unholy Union--
"You are the first person to see what is behind this door that isn't already on the other side of it," Connor told Anderson outside of a closed off portion of the headquarters.
Anderson had been trying to read Connor's body language ever since they left the makeshift briefing room, but in the midst of all the salutes and awe-inspired stares from the other members of the Resistance, the general hadn't revealed much. He was as stoic has he always had been around the subordinates, which Anderson mimicked as they made their way down the narrow, deteriorating corridors of the Human Resistance Headquarters.
Anderson nodded at Connor's remark. "I take it you don't include yourself in that statistic, General."
Connor chuckled. "Touché, Captain...you are the second person to see what is behind this door." Connor turned to a keypad that had been wired to the lock of the door. After punching in a series of numbers, Anderson heard the mechanisms of the lock click into place as Connor slowly opened the door and ushered Anderson inside.
Anderson had never seen more computers in one room in all his life. Only a teenager when Judgment Day occured, Anderson spent a good portion of his life fearing computers, for he-much like many of the survivors of the nuclear fire-saw the processors as the enemy. Where there was a computer, there might also be a network; and where there was a network, there was Skynet.
The only things visible when Anderson and Connor entered the room were the backs of monitors connected and suspended from various parts of the room. Most of the technicians and personnel-totaling fewer than ten people-were huddled around the screens, shuffling in front of and around them. The monitors blocked Anderson's view of whatever it was they were working on.
Most of the light sources in the room were around the computers, leaving Anderson and Connor virtually in the shadows.
One of the technicians stood hacking at an old keyboard. "CPU efficiency holding steady at 99.999%. Preparing to run the diagnostic scan." He turned over his shoulder to a woman standing huddled over a table working with something apparently electronic. "You ready?" he asked her.
"Almost," she replied. "Central NNP rewired and"-there was a pause as she set down her tools and turned to face the inquiring technician-"ready for initial diagnostic interface." Anderson looked at what she held in her hand. He guessed that it was whatever the technician needed to perform the scan, but he still wasn't sure of exactly what it was. Anderson watched as the woman walked over the technician and held out the tiny rectangular chip. The technician took and moved a step over, out of Anderson's line of sight.
When Anderson moved to get a better view of where the technician had taken the chip, he felt Connor grab his arm. "Nick," he whispered. "I want to restrain yourself before you take another step. What you will see on the other side of those monitors may or may not be what you had expected. Whatever happens, stay level-headed."
Anderson fought his growing curiosity as he slowly nodded and walked cautiously toward the huddled people in front of him. By now, all the technicians had stopped what they were doing and congregated in a circle around something. The technician with the chip was the only one who visibly looked to be at work on whatever was in the center of the circle. As he sighed, the rest of the people hesitantly backed away as he nodded and backed away himself. "Check the connection," he said to the man beside him.
The man nodded and moved to a monitor. "We are directly linked to the NNP and conversation between the two processors is holding."
Anderson stopped. The center of the circle-there was a man. He didn't understand. The technicians had gathered around a man, who was seated emotionlessly on a raised chair-unblinking, unwavering. Anderson wanted to move closer to the man, but something in the back of his mind told him not to. Instead, he sidestepped past the technicians to get a clearer view of the man. He was a muscular man; his face had a chiseled, defined look about it from his hair to square jaw. He sat completely still as the technician who had the chip remained at his right side.
Suddenly, the technician moved back and stood next to a cluster of other people. It became clear to Anderson. The technician didn't have the chip any longer. Quickly, Anderson made his way to the right side of the man. The technicians parted in surprise at Anderson's arrival. Anderson took a step backwards and withdrew his gun, pointing it the man seated before him. "Get back!" he yelled to the technicians nearby.
Connor stepped forward. "Nick, put down the gun."
Anderson tried to return Connor's eye contact, but his eyes were fixated on the exposed metallic plates and wiring making up the man's skill. Anderson looked into his eyes-into its eyes. It was just as had expected-nothing. Not a hint of thought, not a hint of a soul. Just one crimson red light hidden deep within the abyss of each pupil.
"My God, general," Anderson muttered. He forced his eyes in Connor's direction. "What have you done?"
"Only what needs to be done, Nick. To save us all."
Anderson shook his head. "No, there has to be another way."
"There is no other way, Nick! You said it yourself: no human can protect us. No human can protect me. Not back then, and unless you holster your sidearm, Captain, not ever."
Anderson's gaze fell back on the man seated, unwavering throughout the confrontation. Before him sat a Terminator, as calm and as stoic as ever, the most senseless horror in existence. And here stood John Connor, side by side with one of them, ready to put it in control of virtually in the entire human race! Anderson held firm. "This is the enemy, for God's sake! This is an abomination!" He slowly and deliberately clicked off the safety mechanism on his pistol. "And it ends right now."
Anderson felt a slight tingle on the back of his neck, but he shook it off and took aim on the cyborg. With an almost inhuman indifference, Anderson went to pull the trigger of his weapon, which was aimed perfectly at the head of the Terminator. He wanted to pull the trigger, but he couldn't. It was as if his finger has ceased to function. Almost instantly, his hand dropped the gun and sent it clanging to the floor. What was happening to him?
Anderson realized that his legs started to buckle. They were ready to collapse. His vision narrowed. His limbs went numb. As Anderson's body fell to the floor, he saw Connor take a few steps forward in an attempt to catch him.
Then, total blackness.
****
Anderson awoke on a firm mattress in what looked to be an officer's quarters somewhere in the Resistance compound. There were no computers, no Terminators, just someone sitting in the corner of the room. As Anderson's vision cleared, he saw that it was John Connor. Anderson rubbed the back of his neck, which felt sore in comparison to the tingle he felt earlier. "What happened?"
Connor pulled out a small dart and tossed it to him. "Tranquilizer," he said. "Technician stabbed it into your back when you pulled your piece."
Anderson scoffed and tried to stand up, but found that he head was reeling. Instead, he took a seat on the edge of the bed. "Should've let me done my job."
Connor stood up and walked toward him. "Your job? Your job was to protect the cargo until you reach the depot. Within five minutes, your ready to blow the fricking head of the thing!"
"You want me to protect a Terminator, general. My God, a Terminator! We're talking about a killing machine, the enemy!"
"Not this thing, Nick. This thing is going to save us."
Anderson again tried to stand, but the sedative they had used to knock him out still lingered. He remained seated. "How do we know it won't turn on us?"
"The techs have completely rerouted his CPU. Totally reprogrammed and equipped it to follow your orders."
Anderson raised his eyebrows. "Follow my orders?"
"Just until you reach the depot. Then it's programmed to follow me. Well, the younger me."
"Why me?"
"Because like I said before," Connor replied, "you think like me. I trust you to be the one in command when you're out there. I wouldn't want anyone but you moving this thing." He moved to the door of the room and turned back to look at Anderson. "So what'll it be, Nick? Will you do this?"
Anderson sighed and dropped his head. He still didn't trust a Terminator and was scared to death that they were making the wrong choice. But there was something about John Connor that led to some shred of assurance, something in the back of Anderson's said that told him to trust the assignment. He couldn't turn his back on the commander now, not when he needed Anderson the most. Slowly and deliberately, he rose from the bed and facing Connor. He gave a crisp salute. "I'd follow you anywhere, General. If this is the only way, then the Rangers will see it to completion. You have my word."
Connor returned the salute and smiled. "Thank you, Nick. Now we need to get going; your team just radioed in. They said they're under 20 minutes out."
"Yes, sir," Anderson replied. But he was still uncertain. Anderson trusted Connor's judgment, but would his team be ready?
--to be continued--
Please drop some comments. Suggestion are always welcome. CHAPTER IV IS ON THE WAY!
--Chapter III: An Unholy Union--
"You are the first person to see what is behind this door that isn't already on the other side of it," Connor told Anderson outside of a closed off portion of the headquarters.
Anderson had been trying to read Connor's body language ever since they left the makeshift briefing room, but in the midst of all the salutes and awe-inspired stares from the other members of the Resistance, the general hadn't revealed much. He was as stoic has he always had been around the subordinates, which Anderson mimicked as they made their way down the narrow, deteriorating corridors of the Human Resistance Headquarters.
Anderson nodded at Connor's remark. "I take it you don't include yourself in that statistic, General."
Connor chuckled. "Touché, Captain...you are the second person to see what is behind this door." Connor turned to a keypad that had been wired to the lock of the door. After punching in a series of numbers, Anderson heard the mechanisms of the lock click into place as Connor slowly opened the door and ushered Anderson inside.
Anderson had never seen more computers in one room in all his life. Only a teenager when Judgment Day occured, Anderson spent a good portion of his life fearing computers, for he-much like many of the survivors of the nuclear fire-saw the processors as the enemy. Where there was a computer, there might also be a network; and where there was a network, there was Skynet.
The only things visible when Anderson and Connor entered the room were the backs of monitors connected and suspended from various parts of the room. Most of the technicians and personnel-totaling fewer than ten people-were huddled around the screens, shuffling in front of and around them. The monitors blocked Anderson's view of whatever it was they were working on.
Most of the light sources in the room were around the computers, leaving Anderson and Connor virtually in the shadows.
One of the technicians stood hacking at an old keyboard. "CPU efficiency holding steady at 99.999%. Preparing to run the diagnostic scan." He turned over his shoulder to a woman standing huddled over a table working with something apparently electronic. "You ready?" he asked her.
"Almost," she replied. "Central NNP rewired and"-there was a pause as she set down her tools and turned to face the inquiring technician-"ready for initial diagnostic interface." Anderson looked at what she held in her hand. He guessed that it was whatever the technician needed to perform the scan, but he still wasn't sure of exactly what it was. Anderson watched as the woman walked over the technician and held out the tiny rectangular chip. The technician took and moved a step over, out of Anderson's line of sight.
When Anderson moved to get a better view of where the technician had taken the chip, he felt Connor grab his arm. "Nick," he whispered. "I want to restrain yourself before you take another step. What you will see on the other side of those monitors may or may not be what you had expected. Whatever happens, stay level-headed."
Anderson fought his growing curiosity as he slowly nodded and walked cautiously toward the huddled people in front of him. By now, all the technicians had stopped what they were doing and congregated in a circle around something. The technician with the chip was the only one who visibly looked to be at work on whatever was in the center of the circle. As he sighed, the rest of the people hesitantly backed away as he nodded and backed away himself. "Check the connection," he said to the man beside him.
The man nodded and moved to a monitor. "We are directly linked to the NNP and conversation between the two processors is holding."
Anderson stopped. The center of the circle-there was a man. He didn't understand. The technicians had gathered around a man, who was seated emotionlessly on a raised chair-unblinking, unwavering. Anderson wanted to move closer to the man, but something in the back of his mind told him not to. Instead, he sidestepped past the technicians to get a clearer view of the man. He was a muscular man; his face had a chiseled, defined look about it from his hair to square jaw. He sat completely still as the technician who had the chip remained at his right side.
Suddenly, the technician moved back and stood next to a cluster of other people. It became clear to Anderson. The technician didn't have the chip any longer. Quickly, Anderson made his way to the right side of the man. The technicians parted in surprise at Anderson's arrival. Anderson took a step backwards and withdrew his gun, pointing it the man seated before him. "Get back!" he yelled to the technicians nearby.
Connor stepped forward. "Nick, put down the gun."
Anderson tried to return Connor's eye contact, but his eyes were fixated on the exposed metallic plates and wiring making up the man's skill. Anderson looked into his eyes-into its eyes. It was just as had expected-nothing. Not a hint of thought, not a hint of a soul. Just one crimson red light hidden deep within the abyss of each pupil.
"My God, general," Anderson muttered. He forced his eyes in Connor's direction. "What have you done?"
"Only what needs to be done, Nick. To save us all."
Anderson shook his head. "No, there has to be another way."
"There is no other way, Nick! You said it yourself: no human can protect us. No human can protect me. Not back then, and unless you holster your sidearm, Captain, not ever."
Anderson's gaze fell back on the man seated, unwavering throughout the confrontation. Before him sat a Terminator, as calm and as stoic as ever, the most senseless horror in existence. And here stood John Connor, side by side with one of them, ready to put it in control of virtually in the entire human race! Anderson held firm. "This is the enemy, for God's sake! This is an abomination!" He slowly and deliberately clicked off the safety mechanism on his pistol. "And it ends right now."
Anderson felt a slight tingle on the back of his neck, but he shook it off and took aim on the cyborg. With an almost inhuman indifference, Anderson went to pull the trigger of his weapon, which was aimed perfectly at the head of the Terminator. He wanted to pull the trigger, but he couldn't. It was as if his finger has ceased to function. Almost instantly, his hand dropped the gun and sent it clanging to the floor. What was happening to him?
Anderson realized that his legs started to buckle. They were ready to collapse. His vision narrowed. His limbs went numb. As Anderson's body fell to the floor, he saw Connor take a few steps forward in an attempt to catch him.
Then, total blackness.
****
Anderson awoke on a firm mattress in what looked to be an officer's quarters somewhere in the Resistance compound. There were no computers, no Terminators, just someone sitting in the corner of the room. As Anderson's vision cleared, he saw that it was John Connor. Anderson rubbed the back of his neck, which felt sore in comparison to the tingle he felt earlier. "What happened?"
Connor pulled out a small dart and tossed it to him. "Tranquilizer," he said. "Technician stabbed it into your back when you pulled your piece."
Anderson scoffed and tried to stand up, but found that he head was reeling. Instead, he took a seat on the edge of the bed. "Should've let me done my job."
Connor stood up and walked toward him. "Your job? Your job was to protect the cargo until you reach the depot. Within five minutes, your ready to blow the fricking head of the thing!"
"You want me to protect a Terminator, general. My God, a Terminator! We're talking about a killing machine, the enemy!"
"Not this thing, Nick. This thing is going to save us."
Anderson again tried to stand, but the sedative they had used to knock him out still lingered. He remained seated. "How do we know it won't turn on us?"
"The techs have completely rerouted his CPU. Totally reprogrammed and equipped it to follow your orders."
Anderson raised his eyebrows. "Follow my orders?"
"Just until you reach the depot. Then it's programmed to follow me. Well, the younger me."
"Why me?"
"Because like I said before," Connor replied, "you think like me. I trust you to be the one in command when you're out there. I wouldn't want anyone but you moving this thing." He moved to the door of the room and turned back to look at Anderson. "So what'll it be, Nick? Will you do this?"
Anderson sighed and dropped his head. He still didn't trust a Terminator and was scared to death that they were making the wrong choice. But there was something about John Connor that led to some shred of assurance, something in the back of Anderson's said that told him to trust the assignment. He couldn't turn his back on the commander now, not when he needed Anderson the most. Slowly and deliberately, he rose from the bed and facing Connor. He gave a crisp salute. "I'd follow you anywhere, General. If this is the only way, then the Rangers will see it to completion. You have my word."
Connor returned the salute and smiled. "Thank you, Nick. Now we need to get going; your team just radioed in. They said they're under 20 minutes out."
"Yes, sir," Anderson replied. But he was still uncertain. Anderson trusted Connor's judgment, but would his team be ready?
--to be continued--
Please drop some comments. Suggestion are always welcome. CHAPTER IV IS ON THE WAY!