Disclaimer: Now we know how Marcus acquired some of his skills, at least according to me, but since it's my story, well you know. Just to keep it legal, I have no claim or ownership to the Terminator franchise, movies or characters. Original characters are mine.
The Human Condition-Chapter 6
Express Yourself!
Year 1993
Marcus ground his teeth together! He'd was beginning to think they'd never shut up! After making the border crossing courtesy of the Aguilar brothers, he took care of business for Blood Dog and checked in, letting his biker boss know he'd done his job. Now he was back to where he'd left Pepe, Jose, and their unlucky captive, Manny Serrano. For a couple of cold blooded killers, he fumed, these two gossiped worse than old ladies! It would have been different if they'd been discussing something he could use against them later, he grumbled from his hot, cramped hiding place. But no, these fools just rambled on about nothing. He assumed Osvaldo had been contacted, but he had no way of knowing for sure. Yak, yak, yak, yak, yak, yak, yak, yak, yak! Uuuuuugggghhhh! They were driving him crazy! Marcus was right on the verge of emerging from his uncomfortable cubbyhole and shooting the both of them just to stop the inane babble when Pepe's phone rang. Saved by the bell!
He could only hear Pepe's end of the conversation, but whatever it was about got Aguilar number one hot and bothered in a big hurry. Waving his free hand in the air and cursing loudly, Pepe Aguilar rushed out, clearly intending to visit grief on whoever was on the other end of the phone, followed by a confused Jose. Their knuckle dragging spear carriers weren't around, or at least Marcus hadn't seen them. Maybe they were off taking care of whatever company business Pepe and Jose were stupid enough to trust them with. He didn't know and didn't care. What mattered now is that he was, at last, able to wiggle out from where he'd hidden himself.
After doing an exquisitely careful recon of the area, he relaxed. Nobody here but him. Well, him and Manuel Serrano. Peeking thru the grimy window of the office in the small warehouse, he spied Serrano lying on the floor on his side, hands and feet still trussed like a hog ready for slaughter. His face covered in bruises and crusty dried blood, Manuel's breathing could have sounded better too. Could be busted ribs or maybe something worse, Marcus guessed. He'd had his own share of gross bodily injuries, so he knew the sights and sounds pretty well.
He and Manny Serrano definitely needed to be long gone by the time Pepe and Jose returned. He'd better get a move on. Prepared to pick the lock to the office door, he found it would not be necessary. Twisting the knob, he pushed the door open. He went in, leaving it that way behind him.
Serrano surprised him by weakly cracking one eyelid. Too wracked by pain to lift his head from the floor, Manuel showed he was not completely cowed by his ordeal.
"Fu…F..you! Kill me! Kill me! I won't…b…be…beg you…for…anything!" he croaked thru swollen, bloodied lips.
"Good" Marcus told him, "cause we aint' got time for that." Retrieving one of his knives from its' customary resting place between elbow and wrist, he cut the ropes binding Manny's ankles and wrists, hauling him up roughly to a sitting position.
Serrano's bewilderment showed, as bad a condition as he was in. "Wh…who…who are you?" Manny gasped out. This was a new face.
"Intros later, man. We got to get out of here before Pepe and Jose get back. Can you stand?" Marcus asked, keeping a nervous eye on the warehouse entrance.
"Y…ye…yes" Manny responded, and then, with a big assist from Marcus, proceeded to do so.
Since he wasn't about to lug Manuel Serrano thru the streets of El Paso on his back, Marcus hotwired a car and drove the injured Manny to the Carlisle Inn. Wouldn't be safe to take him to a hospital. Pepe and Jose, they had eyes around town. They'd be looking for their escaped prize. They'd be looking for whoever helped their golden punching bag get away too. And since that's me, Marcus thought, it might be a good idea not to get found.
Maneuvering the semi-conscious man up the back stairs of the motel he was staying in and down the hall to his room unseen was kind of tricky, but he managed it.
Dumping Serrano on the spare bed, Marcus told him "I gotta lose the car. Going to pick up some supplies too. Stay here and don't answer the door or use the phone. I'll be back as soon as I can." With that, he disappeared.
An hour later he was back, carrying food, drink, and everything he thought he might need to patch up Serrano's various injuries. He found his patient enduring a restless slumber. At least, he surmised, Manuel seemed to be breathing easier. Not as labored. Maybe the guy didn't have a hole in his lung after all. Hopefully, there was no concussion involved. Marcus got the shirt off, bound up the ribs as tight as possible, shoved some painkillers down the groggy Manny's throat, chased them with a glass of water and let it go at that. Everything else could wait.
He called Sam at school, unwrapped one of the sandwiches he'd picked up, cracked open a beer, tugged off his boots, flopped down on the other bed, stuck a gun under his pillow, and eventually fell asleep with the TV on.
Awakening to the sound of a running shower, Marcus turned his head to find Serrano's bed empty. Steam seeped under the door of the bathroom. If the guy was able to make it to the shower by himself maybe he's not hurt as bad as I thought, Wright concluded. That might be good. He had things to do. It was one thing to stick it to the Aguilar's by snaking their illicit payday out from under their noses, but playing nursemaid for possibly days was way out of the question. He had to get back south of the border, get back to his life and get back to his little brother. If Serrano was alert and mobile, then the man was on his own.
He'd no sooner completed the thought when the water ceased. A couple of minutes later, the door swung open and Manny Serrano, still bearing the marks of the last eighteen hours, stepped out. Serrano moved slowly with a pronounced limp, but washing away the grime and blood had gone a long way towards improving his appearance. Sitting on the side of his bed, Manuel eyed Marcus for a moment.
"Manuel Serrano" he said, introducing himself in near accent-less English, extending a hand.
Hesitating briefly, Marcus shook the other's hand. "Marcus Wright" he returned, not letting on that he'd already figured out who Manny was.
Neither said anything more for a bit. Manuel's curiosity ultimately won out. "Why'd you help me?"
"A while back the Aguilar's killed a friend of mine and his sister. Now, not only do they have your brother to worry about, but they don't get paid either. That works for me." Marcus saw no reason to lie.
He considered Serrano for a moment. "You look like you're doing okay now. I'm going to go. You've got everything over there" he indicated the brown paper bag he'd returned with "that you're going to need to patch yourself up the rest of the way. There's some food in the other bag. If I was you, I'd wait till morning and call your brother. Let him know where you are so he can send some of his people to get you. See ya" he said, opening the door to leave.
"My, my brother?" Manuel Serrano appeared puzzled for a moment. As the repeat use of the words "your brother" registered, understanding dawned. "You know who I am." Manny meant his family connection.
"Yeah, I know who you are" Marcus admitted. "Have a nice life."
"I need your help" Serrano said as Marcus put one foot on the hallway carpeting. Wright turned around.
"My help?" Marcus repeated. "For what? Look, just call your brother in the morning."
"I can't call my brother. I don't want him to know I'm here. He thinks I'm still in Massachusetts. I'd like to keep it that way" Manny told him.
"Why wouldn't you want your-" Marcus started to ask, then stopped himself. "You want to know something? I don't care. Whatever's going on, its' not my business. I have to go."
"Do you know what my brother did?" Serrano was beginning to get worked up. "He killed my cousin, raped his wife, and took my cousin's kids and whored 'em out! Two little kids, man! They're only eight and nine! You know what's happening to them? I've got to get them out of there! Somebody has to get them out! I need your help!"
Marcus turned around. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened to your cousin and his family, but I got my own family to think about. "There is no chance I'm getting in between you and Osvaldo. None, you got that?"
"But you cant-!" Serrano was shouting when Marcus closed the door on him. It was too bad about the kids, it really was, but Sam was still at the school. Marcus would not risk his brother's welfare. For Sam's sake, Manny Serrano's problems could not become his. If he got on a bus now, he could be home and sleeping in his own bed by morning. Headed for El Paso, he'd been looking forward to a steak, a beer, a woman and some sleep. Two out of four. Time to decamp. Good luck with the rescue mission, Manny, he thought, heading for the bus station.
With every step he felt worse. Serrano's pleas refused to leave him alone. An eight and nine year old caught up in Osvaldo Serrano's psychotic vengeance against their dead father. They're not your problem, Marcus. Think about what could happen to Sam if you go against Osvaldo. You gotta think about Sam, he tried repeating over and over like a mantra. Fat lot of good it did. He took his hand off the terminal door and turned away. Walking around the corner of the building he stopped , resting his head against the soot and dirt covered stone. Banging the back of his noggin against the building once, he cursed and started back for the motel. He didn't make it.
"Well, look at what we got here" a gravelly voice remarked in a manner that boded ill for Marcus.
He raised his head to find his way impeded by a pair of lethal looking thugs. Marcus recognized the men. Lucas Hannerly and Sonny Kissell, members of a rival biker gang. One that had ambitions of claiming turf Blood Dog and his brother riders considered theirs. The clubs were currently engaged in a grim tit-for-tat war with bodies dropping around southern Texas and northern Mexico with predictable frequency. Marcus belonged to neither. He was only a sometime courier for Blood Dog, not part of the biking brotherhood. He wore no colors, sported no patch. Somehow he didn't think that would make much difference. He was right.
Producing knives, they backed him into the blackness of the alley until anything that happened would be out of sight from the street. They didn't want a messy kill attracting unwanted attention. Would they be more inclined to make it quick, or would they bleed him first for intel on Blood Dog, D and the others? That was the only real question. There was no time to go for his guns. They'd be on him before he got to a firearm. Still backing away, he readied his own knives, one in either hand, and prepared to make the taking of his life an expensive proposition. It was a good thing, he had just enough time to think, that he'd left standing instructions with an attorney in Mexico City for Val and Carl Soames to be contacted and told of Sam's whereabouts if anything happened to Marcus.
Kissell made the first move, taking a vicious swipe at Marcus's gut. Arching his back, Marcus pulled his stomach out of range, and the swipe missed by barely half an inch. At the same time, Lucas Hannerly was attempting to circle around Marcus, both to come at his victim from behind and cut off the eighteen-year olds' escape route. As he passed, Hannerly lunged for the teen's throat. Desperately Marcus threw his head back. The wicked looking blade missed the mark but left a long painful gash along the side of Marcus's neck. He hissed in pain. First blood went to one of his would be killers. That portended bad things. At least now he knew whether it would be fast or slow. Parrying Kissell's second thrust with his left hand weapon, he kicked out with force, catching Hannerly on a knee, knocking his assailant back. Lucas howled in agony at the damage to his vulnerable knee cap.
Marcus's mind coughed up every lesson in knife fighting that he'd ever endured. Placing his back against a brick wall, he stabbed skillfully at first one and then the other of the two attackers, drawing their blood in turn but surviving several more nasty near misses, the evidence of which he bore in the form of bloody wounds.
The muffled assault had so far taken less than five minutes, but for Marcus, for whom time stretched and slowed, it seemed an eternity. His breath came in shredded gasps, his lungs wheezing with effort. He was winded. Hannerly and Kissell's combined onslaught was having the desired effect. Marcus could feel himself tiring. He knew the two on one knife fight could only have one conclusion but if he was going to die, he intended to do his best to take at least one of his antagonists with him.
Blood loss and sheer physical exertion blended into a deadly one-two punch against his fight for survival. His attention flagged for a split second. Kissell took advantage, slipping inside Marcus's guard to drive home a thrust to the upper chest. Hannerly copied Wright's earlier tactic, only aiming for the back of Marcus's leg.
"AAAAUUUUHHH!" Marcus folded and went down, losing one knife in the process. Kissell dived on top of him pinning Marcus to the alley face up. Dropping to his knees, Lucas Hannerly positioned his blade for a killing blow. Unable to fight back with his arms trapped, Wright could only watch as death came for him.
The knife was on its' downward arch for Marcus's heart when Hannerly was struck savagely from behind. Eyes rolling backward in his head, the biker's hand opened and the blade clattered on the concrete of the filthy alley. Collapsing in a heap, Hannerly was out cold.
Sonny Kissell spun around. Before Kissell was able to switch focus from killing Marcus to him, Manuel Serrano swung the heavy lead pipe again, to equally devastating effect.
Weak from injuries and blood loss, Marcus lay still. Serrano, his own recent injuries telling on him reached down and with a struggle, finally got the other young man upright. With Manny partially carrying, partially dragging Marcus down the alley, they headed for the motel.
Year 2019
Pain. It flowed over him like rivers of water, swallowing him, engulfing him. Awareness came back to Marcus in the form of pain. Every centimeter of him hurt. He had never felt this kind of pain before, never hurt like this. Not under Dylan Taylor's brutality, not during the grueling trial that marked his coming of age with the bikers. In none of the many injuries and trauma his body had sustained since that time. Never. He'd only tasted a hint of this particular degree of agony in the death chamber at Longview before the noxious potion pumped into his body rendered him incapable of knowing anything more. This pain was unequalled. He was confused, baffled. Had not Skynet, in constructing his physical being, taken this degree of vulnerability to hurt away from him. Incurring minor hurts, even hurts that would incapacitate a normal human he was certainly capable of. But this debilitating agony should not have been possible. He did not understand. Why was it like this? What had happened? Blair, please! Please tell them for me! Please tell them to make it stop! Please!
Holding Marcus's cool unresponsive hand, Blair leaned over him to gently kiss him first on the lips and then on the forehead. He looked peaceful, almost as if he were asleep. But he was not asleep, and she knew he was not at peace. The swarm of equipment monitoring his condition told the true story.
According to Kate Connor and her medical team, Marcus was in an incredible amount of pain. In a comatose state he was unable to express it, but he was suffering.
"Skynet put him together Blair" Kate explained after the initial triage. "It knew just where to attack him. It knows where he's most vulnerable. That last T-800 it sent after him, Skynet was very specific with that one."
"That, that's why it shot him in the head and spinal column, isn't it?" Blair whispered, gripping her composure tightly. Falling apart was not among her options, at least not now. Enfolding Star's smaller hand within her own, she waited for Kate's answer.
"It went after his human brain. Likewise with his hybrid nervous system. It knew exactly where and how to hit him and that's what it did."
"Kate, I've, we've all seen him injured, shot, attacked by T-800's or H-K's and he just bounced back. I don't understand why this time is different!" Blair protested. She inhaled sharply, getting herself back under control. Star's fingers tightened. She had to be strong for all of them. For the little girl's sake, and for Marcus.
"We're not really sure why it's different this time, Blair." Kate went on, "not yet. But it is. Marcus, uh, because of the way he is, his body doesn't register pain in the traditional way, the same way any of us would. But his body does have sensors, ways of recognizing sensation that could be categorized as 'pain'. That's what's happening now. His computer is working double-time trying to regulate and help him deal with it, but there's only so much it can handle at one time. And right now it's almost overloaded. If Marcus were truly a 'Terminator' the way we think of the T-6 or 800's, he could just simply shunt the pain off into its' own compartment and forget about it-"
"But he's not, Kate. Skynet left him with his humanity. Enough to be hurt like one if Skynet just had enough chances to do it" Blair finished for the red haired medico.
"Yes" Kate agreed. "Yes, that's it exactly." Kate felt one more barricade fall. If Marcus Wright was human enough to be killed like a man, she was going to have to treat him like one from here on out. If she got the chance. If any of them did.
"Can you save him?" Blair asked plainly. She was too emotionally spent to play word games. She had to hear the truth, now, no matter what.
"I don't know" Kate Connor told her friend honestly. "We're doing all we can, but frankly, I'm not sure how much of it is up to us, and how much of this battle Marcus is going to have to fight on his own. Like I said, that computer Skynet gave him is a marvel. I know that wasn't its' exact intended purpose, but Marcus's neural-net just might be what pulls him thru. That and his just plain stubborn human will to live. We can try to help him, we're looking for ways now to give his computer a boost, the extra push it may need to help him heal, but mainly, I think it's going to be up to him. He's a fighter, Blair. You know that better than anyone. He's literally lived several lives. Somewhere inside him there's a consummate survivor. If he makes it thru this, that Marcus will be a big part of the reason why. I have to go talk with the techs. You two" she touched Blair on the arm but included Star with a look at the girl, "need to get some food and rest. It won't help Marcus for you to collapse. Either of you." Kate left to go in search of Donnelly and Lawler.
"Connor, why isn't Soames being punished for striking a superior officer!" Jacob Peterson demanded angrily. "He should be stripped of his rank and thrown into the stockade! He assaulted his commanding officer!" Peterson's florid face was alive with outrage.
"You tried to kill Marcus, you-" Billy Soames furious rebuttal was cut off by John Connor.
"That will be enough, lieutenant!" Connor barked. He addressed Jake Peterson. "As for you, Colonel Peterson, your conduct during the action is highly suspect at best! Lt. Soames isn't the only one to describe your behavior as nothing less than a murder attempt! If Soames hadn't intervened, Marcus Wright would be dead now. As it is, he fighting for his life, thanks to you! You have great deal to explain, Colonel!"
Connor was quietly enraged. He'd known, as did everyone else, of Peterson's loathing and hatred of Marcus. What none of them had comprehended was the depth of that hatred. The war against the machines had changed everyone. Shaped and fired them in the crucible of nuclear destruction and its' aftermath into different creatures. He himself bore Skynet an unrelenting enmity, both for his own personal reasons, and on behalf of the rest of humanity, both living and dead. But Peterson's dogged unwillingness to see Marcus Wright as anything less than a machine to be put down was deeply unsettling.
"My actions" Peterson defended himself vehemently, "were entirely correct! I didn't fire on that 800 because there was too much chance of me hitting Evans and Wright. I didn't have a clear shot from my angle. I could have killed both of 'em if I'd tried to take out that 800!"
"That's a lie and you know it!" Bill interrupted. "You could have taken the terminator out well before it opened fire on Marcus!"
Tense and stiff, Kyle Reese sat clenching and unclenching his fists, watching the proceedings. Cool under fire, he longed to rip Jake Peterson to pieces. This man had tried to use Skynet to murder his friend. He wouldn't get away with it. Not if Kyle had anything to say about it.
Soames could not get the image of Marcus supine and motionless on the tarmac of the Skynet compound out of his head. Leaping out and dragging Wright aboard with the help of others, they'd flown back to the resistance base with as much speed as Blair could coax out of the bird. Neither could Billy forget the sickening look of gratification on Colonel Jacob Peterson's face when the extent of Marcus's injuries was revealed. Bill Soames had wanted to smash that look from his former CO's face, wanted to beat Peterson's contented smirk into red mush. Instead, he went to sit beside Marcus for the balance of the return flight.
"I said that will do, Lt. Soames!" John snapped. "You've given your account. If you can't control yourself, then leave! Now! Don't make me tell you again!" Connor warned.
He knew Peterson was lying. He knew the man had tried to use the cover of battle to kill Marcus. But knowing and proving, especially in this case were two entirely different things. And he needed proof. His estimation of Marcus's humanity and value to the resistance carried the lion's share of weight, but unfortunately, his was not the only opinion to be considered. There were many, too many, who viewed Wright as Peterson did. Punishing Peterson without irrefutable evidence of the man's culpability would engender an entirely new set of problems that John did not need. The catch was, he knew, as of now, no way to obtain that proof, short of an admission by Jacob Peterson. Although he did not relish the prospect, Connor knew it might come down him proving once and for all that he was not a paper tiger, that he was much more than just the face of the resistance. That would not be a problem for him. Sarah Connor had prepared him for that moment from before his birth. He was ready. And it was about time.
Year 1993
Marcus caught the hand probing his wounded shoulder, eyes snapping open. He tried to roll away defensively, fingers instinctively seeking a weapon with which to protect himself, but found nothing.
"Facil, easy" the lovely young woman whose wrist he held imprisoned in his grasp told him soothingly. "Soy medico, I am a doctor, Dr. Mendez." She sought to reassure him. Her startled posture indicated she was no threat.
"She is, and you should listen to her. You shouldn't be trying to move around too much. They stuck you pretty good." Manuel Serrano came into the room, fresh towels in hand. He laid the towels on the bed within the doctor's reach, revealing one of Marcus's guns in his right hand.
"Looking for this? Thought I should be ready, just in case. I think I got us back here without anyone seeing, but I couldn't be sure, so… How's he doing?" Serrano asked the woman treating Marcus.
Instead of answering Serrano, the doctor addressed her patient directly. "You've lost a fair amount of blood, but fortunately, that appears to be the most serious problem you have at the moment. Most of the wounds are shallow. The shoulder was the chief concern. I've cleaned and sutured your wounds. You should try to remain still, and make sure you rehydrate. And keep the dressings changed. I've left antibiotics. Make sure you use them as indicated, Si?" She waited for Marcus's acknowledgment.
"Excelente" Mendez nodded, satisfied her instructions had been absorbed. She stood, gathering the tools of her profession and preparing to leave. Manny walked her to the door, their informal attitude towards one another suggesting a prior intimacy. They spoke softly, too soft for Marcus to overhear, and then Dr. Mendez opened the door.
"Gracias" Marcus called to her from the bed. "Thanks. For the medicine too."
"Su nada" it's nothing,she answered, "es mi trabajo, it's my job." She and Serrano shared a quick kiss."Te amo" Maria told Manny quietly, and then she was gone.
Manuel closed the door behind the woman to find Marcus studying him questioningly.
"Maria and I have a…history" he supplied by way of answering the unspoken query. " She's a resident at St. Augustine. Don't worry. We can trust her to keep quiet. She won't tell anyone anything" Manny said.
"You followed me." Marcus's depleted state caused him to state the obvious.
"I thought maybe I could give it one more try. I still needed your help. Still need your help" Serrano corrected to the present tense. "By the time I caught up with you…" There was no need to go on.
Wright was silent, considering. "We're both too beat up right now to go trying to save anybody from anything. We're going to do this, we gotta do it right. We gotta think it all the way thru. Plan it out."
"Does that mean-?" Manuel began.
"I'll help you get your cousin's kids" Marcus told the man who'd saved his life. "But we do it my way. And there's something else we have to do first" he finished, thinking of his brother. It didn't look like Sam was going to get to finish his schooling either.
Year 2019
Their eyes. Even after all this time, it was the eyes that stayed with him. No matter how many years accumulated in the rear view of memory, Marcus still remembered their eyes.
Manny Serrano's cousins eyes had been crowded with unutterable horrors, liquid pools of pain and confusion, desperate to block out the atrocities visited upon their young minds and bodies. Daringly freed by Marcus and Manny, their eyes were reservoirs of experienced cruelties that a lifetime of forgetting could never undo. The children could be, and were, hidden from the vengeful Osvaldo Serrano by smuggling them into the U.S and as far away from Mexico as possible, but their eyes would always betray the depth of their lost innocence.
There were others, too. So many. The terrified eyes of those trapped at the end of one of his guns during a robbery. Innocent victims whose mundane world was violently disrupted because of the innocuous decision to physically go into the bank. Their eyes begged the question, yet revealed the fear of the answer. Would they never see those they loved again because they'd preferred genuine human contact to the impersonal ministrations of an ATM?
There were the eyes of those who witnessed his execution at Longview. Oddly, those eyes seemed more lifeless than his, yet he was the one they would soon see bereft of life. Devoid of emotion, those eyes held the doll-like coldness of sharks. Other eyes stared at him thru the glass, filled with the knowledge that he would momentarily pay for the anguish he'd caused. Ken Campbell's widow, Paul Bundy's daughter. He'd refused to speak, knowing any statement would mean nothing to them. Words would never erase the dull misery of irreplaceable loss hiding behind the hatred of him in their eyes.
His mother's eyes had carried a shame she did not warrant for a life she'd tried in vain to escape.
Carl and Val Soames and their son, Billy. Those eyes had always held love, support, and in the end, that which he craved most and deserved least, forgiveness.
Blair Williams, Star and Kyle Reese. In those eyes, especially Blair's, he saw the sanctuary of unconditional acceptance and another chance for family.
But of all the eyes that haunted him down thru the years, of all the eyes that refused to grant him absolution and farewell, the ones that he could not and did not wish to ever forget were those of his brother, Sam.
Sam's eyes, so similar to his own, were the windows to Marcus's soul. The first time Marcus had stared into those eyes was the day Sam came home as an infant in Norah's arms. The last was the day Sam died in the blood and chaos of the shootout. Even then, even as he lay dying on the floor an arm's length away, Sam's eyes looked at his brother with trust and love. His heart slowing as death crept thru his system Marcus Wright's very final thought had been of that look.
He still did not fathom how he'd been granted a second, or perhaps, depending on perspective, a third or fourth chance at what he could only classify as life. But he did know this. He would not squander it. The night of his first day of wandering Skynet's hell with the fire out canvas, as he sat staring into the hastily concocted fire, with Blair in his arms, he'd made a promise. A promise to the two Texas Rangers who'd lost their lives that day, but mostly, he'd made it to Sam. He could not give them back their lives, but their sacrifice would not be in vain. He would be a better man. He would make this chance count. Value other lives as he valued his own. He quailed when he thought of the time he'd come close to breaking that promise before he'd even made it. How easy his decision to kill the thugs menacing Blair had been. Her shooting his first intended target had saved the man's life, such as it was. Marcus never wanted to come that near to breaking his word again. He knew Sam was watching.
Without warning it was Sam's voice that flared within the prison of Marcus's mind. "Danger, Marcus! WAKE UP!"
Year 1993
To almost anybody else, getting the children of a murdered man out of a child prostitution ring would be a heroic deed. To Osvaldo Serrano, the man responsible for selling the kids to the ring in the first place, rescuing them constituted an insult. The ADB boss was not a man to suffer insults from anyone, his own brother included. Finding out his cousin's children had been snatched from the hell to which he'd sentence them Osvaldo flew into a violent rage, in this case, killing the messenger. No great loss, since the bearer of Serrano's bad news had also been one of the persons pandering the children. Maybe a few young victims would sleep a little easier now.
Osvaldo took the rescues as a personal injury nonetheless. A public humiliation. Their father had betrayed him, daring to believe his stealing would escape Osvaldo's scrutiny. Serrano had lashed out like an angry viper, striking down the entire family as an example against anyone else ever being suicidal enough to so much as contemplate double crossing him. His cousin, his cousin's wife, the children must all be made to pay, and must all be seen to pay.
Now the brats had been freed, and worse, taken far enough away so that even his most diligent efforts had been unable to uncover their whereabouts. Compounding his frustration was finding out that one of the men responsible for this smear to his dignity was his own brother, Manuel. Before this, Osvaldo had always bragged on Manuel, boasting to everyone of his younger sibling's intelligence and abilities. The millions generated by Serrano's drug business were more than adequate to finance Manuel's education in the finest schools. His brother's intention in sending Manny to M.I.T. was, ultimately to bring the younger Serrano into the business, using his acumen with computers and electronics to help skirt the increasingly sophisticated methods being employed on both sides of the border to interdict the flow of narcotics. Discovering Manuel's duplicity was like a knife in his heart, only seeping out of the wound was not blood, but a putrid desire to make Manuel pay for defying him.
And the other one, this Marcus Wright, whose name Osvaldo had not bothered to know until now, he must also pay. Osvaldo would see him suffer in every way that could be imagined, along with anyone that he cared about. He would see everyone and everything this Marcus touched completely destroyed.
Osvaldo knew his desired result was possible. The obscene amounts of cash his enterprises brought to him allowed for a great many possibilities. Anything he desired was at his fingertips. Enough money could assuage any grievance. His imagination conjured pictures of the bloody, shredded bodies of his brother and Marcus Wright. Five hundred thousand American dollars for each. That was the price fixed as reward for their heads delivered into his hands . He would not rest until they were both dead and the damage to his reputation repaired. Debe ser.
Year 1998
Firing as he did so, Marcus dived for the shelter of the heavy dumpster, scattering garbage and rats in equal amounts. He winced in pain, seeing stars as his head fetched hard against the steel container. Shouts and cursing in Spanish indicated at least some of his shots hit their mark. That was a beautiful thing but it still left him outnumbered by about three to one. Wright could hear his pursuers marshalling their nerve for another rush. Even if he scored another hit, the odds that they would be on him before he could get the rest were unpleasantly high.
It was his own fault, he reasoned. This is what happens when you let your guard down. Aren't you the one always lecturing Sam and the other guys in the crew about staying on their game, not getting sloppy? Yep, that's you alright, Marcus. And yet here you are, about to have your fat head lightened by a few million brains cells. Might as well get rid of them, he chided with black humor. It's not like you're using them for anything.
At the exact instant the men chasing him made their move, Marcus felt a hand seize the scruff of his jacket and shirt and drag him around the corner of the building. Keep a grip on the gun in his hand he thrust back with his elbow, aiming for his attacker's solar plexus and threw his head back, head butting his opponent hard in the face.
"Ahh! Marcus, stop man! It's me! Ah! I think you broke my nose!" Alex Cordell's angry baritone protested. "If I knew you was going do this, woulda left you here on your own! Ow! Ah!"
"Alex!" Marcus wheeled. Alex was bent over slightly, mopping the red flood pouring from his offended beak, while keeping one eye on the entrance to the side alley. The big Haitian's dark gaze grew wide and he pushed Marcus back, bringing up the double barreled recoilless. Shooting past Marcus, his target went down in a spray of blood and bone. Marcus pivoted and fired in concert, taking out a second man. The third, suddenly finding the tables turned, opted for flight instead of fight, trying to reach the safety of a waiting vehicle, but it was not to be. Wright lined up the fleeing man and shot, watching expressionlessly as the body landed in a pile of trash and rotting food. The more enemies he eliminated today, the fewer there would be to come after him later. It wouldn't hurt to send a message to the hit team's paymaster either. He knew who that was. Even killing had its' practical side.
"Don't take this the wrong way, Alex" Marcus told his friend as the two quickly left the area, "but what are you doing here? You know the protocol after a job. We stay away from each other, let the heat die down."
"You welcome" Cordell snarled acidly. "I came to give you a message from Mama Loa. She say you in danger, that people coming to kill you tonight. I thought you might be going to see the old man so I look for you there first. I see you come out, then I see them following you. Shoulda let them finish you!" Alex snapped.
"Alright, alright, I'm sorry!" Marcus apologized. Keeping one eye on the road and one hand on the wheel, he reached over the back of his seat and felt around until his fingers touched the first aid kit he always kept close by.
He tossed it into Alex's lap. "Probably some gauze in there. Looks like it already stopped bleeding though. Really, sorry" he apologized again.
"Don't know why I bothered. It's not like you worth it" Cordell said crossly, frowning at Wright.
"You did it because we share the deep bond of men who've been thru fire together. I'm your leader. You love me" Marcus answered, without so much as a hint of a smile.
Alex cursed loudly. Leaning across, he opened the driver's door and shoved Marcus out of the moving pickup.
Hitting the hard packed dirt road with bone jarring force, breath wooshed out of Marcus and he lay stunned riding out the pain.
Alex Cordell wrestled the truck to a stop and jumped out, running back to where Wright was. By the time he got there, he could see Marcus sprawled on his back, helpless with laughter.
He shook his head. "You a crazy man, Marcus."
"Its' part of my charm" Marcus grinned wickedly.
Alex let loose with a deep belly laugh. "Get up fool."
Limping to the truck, Marcus patched up his scrapes and scratches, and the pair of bank robbers drove off.
"Your brother is very annoying" Marcus complained to Manny Serrano a few weeks later as the crew gathered to plan the assault on their next target. "I had to dodge more of his bounty hunters not too long ago. Its' almost getting predictable."
"Osvaldo wants us dead, mi amigo. He's not going to go away" Manny shrugged. "We've been living with it this long."
"If you want my opinion, you should get on down Mexico way and kill old Osvaldo. That'd put an end to the whole mess" Nelson Lee drawled, not looking up from his gun cleaning chores. A defrocked NASCAR driver, Nelson liked things fast. Osvaldo Serrano's never-ending pursuit of Manny and Marcus made no sense to him.
"Ah, but no one asked your opinion, now did they?" Sean Linney returned, a light Irish brogue discernable. The son of a retired Provo bomb maker, Sean was the gang's explosives expert.
Nelson colored. He and Sean were like oil and water, clashing often. Plus, Nelson always seemed to be a little on edge these days. Marcus was working on figuring out why. One of his crew not acting like their normal self made him jumpy.
Lee had a comeback ready, but it was never delivered.
"Don't Nelson. Enough." Marcus short circuited the impending argument. He sighed. Sometimes it was like keeping the peace in a kindergarten class with those two. Not that he hadn't entertained Nelson's suggestion in his head once or twice. Fortunately, common sense would always kick in before he could do anything stupid, like trying to slip back into Mexico and go for Osvaldo. Looking at it in the daylight, he knew he'd never get close enough to take the dope kingpin out. But it was a nice fantasy.
"Hey big brother" Sam greeted, entering thru a side door. Alex Cordell followed on his heels.
Five minutes later, Les Chang arrived.
"Time to get to work" Marcus gathered his crew around. They wouldn't be going after a bank this time, but an armored car. Good. Variety kept the work interesting.
Year 2019
"Dr. Connor."
Kate jumped. She hadn't realized anyone else was there. She had her head in the latest readouts, trying to figure out how what she was looking at could help save Marcus's life.
"Colonel Peterson." Kate recovered. What was Jake Peterson doing here? Wasn't he supposed to be confined to quarters? Her head struggled to shift gears.
Kate was a woman on a mission. Partly because he meant so much to Blair Williams and partly to prove something intangible to herself, she'd taken Marcus Wright's treatment and recovery as her own personal task. Together with Lawler and Donnelly, she needed to find a way to mesh her patient's organic and Skynet originated bodies to treat the whole man. They were close. She was sure of it.
"Doctor, I think it's time you and I had a talk" Peterson said in low, hushed speech.
Maybe it was the darkling undertone in his voice and maybe the manic light in his brown eyes, but something about the way the Colonel was acting set her alarm bells ringing. "Careful with this one Katie, real careful" Kate could practically hear Lt. General Robert Brewster whispering in her ear. A brilliant man, and despite their frequent and lengthy separations, in Kate's estimation the best of fathers, Robert Brewster had been an excellent reader of people and situations. His most glaring failure in that arena had also been his most catastrophic. Skynet.
"What can I do for you, Colonel?" Kate asked levelly. Years of being by John's side and the discipline of having to calmly deliver often terrible news to the families of her patients came rushing to her aid.
"Look doc" Peterson said conspiratorially, rudely invading her personal space. Kate resisted drawing back. "I saw earlier, when the mission was being planned. I was listening too. You don't like that thing in there anymore than I do." Jake nodded towards the medical bay where Marcus lay unconscious. "I know you love your husband. I knew you're his number one backer. I admire John Connor, always have. He's a great man and great leader. But he ain't seeing clear right now. Not like you and me. We know that machine" he inclined his head in Wright's direction again, "it's gotta be destroyed. While we can, while we have the chance. Like now, Dr. Connor. There's never gonna be a better chance than right now."
Kate's blood turned to ice. Outwardly, she showed no sign. Poker faced, she prompted Peterson. "What do you mean?"
"Doc, what if I was to tell you that I could fix it so Skynet's pet project never woke up? That I could arrange things so it's never a threat to General Connor or anyone else ever again?" The Arizona resistance Colonel made his words sound like a done deal, as if Marcus's death had already been accomplished.
With the angel of her father's wisdom still sitting on her shoulder, Kate Connor asked "And you would be able to do that how?" A small part of the redheaded doctor began to fear for her own safety. She'd warned John the man was bound make another attempt to do harm to Marcus, but now Peterson was actively recruiting her in an effort to finish what he'd started during the raid. If the Colonel was willing to go this far to accomplish his purpose, he also might not have a problem eliminating anyone or anything he perceived to be an obstacle, including her. She and Peterson were alone in the medical tent. If the man decided to harm her, help would not arrive soon enough to keep him from it. Kate strangled her fears. She was Robert Brewster's daughter and John Connor's wife and warrior enough in her own right.
"Easy, Katie" Lt. General Brewster's voice sang in her mind. "Give him plenty of line. Just let it play out." She kept cool, waiting on Jake's answer.
"Vince Lawler" Peterson told her. "He's one of mine. He'll follow my orders. He'll do whatever I tell him to do. I already had a talk with him. Before Co-" The colonel corrected, "before General Connor and myself, um, spoke. Lawler knows what to do, and he has the skills to do it. Corporal Lawler's got more about computer programming and how to use it to kill Skynet's machines in his head than anyone else under my command. He got his knowhow from some Mexican bank robber named Serrano hid out in the foothills in Arizona. Can you believe that? With your help, we can turn that monster in there into scrap metal and make it all look like a medical tragedy. Nobody but us three will ever know any different. How about it, doctor? I bet you'd sleep a lot easier at night knowing you'd never have to worry about 'Marcus Wright' showing his true colors and coming after your man again?"
From a deep well of strength Kate had been drawing on since Judgment Day came her reply. "I'll help you, Colonel. But we have to take great care and do this right. John must never know. Never." Kate lowered her voice to a whisper. "You supposed to be in your quarters. You should return to them before you're seen by too many of the wrong people. Corporal Lawler and I can handle the rest. Go, now. Hurry. I'll get with Lawler and get word to you when it's done."
Peterson smiled and Kate's heart dropped to her stomach. "Things are already in motion, doc. Vince is just gonna need a little help with the cleanup, that's all." Jake left.
Kate wanted to throw up, but there was no time. The second Peterson was gone, she was moving. Throwing back the flap to her office, she grabbed a young soldier standing guard outside the tent.
"Get General Connor or Major Barnes! Tell them to come to the medical tent now! And tell General Connor that I said Jacob Peterson should be placed under arrest and under guard! Go! Now!"
The boy, a teenager only slightly younger than Kyle Reese fled at the urgency in her voice. Kate dashed back inside, running down the makeshift hallway to where Marcus Wright lay helpless and alone. Blair Williams and little Star had taken her advice and were in their quarters, resting. Reaching Marcus's isolated bed Kate gasped horrified to see Vince Lawler bending over Marcus making some sort of adjustment to the area where Marcus's neural-net computer was housed. Was she too late?
Author's note: Only one more chapter to go and then it's a wrap. I don't speak Spanish, so I had to fake that. If some of it is wrong, that's why. Reviews, please. Let me know what you think. Be constructive, please. Thanks.