Disclaimer: I have nothing to do with the Terminator franchise or any of its characters.
hu·man [hyóomən]
adj
1. of people: relating to, involving, or typical of human beings
2. made up of people: composed of people
3. compassionately kind: showing kindness, compassion, or approachability
4. imperfect: having the imperfections and weaknesses of a human being rather than a machine
Resistance Base, the next morning...
Marcus's internal clock woke him with plenty of time to get ready before hooking up with the salvage team. Blair was still sound asleep when he left their quarters. She mentioned that she wanted him to wake her to say goodbye, and he felt a pang from his conscience for not doing so, but he knew it was easier to keep his resolve in distancing himself from her if he didn't have to actually deal with her. Not exactly the bravest choice, he admitted.
His first stop was to the quartermaster to pick up a day's worth of food and water rations, plus a full med kit, then off to the armory where he was given a sidearm and a heavy machine gun, along with plenty of extra ammo. Marcus hefted his now heavily loaded pack and wondered how the hell anybody could be expected to carry a load like this all day. For him it wasn't a problem, but the others... Tough bastards, he thought, not for the first time.
The salvage op team was waiting for him at the motor pool. There were three people in the group (which seemed like way too few in his opinion) plus one dog. The one leading the mission was Sergeant Earhart, a stocky woman whose face could be described as handsome rather than pretty, with white-blonde hair cut boyishly short, and icy blue eyes that rarely blinked. Marcus heard she was a real hard-ass, but fiercely loyal to those on her team. In more than fifty salvage ops, she only lost one man, and that was during one of her earliest missions. Nobody else could boast a better record, not even Connor.
Corporal Guiterez was the youngest of the group, barely in his twenties, yet with the gaze of someone far older. Looking at him reminded Marcus of Kyle Reese, who'd experienced things in his young life no teenager should have to face. In the war against the machines, people aged fast or died young.
Corporal Chase, on the other hand, looked totally out of place among his teammates. He didn't look like a soldier at all, just an average middle-aged guy with a carefully trimmed salt-and-pepper beard and soft gray eyes surrounded by laugh lines. He sat a little apart from the others on an old crate, absently patting the large brown mutt seated by his knee. The dog's name was Kim. Her job was to act as their early warning system, and Corporal Chase was her handler.
Sergeant Earhart briefed Marcus on the mission. It sounded simple enough: head for the moderately-sized town about eighty miles from the base, sneak into the veterinary clinic, grab whatever the docs put on the list of desired items, and get out, all without getting spotted by the machine patrols.
"We doing all this in daylight?" Marcus asked.
"Machines got infrared," the sarge reminded him with a touch of impatience, "In daylight we can see them as well as they can see us."
"Right," Marcus grinned self-effacingly, "Guess I should've known that."
Earhart's stony expression didn't change. She pointed at a row of four motorcycles waiting for them. "You know how to ride?"
"Yeah."
"Then mount up."
One of the bikes had a sidecar which Kim hopped into without prompting. On closer inspection, Marcus was dismayed to discover that some of the parts used to cobble the vehicles together were apparently taken from Moto-Terminators. Walking around the front of the motorcycle assigned to him, he found himself confronting the darkened lenses that was once glowing red eyes.
"We ain't gonna wait for you," Guiterez called out. Marcus shook himself and climbed onto the bike. Four engines hummed to life and the salvage team rode up the ramp leading to the concealed exit. Once out in the open they put on the speed and the resistance base soon vanished far behind them.
Eighty miles from Resistance Base, five hours later...
Despite the advantage of riding fast motorcycles, it still took the entire morning to reach their destination. There was no shortage of obstacles to slow them down, from derelict cars cluttering the roads to passing Hunter-Killers or ground troops they needed to hide from. During one of these long waits, holed up in some ruins of what used to be a highway rest stop, they broke out the rations. Cold pork and beans and stale crackers. Marcus didn't really need any food at that time, but he ate anyway. No sense reminding everyone of his differences.
Marcus watched as Corporal Chase fed Kim before digging into his own meal. The guy seemed more comfortable with his dog's company than anyone else's. Marcus hadn't heard him say more than two words so far. But then, nobody in this bunch could really be described as chatty.
Once the coast was clear, they finished the last leg of their journey. They hid the bikes just outside of town and slowly crept towards the outskirts. They didn't need to see Kim's sudden tension to know there was danger. Hardly a minute passed where they didn't see groups of T-600s and 700s marching by. The place was crawling with them.
"Jesus," Marcus whispered, "What the hell are they all doin' in that pissant town anyway?"
"Coulda been some human activity spotted," Guiterez speculated, "Maybe salvagers who weren't so good at keepin' under the radar."
Earhart surveyed the town with a set of powerful binoculars. "Looks like they're concentrating their patrols around the Wal-Mart. Might've been some recent raids on the pharmacy."
"Where's the vet clinic?" Marcus asked.
Guiterez and Chase also had their binoculars out. Chase pointed somewhere east of the Wal-Mart. "Over there. Looks like the machines are pretty much ignoring it."
"Good for us." Guiterez offered his binocs to Marcus. Marcus shook his head. "Don't need 'em," he mumbled. The young man quirked an eyebrow at this, but said nothing.
They observed the patrols for a few minutes until they got their patterns down, then headed in. Fortunately, there were plenty of buildings, abandoned cars, and piles of rubble to use for cover. They dashed between these points of concealment with as little noise as possible. Twenty minutes later they were huddled amidst the hulks of an old car pileup gazing at the clinic's weathered facade across the street. Aside from peeling paint and a couple of broken windows, the building appeared untouched.
At a gesture from her handler, Kim trotted out into the open and went straight to the abandoned clinic. The salvage team watched as the dog made a circuit of the entire building, checking for signs of intruders both machine and human. When she was done, she sat down in front of the door and quietly wagged her tail.
"Clear," Chase whispered.
Sergeant Earhart led the team from cover. The clinic's door was locked, but Guiterez made quick work of it without resorting to kicking it down and risking the machines overhearing. They all slipped into the darkened building and Kim immediately checked the interior out with the same thoroughness she did outside. Once again, it was declared safe. The team made their way to the back of the clinic. There were rows of cages along one wall. Most were empty, but Marcus saw the remains of a few unfortunate house pets that never made it out of there.
They found a door labeled PHARMACY - STAFF ONLY. It too was locked, but was no match for Guiterez's B-and-E skills. Their flashlights revealed shelves loaded with plastic containers and vials of all sizes, all coated in a layer of dust.
"Looks like nobody even thought of this place in all the panic," Chase remarked in a quiet voice. It was the most Marcus ever heard him say.
The sergeant got down to business. "Everybody get out your lists and start loading up. Chase, you and Kim keep watch."
The bearded man nodded and handed over his pack, then took the dog back out to the lobby. The others unshouldered their own packs and started cramming them with whatever they could get off the shelves.
Marcus checked the scrap of paper he took out of his pocket scrawled with words he couldn't even pronounce, let alone figure out what the hell they were for. But knowing what the drugs were wasn't necessary. All he had to do was grab them and bring them back to the base.
Pretty soon everyone's packs were heavier than ever, stuffed to the brim with pills and sealed bottles of liquids of all kinds, along with several boxes of syringes for good measure. Their task done, the team rejoined Chase and his dog in the lobby. They left the clinic and made their way out of town with the same caution as before, avoiding Terminator patrols along the way. Finally, they reached the secluded spot where they'd left their motorcycles.
It couldn't have gone better. Marcus was actually starting to relax when a low growl from Kim caused everyone to tense up. Before they had a chance to wonder what set the dog off, a group of five men appeared, all heavily armed, all with their weapons pointed at them. Marcus recognized Ross, the black man with the scarred face who made his living salvaging supplies for trade, and the big man Ox, who lost to Marcus in an arm wrestling match.
"Wouldn't ya know it," Ross sighed and shook his head, "Me and the boys hear about a vet clinic nobody's touched and the same day we're gonna raid it you all show up to do the deed. Ain't that ironic."
"Sure is," Ox agreed like a good sidekick.
"You don't need to point those guns at us," Earhart stated calmly, "We'd be willing to trade some of the drugs with you."
Ross's smirk twisted the ragged scar across his face. "Tell you what, leave the drugs with us, an we'll let you all go. How's that sound."
"Sounds fair to me," Ox chimed in.
Marcus saw the silencers on all their guns. The distant machines probably wouldn't even notice if they started shooting.
"I think you all had better put down your guns," Ross advised, "And those packs." Grim faced, the salvage team had no choice but to comply. They'd been caught completely off-guard, thinking all the danger was behind them, and now couldn't risk fighting back without getting someone killed.
No sooner did Marcus set his weapons and pack down, then Ox took notice of him and the large man's eyes bugged in recognition. "Shit! Hey, Ross, look who it is!"
The scarred man grinned. "Ain't this a small world? Y'know, since we last saw ya there's been this rumor goin' around that Connor got himself a pet robot. Know anything about that?"
Before Marcus could think up a response, Earhart spoke up. "C'mon, you know nobody hates the machines more than Connor."
Ox closed the distance between him and Marcus, his gun pointed at the center of the other man's forehead. "What'd happen if I knocked you one upside the head? Would ya make a clang noise? Huh?" He pressed the muzzle of his weapon into Marcus's skin hard enough to leave an indentation.
Marcus didn't think, he just reacted. The same thing happened when those three men attacked Blair at the abandoned racetrack. Actions he never received training for in his human life sprang up by instinct, combined with reflexes and strength that went beyond human.
In a blur of motion, Marcus grabbed the gun and twisted it out of Ox's grip, breaking several of the man's fingers in the process. His other fist cracked Ox's jaw and sent the large man sprawling in the dirt. Marcus then brought the silenced weapon up and shot down two of Ross's men before they had a chance to react. One died instantly, the other managed to fire his own gun. The bullet punched into Marcus's chest, ricocheted off his metal ribs, and barely missed Ross's arm as it zipped past.
By then other guns were firing, both silenced and otherwise. Marcus spun and found himself looking down the barrel of Ross's weapon. The man's eyes were wide in shock as he took in the wound on Marcus's chest and the glint of exposed metal there. "Holy shit," he gaped, "You are a fuckin' ro-" The side of his head exploded in red mist and he fell to the ground. Marcus turned to see Earhart holding a smoking gun. There was not a trace of remorse in her expression.
The battle was over as suddenly as it began. Ross and two of his men were dead, Ox was unconscious, and the remaining man was gone, having run off at the first sign of trouble. Marcus's side didn't make it through unscathed, either. Earhart was bleeding from a shallow wound on her side, and Chase was lying on the ground with Guiterez crouched over him. The younger corporal was checking for a pulse. Marcus already knew he wasn't going to find one. Chase's eyes had the vacant look they'd all come to know all too well.
Kim sat by her handler's feet, a faint whine issuing from her throat. She pawed at Chase's boot, trying to get some kind of movement from him.
Guiterez sat back on his heels. "He's gone."
A muscle in Earhart's jaw twitched, her only show of emotion. "Take his weapons and pack."
"We're just gonna leave him here?" Marcus asked, incredulous.
The sergeant turned her icy gaze on him. "We don't have time to figure out a way to bring his body with us. The machines probably heard our shots and are on their way to investigate. We gotta move."
She was right. Marcus knew it, but he sure as hell didn't have to like it. Jaws clenched, he grabbed Chase's pack while Guiterez collected the guns and spare ammo. Marcus stuffed the pack into the sidecar of Chase's motorcycle and mounted the bike. As they started up their engines he hesitated, glancing back at their comrade's fallen body and the forlorn dog sitting beside it. Marcus pursed his lips and got off the bike. Ignoring the Earhart's shouts, he scooped up the dog and carried her back to the waiting bike. It was a tight fit in the sidecar with the full pack taking so much room, but Kim gave no sign of protest. Satisfied that she'd stay put, Marcus mounted the bike once again and the salvage team rode off without a backward glance.