Author's note: More robbery in this chapter, John's quote is a direct copy of Nicholas Cage's line in Next. But it's a terrific quote.
Also, special thanks to all those who are enjoying my story. It's a great motivator.
Derek and Kyle listened in stunned amazement. They joined the cheers with the rest of the battalion after John had finished. Derek did manage to get them moving again, however, as they continued to retreat to point zulu.
"He did it!" Derek said to his brother between breaths as they jogged side-by-side in the still miserable downpour. "He got the message out!"
"He's amazing!" Kyle added. "I think we should keep him around for a while!"
Derek grinned back at his brother's sarcasm. But he also thought about the military mess that had been and continued to be a thorn in their side. Without another word, the battalion steadily made their way back to the rally point.
Allison listened intently to John's message, finding herself reduced to tears once again. The nurse had also been focusing on the transmission, when she turned to see her patient sobbing.
"Oh, honey, are you okay?" she asked. "Hey, you're gonna be just fine!"
"No, I'm okay," Allison said, smiling as she wiped away her tears. "I just find his words so moving."
"Was that the same young man who was just in here visiting you?" the nurse asked, only now connecting the dots.
"Yes," Allison said, nodding. "That's my John. Isn't he the best?"
"He's a remarkable young man," the nurse conceded. "Where does he get all this wisdom?"
"It's my job to find out," Allison said, glancing away from the nurse.
The nurse chuckled, but was careful not to mock Allison's response. "Why don't you get some rest now, sweetheart?" she said.
"Maybe in a little while," Allison pleaded. "Could I please have some paper and a pencil? I have an idea and I want to get it down before I doze off."
The nurse regarded her for a moment. "Sure," she said, nodding, "but just for a bit."
Allison smiled as she watched the nurse walk away.
Not everyone was appreciative of John's oratory.
"John Connor's alive!" Daniel Dyson screamed with rage as he slammed his fist into the desk. "Where is he?"
"His location is unknown," a T-600 responded stoically, especially compared to Dyson's tirade. "This transmission was acquired on a scrambled signal that we intercepted."
"Goddammit!" Dyson yelled. "I thought we killed that bastard years ago! I should have known he found a way to survive. He is now our number one target. Alert all commands!"
Fortunately for John and the resistance, no person or thing recognized the images of John from the Century City Camp, even though his appearance had barely changed from the last one they had seen—from Weaver's old residence. Neither did anyone suspect that time displacement had been his escape method.
"Why has he suddenly revealed himself after all these years?" Dyson mumbled to no one in particular.
John cleaned himself up, grabbed something to eat and caught a small nap. He spent the next couple of hours investigating some of the computer and publishing material Hoth had said he could have free access to. It wasn't much—a few ancient computers and printers, some copy machines, scanners, digital cameras and reams of paper—pretty much a dream setup, if it was 2001.
A lot of the equipment had clearly been scavenged by recon patrols or had been discarded in favor of the more advanced models in use elsewhere in the bunker. Still, John found himself engrossed in his work to determine what was useful and what was clearly junk.
The computers were John's primary focus. In spite of his mother's misgivings, John considered himself an adept child of the computer age. These models in particular, using the old Windows-based operating systems and software, were very familiar to him.
He already had two desktops operational and even networked and was working on a third when a knock came at the door in the forgotten storeroom that John was currently occupying.
John looked up to see a pair of middle aged men standing at the entrance, each carrying a toolbox and some other unrecognizable equipment.
"Excuse me," the lead one announced. "We're looking for John Connor."
"You found him," John said, standing up and moving to the door to help them.
"Hello, sir," the first one said again. "I'm Sergeant O'Shea and this is Corporal Rinaldi. General Hoth sent us to assist you."
"Of course," John said, offering his hand to each. "Nice to meet you."
The pair returned John's greeting and placed their equipment on the table.
"I'm doing pretty well with the computers," John admitted. "But I'm afraid I'm out of my league when it comes to copiers, printers and the other peripherals."
"No problem," O'Shea answered. "That's where we come in."
Within two hours, the three had four desktop computers and one laptop operational, along with two scanners, three printers, a camera and two copiers. Their fledgling publishing office was off to a good start.
John smiled at their accomplishment, but then suddenly turned to O'Shea. "What time is it, sergeant?"
"Oh-nine hundred hours, sir," O'Shea said, glancing at his watch. "Still ticking after all these years. It's an old spring-wound model. I'll enter the correct time on the computers."
"Great, I'd appreciate that," John said. "You guys finish up here and report back to your superiors. I gotta go see someone."
"Of sourse, sir," O'Shea responded.
This time, John remembered to have a badge made so entering and exiting the bunker no longer required an act of congress.
The emergency room was very busy at the hospital, dealing with all the wounded and dying from the night before. He found that Allison had been moved so they could make room for the incoming patients.
He arrived at Allison's room, surprised to see her sitting up, apparently writing.
"Hey beautiful!" John said, enthusiastically. "You look a lot better today!"
"John!" Allison said, opening her arms as an invite for him to hug her. "I missed you!"
He tried not to press too hard as he hugged her, knowing her ribs were probably very sensitive. Allison, however, had a virtual death grip on John.
"I guess so!" John teased, gently easing out of the embrace and cradling her face in his left hand. Gazing into her brown eyes quickly brought a wide grin to his face.
"I heard your message last night," Allison admitted, smiling back. "You are amazing, John Connor."
John glanced down and took hold of both of her hands, blushing a little. "Yeah, well the troops needed some encourgement," he said, as the smile disappeared. "It was pretty somber in the bunker last night. And, I imagine, not too great in the field either."
Allison's smile faded as well. "How many were lost, John?" she asked.
John drew a deep breath. "Over six thousand," he answered.
Allison slumped back onto her raised pillow with a look of shock on her face. John didn't want to depress her though, so he changed the subject.
"But Derek and Kyle are okay," he quickly added. "We finally heard from them about four or five hours ago."
Allison smiled briefly at the small bit of good news.
"So we're gonna be doing these broadcasts regularly," John admitted. "Plus we have a nice little publishing house set up in the bunker."
"Wow, you really have accomplished a lot in the short time you've been here, John," Allison said. "Here, I made this for you. I hope you can use it in your publications."
John looked down at what she had been working on. "Let's see what you've got here."
To his gleeful astonishment, Allison had rendered a beautiful mock-up of what a post-apocalyptic newspaper coould look like, complete with mastheads, headlines, photographs, cartoons, editorials, articles—the works. John stood up and examined the various pages—she had done five different ones—from different angles. "The Resistance Today" was what Allison had titled her renditions.
"Ally, my god!" John exclaimed. "These are awesome! Where did you learn to do this?"
"My father was an architect," Allison proudly answered. "He taught me how to draw from when I first started in coloring books. Even after the war began, I still drew things. He said you'll never know when your gifts will come in handy. I guess I never really believed him until now."
"You are a marvel!" John said, grinning broadly. "This is exactly what we need! I think we just found your new job."
"You are now, officially, named the art director and co-editor of 'The Resistance Today.' That is, if you want the position," John said, winking at her.
"I don't know," Allison said, teasing. "What's the pay? How many weeks off do I get?. Can I get back to you on that?"
John sat back down on her bed and Allison leaned forward until they were face-to-face. "I don't think I could possibly love you more than I do right now," John said.
"I find my love and respect for you growing deeper and deeper each day," Allison whispered.
With that said, John reached out with his left hand a guided her mouth to his, kissing her tenderly. Allison hungrily parted her lips and accepted John's tongue. They embraced passionately for a full minute until John released. In spite of his own desire, he didn't want her getting too excited in her weakened condition. They remained nose-to-nose for several moments though, caressing each other's cheeks and chins.
John didn't want to leave the moment, but he also knew, among other things, that this was neither the time or the place.
"So how are they treating you in here?" he asked, backing away from her ever so slightly. "Is there anything you need?"
"Just you," she said, looking longingly into his eyes. "How long do I have to stay here?"
"It'll be at least six weeks," the nurse said. She had been silently monitoring them and actually considered intervening before John backed away. Her voice startled John into a less intimate posture with Allison, but he remained seated next to her.
"It'll probably be closer to eight, though," she chided, "so don't be trying any funny business."
John coughed at the remark and glanced away. Allison just rolled her eyes.
"Thanks, nurse," John finally said. "We get the message."
"Don't worry, Ally," John whispered. "I've waited this long to find you. Six more weeks is nothing."
"That's easy for you to say," Allison retorted. "You're not the one with the broken leg."
"Would you like me to have a helicopter land on my leg?" John teased. "Or maybe I should dive under a collapsing roof!"
"Stop it!" Allison said, hitting him mockingly on his arm. "I don't want you leaving my sight!"
"Well, I can't stay all day, can I now?" John said. "I got a newspaper to print. Let's talk about what we're gonna put in it."
"Alright," Allison conceded. "I also did a little writing while you were away."
She then reached under her pillow and produced no fewer than 10 pages of writings, notes, scriblings and sketches. John was awestruck by the barrage, but as he began reading them he realized they were a virtual word-for-word transcription of his speeches.
"Ally!" John said, "This is incredible. What did you have, a hidden tape recorder or something?"
"Or something?" Allison replied, teasing. "I have a photographic memory, John. Vivid sights and sounds have always been easy for me to remember."
For a moment, John actually thought he was talking to Cameron again. He just stared at her blankly before shaking his head and smiling, " Okay then," he said. "Just another weapon to use against Skynet, I guess."
"Is that all I am to you, a weapon?" Allison asked, feigning a sorrowful look.
John looked up sharply at Allison from her writings and quickly moved to sit close to her again. He cradled her chin delicately with his left hand.
" I saw something on a computer today, one of those we rebuilt in the publishing room," John said. "I thought of you immediately."
Allison tilted her head and nodded slightly, beckoning John to continue.
"The desktop pattern wasn't a sunset, or a waterfall, or a family, or a pair of kittens playing," John continued. "It was a quaint little piece of art called the 'Cobbler' by an artist named Elio Carletti. Anyway, there was a small quote by Carletti just underneath the painting. That's what made me think of you."
"What did it say?" Allison asked, completely riveted by the tale.
"I thought you'd ask, so I memorized it for you," John said. "It said, 'Beauty is the summation of the parts working together in such a way that nothing needed to be added, taken away or altered.' That's what you are to me, Allison—you're beautiful."
Allison practically melted on the spot. Reaching out, she hugged John even tighter than before, if such a thing was possible. "Thank you, John," she said through tears. "I love you."
"And I love you," John added.
They remained embraced for quite a long time, until John realized that she had actually fallen asleep. He tenderly leaned her back against the pillow and pulled the bed covers up to her neck.
"The poor thing is exhausted," the nurse suddenly said from behind John. "Did you know she was working on those all night for you?"
"I gathered that it took her a while," John said, spinning his head and speaking with a slightly irritated attitude. "Are you always watching?"
"I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to pry. With all the death and horror we've seen in the past decade, a touching moment between two people in love is really quite refreshing. It was beautiful."
John conceded her point and decided to drop the subject. She may have been overstepping her bounds, but she still had a job to safeguard the patients.
"Tomlinson," John said, "The other boy that was brought in yesterday. What's his status?"
"Follow me to the desk and I'll see what I can find," the nurse said.
John paused, leaning down to kiss Allison gently on the forehead. "I'll be back later, Ally," John whispered.
He approached the desk as the nurse hung up the phone. "He's still in ICU," she said. "Hopefully, he'll pull through."
John nodded. "Thank you, nurse," he said. "Please tell Ally I'll be back tomorrow morning."
He then returned to the command bunker, where he found that Lieutenant Benes had been waiting for him.
"Lieutenant," John greeted her. "What's the word?"
"General Hoth asked me to organize an escort for your return to the Reese's camp," Benes said, somewhat perturbed.
John picked up on her attitude immediately but decided to steer clear of it. He probably wouldn't want to babysit him either.
A convoy of three badly delapidated vehicles made it back to the Zeira building without incident. Conversation was non-existent, as John expected and, in fact, enjoyed. He had to think of a way to inform the brothers that they were going to have to move.
And he knew they weren't going to like the idea.
John was immediately greeted by Kyle and they embraced in a brief hug. "So good to see you, John," Kyle said. "It was a long night."
"Yeah, I'm sure it was," John said. "But I'm very glad you two made it." He wished there was some way he could tell his father the truth, but too much depended on that secret remaining undisturbed.
"Is Derek around?" John asked. "We need to talk."