When Election Day finally arrived, John found himself more relieved than excited. Certainly, democracy was about to make its triumphant return, but he really couldn't believe the amount of work it took just to turn a concept into reality.
First were the seemingly endless debates in the newsroom about who to include in the election and who to discard. Trying to get a committee to see things objectively and consider only the issues was practical and logical—in theory. To have them ignore petty concerns such as physical appearance, eloquence, use of grammar, age, race and a host of more and more trivial matters was just as pragmatic—and just as impossible.
At one point, John announced, to everyone's shock, that it might be better if the machines made the selections. "At least we'll have a decision made this century," an angry John intoned.
"Yeah, and you'd know the election wasn't rigged either," Allison added, with a silly smirk on her face.
At that point, everyone in the room grew quiet, awaiting—indeed, dreading—John's reaction. However, instead of exploding in anger, he began laughing uncontrolably, with Allison and the rest of the group soon chiming in.
Beyond that were concerns regarding the collection of votes, who should be allowed to vote, how to assure each person only voted once, and a myriad of other problems that seemed to surface at the worst moments.
"Democracy," John muttered to himself as he hacked away at the computer terminal, paraphrasing the great Winston Churchill, "is the worst form of government. Except for all the rest."
In the end, a group of 50 individuals, handpicked by John, was selected to collect the votes from all around Los Angeles. The choices were not easy to make, as he had several factors to consider, not the least of which were alacrity and stealth—the abilities to move quickly and stay hidden from Skynet. They also had to be trustworthy, dedicated to this important task and believe wholeheartedly in the undertaking.
On June 30, all votes were to be cast by 6 p.m, with the intention to have all the ballots returned to the newsroom by midnight. Even if this monumental task could be accomplished in the allotted time, it was estimated that somewhere between three and seven days would be needed to tally the votes. John had handpicked the couriers, but a much more select group—including Allison and just four other high ranking writers—were entrusted with the actual count.
John kept security very tight, requesting and receiving military muscle to keep out the curious or anyone with ulterior motives. John was particularly insistent of avoiding predictions or exit polls, mostly because he despised the old television networks and their idiotic projections with only paltry percentages of the voting returns known.
That being said, three things were abundantly clear early in the count: James Ellison and the leader of a large resistance cell in the Santa Anna Mountains—one Kristen Gonzalez—were probably going to finish second and third in the election, with 5,131 and 4,384 votes, respectively, already counted towards them. The next closest competitor—a Richard Park from Riverside—had a little over 1,500 in his favor, and his community had been accounted for.
The big surprise, the one that no one saw coming, but should have, was the landslide of support for the vote leader. Nearly 13,000 ballots had written in a name not included with the original 13.
John Connor.
John had been in his office, quietly working on a piece of writing about the election. Purposely, he had asked to be undisturbed, specifically regarding the vote tally. Nevertheless, Allison felt this was too important to ignore.
She knocked on the door lightly, entering without waiting for a response. She was the only one who could get away with this slight breach of etiquette.
"I asked not to be disturbed…"John said, turning in his chair, but he cut himself off. His expression changed from a frown to a grin. "Oh, Ally! I guess I can handle a little disturbance."
Allison grinned back as she shut the door. Carrying a sheet of paper, she scuffled over to him. Although in considerably better shape, she was still slightly hobbled by her broken leg. The cast had been removed last week, but she was using a brace and one crutch to compensate until she got her strength back.
"Hey, how's your leg?" John asked, beckoning her over with open arms. "Did you get more pain meds?"
"It's fine, John," Allison answered as she took a seat on John's right thigh, her left arm wrapping around his neck, stretching her still weakened limb across to his opposite leg. It was a fib, but she was growing weary of everyone overprotecting her, even John.
"You're getting better at that," John said, grinning slyly as he wrapped his arms around her waist. "I almost believed you that time."
Allison playfully rolled her eyes at his response, taking the opportunity to run her fingers through his hair. "I need to show you something," she said.
John's heart skipped a beat. Those were Cameron's precise words the last time they were alone. He glared, wide-eyed at his girlfriend.
Allison's expression changed from sultry to slightly confused. "I know you don't want to see any of the election results until the final tally, but we've seen a considerable amount of write-in votes," she said.
"No! It doesn't matter!" John protested. "C'mon, Ally! I'm trying to stay objective here! I can't know who's winning or going to win if I expect to write this piece with a clear mind!"
"John, I know that!" Allison responded, handing him the piece of paper she was carrying. "For heaven's sake, I agreee with you! God! We've argued about this enough! Don't you think I understand? But you have to see this! It effects everything!"
Reluctantly, John took the sheet from Allison. His expression quickly changed from irritation to shock. He leaned back in his chair, his right arm still around her waist.
"How can this be?" John asked. "We didn't allow for write in votes. These don't count!"
"How can they not count, John?" Allison responded. "The people have spoken! They love you! They can't help but love you!"
"But I wasn't running for office," John pleaded, lowering his head. "How is this fair to the other candidates?"
"Who said anything about fair?" Allison said, lifting his chin, looking him straight in his eyes. "When is this world ever fair? Was it fair that the goddamned machines have blown the Earth to kingdom come? Is it fair that they're hunting us to extinction?"
"But I never asked for any of this," John said. "I know that change is needed and I'm happy to be one of the voices asking for it. But can I actually bring that change about?"
"We need you, John," Allison continued, fire in her eyes. "The people really respond to you! You're a natural leader! You give us hope, a reason to believe, a reason to live!"
John stood up abruptly, deftly, but gently, switching Allison to a seated position in the chair in the process. "It's not right, Allison," he said. "We've got to have checks and balances. Some will say it's been fixed. Absolute power corrupting absolutely!"
Just then, John's phone rang, and he answered quickly. "Connor," he said, perhaps a little too harshly. After listening briefly, he answered, "I'll be right there."
Turning back to Allison, he said, "Alright, Ally, you made your point. Continue the tabulation. We'll see how it ends up. See if you can fluff up that piece I was working on a little—you know—throw a little history in there or something. Of course, take my name off the by-line. Otherwise it's good to go."
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"A Colonel Nishimira needs to see me," John responded, as he opened the door and walked out.
Allison glared at the office entrance for a few moments and then spun the chair around to continue typing John's story.
Susan Nishimira was actually a commander in the U.S. Navy, but the almost complete absence of the fleet necessitated her honorific transfer to the army. Her experience and intelligence earned her a command post in Hoth's army—she commanded one of the regiments that was slaughtered in the valley in that disastrous battlle on April 22.
Nishimira was approaching 50 years of age and was showing a little gray in her jet-black hair, but, like many women of Asian descent, did not display many of the typical signs of middle age. Even under these circumstances, she kept herself physically fit and could have been easily mistaken for someone in their 30s.
John met Nishimira at the front of the newsroom and escorted her to an unoccupied office.
"What can I do for you, Colonel?" John asked, offering her a seat at the desk, opposite of him.
"You need to understand something, Mr. Connor," Nishimira said, taking her seat. "The information I'm about to convey is highly sensitive. Can I have your assurance it will not leave this room?"
"Of course," John said.
"This is totally off the record, Mr. Connor," Nishimira reiterated. "Not for publication or broadcast."
"I get it," John said, somewhat frustrated. "No one hears this but me."
"Good," the colonel answered, leaning in very close to him. She took a deep breath before glancing to the left and the right, as if someone had somehow snuck into the office in the interim. For his part, John was somewhat taken aback by her proximity.
"We intercepted a Skynet communique tonight," she whispered. "They are planning to move in with a large force—at least 200 T-600s—with the plans to annihilate whatever humans appear at the election results announcement and post-election party that you have planned at the motor depot."
Nishimira produced a folder that contained a copy of the cryptologists decoding work. John inspected the contents for a short time.
"Well, good," John replied, matching her tone. "Hoth is planning to intercept it, then?"
"No," Nishimira answered. "In fact, he's planning on doing nothing. Just some retaliatory strike after it's said and done."
"What?" John said, trying to suppress his anger. "Why bother intercepting Skynet's messages if we're not gonna use them?"
"Because it's not a big enough 'prize'," she replied. "It's not enough terminators for us to reveal that we've broken their code."
"And you believe that?" John said, incredulous. "Do you know how many civilians will die in this attack? Thousands will be there!"
"I know, Mr. Connor," Nishimira said. "That's why I came to see you. Look, Hoth is stuck on some historical reference. He won't change his mind."
"What reference?" John queried.
"From World War II," she said. "The British were bearing the brunt of Nazi Germany's war machine early in the war. However, one of their early successes came from British cryptologists, who cracked the Nazi cypher. So the British knew most, if not all of the German plans. However, during the famous Blitz, the nighttime Nazi bombing raids on English cities, one such raid—on the city of Coventry—was allowed by the British to proceed virtually unopposed, even though they knew what would happen. To Winston Churchill, the British Prime Minister, and their military, it was more important to secure the secret than to save some civilians."
"How many died?" John asked, swallowing hard. He also thought it more than a little ironic for Churchill's name to surface again.
"Several hundred," Nishimira answered. "But most could have been saved."
"So Hoth thinks this is our Coventry?" John asked, already knowing the answer.
"Of course," she said.
"But this is World War III," John said. "And we don't exactly have a booming population, rather the opposite, I would suspect."
"And Hoth is no Winston Churchill," Nishimira added.
John leaned back to regard the colonel, trying to measure her motives.
"We cannot allow anymore slaughter of civilians," John said. "It's time to start protecting them."
"Hoth needs to be removed," Nishimira added, bluntly.
"You mean killed, right?" John asked.
"Preferably not," the colonel said. "He's not an evil man, but his strategies clearly leave something to be desired."
"But who would replace him?" John asked. "You?"
"Well, I have no qualms about leading the corps," Nishimira answered. "But that is not my primary motivation. I think the timing for this is perfect. Whoever the choice is, he or she should be selected by the newly elected council."
"But how can we do that before the party?" John asked.
"Well, surely you have a good idea about who's going to win," Nishimira said. "These people need to start issuing directives right away."
For John, the colonel's words hit home and he turned away from her to stare blankly at the surface of the desk, idly stroking his chin. Is this the moment when John is to be thrust into the leadership position he is destined for? Would it look like a fixed result?
These questions bounced around his mind and he realized that the decision would have to be made rapidly. Thousands of civilian lives were at stake. John thought, Am I ready?
Then his mind wandered back to the conversation he and Allison had just completed before this meeting. "We need you John," she had said. And he also thought back to one of the first speeches he made to the small gathering in the Zeira cafeteria.
This was all about Allison and his family. This was all about love.
Without hesistating any more, John rose and locked eyes with Nishimira.
"Alright, colonel," John said. "We'll have Hoth arrested. We'll need you and your people to take over and assure a smooth transition. And we'll need some sort of battle plan to deal with Skynet's attack."
"Who put you in charge?" Nishimira asked, bewildered.
"I'm the leading vote getter," John said without reservation.
"But you weren't running," she replied.
"The write-ins carried the day," John answered.
"This is getting complicated," Nishimira said. "How do I know that's correct? What if you're just looking to take over? This is the perfect time to seize control!"
John studied her for a moment. "You've heard my broadcasts," he said. "You've read my articles. I give you my word that this is not about me or my ambitions. I'm trying to do what's right for what's left of humanity. And that starts with trust. How do I know what you told me is true? You could be just after Hoth's command!"
"It's all true!" Nishimira whispered. "I'm risking my life by telling you this. This will be considered mutiny!"
"So there it is," John said, coldly. "I'm trusting your information is factual. That's my leap of faith. What do you need from me?"
"Let me see those election results," she said.
"Very well," John answered. "Come with me."
They arrived at John's office only to find Allison still typing away feverishly.
"Allison Young, this is Colonel Susan Nishimira," John said, closing the door.
Allison stopped working and spun around in her chair. "Colonel," Allison said. "Excuse me if I don't get up, but my leg is bothering me a little…tonight."
John caught Allison lying again, but knew this was hardly the time to start that silly argument. Instead he shot her a brief sideways glance that indicated he knew.
"Of course Ms. Young," Nishimira answered. "I enjoy reading your articles. You certainly have a lot of spirit and courage for one so young."
"Thank you. I have a lot of motivation," Allison said, smiling and nodding her head toward John.
John returned the smile. "Ally, could you please show the colonel the vote tally so far," he said.
Allison's expression changed to shock , but then returned to a wide smile. She quickly realized that John had accepted his fate and handed Nishimira the tabulation.
"My God," Nishimira exclaimed. "It's not even close."
"Have all the couriers returned yet, Ally?" John asked.
"Yes," Allison replied. "but the results pretty steadily favored those three at the top."
"So it's gonna be me, Ellison and Gonzlaez?" John asked, rhetorically.
"The way Greg and Chris were explaining statistical theory to me, it's almost a certainty," Allison replied.
"Alright, Ally, continue the tally," John said, opening the door and beckoning for the colonel to join him. "But keep as tight a lid on this as possible."
"Where are you off to now?" Allison asked.
"I gotta have a meeting with the other two leaders," John replied. "Finish that story and then join us in room 113 with the latest results."
Allison smiled at them and watched them leave before spinning around to complete writing the story.