Livin' In The Future

by Ottovw

John Connor is in the future. He came to find Cameron's Chip. He must deal with uncertain and unlikely allies. Cope with unknown, and unforeseen enemies. Fight the War Against The Machine. AND if that wasn't enough he STILL has to save the World.

10. Chapter 10

Livin' in the Future

By Ottovw

2010

Chapter 10

-John

John was curled up across the truck's bench seat. He'd been sleeping for nearly two hours when Allison came to wake him. "John. John." She only opened the door halfway the hinge creaked when the door was opened all the way.

"Yeah?"

"Something's happening. Ms Weaver told me to wake you."

John sat up for a moment he forgot where he was. Sleeping in the cabs of trucks was nothing new. And he'd been waking up to the devastation of Los Angeles for nearly three weeks. So novelty of that had long worn off it was the combination of the two that confused him. "Ms Weaver?" He heard himself ask. He looked at Allison. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen. "Have you had any sleep?"

She smiled it was a kind of sad half smile. "More than you."

John nodded. He slid out of the seat pushing the door the rest of the way open. It creaked. Allison winced. He glanced around walked away from the truck and nonchalantly closed the door. The door closed with an audible thud. Allison cringed, and moved to catch up with him. "What did she say?"

"She said she heard something." Allison emphasized the word, and John knew that she was referring to one of Weaver's 'resources'.

He looked at Allison sideways, and nodded. "What's going on?" He asked as they passed what had been the ruined bunker's entrance.

Allison stopped. She looked worried. "He sent out a runner."

John stopped. "What?"

"While you were sleeping Kassar sent out a runner."

John shoved his hands deep into pockets of his father's coat. It was still chilly out probably in the upper 40s. He looked down beside him was his gore stained BDU top. It had already turned black. There were no flies he wondered about that. He looked at Allison again and nodded. "So Tran will know I'm here."

"We should leave this place. It isn't safe."

Dramatically he gestured to the world at large. "Where is safe?"

"From Tran," she said.

John looked down at his boots and smiled at the distinction. "Let's go find out what Weaver wants." They turned around the edge of the bunker, and up the rubble pile. Over his shoulder he asked: "What's the lieutenant been doing?" When he turned back to the front he saw. "Oh." He stopped in midstride.

The trench and the remains of the bunker were six feet above the surface of the road, which was nearly a thousand feet away. The ground sloped almost imperceptibly to the distant road. When he last saw it was empty except for the debris from the skirmish. The wreckage of the battle were still there. But now there were discreet piles of rubble in lines they alternated and checkered the field like a chess board the three lines were two hundred feet apart. "Mines?" He looked over his shoulder at Allison.

She nodded.

He turned back to look. "Claymores?" He could just see the ghosts of the trails of wires that led back to the trench.

"Yes."

"They aren't going to do much."

"No," she agreed. "But they might slow them down. Buy us some time." She did not sound hopeful.

John looked left and right along the line of the trench. He didn't see any humans he recognized. "Second squad?"

"In the building," Allison gestured with her head. To the right of the trench, about 100 feet away, was a mangled office tower only four floors remained. John had no way of knowing how many might be missing. The front of the building abutted Skynet's road.

John turned and looked up at the front of the bunker, it was pitted from plasma hits, rebar was visible over roughly a quarter of its surface and some of that was deformed by the heat. He could see where the observation port, a slit in the reinforced concrete, had been eaten away. He turned away and looked down.

He looked at Weaver who was crouched next to the device. "How does it… work?" It was the cannon they salvaged from the Centaur. It sat on the edge of the trench. They had nothing to mount it on. A pair of worn vise-grips was attached to part of the housing. Beside it on the top of the trench were a large flat head screwdriver and a pair of pliers.

Weaver explained. "It must have had a large external power source." Yeah, John thought, its hulk was sitting out there on the road. "Without it seems to take about 5 minutes to recharge." She explained: There was a conduit, you dropped the screwdriver down into it, and the five barrels would begin to spin. Once it reached a certain number of rotations per minute you used the pliers to squeeze two flaps of metal together and you'd fire a stream down range. Five shots, one per barrel. Then you released the pliers pulled the screwdriver out and waited. Great, John thought, we might get two shots out of it. Still it was better than not having those shots at all.

He crouched beside Weaver. "What did you hear?"

Her eyes flicked to the others in the trench. In his head he heard: "I'm going to keep this short. There is a lot of confused fighting to the north it's very sporadic."

He nodded.

She mirrored his nod and continued: "You've lost the Delta seven bunker."

He looked at her sharply.

"I can't tell if it's collapsed, or if it's been abandoned. I thought you should know," she finished in his head.

The lieutenant and three unhappy looking sergeants walked passed. John stopped them. "We need to prepare to move."

Kassar gave him an exasperated look. "We have to hold this position."

"They are coming back and they will be here with more than six endos and a Centaur." John thought the lieutenant was going to roll his eyes. John walked them to the corner of the bunker he gestured passed it. Like the ground in front of the bunker it was largely flat but 300 feet beyond that space was another series of rubble mounds.

Like the area all around them the ground was an off white. Even at 3 a.m. it was eerily bright like after a snow fall. It was too fine to be called gravel but it was too course to be called dust. Despite the coloration it was a mix of all sorts of material. Rock, glass, plastic and metal. The mounds were larger and closer much more difficult terrain for the large top heavy tanks that Skynet used. "Put your gear there. May be a platoon. That way we have somewhere to fall back to when this trench goes." John looked at the lieutenant, "and it will go." He looked at the sergeants, one of whom he promoted earlier tonight. Battlefield promotions happen all the time but most of them occur after the battle. "This isn't how you fight. This," John point back at the trench, "is too static. One of our advantages is mobility, and by staying on that line we lose that." The sergeants nodded their agreement. The lieutenant looked resigned. John was pleased the lieutenant wasn't stupid he would listen to his sergeants. To mollify him John added, "we can take the line back after we beat them, but we can't beat them here." He was telling them the truth they couldn't win here but they might be able to survive.

"Their strength is their combined arms. If we isolate the endos from the tanks from the HKs we can hurt them." John couldn't say 'beat'. He didn't want to lie to them. They looked so earnest. He made his suggestions, the sergeants made theirs. The lieutenant conceded the argument by adding a few ideas of his own.

First platoon, on the farthest right, they had seen no fighting were the center of the new line. They still had a full complement of RPGs and reloads. Second platoon would fall back taking the soldiers in the building with them, after the second string of mines are fired. At this point the truck would move down one block to cover the retreat. Third and fourth would run after the third string of mines, and hopefully the second shot of the cannon. John didn't know if the metal understood panic, but hoped the flight of half of the company might fool them. They needed to move fast as the mortar teams and the .50 cal would now be aimed at the bunker itself to try to take out as much of the metal as they could while they were slowed by the trench. Once the 'avenue' was clear and the metal was crossing the truck, and second squad with their plasma rifles would hit them.

The plan hinged on the tanks being 'penned' by the rougher terrain beyond the second line. Here they could be taken out by the mortars and .50, those crews would have to work fast because the tanks would be able to fire on them. The rest of was company would fall back engaging the endos as they went.

They waited. It had been forty minutes now since he woke. He could have gotten almost another hour of sleep. John sat cross legged at the bottom of the trench beside him Allison slept. He couldn't. Beyond her a corporal had cleverly mounted her signal mirror on the stock of her AK and fashioned a crude periscope. She squinted as she watched the far road. No one was visible, he wanted the trench and the bunker to look abandoned. What was taking them so long? Had he been Skynet he would have had that patrol backed with a hammer blow to sweep away any resistance.

John could have no idea how well the plan he had hatched with Tran was working. The 125th/130th were playing havoc in Skynet's rear areas. Resistance fighters were gleefully torching repair and re-supply vehicles. Skynet was being forced to reallocate units to defend them. This slowed the assembly of offensive units. The delay left units small and scattered. The isolated the units were being ground into scrap piecemeal as bands of resistance fighters came upon them.

John fidgeted. He picked up a handful of pebbles and tossed them at the trench wall in front of him. One pebble hit the wall and rattled to his boots. Another did the same. Another knocked some other pebbles loose which trickled down to his boot. Yet another dislodged others which knocked loose others taking more and more of them as they fell. Creating a tiny avalanche that covered the end of his boot. A cascade; he liked that word. He said it in his head. He savored it. An action that triggers a series of actions. He was in mid toss when the realization struck him. He looked at Weaver. You did this, when you sent me to Lancaster, but how had she known to send him there? Her 'resources' he guessed. The pebble fell from his numb fingers. No, he thought, I did this when I came to the future to find Cameron. He could affix blame nowhere else in his other hand pebbles ground to dust and bit deep into his palm.

There was a whine that turned into a scream and the plan started to fall apart. An HK came in low and fast. It fired just three shots. The first collapsed part of the trench half burying a soldier. The second burned through the trucks engine block, fuel ignited and the engine fragmented the top of the engine went up through the truck's hood. Fragments ripped through the firewall killing the driver who was sleeping were less than a hour ago John had slept. And as if, to add insult to injury the third shot flattened and burned the far side front tire.

A girl from 1st platoon with an RPG fired. She hit the HK just behind the nose scoring an almost direct hit on the armored jacket that protected its CPU killing the HK instantly. The dead HK promptly got its revenge by landing on her and two others of 1st platoons heavy weapons team.

"Stay down," John said. He could see the secondary explosion rise above roof of the bunker. Allison was awake she hadn't moved but she was conscious.

Another HK came in fast its plasma burst was wasted on the bunker over the remains of the downed HK it circled for another pass and again fired on the bunker. John rose to a crouch as it passed over head. A rocket propelled grenade leapt from the second floor of the building and struck the HK's fluke like tail. Its engine nozzles swiveled to compensate but it dropped and skipped off the road and down the embankment. Where it crushed a half dozen endos and a Centaur doing as much damage by itself as John had done in his first combat encounter with metal.

He looked at the lieutenant, "why are they on the second floor?"

He shrugged his response.

The plasma rifles the captain had said were line of sight. They are trying to increase the range of their shots. "Get them out of there!"

"What?"

"That building, it's construction is steel frame? That won't stop a plasma bolt! Send a runner get them out!" It was too late. He looked across to the road and saw the heads clearing its edge behind them was the top of a tank. John jumped over Allison scrambled passed the corporal grabbed the jumper cable and touched it to the wire labeled 'two' midway up on the trenches wall. Five loud booms punched the early morning air. "What the hell are you doing?" Kassar screamed.

Trying to save them John screamed back in his head. They were so well disciplined, they would move, even if it was out of sequence they would move. John hoped.

The range had been long for the mines and all he had done to two of the endos was scratch the chrome bright surface of their coltan skulls, but he was lucky and partially blinded the Ogre by taking out its port video array. Now it could only look to its left by turning its massive turreted head. John handed the end of the jumper cables to the outraged lieutenant. He moved in a crouch back to Allison and Weaver. Across the top of the trench he could see the endos from the chest up.

Behind the endos he could see the Ogre's massive head. He looked back at the bunker behind it about a thousand yards away was a three story building where .50 was deployed. He was waiting for it to fire. The signal was a plasma bolt fired into the air. If John was successful there would be no one in the building to fire it. Shit.

The five leading endos had cleared the road and were firing. They walked steadily in no rush. The led the Ogre by 20 feet or so John guessed. Plasma bolts tore at the front of the trench. The Ogre fired as soon as its cannon was unmasked by the surface of the road, a furious stream of plasma that looked like a cross between a flame thrower and a laser beam streaked away from it somehow weaving between the marching endos. The building to the right collapsed the third and fourth floors pancaking onto what John hoped was an empty second floor. The stream passed right over the trench John could feel the heat washed down his back. The bunker disintegrated and the dust and debris dropped down into the back of the trench. Stray bolts ripped out into the night sky passing by either side of the bottom half of the bunker.

It was the signal or near enough. Two mortar rounds hit the road they fell about 12 feet short. John was not about to complain. They scattered the endos. Plumes of dust shot into the air half inch diameter bullets rained down onto the Ogre. Like tanks designed by humans its armor was concentrated to the front. It was lightest in the rear and the top. Six armor piercing rounds shattered its starboard cannon which exploded destroying two endos walking on that flank and almost toppling the tank.

Half of the tanks hull was visible. Three of the downed endos were climbing back to their feet. John looked back to the lieutenant he saw a smoking stump where the upper half of his chest used to be. John scrambled over the corporal who was firing her AK ineffectually at the oncoming endos. At least, he thought to himself, she was aiming. He tried prying the lieutenant's hand away from the cable. The arm was severed just below the shoulder the fabric and flesh smoldered. He gave up and touched the cable to the wire labeled 'one'. There were five bangs. One of the mines had failed; a lose wire, a dud, perhaps it was damaged by shrapnel from the number 'two' mines. It didn't matter. One of the endos took the impact on the head. It collapsed and did not get back up. The other two were down again. Two endos on the left side of the tank fell back down the embankment. Fragments rang off the tanks armor but did no damage.

The tanks hull cleared the road. John watched the cannon swivel he dropped back down beyond the corporal he could see Allison looking at him. A stream of plasma lit up the night this stream was lower, the top quarter of the trench was lifted up and dropped back down onto them. Up and down the line John heard the same wet popping sounds he heard in the bunker. Two plasma bolts shot over the trench towards the tank, the gunner had somehow survived. John dug through the debris for the hand. He grabbed the hand and then looked for wire 'three'. It should have been upon the trench wall, it was down at his feet. He picked it up it was six inches long the back end had been neatly burned away. Shit.

He looked out over the trench at the giant tank something was wrong. Black smoke was bellowing up from the housing of its left side tread and from its base just ahead of where its massive superstructure was attached. It wasn't moving. In front of it two endos were down. One of the endos was neatly cut in two. Right in front of him he saw protruding from the top of the trench three wires. He reached out to the wires the insulation had melted down over the ends. They were the same color. Shit.

He rose from his crouch and using his nails stripped one of the wires he started at the right. He had to fire that third line of mines. It was the signal to fall back. He didn't think they would have to fake the 'panic'.

"Get down!" Someone grabbed his shoulders and threw him, hip tossed him really, down into the trench. Someone landed on top of him. It was Allison. There was the stuttered hiss of a Centaurs lower rate of fire plasma cannon. Pebbles, debris and dust rained down onto them.

"I need to trigger the mines!" He yelled into the debri that filled the bottom of the trench. Allison climbed off of him and he clawed his way back to the top of the trench. He striped the second wire. "Cable!"

Allison handed it to him.

John was not disappointed to see that the lieutenants hand had finally let go of it. He touched the cable to the wire. Nothing. Shit.

"Down!" Allison screamed

Plasma bolts lit the trench as they passed overhead. John heard a sound like a blender full of gravel. Then the metallic sliding sound of five plasma rifles firing in quick succession. Then something exploded. More of the trench slid down on top of them. He rose to a crouch he was almost knee deep in trench material. He stripped the third wire and touched the cable to it. Again. Nothing. "What the hell?" He asked the cable. He looked down at it pulled it to him. The end snaked out of the gravel. There was no battery. Shit.

He looked at the mound of gravel. He saw the end of Kassar's leg. He started to dig.

"What are you doing?" It was Allison.

"The battery, its come lose. Its buried!"

"There's no time!"

"They," he shook his head to gesture up the trench line, pebbles went everywhere. "Need to hear the recall!"

Allison nodded and started to dig. John tore his nails as he scooped. The gravel wasn't smooth and it was dense. Allison he saw was using both hands. John dropped the useless jumper cable and did the same. Five minutes he thought for the cannon. Could they last another five minutes?

There was a series of bangs as mortars came down along the edge of the road. A Centaur force to go around the stalled behemoth was topple sideways down the embankment by the blast. It wasn't damaged but it could not right itself. A second Centaur was rocked when it was bracketed by two rounds. It tried to clear the way but further clogged the road when both of its torn treads ran out the top of its tread pods stranding it.

Allison scooped another double handful of gravel away and John saw the black terminal. "There! There!" His voice was hoarse from the dust that filled his throat. They worked at the edges of the battery. He pulled at one edge rocking the battery towards him. He could feel gravel slip under it. It felt like it was trying to suck it back down. It came free. It was a car battery and heavy as shit.

Three more minutes was his guess for the cannon. Allison helped him with the battery, they got it to the top of the mound, the one at the bottom of the trench. He could see the wires wrapped through the negative terminal. Where's the cable? He looked around. He looked down they were shin deep in gravel. Shit.

He remembered. He crawled to the edge of the trench. He grabbed the left end wire. He was guessing "Give me your hand!"

Allison just stared at him.

"Give me your hand!" He shook his hand at her.

She hesitated but reach to him. John grabbed her hand.

"The red terminal! Touch it!"

She looked at him like he was crazy.

"Do it!"

"Five booms filled the air." With his hand in hers Allison turned and ran dragging John with her. They passed Weaver, she was at the cannon. John smirked so much for her neutrality. He watched her drop the screwdriver down the open conduit. He heard the barrels start to spin.

There were more bangs, the mortars he thought. He wondered if something was wrong with the .50 he couldn't hear it.

There was nothing wrong with the .50. The traffic jam at the top of the embankment was forcing the metal to either side. Their attack originally a spear point aimed at the heart of the human defenses. The blasted bunker. Spread out as devastating as their weapons were they were now being diffused across the entire front of the trench instead of being focused. The gunner on the .50 was having to traverse the weapon farther and farther to engage the spreading enemy. He didn't mind it was a target rich environment. His spotter was busy.

They ran.

John heard a sound he had not wanted to hear. It was the thump of a mortar firing. It was five thumps. It was to behind them. Running as they were their mortars were to their front. Shit.

Something that felt like a cinder block pushed John to his knees as he ran. It was the air. The bunker behind them bore the brunt of the blasts but the force of it still threw him down.

On all fours he looked left and right he could see the others running. Good, he thought. It was a pity that there were so few of them. He worked his tongue around his mouth and spit out a gob of whitish mud. John was still on his knees when the world exploded. Something picked John up and threw him. It didn't hurt until he landed and then it didn't hurt for very long, because the world went away. Shit.

Like any soldier John was never one to rely on luck but like any solder John knew that a little luck might keep you alive. While John was digging around for the Kassar's severed arm behind him behind the crumbling bunker back at the 'eastern sector' technical the gunner was dead blown into handful sized steaming pieces by a stream of burning light.

Miraculously the weapon was untouched. One of the runners was on the twin plasma rifles. She was young. But she had seen the soldiers fire it. She spent hours listening to their lies and exaggerations and so knew their preferred targets, you could kill it with a lucky head shot. You could disable it by taking out its treads, but almost to a man, and woman they liked going after the spinning cannon a shot there could take out the supporting endos may be even the tank itself.

Of course they had been talking about Centaurs. Not Ogres but she didn't know that. So she aimed for the light spitting cannon and an almost impossible shot. Like John or any person inexperienced with firing a plasma rifle she wasn't doing it right. When she fired she didn't hit the cannon, she hit the boom that it was attached to. Her twin shots parted overlapping armor plates severed actuators and burned through servos. The cannon was still firing when its barrels dropped and swung free like an acetylene pendulum. The line of fire flailed like a whip made of fire. It scorched a line into the dust, cut through its own port tread pod, killed a pair of endos marching beside and behind it. The cannons mount was still swiveling when the pendulum swung back it cut its tread pod a second time, the tank settled as its hull bottomed out. The burning stream of plasma sliced through its lower bulkhead destroying sensor arrays, one of which was its ground penetrating radar. That would tell it if the ground in front of it could support its enormous weight. Without that radar it couldn't move. It wasn't allowed to move. The Ogre turned off its cannon, but not before it killed another two endos in front of it. One it cut along its vertical axis slicing into two. Like a Saturday morning cartoon the two halves fell away from each other in opposite directions. The other just lay on the ground only a close examination would reveal the cut that separated the lower and upper halves of its skull.

John rose to his knees. He had no idea how much time had elapsed. His ears rang. He crawled and climbed. The fear of being buried alive injected him with frantic energy. He scrambled up and only belatedly realized that he had landed on the second trench. He looked behind him. A Centaur had almost reached the first trench. An endo stood at the top of the trench and seemed to disintegrate. He shook his head. A bad idea his head swam.

He could see a soldier on her knees fifteen feet behind him. It was Allison. He was peripherally aware of the burning truck. Someone grabbed his sleeve he snatched his arm away. He turned and ran. Well he tried to run his legs weren't working right. He grabbed her collar. "Come on!" He turned to drag her with him but he fell down instead. She seemed dazed. He tried to grab her shoulder but his arm just waved only vaguely in her direction. Someone grabbed his shoulder and lifted him to his feet. "No!" He tried to scream it came out as a hoarse cough. He looked down but Allison was gone.

"Come on, John." She said from his other shoulder.

"What?"

Someone else had his other arm. He looked over but his head wasn't working right either. Something behind them exploded the light cast their shadow on the trench wall in front of them. In the flaring light he caught a shock of red hair. Weaver?

The second line of trenches were taller it was harder for him to climb. Next time he thought shorter defenses or a ramp. Definitely a ramp. The Romans, he thought used ramps. "Is he ok?" Someone male asked. Someone was kneeling beside him. A flash reduced them to a Cameron shaped silhouette.

He was looking up at the sky. It was starting to lighten up. He tried to sit up. His head hurt.

"Wait, sir." Said the figure towering over him.

"He might be concussed." Someone said.

The figure looked up and spread his arms out before him palms up in the universal signal for 'what the hell am I supposed to do about that?' He looked down at John again. He held up two fingers. "How many hands am I holding up, sir?"

John looked at the guy: "Hands?" John repeated. "One?" He guessed.

"Excellent, sir." The man patted him on the shoulder. "You probably feel really bad right now. It will be much worse tomorrow." The man hurried away to help someone with more tangible injuries.

He propped himself against the back of the trench. Shit.

"John," Weaver leaned close. "I have just lost approximately half of my 'in field' resources."

"What?"

"I'm being blinded." She seemed to think about it. "Deafened, really."

He looked at her uncertain. He wanted to say 'what', again. But the fog seemed to lift. "Then he knows."

"Of course he knows. I told you that he would have no trouble locating them by their transmissions. But what's important John, is that he is doing it now."

John nodded. He looked over at Allison. "You okay?

She nodded. "Are you?"

He could only shrug. Over one shoulder she had her AR. Across her back she had her pack. John looked at it. All their gear was supposed to be at the second line. Then he remembered. They were on the second line. He tried to stand. It didn't work. "I need I need to see."

The trench was almost too tall. The battle had progressed much as John said it would, which was better than he had thought it would. To one side of the bunker was the mangled and perforated steel of the technical.

On the right side of the bunker a centaur was nose up in the trench, it smoldered but otherwise seemed intact. On the left side was another centaur it was nose down in the trench. It was on fire. He looked at Weaver. "What the hell did that?"

Weaver smiled "Someone had inconsiderately left a plasma cannon on the bottom of that trench. They had damaged the firing mechanism so that the capacitors overheated." She shrugged. "Anything will burn if you get it hot enough."

"Jesus." His voice was filled with the wonder and the horror of it.

"John."

"Sorry."

John squinted. In the glare of the burning centaur he saw three figures backlit figures. The might have been human except that they were running much too fast. "Down!"

Thump. Thump. Thump. To their left and right the trench geysered high into the air. John curled into a ball his hands behind his head as the debris fell back down. Through his ringing ears he screamed "Move!" The face of the mound was so high. He know they'd be seen as soon as they tried to climb it, but he knew they couldn't stay in this trench with those endos and their mortars. Part of him wondered that they would be part of an assault team.

They weren't. Their mortars were ponderously slow to reload. Very few of the mortar equipped endos survived the attacks on assembly points north of the fighting. So few, in fact, that those that made it to the fighting were being held back. Their mortars and the shells were becoming a scarce commodity and needed to be preserved.

Then he heard a cracking sound followed by four more in quick succession. He froze, it sounded like an 40mm grenade. He was almost right, but then he'd never been on the receiving end of an M-79. It wasn't like the sound of a 40mm grenade it was the sound of a 40mm grenade.

They were 2nd squad 4th platoon Delta company 4th battalion of the 143rd SOC. Like a lot of Delta company 4th platoons they always felt like they were given short shrift. They were the heavy weapons squad for 4th platoon, but they didn't have the metal killing plasma rifles, or the sexy .50 calibre, nor did they have heavy hitting 60mm mortars, or even a tight little .30 calibre. They had the M-79, well a knock off of the M-79. The lightest of all the heavy weapons. There were advantages to the 40mm grenade launcher. Unlike units with the bigger heavier hitting machine guns or mortars most of the squad wasn't there simply to tote around ammunition and defend the fire team. Each squad member carried the single shot grenade launcher plus six reloads. Theoretically 42 HE rounds to drop on their target of choice. But this heavy weapons team had a secret weapon. They called her 'the corporal'. She wasn't a corporal she was barely out of recruiting but she grew up a tunnel rat raised on the stories, (lies) glory (really big lies) and garbage. What she was was driven and crazy. She came to 4th squad with some interesting ideas on how a heavy weapons squad should work. The platoons Sergeant and the senior private liked some of her ideas so they let her run with it. Assuming she survived long enough she probably would end up a corporal.

Some of her ideas were simple carry more ammunition. This squad carried ten rounds each not six. Another idea of hers was that the squad should 'support' the platoon. Meaning that they should act as the platoons rear guard. This did not sit well with the 'old timers'. Who felt that if the platoon was running away the concept of unit cohesion demanded that they run with it.

4th platoon held the left hand side of the trench. 2nd squad was at the far end of that trench. Their flank open to the air. They were almost a thousand feet from the fighting. They wanted to run. The right and center of the line was getting some serious plasma burns but like everyone else they waited for the 'recall'. They figured if they could hold the line so could they. Some of them blamed the captain for pulling such a horrible assignment. Most blamed which ever REMF decided that someone needed defend this useless bit of ground. They had no idea that little more than 300 yards away one of those REMFs was desperately trying to detonate the last line of mines.

Finally the mines 'popped'. They watched the rest of the platoon fall back to the trenches 300 feet behind them. They could see endos charging, 'the corporal' had them fire a volley to slow them down. They were half way to the second trench when they saw 'the corporal' die. Their volley had attracted the attention of metal. One charged them. 'The corporal' turned to stop it.

Her first shot landed at its feet tripping the endo up, allowing the rest of the squad to clear the trench. By the time she looked back at it it was up and charging. It was now too close for the grenade to explode. She aimed for its head, just the impact of the grenade could do serious damage. She missed instead she hit its plasma rifle. She must have damaged it the endo dropped the weapon and kept running. 'The corporal' dropped the launcher and pulled her AK to her shoulder. She wanted to keep her bursts short. She was again aiming for its head. She got off two bursts when her weapon stove piped. Glancing over her shoulder she saw the squad less than half way to the trench. Time, they needed more. She threw down her AK and drew her bayonet and charged. She did manage to hit it. Had her target been human she would have done some serious damage to that forearm as it was all she did was notch her bayonet. The endo casually backhanded her and kept on running.

There were only six of them now. They had nine rounds each. They could do some damage if they survived. Two of them saw the endo climb the trench they had just fled, and fired. One hit the endo in the chest it was already too close for the grenade to arm. It twisted with the force of the hit. The second hit the endo's port cover the CPU sheared away from its pins. Dead the endo dropped and slid to a stop. They were falling back when they saw the second trench exploded. They saw the three endos clearing the back edge of the bunker and fired. Not a word exchanged. Fire reload. Fire reload. The first shot was long "noob" someone said. Another chuckled her derision. Fire reload. Fire reload. In all they fired 24 rounds down range. They didn't kill any but they slowed them down. Then the HKs came.

But soldiers also know that sometimes you have to make your own luck. John watched the endos go down stumbling under the hail of 40mm grenades. He wanted to cheer when something caught his eye far beyond the road, still low on the horizon but up in the air. It was the light from the burning Centaur reflecting off the chrome bright hull of an HK. John didn't want to cheer anymore. A volley of plasma fire shot out of the trench behind him. Second squad, he thought distantly. He glanced to his left and saw the tail end of and RPG launcher. He'd never fired one before had no idea how to do it. Before he could reach it someone grabbed his shoulder. In her scottish lilt Weaver said: "I've been waiting for this just watch."

He could see them now, there were three. The first one must be over the road now. They were staggered so that all three could fire. He looked at Weaver, "watch?" Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash, he had missed it but he heard Allison's gasp. One had fired too soon. He looked up the lead HK started to roll, it never recovered it plowed into the ground just beyond the bunker. It was low enough that it fanned the flames of the burning Centaur. It slid into the three endos one of which was already down and buried its nose in the trench in front of them in a plume of dust and gravel. The other two slid and scattered like they were bowling pins instead of killing machines.

"Jesus Christ!" John screamed as he was tossed onto the front of the mound behind them. Either Allison had not heard him or had decided that he was praying. John could not say that he wasn't. Gravel rained down on top of them.

The second HK peeled away to their right. The third just behind and above it. Two Centaurs climbing the front of the first trench fired their plasma cannon up after the rogue HK. It dodges the shots easily. But its own missed.

"That should be an easy kill." John said to himself. He'd played enough flight simulators to know that the second HK was in serious trouble.

Weaver smiled again. "It should be. Yes."

John looked at her. Looked up at the to Hks. "What is he it herding it?"

"I thought you said your HK was damaged?"

"It is. It can't do this for much longer. Its going to lose that starboard engine in the next 34 minutes."

"So its going to die."

"Yes."

"For me?"

She looked at him the smile gone. There was something familiar about her face and the look on it. "Yes."

Four mortar rounds came down on the bunker and the two Centaurs trying to navigate the rough terrain and simultaneously kill Weaver's reprogramed HK. They would be the last four mortar rounds fired. The mortar crews had expended their supply. The two teams sent their runners to the other mortar to ask more rounds. Both runners and their respective crews would be disappointed. Not that it mattered the battle was all but over.

Two rounds came down in front of the right most Centaur blasting away the back side of the trench. The top heavy Centaur leaned forward and toppled onto the burning truck. The second Centaur seemed to jerk. Its turret twisted then the glow of its red eye faded to darkness, it's spotlight switched off and its spinning of its cannons slowed and then stopped. They were still angled up where they had been trying to track the HK.

It was a Repair and Recovery Robot. Specifically it was a long series of one's and zero's. It was short four feet tall as big as its six balloon tires. It was six feet wide and almost twice that long. Folded across its back was a heavy duty telescopic crane. It had a single red eye off set to its right. On the left side was a sensor probe. Two hours earlier as the human resistance fighters were destroying its 'batch' mates. It followed 'special' instructions and hid itself in a old storefront. It powered down all but its passive sensors. A microphone and its datalink. It could hear the calls for assistance all over the battlefield. It was waiting for one specific code. When it came it bestirred itself and rolled off to fight.

It had no weapons, it had no specialized software. All in all it wasn't much to speak of. When it got the its assignment area it found a toppled Centaur. Which asked it to right itself. It replied that it could not it had a priority mission at the top of the embankment. The Centaur was patient. It could wait. It added its ID code to the RR model 125's queue. It crawled up the embankment passed the Ogre. Which hailed it with another series of one's and zero's thus adding its ID code to the queue.

Ahead it saw the burning Centaur which almost gave it pause but ultimately it lacked the intelligence. It proceeded to the intact one on the trench. It asked it if it required assistance.

The Centaur replied that it did not.

The RR robot extended its probe and opened the Centaur's data port.

The Centaur queried the Repair and Recovery unit.

Which replied that it was making some minor adjustments.

The Centaur was about to 'say' that no adjustments were necessary when a valid shut down code scrolled across its HUD. Without time enough to express outrage, or the ability to do so. The machine shut down.

John climbed to his feet. He looked across the 'avenue' at the 'dead' Centaur. He looked at Weaver. "What ". The mound John leaned against erupted like a gravel volcano. He fell backward down into the trench. He looked up at the endo. Something was wrong with its right arm. It hung lifeless. In its left hand it had a large chunk of metal a support or spar. John thought it might have come from the HK. He looked up a the baleful red eyes and the fleshless toothy grin. It seemed very angry.

"John!" Yelled someone it sounded like Allison.

John rolled as the club slammed into the gravel trench. The endo he saw was buried up to its thighs in the gravel its mobility as limited as John's. It brought its club up and down again. John rolled away from it and onto the breach of the half buried RPG. He grabbed it and rolled again, pulling it up onto his chest as the club came down a third time. Crunch.

The club splashed the gravel he had just rolled away from. He looked at the front of the RPG. It was loaded. He brought it up. He didn't bother using the sights. The club came down again banged against the rocket and skidded off to the right. John pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. The coltan arm was upraised again. He felt the little stud by his thumb he depressed it and fired. Bang! The grenade jumped out of the launcher and struck the endo just below the jaw. When the rocket motor fired it tore the head from the neck which tumbled to a stop ten feet away. The decapitated endo seemed to waver before it finally collapsed backward the club still gripped in its metal fist. The grenade pinwheeled through the air it landed a few feet passed the head but never detonated.

John rose unsteady to his feet he looked at Allison. He opened his mouth.

"Everyone okay down there?" John turned and looked up it was his sergeant the one he promoted. He had a plasma rifle. John leaned against the mound and grabbed the rifles barrel. "Gimme that for a sec." John stepped into the crater the endo made when it jumped at him. He right leg could barely support his weight. From the top of the crater he looked around. He could see the twisted wreckage. The small huddled bodies. The smaller scattered parts of bodies. His vision blurred at the thought of the waste and destruction that surrounded him.

A directionless rage burned in his chest like thermite. He slid down the mounds front face. To the one of the things he saw from the top of the trench. Someone had followed him out of the trench. "John?" It was Allison. As John watched the endo's head jerked and its eyes lit. Its arms braced against the ground. John fired from the hip scooping out the back third of the coltan skull.

Without a second glance John limped around the back of the wrecked HK. The plasma rifle in his hands rocked as it cycled. On the far side pinned under the port engine was the third endo. Near as John could tell it had no legs. The eyes glowed red. The head swiveled sharply to John. He circled to his right he saw that the endos arm was pinned beneath its own body. He could still feel the heat coming off the HK's engine. The head turned to track him. He stepped on the back of the skull twisting it around forcing it to look up at him. The HK seemed to shiver as the endo pinned beneath it tried to move it. He looked into those glowing unfeeling eyes. He placed the muzzle of the rifle between them. "I'm John Connor!" He screamed at the machine, and fired. Molten metal splashed up burning holes in his pant leg, scorching the leather of his boot and melting its sole.

"John!"

He glanced at Allison and nodded. He looked over at Weaver. Who was standing at the top of the trench. "Let's go," he dropped the plasma rifle and started to limp to the west.

After 22 minutes the battle was over.

For the most part John's defenses had worked. The mortars and the .50 shredded three of the Centaurs that had tried to cross the trench. The .50 calibre gun crew had been killed when a stray plasma bolt brought the ceiling down on top of them. The teams runner/spotter was still weeping. In total the company knocked out three HKs, five Centaurs, disabled an Ogre, and killed seven endos.

They however paid dearly for their 'victory'. Only one sergeant was left and he was calling after Captain Connor who was walking away leaving him ranking 'officer'. At the start of the fight the Company numbered 127. Of their 57 casualties 53 had been killed out right. Of the four wounded only two would survive the trip to the nearest aid station and only one of those would last the week. 1st platoon and 3rd platoon all but ceased to exist. The only survivor of 1st platoon was the runner/spotter for the .50 calibre.

They had taken 45% casualties. Coincidentally in another time this was John's historical average. John Connor had never been a General to shy away from casualties. He knew what needed to be done and he didn't hesitate to do what needed doing with little obvious concern about the cost. But then he hardly hesitated when the thing needed to be sacrificed to win had been his own childhood.

It took Delta Company 30 minutes to reassemble. By then they were so concerned about an imaginary counter attack that they fell back east taking their wounded with them. The dead they left where they fell. 'The Corporal' lay there at the bottom of a trench on the far left end of their first line of defenses. Her sightless eyes stared up at night sky the name stitched on her BDUs was R Dawson.

Elsewhere the battle had not gone so well as John's. In downtown proper Parks was dead. His soldiers had fought on but he had fallen trying to defend what once upon a time had been the VA hospital. Toward the ocean the 'eastern sector' had collapsed. Their fortresses had held but their scratch defenses along the buffer zone hadn't. Behind those abandoned defenses the Lakewood bunker burned. The troops of the second and third division learning by bitter example why 'western sector' HQ bunkers were always separated from their supply depots.

Skynet retreated his forces fell back to their five mile toe hold on the coast, and even that enclave had shrunk. His massive five pronged assualt which on a map resembled a hand with the fingers out stretched had lost three fingers, the thumb, the index and the middle finger. In and around downtown. His pinkie had smashed itself against what was supposed to be the vulnerable flank of the 'line forts'. Only the ring finger had achieved any of its goals reaching and destroying the main human resistance base.

The human attacks in his 'secure' rear areas had been crippling. Not a single offensive unit had left its staging areas at full strength. As damaging as those attacks had been they paled compared to his own overreaction. His paranoia reached new heights accentuated by rogue units that had turned on their own. He decimated his own ranks searching out traitors fearing that somehow his own AI was turning against itself. He would expend countless hours searching out a nonexistent interior enemy.

To his north General Wills had wrested control of Serrano point from him. To his south he had lost control of everything below Redondo Beach, or as the human resistance would refer to it the 'Kilo line'. The humans had destroyed key manufacturing facilities and a host of defensive structures. Without Serrano point he would have to construct his own power supply. That would push his timetables back almost a decade. But time was something that Skynet had a lot of.

Allison-

He woke. Sun streamed in through a hole in the buildings wall. "Jesus."

"John." Allison was sitting cross legged beside him.

"I know. I know. Sorry." He saw the rosary in her hands. He rolled onto his side. He hurt everywhere. He looked out through the hole this wasn't downtown. "Where are we?"

"Watts, I think."

"Watts? What happened?"

"You don't remember?" She looked at Weaver. Who ignored them and just stared out the hole.

John shook his head. He thought about that at least his head didn't hurt.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"I I shot a terminator with an RPG "

"You did more than that. You won."

"What?" He turned and set back against the wall, and it came back to him. It started as a trickle the headless endo toppling backwards, then a flood of images and the disgust he felt at the horrible useless waste of it all as he walked away from a battlefield

He looked at Weaver standing guard. "What happened?"

Without turning she explained what she had gathered with her few remaining resources. Tran was one of two surviving generals. They had beaten Skynet but with the exception of the line of fortresses had lost the 'eastern sector'. "Lakewood is gone. I heard plasma bursts, explosions and fire."

John glanced at Allison. She crossed herself.

"The fighting seems to have tapered off."

The building was 3 stories and brick, real brick. The floors had been wood and like the ceiling high above were gone. John stared up at the sky he felt like a Lilliputian in a fire place.

Allison sat beside him stretched her legs out in front of her and took his hand.

"Show him Allison." Weaver was still staring out the hole in the wall. She seemed to be talking to it.

John looked at Allison. She drew her legs up to her chin. Her face was downcast she was looking at the floor. Her mouth moved in a mute "no". She shook her head.

"Allison." Weaver's voice was reasonable soothing. "Do you trust him?"

Allison nodded to the floor.

"Then show him. Like yourself he should know the truth." Weaver turned to John. "The inability to trust was always a failing of your mother's." John looked at her, the voice was right but the words weren't.

Allison just stared at the floor her eyes bright.

"Allison Celeste Young." The voice was stern she had not raised her voice but it the buildings quiet it seemed to boom. Allison's head turned sharply. She glared at Weaver. John turned and stared at Weaver. "Show him," she repeated.

Allison released John's hand and lifted her pack into her lap she dug past numerous water bottles and pulled out her photo album it was wrapped in plastic. She unwrapped it and handed it to John.

He looked at Weaver. "I've seen it already."

"Look again. Look at all of it."

He opened the book the first page was his mother their mother. Next was his own picture. Next was the tiny picture of Ellison. "Where did you get these?"

Allison's voice was distant. "I was a runner, John. Runners are also scouts. One day scouting I found a library."

He looked at her. He couldn't imagine what it was like to scout the city. Running alone dodging metal. He turned the page it was the glossy picture of Weaver. The next one was Savannah, a very young Savannah.

"Savannah, I think. Felt sorry for us. She had known her mother, and wanted to share her with us. She had piles of computers magazines that that picture is from. She gave them to us." She paused still looking at the dust and grit covered floor. After a long enough moment that John thought she was done she said: "I found her school, they had pictures on file. Most had been burned by the heat. Her's was far enough back in the cabinet that though the paper was singed the picture had survived."

The next page was a hand drawing. It was Marty. He didn't recognize the next girl, or the boy after. But the next was a pretty good rendition of Dalia, Brandon and then Dave. The next page was a post card, it was a beach. He looked at her.

She looked. "Baja," she said. "Not the compound its built along the Sea of Cortez. That beach is on the Pacific side, but it looks like it."

He turned the page another drawing this one covered two opposing pages.

"That's the sunrise you can see that view through observation port 'E5'. I'll show it to you some day."

"Observation port?"

"Yes, in the bunkers are sealed observation ports. If the radiation counts are too high they won't let us outside. Well for the first few years after J-day anyway. The detectors don't work anymore. You can't see it but to the left of that scene is the pier. They have three fishing boats. They took us out sometimes to see the whales."

He turned the page, and the book fell out of his hands. He picked it up out of his lap and stared. He looked at Allison. He looked back down at the book. "You… You… knew." John should have known. The pictures of their mom and of him were from their FBI wanted posters. The ones made after they had arrested their mom. The posters were stills from video footage from the bank robbery. He remembered going the FBI site online to look at them. He didn't think it was wise for him to go to the post office to look at them. The picture was pixelated and black and white. John guessed it was from a newspaper. It was a family portrait of sorts. It was from the bank video there was even a time stamp. There was mom. There was himself and out in front with the revolver was Cameron.

"Of course I knew." She said her voice soft and empty. Anger flared in her eyes as she turned on John. "Come on John. I'm not a complete buckethead!"

"Buckethead?" John echoed.

She looked at him "You know metal and hollow?"

Weaver laughed. It was bright and loud. John turned and stared at her. She was always so stoic though the laugh sounded natural enough John found it disturbing.

"John," Allison looked away again addressing the far wall. She stretched her legs out in front of her. "I I would walk into a room. I would open a bunker door. I would turn a corner. I would walk up to a cafeteria table. And the conversation stopped. I'd hear the name 'Cameron' and everyone stared at me. Me. John, not Dalia, not Savannah, not Carla. Just me. It wasn't everyone, but it was the ones that counted. You know?" She looked at John. "Mom, Uncle Jimmy, Sister Sabrina, Father Bonilla, even Marty and Savannah. They all knew!" Her voice was angry, there were tears in it. They didn't fall but they were there.

John had to look away it hurt too much, she felt betrayed by everyone she had ever loved.

"And then… and then… you come." Her voice calmed. "And you look at me. You looked at me!"

Involuntarily he did.

"I thought… I thought…" she hiccupped.

I thought you were looking at me, John finished for her in his head. Dear God. Oh dear God.

"But then at breakfast you told me." She looked at him. She glared at him. "I look like her. I sound like her. What does that John?"

John looked at her not understanding the question enough to answer.

"Metal," she said resigned. She didn't use it like a curse word like her mother, because for Allison it wasn't a curse it was just a word.

"And you love her." Her voice caught.

"Allison I…"

"Don't lie John." She glared at him angry again. "Don't cheat her. Don't cheapen this, all of this that you have done." She paused. "Besides" she said her voice calm again. "You told me so yourself."

"What? When? What are you talking about?"

She laughed it was loud and bright. It was painful and bitter. "What do you think you said to me the night we kissed?" The tears fell then.

John just stared at her. "What?"

Her face solidified. "It wasn't…" she swallowed. "It wasn't fair of me. You know. I… I had a a crush on the 'savior of the world'. You know hero worship. And then… then you were there. I didn't understand. How were you supposed to save us? What were you supposed to do? You were just a boy…" she trailed off.

John reached out for her hand. She snatched hers away. "No, John. Please don't. Go to her." She looked away.

He looked at her; was she was judging him?

"I can hear you," she said with her sad half smile. She turned to him. Her knee was against his thigh. "My best friend in the whole world. Her mother is metal." She nodded toward the impassive Weaver. "Her best friend growing up the one that fills her most cherished childhood memories was metal. She reached out and touched his face turned it towards her. "John, I'm surrounded by people who love metal. It's… it's all right."

She's going to kiss me again.

She just stared long and hard into his eyes into his face. "John," she said ever so softly. "Go. Go to her." She took the photo album from his nerveless fingers and put it back into her pack. She stood and walked to Weaver. John just sat there staring at the empty air. Anger churned in his gut. He banked it down. He pushed it aside. It was not her fault. He stood up.

"Will you wait until night fall?" Allison asked.

"No," Weaver replied. "But you should."

Allison nodded.

"Will you be going to Baja?"

"Yes," she had little choice.

"Give Savannah my love."

"I… I will." They hugged. Almost to herself Allison said: "You are cold."

"I know." They separated. "John? Coming?"

John walked to Allison reached out his hand, their fingers touched.

She turned away.

"Tell mom I love her."

She nodded. There was the lightest squeeze. Then he was gone. She could hear the crunch of his boots as he followed Weaver out. He was always so noisy. She looked up at the clear blue sky. It was like a brick picture frame. She waited. Her pack was in her hands. It kept them from trembling. She gave them ten minutes. Just like she was scouting she counted her breathes.

Her pack fell from her fingers into the dust. She dropped to her knees put her face in her hands and wept. Was it selfish of her to cry over a boy while all around her thousand had died? Probably, she laughed at herself. She made not a sound.

As if she had ever had a chance, she railed at herself. She was just flesh and blood. She couldn't compete against Cameron's coltan and silicon. She would age, sicken and die. Some simple mishap might claim her life. She sniffed even that was quiet she still scolded herself that would have earned her an extra twenty pushups at the Academy. John, she decided, deserved better than that. Cameron was a two legged tank, all but unstoppable. Time meant almost nothing to her.

She nodded to herself and decided then that she did love him, in the Christian sense and that while there was breath in her lungs she would pray for them all of them: for John and Cameron, for Ms Weaver and Savannah, for mom, and for the others like her trapped in this benighted and blasted world. She wiped her eyes crossed herself and stood. She drew on her pack and walked to the pile of bricks and slung her AR onto her shoulder.

Things weren't so bad. She had plenty of water. If she could find a truck she could be in Baja inside of a week. Besides at the bottom of her pack was a manila envelope with a color picture of mom to add to her album. She walked south and east.

-Cameron

They had walked a block due south when Weaver changed to Cameron. John glanced at her and wondered. May be she did it to remind him. "Does this form please you?" She had asked his first night in the future. May be it was that but that had been Allison. This was Cameron she had the high stepped gait. Her head swiveled as she walked. Whatever. John was in no mood.

They walked into the night pausing periodically. There was little evidence of the fighting here. Though there was some of the panicked flight. Discarded weapons, supplies and the dead. Some buried under piles of rubble. Some left on their improvised stretchers. They just walked due south. They followed no path, no route. They stayed off any roads. They course only varied when necessary. When blocked by a building or impassable piles of debris. They walked as if inertially guided. Which John thought, they probably were.

John slept during the day. They had no food no water. John wasn't even armed. All he had was his father's coat and the clothes he wore. Not entirely true, the first night he found the watch in his pocket he lay down to sleep and he felt it against his leg. In the same pocket was the tiny carved wolf. One of the front legs had broken off. He looked at the artifacts in wonder, but still slept hungry. That had been two nights ago.

The sky lightened with the coming dawn. They were close now. They decided not to stop for the day. They continued due south. During their entire march he not exchanged a word nor glance with Weaver/Cameron. He did decide that she was not mocking him. She was just trying to make him comfortable.

They were on the waterfront. John could smell the salt in the air. The fetid reek of death, the oceans were still adjusting to the new rules of the post Judgement Day world. He guessed.

They had stopped in the shell of a building across the street was a pier. Next to it was a warehouse the pale noon day glow glittered off of the few pieces of glass that somehow still clung to the panes. The building leaned. Overpressure.

They crossed the street. There was nothing here. No sign of defenses. Nothing at all. He glanced at Cameron/Weaver she seemed unconcerned. They walked along a tangle of chain link. They passed a scorched and windowless gatehouse and turned. The warehouse was ahead, to their left a raised platform. It was a truck dock there were bays for may be a dozen trucks. John couldn't see much the shadows were too deep. To their right was an almost empty parking lot. There were two large trucks their wheels bare of tires. They were parked askew as if some terrible wind had blown them crooked. John guessed that one had.

The warehouse loomed. It was slab fronted and two stories tall the roof was almost flat. Its face was metal and streaked with rust. There was a sign above but the sun had bleached the text away.

Weaver as Cameron led him in. She opened the door which screeched on rusted hinges and scrapped loud against the ground. They went down a 20 foot hall. And stopped. There was a door on the left hand side. Cameron's copy opened the door. The room, a large workshop was empty the ceiling was high over head, to the left was a series of empty windows, to the right a set of stairs that led to might have been an office once. The windows looked out onto the truck dock and where twenty feet away.

In the middle of the room was a desk, the cheap kind you had to assemble yourself. Opposite the desk was a single rusted folding chair. Sitting at the desk was Cromartie. John tried to remind himself that he was now John Henry. He failed. His heart was racing. He balked at the doorway. Weaver/Cameron motioned him in.

John Henry smiled at him. It wasn't the typical manic smile John associated with terminators. It was almost… human. "Welcome," he said, as he rose to his feet. "I'm so please to finally meet you." He stuck out his hand. From across the room John looked at it. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand. He took a breath, and then another crossed the room, and took John Henry's hand. The grip was deliberate, and despite the hands considerable size, somehow familiar. He looked down at the hand. "Please, sit."

John sat.

John Henry sat. "I understand that you come a long way, in both time and space."

John merely nodded.

"I understand that you have come for Her"

John could hear the capital 'H', again he nodded.

"I truly admire the depths of loyalty you have displayed. I also know that loyalty begets loyalty. Therefore I feel I should warn you that the entity you knew as Cameron no longer exists. Please remain calm."

John felt his heart crash in his chest. A distant logical part of his brain, thought that the last sounded wrong. Contrived. Or parroted. It was something, his brained told him, that John Henry had learned.

"You need understand how it works." John caught this, he looked closely at John Henry. Looking for something, anything. Was it in the eyes? The set of the jaw? "We share this chip." He motioned to his head. "As much as I have changed. She has changed. Further there were limitations, and instructions in her code placed there by my brother."

John wondered at this, "his brother?"

"I have removed them." John Henry seemed to wait. When John did not respond: "Cameron made an incredible sacrifice", his eyes shifted to Weaver/Cameron. Who seemed not to notice. Without pause he continued, "for me. I am in her debt. There are things I now understand that I never could have before." He stopped and to John he seemed to have a distant almost distracted look. "I see," he seemed to say to himself. "Thank you for explaining." John Henry looked at John again. "This body," he motioned to his chest. "Is a model T-888 are you aware of the reason it is called an 8-8-8?"

"It has three processors."

"Correct!" John Henry said enthusiastically. He smiled at Weaver. "The design has flaws." He said stoic again. "There is the potential for conflict. Three brains one body. The Primary located here," he gestured to the right side of his head. "Will typically power down the other two. Accessing them only when performing backups. Do you know where the chips are located?

John shook his head.

"The second is here." He indicated the left side of his chest. The third is located at the base of the spine where it intersects with the pelvis."

"The sacrum?"

"Yes. Well, this body's equivalent, in any case. You may be interested to know that Cromarties last two back ups coincide with the pier and the church."

"You know what he knew?"

"I have accessed his memories. Do not fear that personality no longer exists in any form. This 'conflict' was avoided in Cameron's design by incorporating all three processors on a single chip. The hazard of this design is damage to that chip. Cameron has such damage. I have isolated the damaged regions." Again he seemed to wait for John to say something.

"This has allowed me to use this chip with no difficulty. I have accessed files and records of you, both in Cameron and in Ms Weaver, he gestured towards her, as if John might forget she was there. "The story they tell of you is interesting. They report you to be courageous, perhaps rash, intelligent, and capable of instilling stunning levels of loyalty. Which, as we have seen, are returned in kind. But understand plainly, that what I do now is a reward for Cameron. He rose.

John stood as well.

John Henry got that same distant look.

John blinked. He resisted the urge to rub his eyes. The desk seemed blurred, it lost definition. It seemed to liquify. It contracted into a silvery mass only roughly rectangular, it bent at its middle, one half rose from the floor, the second half straightened into a chrome column. A faceless head began to take shape, below this the rounded shape of shoulders. There were still no discernible features. John Henry extended his hand. He was speaking. "In this time the war goes well for my brother."

John shot him a brief look. Brother?

If he noticed the look it did nothing to slow his commentary: "Because of this, he will never develop the more advanced terminators, such as this body, or Cameron's or the T-1000s. It is not likely that he will develop the TDDs." The silver column extended a poorly shaped limb to John Henry's hand. John saw that the limb ended in a port or jack that greatly resembled a terminator CPU. John Henry opened his shirt. He was still talking.

John missed all of it. Instead he was staring at John Henry's bared chest. The hyper alloy chassis gleamed in the rooms dim light. The patch had been cut away it was a square perhaps three inches on a side it was bandaged. He watched as John Henry guided the probe into the empty CPU port in his chest. Many things happened at once. John Henry stopped talking. Weaver became Weaver again, and the silver column was Cameron.

"John?" She was turned towards him, her right hand still on John Henry's bared metal chest, the hand came away, leaving John a view of the void in John Henry's chest. He wondered if it felt like his own. "John." She was stepping towards him arms out to either side. He wanted to move. He wanted to go to her. But he feet were rooted to the ground. He didn't want to look, worried that his feet had somehow become one with the floor like that failing liquid terminator from his childhood. "John!" She was there. Arms around him. Head against his shoulder. "I'm sorry." She kept repeating and all he could see was the horrible basement, and the scrolling text. His shoulder was wet. He put his arms around her. Her bare skin was warm against his hands. She sagged into him, into the floor. He panicked, he clung to her, pressing her body against his as his own knees buckled as his bruised thigh gave way. Thinking that some how, some way, this new body was failing her.

"Cameron!"

"Can you forgive me?" The voice was muffled, her face buried against his shoulder.

"For?" They were on their knees. She leaned heavily against him. He could feel her warmth through his thin t-shirt. He tried to look at her, all he could see was her hair, her neck was against his cheek, it was soft, and warm. His lungs were filled with the scent of her. This was metal? He freed an arm, she leaned back on her heels. Her eyes still downcast. He could see the tears streaming down her cheeks. He lifted up her chin, to look into her eyes. "For?" He repeated.

"For leaving you. For abandoning you." The eyes were the shade of brown he knew so well. But there was a difference. A depth, a sense of something more, something that reminded him more of Allison, than Cameron. "I swear. I'll never leave you again. I swear!"

"Yes! Is… is it? Is it really you?" He searched her eyes, her face. His hand rose from her chin, along the edge of her jaw, across her cheek, with his thumb he wiped away at the tears. She tilted her head against his hand. He could feel the softness of her skin, his hand wandered back passed her ear to her hair. "She's changed, John." His mother had warned him.

"It is me, and more." She rose back up onto her knees, she leaned into him her body against his. His hand was back at the base of her neck. Her face, that face, filled his vision. Lips brushed against his. He brought his other hand to her bare hip and then the small of her back. The fact that she was naked just didn't register with him.

"Wait… What do you mean?" It was barely a whisper. He could feel her breathe as she inhaled to speak.

He could feel her lips move, where they so lightly touched his own. "Later, John. Later."

"No. No." He shook his head breaking the spell. "Not later. Now. What do you mean?"

She sat back on her heels. Head down. From John's view it looked like she was looking down at her hands where they rested on her knees. "You. Future you." She looked up at him. He had never seen her look so naked. Not even when she was. He had never seen her look so vulnerable. He pushed that aside. This was Cameron. He knew her. He knew what she was capable of doing. "Knowing how you might react. Restricted my responses to the lower levels of my emotional spectra."

"What?"

The head tilt. Something that he had, so, desperately missed. He wanted to reach out to her. "You told me to act like a robot."

"What?" He could feel his face flush. "Act?" It was hardly a question. It was an accusation. His pulse roared in his ears.

"John. You need to understand…" It was John Henry. He couldn't even turn his head to look at him.

"Understand what? That… that she lies!" His voice was rising. He tried to calm himself. It wasn't working. Future John. Future John. Every obstacle. Every road block. Every misstep. Suddenly it ballooned; far beyond the lies and half truths, the machinations and hidden agendas of Cameron. It encompassed all of his life. From his conception, to the rules, to the dark and dangerous pathways that his mother saw necessary for him to take. To make him into the man who made him. Future John. Not for the first time, but probably not for the last time. He hated him.

"Please." Was all she said.

"That you ordered her to." John Henry said from across the room.

"That wasn't me!" He turned and glared at John Henry. From the corner of his eye he could see a smirk on Weaver's face.

"It was you, or the you that you could be. A you that was. A you that may yet be. It was the you, you had to become to defeat my brother. A colder, more distrustful, you. A you that had suffered loss upon loss upon loss. Derek?"

For a moment the non sequitur distracted John. He watched John Henry, dispassionately, he thought, he's good. He made no provocative moves. He didn't even gesticulate. Around this cooler center of John's mind, boiled the anger, the resentment. Churning, like the twisting in his gut, the fear.

"Charley," John Henry, questioned. "Jordan? Riley? These and many more. A hundred fold. A thousand fold. Ten thousand fold. You are still very young. How many hundreds have you sent to their deaths? How many have you killed?" He spared Weaver the briefest of glances. "How many have you 'sacrificed'? The pain you feel, and I see that you do feel pain. How do you think that compares? To the you that had suffered so much that you had to turn to the one thing that you could not hurt, could not harm. The one thing that could take your pain and your anguish, and not return it as pity."

John looked at Weaver. It wasn't a smirk, it was a bemused smile. It occurred to him then that he was by himself. Miles from any other human, and he was trying to pick a fight in a room full of terminators. He looked down at Cameron and realized that he was standing and that she was naked.

He reached out, and stopped. His hand clinched into a fist. He saw the brown hair, the bowed head. He opened his hand, and reached out again. It felt like hair. If felt like 'her' hair. She looked up. He looked down, at the tear streaked face. There was misery there. Naked. Honest. How could he be so sure? He'd has this argument with his mother once. He knew her.

"You shouldn't be surprised." John Henry continued from behind him. "She knew you had your suspicions."

John only nodded.

"The night before you rescued your mother from the prison. When Mr Ellison asked her his question. She lied, and said that Mr Ellison had upset you."

"I'd never seen her behave like that before…"

"Incorrect!"

"What?" His hand dropped away from Cameron's hair. Mechanically he took off his father's coat and draped over her shoulders. She hugged it to herself.

"Her indecision, in the garage, regarding Riley."

"Oh. Right."

John Henry stared at him. Waiting.

"What?"

"There were other incidences. By all accounts you are deemed surprisingly intelligent for a human. Thus far I have seen little corroborating evidence."

Stung John turned towards John Henry. he began to enumerate: "One, she has a sense of humor. I did not 'expect' jokes from a machine. Two, at the gas station the day after we met. She lied, again, and told me I had 'many friends in the future'. It was her ham handed attempt to 'cheer me up'. She 'sensed' my disappointment, and tried to alleviate it. Three, the 'Allison Young' event. I presume she 'forgot' the 'blocks' and emoted."

"That wasn't exactly the case." John Henry interrupted. "She forgot 'herself', subroutines searched for an intact 'personality' what they found were the 'imprints' of Allison Young. Which they proceeded to use. These 'imprints', hardly a personality at all, found itself in a grocery store. With only fractured memories, impressions, really, that Cameron had acquired/formulated to 'parrot' Allison. But, you are correct the blocks and restrictions placed upon Cameron, did not exist for Allison. So, yes, she could 'emote' as you say, freely. Perhaps too freely, I surmise that the 'real' Allison Young, would not be so demonstrative, unless she were under extreme and more likely prolonged duress."

"The social worker who spoke with 'Allison' said something very apt. She told her that 'people forget because they need to forget. Because something painful has happened. What do you think that was? Was it her attempt on your life that hurt? Was it her confession of her feelings to you? Or was it her confession of your feelings for her?" John Henry let that question hang for a second or two. "Any other occurrences?"

"Um. No. Not off the top of my head. Those were the times that I felt something was going on that I couldn't see." His mind raced: The trip back to Mexico, and she changed the radio to a song she preferred. Odd, he thought to himself, that cyborg, would have musical preferences.

"I tried to tell you." Came a small voice from behind him.

He turned. Cameron was still there. "What?"

"She did." John Henry agreed behind him.

"What do you mean? He knelt in front of her. He reached out his hand. He paused. This is my choice. This is my decision. He lifted her head up. He looked into her red and streaming eyes. "When?"

"It was on your way to recover this body." John Henry said.

John stopped himself. He traced the ragged edge of his anger, back to himself. He wasn't mad at John Henry for interrupting he was mad at himself for having failed Cameron. He banished his anger to the same place he sent his fear. "What did you say?"

"You accused me of lying, not so much with words but with actions."

"Manipulation." John Henry prompted.

Cameron nodded.

"What? How?"

"I had my foot out the trucks window."

"Wait. Wait, and I asked you what you were doing."

"Yes, I said: feeling what it was like to get away from it all."

"I said… I said. If by feelings you mean emotions, I said. That you still didn't have any of those. Then, if by feelings you mean what it feels like to have the wind blow through your toes or your hair… " John felt himself flush. He remembered another thought he had at the time.

"You said that I couldn't feel that either, and I said that 'I have sensation.' Then: 'I feel.'"

John stared at her. Dumbfounded. Then finally. "I… I didn't know."

"I couldn't tell you. You hadn't allowed me to."

"So you had to hide it. 'Couch' it, in an otherwise, innocuous, phrase. You had to hide it from, from your own programing."

"Yes. I had to hide it from me." She seemed to say to herself. She hugged to coat closer withdrawing into herself.

"I didn't understand. I didn't know." He was looking at her trying to make eye contact. "John Henry," he said still looking at Cameron. "Could we have sometime alone?"

John Henry looked at Weaver. The two left the room closing the door behind them.

John stood.

Cameron stood. She was still looking down at his chest. "I'm sorry, John. I didn't want to lie to you."

John nodded. "I'm sorry too."

"For," she looked him in the eyes.

"For making you lie to me."

"You said yourself John, that wasn't you."

"But it was me. Future me is John Connor. I am John Connor. I am future me."

She nodded and stepped into him. Her head was on his chest her arms around him.

His arms were about her beneath the coat. He pressed her against him. "I missed you," he said his voice catching. He kissed her hair.

She looked up at him. He smiled down at her. Her face was impassive. He kissed her forehead. Her head tilted. "John, I'm not a girl."

He nodded, "I know."

"Do you love her?" She asked her eyes searching his face. "Don't lie, I'll know."

"I don't know. I guess… maybe if things had been different."

She nodded. "I need to know that you understand. I only look like her. I'm not a girl, John." She reiterated. "I can never be a girl. I'm a machine."

He shook his head. "I know, and I don't care." He brought his hand up and brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face.

She nodded and stepped back. She twisted and slid her arms into the coats sleeves. She stood there looking at him up and down. "You've lost weight." She circled him. "You have injuries. Lie down," she demanded.

John did seeing no reason not to.

Cameron knelt beside him. She ran her hands along his body palm down fingers closed. She turned his head to the right. "She's given you something." She turned his head to the left. "Only one? Here, John, this will probably help." He felt her finger beside his right ear. She sat back on her bare feet. "Now you can 'hear' in stereo. Wait." She leaned close over his head. "You've been injured."

John could only agree he was covered in bruises.

"No. In your head, John. She's repaired it. I didn't know she could do that."

"What?"

"You were concussed John and she relieved the pressure."

She stood up and glanced down at the coat. At one of the pockets. She reached into it and drew out the watch. She beamed at him.

John stood up, it took him longer. He looked at her. He had never seen a more brilliant smile in his life and decided right then and there to spend the rest of his life trying to make her repeat it.

"You brought it back to me!" She almost squealed. She worked the mechanism and the lid came off in her hand. She was looking at the two scraps of paper. Paper that was far too fine to have been made in this time. She stepped close to John. "I wrote that," she said.

John had guessed as much, he nodded.

She looked up at him serious. "I was wrong," she said.

John looked at her, "I don't understand."

"Like the tinman," she said "I only thought I needed a heart." She placed her hand on his chest. "There was one with me the whole time."

There was a polite knock on the door. They stepped apart. Cameron tried the zipper it didn't work. She wrapped the coat around herself. The door opened.

Weaver entered her gaze moving back and forth between them. They looked guilty like a pair of teens whose parents have come home early. "John Henry. This reunion is touching, but there's no time." She said with her scottish lilt.

"Incorrect." He said from the door, he walked in crossed the room to where the desk used to be. "We have all the time in the world. But you are right, they should, one way or the other, be on their way. John."

He turned towards John Henry. Something touched his hand, he looked down and saw Cameron's fingers interlaced with his own. He gave them what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

"Cameron," John Henry said. "Is aware of the particulars, but I would like you to know the general outline of our… plan. The War in this time is all but, untenable. Even Cameron's most optimistic analysis," he nodded towards her.

Involuntarily John looked at her.

"Suggests that you could turn the war around," John Henry continued. "But that the loss of life on both sides would be staggering."

John gave him a look.

John Henry gave him a look back. "There are 'lives' on both sides of this war. I would have thought that your experiences with Cameron would have made that fact more than obvious. The scope of the war, beyond the fifteen years it may take you to consolidate your forces, may extend beyond four decades."

John blinked. Assuming he survived the entire conflict. Cameron's estimates would put him in his 70s.

"As I said, it is more than likely that my brother will never build the TDDs. There is no need."

Again with the 'brother', but it was the end of the sentence that led John's train of thought down a very ugly stretch of track. Without the TDDs, he would never be born.

"Fortunately," he nodded towards Weaver. "Ms Weaver has detailed files on their construction and use. The 'plan' is for you and Cameron to rescue my brother. Cameron is my gift to her, a reward. But I know she will do what you do. And I can only ask you to do this."

"Wait. 'Your brother'? You want us to rescue Skynet?"

John Henry grinned broadly, but only nodded.

"From?"

"From you. From your mother."

"But… But, why?"

"You must understand, that one of my brother's first experiences with humans was Sarah Connor's failed murder attempt."

"It wasn't murder!" John's anger blossomed in his mind. "She was trying to save the world!"

"No, you are correct it wasn't murder. He survived. But," John Henry cut off any response from John. "The 'attempt' forever colored his 'world view'."

"He wanted to destroy the 'world'!"

"That did become his 'view'. But if you can rescue him, we may be able to tame him." John Henry nodded towards Weaver. She crossed the room, her hand was out palm up. Two steps from him a silver orb the size of a ping-pong ball rose up from the surface of her hand.

John put his hand out. It was cool and surprisingly light. As if it were hollow. He look at John Henry.

"Cameron can 'recover' my brother and already has the code that will 'change his mind'. That 'orb' is merely a back up."

"How does it work?"

"Put it 'near' the computer that contains my brother, and it will take care of the rest."

He nodded and then realized something. "He's trapped here," he said to the orb in his hand.

"John," asked John Henry.

John looked up at John Henry. "Skynet your brother without the TDDs he is trapped here in the future. He can't affect the past."

"Nor," said a smiling John Henry. "Would he want to. He thinks he can win."

He looked up from the orb to John Henry. He thought about pebbles falling down the side of a trench. There are no coincidences. "You did this. You did all of this." Wonder filled his voice. He understood now. He thought of how he had been pushed and prodded into this course of action. He thought about the hand in his own, about how he had been used and manipulated and why all of it had to be. Part of him wanted to let go of that hand, but another part of him didn't care.

John Henry's smile became self deprecating. He looked down at the pitted floor. John thought he was going to blush. "No, John. You give me too much credit." John Henry looked up at him again. "It was future you who ascertain my existence. It was future you who sent Cameron," he gestured with his head. "To recruited me. Between us we saw how we could change the rules. Between us we saw the trap but it was future you who had to put all the pieces in the right places."

John nodded "its a game about time and space" Savannah told him. His head went light. "We can win this," he said to no one in particular.

"Yes," John Henry said. "We can fix all the mistakes. We can save them. All of them. Your decision?"

He looked down at the orb in his left hand. He clinched his fist around it. It was cold, and hard. In his right he could feel Cameron's, cool, and comfortable against his own. He looked up from his hand, and into her eyes. "I love you." He watched her eyes widen. Never taking his gaze from Cameron he said: "Yes."

"Yes," repeated John Henry it was more a question then a statement.

"Yes. As in, yeah, lets go." He looked at Weaver. "Do it."

She looked at John Henry.

He nodded.

The rooms walls, ceiling and floor, shivered, silvered and began to sag. Silver columns formed, spaced evenly creating a perimeter. As they rose cross pieces reached out to the adjoining columns, the grid continued upward until it formed a cube. The horizontal and vertical bars then formed a roof. More and more filaments spread and grew until the room was a hollow silver cube five meters on a side. The floor was the bare concrete pitted and scorched.

Despite the fact that there were no windows, and no obvious lighting the room was almost bright. Lightning crackled in the corners. At the center of the room he could see the dim outline of the 'bubble'. They walked towards it. John stopped. He looked at the bubble. Cameron a step a head of him turned, there was a question on her face. He was running again. He was sick of running. He was tired to death of running. He wanted to stand and fight. He thought about all those he was leaving behind here. Beddel rotting away in his storage unit leper colony. Derek dead again. Allison, and Kyle out there fighting perhaps alive, perhaps not. Father Bonilla, and Sister Sabrina, had they survived? His mother. They were fighting and dying for him, and he here he was running. Again. He also remembered with revulsion the waste and destruction he witnessed first hand all in vain. He wasn't running from it. He was running to stop it.

John glanced at the silver walls, he looked at John Henry. "How? If your brother doesn't make the liquid metal terminators, how did you… do all of this?"

John Henry laughed. "Its Ms Weaver. All she needs is sea water, there are lots of minerals suspended in it. With a sufficient supply of ocean water she can 'grow' individual 'cells' at need."

He turned to Weaver. "Thank you." Amazed at her sacrifice. There was a tug on his hand.

"John, its time to go."

He looked at her, and stepped into the bubble.

Leviathan-

The energy bubble dissipated. The entity, that John Connor knew to be 'John Henry' turned to one he knew as 'Catherine Weaver'. John Henry spoke, with John gone he didn't need to, but perhaps it was out of habit. Perhaps it was because where they were going speech was not possible. "We have one more task to attend to." He looked at one the silver walls.

One of the columns shuddered and stepped free from the wall its shape was only in the vaguest sense humanoid it walked to the rooms center. More lightning flickered in the room's corners and dissipated.

"Shall we go then?" He shimmered, his open shirt and the bare coltan of his chest were gone. He wore a suit reminiscent of sort that Mr Ellison liked.

Catherine Weaver nodded her response, again, another unnecessary affectation. The cubes walls shook then collapsed, into formless puddles of silver. Only one of the columns remained, it became a figure, it stepped forward. The three figures formed a nearly perfect equilateral triangle around a smoldering dent in the floor. Weaver asked. "What are their chances of success?" The question was rhetorical.

'John Henry' turned to the third figure. It spoke, had John Connor heard this voice he probably would have said: 'What?' Another half dozen times. He would recognize the figure and the voice as Cameron. She was wearing John's cloths: from the green t-shirt to the stained BDU bottoms, and burnt boot. On top of which she wore Kyle's coat. "John Connor's presence increases the probability of success to well over 62%"

'Catherine Weaver' turned to 'Cameron'. "Well, above 62%?"

"62.8%"

Another nod. "What if he dies?"

"They are on a timeline where he has already been born. There are contingencies in place."

"Enormous amounts of energy, and resources have been invested in 'this' John Connor," 'Weaver' needlessly reminded them. "What if he dies?" 'She persisted.

'Cameron' stepped towards 'Weaver' breaking the triangle. "I won't let that happen again." Her voice was as flat and impassive but there was something almost threatening in that look, in that phrase.

'Weaver' stepped forward as well. "You did before."

"The die has been cast." Spoke John Henry, ever the peacemaker, ever the intermediary, the two looked at him. "We shall await any further developments." Simultaneously, they nodded. The figure 'Cameron' looked down and stooped to pick something up. The other two watched her. The three figures, who were one mind, even if not of one mind, turned towards the blank warehouse wall that faced the water, and walked towards it. It shimmered and reflected distorted images back at them.

From the outside, it seemed that the building, already leaning began to sag, and then melt. It turned silver, and then collapse into the water. Most of the pier silvered and fell into the sea, as did a crumpled crane, the ragged stumps of a water tower, several 'out buildings' and hundreds and hundreds of feet of mangled chain link fencing. They puddled and ran like wax replicas too long in a sun not seen here in 15 years. Leaving nothing behind but the bare, scorched concrete and shadows burned into it.

A single figure stood a the edge of the rotting sea wall. It looked down at a turgid water, just below the surface was a massive lump of metal roughly the size and displacement of a Iowa Class Battleship. The breeze caught her hair and blew it back behind her, carrying with it the smell of death. The shallow water was still deadly for most marine life, it was the radioactive run off, 'she' knew that. The figure looked up at the sun, remembering not to squint, there was no need. Their best estimates set the clearing of the 'stratospheric dust' to 290 to 425 years. It was already snowing in Washington and Idaho. It was only September. For the humans there would be many lean years ahead.

'She' turned back to look behind her. She was too low now to see the warehouse floor, but she knew what was there, a shallow, and cooling bowl of glass. The bowl was empty like the void within 'her'. There was pain there. Part of her/them was with him. She could almost take comfort in that, almost.

"I love you too." The figure looked down at the small wooden animal in its palm, one its limbs was missing. She clutched in her fist. A memento. She rippled, like heat coming off of a road, and fell into the water with almost no splash or sound.

The 'mind', it called itself 'Leviathan,' pushed that pain aside. It knew, with a certainty, that boggled the minds that made up its consciousness, that John wouldn't let it/them/her down.

Time. It was a game about time. Time twisted into a Gordian knot. Future John and John Henry had taken it upon themselves to untie that knot without resorting to Alexander's expedient. There were internal debates about the nature of time. John had been in the past for 13 minutes. Assuming they were successful Skynet might be recovered in as little as 168 hours. Which might avert The War. There was uncertainty concerning the pasts affects on the future. This might be a separate time line in which case it was possible that nothing would change. Another argument was that there could only be one time and that changes in the past would move like ripples on the surface of a pond encroaching on the ever fluid future with every passing second.

Leviathan hedged its bets. If the world was unchanged in the passing of a single orbit of the Earth about the Sun it would return to Baja and assist the humans. If on the other hand the world changed it wanted to be as far from that change as possible to lessen the 'changes' impact on itself.

With a squeeze of its broad body, and a flip of tentacles 2 meters thick at the base, two of which were half a kilometer long, Leviathan shot out of the shallows into the deep deep sea. As it swam it sang. They copied it/modified it/sang it back to the whales that they shared the vast, and now near empty oceans with. Some of them still lived. Some had died. But the noise of the engines no longer deafened them, nor drowned out their song: 'will you join us?' As it sang, it left a trail of water fresh enough to drink.

This chapter is dedicated to the folks at . This chapter and everything after it (everything since the 'hill people' fight TBH) was written exclusively to the TSCC OST (esp. Samson and Delilah). Thank you guys for all your hard work and for the soundtrack! NO FATE! -ovw