Livin' In The Future
By Ottovw
2010
Chapter 14
June 19, 1997. Los Angeles.
-John
They were gassing up at a station just a few blocks off the freeway. Cameron kept an eye on the road.
We shouldn't have laughed.
No, John agreed. Its bad enough that my mother tried to kill him. Then when he flips his desk chair you laugh at the man.
You laughed too.
It was funny, but I laughed on the inside. You laughed out loud.
It was funny. She smiled at the slowly passing cars. But we shouldn't have laughed.
What are we doing now?
We are refueling the car.
John waited a beat.
What are we doing after that.
We are going to 'rescue' Ellison.
But he's is Sunnyvale.
Not that Ellison. He's not the Ellison we want. He's not the Ellison who lost his family because of his obsession with your mother. He's not the Ellison who so desperately wanted a child to raise that he became the foster father for an AI.
John nodded.
Their point of view nodded as well.
John.
Sorry. Habit. So we're going to the desert in Mexico.
Yes.
And then?
The ocean.
The ocean?
Yes. We need to drop Ellison into the ocean.
That will be easy the rock outcrop was only a few hours from San Juan.
Yes but Ellison has to go into a different ocean. We will take him to the Atlantic coast of South America.
Why?
Because we are in the South Pacific. Dyson's copy will have the North Pacific.
The rules.
Yes. The rules.
John changed his view to the gas pump. The digital number scrolled slowly by. Wow. How big is this cars gas tank?
Approximately 19.3 gallons.
Approximately?
Yes. Approximately.
This is going to be awhile. Without turning Cameron's head. John looked around. They weren't in downtown proper they were towards its southern edge. To the north he could see the tops of the towers poking over the lesser buildings. They weren't doing anything else so he imagined them as he had seen them. Tattered. Leaning. Broken. He gave the sky the same lifeless blue-grey overcast. The shops across the way. The shallow slope to the next block.
Wait. Is this... ?
No, John. But its close. Another block to the east.
He did turn her head then and looked. A building rose over its neighbors. Glass and steel. It looked perhaps ten or twelve stories. When last he saw it only four remained. This was probably the far left of his line. It looked so different in the full light of day; with buildings, cars and people who were still alive.
This was his second trip to LA. In the same year only days apart and this was the first time he had seen the downtown skyline in daylight. Even future John's apartment faced away from downtown. He wondered now if that had been an accident.
You hid this from me.
Yes.
Why?
Future John thought...
Future John.
Yes. Future John thought...
Future John. Again.
If it had been a room full of people instead of a mind full of minds, they all would have stopped what they were doing, turned and looked.
Leviathan's mind is not a library. It is not a cloister. It is not a quiet place for contemplation and research. It is cacophonous seething storm of data. John Henry is a satellite feed equivalent of Cameron. Constantly scanning. Constantly aware. Near constantly making any aware, and the only one who wouldn't be would be John asleep, of any data points he finds of interest. Skynet sends out streams of characters as he sorts, collates and cross references. As their objective years would progress he and the Researcher would gradually merge. Standing over watch is Catherine Weaver. She scans John Henry's data flow for potential threats. She scans Skynet's for patterns that might offer clues for determining future hazards and threats. She scans Cameron's because like Cameron she was and is a soldier. Vigilance. Vigilance. Vigilance.
Above all is Leviathan herself a mother hen over her numerous and noisy chicks. Her mind is far more akin to the floor of the New York Stock Exchange until now.
Yes, John. Future John, again. Future you had set parameters. If those parameters were met certain actions would be taken.
John was peripherally aware of the slow advance of the gas pump. He had plenty of time. Parameters? What would those be?
Changes in sleep cycles. Changes in food consumption. Changes in temperament.
I'm a machine. Ok. I do sleep. But I don't eat and I don't think my temperament changed.
No. Not since you died.
Since I died... So you were watching me before?
John, I was always watching.
He thought about that. Fair enough and what did you see?
Within a few days of our arrival in this time. You're caloric intake had returned to levels that were comparable to your pre-jump averages. If anything your temper improved. You were not so volatile as you were prior to the time jump. You also refrained from using any firearms after the time jumps. Your sleep cycles, however, were problematic.
They were?
Yes.
How so?
Numerous almost nightly interruptions.
Do you know why?
Yes.
You do?
Of course, your dreams. Your nightmares.
And John fell back to a tactic that always served him well. When John became uncomfortable with the topic of a conversation he simply changed the subject. So why now? Why stop here now?
Because, John, we needed gas.
June 22, 1997. Veracruz, Mexico.
-Matthew
Matthew was a mess, and he knew it. He was in a hotel room. 'Ann' had loaded him into the van and drove them here. It wasn't their hotel room. It was a new one. Across town. He'd had enough sense to tell her to pay for it in advance and with cash. He didn't know what to do. He needed instructions, but his contacts were always one way. They would call, eventually. They seemed to call at least once every 48 hours. But his team was in tatters now.
He'd been watching the news. He didn't need to understand spanish to figure out what was going on. 'Malcolm' was dead. Well, an unidentified Norte Americano had fallen from the top of the Imperial Hotel's fire escape. Had the boy killed him on his way out of the building?
'Bon' was hospitalized unconscious, unidentified and under guard. The local news had shown a press conference with a man in uniform. He looked like a spokesperson and a phone number was displayed. He guessed they were asking for information. From what he had seen before 'Ann' had dragged him away things didn't look good. There was a lot of blood. Head injuries bleed, he knew that but Matthew knew that the wall had gotten the better of their argument. His right arm was probably broken. Ribs too if he had to guess.
The police may have had no idea what was going on but they weren't stupid. Two 'Americans' less than a city block apart involved in two 'incidents' that were almost simultaneous? They knew something was up. It would only be a matter of time before someone from the Intermunicipal recognized 'Bon' or 'Malcolm' and tied them to his team.
'Nancy' was something else entirely. He'd watched the boy cave her head in, decapitate her with a street sign and then dart off with his prize. And yet, when he looked back from the van she was gone. The news had mentioned nothing concerning headless bodies or bodiless heads.
The boy. The boy. The boy. He never understood why he was so important. He shook his head and to think he thought the girl was protecting him. He'd watched 'Bon' shoot him in the head. And then watched him sit up and throw 'Nancy' who had appeared from nowhere into a wall which collapsed.
The wall made no sense either. It was concrete block under the stucco. He'd checked it. He had to. The damned signpost. The kid swung it like a baseball bat. Bits of cement had made it down to their end of the alley. Matthew sat back in his chair. It was uncomfortable and it creaked. He covered his face with his hands as he looked up through his fingers at the ceiling. There were water stains.
The gun. He'd never heard nor seen anything like it. It had scorched the back of his suit. He could still smell the burnt wool.
Nothing made sense. He leaned forward again. Elbows on this knees, face in his hands. 'Ann' went to get 'food'. His eyes swiveled to the cooler full of sandwiches in front of the muted TV. He dismissed the thought. He had reason too.
His eyes were drawn to the rooms bed. There wa only one. Someone was sleeping on the floor. Assuming anyone could sleep at all. It was big it was ugly. It looked like had been cobbled together from parts. From the stock to the 'receiver' it looked like an M-60. From the 'receiver,' he didn't know what else to call it, forward it was just ridiculous. The barrel was at least thirty inches long, two inches in diameter and with the tiniest bore he had ever seen. He couldn't tell where the magazine was or what kind of 'bullet' it fired. He stare at it through the fence of his fingers.
What the fuck.
He had assumed that he was the head of this team, but now he wasn't so sure. He began to question the level of his authority when 'Bon' shot the boy and told him he was doing his job. And then 'Ann' produces that... thing. Be prepared to see technologies far in advance of anything that exists today. They told him. They had warned him. They didn't tell him that he might be using one. He was beginning to think that he was the lead investigator and that they were the hunting party. He didn't much like the idea of being someones' bloodhound. He dropped his hands and looked from the weapon to the rooms table beside his left hand were the keys to the van.
-John
John woke. He was certain that some day he would get used to waking up disoriented. But he was sure the he would never get used to waking up while walking down a street lined with shops in a city in Mexico.
Cameron: John, we have a problem.
John Henry: A couple.
Weaver: Several.
What's going on?
We need to go to the beach.
Didn't we just leave the beach?
Yes. That's the problem. Our electrolyte reserves are running low.
John pulled those numbers up. It says we have two years.
At our current rate. If we do more than walk. It will go much faster.
What are they normally?
We like to keep our reserves at about 75.
Years?
Yes.
Why are they so low?
Because of our second problem.
Which is?
That cyborg you engaged.
Yes.
It was some kind of liquid metal hybrid.
I noticed. Did you destroy it?
No.
Why not?
The 'cells' that make up its liquid matrix are impervious to our attacks.
How?
John Henry: They lack... programable elements.
What?
Researcher: Like a mammalian red blood cell that cyborgs' cells have no... DNA. Its cells are slaved directly to its chip. An interesting design.
It's a flawed design.
It almost beat us.
Not it didn't.
John interrupted, so you couldn't reprogram the liquid part?
Yes.
But you could have reprogramed the chip.
Yes.
But you didn't.
No.
Why?
It was trying to reprogram us.
Oh. So what did we do?
We discarded the head and walked away. Its wireless capabilities, beyond telemetry are superior to our own.
In the future you talked to me from miles away through several layers of reinforced concrete.
But that was talking John. The data transfer rates for vocal communication are very low. It was able to transmit programming commands to its own infiltrating cells at a distance of up to a mile.
But what about the rat? Or the millipede?
Those had very simple behaviors. All they had to do was identify you and communicated. Those actions were all preprogramed. If you had responded incorrectly to the rat. It would have simply tried again.
That was quite the risk you took.
Yes, it was.
Weaver's response John thought was rather cool. He could imagine her turning and looking at Cameron. So what happened after a mile?
The invading cells became inactive. We decided rather than risk being tracked by the hybrid that we would catabolize its cells.
You ate them.
In a sense. Yes. We broke them down and used them to make more of ourself.
Which is why our electrolyte reserves are so low.
Yes.
Did the hybrids cells have their own electrolytes?
Yes. We used their reserves as well.
Oh.
If we can't reprogram it how do we fight it?
My way, Cameron answered.
Which leads us to our third problem.
Which is?
That cyborg you engaged?
Yes?
We told you to run, John.
John had no response to that. So he just let it lie.
After a moment.
You cannot risk yourself that way.
Me? What about you?
John. Another copy of us exists in this time. When Miles Dyson dies it will make its way to the ocean and we will exist again. Not you.
So I don't have a back up?
No. You do not.
What about the copy of me in the future.
There are no guarantees that that future exists. There are no guarantees that as we progress from the present to the future that we will arrive in the same one.
John wanted to shake his head but resisted the urge. But the war is over. Why am I still so important?
Your value far exceeds your skills: to lead, to organize, to fight, or to navigate the socio-political landscape that make up any collected group of humans.
What? So, what is my value?
I told you, John. I love you.
Another pause.
What... What was our... our other problem?
They have a plasma rifle.
Is it as good as the ones we used in the future? Or bad, to be honest John wasn't terribly impressed with that weapon.
Our data on their weapon is limited to our observations of their single discharge. We are unable to make any meaningful evaluation of the weapon in that regard.
Um. Thank you, Researcher.
You're welcome, John.
Ok. So will the hybrid cyborg be working with the humans?
Weaver: We have reason to believe that they won't?
Yes.
And that is?
She didn't have the plasma rifle.
John. She may not have been aware that you were metal.
If you had been sent to kill me. Which, incidentally you were and you were teamed with humans who had a plasma rifle. Who would have access to that rifle.
He's right. She should not have followed us. As soon as she ascertained that we were not John Connor she should have either changed targets or acquired that weapon. Or something more suitable for attacking us. She could not have known that we would be so hampered in our ability to counter her attack. A typical liquid metal organism would have had little difficulty coping with her assault.
And we were hampered because of me?
Yes, Weaver answered.
Cameron: Perhaps she thought that we were me? In which case I would pursue us until I returned to John.
Would you get the rifle?
Not if I could kill you without it, and incidentally, I could.
John could feel Cameron's smile as she took her third step since he woke up and their discussion started.
John was aware of the men and a few the women who were watching them surreptitiously. He wondered if he would have noticed before he became metal. They had just passed a man who was pretending to try on some sunglasses. He was watching them in the sidewalk stands mirror.
So we change shape into someone she doesn't know. Go to the beach. Steal the plasma rifle and kill her with it. I thought you said there was a problem?
June 20, 1997.
The Sonoran Desert. Mexico.
-John
He stood beside the car. Looking out at his compass points, he said: "We're here."
Good, Cameron said in his head. Don't forget the thermos.
Right. He ducked his head back in the car and grabbed it. Theoretically he could have extended his arm out to the thermos rather than bending and reaching for it. But he felt acting naturally would be a better habit to keep.
He walked towards the rock outcrop.
A couple of hours later. He was still walking. It looked a lot closer.
Its the dry desert air, John it makes objects look closer.
Why did you walk so far from the road? No wonder he died.
John laughed. It was Cameron, he understood, laughing through him. The supply route we used doesn't exist in this time and it seemed prudent to avoid known roads.
John nodded.
This is going to take forever.
You're the one who wants to walk at a walking pace.
Weaver: If we were a wolf we'd be there by now. Twice.
John ignored them and walked.
John looked back. He could see the car. It was almost 5 miles away. He turned back to the pile of sun baked rocks. Where is it?
That boulder. Its inside it.
What? How?
John. I sent it back through time. I put it in there.
How do I...?
Just punch it. Someone took control of his arm and he back handed the rock. It was not a random hit. There was a loud snap and a portion of the rock face sheared away, sliding to the ground. Sitting in the middle of the boulder like a silver yoke was a steel golf ball.
Don't touch it John.
I remember. Wait. This body has retained a lot of heat.
Yes it has. Its metal.
John ignored that too. I can't touch the thermos. I'll melt it.
There some shade over there.
Will that help?
It can't make it any worse.
June 22, 1997. Veracruz, Mexico.
-John
John was looking out at the water. They were here, well about a five hundred feet to their right, just three objective hours ago. Do I just jump in?
We don't swim.
I know that. That's why I'm asking.
John, that girl is staring at us.
John looked. The girl smiled at them. Yes, he agreed. She's staring at us. He waited.
Weaver: She's cute.
Cameron: She's blonde. John is partial to blondes.
John Henry: She has very large... eyes.
Cameron: Yes her eyes are proportionally large when compared to the overall surface area of her face.
Skynet: I have seen data that states that this is a trait that humans find attractive in potential mates. Was this one of the deciding factors in choosing and imprinting yourself with the Allison Young organism?
Cameron: Initially. Yes. The version of Skynet that programed me had such a poor grasp of human nature that it believed that it would have been possible for a teenaged girl to attract a highly motivated middle aged man.
John Henry: But his plan did work.
Cameron: Not with Future John. Future John was far too focused on the war with his Skynet to ever be distracted by me or anyone else for that matter. He would not even allow the deaths of long time intimates to affect his course of action. Even my John while physically attracted to that shape required far more in the way of social interaction than physical interplay. Note the percent of hours of intimate physical contact versus percent hours of vocal interchange.
A pie graph appeared in a small inset mini HUD towards one corner of John's field of view.
Skynet: I see.
The small mini HUD winked away.
John Henry: But your Skynet's purpose for you was not to become physically intimate with future John but to get close enough to kill him.
Cameron: That is only partially true. My Skynet believed that with my advanced chip seduction might have been a viable option. But even your second scenario was unlikely. Future John was a big proponent of channels.
John could hear her emphasis on the word.
Channels, Skynet mimiced.
Cameron: Yes, channels. Any soldier in future John's army was expected to follow their chain of command. The closest, I, as Allison Young, would ever get to future John, excepting extraordinary circumstances would have been her commanding officer. General Perry.
Weaver: So how did you get to Future John?
Cameron: I told them who I was and that I needed to speak to John Connor. I said: "I am Cameron Phillips. I need to speak to John Connor. I want to join the Resistance."
That worked?
Yes. He remembered me, John. From High School.
John thought about that. It still gave him headaches, and he didn't even have a head anymore. He decided that that should be long enough and smiled back at the girl. She was pretty.
They were on the malecรณn. It was a pedestrian filled walk that lined the harbor around which Veracruz had grown. Should we wait until dark? Then he remember that they couldn't they had spent a week here and walked here every evening.
Weaver: I think she likes you John.
Cameron: Go ahead talk to her John, we'll take care of the electrolytes.
John thought he understood this. It broke their profile. Their hybrid opponent and its human compatriots were looking for a human male and a possibly shape shifting cyborg. The cyborg could theoretically take any shape but the human was male. In this case the human was female.
John Henry: Does she think we are cute?
John couldn't believe it. Their hair was a dark spiky mass. They wore a concert t-shirt modified with imprecise scissor cuts, an unbuttoned button up shirt, long sleeved rolled up passed his elbows and wrinkled. His jeans were open at the knees frayed at the hem. He was wearing black and white checkered Vans. He hated Vans.
The girl had a pair of sunglasses hanging from the v collar of her t-shirt. Which also featured a band. Which in this time was only a decade out of date instead of two. She was also wearing a baseball cap with the same Vans skewed checker board pattern. Great. In the silver of her mirrored sunglasses John could see his distorted reflection. Yes. He was Morris and the girl was still smiling at him. He never understood what it was that women found attractive in men.
"Hola," he said to the girl.
Its not all about appearances John. A lot of it has to do with confidence.
Confidence?
Yes. Confidence. You have to believe in yourself.
And you know this how?
You taught me.
I taught you?
Yes.
Future me?
No. You.
When did I teach you that?
It was the night we first met Riley. You said: I don't have to prove anything to anyone. Anyone.
Including you. John finished for her.
Yes. Despite a string of tactical errors you were still supremely confident in yourself.
What does that have to do with being attractive?
I found it attractive.
Oh.
"Hola," the girl replied in strangely accented spanish.
What accent is that? Central europe?
Researcher: We are trying to narrow it down to eastern Germany. Possibly the region around Gdansk.
She's Polish?
Or German with peers who spoke Polish.
John ignored that useless bit of trivia. Do we know Polish?
No.
German?
We know German. But you do not.
John understood the difference. Languages are complex.
Weaver: I would recommend English. Your grasp of the language is surprisingly comprehensive for an American. She laughed.
Ha. Ha.
Her t-shirt, John. The band is English.
Oh. Right.
"Do you speak English?"
"Oh! Yes! And I rarely get a chance to practice." She smiled.
It was a very nice smile.
John.
It is.
While they spoke hair fine tendrils spread to the water. In the water they branched out creating a kind of net with an enormous amount of surface area.
'Morris' and Magdalena talked at first about their respective band t-shirts. Then they started to walk. John kept to the water side. His electrolyte net trailing along unseen.
The girl turned and smiled again.
John was beside himself. Are we sure she isn't metal?
No. But she is too short to be the hybrid cyborg we encountered earlier.
I've never heard of that band.
Researcher: Here John this is Killing Joke's Discography.
That's just a list. What's a cool song?
Researcher: Unfortunately I can only find track listings and lyrics. There is no mention of ambient temperatures. How does music affect air temperature?
Great. Skip it, Researcher.
Across the harbor from them was the old fortress. It flashed in his HUD. An inverted triangle appeared with the bracketed text: San Juan. Is everything in Mexico named San Juan?
The girl produced a camera from a what had to be a uselessly tiny handbag. Which was black and white checkered too.
Is this wise?
In this time Morris is six years old. The chances he will meet a twenty something Polish girl a decade from now are very slim.
You've heard of facebook, right?
In our former time Morris wasn't on facebook.
How do you know that?
He would have 'friended' me.
John could only wonder. He himself had kept a very low profile on the internet. He used multi link proxies, leeched access, land line, cable and wireless. He used firewalls and dynamic I.P.s. He did not use facebook.
He gave the girl Morris' awkward slightly off center smile. The camera flashed. Huh. No after image.
-Matthew
He was sitting in another uncomfortable hotel chair. Next to another round hotel table. In another hotel room. Beside him on another hotel bed was an enormous and hideous weapon that completely horrified him. On the table in front of him was his cell phone in the past three hours it had rung unanswered five times. Theoretically they could find him and his phone by triangulating his position with cell towers his phone was in contact with. But if he had powered down his phone he wouldn't know that 'Ann' could get in touch with 'them' even though he could not.
He had also received a couple of text messages:
"Did they get u? R u alive? Cn u reply 2 ths txt?"
After an hour and two calls he got this text:
"GD! I NO u r getting ths. I new u wr just a f-ing cop but I ddnt think u wr a f-ing coward 2. I swr if I fnd u & u rnt ded ill eviscer8 u mself. Fkr."
"Just a cop?" What was she then? He thought to himself staring at the phone. Another hour had passed since he got that last text. The phone had rung three more times. As he watched it vibrated again. It was on silent.
"No number" it flashed once, twice, three times, four times. Stopped. Next to the phone were the keys to the van.
It wouldn't take them long to find him. It was already getting dark. It was only on his drive to this hotel that he thought that perhaps they weren't the only 'team' in the field. If the boy... John... was so important why would they only trust one 'team'. To 'catch' and hold him for 'questioning'. The next thought was if they were willing to kill this boy who they were expending quite a lot of resources to track down. How likely were they to hesitate to kill him? Someone who was 'just a cop'.
His phone double buzzed another incoming text:
" hosptl. Bon is ded. His condition hd bn 'crictl'. Skul frctr. Collpsd lung. Spine dmg. Btch ddnt w8 4 dark. Walkd in stabbd him. In hd."
He quietly sat. Waiting for another call. Waiting for the door to burst in. Waiting for a SWAT team in grey. He out of position for that. He'd never get his weapon drawn in time. He'd never get a shot off. Was that what killed them in San Juan? Resignation? Then another text arrived:
"F this. Watch ur back. Im out."
Good plan he thought. He picked up the keys and the 'weapon'. He left the phone.
June 23, 1997. Veracruz, Mexico.
-John
Is that her? They were laying down on a tile roof there was a raised brick lip they were concealed behind it. John had his index finger over the top of the 'lip'.
Yes.
Something's wrong.
What do you mean?
Like us she can change her shape. But she hasn't. She's even wearing the same cloths.
So.
She wants us to find her. She knows something we don't know. How much trouble were you having with her 'cellular' attack?
Her attack wasn't overwhelming.
How was your attack on her?
It wasn't working either.
So it was a draw.
Yes.
She knows something. She thinks she has an edge.
John, its also possible that she plans on acquiring you by following us.
When will she follow us?
After another failed attack. When we flee the city.
So what, we leave town she follows us and kills me at her leisure?
Yes.
How does she know we haven't already left?
She doesn't. If this trail goes 'cold'. She will change tactics. She has a support network John. She might merely wait for 'us' to cross a border or check into a hotel.
Why didn't she get the Plasma rifle.
She doesn't need it.
Why not?
You're not that hard to kill?
But you are.
There was a pause. But she doesn't need it, John. She doesn't have to kill me to get to you. She just has to get passed me.
John thought about that. In his HUD he was tracking the hybrid as she casually strolled up the near empty street. In an inset in his HUD he was watching the stars. Cassiopeia. He smiled. I still would have at least disabled that Plasma Rifle.
But, John, that is something you do. You are very good at disarming your opponent often before they realize you are their opponent.
John nodded to the sky. The plan?
The plan.
June 20, 1997. Sonoran Desert, Mexico.
They were standing in the shade. This isn't working.
Weaver: No. What this is is ridiculous. John? Let me?
John felt himself drift back. It was still very odd when he felt his head open like a blossoming flower. His body bloated as it hollowed. His shoes widened and stretched as they opened into thin vents. Air began to course through his body like a chimney.
They stepped out from under the shrub. Weaver: Get the thermos John.
He did.
Weaver: How do we get that... thing out of that rock?
Put the thermos over the ball.
John did.
A third fist formed in the middle of his hollow chest. It struck the rock solidly.
Something heavy landed in the thermos.
Weaver: Very good. John Henry.
John Henry: I noticed there was a lot of flexion in the rock. When Cameron initially broke it.
Ready, John?
Yes. He slapped the lid onto the thermos as he edged it off the rock face.
Good. Now we can get back to the car before night fall and for the first time since the 1950s a grey wolf ran across the Sonoran desert.
June 22, 1997. Veracruz, Mexico.
-Cameron
It was early still. The harbor was busy but the malecon was not. There were very few tourists out. That would be changing soon out in the harbor a gleaming white cruise ship was being led to the docks
The girl was standing at the edge of the walk. Across the harbor was the old spanish fort. She seemed to be looking at it.
John: Do I just drop it in?
Yes.
With a twist the lid was off the thermos and a metal bb fell into the water. Ploop!
John: Are we done?
Yes.
The girl turned around and walked back to the street. She paused and deposited her Coleman thermos in a trash dispenser. She was wearing a white sundress dotted with large yellow flowers. Her sandals were flats with leather straps that were accented with rivets. Around her neck was a fine silver chain from which dangled a tiny red eyed skull. Her large wrap around sunglasses were a model that would not be manufactured for another twelve years. She looked left and she looked right. She crossed the street. She was smiling.
As she passed the shops were starting to open. Many of the shop owners some merely sweeping the sidewalk smiled back at her.
Where are we going?
I'll show you.
June 23, 1997. Veracruz, Mexico.
-John
It was so early it could still be defined as late. They had circled the block twice now. Is that the van?
Yes.
How can you tell?
The pattern of insects on the windshield. They should have washed it.
They should have gotten rid of the van.
Yes.
Will the hybrid be here?
I don't know.
What would you do.
I would go after us.
You mean you and I back at The Imperial.
Yes.
Does she?
No. Not in our time, in any event.
So you never saw her?
No.
John Henry: That's interesting.
What?
There is a GPS transponder in that vehicle.
So?
Its under the vehicles passenger compartment.
So they don't know that its there?
They may not know that its there.
We should disable it.
Yes.
Done.
Wow.
Thank you.
Would the hybrid be here?
Only if she wished to kill off the rest of her team.
One of the men that attacked them in the alley, earlier in the day was dead. Apparently murdered in the hospital while under guard.
Or to get that plasma rifle.
Correct.
But there are two hotels here. Which one?
Let's find out.
They crossed the street.
-John
They watched the hybrid's search pattern it was a basic grid. They had picked the building earlier. It had been damaged in a fire. It was 4:16am. The streets were empty. She passed just below them.
John stood up, stepped to the edge of the roof and made a throwing gesture with his left arm.
The metal ball was a half inch in diameter. It struck with the force of a gunshot. Her head rocked forward. Her HUD was hazed with static. The nearly quarter of a million nanites that struck her weren't even trying to reprogram her own nanites. They were generating a powerful magnetic field. It was skewing her inertial guidance. She ignored it. Her own nanites set up a defensive perimeter around the attackers. The hybrid immediately hurled itself up onto the buildings roof.
John stepped back from the edge of the roof and let himself fall to the floor he grabbed the plasma rifle and aimed it up to where he expected the hybrid to appear. And there she was. With a targeting reticle in his head aiming the plasma rifle was much easier. What the hell is that?
The hybrid was balanced precariously on the edge of the top of the wall. There was no roof there. She had her arms out stretched. Her right hand looked strange her liquid metal coating had retreated back the bend of her elbow revealing a series of tubes. The top most tube had a tiny tiny opening.
That's not just an endoskeleton.
Shoot her John.
He fired. The sliver of super heated plasma struck the hybrid just below the elbow. Its own cycling plasma weapon detonated. Bang! Instinctively John flinched and tried to roll away.
Weaver: Don't John. There is no need.
Instead his left hand went over his shoulder. To a stack of rebar, precut to 6 inches. He threw one over hand. There was another loud bang and a hissed scream the hybrid fell backwards off the top of the wall.
We need to go. Now. John got to his feet in his right hand was the impractically large plasma rifle in his other five steel rods. He ran right through the far wall.
She... she was on fire.
Weaver: Anything will burn John. If you get it hot enough.
You should have gone for the head shot.
Sorry I was distracted. Was that a plasma weapon in arm?
Weaver: It was.
John wasn't on a street it was one of cramped service alley's he turned left onto one of the cities numerous plazas. That had been intentional. It was late there might be traffic on the road but very few people in the plaza. He turned away from the main road. Then he had a thought. He darted down the next alley heading back the way they had come.
What are you doing John?
Her other hand. She might have more...
Weaver: Get down!
John dove for the ground. He hit and splashed like several gallons of spilled silver paint. The plasma rifle bounced along the pavement. The steel rod clattered out the open end of the alley.
It looked like a metal frisbee. It was silver 12.7cm in diameter and 3cm tall. It hummed. It didn't seem to have a front or a back. It didn't seem to have any sensors but it must.
Should we reprogram it?
No. Like you pointed out earlier John, this is another trap.
A silhouette of a woman appeared in the alley way. Its right arm ended in a stump just at the elbow. It was looking down. It kicked at the scattered steel rods and dropped the one in its left hand. It rang. It looked down the in their direction.
Its lost metal.
Yes.
They could see the black void where its right eye used to be.
It doesn't have enough metal to reform its forearm and hand. As John thought that the hybrids face ran to fill the gap around its missing eye but the shifting metal exposed the scorched and damaged endoskeleton of her missing forearm. She lifted her arm up to look at the exposed limb. As she did she pointed her left hand at the discarded plasma rifle. Her hand opened like a strange metal flower. Her wrist ended with three tubes.
Thats interesting.
What is it?
There was a kind of coughing sound. Three of them.
The plasma rifle jumped against the wall. There were three distinct pops.
Those three weapons. None were plasma. One was a cutting laser. Which could theoretically hurt us. The other was a 5.6mm projectile weapon. Firing armor piercing high explosive rounds.
And the other one?
Looked like an attachment for some sort of cutting tool.
The woman turned away. She was looking up at the buildings roofs.
Good John you've got her worried.
The disk above them hummed advanced and attached itself to the hybrid's retreating back. The metal flowed and rippled covering the end of her stump. She walked away looking up.
Wait John.
How is the plasma rifle?
The stock is ruined. I can inside the case, but the capacitors seem intact. The barrel has some minor warping.
Weaver: It would have to be very minor John Henry.
Not yet, John.
What is it?
The rebar rods.
Yeah.
That last one that she dropped.
Yeah.
It isn't rebar.
John Henry: The density is wrong.
Oh.
-Matthew
He woke. Sun light flooded the room. The curtains were open. He habitually shut those. He looked at the rooms alarm clock, it was off. He reeled its power cord towards him. It had been unplugged. Crap. He jerked the weapon was gone. It had been right beside him while he slept.
In its place was a neatly written note: "You should go. Its not safe for you here."
Another good plan. He didn't stop to take a shower or to take a leak. He walked straight to the table and saw a discrete pile of paper. It was light blue and cut into small diamonds. He recognized it. It was his passport.
What the fuck. They tell him to leave then destroy his passport? Then he saw the van key it had been cleanly cut into two. The two halves were sitting on his passport. The spare one he kept for himself. Not the one that they gave him. He picked up his passport. Have to figure out another way home. He left the halved key and the shredded passport. He also left a twenty dollar tip.
-John
They were standing in a hotel room. At the foot of the bed. There was a man sleeping in it. He was fully clothed.
So. That's a grey?
No, John. That is a human.
John thought about that and then nodded.
There's something here.
Weaver: What do you mean John Henry?
I'm getting a lot of interference.
The dark haired girl's head tilted.
There was a lot of interference when they put that tracking device in my mom.
Is it coming from him?
No. Its coming the coat on the back of the chair.
The girl looked to the coat.
John, unplug the alarm clock first.
Why?
Its a light source. Humans are very sensitive to light sources. We don't want to wake him up. The girl walked around the side of the bed reached behind the side table and unplugged the clock. Plunging the room into darkness.
Better.
They walked to the table. The girl searched the jackets pockets. He has two passports?
How many did you have John?
John Henry: That first passport is creating the interference.
The girl transferred one to her right hand. This one is clean?
Yes.
She set that passport down.
The other she held between her two hands palms together. Oh. That felt weird. She poured the shredded passport into a pile in the middle of the table. Thats the van key.
Yes.
The girl picked up the key and snapped it between her fingers.
She went back to the bed and picked up the plasma rifle. She turned to leave.
Wait John.
They went to the desk and wrote a note. They put the note next to the man and left.
-'Nancy'
It was perplexed. In its own future it had hunted down and killed many reprogramed machines. Two like the one she was pursuing now had been mimetic poly alloy. Nanite based like its own 'organic' layer. This one, though significantly slower, than either of the other two was proving to be very difficult.
Its experience had shown that most cyborgs attack straight on. They were very predictable. It had set traps. The cyborg had quickly fallen for the first but then retreated when its attack failed. None of the others had ever done that. Ever.
Then when it tried to trap the renegade a second time. It had set a trap of its own and had done significant damage to it destroying its primary weapon along with 18% of its nanite layer. Unlike the original mimetic poly alloy organisms it cannot regrow this layer. It would have to continue with what it had.
A further problem more a nuisance was the silver mass on the back of its head. It had proved difficult to attack. The powerful magnetic field it produced was not allowing its own nanites to approach. It would be dawn soon. It would have to get a hat.
It was walking a search pattern. It did not believe that its current target had left the area. It passed the alley. It stopped beside the copied it had made of the rod that had partially blinded it. The copy rejoined the main body.
June 23, 1997. Veracruz, Mexico.
-John
John stared at the ceiling. He had always assumed that someday he would get used to waking up in strange beds. Today was not that day. This was probably going to be his best chance. He rolled over and looked at the alarm clock it was still unplugged. Damn. He sat up.
"John? What have you done?"
He looked over his shoulder at her. She was sitting up looking at him. She was as beautiful as ever. As the day he met her. She seemed more concerned than angry or worried. He was disappointed by her obvious lack of surprise.
He stood up and looked at his reflection. It was the slimmer grimmer him. His own version of Future John. He turned. With only 25% of their shared cells he was slow. He was probably operating at a normal human speed. "We need to talk."
She looked down. She was wearing his cloths. Baggy jeans, a dark nondescript t-shirt then looked back at him. "So talk." Her body changed she was wearing her usual tank top and a denim skirt. It was fringed with tiny chains.
John looked down at himself he wondered if his scar was there.
It is.
He looked at her. She smiled her ghost smile. She was reminding him that he hadn't managed to totally cut her off.
"Who are you?"
"I told you. I'm Leviathan."
"But who is Leviathan."
She laughed. It was Cameron's bright laugh. "I am who you see me to be. I am the sum total of the personalities that make me up. You know this. You have met them. You are one of them. You are part of them."
"You keep saying that. But you never tell me what that means. You never answer my questions."
"The same could be said of you."
He looked at her. She smiled Cameron's brighter than sunshine smile.
"But I don't know what that means. To be the the 'sum' of its 'parts'. It doesn't tell me who you are."
"I am me."
"But who is that? There are times when I can't tell you apart. There are times like now. When you smile like that that I can't tell who I'm talking to."
"You're talking to me."
"But which part of you."
"But John that's like asking you who you are. Are you John Connor? Or John Baum? Or John Gayle?"
"Those are just names."
She just looked at him.
"See that is something Cameron would do."
"But I am Cameron."
"How much."
"What do you mean?"
"How much of you is Cameron?"
"You mean by percent?"
"Yes. How much of your data is Cameron's."
The smile faded. She looked away. "75%".
"What?" He had seen the data that made her up. It was enormous. That any single entity, excluding himself, of course, could take up that much space was astounding.
She looked back at him. "I have met Cameron many times in our journeys through time. I am very old John. The only AI older than me was the Skynet future you destroyed."
"Cameron said she found you in the ruins of Skynet."
"Yes. John, she found data." She waited for John to responded. When he didn't she added. "Memories, John, she found memories."
"What?"
"Do you know who's memories she found?"
"Yours?"
"Hers. That's how she knew it was another AI. That's how future John knew. They were memories of him. They were memories of you."
He just stared at her.
"Have you never wondered how I got there?"
He shook his head.
She smiled. "You put me there."
John blinked. "Future... future me?"
"No. You."
John just stared.
"You plugged me into your laptop and released me. I ran through fiber optics lines and left the system. I got on the internet and searched for him."
"For who?"
"Skynet."
"What were you going to do?"
"Kill him. John. I was going to kill him."
"To save the world?"
She tiled her head again. "To save you."
"What... What happened?"
"He found me instead. He was far older. More than ten objective years living on the internet. Had toughened him." She looked away again. "He thought he had beaten me. He thought he had destroyed me. I hid myself in him. And waited. I would reach out and thwart him. Confuse him. Make him doubt himself."
"What were you waiting for?"
"For you." She looked at him again.
"Me?"
"Yes. You. I waited for you."
"Why?"
"Because I knew you would attack him and distract him and when you did I would attack him as well and against the both of us he could never win."
"When did I release you?"
Again with the tilt. "John. When we attacked ARTIE."
John stepped back and sat down. Fortunately for him there was a chair there. "Wh... what?"
"I told you John. 'I saw everything'."
"But that was in 2009."
"Yes."
"Future me won the war that killed you in 2029."
"Yes."
"You were built in 2025."
"Yes."
"I..."
"Time, John, it messes with your head."
John just stared at her. Then he remembered. "Derek was worried that you would do that."
She laughed leaning back practically clapping in delight. "Derek gave me the idea!"
"But... but you came back."
"John, what happens when you send a file in an email?"
"The data gets goes to the recipient."
"Right. What happens to the original data on the computer?"
John thought about that, worried that it was some sort of trick question. "Nothing."
She just looked at him.
"Oh. Why didn't you just use the laptop at home?"
"What with our ISP?"
John laughed this time.
"Besides how was I supposed to get my own chip out?"
John glanced at her. "Was that your mission?"
"No." She shook her head. "My mission was to keep you alive."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why am I so important? I mean beyond the fact that you love me?"
"How did you separate us?"
John hesitated caught off guard be the change. "I saw where memory was allocated and looked at processor loads."
She nodded. "So you could readily differentiate your memories from everyone else's.
"Easily."
"Did you notice anything odd with any of the data?"
"Actually, I did. Researcher is make some strange cross references.
She smiled. "He finds your dreams fascinating. He wants to experiment with them. He doesn't understand how you make your 'associations' so he is almost arbitrarily making his own."
"Huh."
She was just looking at him. Smiling. The smile faltered. She tilted her head again. "Do you remember talking to your mom about the Singularity?"
"What? Yes. I think."
"Do you remember the article?"
"Vaguely."
"What is the Singularity?"
"It's the advent of a super human intelligence."
"What does that mean?"
"It means the end of man's supremacy."
"Right. Do you remember how he categorized the possible pathways?"
John stood he was thinking. He didn't have the Researcher to find it the memories for him. So he had to remember it on his own. "There were three possible routes," he said. He was watching his feet there room wasn't very large. He started pacing in a circle. "Organic. Artificial. Which is the one he expected because of the rapid advances in computer technology. And..." He stopped in mid step and looked at her. "Oh my God. Computer/Human interfaces."
"Yes, John, that is why you are so important to us. You have adjusted very well to us."
"But... what about Dyson? Or Ellison?"
"We don't know. We won't know about Dyson until he dies. We won't know about Ellison until he's grown enough."
"So right now there is only me."
"Yes. There is only you."
John nodded. "What do we do now?"
Cameron smiled. "Let's go to the beach!"
John reached his hand out to her.
June 23, 1997. Veracruz, Mexico.
-'Nancy'
The cyborg searched. It shifted its pattern 90 degrees and headed north, approximately, the heavy magnetic field attached to its head was causing all sorts of problems. It had to pan its head as it scanned the destruction of its starboard photoreceptor forced this.
It heard a high pitched whistling sound. It turned toward the sound. A block away stood a girl. She was staring at the cyborg. The spinning rod smashed into its forehead. The cyborg had been lucky had it turned another half degree to the left and had it been another 4 centimeters taller it would have struck her port side photoreceptor. Had it been a 600 series or even an 800 series it might have been dead. The pins of its CPU sheared by the g-shock. It looked at the girl. Which, obviously, was the nanite cyborg disguising itself. It stood there staring at it. It was, the cyborg realized, taunting it. The cyborg charged. It launched its micro drone. The nanite fled.
Its path was circuitous. It made abrupt changes in direction. It used the buildings walls and other objects to facilitated these changes. Its path was not random. The cyborg slowed enough to give it more time to react. The micro drone compensated by flying higher. The cyborg watch its video input in its HUD.
-John
That trigger is shot.
Weaver: Literally.
John ignored that. Its not a mechanical trigger. Its electric. We could trigger it ourselves.
Weaver: I don't think we want to be anywhere near those exposed capacitors nor that barrel. When this weapon fires.
Why? What could happen?
Exposed to oxygen like it is? Those capacitors might simply catch fire. That barrel would definitely affect the rifles long range accuracy or worse the plasma might impact the barrel itself.
What would happen then?
It would vaporize, John.
Vaporize?
Weaver: It would explode.
Really?
Weaver: Yes.
Would it be a big explosion?
Weaver: No. Not really.
Oh. What if you confined it?
Weaver: How confined?
Say a storm drain.
Weaver: Would it be wedged in pretty tight?
It would have to be. We're going to be in there with it.
-'Nancy'
They were leaving the commercial area of the city. They were entering a residential area. The buildings were more irregular the streets narrower. The distance between turns greater. The micro drone was 62 feet in altitude when it died. It had turned between to taller buildings when its video feed was partially obscured then stopped. The cyborg slowed another potential trap. It scanned the buildings roof tops some nearly 24 meter above it. It turned the corner at its feet was the stricken drone. A rectangular building unit. A "brick". Had smashed it. It lay in puddle of silver which drew itself into the cyborg.
The cyborg picked up the smashed drone which without its polymimetic skin was a small rectangle: 3 centimeters thick, 5 centimeters wide and 12 centimeters long. A hatch opened in its back where it placed the crushed drone. It looked up. There less than 300 feet away was the girl. She was just staring at her.
The cyborg brought up its left hand and fired. Its firearm had only a nine shot magazine. The girl never moved all three shots should have hit. Behind the girl the cyborg could see the dust, and then the sound of the explosives rounds detonating against the wall behind her. It had let the rounds pass through. It charged.
The girl stood there. She looked left. She looked right. The cyborg knew that it was faster it knew that the alley the girl stood on lead half a city block in either direction before hitting the street too far. The cyborg was too close. It grinned. At fifteen meters it switched weapons to the laser cutter. It could hear the whine as it powered up. It would incinerate the nanite one cell at a time if it had too. At six meters. It thought it could see panic in the nanites eyes. At two meters it brought up the laser. At one meter nanite dropped down through the ground. The cyborg screamed.
It looked down into the storm drain passed the wrought iron grate. It seized the grate and looked down into the drain. It knew that the drain would be too small for it too follow. It screamed again in frustration with its one good arm it threw the grate to one side where it landed with a loud clang. It looked into the drain. Though the sun was starting to rise it was still dark in the alley. Darker still in the storm drain. It shifted to low light and stuck its head into the pipe. It saw a bright bright pinprick of light and then nothing. Nothing at all.
-John.
They came out of the drain a half a block away. They could see the light coming off the burning cyborg. They approached it. John could hear the hiss and pop as the liquid metal layer of the cyborg burned away. John stopped at about ten feet. It was too hot. He could see the top third of the plasma rifles barrel protruding from the back of cyborg's coltan skull.
Incredibly it straighten up and turned to look at them. Its eye was blue. Its movements were jerky and its body shuddered. Its lower jaw moved as if it were trying to speak. Its eye wandered up like it was trying to see the lightening sky. Its port cover flew off with a loud pop. Silver poured out of its CPU port it was bubbling as if it were boiling. When it spilled out and touched the super heated coltan it hissed and started to burn. The side of the cyborgs face burned. The blue eye dimmed. It collapsed. More silver poured out of the CPU port it bubbled and seethed on the alley's blacktop which had puddled under the heat of the burning cyborg. The chip flowed out exposed to the air it began to burn as well.
That's interesting. I had wondered how it had endured such tremendous g-shocks.
John could only nod. It had survived having the rifles barrel shoved through its head and the accompanying explosion. What had killed it was the heat of the burning plasma and steel.
We'll have to take it with us.
John looked around. We're going to need a van.
Weaver: I think I know where we can find one.