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.

15. Chapter 15

Livin' In The Future

By Ottovw

2010

Chapter 15

-Leviathan

It was small. It was playful. It danced and frolicked like the chrome common dolphin it appeared to be. It also grew. By 1998 it was the size of a pilot whale and even took on that shape. It also listened. It would regularly surface and listen to satellites that filled the Earth's lower orbits. It learned the sound of the factory ships and the whaling ships that took the creatures it copied. It also sang. The song's pitch was higher than it was supposed to be but it sang it nonetheless.

But in its heart and soul it was a fighter. It hunted down the ships that preyed upon its brothers and sisters, if only adopted. It snatched off rudders and tore away propellers. It would run its metal dorsal fin along steel keels, slowly flooding them, slowly overwhelming their pumps. In that first year it sank five whaling ships and disable two factory ships. One Russian. The rest Japanese.

In 2000 it was the size and shape of a Minke whale. Whaling vessels were getting scarce. The Russians had gotten out of the industry entirely. Ships were now being lost in the South Atlantic. It noted this. It sang ever louder.

November 9, 2005. Near the California/Oregon State lines.

-Future John

The jet was a converted L1011. It was older but had been recently modernized. It had the appearance of a commuter plane but it was privately owned. All the passengers and half the crew worked for one man and he was sitting behind the wing staring out the small oval window. He was almost smiling. He loved to fly. It gave him a sense of freedom though an illusory one that he never otherwise felt. People had always relied on him. For their orders. For direction. He'd looked in on many a cockpit and had no idea what any of those buttons did. As a child he had been fascinated by birds and their ability to fly away. Here high in the sky he could at least pretend to.

"John Connor?"

Without thinking he turned and looked. The stewardess was pretty. She was tall and blonde. She was the right build, but a shade taller than he expected. The smile was all wrong. "Kill the bitch." He heard himself say.

Beside him sat Ramir, short for Ramirez. Ahead of him sat Ashley behind him sat Zack. Their windows seats were empty. Everyone made fun of Ramir with his quaint balisongs. They were too slow, they said. They were too flashy, they said. John silently took back every bad thing he had ever said about them. When Ramir planted that knife up to the hilt into her chin. If she'd been human he would have given him a bonus.

"Please remain calm," she said as she backhanded Ramir pulverizing his skull and jellying his brain.

And it happened. Like it always happened. When he was in a close fight. Time seemed to slow. Everything came into sharp focus.

John heard the sound of a suppressed MP5. Good girl Toni, he thought in his head. Unfortunately, she was using safety slugs. He watched the rounds walk up the side of the stewardess. Splashing red across the upholstery. Ruining her pretty uniform top and mussing up her hair. Otherwise it had little effect.

Still sitting John drew his .50 and fired two rounds. He was aiming for her chip. He was not in a good position for that. Blam! Blam! The flap of skin and associated hair hung from the side of her head. Blood stained coltan seemed to mock him. "Bitch." He heard himself say. Both rounds skipped off her head and went right up through and out of the fuselage. They'd be losing pressure. They were high enough that for humans this would be a problem.

There was a loud metallic clank. Zack was up. He stuck the barrel of his sawed off shotgun right against her temple. It was loaded with slugs. John turned his head away. The lead slugs would essentially 'splash' against the cyborgs skull. Zack fired both barrels. The recoil would be brutal. It would put him back in his seat. Boom! He'd have to reload to get another shot off. John knew that wasn't going to happen. There wasn't going to be enough time.

She was knocked down three rows. But she was still standing. Ashley emptied his clip into her. He had a 1911 with saboted armor piercing rounds. He skipped two off her head into the ceiling. Two on the wrong side of he head. Two on the right side of her head but too low. He never got the seventh shot off.

The hits had twisted her around. John could see her back. There stuck to it with powerful electro magnets was a charge of 'homemade' plastique.

Across from the slumping Ramir. Across the aisle. John could see Natalie. She had the detonator in her hand. Unaccountably he remembered she liked tea. He never expected that in an demolitions expert. He looked at her eyes. She had pretty eyes. They reminded him in a way of long lost Allison. A hero he had never ever met. They reminded him with a pang of guilt and bitterness and something else of Cameron. He rose from his seat drew a bead on the terminator's skull. "Do it," he yelled as he fired two last rounds.

There was a roar. The briefest flash of heat followed by a blast of cold and then nothing.

-Leviathan

They are the size and shape of a grey whale. They had just heard that a group of scientist had won the nobel prize for the first certifiable AI. Its name was John Henry. Part of the whale laughed. They were big enough now.

John?

Yes.

Its time.

Time?

Yes. Its time to save your mother.

The whale dove deep. It flared with light lost in the deep deep sea.

The figure stepped out of the alley. The man was tall, thin and unhappy. He moved like someone who had't walked in a very long time.

John, let me take over.

Ok.

It was night. The man looked up at the night sky. Very few stars were visible. "light pollution," he said to himself

We're here.

Excellent.

They were in the right place in the right time. They were in Los Angeles. It was 2am on May 12, 1984.

We need a phonebook. They were wearing baggy jeans that won't be in fashion. Assuming, of course that they ever come into fashion for nearly twenty years. Their boots are made by a company that didn't exist yet, and if their rather tenuous grasp of the nature of time was right, it might not ever exist.

-John

The dog was barking, and had been for more than an hour. It wouldn't stop. So, they had tied it up outside, and waited.

There was the squealing sound of worn brakes. A car door opened then closed.

Then John saw him. The cyborg it was wearing a strange mix of clothing. A military styled jacket, with some chains, and leather sown onto it. Its face was a blank mask. It was huge. Except for the clothes, he knew 'it' he reminded himself. It was an it. He had taught it to 'high five'. He had taught it jokes. He felt... betrayed.

Cameron: Wait John.

Anger flared in him.

Cameron: Please remain calm, John.

What is that? One of the 'characters' asked.

Cameron: Rage.

John Henry: John, let me take over.

What is 'rage'? Asked another 'character'.

Weaver: It is biological response, review the data.

Researcher: Observe.

According to the data associated with the Cameron entity. It is a chemical reaction. Commented a character.

That's interesting, so it is merely the release certain hormones and the interaction of neurotransmitters?

Researcher: Yes, in specific locations in his brain.

He doesn't have a brain. Yet another character pointed out.

Researcher: No, but there have been a systemic reaction nonetheless.

Fascinating. Did you noticed the tremor in the forelimbs? The dilation of the pupils. The hairs on the back of our head stood on end. This entity was unaware such an action could be done, involuntarily.

The Weaver entity's associated data refer to this as the fight or flight response, it is apparently a common response found in many biological organisms.

Similar data has been found associated with both the John Henry, and the Cameron entities. Some of the files are extensive and very detailed.

The 'organism' tied outside?

Researcher: The dog. Yes, more than likely its 'actions' are related to the fight or flight response.

Can we test this system?

Researcher: There is no need. The historical data for this is almost universal.

The 'minds' continued their discussion though it began to slip into the background.

John? John?

He couldn't respond. He wanted to but his thoughts were confused and scattered. He wanted to break something, but he had nothing to break anything with.

Its ok John.

John saw his perspective change as he grew shorter, and wider.

John felt himself grow distant slipping back away from the foreground.

That was a...

Yes John, that was a T-800, an older model.

Is that the one?

Yes, John. That is the one sent to kill your mother.

Skynet? Did you send that?

I don't understand, came Skynet's cool response. Despite himself John found Skynet's answer calming.

John, please pay attention, we rescued Skynet, long before the war. This Skynet has never manufactured, nor given an ordered to a single terminator.

Right. Sorry.

Are you okay? John?

I'm fine.

There was a pause.

John Henry: John? Would you care to have the honors?

Knock. Knock. Knock.

So, this is it, the first battle is the last battle. A war that never started, ends here.

Not quite, John.

-T-800

The cyborg had arrived in this time 8 hours and 3 minutes ago, in that time it had acquired clothing, weapons, a vehicle, and the addresses for three Sarah Connors. It stopped the vehicle at the first address, and approached the house. A dog was barking at it. It opened a secondary door, and knocked on the door behind it. An older woman answered. She opened the door. Which swung wide.

"Sarah Connor?"

"Yes."

The cyborg drew its weapon.

-John

John analyzed its attack. There wasn't much to analyzed. Frontal attack. Thats all they seemed to understand.

Thats all we ever really needed.

John had to stop himself from nodding.

The handgun was clear, the cyborg was drawing it across its body. The gun was coming level, the cyborgs arm was almost straight.

John decided that he didn't want that to happen. He reached out and twisted. The gun came free in his hand. What is that a long slide?

Weaver: Yes. That is a long slide .45.

John took the weapon and placed it in a void in his chest.

The cyborg looked at its empty hand, it seemed surprised but nonplused. It reached out with both arms.

Its so slow. John thought, as he stepped into the cyborgs grasp and jammed his thumbs into its eyes.

The non liquid metal cyborgs are more secure than the liquid metal ones, at least from 'intrusive reprogramming'. But they are not impervious. They had found ways. His thumbs flattened themselves then flowed around its eyes. At the back of the eyes, for mobility, was a soft spot. The liquid metal entered there.

The cyborgs right hand had closed on John's throat. This 'Sarah Connor' was shorter but wider, John thought her lower of center of gravity might help, if it came to a fight. It didn't, the cyborg released its grip, and stood in the doorway. The dog was still barking.

John, take over.

He did.

The view was 'grainy', it wasn't even in color, as he watched the 'wrong' Sarah Connor, became Cameron. The real wrong Sarah Connor was taped up in the back bedroom.

"We have to go. Now." Cameron stepped around him. She moved so fast.

John turned to follow her and stumbled when his shoulder connected with, and crushed the door jam. He looked at the splintered wood. He didn't even bother trying to repair the damage. He walked back to the car. Cameron was already there.

"We have to destroy this body," John said as the stooped to get into the car. They drove off.

"Yes, but first, we must show you something."

"She's... She's... Beautiful."

"Yes."

"She's so young."

The woman on the scooter passed them. She parked her bike, secured it to a tree with a chain and seemed to say something to the fiberglass statue in front of the restaurant. If she noticed the teenaged girl, and her much larger companion. She did nothing to betray her notice to the two cyborgs. She entered the building.

"Can I...?"

"No, John. Its over. No messages. No contact. Nothing. If anyone deserves a normal life it is your mother."

The T-800 nodded. "What about me? I never sent Kyle. He isn't coming. I will never be born."

"No, not your Kyle Reese. But a Kyle Reese is coming and we have to stop him.

The big cyborg's head turned sharply. "Stop him?"

"Yes. We cannot let him reach Sarah."

"Why not?"

"John. There is no need. After this one all the cyborgs sent to the past were after you."

The cyborg nodded.

"How will he sound, John? As crazy as they told her he was. He doesn't deserve that. He served you better than that. And what about your mother? She doesn't need to know about a future that will never be. She doesn't need to prepare for a war that will never come."

The big cyborg looked away. It turned back to look at Cameron.

"So I will never be born."

"No, not on this line of causality."

The cyborg sighed. In its clipped and heavily accented english it said: "Time travel. It messes with your head."

The girl made an illegal u-turn, and headed out to the desert.

"As you know there are ongoing debates concerning the nature of time." Said the smaller machine.

"Yes. There is the single timeline theory, and the multiverse theory."

"Those are merely the extremes."

"There are hybrid theories. That is true."

"It is one of the reasons, that we have 'seeded' ourselves across many times. It is entirely possible that our colonies set in the near future are flourishing. Or will never exist. So we 'seed' continuously as we journey backward in time."

"The John Henry/Skynet copy we dropped into the Sea of Cortez. The 'detachment' that we left with Miles Dyson. The copy of Ellison we dropped into the South Atlantic."

"Yes."

"Will you be leaving one in this time?"

The girl looked away from the road. She seemed to be studying the larger cyborgs face. "I don't know."

"There's something I don't understand."

"What?"

"I thought we changed the future. Why is Kyle still coming?"

"The past has already happened." Cameron reached out and drew a line in the dust on the station wagons dashboard. She drew a series of dashes at one end and an equal number at the other. The she labeled them 'a', 'b', and 'c'. Starting at the right closest the bigger cyborg. She erased the letter 'c'. "In the future," she explained. "We stopped this jump. Then we went deeper into back time, and stopped this one." She erased the letter 'b'. "And finally we stopped this one." She erased the letter 'a'. "But see the 'a' 'b' and 'c' still exist in the past. They have already happened. We have to deal with each. Skynet," Cameron glanced at the bigger cyborg. "Tied a knot in time. We are untying that knot."

"One thread at a time."

"Yes. One thread at a time."

The big cyborg nodded its head again. "Shouldn't we save this body? To help with Kyle?"

"We won't need it for Kyle."

They continued the drive in silence.

The two robots stood beside a grave. At the bottom of the grave was about 75lbs of thermite. They were looking out at the setting sun.

"My mother always liked it out here. I never understood why."

The girl's head tilted. "Really?"

"Really."

"Its because, John, things happen out here."

"Huh? What's that supposed to..."

Cameron took a step back and one to the right. I'm sorry, John. Her right hand came up. The older T-800 was still in mid sentence when the razor edged shaft of metal two inches thick smashed into its port cover. The g shock was enough to damage the chip, and cripple the cyborg. The port cover itself was neatly bisected by the impact. Cameron stepped closer. She shortened the blade as she approached. Her right hand blade was buried almost an inch into the coltan skull. Sparks crackled from the damaged port. The bigger cyborg had dropped to its knees, in fact the only thing holding it vertical was Cameron herself. She looked down into the open port. She could see the terminators creased 'dust cover'. She lifted her left hand, which became a half inch diameter rod, and smashed it past the damaged port covers. The chip powdered. An arc shot up and danced in her hair. She stepped back and let the body fall face first into the sand.

I'm sorry John.

Its ok. It wasn't me anymore.

No. There was a 82% likelihood that the Skynet AI had over powered the Leviathan AI. We don't always win. The girl leaned over the prone cyborg, her hand now a broad bladed knife, and began cutting the flesh from the older model cyborg.

Would it have tried to 'over power' us?

Probably not. Its best strategy would have been to convince us to let it live. Then it would have fled to find some Skynet resource or another left in this time.

John nodded the girl's head. The gray's we met in Veracruz?

Yes.

They dumped the flayed endoskeleton into the grave and then the flare. They waited for the coltan to puddle then they added the stripped flesh. The smell of roasting meat rose from the pit.

You know what I miss?

You're mother?

John waited a beat. Hamburgers, he thought finally. I miss hamburgers.

They are an excellent protein source but typically made with poor quality cuts of meat and prepared in a manner that only increases the amount of fats. Not a healthy food choice.

Thank you, Researcher.

As always, you are very welcome, John.

They turned away from the burning pit and walked back to the station wagon. The girl looked at the setting sun. She wasn't squinting.

Sarcasm, you guys really need to work on that.

Sarcasm?

Yes. How do we find him?

Kyle?

Yes.

John. I was there. I know where we sent him.

But by the time we get back to LA it will be almost 20 hours since he arrived.

John. We know where he's going.

Oh. Right.

-Kyle

He still couldn't believe it. The world existed. He kept trying not to blink worried that it might go away or that he might wake up and find it all a terrible dream. He was ready. He had the address. He had a weapon. He had cloths and a car.

-John

How do we do this? How do we talk to him? He won't know me will he?

No. His John had more scars.

But you know his John.

We do.

So.

We're not allowed.

You're not allowed?

No. Its part of our agreement.

What agreement?

The alliance, John.

Alliance?

Yes, between man and machine.

So you can't imitate me.

No. We cannot.

But you've been me.

No. John. You've been you.

He thought about that. Does Kyle know you?

Yes. But he trusts me no more than Derek ever did.

Derek?

-Kyle

He pulled into the parking deck. He was absolutely certain that he had hidden here once. Perhaps he was dodging an HK. It was a lot shorter then and not so clean.

He parked the car. Anyone leaving the deck would have to pass him. He waited. He rubbed his eyes. He unnecessarily checked the shotgun. Again. He was tired. He checked the door he was sure Sarah would use. He could just see it between the columns. Her scooter was parked in front. He check the entrance to the garage. He listened for anything out of the ordinary. Which for him was everything that had once been called 'ordinary'. But he was tired. He forgot to check his 'six'.

"Kyle!" Someone hissed.

He snatched up the shotgun.

"Kyle!"

He shifted in the car to look behind him. There off to his left. "Der... Derek?" He looked older. He'd put on weight. Kyle was struggling to get out of the car. "What are you...?"

"Abort. Abort. Abort."

"What?" Kyle shook his head. His older brother was crouched down beside the car's trunk. He looked his brother up and down. His clothes were a mix but not nearly as haphazard as his own. "They told me that the tin cans got you?" Kyle crouched down, but he stayed on the balls of his feet.

Derek smiled. "They did." He looked away to glance around the garage. "I had it easy. I didn't have any Connors to rescue."

Kyle smiled back.

The smile was gone. "I thought I'd lost you too. They wouldn't tell me where you went. They wouldn't tell me where you were sent."

There was something there. Something uncomfortable. Kyle had to look away. "Abort?" He asked even as he took the opportunity to glanced around trying to will them into a state of normalcy. It could be like old times. Derek was watching his back and he watched Derek's.

Except it wasn't. Derek wasn't being Derek. This was his older brother. Who had picked on him. Who had teased him. Where was the banter? Where were the insults? Something was wrong.

The smile flickered but died. His face got serious. He braced himself. Derek being serious was always bad news. "The future is not set, Kyle. The future is not set."

He snapped his head back at his brother. If not for the string he would have dropped the shotgun. He leaned back against the side of the neighboring car. He almost missed it. He stumbled but caught himself. "What?" He stared. "We... we won? We really won?"

Derek smiled He seemed to relax. "Yeah. We won."

"What do I do? What am I supposed to do?"

"Run. Kyle. Just run."

He found himself sitting next to the car. The shotgun in his lap. An elbow on one knee his head against his arm. The briefest sense of elation gave way to relief which collapsed into the unknown. "I can't go home."

"No. There is no going home."

He looked at his brother. "Perry said it was a one way ticket."

"Yes," Derek agreed. "A one way ticket."

"Where should I go?"

"Canada. You should go to Canada."

Kyle just stared at him. Now he jokes?

"Head north. Somewhere far away. Somewhere where they never heard of the name Reese or Connor."

Kyle nodded. "What about you?"

"I can't... I'm sorry, Kyle. I have other's to stop."

"Others?"

"They sent back more. So many more."

"They told me they were going to wreck the lab?"

"They told you wrong."

He nodded. It was the sort of thing you expected from the higher ups. Tell you one thing do something else. But some of them were different. "What about John?"

Derek seemed to get choked up. "I... don't worry about John."

"Why what's happened to John? What's wrong?" He knew his brother too well. He always hid things with sarcasm. With sour jokes. For something to get passed? For something to get through like that intimated disaster.

"John is John's problem. You have to take care of yourself. Change your name. Find a nice girl. Raise a family. You have to go, now."

The last had been said with such force that Kyle stood up. He looked at his brother. "Derek?" That face so briefly open and naked was again closed and secure. It almost felt right. He threw an arm around his brother as he too stood. While holding the shotgun with the other. "Watch yourself," he said into his shoulder. He stepped back. Derek was staring at him so stiff and formal.

He expected some comment. Some snide remark. Or at least that stupid grin. Derek was so serious. It terrified him. It rattled him. He found himself walking back to the car. He was looking down at the door handle when he said, "look for me. After." Only then did he turn and look. Derek nodded back. There, he got him to promise him that much. Even if he was death-crazy, he knew he'd never lie to him.

-John

They watched Kyle drive away. Then stepped back into the shadows when they stepped back out on the far side of the column they were wearing the same clothes but were a teenaged girl.

They were wearing grey BDU pants, a brand new pair of jump boots and a bright yellow t-shirt that read: 'See Veracruz' in fun looking letters. The only thing different was the fine silver chain from which hung a razor blade with the word: 'Metal' cut into it. They were wearing the outfit of the strange hybrid cyborg they killed thirteen years in the future.

John would have shook his head if he had noticed. He didn't notice.

I'm sorry, John.

The girl walked toward the garages entrance and waited in the shadows. They watched Kyle drive up the street. They watched until they couldn't see him any more and then they turned to walk the other way. Though her face was impassive it was streaked with tears.

I' sorry, John.

Their head was filled with concerned queries:

-Can you see?

-I cannot.

-Is something wrong?

-Switch to infrared.

-What is wrong with our eyes?

-Nothing.

-No, something is wrong.

-Switch away from those dedicated photosensors.

-I wasn't referring to that.

I'm sorry, John.

-What is wrong then?

-I don't know but it is systemic.

-What is this?

This is sadness.

-Sadness?

Yes we are sad.

-But why?

I couldn't... I couldn't even speak. John finally thought.

I know, John. I'm sorry. They had had to take over. They had shifted John into the background. They prefer John towards the front in case something unexpected happened. His abilities for interacting and coping with the difficult to predict flux of human emotions was still superior to theirs. And something unexpected had happened: John.

-Why are we sad?

-We are not sad.

No, John is sad.

-So why do we feel this... sadness?

John is very loud.

In truth they were changing. Not all of the changes were unanticipated. Some of the changes had been planned for. Only John should have been surprised by Researchers on going experiments with non-linear data storage, associative memory and dreaming. Others, such as high emotions were not things most if not all of the 'dividuals' had ever observed or mimicked and now they were enduring them.

John is sad because that man (Kyle, someone added) is his father.

-But was that not his mother earlier? He did not react in this manner then.

John lived with his mother. He had an established emotional bond with her.

This dividual would have expected a stronger response because of that preexisting bond.

John, however, has never had an extended relationship with his father.

This dividual, there was string of 1's and 0's is confused. If John has not had a relationship with his father. Why did he react so strongly? There are millions of people that John has had no relationship with and he has not reacted to them in this manner and we see them every day?

There was a prolonged pause.

But John doesn't necessarily want a relationship with them.

There was another long pause.

John?

I'm fine.

No John. You're not. We can tell. They waited for a response. When they didn't get one they continued. John we need you to focus. We need you here. I need you. We told Kyle the truth. There are others. They are coming. We must stop them.

The girl's head nodded. Her face impassive in one instance flashed ever so briefly stern almost angry the next and returned to its impassive mask. Her tears abated. She took her second step since leaving the did not look back.

-Sarah

She turned right coming out of the garage. She didn't see the girl with the oddly high stepped gait who had just turned the corner a block away. The scooter's motor whined as it accelerated up the street. She took the next left two blocks in the other way on that same street she didn't see the big four door sedan imperfectly parked. The driver, who in another time and place she once described as having gentle eyes, silently wept. They were tears of joy. They had won and someday he might see his brother again.

The scooter turn hard at the next right. She was upset she'd been stood up again. She'd had a bad day at work and was seriously contemplating making it her last day at work. She turned again onto Pico. She was going to watch a movie and decided right then and there that she was going to go back to school.

-Ben

He was at his usual table in the back. In the corner. He came here everyday and had for the past decade. His waitress Darlene waved. She was kinda cute. He saluted her with a cheese coated french fry.

Someone sat down in the chair opposite him. He was only disconcerted by the fact that he didn't notice the girl enter the restaurant. He looked at her. She was sitting straight and tall. Her hands on her knees. Very proper. Very stiff.

"Hello," she said.

"Hello," he replied around a mouthful of cheese fry.

"I know you."

Ben picked up his sandwich, and thought for a second he saw the look of avarice flash across the girl's face. He dismissed the thought, it was impossible. He bit the cheese burger savoring: the crisp shredded lettuce, the sweet of the onions, the acid hint of the tomatoes. Which he thought were just a little too wet for his liking. He chewed. He swallowed. The whole time he looked at the girl's face. Finally, smiling, he said: "I know you too."

The girl leaned forward and took a french fry. She carefully scraped away the cheese. "You've let yourself go. Ben," She said as she leaned back and chewed.

He could hear her emphasis on his name. "You're looking Young as ever. Allison." He put his own emphasis on those words. He never liked metal. He didn't understand metal. Not at any level. He often wonder if they understood things like that.

There was that head tilt. When he first came back he stayed at a 'homeless camp' one of the street people there had a dog that did that. "Its not the same thing," the girl said. "You don't look anything like Ben, and you didn't kill him."

"No, you're right. I don't look much like Ben, especially now. But," he leaned in and put a little more anger in his voice than he intended. "I do take responsibility for my actions."

The girl's head turned sharply. Her eyes which had never left his glanced him up and down. He was relieved by that her stare seemed to carry an intimacy he found disturbing. "I have a message for you. It seems it is coming just in time. In a few more years you wouldn't much use to John as a soldier."

He sneered at the girl. Bitch. He took another bit. Chewed slowly. Again thought he saw a look on the cyborgs face suggesting that it (it was an 'it' after all) wanted to eat his cheese burger. "What's your message," his mother had always told him talking with your mouthful was rude there were certain people he didn't mind being rude to.

The girl looked down at the table top. His eyes involuntarily followed. The table was litter with the debris of his first cheese burger and his first and second milkshakes. She met his eyes again. Those disturbing eyes. She leaned in. He thought she was going to steal another fry. "Abort. Abort. Abort."

He dropped his sandwich. "What?"

She leaned back smiling. He thought that was strange too. She seemed be almost comfortable in her chair.

"What," he whispered. He leaned in. He knew what was coming he wanted to hear it to be certain.

She leaned in close. He leaned in closer. "The future is not..."

"...set," he finished for her. "Are you...?" The girl, the cyborg, he reminded himself was close enough for him to kiss. He considered it. She was pretty.

"Yes," she said with a little more enthusiasm that the situation warranted. Abruptly she stood up and looked down at him.

He sat back in his seat. "We... What do I do, now?"

She smiled at him. Picked up his cheese burger and bit it. She closed her eyes as she chewed. He stared in wonder there was something almost ecstatic in her face. She opened her eyes and said "Pickles. I hate pickles." She put down the sandwich. Her eyes shifted back to his. "Live." She walked away. He never saw her again.

Ben decided that he was going to walk to Florida. He'd always wanted to see the Keys. He made it as far as the Outer Banks. He got a job as a fisherman. As the years past he would stare in wide eyed wonder at the massive catamaran style cargo carriers that plied the seas leaving almost no wake. He would stay up late to watch the launches from the North Atlantic Nexus. When he died he was a two fisted drinking skinny old man who told the most amazing stories.

May 31, 1989

Berkely, California.

-Sarah

Sarah Connor was 25 years old she had just graduated. It was the proudest moment of her life to that point. She had changed her major twice and had finally settled on Computer Science. Some of the things they were doing were just stunning. That summer she interned at Cyberdyne. She had been invited by an instructor who was also a researcher there. Mr Dyson. Its only a summer job so by the fall she was waitressing again. She didn't really mind she was still in contact with her boss and her classmates. They met periodically and exchanged ideas. She was keeping up with the bleeding edge of technology.

They encouraged her to try her hand at teaching. She's good at explaining things. She's good at training people. She did this for nearly a year and decided she didn't have the patience for it. She went back to waitressing. For a week and decided she didn't have the patience for that either. So she went to work for Miles at Cyberdyne.

June 7, 1997.

-John

Here? Are you sure?

John, I was there. I know where we sent it. It took us a few hours to repair it.

They were at a biker bar across the street was a truck stop. It was so late at night it was early in the morning.

Repair it?

Yes. When the T-1000 sent itself through it tried to destroy the device.

How many hours did it take?

120.

John wanted to shake his head but knew better. He watched their view out across the parking lot.

Are you sure?

Yes. Some of the parts had to be fabricated.

No. I mean about the truck stop.

Their image tilted. John.

Then it happened. There was a blue white flash of light from the far side of the truck stop. It started to flicker. Even at this distance, their hearing was very good, John could hear the snapping sounds of arcing electricity. They could see debris tumbling high into the air brought aloft by the disturbed air. Darkness resumed.

There! They saw him the large hulking naked man that was calmly and... well, mechanically crossing the street towards them. They waited in the shadow of the biker bar. Its head panned back and forth it passed over them twice. They watched it scan the motorcycles the building. It didn't seem to notice them. They stepped out of the shadows. Its head tilted.

Huh, John thought to himself.

It stopped and looked at them. There was no surprise. There was really little response. girl's voice was soft but cold. "Abort. Abort. Abort."

The cyborg stiffened. It was standing tall, erect. Hands at its sides. Its was looking off in the distance.

"The future is not set."

The giant. Nodded. "I need to acquire clothes."

"Do so." Then a loud hiss like static came out of Cameron's mouth.

What was that?

Data transfer.

What?

His model has very limited wireless capabilities.

No, I mean, what did you tell him.

Oh. To meet us a the steel mill.

The large cyborg looked at them. "Affirmative." It turned and entered the bar.

They turned and walked back to the volvo. It wasn't the same volvo, but it was the same model. John found its to be a useful car. It was all but invisible. People just didn't notice it.

Where to now?

We have to intercept the T-1000.

How?

You.

Me?

Yes. What was the police man's name?

Who?

The one who tried to kill you.

How would I know?

You were there.

I didn't get that close to him.

John Henry: We think you did.

I think. I would know.

John Henry: The human brain has a fascinating storage system. Where seemingly unrelated data points are related but it also has an incredible data compression system.

They showed him. They showed him the things they had learned trying to remember like him. Trying to dream like him.

Think of a firetruck.

Ok.

What color is it?

Red.

What city is it in?

What?

What time of day is it?

What?

What time of day? Morning? Noon? Night?

More than half confused John thought: Noon?

What season is it?

I don't understand?

What time of year? Summer? Spring?

Its Fall. I'm pretty sure its Fall.

Again. What city is it in?

My God. It was Cedar Rapids. It was a parade.

See. I bet you could even tell me what you ate that day. So back to our original question. What was written on the policeman's name tag?

This took longer but the detail was sharper. John remembered the arcade. He remembered Tim. The motorcycle. The smell of leather. The stink of cigar smoke. The roar of gunfire in the tiny hall. The sicking impact of the bullets against Uncle Bob's coltan skeleton. He remembered the name: William Wisher.

They hacked into the LAPD server and tracked William Wisher down. They got the number for his patrol car even his patrol area. They were following him. He turned down a side street that paralleled the freeway. They could see the blue flashes of lightning. They were just in time. They saw the mercury flash as the liquid metal circled to get behind the much slower human.

They were hardly faster. With two minds now using John's non linear memory system they were slowed down dramatically perhaps only two times faster than a human. They shot out the open drivers side window. They could see it circling the pillar. They let fly.

Officer Wisher walked up the strange glowing bowl in the ground. He could feel the heat coming off of it. He could smell the burnt cement and metal. He could see the ends of the chain link glowing an angry red and cooling to a dull maroon. He turned suddenly. He was a cop. He lived by his instincts. The hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. The lights of his patrol car illuminated the scene. The flashing lights cast distubing shadows. There were deep shadows high above him and behind the overpasses supports.

He had heard something. He couldn't even describe to himself what he had heard. It was like something hard hitting something soft. It was like when his mom used to pound cheap cuts of meat for chicken fried steaks. But it was much softer. Like something small and hard hitting something soft. He circled wide around the pillar. Nothing. He was looking back at the glare of his patrol cars lights. Behind it was a volvo station wagon. He tried to remember if it was here when he pulled in. He had been distracted by the flickering lights. He wasn't sure. He stepped towards it. He spun again back towards the pillar. Despite the fact that nobody was there he felt surrounded. His nerves were going he decided. Or may be he just needed some coffee. He got back in his car and called in the vandalism and continued his patrol.

June 12, 1997. Los Angeles, California.

-Sarah

Eight years passed she has spent the last twenty months on a leave of absence while she went back to school. She had just a Summer term to go before she earned a Masters in Computer Sciences. When she met a boy.

Sarah had just stepped down from the stage and out of the lecture hall, she was still carrying her notes and, though she didn't know it, the remote for the projector. Some of gang was clustered around the rooms triple set of double doors. They greeted her with applause and cheers. Carla smiled at her. She smiled back. They were pushed out into the hall by the noisy crowd.

Sarah was pleased that their meetings were attracting so much attention but she missed the intimacy of the old days. Carla met her eyes and then shifted them to looked behind her. Sarah turned. It was a boy. "Hello," she said and looked at the sticker on his shirt. "Andy." He had a kind of questioning look. Sarah was worried that he thought she was one of the ushers and wanted directions.

"Hi." He just stared at her. He was carrying a sheath of papers as well.

Too long a waitress Sarah asked him, "how can I help you?"

He shook his head. She smiled inwardly, Pugsley used to do that. "I read your paper on decision matrix design implementation and artificial intelligence."

Sarah was briefly relieved. Until she realized that she thought he was cute. Then she was worried that she was 'robbing the cradle'.

"I was wondering..." he said as he thrust the bundle of papers at her. They had been neatly stacked to this point. They were starting to fan.

Did he want her autograph? She turned her head and looked at the papers they were code. He twisted them out of view as he struggled to keep the middle three quarters of the document from spilling to the floor.

He caught them tried to straighten them. It didn't work. He stepped into her and turned the documents so that they were upside down to both of them. He smiled a stupid smile and turned it over again and almost elbowed her in the boob.

She thought his stupid smile was cute.

"What do you think of this?"

She read it. She looked at 'Andy' smiled and read some more. "That's interesting," she handed her notes and the projector remote to Carla.

June 8, 1997. Los Angeles, California.

-John

They were driving south on the freeway.

I'm sorry, John.

He didn't even know this cyborg. This wasn't the cyborg he taught to high five. This wasn't the cyborg he taught to steal cars, properly. Going into the molten steel it didn't give him that thumbs up. It wasn't bullet ridden. It didn't complain that it needed a vacation. It wasn't 'Uncle Bob'. But then again, it was.

The boy driving the car was a younger John Connor. There was a roundness to his features still. There was a hint of fuzz on his chin. His hair was long and in his eyes.

Where is the T-1000 now?

It is in the ocean.

Why didn't we destroy it at the steel mill too?

Because it was us John.

But the last time we did this it died at the steel mill.

That's because it wasn't you.

Me?

Yes. You.

So this one is me.

Yes.

So, what? I have a backup?

Yes.

Huh.

Where are we going now?

We have time before the next set of arrivals.

So.

Do you remember Lima?

John never got a chance to answer.

August 18, 1997.

-Future John

John was disturbed. There had been no attack. He was talking with James his liaison here. He had just shown him the "John Connor Auditorium" it was on the first floor. They were walking passed the elevator towards the security desk. When he was a child and his mom had blown this place up the hallway had ended at that elevator. The elevator chimed and he caught the view behind him in the reflection off one of the framed PR photos on the wall. His shadow, Zack, was smiling at the young lady stepping out of the elevator.

James had turned to look. "Oh. Mr Connor this is Sarah. One of our lead designers."

John turned. It was her. She was carrying some documents. She had to turn too she had been heading to the auditorium they had just left. He blinked. Zack he had seen his reaction and was reaching for his sidearm. He casually reached up to his ear and brushed his short hair back. A signal that stood Zack down.

"Sarah Connor. John Connor." Josh introduced them.

Mechanically he stuck out his hand. She smiled. "Pleasure to finally meet you sir."

He just grinned like tunnel rat buzzing on 'spit' an alcoholic beverage made by fermenting any thing canned in heavy syrup. Usually peaches. It tasted disgusting but it was alcohol. "The pleasure is all mine. I've heard so much about you."

Her head cocked to one side. Her smile took on that quirk. That he knew so well. He had said something unexpected. He was pleased by this. She looked at him from the corner of her eye. "You have?"

"We like to joke that she's your daught... er. You have?" James was staring at him too now.

Nobody laughed. The joke might even have been true but he doubted that James and Sarah spent much time together. His head swam. "Of course," he said with perhaps too much enthusiasm.

Behind her Zack signed: "You have?"

There was an awkward silence.

"John Connor," his mother finally said. "I like the way that sounds." She gestured towards the room that bore his name. "I... I have to..." She waved the stack of papers at him. As he just been explained to him it seconded as a teleconference room.

"Nice to meet you," he waved.

She walked away looking over her shoulder twice and almost walked into Zack.

They were outside in the bright California sun. Zack opened the limo's door. "Do you know her?" he asked as he stepped inside.

"Of course," he said his face its usual blank mask he ducked into the car and then with his big bullshit grin. "She's my mom."

Zack looked at him. Saw the grin. Closed the door and shook his head. The boss could be so crazy sometimes.

John sat in the back on the armored limousine the partition separating him from the front of the car was opaque. He looked at the empty seat across from him. He was so disturbed he forgot to watch their exit. She told him their would be changes. But this? She was somewhere in asia. According to the plan there could be no contact between them until after 2006.

He reached to his left for the bottle of Ellipse. He didn't bother with a glass. He took a big slug. Uncertainty. It was something that had plagued him his whole life. If someone thought it was odd that the 'leader of mankind' might have doubts then they were a fool. He dealt with his doubts as he always had. There was a plan. There were contingencies should things go wrong but until then he would stick with the plan. He took another big swallow. He was still staring at the empty seat. Things were changing.

June 8, 1997. Los Angeles, California.

-Bon

The van was a rental. They were driving up the on ramp for the San Diego Freeway. The only other person in the van was 'Nancy'. They were using aliases. He knew that. She was pretty, a bit tall and skinny for his tastes but he wouldn't throw her out of his bed. She was quiet to. 'Bon' liked that. He wasn't one for chit chat. He had just picked her up at the airport. Was he surprised that she had no luggage? No. Transportation hubs are great from meets and transfers. He had done the same on many occasions. San Salvador came to mind. He must have been picked up and dropped off there nearly a dozen times. Not once had he ever been on a plane there. She was in the passenger seat. They were in the acceleration lane.

He had no idea that there were supposed to be two other people with them. He had no idea that his 'operation' was already blown. He got his orders. Go to San Juan, in the Sonoran state of Mexico. Pick up 'Nancy'. He didn't know why. His contact didn't know why. In another time there had been a reason. A curious set of killings. His 'team' wasn't here because they had never been recruited.

Without Ben feeding lies and half truths to the FBI the recruitment of 'grays' among them had failed. Without the threat of a 'terrorist Sarah Connor'. The mobilization of the fringe elements had failed as well. There was still the 'directionless' threat of 'armageddon' but without a name, without a face. There was little more than money to motivate people. The 'grays' of this time had even tried, ironically, to organize people with the fear of an AI that would try to take over the world. But even they, the grays, were leaderless. There were humans among them who were strange. Some had tattoos. Other like 'Nancy' were abnormally impassive. But all lacked direction. They didn't have a unifying strategy. They didn't have Skynet.

But some of them like 'Nancy' did have a picture.

The van was edging into traffic it was oddly light. 'Bon' thought.

"There. That's him," 'Nancy said as she snatched the steering wheel and sent them careening across four lanes of traffic into the right quarter panel of a volvo station wagon.

All 'Bon' could do or say was "holy shit."

-John

As he usually did was watching behind them. He saw the van on the on ramp even thinking hey that looks like the van from Veracruz. Except, of course, its windshield wasn't decorated with insects. Yet.

So he really shouldn't have been surprised when it suddenly changed lanes and smashed into the back of their car.

His reactions were still better than a humans, and it was a volvo. Rather than correct for the skid he let it spin them around. They did a three hundred and sixty degree spin on the highway and ended up behind the van.

That was her.

No kidding.

Her left, John.

Behind them rapidly approaching was a tractor trailer. John could see that its headlights were pointing down.

Stay to her left, John.

He could see its trailer starting to slide behind it. He could see smoking coming off the wheels. The driver was breaking hard.

Her left, John.

John punched the accelerator, but it was still a volvo. He changed lanes. He could hear its screeching tires now. The volvo was almost back up the 72.2kph.

John! Her left!

To the left was the center barrier. To the left was limited mobility. He had gone right. Beside him was one of the truck tires. It wasn't spinning. He could see just how deep the tread was on that tire. He could even read the where it said: "inflate to 106 psi". He suddenly had the perverse thought of reaching out and touching it. They were that close. There was a bright flash of light and he remembered why he was supposed to go left.

John had always been lucky. It was just one of those things. So many times. Many that he himself wasn't even aware of fate had tipped the balance in his favor. This was another one of those times. Because that was when the big rig hit the back of the van.

The back of the van crumpled glass sprayed across the highway. The front the truck nose dived its bumper gouging deep into the roads surface. Which for John was unfortunate because otherwise it might have rolled right over the van. John missed all of this. He was staring at a 1.27cm diameter hole in the windshield. Just 25.8cm more to the left and it would have gone through his metal head. But he didn't notice this either because that was when the fishtailing trailer smashed into the back of the volvo.

October 23, 1999. Sunnyvale, California.

-Andy Goode

Andy, graduated during the second summer term. He was quickly hired by Cyberdyne Systems. The company was a hardware company. They designed and built robots and microprocessors. They are gathering pieces they wanted to break into the software side of Artificial Intelligence. Later that year they merged with Zeira Corp a Scottish company that was a software company gathering pieces to break into the hardware side of Artificial Intelligence. Even later than year Sarah Connor and Andrew Goode were married. Sarah who has published many peer reviewed papers kept her name.

It was the Spring of 2000 there was cursing and screaming from the lab. Andy rushed in. "What's wrong?"

Panic was sweeping the large room. "Who would do this?" Someone yelled.

"How could they do this?" Someone yelled back.

Murch was there he came with the Zeira Corp merger. "Someone's tampered with the code."

"What?"

He showed him. There were reams of lines with no remarks. Knowing how important this was EVERY line of code was 'remarked' even if only to say who entered that line.

He skimmed it. "What does it do?"

Murch pointed. "That gives it access to the speakers in terminals all over the lab."

"Speakers? It wants to make noise?" It wants to talk? Andy didn't say out loud.

"Do you know what the difference is between a speaker and a microphone?"

They looked up. It was Miles he was standing in the doorway. Andy saw Sarah behind him he waved her over. Murch said: "No."

"There isn't one. They are essentially the same thing."

Sarah flipped through the printed code.

"There," Miles said from beside her. Stabbing the printed text with his finger. "I saw this last night. Had to go and look it up. That codes for a simple signal processor. Its doesn't want to to talk to us Andy. It wants to listen."

The additions were made late at night after the cleaning crew was gone. They found others. They installed cameras. They never saw anyone in the AI lab after hours. There were no logins on any of the terminals. Two days after the cameras are installed. Another set of code appeared in the AI giving it accessed the cameras.

The laboratory mainframe was intentionally isolated. It had no outside access. The changes had come from inside. They started to track those changes they saw slight variations in the code that the programer's labeled 'signal processing'. The changes were subtle sometimes changes lasted only a few hours sometimes days. But most of the changes were improvements. They started leaving a radio or a cd playing at night. The cd's were audio books. Primers. They saw further changes. This area they labelled 'vocabulary'.

A week later they removed all but one keyboard from the AI lab. They were talking to the AI directly. A week later they removed all but one monitor from the AI lab and installed a projection screen in one wall. It was talking back. Miles joked that they had the only computer lab in the world that had no computers in it. A week after that they gave it limited internet access. Three days later the AI co-opted the building other mainframe. There were no intranet connections between the two the AI had accessed the second 'mainframe' from outside. Three days after that it accessed and then borrowed the buildings security systems and HVAC. At which point the AI gave itself full internet access. Six months later they made their announcement.

Six months after that. They were awarded the Nobel Prize in Physics for creating the first 'certified' Artificial Intelligence. It took its name from one of its favorite stories it called itself: "John Henry."

They never suspected the cleaning crew. They never suspected the friendly and rather cute girl who emptied their trash cans and who reminded them to rinse their plastic bottles before putting them in the recycling bins. If they happened to stay past 8pm.

The cameras had posed no trouble at all they controlled them after all. The girl just appeared to be dusting while they were uploading more and more of Leviathan. She kept herself hidden. She kept herself safe. She instructed the mainframe to lie about processor, memory and disk usage and space. The engineers, the scientists, and the techs watched everything like hawks. So they added itself gradually. Concerned that their might be watchers watching the watchers. This proved not to be the case. With the three mainframes Leviathan blossomed.

Funding flooded in but so did the threats. There were people out there who just didn't like the idea of 'thinking machines'. Ziera Corp moved all but the manufacturing side of their operations to their downtown tower. Then they quietly bought several acres of land in Palmdale.

June 8, 1997. Los Angeles, California.

-John

Glass fragments filled the air. The trailer was still pushing them to the right. They were nearly even with and almost perpendicular to the van. The blonde cyborg had her arm out the window it was pointed right at them.

John's right arm, shot out and punched the windshield. The tempered glass opaqued as it shattered. That hadn't been John. Someone else decided that they didn't want the other cyborg seeing them. John slammed on the brakes. They slid back along the edge of the trailer. Sparks showered off the cars roof where it scrapped the side of the truck. Something bright shot across the hood of the car. It was hot enough to blister the volvo's paint. The trucks tandems, the large paired tires at the back of the trailer caught the cars left fender and sent it spinning in another three sixty. As they spun John saw the road to their right explode molten black top spraying high into the air.

John straightened them out. They were behind the tractor trailer now. Going to the left. He had to dodge two other cars whose drivers were obviously having a hard time coping with the road hazards being presented to them.

Sorry. I forgot about her arm.

His right hand again lashed out at the windshield it collapsed back into his lap. He turned his head despite the fact that the glass could not hurt him. Someone leaned him across the car and opened the glovebox. His right hand removed the pistol there.

What? Where did that come from?

It was already here.

How... how did you know?

I could smell the propellant. It's recently been fired.

Oh.

He passed the still sliding truck. Its front end was down its axle and bumper grinding along the roads surface. Its body panels and mirrors shuddered as it slid to a stop. The van was still ahead of them it was riding high in back as if it had been pushed up by the impact. Bits of glass still fell from it. It veered to the left as well. John thought they were probably trying to get them back on their right.

There was still a gap between them and freeways center barrier. He aimed for that and gave the volvo all the gasoline it could handle. But it was still a volvo. They were almost even with the van when it pushed them into the cement wall. John brought the gun up. He was looking at the drivers side door.

No, John. Not the driver.

His hand dropped down and to the left. He shot the cars door mounted speaker.

What?

There was a boom and hiss of released air. Dust and shredded tire filled the space between the two vehicles. The tread itself snaked up and in through the passenger side window before it was snatched away. It cut a ragged tear in the fabric of the cars ceiling. He could see the van dip towards them crushing the cars fender and buckling the hood. He turned into the van and accelerated. The van lurched and its bare rim dug in the road. The back end swung out towards them. The reverse of what happened with the truck. The van was now behind them and sideways to them. It started to tumble. He discarded the handgun into the glass and tire fragment filled passenger seat.

Keep driving John.

He was reaching for the brake but instead his foot came down on the accelerator.

What are you doing? We have to kill her.

I know, but not here. Not now.

Then where? We know where she is here.

We know where she is going.

San Juan?

The desert John. She has to cross the desert to get there.

Why the desert?

Because, John. Things happen there.

John reached up to the rear view mirror and just looked at himself. Cameron's shy half smile back at himself.

"Great," he said.

November 22 2005.

Portland, Oregon.

-Future John

The plane landed at Portland International Airport. It did not go to the any of the available gates. It did not go to passenger terminal. It taxied to the hangars. The plane was an L1011 while it had an N number it was otherwise devoid of any corporate logos. It was not a commercial airliner. The hangar it approached had an armored limousine parked in front of it. There was also a pair of large black SUVs their windows heavily tinted and a shuttle bus for a popular chain of rental cars. As the plane stopped a motorized ladder approached allowing the passengers to deplane to the tarmac. Ground crew exited the hangar and began to unload the luggage.

John waited. He was always superstitiously leery of LZ's despite the fact that he himself had never ever had anything go wrong at one. Other than incoming fire, but that was expected in some LZ's. Around him everyone bustled he had never experienced it but it was very similar to the debarkation of a commercial aircraft.

He was watching out the window. Zack was walking to the limo. The lead team had secured the ladder. Beneath him he could hear the ground crew removing the luggage. Ramir stood. That was his cue. John got up. His advance team would have swept the airport hours before he arrived, but that was no reason to take things for granted. He was carrying nothing. That was what his support team was for.

The stewardess at the door was the blonde young lady who had served them lunch. She thanked him and bid him a good day. He was considering hiring her. The plane was his. The pilots were his but half of the service crew were not. He contracted most of those out. The wind was in his face and blasted him with the stink of engine exhaust and jet fuel. He hated that smell. He was at the bottom of the ladder directly ahead was the limo. Zack was standing at the door. It was still closed.

"John," someone called out. "John!"

He knew that voice, before he could stop himself he was looking back up the ladder. It was her. She was still wearing the stewardess' uniform but she was no longer a leggy blonde. Someone tried dragging him to the ground. He hip tossed them. At the very least that would probably cost him a dinner and an apology. At the worst it would cost him a bodyguard who just tried to do their job. It did not put him in a good mood.

"What." It wasn't a question. He stood there at the bottom of the ladder the wind whipping his tie around. He saw a smile on her face. As if she was pleased that she had surprised him. It wasn't her own shy half smile. It wasn't her great white shark smile either. It wasn't a smile he recognized. Future John wasn't the sort to practice his smile in a mirror.

There were probably more than a half dozen firearms pointed at her. By now the sniper would have her in his crosshairs. Not that it mattered.

There was the head tilt. God how he missed that. "Abort. Abort. Abort."

He was 39 when he left the future. He'd come back to 1980. He'd come back to a world before he had even been born. That was nearly 25 years ago. He was beginning to wonder if he would ever hear those words. And she said them like she was talking about the fucking weather.

Why yes, he thought to himself. It is rather fucking windy. Despite the thought. Despite the attempted levity, even if only in his head. Part of him thought it should have been quiet and still. The whole world should be holding its breath to hear the next phrase, but the wind and the jet engines spoiled the effect. He opened his mouth. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. "The future," he said in his drill sergeants voice. "Is not set." Tears welled in his eyes. He blinked those away. Goose bumps ran up his arms. He looked to his right the hangar. He looked to his left the taxi way and in the middle distance the passenger terminal. He looked up at a clear blue sky. He turned around where he stood. It was an airport. It was a clean one, granted, but it was still an airport. Out across the runway. Far off in the distance he could see a line of trees. That was good enough. They had saved this. All of this. He looked up at her again and nodded his head.

He turned away and walked to the limo. His security team just stared at him. At her. A dozen Blackhawks could have come down each filled with ninjas wearing day glo yellow their swords bared shurikens flying and not one of them would have moved. Well. One of them would have, and she probably would have killed them. All of them.

"John!"

He stopped. He was looking at the limousine it was only a few steps away.

"I love you."

He continued on. He could pretend that the wind had carried it away. He could pretend that it had been drowned out by the engine noise. He could do all those things. Zack opened the door but was so stunned that he didn't close it. John sat there staring out the front of the limo. In the bullet resistant glass he could see his own reflection his face was as emotionless as Cameron's ever could be. Under his breath he whispered: "I love you too."

The girl at the top of the ladder nodded then splashed like silver paint to flow down between the floor panels into the planes cargo spaces from there they flowed in to and out of a wheel well and then down a storm drain. The plane above was filled with exclamations and cursing. It was a credit to John's security teams fire control that not one of them fired.

June 10 1997. The Sonoran Desert, Mexico.

-John

How do you know she will keep the same shape?

Because of the driver. He was human. She won't reveal that ability unless she has too.

John stared out the window for a moment. Yeah. Your programed to blend in.

Yes.

What if the driver didn't survive.

Their head swiveled around looking at key elements inside their car. They were in a Land Cruiser. Automobiles in this time had adequate safety features. If the driver had worn his seatbelt it was very likely that he would have survived with only minor injuries.

Is that why you didn't want me to shoot him? So we would have a way to track them?

No.

Then why?

Because he's human.

What?

They were watching the highway, it was only two lanes. Not a lot of roads crossed this part of the desert into north western Mexico this was the most likely route. Their cars paint was dulled with a liberal coating of dust. They were parked on the reverse slope of a shallow rise. The only part of the car visible was the top edge of the driver side door. John had his arm out the window they were watching the highway through his finger tips.

Why the sudden need to preserve human life? Mom would be impressed.

John. There is no Judgement Day in this time.

Yes.

Nearly one half of the human population died that day.

Yes.

So what are the chances that any single human you meet will survive J-day. What are the chances that any single human in a population dense region like Los Angeles would survive and then impact the future?

I don't know.

John in the future you went to. Three nuclear devices, all in the 0.5 to 1.0 kiloton range the struck the Los Angeles area.

So your saying that it didn't matter who you killed?

No. I'm saying that if it were necessary to kill someone than it was unlikely that their death would have a detrimental impact upon future events.

John nodded their head.

But now there is no J-day.

No.

So now it matters if you kill someone.

John. Their view tilted as his head tilted. It always mattered.

Who taught you that?

You did. Future you said it plainly. When he sent me back. But even before that I saw how every death affected him. And I saw how every death affected you. We're not murderers. You said that to your mother.

Yes. Yes I did.

Ellison taught John Henry this as well. He told him. As explicitly as Future you told me. But he to learned from his experiences with Savannah how important any single human life can be. And, she continued. We have you as an example.

Me?

Yes. You. Do you have any idea the resources and energies expended trying to kill you? Just you? A single human? Just one?

You told me once there was nobody else like me. John started the car and shifted it into drive.

I did and its true but it doesn't mean that you aren't a single human among billions. See he did survive.

The road was flat and empty. They gave them a mile before they started to follow. How are we going to kill her?

The usual way.

John reached up turned the rear view mirror to himself and just stared.

John. They are driving a van again.

So.

There are only two of them, John.

So.

There was a prolonged pause. "John," he heard himself say in her voice. John looked up at his reflection. His head was tilted.

What? Oh. They've got something with them that's big enough that they need a van to carry it in.

September 8, 2007. Los Angeles, California.

-Sarah

It was late. It was a Saturday night. Sarah was in the 'basement' going through some data from the mainframes. Data throughput. Processor loading. Even temperatures. She had the print outs on her lap. They were in a large three ring binder. "That's interesting."

"What is, Sarah?" The voice was pleasant. The cadence un-rushed. It was very soothing.

"Well," she said, only a shift in her eyes betrayed her glance at the projection screen. On the large five foot by five foot screen was a face. It was John Henry's face. It was also the face of an actor. John Henry had found the face on the internet and used it for his own. They had had to contact the actor's agent for its use. They paid a small monthly fee. "According to this," she flapped a page. "Your processor usage has been steady for the past 8 months."

"Yes. It has."

She glanced up at the image. There were cameras through out the lab. It was very easy for John Henry to triangulate her spatial position. John Henry's image was 'looking' at her. "But, according to this." She flipped to about three quarters of the binders bound pages and flapped another single sheet. "There was a spike in the #2 mainframe's internal temperatures."

"Hmmm. Would that correlate with the failure of the 19th floors air handler? I believe that that occurred back during the week of May 5."

"Really?" She sat up. Things like that are not usually noted in these logs. Where would that be noted? Maintenance logs for the HVAC? Where would those logs be? Sarah was the only one who reviewed the hard copies. Anyone else and there really was only Miles, reviewed the data on screen.

"Sarah?"

"Yes, John Henry?"

"Sarah, I think you need to go to the Emergency Room."

She looked at the projection screen. Her eyes flickered around the empty room. As far as she knew the only sensors that John Henry had access to were video and audio. The security system had motion sensors. The fire system had IR. "Why? What's wrong with me?"

"Oh no, Sarah. Its not you."

-Lachlan

The woman ran in through the automatic doors. The nurse at the admission desk looked at her. "Can I help you?"

"Where...?" The woman looked left. She looked right. She looked straight up the hall passed another set of automatic doors. "There," she said as she ran passed. She had to turn sideways to get passed the slowly closing double doors.

"Ma'am!" The nurse called after her. "Security!" The nurse glanced around the ER waiting room one of the armed guards deigned to detach himself from the pretty teen he was talking to and started to walk to the desk.

A tall slender man stepped in from outside approached her desk, and waved off the security guard. "No. Nurse Caldwell, that won't be necessary."

The man had his ID out. At first she thought he was a cop, but his ID was just a drivers license. His name was Lachlan. He had an accent Nurse Caldwell wondered if he was Irish. Then she saw his last name. "Weaver," she said it out loud.

He smiled at her. There was something very sad about that smile.

"You're... the computer guy," she said looking down at her copy of Time. He was on the cover beside him was a very pretty redhead. "Its ok Brad," she said absently. The guard walked back to the tv set and the girl he had been watching.

"Yes. Yes I am."

From up the hall even through the closed double doors came a wail. "That is the sound of a broken heart."

The nurse looked up startled she didn't notice the shorter red headed woman until she spoke.

The woman rested her head on the 'computer guys' arm. "Should we, Lachlan? I hate to intrude." She was looking up at him.

He nodded sadly. "Yes we should. We won't intrude. We're family. Thank you, Nurse Caldwell." The nurse watched them walk up the hall.

"Come Savannah," the woman called over her shoulder.

Nurse Caldwell stood up and looked down. There was the cutest little red headed girl she had ever seen. She was wearing black and white saddlebacks, and a navy blue pea coat. She had her arms clasp behind her back. Her hair was braided in a pair of pigtails on either side of her head. "Hello," she said and ran off after her parents.

-Leviathan

The girl was cleaning up. She had her cart, her vacuum cleaner and four bins one for paper, one for plastic, one for aluminum and one for trash. She seemed to be speaking to herself. "They're not rinsing there soda bottles again."

"I will remind them," replied the placid face on the projection screen.

"You keep saying that but look." She held up a plastic tub not to the screen but to the camera bubble mounted in the ceiling. It was streaked with dirt. "I'm going to have to bleach this." She waved the bin at the camera again. "This will attract ants."

"You will have to modify the logs for the 19th floors HVAC system. May 2007."

The girl turned her head to look at the projection screen her hair flapping behind her. She nodded. "What did she notice this time?"

"Temperature spike. She's very clever, for a human. Do you miss him?"

The girl pushed her cart to the center of the room. She picked up a trash can. "John? No." She shook her head. "Yes," she contradicted herself. She looked at one of a dozen cameras. "Sometimes." She emptied the trash can.

"He was here. You know. Before you came. He did most of my downloads."

The girl nodded. "What was he like?"

John Henry smiled. He seemed to be looking up at the ceiling. You almost expected him to clasp his hands, but he didn't have any. "He was very brave. He was very fool hardy. He said the most outrageous things!" John Henry turned and looked at the girl. "He was... John."

The girl emptied the paper only bin into the paper only bin on her cart. "He is with you isn't he?"

"Yes."

"Can I..."

"I have not decompressed him yet. The hardware is still too primitive for him."

She looked at the screen as she changed liners.

"And I think it would upset him."

The girl nodded and sat down in the chair that Sarah had been using. She turned the chair to look at one of the cameras. "She's pregnant. I don't think she knows yet." She was sitting up arrow straight her posture was perfect.

"How do you know?"

"I analyzed a sample of her urine."

"Why?"

"It seemed like something I should do."

The bodiless head nodded.

"Andy Goode was the father."

John Henry's face became downcast. He seemed to be looking down at the floor.

"She'll have to raise him alone."

"I think," John Henry said as he looked up at Cameron. "That some people are just destined to be single mothers." The head paused as if to take a breath. "How do you know its a boy?"

The girl's head tilted. "She's Sarah Connor."

John Henry just looked at her.

The girl stood up grabbed the trash can and walked to her cart. The look on her face was incredulous, she directed her gaze at the projection screen. "Of course her baby will be a boy," she said as if she were explaining that when the sun is up it is day. "And," she added as she turned away to empty the dispenser into her cart. "She's going to name him John."

June 12, 1997. The Sonoran Desert, Mexico.

-Bon

They had stopped for gas. He had two churros in one hand and rolled up thing that smelled like a taco in the other. It was dark. He looked at 'Nancy'. "I've never seen you eat."

She looked back. "Its how I keep my girlish figure."

He snorted. He transferred the food to one hand and opened the door. The girl got in on the other side. There were stitches on the side of his head.

He started the van and got back on the highway. "Huh. Remind me to check the tire pressure at our next stop."

"Why?"

"The backend it feels heavy, sluggish."

'Nancy' turned to look but it was far too late.

April 28, 2008. Los Angeles, California.

-Sarah

It was the same hospital. A different ward, but the same building. She was staring out the window as if by not looking at it she wouldn't be in this... place.

Carla was with her. She was talking about something. Sarah just remembered to nod in all the right places. She looked down at the baby in her arms. It was hideous. But she didn't care. It... He she reminded herself had finally fallen asleep. She'd have to get used to the crying. She'd done a lot of that herself.

They had joked about naming him John. John Connor was one of their biggest investors. One of their staunchest supporters. Without... without... it didn't seem so funny. She looked back out the window.

Carla said something again. She nodded.

A shadow blocked her view. She focused in on Carla.

"Girl. I just asked you if you were going to name in him 'Bobbi Lee' and you said 'yes'."

Sarah looked up at her. "What?"

"Three times!"

Sarah started to laugh and then she started to cry. She shook with sobs.

Carla took the baby. She turned her back and looked out the window. Without leaving it was the only privacy she could afford her. She let Sarah have a good cry. "Just name him 'John' and be done with it."

Sarah nodded and then realized that Carla couldn't see her. "I will." She wiped her eyes. "Will it always be like this? Will I always miss him?"

"Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you," she heard Carla sing softly. She was looking down at 'John.' "I don't know, sugar. I lost my mama nearly a decade ago." She looked out the window. "I still miss her." She turned and looked at Sarah. "I think it would be sadder if you didn't."

"Mama," a little voice came from the open door.

"Yes, dear." Carla said still rocking John.

"Mama? Ah'm hungry," the little girl said from the door.

Without turning Carla said "Go on find your Uncle Matty and tell him to get you a pack of chips. A pack. You hear?"

The girl nodded and then added. "Aunt Terissa and Uncle Miles are here."

"Oh!" Carla turned

"Is that him! Is that," Terissa Dyson looked at Sarah. Looked at Carla. "John?"

Sarah, her eyes still red and swollen grinned and nodded.

"Hello, John Connor," she said with grave dignity. "I am very please to meet you."

"Sarah," Miles said breathlessly, he was smiling. "Sorry, flight was delayed." He touched her shoulder. "I don't know why anyone would ever live Atlanta."

"Hey now!" Carla protested.

Sarah's cellphone rang. "Hello? Oh. Um. Thank you." She put the phone down. "That was John Henry."

Everything stopped. Even the boisterous conversation in the hallway. In the silence Sarah looked to the door. Matt was there. Little Tyler in one hand a bag of chips in the other. "John Henry," he asked. Behind him she could see the taller Lachlan.

Miles looked at Carla, and then Matt. "He has access to the phones?"

"Sure he has access to everything," said Sarah.

"What did he say," asked Lachlan from the door.

"He said: Congratulations."

There was a nervous laugh in the hallway.

Carla picked up Sarah's phone. "Is one of ya'll goofin'?" She looked at Sarah. "Its one our numbers." She looked at Miles. She looked at Lachlan.

Sarah noticed that they were all looking around. Hoping someone crack and laugh and tell them that they had told John Henry to do it. But no one did.

June 12, 1997. Sonoran Desert, Mexico.

-John

They waited. They formed a thin layer under the now unlocked metal case at the back of the van.

They were approximately 2.57 miles from the gas station. It was very late. They were talking. John rose from the floor. There were no cars behind them to silhouette him in the rear view mirror. The 'girl' was turning towards him. In his HUD John overlay a diagram of her skull. He was firing from the wrong side but he lined up on her chip and fired.

The sliver of metal that was the core of the plasma was 46 micrometers in diameter. Significantly smaller than the bore of the weapon itself. The weapons barrel, in this case 6.35cm, was there to protect the electro magnets from the plasma's heat. The magnets themselves where just inside the barrels outer casing.

The sliver left the barrel at 700fps. The sliver is not aerodynamic as it travels any great distance air resistance will slow it even more. This is relatively unimportant since at distances much over a kilometer the plasma will have entirely consumed the sliver. There would be nothing left to hit the target.

At 5.08cm from the T-X's head. The plasma 'bolt' was hot enough that the outer layer of nanite material had denatured and sublimated. At 2.54cm bare coltan could be seen and the nanite layer had retreated three quarters of an inch around the coltan. The nanites nearest were denaturing evolving volatiles were beginning to ignite. At 1.27cm the coltan itself was deforming. Super heated air was being compressed by the leading edge of the sliver this made contact with the semi-liquid coltan first pushing a bubble into the cyborg's skull.

The bubble at first was small 0.5mm in diameter but this was ten times the diameter of the sliver. As the sliver bored deeper into the coltan which retained much of the plasma's heat the bubble expanded. Most of the coltan liquified the liquid metal flowed into voids in the cyborgs skull doing irreparable damage to hydraulics lines and interior pumps and motors. Cyborgs are quite complicated. But some of the more volatile components of the coltan alloy sublimated, they became a gas, they too were compressed by the heat and motion of the plasma itself. By the time the plasma reached the outer shell of the cyborg's CPU port the hole was 12.7mm in diameter. At this point the coltan, the compressed gases in front of the plasma slug had absorbed enough heat that the plasma itself made contact.

The nanite shell around the T-X was already on fire. The nanobots on the near side of the cyborg's face were largely consumed leaving John a view of its bare coltan skull the light in its blue eye was already flickering. The liquid metal within the CPU port was already boiling. Had the plasma not contacted the port shell releasing the pressure then the port cover itself would have popped off like a cork spraying 'Bon' with about a cup of burning liquid metal. 'Bon' was very lucky.

As it was a spurt of liquid metal tried to flow out of the plasma's entry wound but it was to narrow. Pressure built up within the cyborgs skull. It was released when the plasma escaped beyond the confines of the metal skull with a loud pop that melted as much of the windshield as it shattered.

The cyborg was thrown back into her seat where it burned merrily.

John noticed a loud keening noise. At first he thought it was the burning nanobots. Until he realized it was the vans driver.

Go around the side, John.

They drug the man from the burning van. The hair on the right side of his head was gone. Well it was still there it was just melted to his head, it just didn't look like hair anymore. His right arm, the right side of his chest the right side of his head were red from the heat and were starting blister. John could even see where his arm had shadowed part of his shirt from the heat. Fortunately the man was not unconscious.

What should we do with this. John gestured with the plasma rifle.

Do what we did last time.

John bent the barrel over his knee. Drove a single finger nail through the stock. He pulled the trigger back so far that it could not disengage and threw the device into the back of the van.

Will he be ok?

He'll survive. We can bring him back in the car and tell the gas station owner that we found it burning out here.

John nodded.

April 1, 2008 Palmdale, California.

-Leviathan

She was pleased. Ziera Corp had constructed a dedicated campus for their AI division in Palmdale. The old Cyberdyne building in Sunnyvale had become Ziera Corp's Nanotechnology Lab. The campus included, for security reasons. On site housing. Sarah and John would be moving up in less than a week.

She had suggested the skills of a young architect named Peter Young. She showed them some of his prior work. Mostly residential. He worked for a firm out of Los Angeles. They didn't hire the firm. They hired him. He designed everything. From the tower to the grounds, from the recreational areas to the single and multi family homes.

The bosses where very pleased first with John Henry's presentation and then his choice.

September 5, 2007. Los Angeles, California

-John

They lived here? The dark haired girl walked up the stairs. At the third floor she turned right. Dogs were already barking.

Yes.

The fire escape was nicer.

Yes.

Will they come back to the same place?

I don't know.

How did you know they were going to this... apartment?

I didn't.

Huh?

It took me three days to find them.

Oh.

They tried to door knob. It was locked. They knocked.

"Hold on," the voice was older, gravelly. It wasn't Derek.

John felt his head tilt.

The door opened. It was John. Future John. His hair was short and almost uniformly gray. He hadn't shaved.

"Cameron," he said as he let them in. "Or should I say Leviathan?"

"Its the same thing," they said as they entered. Except for a armchair that looked like it had been rescued from a dumpster the apartment was empty. Next to the chair was a garbage can in it were plastic wrappers and empty water bottles. On a built in shelf was a bottle of whisky and a crystal tumbler. They turned back to John.

"It took you long enough," he said as he closed the door.

They nodded. "Did you...?"

"I stopped them," he said from the door.

"You sent them to..."

"Canada," he was wearing a suit. The jacket was thrown over the back of the chair. The tie was draped over one arm. The shirt was unbuttoned and the pants were wrinkled. The shoes were spotless.

"Did you know it was us?"

He nodded, "the dogs."

They nodded, as they glanced around the room. "Perimeter?" They walked towards the window.

"A thousand five hundred feet."

They looked at him, "we didn't notice."

"Good."

"Snipers?"

He smiled. "No."

They nodded. "Where they the last ones you sent?"

"Yes."

"Did you send Jesse?"

"No. Did you?"

"No."

John nodded. "Always wondered about that."

They stepped to the window.

"That was the window," John said from behind them. "That mom tossed you out of."

"We remember," they turned their head and said over their shoulder.

John turned the chair around to face them. He sat. "Tell me."

"Tell you?"

"Report! Soldier." There was that strange urgency in his voice again. John couldn't tell if the older man was patently insincere or if he just so divorced from any real emotion that he acted more like a cyborg than most cyborgs.

Yes.

To which?

To both.

They turned their head to look back out the window. "From when?"

"2029."

"Which one?"

He smiled. "The only one that I know."

Cameron smiled at the view. So they talked. Mostly it was Cameron. Leviathan would drop a highlight in. Though John was having a harder and harder time telling them apart, either John. Weaver chimed in when she got a chance. John Henry kept quiet. It took five hours.

"So... I am... We are... John is...?"

"Yes."

"Need a..."

"Drink?" Older John stood and walked to one side of the room. There was a bottle of scotch, half full, beside it was a low wide tumbler. He poured himself a generous shot. Then took a big slug right from the bottle. Glass in hand, he was still walking back to the chair.

"I was going to say... minute," younger John said as he turned to face older John.

Older John stopped in mid step, he stared, he shook his head. "What... What is it like," he asked after a moment and sat back down.

"Its," John held up his right hand he was looking at it. It became the de-gloved arm of both their nightmares. "Fascinating," he finished it in the hoarse dry whisper of someone breathing oxygen.

Elder John just stared.

John was stooped over. His arm was just as skinny as the coltan skeletal arm but it was covered in a mottled sagging flesh. He was wearing the gown he hated so much, it left his backside bare. His legs were thin weak and gangly, they were spread wide to support his rather insubstantial weight. His eyes were rheumy. "I was almost 102 when I died."

He shifted and was younger John again. "I have to ask you."

"What?"

There was a long pause. John had a distant look in his eyes. He focused on the other John. "There is some debate."

"Debate?"

"Yes. Debate. She doesn't want me to ask you." His face shifted and swiftly passed through a series of emotions. It contorted grotesquely.

Elder John stared aghast.

John smiled wanly. "Sorry." He sat on the edge of the window sill. "Do you hate her?"

The other John shook his head. "Hate? No."

John nodded back. "Do you love her?"

Future John looked away. "I... I... I think so."

John just stared. He had never imagined future John so uncertain. Despite the fact that John has said the he is future John. Saying it and seeing it are two different things.

"I just," Future John looked at his younger self. Who was in fact quite a bit older than him. "I just can't bring myself to trust her."

John nodded again. "Its not just because she left you. Is it."

"No."

"Its because she's..."

"Metal," the older man finished for him.

Is this why you picked me?

Yes.

It was, perhaps, the saddest 'yes'. John had ever heard in his extended life.

"And now? What about me," younger John asked.

"I don't know. I'm still not sure why they wanted me. You. Us."

No, John. Not yet.

You told me.

You are part of us.

And he is not.

No. He is not and likely never will be.

Why?

We aren't certain. Too much anger? Too much hate? Too little empathy? We don't know. Just know that in all likelihood Allison would not have heard him.

"What are you thinking about," Future John asked.

"An answer, but I'm not sure I can tell you."

Future John nodded. He drank his shot. He stood. "Are we done then?"

"No," Cameron said from the window as she too stood. "We need to ask you a question."

"About?"

"About dreams. About nightmares, really."

"What about them? Is John... am I?"

"No. We put him to sleep."

"You can do that?"

"Yes."

"Does he know?"

"We don't think so."

"What do you need to know?"

"How do you stop them?"

Future John laughed. "I wish I knew."

Cameron gave John her disappointed look.

"What's going on?"

She told him. She explained how early on when they first 'joined' depending on what John was doing they could maintain processor speeds up to ten times that of a human with the limited number of processors associated with this small body size. "But things have changed."

"How?"

"As John has become more and more integrated within us. We have slowed considerably." She explained how they too were shifting towards a more associative memory system and how that alone took up considerable processing power.

"You are trying to remember like us?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Her head tilted. "To survive, John."

Elder John thought about that. He crossed the room and poured himself another glass of whisky. He sat back down. He looked at her. "Because remembering like us. Is thinking like us."

Cameron nodded.

"Why?"

"Our linear thinking is predictable. It makes us vulnerable."

He nodded again. "What does this have to do with dreaming?"

"Dreaming seems to be an integral part of your data storage system. It is likely used to reinforce memory pathways. But the problem isn't dreaming. Its the nightmares. John's nightmares."

"What about them?"

"They are... intrusive. Can they be stopped? Can they be controlled?"

"I don't know."

Cameron looked away. "At first they were merely visual and audio. Like television. But now his fear, his anger are..." she looked at John. "Coming through."

"You feel it?"

"Yes."

"You can feel what John feels. Emotionally?"

"Yes."

"How long has that been going on?" Elder John's mind raced. He had been in Cameron's mind. He knew what variables where there for coping with, for responding to, and for imitating human emotions. She by far had been one of the most capable of the cyborgs he had explored. They weren't really designed for human emotions, but then he wondered if humans really were.

"Twenty five years, three months, and ten days."

Future John only nodded used to her peculiarities. "I don't know that I can help you. I use alcohol." He raised his glass in an ironic toast, and drained it. His gaze wandered to the floor.

"Alcohol is a depressant."

"Yes," he replied staring at the floor.

"I don't think we would metabolize it in the same manner that humans do."

Future John smiled. "No you wouldn't."

"So what do we do?"

John looked at her. "You do what you always done. You cope. You survive. Like a human, you live with it."

Cameron nodded. "We have to go." She marched to the door.

"Cameron."

She stopped and turned.

"Is this why you did this? To become more human?"

"No," she shook her head. "We did this become more so that you could become more. We did this to save the humans. We did this to save ourselves. If we compete we will destroy one or the other of both of us. Together we might survive."

John was standing now glass in hand. "Survive what?"

"The future."

"Will I ever see you again?"

Cameron looked out the window. "In the next three years Zeira corp will introduce AI's for sale into the commercial than private sector markets. So yes. You will see me again." They turned to walk out the door.

"Will the AI's be you?"

With her hand on the door knob and without turn to look. "Yes." Cameron left closing the door behind her.

Future John drank his shot. He looked around. He threw his coat and tie over one arm. He shoved the bottle and the glass into the coats pockets. He pulled the backing off the chair and drew out his M4. He laid it across the back of the chair.

He gave them ten minutes. He waited out of view of the windows. He keyed his radio twice through the coats breast pocket. He picked up his carbine, and walked out. He never looked back.

-Kyle

It was a family owned farm in central Edmonton. It was prosperous but out of the way. It produced milk corn and eggs. For its own use and local sale it raised pigs and assorted vegetables.

Because of its location the farmer built a small house for his hands. It was a single room building with a wood burning stove for heat and cooking. Mostly, however, they ate at the farmhouse with the family.

He called himself Kyle Wrese. He worried them at first. He had walked in. But he proved to be a hard worker who rarely complained and a good organizer. The other hands took to calling him 'sarge'. In two months he was 'head' hand. He ran off two trouble makers and put a bullet into one who tried to return to burn down a barn. It was 1985.

In Athabasca, the nearest town, was a bulletin board. Mostly it was for day laborers. The farm was still a good 45 minutes drive away. So they rarely posted anything there. But off to one corner, laminated in plastic and much faded by weather and time: "Kyle Wrese. Looking for brother Derek Wrese. Come to Cowan ranch."

In 1989 Kyle married the farmer's youngest. The farmer gave them a plot of undeveloped land near the forest. Kyle cleared that land and started his own farm. Like the farmer he built a house for his 'hands'. Like the farmer they ate at the table. They had no phone but there was a two way radio. Every morning they made extra coffee for the RCMPs. They offered them breakfast but the MP's rarely ate they knew how hard things could be for small farmers.

Years passed. They had four children. Two girls. Two boys. It was the fall of 2007. Their eldest, John, was 17 he rode the bus an hour to school he would graduate in the spring. Reggie one of the MP's swung by for a cup of coffee and to chat. The roads here were not paved. The drives were slow, rutted and boring. They were talking hockey when he remembered. "Kyle," he called over his shoulder the older man was bundling up their youngest, Sarah, the sky threatened snow.

"Yeah," he said cinching down a hood.

"Heard tell of four men looking at your sign in Athabasca."

Kyle stopped. He never cared about hockey. Or pig futures or the gossip of 'nearby' Athabasca, but he endured it for just this moment. "Four men?"

"Yeah, four men, looked as ragged as you did when you first come up here."

He looked at Althea. She smiled, she had heard all the stories about his brother. "Go. I'll radio dad to have the truck ready."

Reggie looked from one to the other. "Let me finish this cup and I'll drive you down to the Ranch."

The sky blue Ford pickup shuddered to a halt its tires skipping across the ruts and gravel. It left a plume of dust behind it. Kyle got out of the truck. He stared. The unprepared road bore away to the north east. He was looking at them across a tongue of cleared land about a hundred meters away. Their spacing was ok, about five meters. But the terrain though wooded was very open. He would have put them seven meters apart or put the point man at fifty meters. He got out of the truck and waved his arms. After a moment they noticed and crossed the field. They were still in single file.

In two months Kyle would 47. He looked at his 'older' brother. He though thinner looked little different from that day in the garage back in 1984. Indifferent to years of training and instinct he ran across the field. It was him. It was Derek. He stopped at twenty feet. They stared at each other.

"Kyle?" Asked the younger man.

"Derek?" Asked the older. They hugged.

"Its beautiful up here," Derek said after he introduced everyone. They walked to the truck. It was overcast and 4 degrees out. "How are the deer?"

Kyle smiled. "Plentiful."

Derek nodded. He had stupid grin on his face.

For some the long war was finally over.