1995
THINGS THAT DON'T CHANGE

John is ten years old when Katheryn Parker takes root in his heart. He's back with his mom, but still searching for a family. He fears he always will be. The Terminator knows otherwise, but does not tell him. John has to ask. Once asked, the Terminator gives it to him straight. A wife. Two kids. From the dark cloud of John's future, a beautiful specter emerges. Her face is warm, her eyes are bright, and her arms are opened wide to embrace him like his mom won't.

2001
THE UNKNOWN ROAD

John takes a seat at his computer with a bowl of Kraft Dinner in one hand and a Red Bull in the other. His media player takes up about half the screen, playing mesmerizing visualizations in time with the music. The other half is dedicated to a custom web crawler of his own making. It scrapes the internet, as it does every day, for all permutations of the name "Katherine Parker."

An index grows in the bottom half of the window. John tries to temper his excitement by reminding himself he'll have to sift through the results. It's been two years, and all he's got to show for it are wedding announcements, obituaries, and some reviews of the movie Working Girl. But even as he preps himself for failure, hope burns bright in his chest. It has to. If he didn't have hope, he'd go insane.

Maybe he is a little insane. He's going full-on cyber-stalker because he's impatient. Impatient, and scared. What's the price of changing fate? He's content to shed the weight of the world from his shoulders, but as time passes, his worry grows. Perhaps averting Judgment Day means he'll never meet his wife. This, he can't abide by. If she's no longer his fate, he'll make his own.

The crawler finishes aggregating results. John sets his bowl aside, takes a long sip of Red Bull, and inspects the list. There's an artist named "Catherine Parker," who is probably way too old for him. Ditto for the "Katherine Parker" who contributed to the American Family Physician Journal. He resigns himself to another fruitless day, but still he scrolls.

A headline catches his eye: "Tragic Accident Claims Woman's Life, Spares Child." It's the most brutal news his crawler has come across yet. With a quick click, he opens the link. According to L.A. Pulse News, one Sophea Parker missed an intersection and overcorrected. She died instantly in the resultant crash, but her daughter, 15-year-old Katheryn Parker, survived.

The age interests him more than the name. They all have the right name, but this girl is just a year younger than him. He reads closer. What for, he's not quite sure, but he knows it once he finds it. An MIT acceptance, at her age, means she's exceptionally good at math. Just what a resistance against a computer system would need.

An image loads next to the text: a standard issue school photo of Katheryn. John's breath catches in his throat. She's beautiful. Either she doesn't know it, or she doesn't want anyone else to know. He can tell by the way she's dressed, like a little girl. It fails to hide her best features. Her dark bob cut frames her face perfectly. Her smile, though restrained, is inviting. But nothing compares to her eyes. He gets lost in them, and finds a strength beyond her years.

This is her, he thinks. It has to be.

John reaches out and touches the computer screen, caressing Katheryn's face. His heart skips a beat, and when it starts up again, it beats only for her.

"Mom!" he cries.

She comes rushing to his call, always wary of danger. "What is it, John?!"

"I found her..."

"You what?"

"I found her."

He pulls out his seat a bit so Mom can get a better look at the screen. She glances at the picture, then skims the article. All the same clues jump out at her, but she remains skeptical. It's not that she doesn't believe in John. She just doesn't want him to be disappointed.

"How can you be so sure?" she asks.

"I can feel it in my bones," he says. "We've got to go back to L.A."

"Not right now, John. It's too risky."

"Oh, come on, it's been six years!"

"And we're still wanted." A flash of sympathy crosses her face. "I know you're lonely. I know you want to meet Katheryn, but you need to have a plan. This girl has no idea who you are. You can't just expect her to ride off into the sunset with you."

Does she have to be so damn right all the time?

"But I can't just sit here and do nothing. That's all I've been doing. I'm sick of it." He gazes desperately at Katheryn's picture. His voice turns soft, almost pleading. "I want her to know me."

Mom pats his shoulder. "We'll go, I promise. Just not now."

Her vague promise is his only hope. That, and Katheryn's face. He prints it out and keeps it close to his heart. At night, he dreams of it. For a while, he thinks he's been cured of his nightmares, but they soon return with a vengeance.

It's beautiful at the start. He's in a hall of mirrors, surrounded by her image, and she's daring him to find her. Just a game. Then the familiar figure of the T-1000 rises up behind her, its arm a lance. John runs at them, but hits a mirror. Before he has a chance to cry out, the T-1000 stabs Katheryn through the chest. The light leaves her eyes. She chokes on her last word, then falls silent. The T-1000 lifts her limp body in the air and tosses it aside like trash.

John awakens in a cold sweat and returns to the computer. He tries to assure himself that Katheryn is in no danger, but the dream has a hold of him, and it won't let go. Rereading the L.A. Pulse News article doesn't put his mind at ease. She survived the crash, but where is she now? Is she okay? Will she be okay?

There's no follow-up, but there is a forum. John lurks through a thread linking back to the initial article. The first post expresses skepticism that anyone could overcorrect that badly. They're quickly shot down by a self-proclaimed cop, who claims to work with Sophea Parker's widower. He offers his condolences and wishes Katheryn a speedy recovery.

"Thanks," says user kate_parker.

John's hands hover over the keyboard. He could go about this in one of two ways. The normal way would be to make a post of his own. She might respond. Then again, she might not. That leaves the other option. Every website has a backdoor, and this one is particularly easy to find. Using the timestamp from her post and the system logs, he's able to find her IP address.

"Jackpot." If he can find an open port, he's as good as inside her machine.

You're crossing a line, Johnny-Boy, he thinks. But it's too late to turn back now, he's in. He stays just long enough to install a piece of software. If anyone discovers it, they'll most definitely call it spyware, but that sounds so ugly. He likes to call it the Watcher.

Okay, that's still pretty creepy. He's a creep, keeping tabs on some girl because he's scared of a future that no longer exists.

One by one, he closes the open windows on his screen, leaving just the L.A. Pulse News article. The picture he so admires triggers a vision of her crumpled body. His resolve is renewed. If something happened to her, he'd never be able to forgive himself. With the Watcher installed, he can at least make sure nothing worse is lurking around her network. It's the only way he can protect her right now.

"I'm sorry, Kate."

He hopes she'll understand.