The Future War

DOT LAKE, ALASKA

We're getting organized, John Connor thought. Which means… paperwork!

Luckily, he and Sarah and Dieter had all been in favor of a decentralized structure, which kept bureaucracy to a minimum.

Which did not mean "small."

He sighed and leaned back in the chair until it creaked dangerously, even with his boots on the table to stabilize it, and took another sip of lukewarm herbal tea. For a moment his mouth crooked up at one corner; the central HQ of humanity at the moment was a man barely old enough to drink, in a nowhere town in the wilderness.

Lists were scrolling across the screen of his laptop, mostly of new recruits brought in by various resistance cells across North America, Europe, and East Asia. Skynet hadn't had a chance to pulverize Latin America quite as thoroughly, yet—it had probably been much worse in the "original" Judgment Day scenario, which had happened back when the major powers had tens of thousands of ready-to-go nuclear warheads, instead of a couple of thousand all up. Of course, once Skynet got its production facilities fully operational, it would probably make more nukes—

"Christ!" he said suddenly, putting the cup down fast enough to slosh.

Jack Brock had sent in his list from Missouri, from the Ozark Redoubt. One of their more promising cells…

Dennis Reese.

He called up a picture. No absolute proof, but there was a resemblance—thin features, light brown hair, something about the eyes…

How would you define the relationship? Technically he's my granddad…

Even though the lieutenant was only twenty-five to John's recently turned twenty-one. John shook his head slowly. I think the reason time travel makes my head hurt is that it makes my eyes spin. Right now his gut was hurting, too. He felt an overwhelming urge to send a priority-one message to Brock: keep Reese safe at all costs!

But I can't do that, he knew, with a sinking sensation. That might be the exact thing that would keep Reese from fathering the son who's going to father moi!

The chaos-butterfly-wing thing evidently wasn't entirely correct; for all the time-loops and frantic attempts to change the past, each cycle tended back toward the original course of events.

But the past was changeable; sometimes the future created its own past. He had to be so careful…

* * *

John turned his attention to the single truck and bus waiting for passengers in the town square. Poor suckers, John thought.

They should be all right, though. He'd moved some of the resistance into that old logging camp and they'd be watching the road for these newcomers. If Skynet tried anything, it would lose.

They planned an attack on the "relocation camp" any day now. As soon as thirty of the new plasma rifles arrived from California. He had no intention of sending his people into battle less well armed than the enemy. At least not if he could help it.

Reports on conditions in the camp weren't good, but they weren't as bad as the Black River camp in Missouri. For some reason, Skynet seemed to want the humans in B.C. to survive.

Ah, here she is.

Ninel rode up on a blue bicycle, put down the kickstand, and took a clipboard out of her saddlebags. Then she blew a whistle to get the small crowd's attention.

"If I ever see that white-haired bitch again, I'll kill her!" one of the mothers who'd survived the massacre had declared.

Can't blame her, John thought. But Ninel's okay. I can feel it in my gut.

For a moment he imagined Sarah Connor's eyebrows going up sardonically.

Okay, okay, my Internalized Mom Superego, yeah, it's partly another portion of my anatomy. But I'm a good judge of people— have to be, if I'm going to do this job. And my judgment says Ninel's no mass murderer.

He looked out the window at the exotic blond head—hair a bit rattailed, like everyone's right now, but still a bright beacon in the gray day. She seemed such a levelheaded sort of woman, not the kind to join a group that would deliberately kill ordinary people for no very good reason. She'd also seemed more like a loner than a joiner. The term lone gunman flitted through his mind.

The truth is I don't know her and shouldn't be making judgments about her sanity or lack thereof based on such short acquaintance.

Another phrase he was having trouble tamping down: He was so quiet, so helpful, seemed like such a nice fella. He so didn't want it to be true. Ninel was such an endearing little thing, she looked kind of like a blond, blue-eyed Bjork—elflike.

Although, Tolkien aside, mythology didn't paint elves as friendly to the average human—but as chancy and extremely dangerous.

It didn't take Ninel long to process the travelers and soon she was waving good-bye. John kicked his bike to life and roared up behind her. She kept her back to him as she put away her clipboard.

"How is it that you can run that thing?" she asked loudly enough to be heard over his motor. Ninel looked at him over her shoulder. "Are you hoarding or something?"

"Or something," he said, and cut the motor. "I jiggered it to run on wood alcohol and I've set up my own still." She looked impressed, which pleased him.

Then she frowned. "It doesn't burn very clean, though, does it?"

He twisted his mouth. "Does it matter at the end of the world?"

She laughed. "It's not the end of the world, and yes, it does matter." She grew serious. "It always matters."

Some small flake of dread sank through his being. Her parents had been activists. Ineffectual activists in an idiot cause, but an upbringing like that had to have some effect on her character.

"Can I buy you a burger?" he asked.

She grinned. "If you could buy me a burger, I'd give you a medal. But you can buy me an elk kabob." Ninel jerked her head at a nearby cafe. "What have you got to trade?"

"Never fear," John said, "I'm prepared. I wouldn't offer if I wasn't." He gave her a reproachful look that made her laugh.

"We can park in front," she told him. "I'll meet you there."

When she caught up with him and had finished locking down her bike, she grinned to see him pull a pair of rabbits from his saddlebags. "That should do," she said. "If they're fresh."

He gave her another reproachful look. "Fresh this morning,"

he said. "Guaranteed."

The burly man behind the counter of the improvised restaurant had a pump-action shotgun and a skeptical expression. That thawed as John shoved the two carcasses across the wood; he bent, sniffed, felt, and nodded.

"Okay, you got credit at the Copper King," he said. "Rack your weapons there, enjoy yourselves, and no fighting or you go out in pieces."

"Come again to Burger King, and will you have fries with that?" John muttered under his breath.

The platters of grilled elk chunks on sticks did include potatoes; boiled, of course—nobody was wasting oil on cooking—but still tasty to carbohydrate-starved bodies, with a little salt.

"So," Ninel said, biting into the juicy meat, "did you get to the camp in B.C.?"

"Not all the way," John said. "As you said, it's a long haul."

She shrugged. "I'm a little disappointed. I've been wondering what it's like and if I should pack up and go. Thing is, I don't want to leave my dogs behind."

"Dogs?" he said. "You have a team?"

Shaking her head, Ninel smiled. "Only if you think a pair is a team. No, they're good hunting dogs, and they're my buds. I couldn't just abandon them."

"I like dogs," he said, a little wistfulness in his tone. He sipped his chamomile tea, not liking it much; then putting the mug down, he looked at her carefully.

"What?" she said.

"I just"—he shrugged—"I have my doubts about these buses and trucks. Who's behind this? Do you know?"

"The government, I suppose." She looked him in the eye.

"Who else?"

"Our government, or Canada?"

"Both, I would imagine." She frowned. "What are you suggesting? You think these people are being kidnapped or something? By Canadians! You can't be serious."

He laughed. "When you put it like that," he said. "But seriously, you don't know who is behind it, and I find that worrying. How did they recruit you anyway?"

"I knew some people who were involved and they asked me to help." She looked at him with concern. "They're good people, John. I don't think they'd hurt anybody."

"So because you trusted them, you were willing to take the whole thing on faith."

Ninel sat back, frowning. "I feel like I'm being accused of something here. Not least of being stupid, and I don't like it."

He held her gaze with a severe look of his own. "I didn't go all the way to the camp because the buses stopped short of it.

Everyone figured it was a rest stop and got off. Understandably, after a ride of about four hours." She was frowning in puzzlement. "They were attacked."

"Whoa!" she said quickly. "That doesn't mean the people who run the transports are responsible."

"C'mon, Ninel! Who else knew that the automated transports were going to stop right there? Huh? But beyond that, I know that people from the camp came hunting them."

"Of course they came looking," Ninel protested. "If the transports never arrived, or arrived empty, of course they went looking. Why wouldn't they?"

"Hon, something is wrong here."

"I'm not your hon and maybe the something wrong here is you! Maybe there are people out there who don't want Americans settling in Canada. Did that ever occur to you? And if the army can discover how to make those trucks run, couldn't someone else figure out how to run them by remote control?

Maybe this is a plot against the people running the transports and the camps, rather than a plot by them. Ever think of that?

And what are you doing to try and help? Anything?"

John sat back, wondering where he'd lost control of this conversation. Though he did have an impression that Ninel's reaction was sincere. "I'm doing a few things," he said gruffly.

Why am I feeling defensive? he wondered. I've spent my whole life preparing to fight Skynet and she's making me feel like a slacker when it's her that's sending people down the damn thing's maw.

"Look, I'm not judging you," he said aloud. "I'm just asking questions. Maybe I could ask your friends?"

She looked less belligerent, and a bit uncertain. "I'll ask them if they'll talk to you. No guarantees."

"I take it they're not still looking for volunteers."

Her mouth curved up at one corner. "Somehow I don't see you as a volunteer. Maybe it's the bike."

ALASKA

"He wants to talk to us?" Balewitch said, her eyebrows almost tangling in her hairline she was so surprised. She had to make an effort of will not to grin like a wolf.

Perfect!

Ron Labane wanted John Connor found and neutralized and John Connor wanted to come over for coffee. Life generally didn't work out this well.

"Do you know him?" Ninel asked. It was clear she'd noted Balewitch's surprise.

"No, but Ron does," Dog said. "And I don't think he likes him."

Balewitch threw him a warning glance, which Ninel saw.

"What did he say?" she asked, sinking slowly into one of the kitchen chairs.

"That he was dangerous and that he was trouble and that we should stop him now before he recruits too many followers." Dog grimaced into his cup of mint tea. "Christ, I wish I had a beer."

Balewitch rolled her eyes in disgust and Ninel looked from one to the other. "Is this the right John Connor?" she asked. "I've never seen him with anyone else." Her eyes took on a distant look for a moment. "When he used to hang out at the Klondike, he was the kind who just wanted to shoot pool and have a laugh. I never heard him talking politics or anything like it."

"Ron thinks he is," Dog said, still looking into his tea.

Balewitch glared at him. "Still, both John and Connor are common names. And the guy Ron was talking about was seen in Canada."

"In Canada?" Ninel said. Nervously she brushed her bright hair back from her face.

Dog and Balewitch exchanged glances.

"Yeah," Balewitch said, at her most grandmotherly. "We didn't want to tell you, but… There was an attack on the last convoy." She lowered her eyes and pursed her lips. "A lot of people were killed and we still haven't found the survivors." She looked up at Ninel. "A young man on a motorcycle was one of the shooters; dark hair, sunglasses. But Ron is sure that it's this John Connor."

The younger woman's mouth opened slightly and she hunched forward as though struck by a sudden pain. She blinked rapidly, then looked at the concerned faces of her two friends and comrades. "It does sound like him," she said quietly. "What do you want me to do?"

"Get close to him," Dog said, leaning forward avidly. "Find out what he's up to."

Ninel blinked at him, then frowned. "Don't you think we should tell the authorities?"

"Ye-ah," Balewitch said, her tone of voice implying that she was asking Dog just what he was thinking.

"Why?" Dog asked. "They'll want proof and all we've got is suspicions. But! If we can get him to commit to some course of action and then catch him in the act, we'll have him dead to rights." His eyes told Balewitch he was intending to lean heavily on the dead part.

"Humph," Balewitch said thoughtfully. "I see your point." She looked at their young recruit. "Are you game?"

Ninel frowned uncertainly. "I don't know," she said. "I'm not one of those glib people who can make people trust them."

Balewitch stared at the pretty young thing, her chin cupped in her hand. If I had her looks, I could convince the average man that he had a purple ass and tentacles on his head.

It wasn't modesty, she knew, it was too unselfconscious for that. This was pure innocence, and if she couldn't work it into a shape she could use, she'd change her name to Turkey-girl.

She patted the girl's hand. "Don't worry about it. Just try and spend more time with him. Tell him we weren't at home and you couldn't find us. Invite him to your house for dinner to make it up to him. After that, let nature take its course. Just remember, the less said the better. That way you can't trip yourself up and you'll have less to remember if he asks you questions."

"Don't worry," Dog said, giving Ninel a comradely slap on the back that was meant to sting. "You can do it! And remember, it's for the cause."

Ninel's expression went from thoughtful to determined at that, and the two Luddites grinned at each other over her head.

NEAR FAIRBANKS

"You're sure about this?" John said, scratching distractedly.

Wish we had more soap. God, if typhus gets started…

Far away in the Quebec wilderness, Snog rolled his eyes. The satellite link didn't convey quite the full smug self-confidence of it. "No, I just thought it would be fun to tease you. Yeah, I'm sure! You must have received the same image I'm sending."

"Hey, hey, simmer down." Sheesh, I should know better than to question the maestro. "I'm thrilled, honest. It's just so good, it's like it's too good to be true."

"Unless Skynet has discovered our link, and there's no evidence of that, this is the real deal."

John looked down at the schematic on his screen. This was one of the famous automated factories built in secret in wilderness areas; the drawing showed the loading zones, the microhydro station that powered it, the computer centrum…

That thing was not built with human beings in mind, he thought. All those conveyor belts, and the passages are just about big enough for a large dog. Probably have little repair

'bots scurrying around in 'em…

The resistance geeks had traced its whereabouts based on painstaking study of innumerable satellite photos. John had known that it had to be somewhere near the fake relocation camp, but even so, finding its exact whereabouts had been a herculean labor.

"Okay," John said. "Congratulations to you and your team."

"Thank you, O Great Military Dickhead," Snog intoned.

Connor chuckled; he'd told Snog his teenage nickname for the self he was growing toward… "You're welcome, my son. Go forth and find me some more."

" More? Connor wants more? God, you're such a taskmaster.

You sure your name isn't Legree?"

"Get used to it, bud. This goes on for a while. Take care out there in les boonies. Connor, out."

John leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming. This would be their first big assault on Skynet. His blood sang at the thought. Finally, I get to strike first.

DOT LAKE, ALASKA

Ninel saw John through the cafe window and waved. He waved back, put down the kickstand, and took off his helmet.

Her heartbeat sped up and her mouth went dry at the thought of what she was about to do, but she needed to find out the truth about him. Was he the one Labane was looking for?

He didn't seem like a crazed killer. She watched him swing his leg over the bike as he dismounted. He had an easy grace about him that she admired. Actually there was a great deal about him that she admired. She so didn't want him to be the one they were looking for…

* * *

She's looking a little tense, John thought. He smiled at her even though he was feeling a bit stressed himself. Well, you're supposed to feel a bit tense on the first serious date. He went to the counter first, as the new custom dictated, and pulled out a small, half-empty tube of toothpaste. It rang on the counter with the resonance of a gold coin in happier days.

"Cuppa mint tea and a bowl of rabbit stew," Ray, the owner, said.

John nodded; he thought he was being robbed, but the smell of the cooking meat and its wild-garlic accompaniment was making his mouth water. Besides, he was eager to talk to Ninel and didn't want to waste time dickering. He could feel her looking at him, her eyes burning holes in the back of his leather jacket. In seconds, the order was in front of him on a tray. Ray had added a side of bread and John nodded and grinned in appreciation. He hadn't had bread in weeks.

He put the tray down on the table between himself and the girl. "Check this out," he said, indicating the bread.

She smiled and nodded. "I had just gotten in new supplies,"

she said. "So I have quite a bit of flour. Enjoy."

He did, savoring every mouthful.

"I keep thinking about that hamburger you offered me," Ninel said. "Never thought I'd want something so badly, y'know? It's like my teeth want to chew ground beef and nothing else will do."

"I hear ya," John said. "I hadn't realized how much I miss bread. Butter would be nice," he said philosophically. "But this is great."

She bit her lip and looked down, drawing a circle out of a spot of spilled tea. "They weren't home," she said, and glanced up at him through her lashes. She shrugged and sat back. "I have no idea where they are, or when they'll be back. They do this, go away and come back with no explanation."

He looked at her for a moment and she lowered her eyes uncomfortably. "Was that why you looked so tense?" he asked.

"Did you think I'd be mad or something?"

Ninel sighed and looked down at her hands. "I dunno. You Weren't specific, but you were implying some awful things." She frowned and raised her eyes to his face. "Now I don't know what to do."

They looked at each other, both communicating distress, then mutually lowered their eyes.

"I can understand how you feel," John said. "They're friends, I guess, people you've trusted anyway, and now you can't even ask them questions."

"Yes!" she said. "That's it exactly. I'm supposed to organize another group day after tomorrow, but how can I under these circumstances? And, you know, they might not know anything more than I do."

He nodded sympathetically. "But you still want to do something."

"Well, yuh." She shook her head. "Things aren't going to get better by themselves."

He looked at her. Should he try to recruit her for the resistance?

She might already be in the enemy camp without realizing it

, he thought. Of course, so might her friends. But somehow he doubted it. It wasn't until recently that he'd realized that at least for a time Skynet needed, and would continue to need, human allies. Whether they realized that they were helping a homicidal machine was immaterial. Given what had happened in Missouri, at least some of Skynet's minions were willing, even eager, to kill for it.

If he could convince Ninel that these people were up to no good, or at least were being led to do no good, he might also be able to convince her to feed him reports about what they were up to. It would be a lot easier than trying to get one of his people to try infiltrating the group cold. Which might even be impossible.

"Look," he said quietly, "maybe we shouldn't get too deeply into this here."

She looked around. It was just Ray and them, and though the proprietor seemed busy, he might be listening. With the loss of all radio signals, people's voices seemed to carry more. Ninel smiled. "Okay," she said. "Why don't you come home with me for dinner."

He blinked.

"I'll make French toast."

"I'm there," John said.

Even if she intended to shoot him, if there was the remotest chance that he'd get some French toast first, it was worth the risk.

* * *

He'd wondered how long it would take them to get to the place where he'd picked her up a few weeks ago, but once they hit the highway, she'd sped along at close to forty-five miles an hour. And once they left the road for the narrow track through the bush, he was definitely at a disadvantage.

Her cabin was small and half-buried, but looked snug and well made. A pair of elk antlers decorated the area above the doorframe. There were a few chickens pecking in the yard. Two dogs— huskies—sprang to attention, barking furiously at the motorcycle.

They must be well trained, he thought. They haven't eaten the chickens yet.

Ninel put her bike on its stand and went to them, speaking softly and mussing their ruffs. They greeted her with waving tails and hanging tongues but kept a weather eye on John.

"Spike and Jonze," she said, pointing at one and then the next identical dog. John looked at her askance and she shrugged. "I like his work. C'mon in."

The space was small and somewhat cluttered, but it was clean and as neat as it could be given the crowded conditions. The bed looks comfortable, he thought, glancing at the fur-covered double bed. He resolutely turned his eyes and mind away.

"Anything I can do to help?" he asked.

"Yeah. Sit down and stay out of my way." She went to a camp-stove setup and got it started. "You can keep me entertained. Tell me about yourself."

If only I could, he thought automatically. Then: Hey, wait a minute, it's post-Judgment Day! I can tell her about myself.

Well, except for the part about his father not being born yet.

Which actually was a big part of the story.

"I was raised by my mom," he said. "Mostly in Central America and points south. She, ah, she never got along well with the authorities. I never knew my father."

But I will! In fact, I'm going to set him up with my mom, which is weird stuff.

"Um, grew up all over the place, never finished high school…"

This sounds depressing, but it was actually kinda cool, most of the time. Not the times we were being pursued by Terminators, or my time in foster care, but a lot of the time.

"Sounds a lot like my folks!" Ninel grinned at him over her shoulder. "What was your mom in trouble for? Environmental work? Peace activist?"

"Ah… blowing up computer factories, mostly," John said, and hastily added: "But she didn't hurt people. She got blamed for a lot of stuff… other elements… did."

"It works—well, used to work—that way," Ninel said sympathetically.

He shook his head. "I don't really like talking about myself."

Because even now some well-meaning individual might think I'd look better in a straitjacket. "You could tell me more about yourself," he suggested.

"I'm cooking. Tell me what you've been doing since Judgment Day."

This was the first time he'd heard the term outside his own family, and it chilled him. "What?"

She looked up from what she was doing. "Judgment Day?" she said. "That's what my friends call it."

"Oh."

It had come from Skynet? Just when he thought he couldn't hate the damn thing anymore, it got, well, judgmental on him.

The first slab of bread hit the hot pan with a sizzle and he grinned in anticipation. "Thank you for this," he said.

She smiled at him. "My pleasure."

They gobbled most of a loaf of bread. Well, I'm gobbling most of a loaf, liberally covered with really rad wild-blueberry syrup. Again, the only thing missing was butter, but who cared, it was fantastic.

"I'm glad you liked it," she said, clearing the plates.

"Let me do the washing-up," John offered. "It's the least I can do."

"I will," she said, grinning at his surprise. "I'll just stoke the woodstove so we can have some hot water."

He'd noted the chill in her house, but had said nothing, understanding her desire to be thrifty with the wood. It was backbreaking labor and he wondered if there were enough trees out there to keep the fires going this winter. Well, in Alaska, yeah…

He washed, she dried, and they talked and joked companionably. Ninel fed her dogs, much to their ecstatic gratitude, while John watched from a polite distance. Huskies were a little too close to wolves to take liberties with, in his opinion.

When they went back in she brewed some rose-hip tea.

"Tastes like math paper," he said with a grimace.

She laughed and put a pot of honey on the table. "We're probably the last generation that will know what that means. At least for awhile."

He drizzled honey into his tea, looked up and met her eyes, and slowly smiled. She blushed and lowered her eyes, then looked up at him through her lashes.

He sipped his tea and smiled. "That's better."

Biting her lips, she took the honey pot and drizzled honey into her cup, then broke up laughing.

"Are we thinking the same thing?" he asked, grinning wickedly.

"Yes, I'm terribly afraid that we are," she said, still laughing.

"Don't be afraid," he said. He took her free hand in both of his. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

* * *

John held her in his arms and looked down at the bright head resting on his shoulder, feeling her soft, rhythmic breath upon his chest, and felt… wonderful. More relaxed than he had felt in a long time. He caressed her shoulder with his thumb and smiled.

He liked her. He knew it wasn't love; he'd had that with Wendy and he'd recognize it if it came to him again. But he really liked this girl, and who knew what that could lead to? He admired her self-reliance and enjoyed her sense of humor. He sensed, though, that she was one of those lost souls casting about for a noble cause. He'd like to be the one to give it to her…

"Where did you get the scars?" she said drowsily, tracing the lines down the left side of his face.

"Would you believe a cybernetically controlled leopard seal slashed my face?"

Ninel laughed and poked him in a sensitive spot. "If you don't want to tell me, that's okay. But I like your sense of humor!"