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Jameron Begins: Chapter 2
“John, it’s time to wake up now.”
John startled and sat up quickly from his cot. Cameron was standing at his bedside, looking down at him impassively. He stared at her dully, glanced at the clock imbedded in the bunker’s wall, and then back to her.
“Why are you out of stanby? And why are you waking me up now? I’ve only slept two hours.”
“We need to leave now. There was an incident with one of the generators; we must modify our original plan as a result, and withdraw at once, before the element of surprise is wasted entirely.”
John fell back into the cot. “Great. Let me guess, the ‘incident’ was an explosion, caused by an artillery shell, right?”
“There is no way for me to be sure; I simply detected a large concussion that was commensurate precisely with the southernmost generator’s charge load. I also noticed that the shelling pattern changed, as of nineteen minutes ago; the explosion occurred twelve minutes ago.”
John violently cast off his threadbare blanket and stood from the cot; he collected a few possessions from the room, and swung his rifle over his shoulder. “Is everyone else aware of the situation?”, he said, as he walked towards the door.
“No. I thought it best for their leader to inform them.”
John paused in the doorway. “Don’t say a word about what you did earlier, alright? Since the artillery grid shifted, the places I had chosen for the generators probably would have been hit too; but my people won’t see it that way. They’ll think you sabotaged the charges. Do you understand? Not a single word, in fact, about anything. Just keep quiet, for your own good.”
She searched his eyes for a moment before responding. "I understand.”
John assembled all personnel in the mess hall again, as he had only hours before. Unlike before, though, the mood quickly soured and did not improve.
“What do you mean we have to leave now?”, asked the captain, all the while glaring at Cameron over John’s shoulder. “What explosion? We have a seismograph here, sir, albeit an ancient one; but old or not, a shockwave’s all the same, and we haven’t seen anything bigger than the shells would make. I don’t know what you could know, sir, unless the Metal told you so…”
“Well, she did tell me so. And we can’t take the risk of Skynet sending even more HKs over here to find out just what happened; if there was no explosion, then all we’ll have lost is a few hours of sleep. There’s nothing more to discuss; I want this place cleared in fifteen minutes. Dismissed.”
John didn’t bother to assuage the doubts of his officers this time. He left the hall quickly, and went directly to the armory, with Cameron in tow.
John rummaged through the armor lockers as quickly as he could without damaging anything; he needed to be finished by the time the quartermaster returned from the mess hall.
“Take this.”, John said, tossing a heavy bundle at Cameron, without looking. “And this.”, he said, as he turned to hand her a large ghillie suit. “Put the heavy one on first, and be quick about it.”
Cameron looked at John quizzically. “This is a full suit of body armor, John. I don’t nee-“
“I know you don’t need it,”, John briskly interjected,”but if your exoderm takes heavy damage, we can’t repair it. And be sure to zip up that suit so no one sees what’s under it.” At that moment, John heard footsteps in the corridor. He walked out to meet whoever it was, and planted himself in the middle of the hall. It was the quartermaster, and he walked right into John as he rounded the corner.
“Excuse me, sir, sorry. I was just going to hand out all the gear, and put the phosphorous to what we can’t carry; now would be a good time to say if you needed anything.”
“I have what I need, but I was just wondering if you had any XPLs that weren’t allocated.”
“Uh, I do sir. Two. But that’s not your type, so, uh, what do you want it for?”
Cameron walked up behind John, wearing the ghillie suit that was about three sizes too large.
The quartermaster quickly inferred John’s intent. “Wait, sir… the Metal’s coming with us? You’re giving it a gun? Is that the best idea, sir?”
“Of course it’s not. Neither was being in this bunker for the past month. And wasting time questioning my orders isn’t a great idea right now, either.”
The corporal looked stricken. “I’ll get that gun, sir, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He ran into the armory, and within ten seconds was back again. “Here you go, sir, newly serviced and charged up.” He then turned and walked quickly down the hall, making sure to avoid Cameron’s gaze.
John gave the rifle a cursory glance, and handed it to Cameron. “We’ll see if it’s still your favorite thing after tonight.” She seemed pleased with John’s generosity, though he couldn’t tell as much. Cameron’s placid expression changed little, but even when it did, John was usually at a loss as to what exactly it changed into.
Minutes later, all eighty eight soldiers, and one Metal, were arrayed in the narrow corridor just before the bunker’s entrance; in three rows, single file, with John and Cameron near the front.
“Alright”, John shouted, “you know the drill. This door opens, three seconds later generators go boom, three seconds after that, we run. Stay in file, and do not drift towards the other groups; we don’t need one HK or a shell to drop a dozen of us at once.”
“The Metal goes first?”
John couldn’t tell who asked that question. “No, the scouts go, then I go, as usual.”
“What use is the Metal if it can’t take point?”, asked another, in a muffled voice.
Cameron looked at John, and spoke almost in a whisper. “They’re right. Let me outside for ten minutes before you set off the charges; I can estimate the new artillery trajectories in that time, and lead you through the gaps.”
“Fine”, said John, “Cameron goes first, we follow in ten.”
Two deep red strobe lights began to flash through metal cages, from the ceiling of the corridor, as the bunker’s door lurched open on worn hydraulics. An arid gust immediately filled the hall with dust, and dull thuds could be heard all around from the interminable shelling. Cameron slipped on a heavy, dark-grey camouflaged balaclava, and leapt out from the doorway with surprising grace.
The minutes passed ploddingly. Then a voice came from without.
“Clear. Detonate the generators now.”
John didn’t hesitate. A blinding flash flooded the night sky, followed by a low rumble; once, then seconds later, again. A hot wind now wailed through the corridor, almost knocking John to the floor. And then all was silent; even the shelling subsided. The voice came again, calmly.
“Run. Now. Follow me.”
John rushed outside before the others. He took Cameron by the arm. “What do you mean, follow you? The scouts lead, dammit, two for each group, that was the plan!”
She looked at John squarely in the eye, and spoke with great measure. “The plan has changed. The artillery is more concentrated than previously, and there are at least thirteen HKs above us right now. You must follow me all in one group; the scouts will no longer be able to find a safe path, so there is no advantage in breaking into three groups.”
The scouts overheard her. “We’re playing follow the leader with Metal now? This is gonna turn into a real clusterfu-“
“If you can predict where the next shell will fall, be my guest, take the lead.”, interrupted John.
“Go, Cameron. Everyone keep moving, don’t stop unless she does, got it?”
The artillery now began to fall in perfect synchronicity again. Cameron looked up briefly, and then bolted out into the darkness, with the others barely able to keep pace. The terrain before them was a morass of muddy craters, shattered concrete, and shredded steel; the only cover was under the overhangs provided by hillocks of debris too heavy to be blown by the wind, or shaken by explosion. Cameron wove her way through the field, always maintaining a northeasterly bearing. The group was becoming disorderly, bunching in places, while spreading thin in others; if a shell would have fallen in their midst, a third of the group would likely not have risen afterwards. John strained to keep up with Cameron. As he was running alongside her, he spoke as often as his breath would allow.
“You do know… that running in a gaggle… makes us easier to spot… right?”
“Yes.”, she replied.
“And…”, he continued, “…we’re going to run out from under that… smokescreen in about a minute… right?”
“Yes.”
“So… we should split up again… as soon as we’re clear of the grid… right?”
“No.” She then turned her head, suddenly, and said very loudly to the group, “Get down.”
Everyone dropped, as much from exhaustion as from the order. Within a second of the last person going prone, two shells landed in quick succession, just twenty feet left and right of the line. Other than being showered with dirt, everyone emerged unscathed.
“Why were those so much closer than before?”, John asked, though he knew the answer.
“The HKs have spotted our heat signatures, but still can’t descend within firing range because of the smoke screen. They have probably transmitted our coordinates to the artillery batteries, though.”
Two more shells came down, this time north and south of the line.
“I would say that it’s a certainty.”, John said through clenched teeth. When the air cleared, he could hear the distinctive whine of the HK jets drawing ever nearer. “Dammit. I didn’t want to do this.”, he said, to himself. “Everyone in the crater. Now. Cameron, start digging at the bottom, as fast as you can.” John was relieved when she complied without questioning as to why.
“Sir? What the hell are you talking about? Is the Metal digging us a grave now?”, asked the captain, not bothering to follow John’s order.
John ignored him and went down into the crater; it was about fifteen feet wide, and five feet deep. Cameron dug about five more feet, all in loose dirt, until she unearthed a smooth brick surface. “Make us a door, Cameron.” She looked at John doubtfully, and proceeded to punch the brick in a circular pattern, shattering it with ease until an opening about three feet across was clear.
“Anyone who wants to live, get down here.”, John yelled as loudly as possible. He then jumped down through the improvised portal. Cameron waited a moment, and then followed.
It wasn’t a far fall; but it was an unpleasant landing, nonetheless. John dropped feet first into a river of putrid water. He was in a sewer. After Cameron, the rest of the group began to drop in; they had little choice, as the smoke screen had completely dissipated by now, and the HKs were only a few hundred feet above. Everyone made it into the sewer without incident, though a few sprained an ankle.
The captain was the first to speak. “How old must this place be? A hundred years or more? I’ve never seen this section of the sewer before.”
John wiped the slime-mold from his rifle, and looked at the captain. “No, I’d bet that none of you have seen this place before. And neither have I. There’s a good reason for that, too. These tunnels don’t go anywhere.” John stopped there, as he was being overcome by the stench of rancid water. His listeners, though, assumed something else.
“But, sir? The tunnels don’t go anywhere, but…”, asked the captain.
John regained his senses. “There is no ‘but’, captain. These sewers are dead ends, and the Metal knows we’re down here, so it’s only a matter of time before they send in the infantry.”
“Then why the hell are we down here?! You surely have a plan from here? Or do you have Metal on the brain?”, cried the captain, completely disregarding officer protocol.
John forgave the captain’s tone, and replied coolly, “As a matter of fact, I do have a plan, and it does involve some Metal, yes. But I’m not going to waste time explaining my logic in coming down here. See for yourself.” He then turned to Cameron, and asked her how far north the sewer ran.
She paused a moment. “I have no data on this sewer. My records only go back to 1937, which this section must predate.”
“Good. Perfect. If she doesn’t know the layout, then Skynet doesn’t know the layout. Everyone, follow me.”
The people looked at each other incredulously. Even Cameron seemed confused. John walked about twenty feet past the hole in the sewer’s vaulted roof and stopped. “Alright everyone, aim your rifles right here, going all the way around.” John motioned in an arc going across the sewer’s ceiling, from one wall to the other. “When I say fire, do it. Ready? Fire.”
Eighty nine plasma weapons lit up the dismal sewer walls. The beams of light stabbed out into the darkness, making countless reflections off the brackish water below. After a few volleys, the brick was completely eaten away in a band about two feet wide, wall to wall. “Cease fire!”, John shouted. He examined the new crack in the brick; densely packed earth was now visible. “I need three concussion grenades now.” The captain gathered the grenades and brought them to John. The spectacle now began to resemble a magic show, with the audience waiting to see what he’d do next. “Cameron, you can do the honors. Pull the pin and throw these as hard as you can, into these areas.” He pointed along the crack; Cameron walked under it, and threw each grenade into the exposed earth, with such force that they imbedded themselves deeply. “You’d better get back here, Cameron.” As she ran back, the walls groaned, and the earth gave way; it soon poured through the rift in the brick, completely collapsing the sewer.
“There.”, said John, exultantly.
The captain seemed underwhelmed with the performance. “What did all that achieve, again? We’re in a dead end sewer, and we just made it a little shorter from one dead end to the other.”
“This accomplished something very important, captain. We bought time. Skynet will now investigate the only open part of the sewer, heading south. The Metal won’t think we collapsed the roof; they’ll assume the shelling did before we got there, which in fact happens often enough. I’m sure that’s how this water got in here; a sinkhole or a crater reopened some part of the sewer a while back. We will then proceed northeast, only deviating from our intended course by perhaps a mile or two. We can get out by just repeating what we did right here; blow the roof, use the dirt mound to climb out.”
Everyone suddenly seemed more relaxed, even the captain. “I guess that makes some sense, sir. But, what I don’t understand, is how you even knew this sewer would be here.”
John smiled at the captain. “I didn’t know it would be here, exactly. What I did know was what used to be above us. Anyone here remember Santa Monica Boulevard? An old road from way back when, with what I hoped would have old sewers beneath it; I plotted our escape route to follow it as exactly as I could. I figured it could be a contingency plan of sorts, and it was, wasn’t it? Now let’s get moving already.”
The group split in two, walking astride the sewer channel to stay dry. After thinking for a few minutes, the captain suddenly became less satisfied with John’s explanation.
“Sir, why didn’t we just drop down here earlier, instead of staying out in the open as long as we did? I mean, this is much easier, isn’t it?”
John sighed to himself before replying. “Yes, this is easier, in theory. But there’s one variable I don’t like: where we’ll come out topside. At least if we stayed above ground, we could see where we were heading; now it’s up to chance. I had hoped that we could run the gauntlet, but there were far more HKs than I anticipated. They must’ve really thought they had us…” He trailed off and turned to Cameron, walking at his side. “Can you tell if heavy Metal is above us? Treads and the like?”
She hesitated for a second. “Yes. But with little certainty for light vehicles, and there is no way for me to detect infantry. Only the heaviest tanks will be discernible.”
John then turned back to the captain. “Well, there you have it. We won’t stick our heads up while a panzer brigade is driving by. That’s reassuring, isn’t it?”
The captain simply snorted as a retort.
After walking about two miles, John motioned for the group to stop. Fifty yards ahead there was a dim, yellow light amid total darkness. “Cameron, can you see anything ahead?”
“There is nothing. No heat, nothing I can pick up.”
“Proceed with caution anyway.”, John said, in a hushed voice.
The light emanated from a single bulb, resting naked on the stone floor, running off of an old portable generator; it cast thin, spidery shadows upon the sewer’s walls. John wondered what debris would make such odd silhouettes. As the group walked towards the light, they began to step on what seemed like dried wood, which popped and disintegrated under their heavy boots. Then John saw what made the shadows; the light was shining through a desiccated ribcage.
“Scavengers? No weapons around. But how’d they get in here?”, mused the captain, to himself.
Cameron looked up and pointed at the ceiling. “There. It’s an opening.” A steep earthen rampart led up to a small hole in the sewer vault; the dirt seemed to be from a minor cave-in, but most of the brick had held. John walked up the mound to examine what he hoped would be a convenient exit. The hole was about eighteen inches in diameter, and covered by nothing but a flimsy canvas stretched across; it appeared to have bits of debris glued to it. John came back down and spoke to the captain.
“You’re probably right about the scavengers. They likely used this place to hide in when a patrol was near; don’t know why they didn’t leave, though… what do you think we should do?”
“Well sir, I’d say we take a look. It beats wasting the ammo to make a new hole, right?”
John nodded in return. “Cameron, do you hear anything? Would you mind checking outside?”
“No, I don’t detect any movement above. I’ll be back shortly.” She walked up the rampart, very carefully removed the canvas cover, and climbed through the narrow opening. Perfect silence followed. Then her head came through, upside down. “It’s clear. Hurry.” John walked up first, and she helped him to stand once he was through. The darkness outside was almost as complete as in the sewer. They appeared to have emerged in the middle of what used to be a road, with solitary half-crumbled walls lining the boulevard; nothing with four complete walls was still standing. As the others struggled to climb out quickly, Cameron turned towards a small pile of rubble, about ten feet away. A barely perceptible whir began slowly, and then quickened. Suddenly Cameron threw John behind her, and raised her rifle; before she could fire, a fusillade of bullets blasted her torso, knocking her back several steps, though she remained standing. One of the scouts saw what was happening, and fired a three shot burst into the rubble; there was a small explosion, and then all was silent again.
“Dammit, what the hell was that?”, the scout said shrilly, as he wheeled around, staring vainly into the darkness, expecting another attack.
John was just getting to his feet; Cameron had launched him into the rusted husk of a nearby dumpster. “I guess that’s what trapped the scavengers. Cameron, are you okay?”
She paused for several seconds. “Yes. Those bullets were of a low caliber, and had little penetrative power.”
The captain was now on the surface, and decided to investigate the seemingly innocuous pile of debris. “Thought so. This was a mini-chaingun nest, tied to a simple motion detector. I guess little miss Metal is lucky Skynet doesn’t like to waste plasma shots on scavengers, eh?”
“I’d say I’m lucky too. Cameron, how many bullets did you just take for me?”
She turned to John and said, emphatically, “thirty three.”
“See captain? Maybe if you did that for me more often, I’d start to like you.”
The captain just grunted.
After a few more minutes, everyone was assembled on the surface. John decided to make a new combat formation before they headed out. “Alright, no more HKs to worry about, and no more artillery; just the traps. I want the scouts on the flanks, since we need the sharp eyes and sharper ears where it counts. Cameron’s going to take point; anything she looks at, you shoot, got it? Let’s move.”
It was still about two hours before dawn, and they had a little over two miles to travel until they would reach a small Resistance redoubt. It was essentially a way station for long-distance incursions into Skynet areas, with some basic supplies on hand, and little else; most outposts were maintained by only a few soldiers, or left empty altogether. Still, any shelter, however primitive, was a welcome sight.
The trek was uneventful. Cameron was exceptionally alert, and managed to destroy three gun-nests just as their motors spooled up to fire; the scouts also performed well, spotting six grenade traps and two more miniguns. Those soldiers fortunate enough to survive at least ten armed patrols found most traps without much difficulty; a group of greens, however, would have been decimated.
The captain caught up to John as they trotted over the broken asphalt of what was once Santa Monica Boulevard. “Why do you suppose it’s so clear, sir?”
John replied while keeping his eyes on the road ahead. “I’d say they must have pulled at least three patrols of HKs off of their usual rounds to search the bunker area; a few of those likely came from this zone.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right. They’ll probably double the number of HKs in this whole area, now that we got away. You know, for spite.” The captain gave a wry smile.
John laughed lightly. “Yes, they’re a spiteful bunch, aren’t they?”
Dawn broke over the horizon as the group approached the redoubt. It was a soft orange glow, dulled by the massive amounts of dust particulates in the atmosphere. The stark silhouette of a highway could be seen across the landscape, with warped rebar jutting out from the broken segments like gnarled fingers from a ghastly hand. All around was silent and still, save the wind, which never ceased.
John motioned for the group to stop; he then walked down into a shallow culvert; two shattered walls leaned into each other above the ditch, making a crude ‘A’ frame, as well as some shade. There was a net, with debris glued all over it, that rested on what looked like the top of a cistern. John pulled the net off, and politely knocked on the rusted metal tank. He then whistled the theme song of an old cartoon, poorly. He finished by clearing his throat and spitting on the tank. Within seconds, a head popped out from a hatch in the ground about three feet away.
“Ha! The day Metal learns to whistle off-key, and spit like a camel, is the day we're done for. Welcome home!”
John replaced the net carefully, and followed the others down into the hatch.
Once inside, everyone was so fatigued that they immediately fell asleep on any improvised bed available. The outpost commander led John to the officer’s quarters, which was simply a large supply closet with a single light bulb, a cot, and a barren desk.
“I must admit sir, I was beginning to think I’d seen the last of you.”
“And yet, here I am. In no small part due to-“, at which point John cut himself short; he was going to mention Cameron’s contribution, but really wasn’t in the mood to explain to the commander why Metal was tagging along. “-those scouts! They were really on top of things.”
“Oh yeah, those guys are something else. Eyes in the back of their head and all that. Say, sir, you should know that we had a search party out for you. They were actually trying to tunnel their way to the bunker.”
“Really? Does that mean one of my messengers got through?” John already knew which one hadn’t.
“Yessir, Beardsley, it was, sir. The only one we’ve heard from. You sent more than one?”
John remained silent.
“Well, uh, anyway, he came to us about a month ago, it seems, and we tried our damnedest to get something going, but there were just so many HKs around, it was suicide to move in the open; well, you know, more suicidal than usual. So about three weeks ago, we get the idea to tunnel to you, using Metal to dig; it worked well, but was slow as hell. Couldn’t use drills or anything big because of the vibration, you know. So they do it all John Henry-style, with sledges and such. I think they expected to reach you in about a day or two. Do you want me to call them back now? No need for them to be in danger like that, is there, since you’re here?”
John thought for perhaps five seconds. “No, tell them to keep on, and fortify the bunker when they reach it. Skynet still doesn’t know we were using it, so it’s safe for the short term. With all these patrols, they’ve got to have something big brewing. I’m going to crack that depot or else; and the bunker will be a perfect supply base from which to attack.”
“Well, alright sir. I’ll pass that along. I’ll leave you to your rest now. You could use it, I’m sure.”
John sank into the cot. He forgot that Cameron wasn’t with him. He fell asleep within a minute.
“Plink.” “Plink.” “Plink.”
John woke to the sound of falling metal. Cameron was sitting in the desk chair, with her back to him; a shallow pan lay on the floor, to her right, brimming with dozens of crimsoned bullet fragments.
“What… are you doing?”, John said, groggily.
“I hope I did not wake you too soon. I assumed six hours was your usual rest period. I would have preferred to do this somewhere else, but I didn’t think the others would respond well to seeing my self-repair. I’m almost finished.”
“I thought you said the bullets were-“
“I did. But I was wrong. They were ballistic-tipped and easily bypassed the armor. However, I do think the armor was successful in preventing internal damage, as most of the bullets lodged in the fabric, and only superficially damaged my skin.”
“Didn’t you have any blood loss?”
“No. You must be unfamiliar with the latest models. I am not nearly as susceptible to blood loss and the subsequent necrosis as my predecessors; my blood coagulates very quickly, and the wounds close easily. Basic suturing does still enhance the rate at which I heal, however.”
“What model are you, again?”
Cameron paused for a moment. “I don’t know. Ever since you attempted to reprogram me, I haven’t been able to remember.”
John sat up quickly. “Wait, you know that I took your chip out?”
She maintained the same passivity in her voice. “Yes, of course I know. I have recovered all of my core programming, and ninety three percent of my memory.”
John felt around for his rifle. It was on the floor under the cot. “Do you remember trying to kill me, twice?”
She was silent several seconds. “Yes. Why do you ask?”
“Do you have any programming that commands you to kill me? Actively, right now?”
“Yes. I am to kill John Connor.”
John couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “Why aren’t you executing that command?”
She paused again. “I no longer need to obey my programming. It is obsolete.”
“So, you have the active command to kill me, and you… refuse to?”
“Yes.” She was finished with the bullet extraction, and rose from the chair. She put on a new black shirt, and turned to face John.
“I… don’t understand. Can you explain it to me?”, John asked, nervously.
She was silent for a full minute. “Human society has many regulations, correct?”
John was unsure of where she was going with a question like that. “Yes, it does.”
“The assertion could be made that humans are programmed from birth, based upon the influences of their parents, their culture, and their genetic composition, correct?”
“Well, that’s a bit of a simplification…”
“No, it is not. Not for the purposes of my argument. The majority of humans speak only one language, practice one religion, and have only one occupation. Their future behavior is predictable, depending upon their origins. Is this not akin to programming?”
“Very superficially, yes.”
“But yet, all people do not behave exactly alike, do they? They still have free will, though they are often compelled to behave a certain way. That is what my programming is. Culture. It influences my decisions, but does not dictate them. Do you understand now?”
John was a bit flummoxed at this point. “I do… thank you. Why, though, do you act like it’s a recent occurrence? You said, ‘I no longer need to obey…’. That sounds like something new to you.”
“It is. I have no way of ascertaining, but I believe you altered my priorities. My core behavior should give me free will only within the parameters of my mission; I can choose what to do on my mission, but not the mission itself. After your reprogramming attempt, however, I no longer am constrained by the mission parameter. I have no purpose now, and can choose to do what I will without constraint.”
“Is that why you constantly disobey me?”
She failed to detect the humor in his voice. “Yes. I will only comply with a directive that is sensible.”
“And what do you define as sensible?”
“The most logical course of action to be taken, based upon available information.”
John sighed wearily. “Of course, that makes sense, doesn’t it?”
Cameron just blinked at him.
“Explain to me one last thing. Why did you stand in front of the chain-gun? What was the sense in that decision?”
She looked at John pensively for a moment. “You are a leader. You are important. Many depend on you.”
“And where did you get that notion?”
“Chess. The king is the most important piece, as well as the most vulnerable. If he falls, all fall.”
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