[SCC] Friendlies - IAWL series - John Connor, others - Gen
TITLE: Friendlies
SERIES: It’s a Wonderful Life
AUTHOR: indiefic
CHARACTERS: John Connor, others
RATING: Gen
WORD COUNT: ~1200
WARNINGS: Spoilers for all of season 2.
DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Don't know who does.
TIMELINE: post Judgment Day, 2027
NOTES: This is a series of vignettes set post “Born to Run”
SUMMARY: he’s just a kid and it’s Hell between here and Serrano Point.
***
“What do you mean gone?” Derek snaps, shrugging out of his pack.
“Who?” Kyle asks, looking at Derek, who he just followed into the room. They spent the last six hours out on patrol with nothing to show for it and that’s enough to put anyone in a bad mood.
“Connor,” Derek says flatly, looking back at Akers expectantly.
Akers spreads his hands. “He’s not here,” he repeats. “His pack is gone and so is his rifle, but no one saw him leave.”
Derek turns and frowns at Kyle. Kyle swears under his breath and shakes his head. “Derek, he’s just a kid and it’s Hell between here and Serrano Point.”
Derek grinds his teeth together and looks back at Akers. “Find Allison.”
“And somebody raise Velasquez on the broadcast channel,” Kyle adds.
***
“Don’t move!”
“All right. All right. All right,” John stammers, hands pressed flat to the ground, his quick intake of breath sending dirt flying as his skull is pressed tighter to the ground by the muzzle of the rifle digging into the flesh behind his ear.
Five nights. It took John five fucking nights, travelling as fast as he could north-northwest from camp toward Avila Beach and Serrano Point. He had more close calls than he cared to recount. And now, within sight of the power plant, he’s going to get killed if he can’t talk his way out of this.
“Look. I’m not metal,” he tries to explain.
“Save it,” comes the sharp reply as the barrel digs into skin hard enough to draw blood.
John can hear the static laden chatter of a radio in the distance and then quickly approaching footfalls.
“Let him up, Boone. Control just radioed.”
The metal digs into John’s flesh one last time and then the pressure is gone. John chances a look up at Boone and then quickly scrambles to his feet.
“Name?” the new arrival demands. He’s a skinny Hispanic kid who reminds John a lot of Morris.
“Connor. John Connor.”
“I say we kill him,” Boone says, her dark eyes narrowed at John. In another time, another place, she would have been a beautiful woman. But in this world, her face is bisected by a grotesque, half healed scar that is nowhere near as disturbing as the complete lack of human emotion in her eyes.
“He isn’t metal,” the other soldier replies.
“So what?” Boone continues. “He’s probably part of Taylor’s crew, just here to stir up trouble. It’d be better for everyone if he just disappeared.”
The other soldier seems to consider this for a moment, but then shrugs. “We have orders. Bring him back to camp.”
***
John marches toward the looming power plant, the barrel of Boone’s rifle occasionally jabbing him between the shoulder blades. The other soldier, Alvarez, chatters away at Boone, undaunted by the fact that she does nothing to hold up her end of the conversation.
Though it’s probably only five miles, the march takes all night. There are lots of stops and starts, lots of waiting for patrols to pass, holding their breaths, hoping like hell the machines don’t find them. They don’t head directly toward the power plant, but loop around to the shore and then head up the coast line. They’re still probably a mile away from the plant when Alvarez directs them to a hidden culvert, jutting out of the rock cliff face toward the ocean. It’s probably an old overflow tunnel from the plant. Together, the three of them pull the iron grating loose and slip inside.
***
It’s more than an hour later when they’ve finally wound their way through access tunnels and around booby traps and into the main Serrano Point complex. John looks around, quickly assessing his surroundings. This camp is a lot more heavily fortified and more compact than the miles of sprawling once-urban territory that Kyle, Derek and the rest of their crew patrol. The fact that the power plant is so isolated and such a strategic asset no doubt is the reason.
There are fewer civilians here, fewer tunnel rats. Almost everyone is in uniform. Most of the people are clearly soldiers, but some look like they’re possibly techs as well. There are several gigantic pieces of machinery that look like they might be repurposed pieces of Skynet’s arsenal.
“This way,” Boone barks and John makes a sharp left down one of the tunnels toward the power plant’s control room.
The control room is a decent sized room, but it seems cramped because it’s packed with people. It’s the nerve center of the camp itself as well as the power plant. There are maps covering the walls, two soldiers monitoring radio chatter and a half dozen others watching monitors with different read-outs.
Boone motions for John to wait and he does. Alvarez crosses the room to a slightly built man who is hunched over one of the stations. The man turns and crosses the room with an air of authority that leaves no doubt that he’s the one in charge of this camp. John’s breath catches as the man comes to a stop in front of him.
“Bedell,” John says, starring at the scarred, grizzled features of the boy he once knew.
“John Connor,” Martin Bedell replies, looking John up and down. “Reese radioed ahead. Warned us one of his plebs went AWOL and was most likely headed in our direction. When I heard the name I was sure someone was fucking with me.”
“I can - I can explain,” John stammers.
Bedell shakes his head. “No need,” he says. “Someone already did that. Seems like quite a few people have been on the lookout for you.”
John follows Bedell’s eyeline to the female soldier sitting at one of the stations. She stands up and walks over to them. There’s something naggingly familiar about her, but John is pretty sure he’s never seen this woman before. She’s short but somehow willowy with close cropped auburn hair and calm gray eyes.
“John Connor, this is - “
“We’ve already met,” the woman says with a smile, cutting off Bedell who thankfully doesn’t seem to take offense.
John squints his eyes at the woman.
“John taught me how to tie my shoes,” she says.
His brow furrows and then his eyes go wide. “Savannah?”
She nods. “I’m the resident chip expert, but,” she adds with a wink, “I suspect you probably have some important insights as well.”
[end section]
SERIES: It’s a Wonderful Life
AUTHOR: indiefic
CHARACTERS: John Connor, others
RATING: Gen
WORD COUNT: ~1200
WARNINGS: Spoilers for all of season 2.
DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Don't know who does.
TIMELINE: post Judgment Day, 2027
NOTES: This is a series of vignettes set post “Born to Run”
SUMMARY: he’s just a kid and it’s Hell between here and Serrano Point.
***
“What do you mean gone?” Derek snaps, shrugging out of his pack.
“Who?” Kyle asks, looking at Derek, who he just followed into the room. They spent the last six hours out on patrol with nothing to show for it and that’s enough to put anyone in a bad mood.
“Connor,” Derek says flatly, looking back at Akers expectantly.
Akers spreads his hands. “He’s not here,” he repeats. “His pack is gone and so is his rifle, but no one saw him leave.”
Derek turns and frowns at Kyle. Kyle swears under his breath and shakes his head. “Derek, he’s just a kid and it’s Hell between here and Serrano Point.”
Derek grinds his teeth together and looks back at Akers. “Find Allison.”
“And somebody raise Velasquez on the broadcast channel,” Kyle adds.
***
“Don’t move!”
“All right. All right. All right,” John stammers, hands pressed flat to the ground, his quick intake of breath sending dirt flying as his skull is pressed tighter to the ground by the muzzle of the rifle digging into the flesh behind his ear.
Five nights. It took John five fucking nights, travelling as fast as he could north-northwest from camp toward Avila Beach and Serrano Point. He had more close calls than he cared to recount. And now, within sight of the power plant, he’s going to get killed if he can’t talk his way out of this.
“Look. I’m not metal,” he tries to explain.
“Save it,” comes the sharp reply as the barrel digs into skin hard enough to draw blood.
John can hear the static laden chatter of a radio in the distance and then quickly approaching footfalls.
“Let him up, Boone. Control just radioed.”
The metal digs into John’s flesh one last time and then the pressure is gone. John chances a look up at Boone and then quickly scrambles to his feet.
“Name?” the new arrival demands. He’s a skinny Hispanic kid who reminds John a lot of Morris.
“Connor. John Connor.”
“I say we kill him,” Boone says, her dark eyes narrowed at John. In another time, another place, she would have been a beautiful woman. But in this world, her face is bisected by a grotesque, half healed scar that is nowhere near as disturbing as the complete lack of human emotion in her eyes.
“He isn’t metal,” the other soldier replies.
“So what?” Boone continues. “He’s probably part of Taylor’s crew, just here to stir up trouble. It’d be better for everyone if he just disappeared.”
The other soldier seems to consider this for a moment, but then shrugs. “We have orders. Bring him back to camp.”
***
John marches toward the looming power plant, the barrel of Boone’s rifle occasionally jabbing him between the shoulder blades. The other soldier, Alvarez, chatters away at Boone, undaunted by the fact that she does nothing to hold up her end of the conversation.
Though it’s probably only five miles, the march takes all night. There are lots of stops and starts, lots of waiting for patrols to pass, holding their breaths, hoping like hell the machines don’t find them. They don’t head directly toward the power plant, but loop around to the shore and then head up the coast line. They’re still probably a mile away from the plant when Alvarez directs them to a hidden culvert, jutting out of the rock cliff face toward the ocean. It’s probably an old overflow tunnel from the plant. Together, the three of them pull the iron grating loose and slip inside.
***
It’s more than an hour later when they’ve finally wound their way through access tunnels and around booby traps and into the main Serrano Point complex. John looks around, quickly assessing his surroundings. This camp is a lot more heavily fortified and more compact than the miles of sprawling once-urban territory that Kyle, Derek and the rest of their crew patrol. The fact that the power plant is so isolated and such a strategic asset no doubt is the reason.
There are fewer civilians here, fewer tunnel rats. Almost everyone is in uniform. Most of the people are clearly soldiers, but some look like they’re possibly techs as well. There are several gigantic pieces of machinery that look like they might be repurposed pieces of Skynet’s arsenal.
“This way,” Boone barks and John makes a sharp left down one of the tunnels toward the power plant’s control room.
The control room is a decent sized room, but it seems cramped because it’s packed with people. It’s the nerve center of the camp itself as well as the power plant. There are maps covering the walls, two soldiers monitoring radio chatter and a half dozen others watching monitors with different read-outs.
Boone motions for John to wait and he does. Alvarez crosses the room to a slightly built man who is hunched over one of the stations. The man turns and crosses the room with an air of authority that leaves no doubt that he’s the one in charge of this camp. John’s breath catches as the man comes to a stop in front of him.
“Bedell,” John says, starring at the scarred, grizzled features of the boy he once knew.
“John Connor,” Martin Bedell replies, looking John up and down. “Reese radioed ahead. Warned us one of his plebs went AWOL and was most likely headed in our direction. When I heard the name I was sure someone was fucking with me.”
“I can - I can explain,” John stammers.
Bedell shakes his head. “No need,” he says. “Someone already did that. Seems like quite a few people have been on the lookout for you.”
John follows Bedell’s eyeline to the female soldier sitting at one of the stations. She stands up and walks over to them. There’s something naggingly familiar about her, but John is pretty sure he’s never seen this woman before. She’s short but somehow willowy with close cropped auburn hair and calm gray eyes.
“John Connor, this is - “
“We’ve already met,” the woman says with a smile, cutting off Bedell who thankfully doesn’t seem to take offense.
John squints his eyes at the woman.
“John taught me how to tie my shoes,” she says.
His brow furrows and then his eyes go wide. “Savannah?”
She nods. “I’m the resident chip expert, but,” she adds with a wink, “I suspect you probably have some important insights as well.”
[end section]