FIC: Childhood (5/?)
“Preliminary reconnaissance reports show four main guard towers. We can assume they’re equipped with plasma turrets and infrared. We’ll need to take ’em out first.”
John nodded blankly at the statement, running his hand over his hair and hoping that the movement would make him look a little less stressed than he actually was. This strategic briefing was routine for sure, but John was always weary of putting his people in that much danger. This time the pay off would be well worth it - at least a thousand prisoners - workers - and a possibility of three thousand still-living prisoners scheduled for termination.
“I suggest we send in infantry teams, ten man, with back up sappers; one for each of the towers,” Lieutenant Barrera said as they all studied the map. It was a simple chart, a piece of cardboard with lines drawn on it to represent the topography, buildings, and points of potential attack. Small, plastic red and blue pieces, carved loosely to resemble the two opposing sides, were laid out in the board in the proper arrangement.
John smirked mentally, remembering those cool battle screens that were always the centerpieces of war rooms and spaceship bridges in movies. Yet, he supposed it was fitting, at least, that his were so low tech. Some how, he imagined that red and white backlit Plexiglas in his command center would have been a bit hypocritical.
“Then the main units can assault the fences - here, here, here,” Barrera continued, pointing to various places along the fence line.
John leaned back, thinking, judging. “Are the fences electrified?”
A brief movement caught his eye, from the hall entrance, and John turned part of his attention to it. Spies were non-existent in the human resistance - machines had yet to infiltrate their ranks, especially now that the dogs could spot the smaller seekers, and people, whatever their moral character, would gain nothing but a swift death by betraying them.
Yet it was in John’s nature to be on this side of careful. After all, the older Reese had told his mother that the machines would eventually become cybernetic organisms. He had said that it was a recent development, though, so John figured he had a few years left.
“No, sir. Standard barbwire,” another officer answered his question.
Speaking of Reese …
The shadow he spotted was Wolfy, or his tail at least, as he was quick to turn back to his master from his exposed position in the doorway. Kyle must have been returning from the practice room.
The kid was eavesdropping, and, from the looks of it, he was probably couching down, back against the wall, within a few inches of the entryway. Always so curious. He played, it seemed, just in his own way, and in his own games.
He was a damn near expert at crawling around the machines. He needed to work on his stealth around people, though. People didn’t need infrared, they just needed instinct.
John hid a smile with his palm and grabbed a nearby pin with his other hand.
“I vote, sir,” Barrera was saying, oblivious, “that we place the Forty-third in the rear of the camp, to move in and protect the prisoners even before the infantry disarms the HKs.”
John’s smile faded.
“Good thinking,” Lieutenant James said. “We don’t want a repeat of Camp One Forty-eight.”
Game over. Some things Kyle shouldn’t have to hear. At least not yet.
John threw the pin out the door, toward the invisible Kyle. The action was greeted with a rough dog yelp and the shuffling and retreating of growing feet.
The officers simultaneously turned their heads towards the direction of the flying pin, seconds too late to catch their little spy’s flight. No one spoke until John gave a quiet sigh.
“What’s the expected causality rate?” he asked when he was sure Kyle was gone.
*****
Kyle moved through the halls, his heart still thudding from the surprise of that object nearly hitting his head. He knew, despite the fact that he was out of view, that the pin was meant for him. He berated himself silently.
If a human could spot him, what could a machine do?
He had barely heard any of the conversation, besides, but it sounded like they were planning another strike on a prisoner camp.
Oh, to be a part of something like that …
But, no.
He was stuck here, dealing with things like this …
“Don’t you dare!” Clark screamed as he turned the corner, her usual calm and cheery exterior completely broken.
Kyle paused, his lips pressing into a thin line.
“You told her,” he grumbled. It wasn’t a question.
“How was I supposed to know she’d freak out?” Jacobson retorted. “I’d thought she’d be happy.”
“Boys have short hair, Reese,” Clark hissed, backing against the wall. “Girls have long hair. I’m not gonna look like a boy, stupid.” The other children stopped what they were doing to watch the commotion with idle interest.
Some months ago, Kyle had told Clark about the severe matting in her hair. They had debated and he and Jacobson had agreed that the only way to get rid of them was to cut them off. Pulling them out would be too painful, if they even could manage to do so. But Clark had refused their help even then.
Now her head was one solid knot. She’d be covered in lice if something wasn’t done about it soon. He’d be forgiven for not wanting to sleep next to that.
“Good going,” Kyle said to Jacobson, giving him a vaguely disgusted look. He blinked and motioned quickly with his eyes towards Clark’s cowering form.
“Well, that would kill me,” Jacobson returned. “I’d be begging to have it off.”
“Grab her,” Kyle ordered and Jacobson jumped into action, wrapping his arms tight around her and pining her to his chest.
Predictably, she struggled. Her legs alone flailed about as she fruitlessly tried to kick both of them away. Failing at that, she swung her head in an attempt to simultaneously bite Jacobson and keep whatever cutting utensil Kyle had at bay.
He pulled said utensil out - a standard pocketknife used by the resistance soldiers. He had borrowed it from the supply locker next to the practice room. He was sure nobody would miss it nor even notice that it was gone. He didn’t want to take too much of a chance, though - the knife, because it was so sharp, was clearly valuable, and he didn’t want to be accused of stealing it.
“Reese, I swear it, you do this and I’ll kill you in your sleep,” she growled.
“I’d like to see you try,” Kyle shot back, edging forward. “If I were you, I wouldn’t move.”
****
“I hate you.”
She gave him a glare so fiery that it could melt the alloy right off a terminator.
“I told you not to move,” he said defensively, masking the guilt he felt with harsh words. He folded his arms across his chest and slouched in his seat on the empty med bunk.
“Coulda sworn you guys had it bad enough as it is without taking knives to each other,” the doctor commented dryly. He drew the suture laces up, tightening them before twisting them into another knot.
“It was an accident,” Jacobson finally spoke up, defending their actions. He gave Kyle a sympathetic near smile.
Kyle sighed, forlorn. Clark now had two-inch gash running along the top of her head, in addition to a half-cut ball of hair fuzz adorning the reminder of her skull. She looked positively hideous, like a burned, melted, and hairless plastic, decapitated doll’s heads that would randomly roll out of the piles of rubble when they were sorting them.
“Tipping over some toys? Accident. Falling down and scrapping your knee? Accident. Purposely attacking your friend’s head with a seven-inch knife? Not an accident,” the doctor stated with what Kyle could only assume was some form of sarcasm.
“You’re strange.” That was Clark, mirroring Kyle’s thoughts exactly and turning her head to take in a glance of the doctor. He righted her with a sharp, adept movement of his hand. Clark fixed her attention back on Kyle, looking irritated and more than just a little angry. He flinched slightly under her gaze. “And he’s not my friend.”
That stung. What was worse was that he was surprised it stung. They had spent well near two years together, watching each other’s backs. Couldn’t they be considered friends? Well, he supposed ruefully, that depended on how ‘friend’ was defined. Adults tended to use it to describe people they were close to, people they worked with, and slept next to; all the things he did with Clark and Jacobson, but he didn’t know if it was the same thing.
“Strange or no,” the doctor said, “I’m going to have to make some sort of report about this.”
“Wait,” Clark interrupted, about to move her head again but thinking better of it. “Reese isn’t going to get in trouble, is he?”
“He stole resistance property and attacked you with it,” the doctor reminded her. “Shouldn’t he be punished?” The old man raised a curious eyebrow as he spoke.
Kyle rubbed his face harshly with both hands, closely his eyes. Well, this day was just getting better and better. Before he knew it, he’d probably be thrown out of the bunker and left to his own devices to find his own food and ward away the machines.
Not that he ever heard of John Connor doing that to anybody, but still.
It’d be his luck.
Sensing his distress, even Wofly let out a concerned whimper and rested his chin on Kyle’s lap. Kyle ran his hands slowly through the dog’s fur, not bothering to look up.
“But, you can’t,” Clark finally said, her voice bordering on a whine.
“Can’t I?” the doctor asked rhetorically.
Kyle glanced back at Clark, who was biting her lip in an intense internal debate with herself. She wouldn’t meet his gaze, keeping her eyes down instead, and she wrung her fingers together in an uncharacteristic fidget.
“You can’t,” she said again, softly. “He was trying to help me. He borrowed the knife to cut my hair for me, but I tried to bite him. It’s not his fault.”
“Good to know,” the doctor said, chuckling. “It’s very comforting to see that some things with kids never seem to change.”
All three of the children looked at him, equally puzzled.
“Now, Kyle, Matt” the doctor continued, causing Kyle to flinch slightly at the use of his first name. “You both will apologize to Laney for trying to cut her hair without her permission.”
The two boys traded skeptical glances.
“Why?” Jacobson finally asked.
“It’s not up to questioning,” the doctor told him, his voice becoming a little harsher than usual. “Just apologize. Damn kids today have no manners.” The last of his words were a rough mumble.
“I’m sorry,” Kyle ventured, hoping his obedience would quell the doctors raising annoyance and belay Jacobson’s defiance. Getting out of here all the sooner was also a nice wish.
“Yeah, me too,” Jacobson blurted out, following suit. The doctor’s stern glance caused Jacobson to shiver, and speak up again. “Sorry, I mean.”
Clark had just enough time to smirk in self-satisfaction, before the doctor continued.
“And, Laney, you will apologize for trying to bite Kyle and Matt, and being ungrateful when they offered their help.”
Her smirk vanished, replaced by a look of utter shock mixed with betrayal.
“But -”
“Damn it all to hell,” the doctor hissed, breaking open a pack of gauze with more force than necessary. “Just say it.”
“Sorry,” Clark said, not wanting to press the doctor’s already taxed nerves.
“Better,” the doctor said, pleased. “We’ll have you acting like ladies and gentlemen yet.” He fastened the gauze onto Clark’s head gently, pushing it firmly down to fully cover the wound. “Keep it clean, out of water, and come back in about ten days to get the stitches removed. You can go.” He helped the girl jump down off the examination table.
“What about Reese?” Clark asked as they gathered together to leave.
“I won’t tell anyone about the knife,” the doctor said, looking at Kyle with a soft smile. “But, Kyle, return it and don’t ever take anything like that again without asking. Taking other people’s property is stealing. It’s wrong.”
“Yes, sir,” Kyle replied, understanding the doctor’s argument in theory. Jacobson, however, wasn’t so enlightened.
“But we needed it,” he concluded, cocking his head. “If Clark’s hair would have stayed that way, she would’ve gotten bugs. How can cutting it have been wrong?”
“You still should have asked for permission.”
Kyle edged towards the exit, hoping that Jacobson would get the hint. He did not what to listen to this conversation. Talking like this seemed even less useful than those weird books Connor used to make him read.
“But what if the knife didn’t belong to anybody?”
“Then it would have been fine.”
“What if the person who once had it is dead?”
The doctor cringed at that, but answered all the same. “It would be okay, I guess, but, when a person dies, all his things should go to his family, if he has one, first.”
All three of the children snickered at that. Kyle himself had yet to see a child get things from a parent when they died. He had nothing from his parents, neither did Clark or Jacobson.
“What if the knife belonged to a terminator?”
Great, now Jacobson was baiting him.
“Well-” the doctor hesitated.
“Because we steal from them everyday, and they’re some-bodies.”
“It’s different,” the doctor finally concluded.
“How so?”
“Let’s go,” Clark interrupted before the dialogue could go any further.
Kyle silently agreed and pushed Jacobson out of the med ward. He ventured one last glance over his shoulder as they left, and saw the doctor turning away, shaking his head and looking disturbed.
“Some adults are so strange,” Jacobson commented as they walked back to the orphans’ hall. “Especially him. If people can’t protect their things, then why should another person get punished for taking them?”
“Yeah, well,” Kyle said, perturbed and not bothering to answer the question, if he even had an answer to give. “Just keep your mouth shut next time; I could have gotten in big trouble back there.”
“Whatever,” Jacobson returned flatly. “Let’s just get ready and get outside. We’ve already lost several hours.”
Kyle nodded in agreement. Petty arguments would have to wait. They had yet to gather enough for dinner, and that always came first.