[SCC] Iterations - Gen - Sarah, Ellison, Derek
TITLE: Iterations
AUTHOR: indiefic
CHARACTERS: Sarah Connor, James Ellison, Derek Reese
RATING: Gen
WORD COUNT: ~ 2000
WARNINGS: Spoilers for all of SCC.
DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Don't know who does.
TIMELINE: set post “Born to Run” in 2009
SUMMARY: Heaven has a hardware problem.
NOTES: for life_on_queen who asked me for SCC fic and who was kind enough to offer concrit on an earlier draft of this story. I cheated and tidied up this story so I could post it today ... mostly so I can post a sequel I'm working on ;)
***
Ellison gets out of the car and Sarah does the same, pistol drawn, eyes scanning the horizon. It’s a gray day. The mist isn't so much falling as hovering in the air, collecting on flesh and firearms and grass and gravestones. Considering where they are, the weather seems appropriate. Was it really just a week ago that she regrouped here with John?
Sarah buries her bitter anger, pushes it down. It's been simmering since she realized where Weaver's instructions were taking them. The fact that the metal is asserting any sort of claim on this location is abhorrent to everything Sarah holds dear. Just like the metal itself. Sarah wants to rage and fight, but there's no use. Right now her priority is finding John and stopping Judgment Day and if Weaver's cryptic instructions will further those ends, she'll play along. She has little choice.
She watches Ellison closely, but lags back several paces. He holds the GPS, heading for the coordinates. It takes several minutes, but Ellison finally stops and looks down at the small concrete marker. It’s not like the others, not weathered yet.
Sarah comes to a stop next to him and looks down.
Ellison glances over at her.
They both look down at the slab again and Ellison swears under his breath. “This is not right,” he says softly. “This is not noble.”
***
Sarah sits on the edge of the motel bed, watching Ellison work at the small, rickety table. He looks haunted. Sarah doesn't begrude him that. This is morbid, even for her. But she’s not about to offer to help. Fuck Ellison. He can get his hands dirty this time. He can get a taste of the destruction he abetted.
Ellison drags the small electronic wand through the ashes, his face set in a hard grimace. Eventually, he finds something, sifting carefully through the cremated remains, being as respectful as possible given the circumstances. Sarah's not sure what to think about that. She's not sure what Derek would think. But she's pretty certain what John would think and that's enough to keep her rooted where she is, to bear witness to what is happening even though it's making her skin crawl.
Sarah watches as Ellison uses a pair of plastic tweezers to remove something. He holds it up to the light. It’s a chip. Not a chip like the machines have, but a chip nonetheless.
Ellison shakes his head. “What did you do?” he asks.
Sarah’s not sure who it is Ellison is talking to, but it’s obvious he's not expecting an answer. She stands up and walks over to the table, staring at the chip. “Derek had that in him?”
Ellison nods. “It would appear so,” he says. “And I’m afraid it has to do with something John Henry told me once.”
“And what was that?” Sarah asks tightly.
“He told me that heaven has a hardware problem,” Ellison says quietly, staring at the chip in wonder. “And I’m afraid he might have fixed it.”
***
"Did you do something to him? In the future?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"When they reprogram us they scrub our memories. It increases the chance of success."
"Ma'am," he repeats. "Do you want it wiped?"
Sarah whips her head up and looks at the man. He should be someone’s kindly old grandfather. Maybe he is. Terrence Murphy has to be near eighty.
But Sarah doesn’t feel warm and comforted when she looks at him. She feels cold. He holds a small computer in his hand. It looks old, like a relic from some sixties television show, but she knows the technology far outstrips what is available today. She watched him earlier, when he inserted the chip. There's a little viewscreen, monochrome, blurred images displayed in amber. She figures there's some irony there.
Shaking her head, she repeats,"Wiped?"
"Yes, Ma'am," he says. "Wiped." His lips purse together tightly and a slight blush colors his face. "There are some entries here, the later ones - "
"Memories."
His brow furrows in confusion. "Ma'am?"
"Memories," she says, biting out the word. "Not entries. Memories."
He frowns, chagrinned. "Yes, Ma'am. Memories." He rocks back and forth, agitated. "There are some that - " He searches for the words and falls flat. Sighing he says, "Well, they could cause problems."
Three days. It took her and Ellison three days to reach the secluded estate just south of the Canadian border in northern Idaho. The farmhouse was unassuming enough, but the lab in the sub-basement was enough to shock even her. Ellison is hot as hell that Murphy won’t let him down here, but now Sarah knows why. This is worse than Frankenstein's monster.
Sarah pushes herself off the chair and stands, arms crossed over her chest, glaring at the little man. "What is the point of this chip if we wipe it?" she demands. "Isn't that the whole point, to have Derek's intel, to have his experience? If we wipe him he's just another dumb piece of metal."
Murphy's frown intensifies, but Sarah's pretty sure she struck a nerve. He strightens himself up and meets her gaze. "You are correct," he says, talking slowly, patiently, voice rife with condescention. "But we can selectively remove certain memories. Ones that are likely to cause instability. I don't know how well versed you are in psychiatry- "
"Really fucking well versed," Sarah bites out. She turns, shaking her head, pacing over to one of the myriad workbenches in the room. Murphy has a point. There is a very real appeal in the idea of removing certain elements, certain pieces of Derek's information. She could remove whatever he might have known or suspected about her and Kyle, about John's father. She could remove the fiasco with Riley. Sarah shakes her head again. She can't do it. Even to a bastard like Derek. There's something so inherently wrong in the propsect. They either take him as he is, or abandon the whole endeavor.
"No," she says, turning to stare at Murphy. "No. Leave everything."
***
Sarah takes a deep breath and stares at the thing. She can’t bring herself to think of it as anything other than that. Not yet. Maybe not ever. The days she had to acclimate to the idea of this didn't help. Looking at the thing is like a punch in the gut.
“It can’t self-terminate. It’s programmed against that.”
Sarah swallows thickly. “Do you know what a golem is, Mr. Murphy?”
He presses his lips together tightly. “I do Ma’am. Yes. But that’s not what he is.”
She smiles, but it’s nothing but a baring of teeth. “Really?”
He sighs and takes a seat in one of the lab’s chairs. Sarah watches as Murphy removes his glasses and rubs his eyes wearily. He glances up at his creation where it sits absolutely motionless on the stainless steel table. Not motionless in the way living things can hold very still, but truly motionless.
Sarah walks toward the thing. It’s dressed, wearing a pair of gray scrub pants and nothing else. It’s a convincing imitation of Derek Reese, but not perfect. There are no tattoos, none of the landscape of scars that covered Derek’s body. The cybernetic flesh is flawless. It looks at her with Derek’s eyes as she approaches. But it doesn’t move and it doesn’t speak. Murphy had to have spent years preparing for this. Sarah has no idea how he was able to construct this likeness - or if he was even the one that did. Metal doesn't age. This thing could have come back with Murphy decades ago. The idea is enough to make her stomach roil.
“Careful,” Murphy warns, his arm is outstretched as if he was going to pull Sarah out of the thing's reach - and then thought better of touching her.
Sarah glances at the elderly man.
“It - “ he stops. Regroups. “He needs to acclimate,” Murphy explains. “His physical reactions are still based on human physiology. He needs time to … settle in to his new abilities.”
Sarah looks back at the machine and the abject misery in its expression is almost more than she can bear. Something that doesn’t truly live should not be capable of that much pain. She turns away, retreating several steps. “Do you believe in souls?”
Murphy shakes his head. “No Ma’am, I do not. I believe in consciousness.”
“Why?”
He gives her a wry, self-loathing smile. “Because I couldn’t do what I do if I did.”
Sarah looks back at the thing that wears Derek Reese’s face. “You’ve done this before,” she says.
In her peripheral vision, she can see Murphy nod.
“You intended to do this to him,” she presses. “You chipped him like some dog you get from the pound. Just downloaded him so you could use him again and again as it suits your needs.”
Murphy shakes his head. “No. It’s not our technology. We just figured out how to use it. Skynet chipped him. He was taken prisoner shortly after the battle of Topanga Canyon. That’s probably when it happened. He had the chip a long time.”
Sarah looks at him, one eyebrow arched in question.
“That’s a good thing,” Murphy explains. “Good imprint. Some of the others were … flakier.”
“Sometimes they go bad.”
Sarah and Murphy both turn to look at the machine. Sarah swallows thickly, her pulse thrumming in her ears. The voice, the inflection … it was a perfect mimicry of Derek.
“Sometimes they go bad,” Murphy agrees. He takes the few steps to stand next to Sarah, both of them standing directly in front of the machine facsimile of Derek Reese. Murphy takes a deep breath. “Ma’am, he is for all intents and purposes First Lieutenant Derek Thomas Reese. He has all of Reese’s memories and all of his emotions.”
Sarah turns and looks at Murphy. “But there’s more,” she prompts tightly. “You said he can’t self-terminate, so that means there’s more in there than just Derek.”
Murphy nods. “Base programming. Over time, the human mind will assume more and more control of the body’s functions, just as it does in a living organism. Like the autonomic nervous system. But for now, it’s still too alien. Maintenance, sensors, calibration, the base programming will take care of all that for the while yet.” He pauses. “And as you pointed out, there is some additional programming. It isn’t standard, but I felt it was warranted. With his history.”
Sarah narrows her eyes at the elderly man.
Murphy shakes his head. “I was a tech, a geek with Tech-Comm. I was about ten years younger than Lieutenant Reese. I know how hard of a time he had after his brother was sent on that mission. I know how much he hated the metal. If it had been up to me, I never would have done this. But it wasn’t my call.”
She looks at him, shaking her head in disbelief. “If it wasn’t your call, then whose was it?”
“Yours, Ma’am,” Murphy replies. “It’s always your call.”
***
[end section ]
AUTHOR: indiefic
CHARACTERS: Sarah Connor, James Ellison, Derek Reese
RATING: Gen
WORD COUNT: ~ 2000
WARNINGS: Spoilers for all of SCC.
DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Don't know who does.
TIMELINE: set post “Born to Run” in 2009
SUMMARY: Heaven has a hardware problem.
NOTES: for life_on_queen who asked me for SCC fic and who was kind enough to offer concrit on an earlier draft of this story. I cheated and tidied up this story so I could post it today ... mostly so I can post a sequel I'm working on ;)
***
Ellison gets out of the car and Sarah does the same, pistol drawn, eyes scanning the horizon. It’s a gray day. The mist isn't so much falling as hovering in the air, collecting on flesh and firearms and grass and gravestones. Considering where they are, the weather seems appropriate. Was it really just a week ago that she regrouped here with John?
Sarah buries her bitter anger, pushes it down. It's been simmering since she realized where Weaver's instructions were taking them. The fact that the metal is asserting any sort of claim on this location is abhorrent to everything Sarah holds dear. Just like the metal itself. Sarah wants to rage and fight, but there's no use. Right now her priority is finding John and stopping Judgment Day and if Weaver's cryptic instructions will further those ends, she'll play along. She has little choice.
She watches Ellison closely, but lags back several paces. He holds the GPS, heading for the coordinates. It takes several minutes, but Ellison finally stops and looks down at the small concrete marker. It’s not like the others, not weathered yet.
Sarah comes to a stop next to him and looks down.
Ellison glances over at her.
They both look down at the slab again and Ellison swears under his breath. “This is not right,” he says softly. “This is not noble.”
***
Sarah sits on the edge of the motel bed, watching Ellison work at the small, rickety table. He looks haunted. Sarah doesn't begrude him that. This is morbid, even for her. But she’s not about to offer to help. Fuck Ellison. He can get his hands dirty this time. He can get a taste of the destruction he abetted.
Ellison drags the small electronic wand through the ashes, his face set in a hard grimace. Eventually, he finds something, sifting carefully through the cremated remains, being as respectful as possible given the circumstances. Sarah's not sure what to think about that. She's not sure what Derek would think. But she's pretty certain what John would think and that's enough to keep her rooted where she is, to bear witness to what is happening even though it's making her skin crawl.
Sarah watches as Ellison uses a pair of plastic tweezers to remove something. He holds it up to the light. It’s a chip. Not a chip like the machines have, but a chip nonetheless.
Ellison shakes his head. “What did you do?” he asks.
Sarah’s not sure who it is Ellison is talking to, but it’s obvious he's not expecting an answer. She stands up and walks over to the table, staring at the chip. “Derek had that in him?”
Ellison nods. “It would appear so,” he says. “And I’m afraid it has to do with something John Henry told me once.”
“And what was that?” Sarah asks tightly.
“He told me that heaven has a hardware problem,” Ellison says quietly, staring at the chip in wonder. “And I’m afraid he might have fixed it.”
***
"Did you do something to him? In the future?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"When they reprogram us they scrub our memories. It increases the chance of success."
"Ma'am," he repeats. "Do you want it wiped?"
Sarah whips her head up and looks at the man. He should be someone’s kindly old grandfather. Maybe he is. Terrence Murphy has to be near eighty.
But Sarah doesn’t feel warm and comforted when she looks at him. She feels cold. He holds a small computer in his hand. It looks old, like a relic from some sixties television show, but she knows the technology far outstrips what is available today. She watched him earlier, when he inserted the chip. There's a little viewscreen, monochrome, blurred images displayed in amber. She figures there's some irony there.
Shaking her head, she repeats,"Wiped?"
"Yes, Ma'am," he says. "Wiped." His lips purse together tightly and a slight blush colors his face. "There are some entries here, the later ones - "
"Memories."
His brow furrows in confusion. "Ma'am?"
"Memories," she says, biting out the word. "Not entries. Memories."
He frowns, chagrinned. "Yes, Ma'am. Memories." He rocks back and forth, agitated. "There are some that - " He searches for the words and falls flat. Sighing he says, "Well, they could cause problems."
Three days. It took her and Ellison three days to reach the secluded estate just south of the Canadian border in northern Idaho. The farmhouse was unassuming enough, but the lab in the sub-basement was enough to shock even her. Ellison is hot as hell that Murphy won’t let him down here, but now Sarah knows why. This is worse than Frankenstein's monster.
Sarah pushes herself off the chair and stands, arms crossed over her chest, glaring at the little man. "What is the point of this chip if we wipe it?" she demands. "Isn't that the whole point, to have Derek's intel, to have his experience? If we wipe him he's just another dumb piece of metal."
Murphy's frown intensifies, but Sarah's pretty sure she struck a nerve. He strightens himself up and meets her gaze. "You are correct," he says, talking slowly, patiently, voice rife with condescention. "But we can selectively remove certain memories. Ones that are likely to cause instability. I don't know how well versed you are in psychiatry- "
"Really fucking well versed," Sarah bites out. She turns, shaking her head, pacing over to one of the myriad workbenches in the room. Murphy has a point. There is a very real appeal in the idea of removing certain elements, certain pieces of Derek's information. She could remove whatever he might have known or suspected about her and Kyle, about John's father. She could remove the fiasco with Riley. Sarah shakes her head again. She can't do it. Even to a bastard like Derek. There's something so inherently wrong in the propsect. They either take him as he is, or abandon the whole endeavor.
"No," she says, turning to stare at Murphy. "No. Leave everything."
***
Sarah takes a deep breath and stares at the thing. She can’t bring herself to think of it as anything other than that. Not yet. Maybe not ever. The days she had to acclimate to the idea of this didn't help. Looking at the thing is like a punch in the gut.
“It can’t self-terminate. It’s programmed against that.”
Sarah swallows thickly. “Do you know what a golem is, Mr. Murphy?”
He presses his lips together tightly. “I do Ma’am. Yes. But that’s not what he is.”
She smiles, but it’s nothing but a baring of teeth. “Really?”
He sighs and takes a seat in one of the lab’s chairs. Sarah watches as Murphy removes his glasses and rubs his eyes wearily. He glances up at his creation where it sits absolutely motionless on the stainless steel table. Not motionless in the way living things can hold very still, but truly motionless.
Sarah walks toward the thing. It’s dressed, wearing a pair of gray scrub pants and nothing else. It’s a convincing imitation of Derek Reese, but not perfect. There are no tattoos, none of the landscape of scars that covered Derek’s body. The cybernetic flesh is flawless. It looks at her with Derek’s eyes as she approaches. But it doesn’t move and it doesn’t speak. Murphy had to have spent years preparing for this. Sarah has no idea how he was able to construct this likeness - or if he was even the one that did. Metal doesn't age. This thing could have come back with Murphy decades ago. The idea is enough to make her stomach roil.
“Careful,” Murphy warns, his arm is outstretched as if he was going to pull Sarah out of the thing's reach - and then thought better of touching her.
Sarah glances at the elderly man.
“It - “ he stops. Regroups. “He needs to acclimate,” Murphy explains. “His physical reactions are still based on human physiology. He needs time to … settle in to his new abilities.”
Sarah looks back at the machine and the abject misery in its expression is almost more than she can bear. Something that doesn’t truly live should not be capable of that much pain. She turns away, retreating several steps. “Do you believe in souls?”
Murphy shakes his head. “No Ma’am, I do not. I believe in consciousness.”
“Why?”
He gives her a wry, self-loathing smile. “Because I couldn’t do what I do if I did.”
Sarah looks back at the thing that wears Derek Reese’s face. “You’ve done this before,” she says.
In her peripheral vision, she can see Murphy nod.
“You intended to do this to him,” she presses. “You chipped him like some dog you get from the pound. Just downloaded him so you could use him again and again as it suits your needs.”
Murphy shakes his head. “No. It’s not our technology. We just figured out how to use it. Skynet chipped him. He was taken prisoner shortly after the battle of Topanga Canyon. That’s probably when it happened. He had the chip a long time.”
Sarah looks at him, one eyebrow arched in question.
“That’s a good thing,” Murphy explains. “Good imprint. Some of the others were … flakier.”
“Sometimes they go bad.”
Sarah and Murphy both turn to look at the machine. Sarah swallows thickly, her pulse thrumming in her ears. The voice, the inflection … it was a perfect mimicry of Derek.
“Sometimes they go bad,” Murphy agrees. He takes the few steps to stand next to Sarah, both of them standing directly in front of the machine facsimile of Derek Reese. Murphy takes a deep breath. “Ma’am, he is for all intents and purposes First Lieutenant Derek Thomas Reese. He has all of Reese’s memories and all of his emotions.”
Sarah turns and looks at Murphy. “But there’s more,” she prompts tightly. “You said he can’t self-terminate, so that means there’s more in there than just Derek.”
Murphy nods. “Base programming. Over time, the human mind will assume more and more control of the body’s functions, just as it does in a living organism. Like the autonomic nervous system. But for now, it’s still too alien. Maintenance, sensors, calibration, the base programming will take care of all that for the while yet.” He pauses. “And as you pointed out, there is some additional programming. It isn’t standard, but I felt it was warranted. With his history.”
Sarah narrows her eyes at the elderly man.
Murphy shakes his head. “I was a tech, a geek with Tech-Comm. I was about ten years younger than Lieutenant Reese. I know how hard of a time he had after his brother was sent on that mission. I know how much he hated the metal. If it had been up to me, I never would have done this. But it wasn’t my call.”
She looks at him, shaking her head in disbelief. “If it wasn’t your call, then whose was it?”
“Yours, Ma’am,” Murphy replies. “It’s always your call.”
***
[end section ]