The Future War

of a precipice. There was a sound behind him like gravel going down a chute and he marched on for several paces before the sound even registered.

He turned, and behind him the path was gone. There was a huge gap between him and the next soldier twenty feet away. His eyes went from the gap to the soldier, then back again, and realization hit him like a rush of heat.

'Jesse!' he said, and started forward.

A heavy hand bit into his shoulder and he turned to fight it off only to find himself on the ground, struggling to breathe under the full weight of the adult man who'd stopped him.

'Let me go!' Kyle insisted.

'Easy, kid,' the man said. 'Take it easy. Nothing you can do.'

He kept repeating it, over and over, until Kyle stopped struggling and began to weep. Hard, painful sobs that felt ripped from his soul. The man went to one knee and held him, saying nothing, occasionally patting Kyle's shoulder. Then, after a minute or two, he urged him to his feet.

'We've got to go,' the soldier said. 'We've got to keep moving.

Okay?'

Kyle nodded. He felt sick and he thought that nothing was okay. But he wasn't going to slow down the squad and maybe get someone killed. Jesse was gone. The soldier gently pushed Kyle to go ahead of him and Kyle went, walking like a zombie.

How could this have happened? Kyle asked himself. His best friend, just… gone—in a stupid, meaningless accident that could have happened to anyone. It might have been him if he'd been walking just a bit slower. Or even both of them. Stupid, he thought. Jesse was gone. The resistance would be the poorer for his loss.

We could afford to lose me much more easily, Kyle thought.

Jesse's gifts weren't something he could replace no matter how hard he studied. Kyle looked around. But then, Jesse would never have been as good out here as I can be. He resolved at that moment never to be less than the best that he could be. In your honor, he pledged. I swear, Jesse, I'll make my life mean something.

But not here. He couldn't stay here where he'd lost so much.

He had to ask Jack to send him far away. Far away from all the pain and all the memories.

LOS ANGELES TWO YEARS LATER

Sergeant Kyle Reese armed the plasma satchel; it looked like a cylinder of smooth metal, and he didn't know exactly how it worked—more from the Wizards of Quebec—but it did work.

He nodded to Samantha. She armed hers, too; they were in what had once been downtown Burbank, and the HKs were out in force tonight—a big Grolo unit was crunching its way toward them through the cindered ash and twisted steel and skeletons.

Reese snarled, tasting the ash on his lips—the ashes of twelve million dead. He rose, threw—the satchel landed exactly under the Grolo's left tread—and ducked back down.

Samantha wasn't quite fast enough. One of the heavy plasma rifles bore on her as she threw, and—

He turned his head aside, closing his eyes for a single instant.

Got to get out, he thought. Got to get to the car. Think about it later!

* * *

John stood looking down at the young soldier. He'd been badly banged up in the crash, and burned, too. Nothing fatal, but nothing very easy to endure, either; medical facilities were still pretty basic at the outlying stations.

He's so unbelievably young, John thought. Kyle Reese's time hadn't yet come. He wished that he could get to know this young man, but he didn't dare. Hell, I don't dare touch him. For all he knew, touching his father might set off some kind of explosion, or cause them both to melt or something.

In his hands John held a picture of his mother. She'd been in Mexico when it was taken, she'd told him. Pregnant with him.

And she'd been thinking of his father at the time, and trying to decide what to do about Skynet and how to do it. John sighed.

They'd had so little time together. Like a lot of things about Kyle Reese's life, it was unfair.

The young soldier in the bed stirred and opened his eyes. For a moment they stayed blank. 'Burning,' he whispered. ' Got to get out, the fuel's going to go!'

'It's all right,' Connor said. 'You've been retrieved. You're back in the infirmary.'

It took a moment for Kyle to recognize John Connor. But when realization hit, he struggled to sit up.

'No,' John said, raising a hand to stop him. 'Don't you dare salute me. Just lie back and heal. We need you.'

'Thank you, sir,' Reese said, his words slightly slurred.

'I'm not just talking ragtime here, soldier,' John assured him. Boy, am I ever not just blowing smoke, he thought.

'My mission didn't go quite as planned, sir,' Kyle protested.

'They seldom do once the firing starts,' John assured him.

'You've rid the world of your share of HKs. And your commander tells me you're a good sergeant. It's my humble opinion that without good sergeants we'd be up shit's creek without a paddle.

Sometimes we do lose a little. But we win more than we lose. And ultimately we're going to win this war and take this world back from the machines. And it's men like you who are going to do that. So you rest, and you heal, and you get back in there.'

Kyle swallowed and nodded once. 'Yes, sir.'

John's lips jerked in an attempted smile. Then he laid the picture on his father's stomach.

'My mother,' he said in explanation, and watched the young man's eyes go wide. Sarah Connor, the legend, he thought wryly.

Christ, I'm setting my dad up with my mom.

* * *

Kyle picked up the picture and was caught. Sarah Connor was young in the photo; she looked soft, and feminine, and terribly sad. More than once he'd felt as sad and alone as her expression showed she was feeling. He felt a kinship with the woman in the picture, as though she was someone he could talk to.

Reluctantly he lifted his hand to give the picture back, but Connor was gone. Puzzled, Reese looked around, but the commander was definitely nowhere around. Still, he wasn't sorry that he didn't have to give the picture back. He looked at the young woman's face, studying every line, every angle. A sense of longing overcame him, a desire to know her. Kyle closed his eyes, and fell asleep, and dreamed of Sarah Connor.

RESISTANCE COMMAND CENTER FOUR YEARS

LATER

'John, my man, wait till you see what I've got for you!' Snog said. He was imitating the happy-talk excitement of a ginsu knife salesman.

John smiled wearily. His somewhat rough-and-ready treatment of his old friend had certainly smoothed out some of the wrinkles, but— But Snog is always going to be a goof. God, he makes me feel younger and older at the same time!

At least he wasn't completely crazy anymore, just productively weird. And he even fit in here at Regional HQ, which was as normal an environment as the world had to offer—rock and concrete, yes, but at least they weren't living on gruel and fighting Infiltrator units all the time.

'So what have you got for me?' Connor asked.

'I have the treasure of the Sierra Madre, King Solomon's lost mines, Atlantis, the missing link! You name it, man! We have discovered, here in the wilds of darkest Canada, the salvation of the human race! Hallelujah brother! Can I get an amen!

In the background, shouts of 'Amen!' could be heard from offices down the rock-hewn corridor.

'With a buildup like that, Snog, this better be good.'