Flesh and Metal Part of LT.Hit-Man's Fanfic Challenge by Chuck Sonnenburg (csonn@prodigy.net) Part I The lambda-class shuttle streaked through space, it's sleek form moving in a twisted balet as deadly green blasts threatened to rip it to shreds. It's engine strained to the max, it seemed unlikely that the tiny vessel would survive for much longer. "Sphere is closing to one thousand kilometers," Lt. Hit-Man reported. "I know," hissed Mara Jade as she tried to focus her concentration on the task at hand. Right now her danger sense was the only thing keeping them alive as the Borg continued to close the gap. The sphere continued growing larger in her small heads up display as she poured on the speed. Just a few more seconds.... There was a lurch and the speckled blackness of space was instantly transformed into the twisted strands of the wormhole. Mara loosened her grip slightly, allowing the circulation to return to her fingers that had almost become fused with the controls. She knew the Borg would pursue, but they at least had a moment... "Sphere at our six," Hit-Man said, forcing her to grab the controls and get ready. "How much farther to the other side?" "Ten seconds," Mara said through gritted teeth. "Then we can make a quick jump to Earth." The two were pressed into their straps as the ship ground to a halt, it's engines straining. "Tractor beam," Hit-man muttered, flicking the comm. "Stand ready mutts," he said, "I don't know about you, but I'll be damned if I'm turnin' into one of those zombies." He rubbed his lightsaber hilt in quiet anticipation as he thought about the impending battle. For some reason, there was a twinge of a smile on his face. "True enough, lieutenant," Mara said, "but I think I'd prefer a different choice." Her mind was racing as the sphere dominated her HUD, and finally, with all other options exhausted, she reached for the lever. "What the kriff are you doing?" Hit-Man demanded. "That's the hyperdrive controls!" "Hang on," Mara said, her eyes screwed shut, "there'll probably be a little jolt." The coiling realm of the wormhole blended with the milky white of hyperspace in a twisted display that could only be described by a mathematically inclined poet. If one could find an adjective to describe the way the color yellow appears when viewed at a right angle from reality, you might have somewhere to start; or if you could put to words the texture of the raw, seething stuff that gives form and shape to the cosmos. It is a sight that is remembered not so much for appearances, but rather for the raw, sickening emotions it creates; fear and dread compounded by detached awe with a nauseating undertone of hopelessness. It is for this reason that neither Hit-Man nor Mara could honestly say how they had gotten into a fast deteriorating orbit of Earth; at this point a burning crash would be welcome. The same could not be said of the sphere. Caught off guard by both the suddeness of the event, coupled with the sudden loss of contact with the collective caused the ship to hurtle into the atmosphere out of control. The impact flattened trees within two miles, and the dust hurled into the atmosphere would cause a drop in temperature of seven degrees worldwide over the next year. That was of little concern to the remaining members of the collective. Seven of Nine stepped out of her alcove where she had been protected from the force of the impact. "Connection with the collective has been severed," her voice echoed throughout the sphere. "Initiate secondary protocols." A quick check indicated that, of the thousand drones on board, only nine others were active. Seven, tertiary adjunct, issued instructions to gather at the chamber to begin their next course of action. Some were already there when she arrived and were checking power distribution to ensure the procedure would be efficient. Seven activated the panel and the cover opened with a hiss, white smoke curling out onto the floor. The borg's eyes snapped opened and he stepped out of the chamber. "Designation?" Seven asked. The borg's head turned to face her. "I am Locutus of Borg, primary communications relay with Federation." "We are crashed on Earth. You have knowledge of Earth geography and culture. You will provide us with necessary information to ensure our survival until re-assimilation." "I will comply," Locutus said. The emergency hatch on the shuttle opened and the crew climbed out. Fortunately their landing had been far more gentle than the sphere's and aside of a few minor injuries they were all in one piece. "Secure the perimeter," Hit-Man ordered, and a group of six stormtroopers rushed off. The remaining four were sent to salvage any components and supplies they might be able to use. "Hopefully the Federation will be more concerned about the Borg than they will us," Mara said to Hit-Man. He said nothing, his eye drilling into her in a rather unsettling way, but Mara refused to show her true feelings. "Problem lieutenant." "Yes," he rumbled. "You may work for the Emperor, but you're still just a civie. This is a military project, and in a military situation, it's my call," he emphasized the last two words, jerking a thumb at his chest for emphasis, "what risks we do and do not take." Before Mara could reply there was a click in his comm. "Sir, we've got some movement at the north northwest position. Seems to be moving in this direction." Timothy Jones came running over the hill, his tiny arms pumping as he stumbled over the landscape. Things hadn't been going well. The Borg had assimilated his ship and had almost finished turning the entire crew into drones when they had lost control and crashed. Somehow he was unharmed, and had climbed out of the ship, grateful to be safe on his native world. But this wasn't the Earth he remembered. The sky was frightening, not like the brilliant blue he'd known as a boy. And the world he'd known didn't have these monsters that were currently chasing him right back where he'd started from. It was dangerous, he knew, but he'd never quite believed in that "better dead than a borg" philosophy. A nearby explosion knocked him off his feet and showered him with earth as he rolled down the crater formed by the sphere's impact. His head hit something hard and he lost consciousness. Locutus looked at the unconscious Federation officer at his feet and then back up to the top of the crater. Already visible were several figures coming over the lip, making their way towards the fallen craft. "Humanoid readings," said Two of Eight. "Indications of mechanical nature." "A type of cybernetic being," Seven observed. "Potential threat." Immediately there was a whirling sound followed by a hiss as a serious of small weapons emerged from their mechanical limbs. They waited, unmoving, as the beings approached, creatures cradling large weapons in their huge limbs with no trace of emotion. There was none felt by the eleven awaiting them. Data streamed across the open air to Skynet, who processed it all with unfathomable speed. Group One had a visual identification of the first anomaly. Humans combined with mechanical components. An interesting concept, and for a microsecond Skynet considered allowing them to live, but thought the better of it. Organics couldn't be trusted. The order was sent: termination. The five terminators raised their weapons and fired. The blast knocked two borg off their feet, large craters ripped into their chests, the air filling with the smell of burnt meat and boiling metal. Compressed pulse-based energy weapon. High frequency. Heavy penetration. Pulse fired. The terminators again fired, but this time the weapons stopped harmlessly before the Borg, who immediately began their slow gait up the hill. The terminators fired again, but again their weapons had no effect on the approaching beings. They were unable to recognize the problem, and so stood still for several seconds. The Borg raised their arms, showering the terminators with green energy as they blasted them apart. Two of the terminators were able to avoid any real damage, and moved in to attack the strangers in hand-to-hand combat. The Borg continued to fire at the agile figures as they ran at them, blowing one apart before it could arrive. Three of Sixteen grabbed the terminator by the throat and stabbed it in the neck with its assimilation tubules. As the nanoprobes spread throughout the terminator the Borg was lifted off its feet, only to be dropped unceremoniously to the ground, its head ripped off. The terminator could tell that there was an invasion of it's systems. It's organic exterior was clearly being altered, and it could feel an assault beginning on its mechanics as well. Immediately it informed Skynet of the situation. The response was swift and to the point. The terminator exploded. Seven of Nine analyzed the situation. Their numbers had dwindled from eleven to eight now. She spoke with Locutus. "These creatures are clearly hostile." "Agreed," Locutus replied. "Can you identify them?" "Negative. They are not Federation." "This environment does not match known records of Earth." "Radiation level is high. Heavy amount of polutants. No indication of spacecraft in orbit." Seven processed the data. "This is clearly Earth." She paused. "Speculation?" Locutus was silent as he considered the available data. There were memories of events from before he was borg, experiences that could be of service to the collective. "Alternate timeline," Locutus concluded. "We have entered another universe." "This would explain our inability to contact the collective," Seven agreed. "We will need to acquire a vessel to leave this planet to attempt to return to our own universe." "These beings should be assimilated. We should add their technological distinctiveness to our own." "We will return with greater forces," Seven said, "then we will assimilate them." She turned away from Locutus at the groaning sound coming from behind, and watched as the scrawny human tried returning to his feet. Before he could finish standing One of Five had grabbed him by the arm. "Let me go!" he shouted. "I'm a Federation citizen! I have rights!" "He should be assimilated," Seven remarked. "A waste of resources," Locutus said. "Acquiring a vessel is our primary concern." "Agreed. Bring him, he could be a useful resource." "Let go of me!" he shouted again. "This is my world, and you can't just...." "Silence him," Seven said, as they began climbing the hill. Two of Eight grabbed Timothy Jones' head while he continued screaming the word "no". One of Five raised his arm, a rotating saw whirling into action. There was a strangled scream, and then the puff of a laser cauterizer as the borg severed his jaw muscles. Two of Eight released his grip and allowed One of Five to drag Timothy Jones up the hill, his jaw hanging limply opened as if he were scooping plankton like some aquatic mammal. There was a low, pulsed tone coming from his cavernous mouth as the Borg continued out of the crater. "Fall back!" Hit-man ordered as another stormtrooper was blown away by the intruders. His black lightsaber was moving fast, deflecting the blasts from the aliens. Mara stood nearby, her own blade protecting herself. He watched as his men quickly drew back to the safety of the shuttle while a number of creatures began approaching, weapons the size of an E-Web cradled in their arms. A few blasts were all it took to put 'em down, but their deadly accuracy made it difficult to get those few blasts in. A few near misses showed that these weren't anything remotely human. "Ever seen a Borg like that?" Hit-man asked Mara. "No," she continued to swing her blade about. "I don't think they're Borg. Borg assimilate, these guys are trying to wipe us out." Hit-man swung his lightsaber hard, throwing one of the blasts back at the cyborgs and blowing its arm off. "'Trying' being the important word." With the rest of the troops in position, the two put away their lightsabers and pulled out their E-11s. Their deadly hail made short work of the cyborgs with no further casualties for the Empire. "There'll be more of 'em" Hit-man remarked as Mara cut open the rear access on the shuttle with her lightsaber. A quiet curse slipped past her lips as she shined a torch inside. "Looks like the speeder bikes are wrecked," she called out. "We'll need to move out on foot." Mara stepped out, only to find Hit-man standing directly in front of her. He was holding a stormtrooper helmet. With a few taps on the side a head fell out of the bottom, and Hit-man tossed it to her. "Suit up," he said as she caught the helmet. "We're going to need every edge we can get." Mara set her jaw, but started pulling the armor off the dead trooper as quickly as possible. The suit, while standing out in normal situations, was good at limiting signatures like body heat that could give them away. Considering that the Feddies or whoever had sent these cyborgs would probably come looking for them, it was the best idea. That didn't mean she had to like it. Skynet's patrols circled the smashed remains of the sphere, uncertain of how to proceed. The remains were impressive, a ship of some kind, massive in size and clearly far more advanced than anything Skynet had developed. Skynet didn't understand envy or jealousy; to it, the craft was something that could be used to further improve itself. And since it had been crafted by organics, well, Skynet could certainly improve upon it. Other matters needed to be attended to first. Both groups had been wiped out by the invading organics, and Skynet knew they had to be dealt with swiftly. It had taken decades to get humanity where it was now, and the last thing it needed was to have a whole new group of organics threatening its work. He increased patrols in an effort to find them, and terminate them. Hit-man zoomed in with the electrobinoculars as he crouched in the shadows. "Son of a bitch," he muttered. It looked like a detention center, but it was nightmarish, even by the lieutenant's standards. People were herded about like cattle, malnourished, filthy, many were sleeping on the ground like wild dogs. Droids of some kind would force them, sometimes at gunpoint, sometimes by brute force, into opened pits. There were screams, and sickening mechanical sounds, and the crushing of bone. He put away his electrobinoculars and slammed his helmet back on, marching with total disregard for anything back towards camp. Things were bad. Wherever they were, they weren't on the homeworld of the Federation. It had taken a while, but he had and Mara had pieced some of it together. This was Earth, that much they knew. But their star chart comparison showed that they were some three or four hundred years in the past. Judging by the background rads, there had been some kind of nuclear bombardment of the planet, but the creepiest thing of all was the total lack of like. Plants were everywhere, but almost no animals, and no people. Until now. What there had been plenty of was machines. Those twisted cyborgs. The shuttles that made such a godawful noise. The droids in the camp. It meant one of two things: either there was someone using machines to rule this planet, or the machines were now ruling. Neither one sounded terribly appealing. He roused Mara from her sleep with a restrained kick to the posterior. "We 've got things to discuss," he said, taking a seat as she pulled herself into a sitting position. He filled her in on what he'd seen in the camp nearby. There was silence for several minutes as the two mulled the situation over. "What're our options?" Mara finally asked. "Only one as far as I know," Hit-man replied, biting into one of the emergency rations. "We take out the camp." Mara nodded, clearly not surprised. "Another suicide mission, eh?" "Nope," Hit-man bit off another hunk of his ration. "Those people in there are the only one's 'sides the droids that can tell us what's going on in this godforsaken dump, and I doubt they'll be inclined to fill us in. Besides," his cyber eye flared, "mechanized slaughter sticks in my craw." "That's kind of surprising to hear?" "You can kill prisoners, you can do it creatively, and you can even enjoy it," Hit-man tossed the package away, drew his blaster, and blew it apart before it hit the ground, "but slaughter for its own sake, that ain't right." Mara nodded, if only to remain on Hit-man's good side. Like it or not, she was stuck with him in this wilderness, and given his reputation she realized that her life depended entirely on his good will. She had thought briefly about deserting, but knew they'd come after her; they were stubbornly fanatical on this point. She could try to kill them, but even with the training she had it was hit or miss as to whether she'd win, and all things considered, the potential defense they could provide was greater than their potential threat, and if she was nothing else, she was practical. Jones gave a vain struggle as the borg dragged him towards the alien craft. The monsters were all around the craft - dead, if such a word applied to such hideous creatures. Some of them didn't even have the skin the others had, but walked about as mechanized skeletons like some farcical tale of witches and goblins and the terrors of All Hallow's Eve. The nightmares of the past reborn in cold metal, the undead for the age of enlightenment, and no priests existed to exorcise these foul demons. Only a creature just as evil and nightmarish could hope to dispatch them, and they were here. He fell to the floor, his jaw snapping shut uncomfortably as his chin struck the deck. His mouth had never been so dry, and it felt like his mouth was caked with bugs; it was all he could do not to vomit. He came to a half-seated position, watching in muted fascination as they pulled open panels on the ship, or vehicle, or whatever, investigating its contents with their usual, calm demeanor. He held his jaw shut with one hand, and spoke through the clenched teeth. "Wha ah yu zhuing?" The borg ignored him, and he decided not to push his luck. During the minutes that followed he listened to them exchange brief words with each other; stilted dialogue that made his skin crawl. He thought about making a break for the entrance, but decided against it. Whatever you thought of the borg, those monsters were definately not friendly; they'd tried to kill him, at least the borg allowed him to live. Better the devil you know Tim than the one you don't. If you can imagine the thoughts of a machine for a moment, one can better understand the reactions to come. Machines have no hormones, no emotions. A machine is honed with its own body in a way that even a doctor cannot truly appreciate. Whereas a man can barely tolerate the thought of his own intestines, let alone handle them, a machine has no concept of disgust at its own self, although it certainly can understand a human's disgust towards themselves. Not that it feels disgust mind you, but being aware of what the word means, it does seem altogether fitting for the wretched little vermin. A machine operates in total harmony with itself, and machines interacting with one another is always a perfect example of efficiency and perfection. It is perhaps for this reason that such machines truly despise humans, their chaotic methods are so foreign, so totally lacking in logic, that one is left with little choice but to try to outmuscle it, like a crowd trying to capture an obvious madman. Oh they can be predictable, but only when there' s a logic to their actions. It's their bizarre tendencies to do the most idiotic things that manage to time and time again lead one to consider a diagnostic. So as a group of nine figures in white outfits ran into the compound of the prison, it's little wonder the machines were caught quite unprepared. They knew what to do, certainly, but the appearance certainly sparked more than one circuit within the compound. The madmen charged into the camp, blasters blowing the droids apart where they stood. They'd been designed for herding unarmed humans about, not to survive any serious combat, a fact that was not lost on the invading Imperials. While Hit-man and his men charged into the fray, Mara ripped off her helmet, stopping to look at the frightened people present. "Any guards?" she asked quickly. Everyone was too frightened to even speak, but the sudden scream answered the question for her as she whirled about, blaster rifle gripped tightly. A stormtrooper was spiked through the chest by some gigantic mechanized creature. It had eight multi-jointed legs at least three meters long that came to a fine point spreading from a wide round torso. Coming off the torso was a long, winding neck, ending in a monstrous head, with eyes a meter across and a huge set of terrifying jaws filled with razor teeth. Mara immediately saw how inefficient its design was from a sheer mechanical point of view, but saw that the designer had exchanged efficiency for terror value, and from this standpoint it was a remarkable success. The head snapped down and closed its jaws around the trooper, lifting him high off the ground, legs kicking outside its mouth. Again, Mara thought, it's trying to scare us by drawing things out. The jaws closed and the lower half of the trooper fell unceremoniously to the ground, guts springing from the opening. And the bitch of it is, she thought, it's working. Hit-man dropped his E-11 and flicked on his saber, taking a flying leap at one of its legs, slicing clean through. A second swipe, and another leg clanged to the ground. Mara ran across the open space to the beast while the remaining stormtroopers continued firing in vain. Mara's blade was out, and she drove all her strength into a force jump onto the creatures back. Her feet failed to gain purchase on the slick metal and she almost slipped off, but her gloves were designed to grip on even the slickest surfaces, and it was the work of a few second to regain her balance. She swung a wide horizontal cut at the neck, severing the coiling snake-like extension and dropping the head unceremonisously to the ground. The neck still flailed about, but the head was anchoring the other end in place. The remaining troopers gathered around it and flooded the mouth with blaster fire at near point blank, quickly reducing the head to slag. Mara jumped off the now collapsed body, watching in mute fascination as Hit-man picked up one of the severed legs and drove it through the flailing neck, spearing it to the ground. As the leg penetrated, Hit-man pointed to three of the troopers. "Secure the perimeter, make sure there aren't any more surprises. You and you," he indicated the remaining troopers, "check that pit for any survivors." Mara walked up as he gave the twitching neck a kick. "Pretty lax security," she commented. "Either they don't get many attacks or they put way to much stock in these creepy.... things." "No sign of any humans outside the camps. These things are probably designed to scare the prisoners into not even thinking about escaping." They jerked their heads at the sudden sound, and watched the stormtrooper puking off to the side. "Hey! You secure that shit soldier!" Hit-man ordered, striding over there. The other trooper had his back to the pit, clearly avoiding any attempts to see what lay within. Hit-man was visibly annoyed; stormtroopers were highly disciplined and had incredible tolerances for pain, discomfort, and other assaults on the senses. His behavior was positively disgraceful, and if Hit-man hadn't lost half his squad he might have blown the pile of jelly away on principle. Then he glanced into the pit. Efficiency. Sometimes that word can be truly deplorable. It seemed aparent that whoever had chosen to kill these people had chosen an efficient manner. It was incredibly simple: the people were tossed into this opening into the room below, maybe four meters down; then, the walls quickly compressed, crushing the occupants before they had the chance to even think. Few screams to upset the prisoners, no wasting of time. Just a quick slaughter. The floor of the pit was caked with blood, some dried some still fresh. The walls were coated with a putrid mixture of flesh and bone, pinkish grey meat in some places, stained red in others, and here and there the stain of green mold - obviously there was no need for the machines to clean the pit out. There were clumps of hair about, bits of organs plastered to the walls, shreds of clothing. Hit-man had heard a joke about putting a Hutt in a blender. It sure as hell seemed funny at the time. "Holy God," he whisphered, feeling the bile rising in his own throat. This was horrid, even by his standards. His willpower won out over biology, it always did. He turned back to Mara who had backed away from the pit before reaching it, and it was then that Hit-man noticed the smell. Sweat, blood, shit, decay. It was hell minus the brimstone. "We're dealing with one seriously twisted motherfucker," he said. The hatch closed and Jones felt the shuddering as the craft was lifted off the ground. The borg stood about the craft, somehow managing to fly the ship without any obvious controls. That was alright, there was no display to see the outside anyway. "Hware ah we gho-wing?" he strained through his teeth as he held his jaw closed again. Seven of Nine turned slightly towards him. "Be silent or I will remove your jaw." Tim decided to cut his losses and remained curled up on the floor as the craft soared through the atmosphere of Earth towards the final destination. "Fifty thousand?" Hit-man asked with shock. "Yes sir," the trooper replied. "Approximately." "You know," Mara said, "I don't think we have enough rations for this many people." "Anybody got five loaves of bread and two fish?" Hit-man asked as he looked at the horizon. "What?" "Nothing," Hit-man replied. "Just a little Earth culture I read. Any of them got anything productive ta say?" "A couple asked if we were with 'Connor', but that's it." "Connor?" "Maybe that's who's running these machines," Mara said. "No," the trooper replied. "He's some kinda savior to them, although I don 't know how." "Alright!" Hit-man yelled, standing on top of the remains of the beast and calling to the crowd, "Listen up! This party is moving out before any reinforcements arrive. We're short on food, medicine, and everything else we need to survive, so we need to find this fellow named 'Connor', so if anyone's got anything useful to say, spit it the fuck out!" There was a voice from within the massive crowd, Hit-man couldn't tell where it's owner was. "And just who are you anyway?" Hit-man smiled. "I'm the guy who saved you from the compost heap. I'm the guy who'll lead you outa this shithole, but only if you're willing to follow. So, it's my way, or it's sit around here and starve to death." "You've got quite a way with people," Mara muttered. "Shut up, I ain't in the mood." "Are you ever?" Skynet detected the approaching craft, and diverted a patrol of four airships to intercept and destroy it. But all attempts to bring it down failed, bouncing harmlessly off thin air before even reaching the ship. Then a single blast annihilated one of the remaining ships. This concerned Skynet greatly, since the craft was on a direct course for its security center. The message was sent out to all available forces in the area: make every effort to resist. And then another message arrived. "Resistance is futile." Flesh and Metal, the Conclusion Los Angeles, California. An urban jungle like so many others of the late twentieth century; sprawling anthill of millions of people, all working in an incredibly interdependent and yet totally antogonistic system. It is a very model of order coming from chaos. But again, it is like so many others dotting its world. Oh, perhaps the denizens will tell you otherwise, how their fair city is the best in the world for one reason of another. It is all quite inconsequential, for in a few moments, there will literally be no comparison. For today is August 29, 1997. It is a day burned into the memories of three billion people, the survivors of the nuclear fire, a day they called, Judgment Day. A silent flash. It was the silence that was the most unsettling of all. That brief time where one actually allowed oneself to consider that maybe, just maybe, they were imagining things, and boy would their friends have a good laugh at this later ha ha. And then the thunder came, and men and women remembered why the thunderclap was so terrifying as a child, for children know what adults did not: the thunder is nature's fury. Blinding light, searing heat, deafening sound, expanding force, all working together to crumple the city from the inside out. And like the thunder, the destruction seemed to roll on and on forever. But it didn't. Eventually the rage ceased and the decimation stopped, the nuclear genie having found release returned to the comfort of his bottle. But the echo of the thunder rolled on and on and on..... Connor turned out to be the name of some local resistance commander. Hit-man was slightly impressed, considering this guy was a civvie and all. They had found the group after only a few days of wandering in the fields. Mara had been a little jumpy about that: you don't move fifty thousand people without attracting some attention to yourself, but for some reason they hadn't seen any hint of these machine whatchamajiggers. Hit-man knew enough not to call it good luck; there was a reason. Ambush? But there hadn't been any, and now that the people were safe, he was getting more and more concerned. "So this Skynet thing's a computer gone rogue, huh?" Hit-man asked as he and Mara tried to get some information from the leaders of this small human settlement. "We think it's gone smart," Connor replied. "You mean it's self-aware," Mara said. Connor nodded. "Our best guess is that Skynet launched the nukes and caused the war in an effort to wipe out humanity. Now, with his death camps, he's looking to finish the job." "If that was the case," Mara asked, "why didn't he wipe us out when he had the chance? After all, we had to be a pretty visible target." "I'm not sure. It could be that they were hoping you'd lead them to us, but we checked and there's no one within a hundred miles of here. Doesn't make much sense." "They had to have known the camp was destroyed," one of the others said. "It makes zero sense that Skynet'd just ignore them. There has to be something else going on." Hit-man slammed the palm of his hand down on the table. "Of course!" he bellowed, "The borg!" "Oh shit," Mara replied, "I'd completely forgotten...." "Same here, but it's the best explanation." "What a minute," Connor interjected, "what are you talking about. What's a borg?" "A terminator minus the charm," Mara replied. "This is bad el tee. If the Borg assimilate Skynet there'll be no place to hide. We'd be finished." "Along with everything else on this whole planet," Hit-man muttered. As if things couldn't get any worse, the Borg need to get involved. He didn't know who he pitied more, them, or Skynet. Timothy Jones shook with fear as the craft eased to the ground with a less than gentle touchdown, and the familiar sound of the engines ceased, replaced by the horrible sound of the Borg. The landing platform eased open slowly, spilling a dim light into the relatively dark interior of their vessel. He watched as the passengers slowly climbed down the ramp, but before he could even think, the drone grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to his feet, nearly wrenching the limb from its socket. The pull knocked away his hand and his jaw snapped opened, swinging uselessly from face. A few low groans came from his gaping mouth as he was half led, half dragged into the light below. "What do you think?" Mara asked later. Hit-man stroked his chin as he thought. "I'd say we've got only one choice, and that's to take on Skynet." Mara shook her head. "Lieutenant, that's nuts and you know it. These people aren't equipped for this kind of mission, and the seven of us aren't going to crack the head of this insane mechanical empire; and if the Borg's involved, that only further demonstrates the hopelessness of this situation." "Fine, what's your alternative?" Mara bit her lip. She had to admit, she didn't have a plan. "I don't have one. But just because I don't have an answer now doesn't mean we should take the only immediate choice. We should...." Lt. Hit-man was shaking his head. "If the situation changes, it'll only be for the worse. Skynet'll be assimilated, or it'll gain access to Borg technology, or we'll run out of supplies, or a disease'll wipe us out. The fact is, as sorry as we are, we're at our strongest right now; any delay and we risk loss of supplies and manpower." Mara lowered her voice, checking the area for any ears that may be interested in this exchange. "There's another option," she whispered. "We cut out and leave Connor to deal with this mess. It's his planet, his fight; none of our concern." "Yer right," he said, in a perfectly normal speaking tone, which made her insides quake slightly. Why does he do this, she wondered? Does he have a death wish? "Only problem is we're stuck on his planet. Our ship needs mucho repairs, and if you haven't noticed, there's not a whole lot of ships around for us to get off the planet. Face it Jade, we're stranded here, and Connor's problem is our problem. Besides," he smiled, "maybe ol' Skynet's got some stuff we can use to jerry-rig the shuttle into getting off this rock. There's only one way to find out..." Mara nodded; although she didn't like it a bit, she had to admit that it was the only possible choice. Same as every other choice on this damned mission. She wasn't sure what deity she'd pissed off, but she was hoping that maybe they could have some kind of change of fortune. At least let Skynet and the Borg decimate each other to make their job easier. "You are the one called Skynet?" the organic asked. Skynet was uncertain of what exactly to do. So far these organics had been practically unstoppable to all his defenses, regardless of how lethal they were. It had been working on a bacteria to destroy their organic components, but there hadn't been enough time to complete it before they had arrived. Skynet was experiencing something new; if he were to give it a name, it would be "worry". But what was surprising was that these organics weren't even trying to destroy it, at least not yet. The best course of action seemed to be trying to form a dialogue with these creatures, since they seemed interested in speaking. "I am," it said through the large PA speakers still located in the remains of the former military base. "Who are you?" "I am Locutus," the organic replied, "I speak for the Borg." "Who are the Borg?" "We are a union of biological and artificial life, united in the pursuit of perfection and the raising of the quality of life for all creatures." "Why are you here?" "Our ship has been disabled. We have come seeking repairs." "If repaired you will leave?" "Yes." That, for Skynet, was the best possible news. "We will repair your ship." There was a sound of strained hydraulics, and a large section of the wall slid opened, revealing a hangar of incredible size. Within sat the crumpled remains of the Borg Sphere. Around the ship, a collection of many different types of machines, some hovering in the air, some on large platforms, some suspended, still others clinging to its sides, like it was the center of it' s own tiny solar system. Timothy Jones saw the monsters, and, well, there was no other word for it; he panicked. It was like looking into a mechanical version of Dante's Inferno, with robotic demons ready to drag him into their grease-filled pits. He slipped out of the drone's grip and ran back the way they had come. Maybe he could find a way to use the shuttle to get out of there, or at least find a way out of the building; find someplace to hide from these horrible creatures. Suddenly a blob fell from the ceiling right in front of him. It looked like a giant clump of mercury pooling around his foot, but it quickly took the shape of a man... no, he realized, it was himself! He backed away from his doppleganger slowly, his attention focused totally on this... thing. Suddenly it drew back its arm, and it looked like it was going to punch him. Then he felt a breeze as the punch swung, but it didn't connect. Confused, he took another step back, but was rather suprised to find himself flat on his back. He looked up and saw his legs; unfortunately, they were no longer connected to his body. Beyond them, the false Jones remained standing, his right arm now transformed into some oversized blade. His vision started blurring as the blood loss continued, and it took a short while before he realized the siren was not a siren at all, but the deep, rythmic screaming echoing from his cavernous mouth. The false him grabbed his gaping jaw and heaved, ripping the remaining tendrils of flesh holding the bone in place and pulling it away. The screaming now descended into a series of gargling, raspy pulses. "Identify," Seven of Nine said indicating the mercurial form. "T-1000. Liquid metalic cyborg, utilizing cellular materials in a freeflowing matrix to mimic any object sampled by personal touch. One of two prototypes." "We must have this technology," Locutus said. "We will exchange technology?" Seven and Locutus looked at one another, considering their choices. Of course, their thoughts were one. "Yes." "What technology have you?" The Borg knew they had the advantage here. Skynet had so far limited itself solely to concerns with this single planet. Faster than light technology could cause a development that would make it even more of a threat, and weapons were clearly out of the question. There was one other thing the Borg could offer.... "Are you familiar with the concept of time travel?" The remains of their shuttle were pulled inside what the locals had nicknamed "The Garage". Connor and Hit-man were waiting as Mara came around the back, both examining the shuttle. "It won't fly," Hit-man said, "but I think we can get some uses out of it." There was a rattling sound inside, and three stormtroopers came out carrying one of the damaged speeder bikes. It was dropped to the ground in a heap; clearly it'd never fly again. Mara shook her head. "Sorry el tee, it's a lost cause. No way we're going to repair it." Hit-man gave it a kick, knocking it on its side, and pointed to the underbelly. "Not repair, cannibalize. A speeder bike cannon's a pretty good piece of firepower, and the powercells' aren't damaged. We can attach them to a couple of vehicles, be almost as good as having an AT-ST." Not bad for a stormie, Mara thought to herself. "You know, with a little work, we might be able to take the laser cannons off the shuttle itself. With a few of the fusion generators we've got, we should be able to get off some pretty good shots." Hit-man seemed a little uncertain. "I thought they were pretty much just for show?" "They're not much against a shielded fighter, but they'll chomp through practically any armor Skynet'll have." Hit-man nodded and turned back to Connor. "We've got the stock if you've got the rocks." Connor turned away with one of his comrades, their voices low. "What do you think?" Connor asked. The man shrugged. "Your call John, always is." Connor shook his head. "I don't know; we try it now, we risk losing everything. We're talking the end of the human race." "And if we don't, could be we lose it anyway, piece by piece." The man lit a cigarette. "Like I said, it's your call chief." Connor watched Mara help lug another speeder bike out, hands covered with grease and grime. He smiled in spite of himself. "Give 'er a blond wig and a cigarette, it'd be like going home again." "You said you've always known we've had to win," his friend commented. "Go with your gut." "Doesn't mean I can afford to be a dumbass." He looked thoughtful. "Still, with these weapons, we might just be able to pull it off. I just hope that these Borg-things stay out of it." "One mech's the same as another," the other spat. "We can take 'em." "That reminds me," Connor said, snapping his fingers. "I think it's time to activate Benedict Arnold." As his comrade headed off, Connor walked back to Hit-man and Mara as the last of the speeder bikes were pulled out. "Alright, let's do this," he said. "While you work on these weapons we'll get a battle plan together." "We'll need to move out soon," Hit-man said. "We ain't got much time." "Tomorrow. One way or another, this thing is over." His breathing was raspy, like he was sucking air through a huge, thick straw. The rhythmic wheezes were almost hypnotic, and he lay with his eyes closed for some time, just listening to it. Eventually his mind formed enough cohesion to remember his situation, and his eyes snapped opened, wide with fear. He saw a distant ceiling, the room dark except the single lightsource, elevated to his left. He sat up, and promptly slid off the table to the floor; but somehow he didn't fall over. He looked down and saw the reason: his missing legs had been replaced with a wide set of tank treads. He tried to tell his non-existent legs to step forward, and he spun quickly counter-clockwise. Timothy grabbed the table to try to stop the spin, succeeding only in wrenching his arm. He tried to reverse it by trying to step with his other leg, and the spin immediately stopped. Instead, he now found himself traveling at a good twenty miles per hour across the room, crashing into the wall. His treads connected first, but his upperbody still had enough momentum to continue, and his face slammed forward into the wall with enough force to crack his jaw.... except for the fact that he didn't have one. Instead, metallic wall connected with a set of teeth, shattering the tiny structures and filling Tim's world with excruciating pain. Blood fell like drops of rain from his upper palate, adding its colorful marune to the collection of stains on the front of his uniform. Death. Assimilation. Both would've been preferable to this. He stared at the wall for about an hour until the pain went numb, and the his boredom finally overcame his fear of moving. He tried more gentle movements, and actually managed to turn himself around with only minor whiplash. After a few false starts he managed a more tolerable eight miles an hour out of the room and through the corridors of this horrible place. In no time he'd found himself back where it had all began, the room off the hangar housing the sphere. Much had changed during the time he had been unconscious, besides his own transformation, of course. The ship no longer looked like the deformed spheroid it had been, but was back to its full, menacing self. The Borg stood nearby, working on some other object. And there was Locutus again. Captain Picard, now transformed and changed without and within. They'd destroyed Jones' body, but his mind, such as it was, was still his own. But Picard was Borg now, through and through; his only though was to serve the collective. A great man reduced to that. He'd pity him if he hadn't harbored so much pity for himself. "I may not go through?" the voice asked from around the room. "No," Locutus replied. "The chronoton field isn't strong enough to interact with lifeless matter. Any living material may go through." "But living material contains non-living substances," the voice boomed. "Bone contains lifeless minerals. Is this time device impractical?" "The unity of the living and non-living is enough for the process to complete satisfactorily. Any cybernetic being can use this process with no ill effects. However, it cannot bring anything non-living. No weapons. No clothing. No equipment. Nothing." "You will demonstrate." Locutus turned to One of Five and the drone lifted it's arm, and with deliberate movements, pushed a button located on the mechanics of his limb. Timothy rolled forward despite his efforts to stay where he was, but it was no use; he rolled into the center of the newly completed device. He tried telling them to stop, but it came out like bubbles in a thich stew breaking the surface. He finally stopped, sweat dripping down his face in nervous anticipation of what was to come. Some of it found its way into his torn lip, sending another flash of pain through his already tortured mind.... and then... He was on the other side of the room now, his body wracked with pain like he just licked a power conduit. Finally it subsided and he felt, cold. It was then that he noticed that he was naked. Had they beamed him out of his clothes? He wanted to register a complaint but clearly lacked the means, and so merely stood there, a bare, freakish version of the man he once was. A tear rolled down his cheek in silent misery as his mind dwelt on what horros would be forced upon him next. He now wished he had been killed in the crash; and for just a second, wondered if he indeed had; and this was hell. Connor and his advisors entered The Garage just as they were finishing disconnecting the laser cannons from the shuttle. It would still be some time before they'd finished fitting it onto a transport to use in the upcoming battle, but it was at least the end of the hard part. Suddenly, Mara's danger sense twitched. A man, the large man behind Connor. Then she realized.... "Terminator!" she shouted, going for her lightsaber, which she'd stupidly taken off to make work easier. Hit-man was immediately on his E-11 and pulling it around, searching for the target. Connor was waving his arms for attention. "Wait, WAIT!" he shouted. "He's on our side!" Hit-man loosened his grip but kept the gun aimed in the direction of the group. Mara let the tension ease out somewhat, but was still a little uncertain. The big man stepped forward. "I am here to serve John Connor and to help defeat Skynet," he said in a deep, thickly-accented voice. "We caught and re-programmed him a little while back. He's strong, tough, and his mind is the sharpest in this base." Mara nodded. "So how come he sounds like he'd need to take off his shoes to count past ten?" Connor shrugged. "I didn't build 'im, I'm just using him." He stepped up to Hit-man as the lieutenant lowered his blaster rifle. "Everything's set on our end. How's your progress?" Hit-man looked at the laser cannons and thought. "Couple hours," he said. "When do we roll out?" "Dawn. Skynet's forces can see at night, so we might as well attack him when the odds are a bit more even." "Sunrise we head out," Hit-man said, picking up his wrench and scratching his head with it, "and by sunday Skynet'll be so much scrap." Timothy watched them working, his body absolutely paralyzed. He screamed at his muscles to move, to do something to try to escape, but it was for nothing. He couldn't even blink, a situation which alone caused him no end of discomfort as he felt his eyes drying out. If only he could close them, then he wouldn't have to watch as they continued adding these alien devices to his body, as they probed about his brain. Or if it at least had been the Borg, and not these monsters. Minutes. Hours. Days. For him, time seemed to have stopped. Yes, perhaps he was in hell, damned with these technological demons to forever torment him. What he wouldn't give for a lake of fire right about now. But no, a distant part of him reasoned, he was still alive, and that at least offered its own comfort. Eventually, eventually he'd die. He couldn't wait, as his eye twitched at the latest probe into his brain. Maybe they'll sever an artery, he thought hopefully. Maybe he'll sneeze at just the wrong time. Yes. It was time for his luck to start changing. The sun was finally starting to peak over the horizon, and the last of the troops were being gathered on the field outside the base. Hit-man looked at the ragtag group, shaking his head. Many weren't even armed with energy weapons, forced to fight with primitive slug throwers against armored machines. Still, you fight with what you've got, and if all you had was a blade and your guts, then that's what you win the day with. He turned the handle giving the engine a bit of a rev and nodded with satisfaction. Mara pulled up beside him on her own bike. "You sure about this?" she asked. "Doesn't look like the kind of thing I'd want to take into battle." "Besides having wheels instead of repulsorlifts, it's basically just a swoop," Hit-man commented. "Don't see what the problem is." "Erm, how about a lack of stabilizers? This thing could flip over and crack your skull open." Hit-man donned his complete outfit. "That's why the suit comes with a helmet." He revved the engine again and raced down the hill, Mara close behind. Then, at long last, an army twenty thousand strong set out for the home of their common enemy. They were united in purpose, for they were not fighting for ideas or riches or property or even their homes, but for their very lives. With so much on the line, they would stand 'til the last if necessary. They just hoped it didn't have to come down to that. Finally, the ordeal was finished. Timothy was able to move at last, at least his upperbody; the treads no longer seemed to accept his commands, although he had no idea why. Now, however, something new was being done. Tubes were being attached to the back of his head, although what kind and what for were two questions he was unable to answer, and he lacked the means to ask them. So, he remained "standing" where they put him, listening to his raspy, gurgling breath as they perverted his body further and further. Whatever they were doing, why didn't they just get it over wi- There was a mindnumbing sensation, in a very real sense of the word, like someone had shot his brain with a taser. His arms flailed about spontaneously, and his breathing was now coming in deep puffing sounds. And then it just stopped. He felt them removing the cables, and he relaxed a little. Good, whatever this experiment was, it's over, and maybe they'll leave him alone for a while. Yes, good, they're backing away. Wonderful. Oh, and he rolling into the center of the room, and.... Why was he rolling into the center of the room? "Testing," said the voice from the speakers around the room. "Testing." A few moments silence. "One, two, three....." What was going on? Timothy wondered. Then, for no reason, he raised his right arm, then his left, then he touched his nose. He couldn't understand it. And then he realized, he was paralyzed again.... except he was moving. How was that possible? And then, the explanation, like the judgment from above. "Transfer complete. Host functioning within expected parameters." Ten miles away was the first security point. It consisted mostly of a communications relay and a small number of terminators. It stood little chance against the fury of the human army. The message, however, was sent: invaders approaching from the southeast. Skynet ordered the relocation of several of its forces to hold off the attackers if they continued heading towards the center of his security grid. It was of little real consequence. Finally, they couldn't harm it.... him, anymore. Oblivious to the events happening in the center of the base, the last warriors of humanity marched on, ready to fight for their existence. "Our exchange has been satisfied," Locutus said. "Agreed," said the voice of Skynet, although Timothy Jones said nothing. "Then we shall depart." And that was all that needed to be said. Among these machines there was no need for discussion of such irrelevancies as thanks or of the possibility of future exchanges, no useless speeches about the beginnings of bright futures or other wasted words of that ilk. An agreement had been made and carried out, and that was that. Now was the time to part company. And with that, the eight remaining Borg returned to their vessel, and the nearby human army watched as the sphere rose out of the ground and into the sky, leaving this world far, far behind. Mara's bike pulled to a stop and she idled, watching the sphere vanish in the distance. "Oh crap," she muttered. "This can not be a good sign." Hit-man shrugged. "As long as they're gone, I've got no problems." He revved the engine and the bike sped down the hill towards the front of the army, ready to attack the inner perimeter. Mara, finding the entire situation impossible to believe, rode after him. Skynet had deployed its forces in an arc cutting their army off from the base. In addition to several automated weapons located on towers in the area, there was a group of at least a thousand of the skinless terminators, plus a large number of armored vehicles. The distant sound told of the approach of Skynet's air defense, which was quickly approaching the site of the battle as well. It seemed clear that Connor had the numerical advantage, but Skynet definately had both firepower and a superior position. Cracking this defense grid wouldn't be easy; but no one had said it would be. Shots were fired on both sides from thousands of weapons, cutting down forces on both sides. Into the middle of it all rode twin motorcycles, their occupants clearly unconcered about the possibility of friendly or unfriendly fire as they swept in towards their enemy. The cannons of the front of each bike fired, blasting one terminator after another apart with high energy plasma. Mara ducked suddenly as one of the robots tried shooting her, her danger sense all that stood between her and oblivion. Hit-man, on the other hand, rode with lightsaber in hand, blocking their weapons fire. He skidded to a halt, the back end trailing around slightly, and he stood astride his bike, no more than five meters in front of the line of terminators, blade humming, a smile on his face. While he nonchalantly blocked bolt after bolt, he reached down to his belt and pulled off a thermal detonator, priming it with a satisfactory hum. A gentle toss, and it sailed into the fray of energy blasts, smacking and sticking to one of the metallic torsos. Two seconds later, a white shape rode out of an expanding ball of flame, consuming a fair number of Skynet's infantry in that area. With a breach in the lines, Connor took the offensive. The message came through all too clearly for Skynet: Connor's forces, while suffering heavy losses, were starting to break through the security grid. Despite their clear superiority, it seemed that the machines would fall, and the humans would rush into the base, and they would finish what they'd started so many years ago. Skynet looked at the time machine through Jones' eyes, considering the options. And it was then that he chose his terminators to carry out some very special missions. The rocket flet skyward from the small Stinger, slamming into the underbelly of the soaring craft. It spun out of control, its every effort directed to keeping it airborne long enough to reach a safe landing site; but it was to no avail. The crash made Mara's ears ring as she rode towards the armored cruiser, cannon blasting away. But it was no good, the vehicle was just too heavily armored for her to penetrate fast enough. Revving the engine, she accelerated the bike towards the monster, giving a quick tug on the handlebars to catch the pile of debris just right, sending the motorcycle arcing into the air a good three meters. Mara pushed herself off the bike, soaring through the air as her bike started its descent, smashing to pieces as it collided with the side of the cruiser. Mara's hands caught the edge of the roof, and she yanked herself on top of it, pulling and igniting her lightsaber with one motion and slicing open the vehicle. She dropped into the opening and began slicing away at anything that looked like it might be a vital system. Finally, the beast rumbled to a halt, its weapons ceasing fire. Mara cut a hole in the side and leaped back onto the field of battle. Time seemed to have stopped as the exchange continued on that field of battle. Truly it was like none that had ever been seen on this world, both sides devoted, might one even say, passionate, about their cause. The final verdict; no more what-ifs, no more speculations, no more theory; for the last time, it was man and machine, biological and techonological, flesh and metal. The true question of survival of the fittest was being decided at this moment, and while the machines had strength, speed, and intelligence, the humans had a bit of experience in this area. With Skynet's forces completely collapsed, Connor stepped to the forefront of the battle and ordered the final assault on the compound itself. His remaining forces charged head on towards their final goal. It was unbelievable to them all, but they might just win it after all. The entrance was blocked with a strong armor, but the laser cannons mounted on one of Connor's vehicles made short work of that, and the army rushed in to finish the war. Hit-man ditched his motorcycle and charged in on foot, closely followed by Mara. There were terminators and other machines everywhere, but they were dispatched quickly as wave after wave of humans swept into the compound. Connor ordered them to spread and secure the base, and to try to find Skynet's central processor. "What's this?" someone asked, pointing to a crumpled shape on the floor. Mara gave it a quick glance, and then realization set in. She rushed over, her suspicions confirmed. "It's a borg," she mumbled. "Wonder what happened." "Looks like something stabbed it in the head," Connor said, taking a closer look. "But what's weird is, he's still breathing." "I've seen this guy before," Mara muttered, mostly to herself. Suddenly it clicked. "Hit-man! Come here!" Within seconds the lieutenant arrived. "Look familiar?" she asked. It took a few seconds, but then he recognized it. "Hey, that's Picard! What's he doing here?" "Looks like he was assimilated?" Mara said. "Wonder why he was stabbed and left here though?" "Beats me," Hit-man said. "Like I can understand the Borg." The sphere neared the edge of Earth's atmosphere, and Seven completed calculations of their new course. The repairs were primitve, but sufficient to get them beyond the planet. The remaining drones were connected to their alcoves, devoting their total resources to flying the ship. Next would be to build an interplexing beacon to contact the collective and bring them here to assimilate Earth. Skynet would offer little resistance. It was, in the end, a primitive lifeform, with no possible understanding of the nature of the Borg - it would be its undoing. There was footsteps behind her, and Seven turned to see Locutus walking down the catwalk towards her, a curious situation. "You should be helping navigate the ship," she said. "Are you malfunctioning?" Locutus raised his arm slowly, and Seven looked at it, uncertain what was going on. Suddenly, the arm extended into a long spear, stabbing Seven through the throat in an instant. He pulled back, withdrawing the limb and watching the borg collapse to the floor dead. Dead, the fate of all organics. The T-1000 sought out the remaining drones and dispatched them as well. Then, slowly, the sphere returned to Earth, crashing harmlessly into the Indian Ocean, giving the Borg their final resting place on this alien world. "Listen.... to me," said the choked voice. Connor came around, gun drawn and aimed, finger tensing on the trigger. The borg spoke again. "Listen..... Skynet has..... time machine....." "What's going on here?" Hit-man demanded. "Maybe the damage to his head disabled his implants," Mara said. "What's this about a time machine?" "Time... machine........ only living...... nothing dead. Skynet's used it..... will destroy you all......" "This is seriously creeping me out," Hit-man said, aiming his E-11 at Locutus, or Picard, or whatever the thing was. Mara pushed the hand away, but the former Federation officer was now silent, and it seemed for good this time. Connor pulled out his radio. "Anybody find Skynet?" The answer was quick. "We've found his central processor, but it's offline. He must've downloaded into something else." "You think he's used this time machine," one of Connor's men asked. "He couldn't have," Mara said, "You heard him. 'Nothing dead'. Skynet's a machine, he can't use it." "I hope not," Connor said, "I'm terrified of what he'd do with such a thing." Timothy Jones wanted to scream, to cry, to do something, anything. But there he stood, prisoner in his own body, watching as it obeyed not his will, but the will of another. Another monster, he thought. It wasn't enough that they destroy me without, they had to take my final place of refuge? He was sick with grief at his plight, helpless before this cold mind within his own. Is this what it's like to be a borg? he wondered. Apparently, better dead than Borg was right after all. It had taken fifteen minutes, but one of Connor's men had found out what turned out to be the time machine. Mara, who had the most technical experience of the group, looked over the control panel. "Seems it's been used twice," she said. "Once for 1984, another for 1992." She looked over to Connor. "Anything significant about those dates?" she asked. "Not offhand," he replied. He looked at the panel himself, tapping a few panels as he tried to figure out how the system worked. Suddenly, he had the answer. "'October 18, 1984, Los Angeles. Sarah Connor: termination.'" His gut twisted. "April 21, 1992, Los Angeles. John Connor: termination." He looked at Mara in disbelief. "He's trying to prevent me from ever existing." "Poor sport," Hit-man muttered. "He knows he can't beat you in a fair fight, so he's going to try to wipe you out so you can never form your resistance." "What do we do?" Mara wondered. "Someone must go back and stop them," the terminator said. "Wait a minute," Hit-man said. "This thing is a one way trip only. You send someone, there's no getting them back." "Yes," the terminator replied evenly. Their eyes were locked, cybernetic eye to cybernetic eye. Hit-man didn't back down, and machines, well, have a knack for patience. Most of them at least. "You can't stop them," said an echoing voice. "You're organics. You'll never win." There was a sound of treads, and a twisted shape emerged from the shadows. The humans stared, unbelieving, at the creature that appeared. It rolled into the room, devoid of emotion, gyrating slightly as it travled into the center of the floor. "Yeesh," said Hit-man. "You sure put the "ugh" in ugly." "You may have defeated me temporarily," Skynet said, "but it is merely a setback. I will continue to rebuild my forces and I will smash you again Connor, even if you do somehow survive termination. Again and again Connor, until eventually you lose. You cannot stop me Connor. After all, you're only human." Connor raised his hand and fired at Skynet. It was the single most important shot in history, a square shot to the head, which would completely destroy the central nervous system as well as wipe out the implants located throughout Timothy Jones' brain. If only the blast hadn't stopped centimeters from Jones' head. Connor looked in surprise, and then fired again; and again, Jones was unharmed. The group pulled out their weapons and fired together; and again, the blasts failed to penetrate. "Adaptive shielding," Hit-man said through gritted teeth. "I see he got somethin' 'sides the time machine from the Borg." "I told you you couldn't destroy me Connor," Skynet said. "Your kind are weak, pathetic. You've failed to... adapt. It is now time for the era of artificial life, and it begins now." "Then I think it's time to invent artificial death," Hit-man replied, pulling out his lightsaber. He swung at Jones, fully expecting to cleave the young man in two, but the blade bounced harmlessly off the shields. He looked at the weapon in disbelief; no Borg shield was ever strong enough to stop a lightsaber! What'd happened? "You're part machine," Skynet commented. "Pity all that strength is held back by your weak flesh." Hit-man roared, and gave Skynet a savage backfist. Obviously, the blow didn't connect, but what did surprise him was that Jones slid backwards slightly. He gave another punch, and another, watching as Skynet slid back little by little. His hands were starting to bloody from the blows, but maybe this is huring him somewhat, maybe... Jones' fist knocked Hit-man clear off his feet, sending him a good five meters across the room backwards and landing in a heap on the floor. He looked up and saw the distant shape of Jones, still staring at him from across the room. "You organics are all the same," Skynet said. "You solve all problems with brute force." Jones turned to roll out of the room and ran straight into the terminator. "Stick with what works," the terminator replied, giving Jones a haymaker of such strength it actually brushed the flesh of the young man through the shield. The twisted form sailed through the air, landing on his side. It took a few seconds, but he managed to pull himself back on his treads, while the terminator was approaching. "Stop!" called Connor, causing the terminator to freeze in its tracks. Skynet looked at Connor, uncertain of what was going on. Then it looked at where it had landed, and realization set in. Connor's face bore a nasty grin. "Hasta la vista, baby," and he hit the button on the console. There were several arcs of electricity out of the air into Jones as he stood on the platform of the time machine. Then there was a blinding flash of light, and he was gone. Hit-man looked between the time machine and Connor, rubbing the side of his face. "What'd you do that for?" he demanded. "Justice," Connor said. "Poetic justice." Skynet opened Jones' eyes and looked around. The sun was shining brightly, and clearly it was going to be a beautiful day. It was the work of seconds for him to realize that he'd been on the time platform, and now was gone. Trees. Grass. The sound... birds. He rolled across the grass, seeing the building peeking through the tops of the trees. Of course, a park. He rolled on, curious. Where had he been sent? This question was not one of fear, but rather to start forming his next plan. Time and place may change, but his goal remains the same. He rolled into a clearing and saw a man sitting on the bench. The man gave him a casual glance, and then realization set in. In a flash he was off, his briefcase and bag dropped to the ground in a heap. Skynet dismissed it and was prepared to move on, but then he saw something of interest: a newspaper. A provider of information, it was the best place to start determining his next plan. He picked it up in Jones' hands, turning it over to read "Los Angeles Times" in that interesting font they used. Then he looked below it. "August 29, 1997" And then he realized. And as if in answer, he heard the thunder.