Paradise (Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles)
Title: Paradise.
Fandom: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles.
Word Count: 2200
Spoilers: For the entire run of the series.
Rating and warnings: PG for non-graphic violence.
Synopsis: Five timelines that might have happened.
Author’s note: I did my best to get the character ages and details of who knows what in which timeline right, but it’s very complicated. Any inconsistencies are probably errors rather than subtle hints.
For oyceter, who came up with several of the scenarios, though now I forget which are hers and which are mine. Enjoy!
Blue
Jesse should have known not to pin her hopes on the innocence or heroism of a tunnel rat. All that careful planning ruined in a few cowardly, selfish sentences.
Once Riley had confessed, there was nothing more Jesse could do. Except construct a trap involving a road block, some explosives, and an electrified puddle of water right where the metal would step in it to take the shortest route to protecting John. Derek would have enjoyed the set-up - he was always a big advocate of blowing stuff up - and for a second she thought about calling him. When she remembered that she couldn’t, she felt a vague, numbed sensation in her chest which she eventually identified as loss.
The slope she waited on was full of trees. For years, she’d never seen a tree, never seen anything but humans and metal, and the work of humans and metal. She could remember thinking that if she ever saw a tree again, she would be perfectly happy. She stared at the nearest one to see if that would actually work. But she couldn’t focus on it, and when she found herself gazing at the road a moment later, she couldn’t remember what the tree had looked like.
The blow that slammed into her back came as a physical shock, but her only emotion was the recognition of her own lack of surprise. Of course it hadn’t worked. None of her plans ever worked. Of course the last thing she’d see, like the last thing so many people had seen, would be an expressionless metal face.
Riley’s solid body thumped down to on her knees beside Jesse. The girl’s mouth opened and closed as she gestured wildly with two empty hands. There were more people behind her, but Jesse couldn’t tell who they were. Everything was blurring out, fading out from sight and memory like that tree she hadn’t cared about after all. The one clear thing was Riley’s face, with her eyes as blue as the shallow pools of paradise. And then that too was gone.
Road Trip
Jesse woke up so sick and battered that she couldn’t even muster up any surprise at having woken up at all. Pain in her head, pain all through her body, nausea and dizziness made worse by the motion of the car, the knowledge that her plan had failed and everything had been for nothing.
She kept still and tried to wonder who was driving. A little mystery, like a little sex, was often a good distraction. But the answer was as obvious (Riley, by basic logic and the scent of green apple shampoo) as they usually were. (Can J-Day be prevented? No.) Though there were a couple others that were less obvious.
“Where are you taking me?” Jesse asked the question without opening her eyes. Sunlight warmed her face and turned her vision to shimmering red.
“Mexico.” The car’s motion didn’t change. Riley had known Jesse was awake. Once a tunnel rat, always a tunnel rat.
“Why?”
“I told John who I was and why I was here. So there’s no point sticking around. It wouldn’t have worked anyway. Maybe if you’d gotten Cameron to kill Sarah.”
“How could I have done that?”
There was a long silence. “Good question,” said Riley, and turned on the radio.
“But why did you bring me with you?” asked Jesse.
“Would you rather go running back to your failed mission and the boyfriend who’s plotting your death?” Riley let Jesse’s silence become an answer. “Mexico’s nice. The sun shines. The food’s good. You could do worse.”
Jesse opened her eyes. Riley’s hair glowed in the sun. Maybe it would be even brighter in Mexico.
“Guess we have to live somewhere while we wait for the end of the world,” said Jesse. “Make sure our hotel has a pool.”
Timeline
Riley stepped out of the blue light, bracing herself for the shock of cold on her naked body. But the air was warm. She was inside. She wasn’t supposed to materialize inside. They had specifically said she’d be outside and out of the range of unassisted human vision.
A woman with dark hair and a battered face was holding a gun on her. That definitely wasn’t supposed to happen.
Riley put up her hands. “I won’t hurt you. I’m-”
“You’re dead.”
Riley dropped to the floor and kicked the low wooden table up at the woman. As the woman dodged, Riley continued her forward roll, then slammed into something on the floor that the table had concealed.
A dead body.
Herself.
Hostile woman with gun and thousand-yard stare. Her own dead body. Okay.
“I’m from the future,” Riley said, sitting up.
“So am I.” The woman had switched to a one-handed grip, but kept her gun aimed at Riley. “So was she. Who sent you?”
Riley was silent as she sifted through the possibilities. The woman was presumably with Skynet, since she had killed the other Riley. Except that the presence of another and also time-traveling self meant the timeline was completely fucked, so for all Riley knew, other Riley had been the one working for Skynet, and this woman was on current Riley’s side.
“Forget it,” said the woman. “It’s obvious. You’re from a future where my plan succeeded. John Connor sent you back to protect his precious metal.”
“Savannah sent me back to protect John Henry,” said Riley, surprised into the truth. “Who’s John Connor?”
The woman went so still that Riley knew she’d given the wrong answer. She had no leverage or reach from this position, but she’d-
For a moment Riley thought the woman had started sobbing, but then she recognized the sound as laughter. Then she couldn’t tell.
“Come on, sweetie.” The woman swiped at her face with the back of her hand. “Let me get you some clothes. When you’re dressed, you can tell me who Savannah and John Henry are. And then, if we’re still on the same side, you can help me dispose of this body.”
Recruit
Riley took another stick of gum from her purse and popped it in her mouth. If she’d known the “special presentation” was going to be attempted brainwashing by pro-war recruiters rather than potentially amusing attempted brainwashing by anti-sex crusaders, she’d have gone to the movies instead.
Buzz Cut White Dude (Marines), the sequel to Buzz Cut Latino Dude (Army) who had been the sequel to Buzz Cut Other Latino Dude (Coast Guard) who had been the sequel to (for variation) Shaved Head Black Dude (Air Force), finished his spiel and left the stage. All the teachers and about three of the students clapped. Riley blew a pink bubble, but sucked it back in when the next uniformed person strode onstage. This one was a small Asian or multiracial woman with thick black hair braided and coiled up at the back of her neck.
“Lt. Flores, US Navy,” the woman announced in an accent Riley didn’t recognize. “If you’re all thinking you know why I got picked to talk about the Navy, you got that right. No, we don’t have height requirements. No, you don’t have to have been born in the USA - in fact, if you’re not an American citizen but you’d like to be, joining the Navy is an easy road to citizenship. And yes, women can serve on submarines. But there’s a lot more to the Navy than that.”
She scanned the auditorium of bored teenagers, catching and holding eye contact with several of them, then moving on. Riley wished everyone would stop snickering. The submarine woman seemed cool, for a military brainwasher. Then Lt. Flores was looking straight at her. Riley jumped. It was as if a spotlight had been turned on her, trapping her in a circle of dazzle and heat.
“You there,” said Lt. Flores. “What’s your purpose in life?”
Probably everyone was still laughing, but Riley wasn’t listening to them any more. It was such a crazy, unexpected question to ask. “I don’t have one. No one does. You’re born for no reason, and then you die, and that’s all there is.”
As she spoke, Riley realized what was so different about Lt. Flores: she was looking at Riley as if she mattered. As if Riley did have a purpose, and Lt. Flores knew what it was.
“We’re not low on numbers right now,” said Lt. Flores. “We don’t need a lot of recruits. We just need a few- the right few. You’ve already heard from the other branches about camaraderie and job benefits and scholarships. You can get that with us too. But I want to talk to you about something else. Do you know how few people get a chance for their lives to mean something?”
When Lt. Flores finished talking and left the stage, the applause was still limited to all the teachers and the same three suck-up students. Riley wasn’t one of them. She needed her hands to keep her balance as she squeezed past the people with no purpose in life, on her way to the woman who would give her one.
Rat
John Connor kept pulling soldiers for one-way missions, and metal hit a bunker that was supposed to be safe. But everyone ignored the obvious source of replacement manpower: the tunnel rats.
When she mentioned it to Derek, he pulled up his shirt and showed her a scar under his floating ribs. “Give them a can of beans, and they’ll slice you open with the lid to get another one. They’re like wild animals. Worse than animals. You can tame an animal.”
Jesse took her time observing the rats, until she found one who neither fled nor attacked at her approach, had eyes that were neither blank nor mad, and was old enough to have gotten in a couple years of socialization before J-Day.
The filthy blonde girl cowered against the wall, then snatched the strip of jerky from Jesse’s hand. When she found that it was too hard to be instantly devoured, she sat there chewing on it and watching Jesse, rather than taking it and running. When she was done, she held out her hand.
“Want more?” Jesse asked.
The rat hesitated, then nodded. So she did have language.
“Got a name?”
The rat nodded again.
“Want to tell me what it is?”
The rat shook her head.
“Well, my name is Jesse, and I’ve got an offer for you. Come with me and you can have… well, maybe not all the food you can eat, but a lot more food than you usually get. New clothes. A warm place to sleep. It’s not perfect, but compared to these tunnels…” Jesse deliberately looked around her, letting the rat follow her gaze and take in every revolting detail. “I can give you paradise.”
Jesse held out her hand. “Come with me.”
The rat didn’t move. But when Jesse turned her back and walked away, the rat followed.
Six months later, the tunnel rat still didn’t speak. Jesse was leaning away from the theory that the girl had been traumatized and would eventually get over it, and toward the theory that there was something physical going on. It didn’t much matter. She obeyed orders, followed directions, and stood her ground under fire. Her lack of chatter and well-honed survival instincts made her perfect for missions where stealth was required, and saved both of their lives when their squad was ambushed under the remains of an Air Force base.
Who knows what the little rat sensed or saw, but she grabbed Jesse and leaped for a side tunnel a second before the firefight began. Jesse thought maybe one of her guys got off one or two shots before he was killed. Then the gunfire ended, and the only sound was the unnaturally even tread of metal feet.
Jesse hadn’t felt a thing and still didn’t, but she was trailing blood and her right knee buckled every time she put any weight on it. The rat dragged her along, down one tunnel and up another, even pushing her through a hole and dropping down after her at one point. They couldn’t go fast but the rat seemed to know where she was going. Until they hit a dead end.
Who knows who had bricked up the tunnel - maybe even some of their guys, hoping some day it would hold back the metal for a few precious seconds- but their own metal was minutes behind them, and backtracking would walk them right into it.
The rat kicked at the wall. “No! This shouldn’t be here!” Her voice was hoarse from long disuse.
“Never mind, love.” Jesse braced herself against the wall and held her weapon ready. “Let’s give them a fight, at least.”
The little rat immediately took up a position beside her. She was crying, but her hands were steady.
What a good soldier she turned out to be, thought Jesse. And though the best anyone could ever hope for was to go down fighting, she couldn’t help thinking, What a waste.
“You’d have lost them if you hadn’t been carrying me,” said Jesse. “Guess I should never have pulled you out of the tunnels, huh, sweetie?”
“I’m glad you did.” The rat raised her rough, shaking voice so Jesse could hear her over the ever-louder footsteps. “You gave me paradise.”
Fandom: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles.
Word Count: 2200
Spoilers: For the entire run of the series.
Rating and warnings: PG for non-graphic violence.
Synopsis: Five timelines that might have happened.
Author’s note: I did my best to get the character ages and details of who knows what in which timeline right, but it’s very complicated. Any inconsistencies are probably errors rather than subtle hints.
For oyceter, who came up with several of the scenarios, though now I forget which are hers and which are mine. Enjoy!
Blue
Jesse should have known not to pin her hopes on the innocence or heroism of a tunnel rat. All that careful planning ruined in a few cowardly, selfish sentences.
Once Riley had confessed, there was nothing more Jesse could do. Except construct a trap involving a road block, some explosives, and an electrified puddle of water right where the metal would step in it to take the shortest route to protecting John. Derek would have enjoyed the set-up - he was always a big advocate of blowing stuff up - and for a second she thought about calling him. When she remembered that she couldn’t, she felt a vague, numbed sensation in her chest which she eventually identified as loss.
The slope she waited on was full of trees. For years, she’d never seen a tree, never seen anything but humans and metal, and the work of humans and metal. She could remember thinking that if she ever saw a tree again, she would be perfectly happy. She stared at the nearest one to see if that would actually work. But she couldn’t focus on it, and when she found herself gazing at the road a moment later, she couldn’t remember what the tree had looked like.
The blow that slammed into her back came as a physical shock, but her only emotion was the recognition of her own lack of surprise. Of course it hadn’t worked. None of her plans ever worked. Of course the last thing she’d see, like the last thing so many people had seen, would be an expressionless metal face.
Riley’s solid body thumped down to on her knees beside Jesse. The girl’s mouth opened and closed as she gestured wildly with two empty hands. There were more people behind her, but Jesse couldn’t tell who they were. Everything was blurring out, fading out from sight and memory like that tree she hadn’t cared about after all. The one clear thing was Riley’s face, with her eyes as blue as the shallow pools of paradise. And then that too was gone.
Road Trip
Jesse woke up so sick and battered that she couldn’t even muster up any surprise at having woken up at all. Pain in her head, pain all through her body, nausea and dizziness made worse by the motion of the car, the knowledge that her plan had failed and everything had been for nothing.
She kept still and tried to wonder who was driving. A little mystery, like a little sex, was often a good distraction. But the answer was as obvious (Riley, by basic logic and the scent of green apple shampoo) as they usually were. (Can J-Day be prevented? No.) Though there were a couple others that were less obvious.
“Where are you taking me?” Jesse asked the question without opening her eyes. Sunlight warmed her face and turned her vision to shimmering red.
“Mexico.” The car’s motion didn’t change. Riley had known Jesse was awake. Once a tunnel rat, always a tunnel rat.
“Why?”
“I told John who I was and why I was here. So there’s no point sticking around. It wouldn’t have worked anyway. Maybe if you’d gotten Cameron to kill Sarah.”
“How could I have done that?”
There was a long silence. “Good question,” said Riley, and turned on the radio.
“But why did you bring me with you?” asked Jesse.
“Would you rather go running back to your failed mission and the boyfriend who’s plotting your death?” Riley let Jesse’s silence become an answer. “Mexico’s nice. The sun shines. The food’s good. You could do worse.”
Jesse opened her eyes. Riley’s hair glowed in the sun. Maybe it would be even brighter in Mexico.
“Guess we have to live somewhere while we wait for the end of the world,” said Jesse. “Make sure our hotel has a pool.”
Timeline
Riley stepped out of the blue light, bracing herself for the shock of cold on her naked body. But the air was warm. She was inside. She wasn’t supposed to materialize inside. They had specifically said she’d be outside and out of the range of unassisted human vision.
A woman with dark hair and a battered face was holding a gun on her. That definitely wasn’t supposed to happen.
Riley put up her hands. “I won’t hurt you. I’m-”
“You’re dead.”
Riley dropped to the floor and kicked the low wooden table up at the woman. As the woman dodged, Riley continued her forward roll, then slammed into something on the floor that the table had concealed.
A dead body.
Herself.
Hostile woman with gun and thousand-yard stare. Her own dead body. Okay.
“I’m from the future,” Riley said, sitting up.
“So am I.” The woman had switched to a one-handed grip, but kept her gun aimed at Riley. “So was she. Who sent you?”
Riley was silent as she sifted through the possibilities. The woman was presumably with Skynet, since she had killed the other Riley. Except that the presence of another and also time-traveling self meant the timeline was completely fucked, so for all Riley knew, other Riley had been the one working for Skynet, and this woman was on current Riley’s side.
“Forget it,” said the woman. “It’s obvious. You’re from a future where my plan succeeded. John Connor sent you back to protect his precious metal.”
“Savannah sent me back to protect John Henry,” said Riley, surprised into the truth. “Who’s John Connor?”
The woman went so still that Riley knew she’d given the wrong answer. She had no leverage or reach from this position, but she’d-
For a moment Riley thought the woman had started sobbing, but then she recognized the sound as laughter. Then she couldn’t tell.
“Come on, sweetie.” The woman swiped at her face with the back of her hand. “Let me get you some clothes. When you’re dressed, you can tell me who Savannah and John Henry are. And then, if we’re still on the same side, you can help me dispose of this body.”
Recruit
Riley took another stick of gum from her purse and popped it in her mouth. If she’d known the “special presentation” was going to be attempted brainwashing by pro-war recruiters rather than potentially amusing attempted brainwashing by anti-sex crusaders, she’d have gone to the movies instead.
Buzz Cut White Dude (Marines), the sequel to Buzz Cut Latino Dude (Army) who had been the sequel to Buzz Cut Other Latino Dude (Coast Guard) who had been the sequel to (for variation) Shaved Head Black Dude (Air Force), finished his spiel and left the stage. All the teachers and about three of the students clapped. Riley blew a pink bubble, but sucked it back in when the next uniformed person strode onstage. This one was a small Asian or multiracial woman with thick black hair braided and coiled up at the back of her neck.
“Lt. Flores, US Navy,” the woman announced in an accent Riley didn’t recognize. “If you’re all thinking you know why I got picked to talk about the Navy, you got that right. No, we don’t have height requirements. No, you don’t have to have been born in the USA - in fact, if you’re not an American citizen but you’d like to be, joining the Navy is an easy road to citizenship. And yes, women can serve on submarines. But there’s a lot more to the Navy than that.”
She scanned the auditorium of bored teenagers, catching and holding eye contact with several of them, then moving on. Riley wished everyone would stop snickering. The submarine woman seemed cool, for a military brainwasher. Then Lt. Flores was looking straight at her. Riley jumped. It was as if a spotlight had been turned on her, trapping her in a circle of dazzle and heat.
“You there,” said Lt. Flores. “What’s your purpose in life?”
Probably everyone was still laughing, but Riley wasn’t listening to them any more. It was such a crazy, unexpected question to ask. “I don’t have one. No one does. You’re born for no reason, and then you die, and that’s all there is.”
As she spoke, Riley realized what was so different about Lt. Flores: she was looking at Riley as if she mattered. As if Riley did have a purpose, and Lt. Flores knew what it was.
“We’re not low on numbers right now,” said Lt. Flores. “We don’t need a lot of recruits. We just need a few- the right few. You’ve already heard from the other branches about camaraderie and job benefits and scholarships. You can get that with us too. But I want to talk to you about something else. Do you know how few people get a chance for their lives to mean something?”
When Lt. Flores finished talking and left the stage, the applause was still limited to all the teachers and the same three suck-up students. Riley wasn’t one of them. She needed her hands to keep her balance as she squeezed past the people with no purpose in life, on her way to the woman who would give her one.
Rat
John Connor kept pulling soldiers for one-way missions, and metal hit a bunker that was supposed to be safe. But everyone ignored the obvious source of replacement manpower: the tunnel rats.
When she mentioned it to Derek, he pulled up his shirt and showed her a scar under his floating ribs. “Give them a can of beans, and they’ll slice you open with the lid to get another one. They’re like wild animals. Worse than animals. You can tame an animal.”
Jesse took her time observing the rats, until she found one who neither fled nor attacked at her approach, had eyes that were neither blank nor mad, and was old enough to have gotten in a couple years of socialization before J-Day.
The filthy blonde girl cowered against the wall, then snatched the strip of jerky from Jesse’s hand. When she found that it was too hard to be instantly devoured, she sat there chewing on it and watching Jesse, rather than taking it and running. When she was done, she held out her hand.
“Want more?” Jesse asked.
The rat hesitated, then nodded. So she did have language.
“Got a name?”
The rat nodded again.
“Want to tell me what it is?”
The rat shook her head.
“Well, my name is Jesse, and I’ve got an offer for you. Come with me and you can have… well, maybe not all the food you can eat, but a lot more food than you usually get. New clothes. A warm place to sleep. It’s not perfect, but compared to these tunnels…” Jesse deliberately looked around her, letting the rat follow her gaze and take in every revolting detail. “I can give you paradise.”
Jesse held out her hand. “Come with me.”
The rat didn’t move. But when Jesse turned her back and walked away, the rat followed.
Six months later, the tunnel rat still didn’t speak. Jesse was leaning away from the theory that the girl had been traumatized and would eventually get over it, and toward the theory that there was something physical going on. It didn’t much matter. She obeyed orders, followed directions, and stood her ground under fire. Her lack of chatter and well-honed survival instincts made her perfect for missions where stealth was required, and saved both of their lives when their squad was ambushed under the remains of an Air Force base.
Who knows what the little rat sensed or saw, but she grabbed Jesse and leaped for a side tunnel a second before the firefight began. Jesse thought maybe one of her guys got off one or two shots before he was killed. Then the gunfire ended, and the only sound was the unnaturally even tread of metal feet.
Jesse hadn’t felt a thing and still didn’t, but she was trailing blood and her right knee buckled every time she put any weight on it. The rat dragged her along, down one tunnel and up another, even pushing her through a hole and dropping down after her at one point. They couldn’t go fast but the rat seemed to know where she was going. Until they hit a dead end.
Who knows who had bricked up the tunnel - maybe even some of their guys, hoping some day it would hold back the metal for a few precious seconds- but their own metal was minutes behind them, and backtracking would walk them right into it.
The rat kicked at the wall. “No! This shouldn’t be here!” Her voice was hoarse from long disuse.
“Never mind, love.” Jesse braced herself against the wall and held her weapon ready. “Let’s give them a fight, at least.”
The little rat immediately took up a position beside her. She was crying, but her hands were steady.
What a good soldier she turned out to be, thought Jesse. And though the best anyone could ever hope for was to go down fighting, she couldn’t help thinking, What a waste.
“You’d have lost them if you hadn’t been carrying me,” said Jesse. “Guess I should never have pulled you out of the tunnels, huh, sweetie?”
“I’m glad you did.” The rat raised her rough, shaking voice so Jesse could hear her over the ever-louder footsteps. “You gave me paradise.”