SCC fic: Queen's Sacrifice (pg)
Title: Queen's Sacrifice
Beta: roxybisquaint
Focus: Sarah Connor
Rating: PG
Word count: 929
Warnings: none
Summary: Ah, but the queen is the most powerful of your pieces, when used properly.
Disclaimer: The Terminator ‘verse belongs to James Cameron and Josh Friedman, not me. Sadly. ‘Cause if it did belong to me? The Sarah Connor Chronicles would still be in production and the last two movies would’ve made sense. What? I’m just sayin’…
Author’s note: This was written for round 1, challenge 1 at lastficauthor to the prompt write a piece in which a chess piece is the central focus. It can be symbolic or not. IE your characters can be playing chess, or could feel like a pawn to someone. It was a good challenge and while I was a little torn, at first, between writing something for TSCC, Farscape, or Burn Notice, my brain just kept coming back to the chess game in the jungle in Queen’s Gambit…
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She'd been around the perimeter twice since her watch began and the only things out of place were the small guerilla encampment itself and the men who lived in it. They'd been here long enough that the local denizens of the jungle had accepted their presence; if any other outsiders approached, Sarah was sure the silence of the birds and animals would alert them long enough in advance for the guerilla forces to take appropriate action. Cesar was a good leader and had trained them well.
She observed him now through the cover of the trees, engaged in a game of chess. The boy facing him across the makeshift table asked the older man a question that Sarah couldn't quite make out; his voice was soft and mingled with the normal sounds of the jungle, the low buzz of insect wings, the higher-pitched calls of birds and monkeys. Cesar's deeper voice carried more clearly when he answered.
"Ah, but the queen is the most powerful of your pieces, when used properly. Certainly, she is the most versatile, able to perform any task that she must to ensure her king's survival." He pushed a piece forward on the board and continued, "Even when she is gone, she can have a lasting effect on those who remain."
One of the men watching the game said something in Spanish that made Cesar and the others laugh. Had she been close enough to hear his jest clearly, Sarah might have understood the words, but, knowing this group as she did, she thought they had probably been crude. She decided she'd take that up with Cesar later, after her watch, and pushed her way once more through the jungle surrounding the camp.
During her fourth circuit, a sharp report sounded to the north and the ground beneath her feet seemed to vibrate for an instant. The jungle fell silent. Almost instinctively, Sarah lifted her head and drew in a deep breath. She knew it wasn't gunfire; the sound was too big for that and there was no residual smell of gunpowder in the thick air. She drew in another breath.
There. Beneath the smells of once living things degenerating into their component elements, still living things going about the daily business of life, the alien odors of the humans and machines that didn't belong in the jungle was the metallic tang of electricity and the acrid odor of scorched vegetation. At almost the same instant Sarah identified the nearby lightning strike, rain began to beat a tattoo on the leaves overhead. The men she'd watched through the cover of the trees scattered, grabbing up their weapons as they ran for the shelter of their tents or vehicles.
Sarah lifted her gaze to the canopy of green overhead, noticing the way the individual leaves that made up that canopy bounced with the strike of each heavy drop. The water hadn't yet broken through the interlaced leaves, but she still felt soaked to the skin as the already humid air of the jungle absorbed yet more water. A rumble of thunder rolled in the distance. Making certain her rifle was positioned to let the water drain, rather than collect in the barrel, Sarah headed toward the game table John and Cesar had left behind.
Over the course of the past few weeks, in addition to teaching Sarah how to survive in the jungle, Cesar taught her son to play chess. Not simply the moves allowed by the game, something Sarah herself could have shown him, but the rationale behind each move. Learning to reason, to think several moves ahead to predict the possible consequences of actions or even of a lack of action, was one of the most important things - if not the most important thing - John could learn. It was a stroke of luck that Cesar had been a world-class chess player in college before trouble at home had torn him from that peaceful life. Sarah well knew how that felt, the kinds of scars something like that left; she and Cesar understood each other.
By the time she reached the interrupted game, rain pooled across the table and on the plastic board, dripped from the loose ends of Sarah's hair, plastered her clothes to her skin. The water was cool and felt good after the sticky heat of the afternoon. She looked down at the remains of the waterlogged game.
From the positions of the pieces both on and beside the board, John had fought hard, but he'd lost a good deal of ground to Cesar's more aggressive tactics. Still, the pieces that remained to him - knight, bishop, both rooks, two pawns, and of course, his king - could be used effectively, even though Cesar had already taken John's queen.
Reaching out, Sarah picked up the fallen queen. She turned it over between her fingers, noting the nicks and discoloration that marred the plastic piece. The set had belonged to Cesar since his college days, twenty years before; he'd kept it with him as a reminder of better times. Still holding the queen, Sarah studied the board more closely as the rain continued its steady fall, and she had to wonder if John had lost his queen or if he'd sacrificed her to some long-term goal.
Sarah shivered as cold fingers danced down her spine. Intellectually, she knew those phantom fingers were the rain that trickled down her back, but the sensation felt more like a portent of things to come.
She gently returned the battered queen to her final resting place beside the board.
Beta: roxybisquaint
Focus: Sarah Connor
Rating: PG
Word count: 929
Warnings: none
Summary: Ah, but the queen is the most powerful of your pieces, when used properly.
Disclaimer: The Terminator ‘verse belongs to James Cameron and Josh Friedman, not me. Sadly. ‘Cause if it did belong to me? The Sarah Connor Chronicles would still be in production and the last two movies would’ve made sense. What? I’m just sayin’…
Author’s note: This was written for round 1, challenge 1 at lastficauthor to the prompt write a piece in which a chess piece is the central focus. It can be symbolic or not. IE your characters can be playing chess, or could feel like a pawn to someone. It was a good challenge and while I was a little torn, at first, between writing something for TSCC, Farscape, or Burn Notice, my brain just kept coming back to the chess game in the jungle in Queen’s Gambit…
-------------------
She'd been around the perimeter twice since her watch began and the only things out of place were the small guerilla encampment itself and the men who lived in it. They'd been here long enough that the local denizens of the jungle had accepted their presence; if any other outsiders approached, Sarah was sure the silence of the birds and animals would alert them long enough in advance for the guerilla forces to take appropriate action. Cesar was a good leader and had trained them well.
She observed him now through the cover of the trees, engaged in a game of chess. The boy facing him across the makeshift table asked the older man a question that Sarah couldn't quite make out; his voice was soft and mingled with the normal sounds of the jungle, the low buzz of insect wings, the higher-pitched calls of birds and monkeys. Cesar's deeper voice carried more clearly when he answered.
"Ah, but the queen is the most powerful of your pieces, when used properly. Certainly, she is the most versatile, able to perform any task that she must to ensure her king's survival." He pushed a piece forward on the board and continued, "Even when she is gone, she can have a lasting effect on those who remain."
One of the men watching the game said something in Spanish that made Cesar and the others laugh. Had she been close enough to hear his jest clearly, Sarah might have understood the words, but, knowing this group as she did, she thought they had probably been crude. She decided she'd take that up with Cesar later, after her watch, and pushed her way once more through the jungle surrounding the camp.
During her fourth circuit, a sharp report sounded to the north and the ground beneath her feet seemed to vibrate for an instant. The jungle fell silent. Almost instinctively, Sarah lifted her head and drew in a deep breath. She knew it wasn't gunfire; the sound was too big for that and there was no residual smell of gunpowder in the thick air. She drew in another breath.
There. Beneath the smells of once living things degenerating into their component elements, still living things going about the daily business of life, the alien odors of the humans and machines that didn't belong in the jungle was the metallic tang of electricity and the acrid odor of scorched vegetation. At almost the same instant Sarah identified the nearby lightning strike, rain began to beat a tattoo on the leaves overhead. The men she'd watched through the cover of the trees scattered, grabbing up their weapons as they ran for the shelter of their tents or vehicles.
Sarah lifted her gaze to the canopy of green overhead, noticing the way the individual leaves that made up that canopy bounced with the strike of each heavy drop. The water hadn't yet broken through the interlaced leaves, but she still felt soaked to the skin as the already humid air of the jungle absorbed yet more water. A rumble of thunder rolled in the distance. Making certain her rifle was positioned to let the water drain, rather than collect in the barrel, Sarah headed toward the game table John and Cesar had left behind.
Over the course of the past few weeks, in addition to teaching Sarah how to survive in the jungle, Cesar taught her son to play chess. Not simply the moves allowed by the game, something Sarah herself could have shown him, but the rationale behind each move. Learning to reason, to think several moves ahead to predict the possible consequences of actions or even of a lack of action, was one of the most important things - if not the most important thing - John could learn. It was a stroke of luck that Cesar had been a world-class chess player in college before trouble at home had torn him from that peaceful life. Sarah well knew how that felt, the kinds of scars something like that left; she and Cesar understood each other.
By the time she reached the interrupted game, rain pooled across the table and on the plastic board, dripped from the loose ends of Sarah's hair, plastered her clothes to her skin. The water was cool and felt good after the sticky heat of the afternoon. She looked down at the remains of the waterlogged game.
From the positions of the pieces both on and beside the board, John had fought hard, but he'd lost a good deal of ground to Cesar's more aggressive tactics. Still, the pieces that remained to him - knight, bishop, both rooks, two pawns, and of course, his king - could be used effectively, even though Cesar had already taken John's queen.
Reaching out, Sarah picked up the fallen queen. She turned it over between her fingers, noting the nicks and discoloration that marred the plastic piece. The set had belonged to Cesar since his college days, twenty years before; he'd kept it with him as a reminder of better times. Still holding the queen, Sarah studied the board more closely as the rain continued its steady fall, and she had to wonder if John had lost his queen or if he'd sacrificed her to some long-term goal.
Sarah shivered as cold fingers danced down her spine. Intellectually, she knew those phantom fingers were the rain that trickled down her back, but the sensation felt more like a portent of things to come.
She gently returned the battered queen to her final resting place beside the board.