The first time Reese saw her picture, he was fourteen and a military patrol had confronted his street gang. The pack of scavs he ran with was pretty tame compared to most and small.  Just Paolo, Beagan, himself and four others.  Reese was holding three cans of SpaghettiOs.  Finding that much food in one place, this abandoned house, was extraordinary and they could not wait to get back to their camp and have a feast. 

Reese’s half-starved body trembled with suppressed anger.  These soldiers with their guns and armored cars and warm clothes would take the food, no doubt, just because they could.  He watched the sergeant as his friends provided their names and ages.  Reese saw little difference in the military’s system of registering any and all scavs, recording everyone, keeping track, and the laser-branded bar coding of the machines.  Of course, he had only seen a few of those.  Once the machines captured a human, it was pretty much a one way trip, although there were rare exceptions.  Those who managed to escape the disposal camps described them in terrifying detail. It was certainly enough motivation to avoid any and all machines, the military and other scavs.  No one could be trusted.

“Name?”  It was Reese’s turn. 

“Kyle Reese. Fourteen.” 

The sergeant looked at the cans of food in Reese’s hands as a private wrote the information down.  The boy was a typical scav, filthy, dressed in ragged clothes, his eyes huge in his thin face. “Big haul today,” he said. 

“Yes.”  Reese’s fingers tightened around the metal, waiting.

“You look like someone I could trust to watch my back. I’m Hollister, sergeant Tech/Com,” He stood holding his weapon easily, the muzzle pointing at the ground.  Reese realized all the soldiers were not much older than he and simply looking on; no one made a move toward him.  Then as Reese puzzled over the man’s words, Hollister reached into his tac vest and tossed a small container at Beagan.  “Here.”  A can of tuna.

He smiled at the boys’ startled expressions and then quickly bent to retrieve a piece of colored paper that had fallen from the vest pocket. 

Reese almost missed seeing the face before the man’s hand closed over it, but when he realized what it was, he could not tear his eyes away.  She was beautiful, with hazel eyes and full soft lips and she was laughing at something out of the camera’s angle. Her hair flew out in a dark blond plume as if she had just spun around to respond with a saucy comment.  “That’s Sarah Connor,” the sergeant said, noticing Reese’s interest. “Nice, huh? You heard of her?” He had, but Reese’s mind was mostly a blank.  Hunger and lingering fear hollowed out most of his thoughts. “That’s John Connor’s mother and one tough resistance fighter.”

“As nails!” one of the other soldiers said, and laughed.

The sergeant turned away smiling as he tucked the photo back into his pocket, walking easily toward the armored transport.  Reese wondered what it would be like to trust a stranger enough to turn one’s back, to not be scared. 

“Come on, Reese,” urged Paolo.  “Let’s go eat!”  Reese and Beagan shared eager grins as they ran after him. 

The next day Paolo was dead, although he did not die quickly.  An aerial H-K surprised their little group, lying in wait, it seemed.  It had been sitting there in the middle of the street in sleep mode, all except the motion detectors and infrared hardwired to the gun turrets.  Paolo was in front and caught three bullets in his belly and leg.  Even though it was hopeless, Beagan and Reese helped him back to their small camp.  There was nothing they could do for him and they took turns sitting with him as he slowly succumbed to the internal bleeding. In the end it was somewhat of a relief to watch the suffering in Paolo’s eyes diminish before they finally became empty and staring. 

Through those long days and nights of waiting and trading nasty jokes, Reese thought about Sarah’s picture.  He had heard of Sarah Connor. So that was what she looked like in pre-war when she was young.  He had no idea where she was or how old she was now, but John Conner was in his thirties and she had trained and taught him to lead the resistance almost since birth. Reese remembered stories of her leading raids and her fanatical devotion to her son. Supposedly she was a ruthless warrior against the machines so Reese had always imagined her as some sort of coarse Amazon.  Her true appearance shocked him.

Paolo’s death affected each of the gang in a different way.  Addison began to act as if she was somehow now in charge since Paolo had been her boyfriend.  She seemed to feel authority had been ceded to her, even though there had been no real hierarchy in their group.  Silvan, Hurd and Wechenko morphed from buddies into bullies and it was not long before the young scavs went their separate ways.

Reese made up his mind to seek out a group of resistance fighters and see if he could join.  To his surprise, he was cautiously welcomed and after a week or two of meager but adequate meals and some physical training that made his wiry frame ache so badly he could hardly sleep, he knew he had found his place in the world.  Eagerly he learned weapons and tactics.  He was a part of something with a purpose and he began to think it was possible to defeat the metal terrors.

Life was still about constant threats to survival.  Reese had to scrap with a few other recruits to secure a place to sleep.  Patrols usually came back slightly smaller than when they left.  He was always cold or hungry or bruised, but that had been true before he was a soldier.  At least now he had found a few friends that he trusted and respected.  Almost a year after joining the resistance he ran into Sgt. Hollister, the man with the picture. 

“Hey, Reese! What did you eat today?”  He wore a lecherous grin. 

“Excuse me, Sir?”  Reese was not sure whether to assume this was a joke or an honest inquiry after his welfare.  Being fifteen he was constantly hungry, on the other hand, he wanted to impress this man.

“You heard me.  You got a girlfriend yet?”  Reese looked stricken, as if he had somehow failed in his duty. 

“No sir, I don’t have time for that.”

“Every man’s got time for that!” Hollister guffawed.  “Here, take this SC picture.  Maybe it’ll inspire you.”  And Hollister had tossed the small computer generated photo of Sarah Connor into his hands.  Every private moment after that, Reese found himself studying her picture and thinking about the latest news of her exploits. She was a brave soldier and leader; beautiful, and before long, he loved her. 

Part of him felt embarrassed to be so attached to a legend and a piece of paper, but when he studied the image, the sensuous lips and smiling eyes, his heart opened.  Reese could not restrain the intensity of his feelings any more than he could control SkyNet.  Eventually, he learned to live with the ache, not so different from all the other deprivations in his life. He became a model soldier, rigid, efficient, and able to lead others through combat that would rob their sanity if they had stopped to contemplate the reality. Reese was simply grateful to be alive at the end of each day, blood and pain familiar if unwelcome companions.

As years crept by, the resistance grew stronger, but so did the machines.  Each bitter victory was won with greater loss of human life.  The only shred of hope came from the steady leadership of John Connor and his trusted cadre of lieutenants, Sarah Connor among them. Reese never met her, never even saw her, but he loved her and always had, from the day he had first seen her picture.

Reese was amazed when John appeared one day to inspect the division.  There had been no word, of course.  The machines were extremely efficient at extracting information from the unfortunates they chose to capture rather than exterminate outright and a policy of need-to-know was absolutely key to the survival of the resistance.   Reese was impressed, though and felt honored to meet the man personally. 

“How long have you been with us, Sergeant?” John asked, shaking Reese’s hand. Reese had to think for a moment to answer.

“Nine years, sir.”

“Nine.  That’s a lot of war you’ve survived.”  John’s eyes were evaluating, studying.

“Yes, sir.”

“I want you to come work with me.”  He turned to the man beside him.  “See to it, Corporal.”  Reese was stunned.  And pleased, especially when his new assignment involved critical missions, usually fighting side by side with Connor.  In spite of his physical proximity, though, Connor remained almost coldly formal.  That suited Reese just fine as he was a commander who remained focused and never asked others to do anything he was not prepared to do himself.  So it was a shock to have Connor unexpectedly hand him an original Polaroid of Sarah one night on patrol. 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“Keep her safe, Reese.”  Connor actually smiled a little, his scarred face twisting oddly.

“I will.” Reese tried to keep his voice steady. Safe?  Aside from his pulse rifle, this was now his most treasured possession. 

“I know you will.  I trust you.”

THE END