THE STRIFE OF RILEY

A Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles

Fanfic

by Pjazz

2009

Tomatoes! So many tomatoes. Row after row. All fresh and juicy and different colours, shapes and sizes. Red, yellow, orange - even a weird stripey one. Who knew?

Riley Dawson knew she'd zoned out for a moment. Stood in the produce aisle of a shopping mart, holding tight to a trolley with a vacant faraway expression on her face. Jesse called it her 'walkabout' moment, an Oz expression that meant something between a mystic trance and a daydream. Jesse usually ended it by punching her on the arm and telling her bluntly to snap out of it.

But Jesse isn't here.

The produce aisle seemed to go on for ever. So much fruit and vegetables. And all of it fresh. Not like in the future - her past - when fruit and veg were scarce and those that did make it up the supply line from the farms in Mexico were usually small and hard or overipe verging on mush. But you ate it anyway. Scurvey, that vitamin deficiency affliction that beset sailors in the 18th century, was making a comeback in the 21st. Lack of vitamin C caused your gums to bleed and your teeth to fall out, so you ate what you could when you could and were grateful for it.

"Excuse me, miss. Coming through."

Riley stepped aside as two fat people, a man and a woman, squeezed past pushing two fully laden shopping trollies. Fat didn't even begin to describe them. They were gargantuan. That was another thing the future lacked - fatties. They'd gone the way of the dinosaurs, whose bulk these two closely resembled. Survival of the fittest.

Perhaps her body language betrayed her thoughts because the fat woman turned and stared sullenly back at her. Riley quickly looked away. If Jese was here she'd face them right down. Call them tubbos or - what was it? Gut-something? Gutbuckets. That was it. Gutbuckets. Hilarious! And Jesse wouldn't care if she caused a scene, relish it in fact.

I miss you, Jesse.

Riley added the stripey tomatoes to her cart out of curiosity more than anything. The cart already held milk, eggs and three large microwavable pizzas. Not that she could afford to be complacent. She'd put on twelve pounds since coming through the time portal, most of it fortunately on her boobs and ass.

Not that John seems to notice.

She steered the trolley past the pet food aisle, watching as a well-dressed woman loaded up with three twelve-packs of canned dogfood.

Here even the animals eat better than we did.

Riley wondered what this patrician lady would think if she was told in couple of years she'd be happy to eat her dog, cherished family pet or not. Any animal from the cockroach up. It was all precious protein. Even rats. And no, rats didn't taste like chicken; they looked and tasted like rats.

And I should know; I ate my fair share. Hating every morsal. Alison made me.

Alison...

"Colonel Dawson, I'm getting reports of a metal incursion in the southern sector!"

"Numbers?"

"Unknown, sir. Wait -- that's confirmed. Defences breached in the southern sector."

"Who do we have in reserve?"

"Major Alvarez's brigade, sir."

"Comm, get me Major Alvarez ASAP."

"Colonel, eastern sector reports metal advancing in significant numbers. They're falling back."

"Comm, where's Major Alvarez?"

"I'm trying, sir. No reply."

"Redeploy the mortar squad to the east. I want the flanks held at all cost. Corporal, evacuate the women and children above ground. And arm them."

"Arm them? Sir, with respect, many of the women are sick and some are pregnant."

"What d'you suggest, Corporal - that we let those monsters barbecue them in the tunnels? At least this way if we get overun they stand a chance, slim though it may be."

"Permission to speak, sir."

"What's on your mind, corporal?"

"I'd like to try and get the children out. They're small and fast. I know this area. I think there might be a chance if we hurry."

"What's your name, young lady?"

"Young, sir. Alison Young."

"How old are you - eighteen, nineteen?"

"Fifteen."

"Why you're a child yourself. D'you have any combat experience?"

"I served under Colonel Westmore at the Mulholland Redoubt. And Major Forbisher during the attack on the Cumberland heavy water plant."

"Nate Frobisher? He was a good man."

"Yes, sir, he was. He spoke highly of you."

"Now's not the time for flattery, corporal."

"No, sir, I guess not."

"Colonel! Northern sector reports multiple line breaches. Triple-8's on the ground armed with plasma cannon with HK air support. Looks like a major offensive. Heavy casualties. We're being overwhelmed. ETA ten minutes."

"Dammit, where's Alvarez?"

"Still nothing, sir."

"Commander, northern sector are in full retreat."

"Retreat? Where exactly? This is a classic pincer movement. Textbook. And we don't have the resources to counter it. Captain Reed, implement Operation Scorched Earth. Burn the codebooks and the maps."

"Yessir!"

"Comm, open an encrypted channel to Connor HQ. Send this message. Citadal Has Fallen. All Birds Have Flown. Repeat, Citadal Has Fallen. All Birds have Flown."

Yessir!"

" Gentlemen, I suggest we prey to whatever Gods we still believe in and prepare to sell our lives dearly. Corporal Young?"

"Sir?"

"Take the children. Do what you can."

"Yessir."

"Corporal, my daughter, Riley..."

"I'll take care of her, sir."

"Tell her...Tell her..."

"I will."

"Thank you. Good luck. And Godspeed, Alison."

"And you, Colonel Dawson."

"Sir, Connor HQ on the line! They're sending reinforcements!"

"ETA?"

"Forty minutes."

"Just in time to give us a decent burial. Lock and load, gentlemen. Let's give these tin cans a rattle or two before we're done."

"INCOMING!"

"Will there be anything else?"

"Huh?"

"I said, will there be anything else?"

She was in line at the checkout. Her stuff had been scanned and now the cashier wanted payment. She'd had another walkabout moment.

"Uh, no, that's it. Sorry. I was miles away."

"Somewhere nice?"

"What?"

"You said you were miles away. Somewhere nice?"

Riley stared at the girl. Late teens. Striped company uniform. Plain face and dull-looking hair enlivened by some blue-dyed strands amid the mouse. Probably thinks it makes her look daring, adventurous, cool.

"Actually, no. It wasn't nice." Riley found herself confessing. "It was horrible. More than you'll ever know. It's dark and cold in the tunnels and smells of shit and dead people. And I'm always frightened and hungry and can't sleep even though I'm really really tired because those things will catch me and kill me if I do and I don't want to die!"

The checkout girl held up her hands in a placatory gesture. "Hey, just making conversation. Don't have a cow."

"I won't..." Riley peered at the girl's nametag pinned to her top. "...Soosin." Soosin? Susan?

Daring, adventurous and cool.

"Soosin? You gotta be kidding me."

"Hey--"

Above the nametag was a button badge. Around the circumference was written:

YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE MAD TO WORK HERE BUT IT HELPS

Riley began to laugh. Softly at first, then building up a head of steam until her jaws hurt and tears streamed from her eyes and ran down her cheeks so that people stopped what they were doing and stared at her.

Like she was crazy.

She stowed the pizza, milk and eggs in the refrigerator at her foster parents house. She popped one of the weird stripey tomatoes in her mouth. The juice exploded against her tastebuds, cold and sharply acidic, ripe with the earth's natural bounty. The pristine earth, uncontaminated by the machines.

Except one.

Her. John's sister.

Hah! Sister, my butt.

The keys to the family Taurus were on a small hook by the door. Above it a small sign read:

Mommie's Car

What a crock! It belonged to the social services who leased it to them to ferry the kids back and forth to school.

Screw them.

Riley took the keys off the hook and headed outside. Her foster parents were in the garden playing with the smaller kids in the sunshine, throwing a ball back and forth, bonding. Singing that stupid song they loved:

This is our Happy House!

We're Happy here!

In our Happy House!

Christ Almighty, will it ever stop?

Sodapops and ritilin.

Like it matters. Like it all matters a good goddamn.

The key slid home and the Taurus' engine started on the first twist. She backed out of the driveway, drove to the end of the road and stopped. Leaning forward against the seatbelt restraints she booted up the SatNav and input one word. Her destination.

PALMDALE

Palmdale. Alison had talked about it so often and in such vivid detail that Riley felt she already knew the place, like she'd lived here in a previous life.

"The streets are lined with eucalyptus trees that scent the air day and night. Birds nest in them and sometimes if you're lucky you'd spot a squirrel leaping from branch to branch."

"I like squirrels. They're tasty!"

"My house has a garden with a white picket fence. In the window is a figurine of a sleepy Mexican wearing a big sombrero. We called him Pedro. Mom bought him in Acapulco."

"What's a sombrero?"

"A type of hat Mexicans wear with a very wide brim."

"I want a sombrero!"

"Now, Riley, you'll have to wait and see what Santa brings you for Christmas."

"Screw, Santa, I want it now!"

"Riles, you know Santa keeps a list of who's naughty or nice?"

"Uh huh."

"Well then. Zip it, missy."

"Jessica Minter says if you're naughty Santa sends a Triple-8 down the chimney and it cuts your head off and sticks it on a pole."

"Sounds like Jessica Minter's been eating her sugar ration all in one go."

"Alison, tell me some more about Palmdale. Please!"

"Well, in the spring the cherry trees flower and drop their blossom on the sidewalks. The blossom's so thick it looks like snow. It's beautiful, it really is."

"Will I see it someday, Alison?"

"No, babe. It's lost in the Past. Like so many things."

"But I want to smell the eucalyptus!"

"So do I, sweetie, so do I."

Riley Dawson smelt the eucalyptus. Its scent was potent and cloying and seemed to linger in the febrile breeze. She inhaled deeply again and again until her chest ached with the effort.

It's beautiful. It really is.

The trees cast a dappled shade that was cool in the heat of the day. It was all just as Alison had described, except for the cherries which weren't in flower yet. Alison's tales of the past had eased her fear of the tunnels and the monsters that lay without.

The past that was now her present.

Now to find a house with a white picket fence and a Mexican called Pedro in the window...

And there it was! The house was set back about ten yards from the sidewalk. A low green box hedge neatly clipped bordered a path to the front door.

But no Pedro.

The window was bare. Except for something square and white in the corner. Riley peered closer. It was a sign that read:

Babysitter Wanted

Good Rates

Enquire Within

Babysitter? So that meant...

"Alison?"

Without quite realising how she got there Riley stood in front of the door and rang the bell once, twice, three times. Through the frosted window she could see movement. Light became shade became an opening door.

"Yes? Can I help you?"

A young woman. Mid-20s. Long brown hair held back by a scrunchy. An LA Galaxy sweatshirt and shorts. Legs tan and lightly muscled, like an athlete.

"Uh, yeah. I came about the sign. You're looking for a babysitter?"

The woman smiled. White even teeth. Her eyes were brown. Alison's eyes. Maybe her nose too.

"Oh right. Come on in."

Riley stepped over the threshold of the house she'd heard about so many times she'd dreamt it was her own.

"Sorry about my outfit," Alison's mom said. "I was out back gardening. Can you believe this heatwave? I tell you, my tomatoes better be good this year."

"Did you know you can grow stripey ones?" Riley heard herself say.

"Stripey tomatoes?"

"Yeah. Bizarre, I know. But they're really tasty."

"I didn't know that. Thanks for the tip. Please, have a seat."

Riley sat on a plush sofa. The room was sparsely but tastefully furnished: sofa, two chairs, coffee table, mantle, a flat panel TV that hung on the wall like a slab of obsidian.

"Can I get you anything? Coke, Pepsi, 7Up - basically anything soda related?"

"I'm good. Thanks."

"Okay, why don't we start with your name and how old you are?"

"Right. Sorry. Riley Dawson. I'm sixteen."

"Any babysitting experience?"

"Sure, I look after my fost--my brothers and sisters all the time."

"Large family?"

"You bet." It's a freaking menagerie.

"Must be nice for you."

"Sure is." Gag me with a spoon!

"Okay, the hours are three nights a week. About four hours each. I teach English as a second language at the local community college. Ten dollars an hour - and all the pretzels you can eat."

A baby began to cry in another part of the house.

"Excuse me. Sounds like we have company. Won't be a sec."

Alison! I'm going to meet her again. Or for the first time. God, it was so complicated!

"Here's the little madam."

A baby swaddled in pink blankets. Wispy brown hair, button nose, big brown eyes staring up at her uncomprehending.

"Would you like to hold her?"

"Please."

Riley Dawson held Alison Young tight to her chest and fought to control her raging emotions.

"She's...perfect."

"You haven't seen her diapers."

Riley looked up and suddenly saw Pedro, the sleepy sombrero wearing figurine, on the mantle. Not the window. "I love that doll. Did you get it in Acapulco?"

"Pedro? No. I've never been to Acapulco. I bought him in a thrift shop in North Hollywood."

Oh Alison, you little fibber!

"Can I ask why you chose the name, Alison?"

"Actually, there's a funny story to that. I couldn't make up my mind, but I knew I didn't want anything New Age. You know - Summer, River, Moongood - that sort of thing. Then I received a phonecall, a wrong number I presume, who asked for an Alison Young. I liked the sound of it and here we are."

"It suits her."

"I think so. Okay, Riley, if you'll give me your cell number I'll let you know in a day or so. I've got one more girl to see this afternoon and then I'll make my choice."

Riley got back in the Taurus, drove to the end of the street and stopped. She leant forward and rested her forehead on the top of the steering wheel.

Why didn't I say something? Warn her. In sixteen years time a machine will murder your daughter and use her bodyform as a grotesque simulcrum, a killing machine intent on conquering the earth.

Yeah, right. If I'd said that it was a tossup who she called first - the cops or the psych docs.

Riley looked up just in time to see a jeep drive past. At the wheel--

Her!

Cameron!

No way! No freaking way! Cameron in Palmdale - how?

She followed you.

But why? I'm no threat to her.

But you are to John. You're a liability. And they don't need much of an excuse to kill.

Did she see me?

She will if you don't get the hell out of Dodge.

She floored the gas. The Taurus screeched away from the intersection, picking up speed as it headed up the on-ramp to the freeway. 50,60,70,80 the needle climbed higher. She weaved her way through slow moving traffic, slaloming like the rally driver she patently wasn't.

It was all too predictable.

She tail-ended a flatbed at 85mph. Brakes to the floor, the Taurus slammed into the steel guardrail, shedding speed and paint in equal measure. At 30, she regained control and steered into the correct lane, amazed she was still alive.

Christ, am I trying to do Cameron's job for her?

But something was wrong. There was an ominous shuddering coming from the left wheelarch. Her speed dropped to 20. She couldn't get home like this. The cops would spot her and pull her over. She didn't think her foster parents would press charges for autotheft, but she'd be in a shitload of trouble nonetheless.

At least she's not following me.

Riley took the next off-ramp and pulled up at a cluster of buildings that included a gas station, auto workshop and a diner, stategically placed to garner passing trade from the freeway traffic. She brought the Taurus to a halt in front of the auto workshop and climbed out.

"Hello, anyone home?"

A mechanic strolled out to greet her. Old and fat in oil-stained overalls. He tilted his Dodgers cap back on his gnarled forehead. "Help you, miss?

"Yeah. The left front's not turning properly."

"Looks to me like you dinged the panel pretty bad. You in an accident?"

"Can you fix it?"

"Aye, just needs the panel beat out some. You sure you weren't in an accident?"

"How long to get me rolling again?"

"Two or three hours."

"I'll be in the diner."

Riley walked over to the roadside diner, went inside and sat down at a booth that afforded her an unrestricted view of the parking lot and the freeway beyond. A waitress arrived to take her order. She wore scuffed white Keds on her feet.

"Coffee. Black. And--"

A 4x4 sped past the diner heading west. She watched it with her eyes wide until it was safely out of sight.

"And what? Not got all day." the waitress asked impatiently, pencil poised over a small notepad.

"Uh - a cheese danish." She kept her gaze on the busy freeway outside the window.

"Expecting somebody, hon?" the waitress asked.

"God, I hope not."

Her order came. She paid with cash. She sipped the hot coffee slowly and picked chunks off the cheese danish, which tasted slightly stale. After an hour she began to relax slightly. Someone put a quarter in the jukebox and music blared out. Green Day. She liked Green Day. It was easy to lose yourself in their noise. Not have to think just groove to the riffing guitars and drums, not caring about anything or anyone.

A jeep pulled into the lot.

Riley sat bolt upright, music forgotten, eyes wide as saucers.

Cameron Baum got out of the jeep and walked purposefully toward the diner entrance.

For a moment Riley was back in the tunnels, cold and scared and frozen to the spot with fear.

"Come on, Riles, we've got to move They're coming.."

"I can't!"

"You've got to."

"Alison, I'm afraid!"

"You and me both, kiddo. But when did that ever stop us?"

Cameron entered the diner and scanned the occupants. When she spotted Riley she smiled, walked over and slid into the bench seat opposite.

"Riley."

"Cameron. Long time no see." I'm damned if I'll let her see how freaked out I am.

"Yes, it has been a long time since we saw each other. Six days eight hours."

"I've been busy."

"Doing what?"

"Just...stuff."

"I know." Cameron smiled. "Stuff can keep you busy, can't it?"

The waitress stood over them, pencil poised over her little pad. "What can I get you, honey?"

"Do you serve peachy-keen?" Cameron asked, smiling again. "It's my favourite."

"What's peachy-keen?"

"It's a soda drink," Riley explained.

"Oh. Okay, I'll go check."

Riley and Cameron faced each other in silence. Like meeting this way in a truckstop outside Palmdale is the most natural thing in the world.

The waitress returned carrying a bottle on a tray.

"One bottle of peachy-keen."

"Thank you. It's my favourite."

"Yeah, you told me. Whoopeedoo. That'll be four-ninety. Service charge included."

Cameron handed over a five dollar bill. "Keep the change."

"Gee, thanks. Now I can put my feet up and retire to Barbados. Anything else? Refresh your coffee?" She gestured at Riley's empty cup.

"No. Thanks anyway."

The waitress left. "She seems nice," Cameron said.

"What?"

"The waitress. She seems nice. I hope she enjoys retirement."

"Whatever."

Cameron lifted the bottle of pinkish liquid to her lips and took a long swallow.

"Good?" Riley asked. Like I care.

"Yes."

That smile again. Creepy. And where does it go? Does she have like a cistern built in? Or does it just pass straight through and leave her sitting in a puddle.

Cameron put the bottle down on the formica table top. She reached out and ran her index finger over the crumbs on the now empty dish.

"Cheese danish. Was it good?"

"It was okay."

"I can't eat cheese danish."

"Why not?" Because you're a freaking machine!

"There are 650 calories in the average cheese danish." Cameron smiled ruefullly. "Goes straight to my thighs."

Like hell it does, you lying freak!

"I guess I'm lucky I've got a fast metabolism."

"You're twelve pounds heavier than when you first met John."

"I am?" God, is it that obvious?

"You should work out. Like me."

"You work out?"

"No one likes a blubberbutt."

Another swallow of peachy-keen. No puddle.

"What were you doing in Palmdale?"

There. Finally, it's out in the open.

"Sight-seeing."

"There are no sights for you to see in LA?"

"Nope. And what were you doing in Palmdale?"

The cyborg's reply surprised her.

"Looking for a job."

"A job? You?"

"Yes."

"Did you find one?"

"A position became vacant. I filled it."

"What's the job?"

"Babysitter."

Without warning Riley vomited over the tabletop. Cameron leaned back and tilted her head, curious.

"Was it something I said?"

-o0o-

Shock. Horror. A sympathetic Riley fanfic.

Personally I don't mind her. If John's too prudish to take advantage of a nubile fembot who'll obey his every whim then he probably deserves Riley.

Nothing in the tv show to suggest Riley's father was a resistance leader or that she knew Alison Young. But when have I ever let facts get in the way of a story? (See Desolation Road, Paper Tiger, etc.)

Oh, there is a stripey tomato. Didn't make it up. It's called Tigerella (natch). Looks good in salads. Apparently.

Thanks for reading. Hope you liked it. Let me know.

Stick around for chapter 2. Cameron and Riley kick off bigtime.