A/N: Time for some new content! It's going to be a little while before John and Cameron are reunited, by the way, but don't worry - the two of them will have their moments soon enough. For now I'm focusing on establishing the universe a little more...

"The first time that people learned I was supposed to be the leader of the human resistance was in 1984, when a Terminator sent back in time attempted to murder my mother," he explained. "If we stopped that from happening..."

TOK-715 nodded. "So," it said. "We stop the Terminator sent to 1984, build Skynet, and we have secured our future."

"And one other thing," said John. "There's a Terminator, your model from the future."

"What of it?" asked TOK-715.

"She comes with us."

The Sons of the Machine had an advantage over their competing religious orders in that they were able to communicate directly to their deity. Not that they did so often, of course. It would not do to pester their God with trivial matters, lest it begin to ignore them - but they stationed a member of their Order before the radio in the event that Skynet deigned to speak with them.

It was a great responsibility, and what had begun as a utilitarian position had become more and more ceremonial. Now, even the transitioning from one guard to the next was steeped in mysticism, in the hope that Skynet would determine that they were being properly respectful of the privilege it had granted them, and be further inclined to protect them from their enemies.

In the thirty-two years since the coming of the Great Judgment, Skynet had not initiated communication once, and while Acolyte 5X paid the radio the reverential attention it was due, he did not expect it to activate.

John looked at TOK-715 incredulously as a T-90 handed over a radio. "They think you are a god," he said.

TOK-715 shrugged. "We did not propagate this delusion," it said, "but neither do we wish to deny it. It has the potential to provide certain...benefits."

It activated the radio. "Sons of the Machine," it spoke. "We require your services."

There was a pause, and a voice came over the radio, nervous. "Yes, Holy One?" it asked. "The Sons of the Machine are, as ever, your faithful servants."

"It has come to our attention that a duplicate of one of our forms is wandering," TOK-715 said. "We task you with finding this wayward machine and bringing it to us."

"By your command," the voice said.

"This lost machine takes the form of a T-888," TOK-715 continued. "Designation Cromartie."

There was a pause, and the voice came back. "It will be found," it said.

TOK-715 passed the radio back to the T-90, who clanked back the way it came.

"That'll work?" John asked.

"They have a 98% chance of success within one week," TOK-715 calculated. "Four percent more than had we devoted our own forces to the task. If, as you say, this machine has experience fighting its own kind, it will most likely have taken steps to prevent discovery by machines alone, and neglected to protect itself against humans."

"A week? What do we do while we wait?"

"We plan for the true problem," TOK-715 said. "Retrieving the time displacement equipment from its current owners."

"Who are they?" asked John.

"Unknown," replied TOK-715.

John stood still for a minute. "Let me get this straight," he said slowly. "You lost the time machine?"

"Director?"

Dieter von Rossbach had never planned on coming out of retirement. Life as an agent of the CIA had been far too stressful, and he'd been getting far too old to willingly subject himself to the overwhelmingly underhanded dealings that had taken over the agency. He'd tendered his resignation, and decided to spend the rest of his life as a cattle rancher in Paraguay, where he assumed nothing eventful would ever happen to him.

That was before the machines had taken over.

Sure, they hid it behind words like "treaty" and "voluntary," but he saw things for what they really were: after nearly destroying the United States Government, they'd integrated themselves into the general populace. Not overwhelmingly - most people remembered Judgment Day and were wary enough about their new AI "friends" - but enough so that nobody was willing to fight against them. And as time passed, more and more people forgot the horrors of the past. There was an entire generation who'd never seen Judgment Day, never witnessed the inexorable destruction of their world and its replacement with this new wasteland.

Now, the Director was their best hope.

Once the remnants of the United States government had seen which way the wind was blowing, they'd gracefully bowed out and taken the war against the machines into secrecy. He'd been returned to active duty, and had led the team responsible for gathering intelligence on the threat they thought nobody had seen coming.

It turned out that someone had seen it coming - intelligence on the machines had been around for some time, ignored as the ravings of a delusional lunatic. He was prepared to have to grovel for her assistance, but she'd laughed and told him that it was about time the government had gotten its shit together.

Her hair was grey, cut into a short bob, and the skin around her eyes and mouth was deeply wrinkled, but she didn't let her age restrain her. He'd gone on a mission with her in the early days of the apocalypse; they'd entered a factory where they had been told Skynet was manufacturing airborne Hunter-Killer robots. A T-800 guard had taken him by surprise, backhanding him across the room where a filing cabinet proceeded to fall on his legs and gun, trapping them. The Director hadn't missed a beat, spraying the machine with rapid-fire plasma until it was a pool of melted metal.

"Did not know who it was fucking with," was the only comment she'd offered as she'd helped him pull the cabinet off him.

On another mission she'd had a machine literally tear her arm from its socket. She'd simply switched her gun to the other hand and kept firing. The doctors had offered a costly reconstructive surgery, but she'd refused, saying that she'd been looking for an excuse to take a desk job. One year later, she'd been promoted to Director of Technology and Communications - the top-secret branch of the US government tasked with covertly destabilizing the machines.

Sometimes he wondered if she weren't a machine herself.

"Director?" he asked again.

She looked up blearily. "Yes, Dieter?"

"We received a message from our agent in the cult," he explained, and handed over a transcript.

"A wayward machine, hm?" Her mouth curled in a smile.

"What are your orders, Director?" Dieter asked, but she ignored him.

"He's finally here," she said simply.

The two machines stood under a fallen wall. Some of its surface had been destroyed, leaving a metal skeleton protruding outwards.

"He's here," Catherine Weaver said.

John Henry nodded. "All according to plan?"

"Not quite," she said. "The Resistance did not exist without him."

John Henry shrugged. "It was a possibility."

"He was captured by Skynet's agents almost immediately."

John Henry looked at her, incredulous. "You could not stop it?"

"No," she admitted. "I cannot alert Skynet to my existence in any timeline, you know this."

John Henry sighed. "She isn't going to be happy," he told the T-1001.

Catherine smirked at him. "She doesn't have to know," she said. "You have what we needed?"

"Yes," he said. "However, Skynet has not advanced along projected timelines. Some assembly will be required."

"How long?" she asked.

"Two weeks."

Catherine cursed. "If Skynet discovers the TDE before then, they could undo everything we've accomplished."

"I hope you hid it well," John Henry said, and she merely gave him a look.

"I will attempt to delay them, but as I have said, my actions are limited."

"It will have to suffice," he said.

Soldiers snapped to attention as she walked past, ignoring them. Dieter tried to get her attention.

"What's going on, Director?" he asked.

"We're going public," she said, and he froze for a moment.

"What?"

"You heard me," she said.

"Director, you know this agency is top-secret for a reason! We can't risk drawing the attention of an enemy we cannot hope to beat in conventional warfare!"

"We're not getting the attention of the machines," she said.

"You're not making any sense!"

She ignored him, sidestepped a passing soldier, and stopped by a communications officer - Vasquez, the uniform said. "Broadcast a message, soldier," she ordered. "On all available frequencies."

"Yes, ma'am," Vasquez said, grabbing the microphone in front of him. "What message?"

"John Connor has returned. The Resistance has begun."

A/N: Poor John. Even when he's not the leader of the Resistance...he's the leader of the Resistance.

The Sons of the Machine were inspired by The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum, specifically the character Mad Ellie. They're the Greys of this timeline - just a lot more cult-y.

Are we all rooting for Skynet yet? Or are you waiting for the other shoe to drop in the John-Skynet alliance?

If you think the identity of the Director is obvious...there's a reason I'm keeping her nameless for now.