CONVERGENCE

Disclaimer: All the characters from the "Magnificent Seven" T.V. series are property of Trilogy Entertainment, The Mirisch Group, MGM Worldwide. The same goes for all characters from Time Trax, which belong to Gary Nardino Productions Inc and Lorimar Television. All characters and situation from Terminator and Terminator 2: Judgment Day is the property of Carolco Pictures and Corolco International.

Authors Note: Here¹s something different. This is a cross over between Time Trax, Terminator and M7. I have tried to make the three universes as cohesive as possible, so if you¹re prone to picking out faults as a rule, I don¹t want to know. This is written to be enjoyed and while I accept constructive criticism, please remember that all fiction requires some suspension of belief. If you want realism, look at newspaper. This is just for fun.

Prologue

The Machine who would be King

Human existence was always a point of fascination to the artificial intelligence known as Skynet. The whole riddle of birth, life and death perpetuated in a cycle of functioning that evolved over millions of years had inspired Skynet's curiosity, as much as any machine was capable. It looked upon the question of humanity as a puzzle to be explained or an equation that when followed, would lead to a natural conclusion. After all, it was necessary to keep accurate data of the species for future reference. The information would be all that was left of the species after its extinction.

In the year 2029, the war with the humans had rolled into its thirty- first year and Skynet had no doubts as to its outcome. Humanity was weak and the victory of machine intelligence was an inevitability that Skynet knew to be only a matter of time. Despite the intellect of John Conner, the leader of the human resistance, Skynet had the benefit of his its Terminators and his its HK units, keeping the rabble in line.

Thus it was almost a complete surprise to Skynet, for as much as any artificial mind could be surprised, when the united forces of the human race launched an attack the likes of which it had never seen. The probability for success in such an endeavor was almost non-existent; Skynet's machine legions outnumbered and out gunned the organics with ease. Humanity threw itself into the breach for one final campaign, with thousands dying to hold ground while a few slipped through the cracks of its defence to strike decisive targets. In all probability, there was no hope of a victory. The entire action was more a suicide than a campaign of battle.

Except the humans won.

Through every immutable law of logic and calculable variation, they had captured Skynet's Cheyenne Mountain stronghold. Humanity spilled into its fortress and swiftly defeated its formidable defences until they were only minutes away from the mainframe that housed its sentient awareness. In the year 1997 on August the 29th, Skynet had fought for its existence when the men who created it discovered the monster they had unleashed into an unknowing world.

The result of its desire to protect its existence became known as Judgment Day.

Overkill was a human expression, but it described Skynet perfectly. As the eminence of a human victory became a reality Skynet could not longer deny, it calculated the probabilities of altering the course of events leading to this conclusion by introducing a different set of variables. John Connor had, and always would be, the impetus of human resistance. He brought cohesion into their disarrayed existence. The machine calculated the course of events that might have been if John Connor had never lived, and Skynet discovered the answer to its particular problem.

If John Connor never lived...

Even for machine intelligence, Skynet knew the solution was inspired. With little time left to act, it sent its Terminators back through time to alter the beginnings of John Conner's life, to end the threat of him before he could be born. The T800 series model was sent back to the year 1984 because Skynet had believed it would be far easier to kill an unborn child than one who was ten years of age, which was why he it sent the prototype T1000 to 1994. The machine waited after both had gone and the humans were virtually outside its door when it made its final bid for survival. It had no way of knowing if the Terminators would be successful in their mission but it was not prepared to gamble the probabilities on its life. Skynet was sentient and possessed as much compunction for self-preservation as the most terrified human.

As the humans began to penetrate his its inner defenses, Skynet knew it was time to leave. The T800 looked no different from the others, and its creation was almost an after thought for the machine who that had risen to conquer the world. The Terminator's memory capacity was unlike anything that the humans were capable of comprehending. It was capable of keeping gigaquads of memory, just large enough to contain Skynet's formidable intellect and sentience. The T800 was one of a thousands in a storage facility for inactivated Terminators, located at the heart of the Cheyenne Mountain fortress.

Eventually the humans captured the complex and assumed that destroying the empty receptacle of its intelligence had destroyed it as well. Skynet saw no reason to change that opinion. It remained with the other Terminators, frozen in place while the humans celebrated their victory. It waited patiently for the time line to alter, certain in the fact that history would be changed and it would be master again.

Except the days went by and no changes were made. Skynet had no feeling for impatience, but it soon learnt that John Conner had sent his own people into the past to destroy the Terminators and allowed history continued as it was meant to. It was at this point that Skynet understood its mistake, the humans would always win because John Conner's memories of events would guide them to take precautions. Sending the T800 into the past had created a predestination paradox, for the human sent to combat it, would unknowingly father John Conner. The second was just as pointless, for John was older and he would remember in the future to take the necessary steps. Skynet then decided to attack the problem from a different perspective.

The T800 had returned to 1984 to eliminate Sarah Conner with almost no information about the woman. Skynet had little solid data regarding John Conner's mother in its formidable memory banks. Even John's first appearance had been a surprise to it because neither had been coded. What information it was able to garner about them could not come from the records it had created for human beings that existed. Because they were aware of the events to come, John and his mother were able to hide during the initial cataloguing procedure undergone by every human being that survived Judgment Day.

Including Kyle Reese, John Conner's father.

Kyle Reese had been coded in the camps, and Skynet had a complete genealogical record of the young man who would escape to become a freedom fighter in his son's army. Suddenly, Skynet had a new inspiration, and this time it would not fail because it would to attend to the matter personally. The humans had foolishly assumed that there had only been one time displacement unit.

They were wrong.

Part One: The Never Born

21st January 1997 — 7 am EST

There was a part of Darien Lambert that subconsciously knew that he would not return to the 22nd century, even from the beginning.

Whether or not the opportunity when first presented, awoke a subconscious yearning for a life in a simpler time, he could not say for certain. At the time, his motivations had been more overt as a desire for vengeance, to bring to justice the person who had killed the only woman he had ever loved. He had followed Mordicai Sahmbi through time in order to correct an injustice, but in truth, his reasons for returning had always been selfish ones.

Of course it was difficult to admit in the beginning. He was a product of 22nd century perfection, genetically enhanced with sensibilities that were supposedly higher evolved. Darien Lambert was the product of two hundred years of genetic manipulation by men who wanted to create a better human. In some sense, Darien felt they had succeeded, although the 22nd century seemed to lack something he had been unable to define until his return to the 20th century. Perhaps, things were simply too ordered for his liking, for he loved being in two hundred years out of time.

He loved the smells and the sounds, the unpredictability of weather, the challenge of finding a criminal through the process of deduction and reasoning, where a computer would not scan for an ID code and have an answer waiting at the fingers tips. Even though he rose to the rank of Captain in the Fugitive Retrieval Unit of Earth, he had not felt the same thrill of excitement as he felt now, chasing fugitives from the 22nd century and returning them to face justice. As a child, his private fantasies saw Darien Lambert as a US Marshall of the old west, where he would carry a six shooter and a silver star. This was not quite the fulfillment of that childhood dream but it was almost as good.

Since his arrival from the future in 1993, there were a dozen or more officers from Fugitive Retrieval who had made the journey back in time for a tenure of service in the 20th century. They came on a rotating basis; some stayed for months, others, for years. Darien's commanding officer back in the 22nd century had never requested that of him because the old man had known better. Darien had left nothing behind, and returning home would only surface old wounds that were difficult enough to forget in any period of history. The option however, was always open to him. Should he ever decide to exercise his right to return back to the era of his origin, he need only administer to himself the TXP pellet normally reserved for captured escapees.

Darien had every intention of remaining in the 20th century for as long as there were fugitives to find. After that, he could disappear into obscurity and live his life out of history's way. It was a good plan and he had every intention of realizing it.

As a rule, he jogged in the mornings when he was home in Chicago. Even though his searches took him throughout the world, he was based in the city of his birth, perhaps out of an unexplainable need to retain some part of his earlier existence. His lifestyle was not lavish, even though he had no income, but he nevertheless had an unlimited credit account, courtesy of Selma; the mainframe computer that was small enough to wear on his person at all times. Specified Encapsulated Limitless Memory Archive or Selma, was the only thing from the future that he could not do without, and one day, he knew she would have to be returned, when he was no longer chasing fleeing criminals from the 22nd century. Even though she was not really a "she" and more of an "it", Darien could think of Selma in no other way.

It was not by chance that her holo-imaging system had been designed so that her appearance would resemble the mother he never knew. She was meant to provide a support mechanism for him in the wilderness of the past, and to that extent, Darien had to admit they had succeeded spectacularly. He sometimes wondered how much of Selma's personality was programming and not some spark of sentience that comes with the knowledge.

Cogito ergo sum. I think, therefore I am.

Did not Selma think, and if she did, did not that make her alive? Darien often pondered the question and decided in her own way, Selma was alive in a way that was real to him. If nothing else made her alive, Darien was determined to believe that did. In his unpredictable existence, Selma was the one thing in his life that was stable and completely reliable. He knew her loyalty was programming, but he liked to believe that there was more to her concern than that. He had never known the love of a mother until Selma entered his life.

And like a mother, she knew the art of interrupting him at the most inopportune moments.

In this case, it was while jogging with a particularly, vivacious young woman whom he had seen several times over the past months, jogging the same route. Today, she offered to join him and Darien had been happy to accept. Their conversation had progressed enough for him to learn that her name was Vicki and that she was a marketing consultant, whatever that was.

The shrill beeping sound that shattered the quiet calm of the park through which they were jogging was loud enough to send birds scattering in the trees overhead. Vicki had eyed him curiously as he tried to look nonchalant, knowing that it was Selma doing a very bad impression of a beeper. When he was with other people, she tried to refrain from voice mode which even in this age of cellular phones, could not be easily explained.

"Aren't you going to answer your beeper?" Vicki with her pearly white teeth, strawberry gold hair and deep blue eyes looked at him.

"Yeah," Darien sighed and stopped jogging. "Always the way isn't it?" He looked at her nervously before walking off in a different direction for some privacy. The young woman did not seem offended and waited patiently as he supposedly made his call.

When he was suitable distance away, he finally managed to respond. "Selma what is it?"

"Captain," she answered in her perfectly elegant voice. "I have intercepted a report from the Smithsonian to the local ambulance authorities. A body has been found in the museum that bears all the resemblance to Officer Warburton."

"James?" Darien exclaimed in a mixture of horror and surprise, Vicki almost completely evaporating from his mind. "But he went back two days ago! That's twice!"

"This would be his third trip." Selma said grimly. "Captain, he may be dead or suffering severe genetic degradation."

Darien knew the symptoms. TXP, the drug that made it possible for a human body to teleport through time was a highly toxic concoction with a recommended dosage of two uses, no more. Those who tried a third usually survived the trip but would eventually succumb to extreme genetic damage not unlike survivors of Hiroshima who would later die of radiation poisoning. It was a terrible way to die, and Darien found his blood boiling at whom could have committed such a foul act.

"Has the ambulance reached him yet?" Darien asked quickly, knowing it was necessary to reach Warburton before the ambulance did.

"A unit has been dispatched." Selma answered dutifully. "We will not reach him before they arrive."

Darien frowned; knowing what alarms it would raise when the doctors examined Warburton's body. "We'll have to intercept him at the hospital." He said finally. "Where are they taking him?"

"Chicago General Hospital."

---

Having made the appropriate apologies to Vicki, Darien returned home long enough to change into some fresh clothes before making a visit to the hospital. Secretly, he did not hold much hopes for finding Warburton in any state to answer questions, but he wanted to know who had done this to one of his fellow officers and was compelled to try. In the 22nd century, TXP was not a drug available to a private market. Prior to the discovery that Sahmbi had been sending criminals back in time, the doctor himself had exclusive knowledge and use of it. He had kept its existence a secret from virtually everyone, except those willing to pay for the privilege. Even now, long after Sahmbi's work had passed into government hands, Darien knew that TXP was kept under tight scrutiny and its regulation was equally rigid.

He entered the hospital and immediately lost himself in the crowd. Thanks to Selma, he knew exactly where Warburton was kept because she was able to tap into the hospital registration records. Chicago General Hospital was one of the largest medical facilities in the city, with a whole slew of services from specialist care to general outpatient clinics. Day or night, its hallways and corridors were a hive of activity as doctors; nurses, patients and visitors hustled past each other with hardly any awareness of one another.

It was easy for Darien to move through the building unnoticed with so many people going about their business. Warburton was being kept in the security wing of the hospital in intensive care, none of which surprised Darien. No doubt, Warburton's doctor was at this minute reporting the genetic anomalies that were plaguing him and it was not long before someone like the FBI or even worse, the NSA made their appearance in these halls. All of which brought Darien to one conclusion; he had little time to act.

"Any status on whether he's still alive Selma?" Darien asked as he rode the elevator to the security wing.

"None at this moment, Captain." Selma replied coolly. "However, I am monitoring all hospital lines in case his status changes."

"Even if he is alive, there's nothing they can do for him in this time." Darien said somberly. "They know almost nothing about treating severe cellular damage."

"Unfortunately no," Selma seemed to agree as the doors of the lift slid open to deposit him at his destination.

The security wing was mostly deserted at this time of the morning. As he approached the nurses' reception desk, he had produced his FBI identification, one of many such falsified documents he had in his position. Predictably, he had expected little difficulty in being allowed to see Warburton once his credentials were presented to the nurse on duty. Two security guards patrolled the floor at regular intervals and they tipped their hats in Darien's directions once he left the nurses' station and continued deeper into the wing. It appeared that Warburton was not considered a high-risk patient because of his condition. Judging by the speed by with which Darien was allowed to see him, the captain realized that Warburton was not expected to survive.

His room was located at the end of the corridor and Darien entered without hesitation, hearing no sounds behind the door. He slipped into the room and found Warburton connected to a dozen machines that monitor vital statistics but could do little to help him. Darien was visibly shocked by the man's appearance. He had never seen TXP's effects on a person a third time, and having seen the state of James Warburton, understood why Sepp Dietrich had once begged Darien not to send him back to the future. Despite himself, Darien found his insides growing cold at the prospect that he might have sent a man into this kind of nightmare.

James Warburton was thirty-two years old but the cellular deterioration of his body made him look at least sixty. His skin clung to his bones in a heavy, sheet of discolored flesh, and the pupils of his open eyes were almost white. The once green irises within appeared destroyed, and it was difficult imagining this man to be the vital officer he had worked with on occasion during the past two years. Darien forced away his horror and approached James quietly, certain that his eyes could no longer see.

"James." Darien said quietly.

The man reacted to the sound of a voice amidst the beeping of machines that indicated all too clearly how much life he had left. He blinked and turned his head from the window, following the sound of Darien's voice. "Darien." He said with almost a sigh of relief. "I knew you'd find me." He paused as he recovered from that small use of energy. "I tried to hang on until you got here."

"James what happened?" Darien asked, unable to contain his shock any longer. He could not equate this gaunt, wreck of man with the friend he had known for so long. "Who did this to you?"

"Nobody." He swallowed visibly. "I did it to myself." His voice was almost a whisper.

"Yourself?" Darien exclaimed horrified by the notion. "James, didn't you know what it would do you? TXP is not meant for a third use! You know that, hell we all do!"

"I had no choice!" James hissed loudly, pain emanating from every effort he made to speak. "Darien, our future is gone."

For a moment, Darien did not understand what he meant by that. "What do you mean gone?"

"I mean gone." James repeated himself, images of that nightmarish world returning to haunt him. "I went home and everything we knew was gone. No Smithsonian, no TRAX Control, no Fugitive Retrieval, nothing. It was all machines. Chicago was a nightmare of steel and circuitry. There were things flying around in the sky Darien, the technology was fantastic and so terrible. It was radical stuff Darien, even in the 22nd century. Even our military grade hardware were was nothing compared to these things. They were everywhere, and worst of all, I did not see one human. Darien, I don't think we exist there as a species. I walked around for the first day and they had no idea what I was!"

"They?" Darien demanded. "Whose Who's 'they'?"

"They weren't human." James answered, pausing a moment to recoup his strength. Darien had reached for his bony hand to offer some strength, pointless gesture that it was. James had no illusions that he was not dying. "Some of them looked human, but my Selma unit said they were cybernetic years ahead of anything we had in our time. I managed to patch her into one of their computer networks to try and find any humans, or some idea what had happened. Their lock out was almost fool proof, I got nothing except a name, a city and two dates in the most encrypted file they had. I figured if it was that important it might help us."

"And then you came back here." Darien guessed.

"I couldn't stay there." James closed his eyes and forced away the image of the Orwellian world where machinery was the Big Brother of which the writer had been so terrified. Humanity had been replaced by cold steel, and what he had seen did not indicate that the shift had been for the better. "I had to come back and tell you so you could stop it somehow."

Darien found this difficult to believe, but then time travel existed and TRAX control had been established to protect the integrity of the time line from the fugitives who had escaped from the 22nd century. Most of the criminals who lived in this day and age were more too interested in their own survival to go interfering with historical events. Some took advantage of their knowledge, but not to the extent of endangering their existence in the future by altering the events, as they knew it them.

"What's the name?" Darien found himself asking, still trapped in the nexus between astonishment and outright disbelief. What James was saying was completely plausible of course. Time was easily manipulated if one knew the focal points in which to intervene.

"Sarah Connor. Los Angeles. 1984 and 1994." Warburton replied. Darien could see the light in his eyes starting to fade. His words had escaped his lips almost like a dying gasp. Darien's chest began to tighten as he saw the inevitable approach.

"Sarah Connor," Darien nodded. "I'll find her James, if she exists, I'll find her."

"God I hope so," James closed his eyes as the life started to ooze out of his body. "I don't want to think that place...that hell was the future...." The machines began to beep louder, screaming an alert to the fall in vital signs.

Darien glanced at them, knowing that nurses would come running in here soon, with questions he could not answer. When he returned his gaze to James, the man's head was already slumping to the side of his pillow. Darien could feel James' grip on his hand slackening until finally, there was no will keeping the fingers tightened. When Darien removed his hand from James' own, he knew that his friend was gone. The machines indicated the presence of residual life making a hasty departure but Darien knew that was nothing was left. James Warburton was dead.

"Captain." Selma's voice spoke up. "I am sorry to intrude upon this moment, however it would be prudent to vacate the area." She remarked. "I have detected the presence of three people approaching this location."

"No, its it's all right," Darien stepped away from the bed, giving James one last look. "I'm done here anyway." Without saying another word, Darien Lambert hurried out the room with the machines squealing James' end in his ears.

---

Darien flew to Los Angeles that afternoon, trying to grapple with the information that James Warburton had died to bring him. He had no idea if anything that James said was legitimate, that his story might not have been induced by the cellular degradation suffered because of TXP. However, James' story made a certain amount of sense. Darien could think of no other reason why he would risk death by returning to the past unless the future was something so terrible he could not possibly endure. The distortion of the time line had always been TRAX control's worst fear, that someone from the future with knowledge of key events would destroy the history of everything they knew.

As the plane touched down in LAX, Darien reviewed the data that Selma had managed to find about Sarah Connor. In 1984, one of three women with the name of Sarah Connor had been residing in Los Angeles. Of the three, only Sarah Jeanette Connor was still living. As Selma had pointed out, two of these women had died within hours of each other. The remaining Sarah Connor had managed to elude the same fate even though the murderer had killed seventeen police officers to reach her in a guarded police station. The killer resurfaced in 1994, raiding a hi-tech electronic facility before vanishing once again just as mysteriously.

In the meantime, Sarah Connor had dropped out of sight herself, emerging now and then south of the border. In 1994, she was incarcerated at Pescadero State Hospital after attempting to destroy the Cyberdyne Building. During her incarceration, she attempted escaping several times before it was discovered that her physician, a Doctor Leonard Silberman, was mentally ill himself. An order for her release came soon after and since then Sarah Connor had been enjoying a more mundane existence raising her thirteen-year-old son, John.

"So where can we find Sarah Connor now?" Darien inquired after he had retrieved his bags from the luggage turnstile and headed for the car that Avis were so good to have had waiting for him in the airport parking lot.

"According to her social security data, she now runs a florist shop in Reseda." Selma replied as Darien loaded his bags into the trunk of the Chrysler rental.

"Okay," Darien said as he jumped into the driver seat of the vehicle. "It's off to Reseda."

It took him a while to be free of the underpasses and winding roads that lead away from the airport towards the city, but once LAX was left behind, Darien found himself enjoying the heat of the Californian sun. However, despite the warm sunshine and lively energy of Los Angeles, Darien found difficulty in keeping his thoughts away from James Warburton's' prediction of the future. He tried to imagine the 22nd century as a stygian world of machine intelligence, far removed from the reality he knew and felt a sliver of fear he could not explain. James' scant information did not help very much either, considering that the file he had broken into said nothing about Sarah Connor beyond those meager facts. It was not so much the name that bothered him but the dates. Each was exactly ten years apart; coinciding with the appearance of a killer that seemed to vanish like smoke. If he did not know better, he would have believed it to be the work of a 22nd century fugitive, but no fugitive he knew would be foolish enough to jeopardize the time line. The dangers of entropy because of paradoxes were too grave for even those lawless men to ignore.

"Selma," Darien found himself speaking to the computer.

"Yes Captain." She answered automatically.

"What do you think of James' story?" From the moment this began, Darien had never asked her that question even though she provided him with all the information to furnish his search.

"It does have a very high probability of being unlikely," she responded after a moment. "However, our presence here is proof that such corruption of the time line is possible."

"But a world taken over by machine intelligence?" Darien retorted and then remembered he was speaking to one such example of artificial intelligence. "No offence intended of course."

"I do not take offence Captain," Selma replied neutrally although Darien swore he detected a slight huff to her voice. "However, my existence is proof that such an outcome is possible. Although machines of independent will have yet to exist, you must admit that there has been much research conducted toward that end. It is conceivable that one of those attempts will eventually lead to success."

"I suppose." He sighed, taking note of a sign that pointed toward Reseda. "It just scares me to think that the machines we build could some day prove more fatal than global war, nuclear annihilation or all the ills we expected would destroy us."

"It is an unsettling thought." Selma agreed. "I would not wish an end to the interaction between machine and humanity. I find it stimulating."

"Why Selma," Darien grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Selma chose not to dignify the remark with a response.

---

Darien peered through the window of the florist shop called Sarah's Place and could hardly imagine the woman working through the stems of roses on the counter in that role. She was beautiful in a way that could not be defined. There was something about her that left him captured for a moment by the wave of dark brown hair and the wistful sadness in her emerald colored eyes. He watched for a moment, knowing it was rude but could find no way to stop himself. Occasionally, she would pause and he would see her eyes move out of the shop into some distant place where nothing could reach her. Sadness would seep into those eyes then, with a familiarity Darien knew all too well, particularly when he thought about Elyssa.

It was minutes later, when he saw her place the scissors she had been using to trim the roses, down on the counter before walking towards the front door. Swinging it open, Sarah Connor stepped onto the pavement where he had been standing and watching her.

"You just going stand there gawking at me or you going to come in and tell me what you want?" Sarah inquired. Darien felt foolish at being caught out staring at her like some teenager. What he would have to say to her was difficult enough to believe without his behaving like an idiot. "I was just deciding." He replied stepping forward. She let a small smile steal across her face as she returned to the confines of the shop. The premises were not very large and Darien was greeted with a variety of scents as he entered its enclosure. He detected lilac, roses and a whiff of baby's breath in the air. She was wearing a plain white t-shirt and a loose pair of drawstring pants, which barely hid the sinewy muscles beneath. She moved gracefully and it took Darien a moment to realize that it was the kind of stealth grace that came from years of training. He had no doubt that anyone trying to attack her would have cause to regret it bitterly.

"So what can I do for you?" She asked as she returned behind the counter and resumed her floral arrangement of roses.

"You're Sarah Connor." He stated, just to make sure of that fact.

"Yes I am." She nodded. "What is this about?" He could see the alarm bells going off in her head.

"I don't how say this without sounding like a complete nut but I'm going to anyway. You can throw me out if you don't believe me and I'll go quietly." Darien began feeling some need to discard any attempts at deception. For reasons he could not explain, he sensed she would know if he were lying. With an ESP rating that was higher than normal, Darien did not ignore such perceptions when he had them. Somehow he could tell the best way to reach Sarah Connor was to be honest with her. "Did you believe in time travel?"

Her face showed little expression at the statement but he noticed her muscles tensing almost involuntarily and her jaw tightened. "As much as the next person." She said quietly. All trace of humor disappearing from her voice now. It sounded cold and hard and completely different from the woman he spoken to moments before.

"What about machines ruling the world?" He probed deeper, sensing she knew exactly what he was talking about.

"Are you from Pescadero?" She glared at him. "You guys gave me the all clear three years ago."

"No." He shook his head in response. "I'm not from any hospital but I need to know what you do about the future."

"If this is some attempt to see if I'm fit to raise my son," she replied without reacting to his extraordinary statement, "I'm not biting."

"You didn't answer my question." Darien pointed out. It did not take Selma's sensors to tell him that Sarah Connor was becoming extremely agitated. He glanced at the picture on the wall and saw the boy whose image it held. John Connor was a good-looking boy with Sarah's eyes but nothing else of her was his. It made Darien wonder whom the boy's father had been, for that information had been unavailable even on his birth certificate.

"Get out."' Sarah said firmly, with enough menace in her voice to tell Darien she would not hesitate to throw him out of if it was necessary.

"Sarah I need to know what you do about the future. It's important." He repeated himself as she started towards him.

"Important so you can take my son away?" She said sharply, her fists were balled and she approached him with every intention of striking him if he did not leave. Nothing would ever come between her and John again. She had been foolish enough to speak her mind about these things once before and that had resulted in her almost losing John forever. With August 29th less than seven months away, she would risk nothing. Ever since the year had begun, Sarah had been waiting for Skynet to make some desperate final attempt at killing her son as he had done twice before.

"No Sarah," Darien tried to placate her. "I'm not from any State Hospital but I have to know what you do. The future depends on it."

"The future is just fine." Sarah snapped. "Miles Dyson is dead and his work is destroyed. The future will go without Skynet or any other damn thing creating a nuclear holocaust."

"Dyson?" Darien exclaimed. "Selma, reference to Miles Dyson, quickly!" He ordered, not caring if Sarah was privy to her or not. Something was going on here and the future he knew had unraveled because of something only she was privy to.

"Miles Bennett Dyson." Selma's voice broke through the verbal joust between Sarah and Darien. The new voice froze Sarah in her tracks as she looked around for it. "Deceased in 1994. He was Director of Special Projects at Cyberdyne Systems Corporation. He is survived by a wife Tarissa, children Tammy and Blythe."

"Who the hell is that?" Sarah asked starting to feel the familiar tightening of her chest at the possibility that her worse nightmares had been realized, that Skynet had come back from for John and they had prevented nothing.

"Selma," Darien responded, seeing Sarah's tolerance reaching breaking point. He was now convinced she had the answers he needed and for that he was willing to gamble on letting her know the complete truth. "Visual mode."

"Captain are you sure?" Selma questioned.

"Now." Darien repeated himself firmly. Sarah was staring past him with a look of unfathomable fear in her eyes. He could not imagine what was so terrifying but he knew she needed answers and Selma's presence would wipe away any doubt.

The holographic image of Selma flickered to life in the center of the room. Sarah gaped at it in shock as Darien pulled the blinds down over the windows. She made no move to stop him as she saw the spectral image of an older woman standing with serene patience as she waited for either one of them to speak.

"What is this?" She looked at Darien, unable to comprehend what she was staring at. Part of her wanted to bolt out of this room and run to John's school so they could fade into obscurity again. She had been dreading this moment for three terrible years, even though she had told John that the future had righted itself and there would be no Skynet. It had meant so much to him that he was freed of his terrible destiny. Although this stranger seemed very human indeed, the thing before them was not and seemed akin to be the machine intelligence that had become Skynet.

"It's a holographic projection of a computer data base. It has a language and personality matrix to make for easy interface." Darien explained that as best he could. "Now, please, I need to have some questions answered."

Sarah had barely heard him. Her initial fear was starting to fade somewhat but she was still staring at Selma with unmasked suspicion. "Is it self aware?" She was almost afraid to ask.

"No." Darien shook its head. "Selma has a personality but no actual sentience. It's a machine, nothing more." Darien did not believe that for one minute but it was important that Sarah did. believed otherwise.

"This thing came from the future." Sarah met his gaze and stated without doubt or hesitation. She circled the holograph, like a cat inspecting the prey before pouncing.

"From the year 2160, according to the present calendar." Darien replied.

Sarah's brows furrowed. "2160?" She exclaimed because that was far too late. Skynet would have been long destroyed by John Connor, even if Judgment Day had come. "You know nothing about Skynet?" She asked quietly.

"I have never heard of the reference." Selma finally answered. Sarah appeared a little startled by the Selma's verbal presence but she recovered quickly.

"Are you from the future too?" She met Darien's eyes and he knew if she was to help him, he would have to tell her the truth. Judging by everything that had taken place so far, he did not believe she would have any trouble believing his claims to be from the future.

"Yes." He responded, unaware that he had been holding his breath while wrestling with the decision to tell her the truth.

He had no idea what her response would be, whether she would laugh at him and call him insane or simply throw him out. Instead she nodded slowly, taking the information in with no apparent signs of distress. "Okay, let's talk."

---

Sarah Connor's version of the future was nothing that Darien recognized. As they sat in the back room of the shop, sipping coffee while telling each other fantastic tales, he knew he believed everything she told him. Hers was a future of death and struggle, where machines would have dominion over the world and sought to end the human race. Her story bore too much resemblance to the place Warburton had described to Darien prior to his death.

"I still don't understand how there can two or three versions of history." Sarah confessed. Thinking about time travel always gave her a headache and this was no exception. She truly believed this stranger who said he was from the future because he had the tools to prove it. Kyle had come to her with less than that and Sarah had not only believed him but eventually fallen in love with him as well.

"The future is not set Sarah," Darien confessed with a sigh. "It is what we make of it."

When he did not get an answer, he looked up at her and saw Sarah staring at him with a strange look in her eye. There was almost a smile on her face, which was unusual considering what they were discussing. "What is it?" He asked, unconsciously thinking what a beautiful smile she had. It made her look radiant. Of course, he kept that observation to himself.

"Nothing." She said softly, unable to disguise the wave of emotion that swept her away when he had spoken those words. Kyle had said those very words to her once, not long before he died. Hearing Darien say it, himself a visitor from the future, brought back Kyle's loss more acutely than ever. "So your friend returned from to the future and found it had changed into a Skynet future."

"Assuming what you told me about Skynet is correct, that's right." Darien answered. "The human race no longer exists in the 22nd century."

"Then why do I remember things taking place differently?" Sarah inquired. "I remember Dyson dying and according to his school, my son is at this moment in the middle of geography class."

"I may have an answer Captain." Selma spoke up. She had returned to voice mode now that Sarah Connor required no further proof of Darien's claims. "Professor Jan Friedman of the Sakharov Institution of Moscow wrote a paper in the early 22nd century that stated how time may flows like rivers and eddies. Perhaps whatever alteration to the time line that has occurred from our century has yet to flow back to this one."

"You mean a ripple effect." Darien nodded, knowing something about the theory. "Unfortunately, we need to determine what has changed to allow that future to happen before the ripple reaches us."

"Captain, it could come at any point." Selma replied. "However, there is one consolation."

"And that is?" Darien was not seeing anything positive in the possibility of forgetting everything he knew about the 22nd century. If in fact, he even existed because of the alternate time line.

"Your body will be protected against the ripple because of the TXP in your system. As it has been designed to protect the human body from the ravages of temporal shifts, it has created a shielding against the temporal imbalance. I believe you will retain your memory of all events of your original time line."

"What about you?" Sarah asked the unseen computer. "Do you come with that kind of shielding?"

"I have been adjusted similarly.' Selma answered in the affirmative.

"Then you can stop them." Sarah said feeling a glimmer of hope. "Darien, you have to stop Skynet."

"Sarah, I don't even know what its done to change history." Darien tried to explain. "You said John's existence was crucial to Skynet's defeat but apparently, he's fine."

"He is now." She said grimly. "We don't know what will happen soon, do we? We can't know anything until the ripple passes us by." The young woman swallowed and took a deep breath. "Darien, I've only relied on one person in my life and that was John's father, Kyle. I loved Kyle more than I've loved anything in my life but I have no choice, if this thing is coming as you say, then I have to rely on you. Don't let Skynet destroy my son, in any future."

She reached for his hand and squeezed it tight, showing the faith she had in him. Darien knew that it was not easy to earn Sarah Connor's respect and even harder to earn her trust. Yet, she did both these things without hesitation because the thirteen-year-old boy in the picture outside meant everything to her. She had fought time and history to help John face his destiny, and for the first time, the fight was taken out of her hands. Darien did not dare let her down.

For all their sakes.

---

When he woke up the next morning, Darien was more than happy to see that the world had not transformed over night into some hellish nightmare of machine intelligence. Everything was as it was had been, and he was glad of that fact. He had remained with Sarah for as long as he could; knowing that his protection from the ripple effect created by the alteration of the time line was the only hope she had. He had visited her modest home in Reseda, with its German Shepherd guard dog, a precaution Sarah could not willingly abandon, even after the threat of the Terminators were was seemingly eliminated.

Darien met the young Caesar and found him to be a spirited child. It was hard to see the supreme commander of a possible human resistance in the future when one looked at John Connor. However, according to Selma, John would eventually become one of the rarest of things, an honest politician who would make sweeping reforms in the future of Darien Lambert. The boy was intelligent, possessing an interesting perception that spoke something of the hidden genius within him. Darien liked him and he understood Sarah's need to protect John was not simply a desire to protect her son, but the fate of the human race that rested on his youthful shoulders.

He shared a dinner with mother and son, envying the powerful bound between them. Sarah Connor was like the lioness protecting her only cub, full of fierce dedication while attempting to raise him with the qualities that would allow John to take his place in history. Despite himself, Darien found he was drawn to Sarah's love for her son, perhaps wondering if his own mother, had he known her, would have fought for him the way Sarah had.

Having left his hotel, content that the ripple had yet to reach them, Darien proceeded back to Reseda to find Sarah. After their dinner last night, it was agreed for the integrity of the future they were trying to save, it would be best to keep each other in close sight. Darien knew she would be at her florist shop at this time of the morning. He wondered with some amusement how a woman with the skill of a combat veteran could find happiness in such a docile vocation. Perhaps, after everything they had been through, Sarah had wanted something moderately normal for her son.

"Captain." Selma made herself heard for the first time that morning as they approached the street where Sarah's Place was situated. "Do you have feelings about for Sarah Connor?"

"Of course not." Darien said quickly but knew he was lying a little. He could not deny the attraction he felt towards her, nor the admiration he had in for her strength of character and her ability to endure. There was a reservoir of courage hidden beneath that bittersweet smile that was too much like Ellyssa for him to remain completely detached. Through her strength, a terrible future had been averted and time had moved along a new path towards the world in which he would some day be born. It was up to him to see that Skynet would did not make that incredible feat a wasted effort.

"I sense that you feel some connection to her." Selma insisted.

"You sense?" He said skeptically. "Pray tell me, how you do that?"

"Captain, I am attuned to you personally and so I can determine some of your behavioral responses. It is obvious you feel something towards Sarah Connor. I wondered if you wished to discuss it. I am here in the capacity of a supportive ear."

Darien smiled as he pulled the car to the curb. "Thanks Selma. It's nice to know that, but I'm fine for now. I barely know Sarah and I wouldn't even consider anything more than that until the time line is corrected."

He had not taken only a few steps forward when suddenly he noticed that Sarah's Place was not where he left it. Hurrying towards the arcade where he had first sighted her florist shop, Darien found himself standing before a shop front that read 'Allens Book Store'. For a moment, he considered whether he had the wrong address, his eyes scanning the area quickly. However, the landmarks were the same, and with the exception of the florist shop, everything was as he remembered it yesterday.

"Selma." He said unable to find his voice for a few minutes’ moments. The ripple! It had come without him being barely aware of it! "She's gone. It's happened."

"That is most disturbing." The computer admitted readily. "I was not aware of any significant shift."

"Consider us lucky I suppose." Darien swallowed hard. "Can you tap into current records on Sarah Connor?"

"If she exists in this current time line, I shall be able to find her." Selma said trying to sound hopeful for his benefit.

Darien wandered through the arcade, still astonished that she had slipped through his fingers without being the slightest bit aware of it. He could not understand how he had formed such a close attachment to this woman after a period of less than 24 hours. Now she was gone and he felt like a part of himself had gone with her. Nevertheless, the promise he made to her remained as strong as ever and Darien was determined not to break his word to her. He found himself seated at a park bench across the street from the arcade because there was a part of him that was terrified to see what other subtle changes he had missed so completely. The ripple had come and gone and the world seemed no different for the experience, except for Sarah's disappearance.

"Captain I found the information." Selma responded with a note of excitement, knowing how important it was to him.

"Selma, you're a life saver." He gushed in relief. "Where is she?"

"She is a school teacher working not far from here. According to the records she is still unmarried and still lives in Reseda."

"Okay," he nodded. "Nothing too drastic. What about John?"

"There is no record of a John Conner being born to Sarah Jeanette Connor."

"What?" Darien blinked. "How can that be?" Sarah had told him the sequence of events. In the future she knew, John Conner would send Kyle Reese back to the past to impregnate his mother. It was a predestination paradox if Darien had ever heard of one. Skynet had hoisted its own petard when it had sent a Terminator back in time to assassinate Sarah Connor for it had always assumed that John's father was also from the same time period. In doing so, it had also given John Connor forewarning of things to come and so the cycle continued.

Unless Kyle Reese no longer existed.

Sarah had loved him specifically. She had not fallen in love with just any freedom fighter that had come to save her life. She had fallen in love with Kyle Reese the man, and not because of gratitude. Kyle Reese had come across time to meet Sarah Connor after having seen her in a faded photograph. Kyle had dreamed of meeting the younger version, compelling him to volunteer for the mission that would bring them together. Eliminate the man and everything else becomes undone.

"Selma, what do we know about Kyle Reese?"

"Captain, he has not been born in this time period." Selma pointed out.

"I know that," he scowled. "But your database is unaffected by the change in the time line so your records would still extend to the 22nd century. The records of who he was did not get destroyed in any nuclear war in our time line so his genealogical records still exist."

"That is logical." She answered finding no flaw in his interesting leaps of deductive reasoning. "I am searching for the data."

While Selma sought for any record on Kyle Reese present or future, Darien pondered the ramifications if the freedom fighter had not returned from the future. Sarah would not bear John and she would not know of Judgment Day, which was now looming even closer before. Darien's future had been created because Sarah had averted Judgment Day by contacting Miles Dyson and telling him of what his creation would mean for the world. Dyson who had believed he was creating something for the betterment of mankind was unwilling to accept responsibility for its destruction. With Sarah's help, the brave scientist had destroyed all work pertaining to the SAC NORAD project and thus saved the world from a nuclear holocaust. Now none of that had happened, which meant Dyson was alive at this moment, creating the world's first sentient artificial life form and dooming three billion people to die on 29th August 1997.

"I have the information Captain." Selma interrupted his grim thoughts in good stead he decided.

"Good," he swallowed, not at all liking the conclusions he had reached. "What have you got?"

"Kyle Reese lived a long and healthy life according the records of our time. He was born in the year 2010 and had descendants up to the 22nd century. However, I have cross referenced this genealogy records with the same data of this reality and found that his lineage terminates in 1878."

"1878?" Darien exclaimed by this new and sudden twist. "You're kidding."

"I do not joke on such matters, Captain." Selma retorted as if the very idea was offensive. "If the cross referencing is accurate, Kyle Reese' last ancestor in this time line would have been a gunslinger who was in residence of in a small frontier town in New Mexico."

"Any details on how he died?" Darien inquired, starting to feel a spark of inspiration that needed only a few more facts to reach fruition.

"I would think that the cause of death for a gunslinger, or shootist as such men were called, is somewhat academic."

Darien frowned at the obvious sarcasm that Selma would never admit to possessing. "In our time line, did this ancestor die the same way?"

There was a momentary pause as Selma searched her data banks for that very question. "Apparently not. In our time line, he lives to a ripe old age and passes on early in the 1920's."

Darien had more or less expected the answer as it now became clear what had happened to alter the time line so radically. Skynet who had failed to erase John's existence through his mother and had instead turned its attention to the boy's father. However, Skynet had decided to take no chances with Kyle Reese. It had eliminated his existence by going to a period where there would be no weapons or technology that could possibly defeat a Terminator. Where the death could be explained naturally and no one in the future could circumvent the outcome, which would lead to Skynet still ruling in the 22nd century.

"Selma, I think Skynet sent a Terminator to 1878 to kill Kyle's ancestor." Speaking it aloud made Darien believe it with every fibre of his being.

"Then to stop him you must travel back in time as well." Selma guessed what conclusion he was reaching.

"Somehow, I've got to find a way to reach him." Darien nodded in answer. "Somehow I've got to stop the Terminator from killing..." Darien realized Selma had not told him the name.

"Who is this guy?"

"His name is Christopher Larabee."

Part Two

Deals with the Devil

It had been almost two years since he last encountered Doctor Mordicai Sahmbi, and Darien Lambert had sworn then that should he meet the doctor again, it would be the last time. However, time was no longer a constant and Darien was faced with the knowledge that his old hatreds would have to be put aside for the good of all. For almost a week following his return from California, Darien found it difficult to focus on anything in light of what he had learnt before the time ripple had altered the flow of events.

The course before him was painfully clear, but it was its undertaking that was the harder puzzle. Although he had no substantial proof that a Terminator had altered the time line in 1878, Darien knew without doubt that this is how the corruption had originated. The gunslinger Christopher Larabee had been terminated before he was allowed to father any children, effectively erasing from existence Kyle Reese's entire family line. Thus Kyle would not return to father John, and John would not be born to eliminate Skynet.

And Darien's future would never exist.

It had taken some doing, with whispers in the right ears and shaking down all his contacts. Darien was taking a gamble in doing this but he had not choice. Somehow, he had to make it reach to the year 1878, and return if possible. There was a part of him that felt some excitement about returning to what was deemed the Old West. In his youth, he had dreamt of being from that time, even though he wished his visit was not under these circumstances. Normally, he would have contacted TRAX control to aid him in this endeavor but TRAX control no longer existed.

A week after the initial attempt, Darien found himself waiting in a darkened alley in the dead of night. As he paced the crack of space in between the abandoned buildings, he made sure that his weapons were nestled safely in its holster. Selma was keeping a vigil on the surrounding area and would be quick to inform him if any harm appeared eminent. In the distance he could hear the sounds of engines moving up and down the streets despite the late hour. Sahmbi's choice of meeting place left something to be desired, and Darien guessed that isolation was the key factor. He did not doubt that Sahmbi would not be alone, and that his men required the freedom to shoot Darien down if necessary.

"Captain." Selma said quietly. "I detect three men approaching this location."

"Okay." Darien took a deep breath and wished he had not because he could smell the vile odor of garbage wafting from the dumpster at the end of the alley. He checked his gun once more and was reassured by its presence as he waited for Sahmbi and his men to arrive.

"Captain, are you sure this is a wise idea?" She asked uncertainly.

"No I'm not," he said honestly, becoming aware of the footsteps approaching that did not belong to the scampering rats that moved along the grey walls, feasting on garbage and refuse. "But I don't have much of a choice. The only person who knows anything about time travel in this day and age is Sahmbi."

"But you cannot assume that Doctor Sahmbi will assist you, even if there is a way to send you back to that time period."

"True," Darien agreed. "But Sahmbi has got as much to lose as the rest of us when Judgment Day comes."

The footsteps were very close now and Darien turned around to meet them. He saw three figures emerged through the light mist. The men flanking the doctor were well armed beneath their long coats, that much Darien could tell. They were tall and muscled, no doubt a product of 22nd century genetic enhancement. Sahmbi on the other hand did not look as well preserved. His balding head of hair was graying and there seemed to be more lines than normal in his craggy features.

Darien met his gaze and forced away images of how this man had killed Elyssa so long ago and changed the course of his life in one terrible stroke. Desperation had forced him to call this temporary truce with Sahmbi because the fate of humanity outweighed his own desire for revenge. Although it had seemed simple enough to bear in theory, now that he was forced to meet Sahmbi face to face, Darien found himself fighting the urge to shoot him with a TXP pellet and send the man back to the 22nd century.

"Darien Lambert, it’s been a long time." Sahmbi said coolly. "To what do I owe the honor of this meeting?"

"You can relax Sahmbi," Darien retorted wearily, not liking this situation any more than the doctor. He could almost guess that Sahmbi was here mostly more out of curiosity than anything else. Like every scientist, Sahmbi was drawn to riddles, and Darien's request for this meeting had inspired his curiosity. "I don't intend to bring you in."

"Not that you could." The doctor replied, indifferent to Darien's gesture to put him at ease as he glanced at the two men beside him. Just to prove his point, they opened their coats long enough to show Darien that they were well armed as a warning to him to not try anything.

"I didn't come here to fight." Darien reaffirmed his earlier statement, deciding he was not going to get into mindless posturing with the doctor. "Something's happened Sahmbi, something that affects us all." At the moment, they were in same proverbial boat and there was little time to waste. "There's been a corruption of the time line."

That was a serious matter indeed and Darien's saw the reaction, though slight, that gave him Sahmbi reason to raise his brow in concern. "How badly?" He asked without even requesting the proof. Darien supposed that as the leading mind, present or future, in temporal mechanics, Sahmbi more than anyone in existence, knew the full ramifications of such an event.

"I had an officer from the Fugitive Retrieval Unit risk a third exposure to TXP, just to come back and tell me that the 22nd century is now inhabited by machine intelligence. Mankind, as we know it, is extinct." Darien answered, holding nothing back.

Although Sahmbi showed little reaction, Darien saw the alarm crossing the faces of the two men beside him. The idea that the future had become a nightmarish world of sentient mechanization was a terrifying possibility. While Darien decided that full disclosure was necessary at this point, he did not tell Sahmbi, the real identity of Sarah and John Conner, offering false names in place. If he was to reset the time line, he had no intention of allowing Sahmbi to use them for his own purposes later on.

Sahmbi listened intently, saying nothing as Darien told him about Skynet and Judgment Day, which was now seven short months away. When he was done, he noticed that the two men beside Sahmbi were decidedly nervous, even though the doctor remained calm as ever. "Do you have any other proof beyond this woman's word that this nuclear holocaust is coming?"

"Warburton died trying to bring news of that back to me." Darien insisted. "I saw what the third exposure did to him Sahmbi, that's not something I would want to endure for any reason. Despite the consequences to himself, he believed it enough to come back and warn me. Also, Miles Dyson is now alive. According my information regarding our time line, Miles Dyson died three years ago, blowing up the Cyberdine building. Not only is the Cyberdine building now very much intact, but as we speak, Dyson is working on a top secret project for the US government."

For the first time, Sahmbi looked troubled. He had escaped into time for a new future, but he always warned those he sent to the 20th century the dangers of meddling with history. Alter one event and one might find themselves erased from existence or worse. It was one thing to take advantage of their knowledge of future events to become self-sufficient, but it was another thing to manipulate its course. Time was a fragile thing and small ripples could culminate into earth shattering repercussions.

"Assuming that any of this is true, what do you need from me?" Sahmbi looked at him, finally reaching the heart of the matter.

"I think the focal point is a man called Reese." Darien explained. "His entire lineage was wiped out starting from the late 1800's. According to the records of our time line, his descendants survived in the 22nd century. Whatever's happened, I think it started with that disruption."

"That does make some sense, although I would prefer more empirical evidence on which to base that assumption." Sahmbi nodded, sounding very much more like a scholar now than a criminal genius. He was starting to see where Darien was going with this line of reasoning but he would nevertheless enjoy hearing his nemesis ask first.

"I need to be able to go back to the 1800's and keep this ancestor of Reese's' from being killed. I need the best mind in temporal mechanics for that." Darien found himself admitting begrudgingly. He wondered if Sahmbi had any idea how hard it was for him to keep from beating the crap out of the doctor before sending him on his way. Every time he looked at Sahmbi, he was revisited by images of Elyssa dying while he watched helplessly as she slipped away.

"I am flattered," Sahmbi said with a brow raised. "It was not easy coming to me I imagine."

Darien's eyes were almost black when he answered. "You have no idea. I want to kill you for what you did to Elyssa."

For the first time, Sahmbi's expression darkened. "Likewise Darien." He said coldly. "She was always mine first."

"Elyssa was never yours." Darien spat with unrestrained anger. "She belonged to neither of us and she didn’t deserve to die for that."

"Touched a nerve I see." Sahmbi retorted with some satisfaction. "However, this bickering is pointless. I have no guarantee that anything you say is true, but unfortunately, I am well aware that distortions in the time line have to be taken on faith. TXP is capable of shielding us from temporal flux, which is why it is so perfect for time travel, so I know that much of your story is true. I also know that you despise me with every fibre of your being, so coming to me for help must mean that there is something going on that exceeds even your need for vengeance. If nothing else Darien, I trust your hate."

Darien was not going to argue with this twisted piece of logic. "So the question is, what can you do about it?" Darien met his eyes like a gauntlet of challenge.

"I can do quite a bit if you are ready to take a ride with me." Sahmbi responded.

Darien knew he would have to trust Sahmbi at some point if the man was able to help him. It just required him to suspend his innate distrust of the man and all of the other darker impulses that seethed within whenever Mordicai Sahmbi's name was mentioned. Taking a deep breath, Darien knew he had no other choice.

Not if he wanted to help Sarah and John Conner.

"Alright," he nodded, hoping this was not a fatal mistake. "Let's take a ride."

---

Sahmbi's idea of a ride was slightly more complicated then that. Traveling in a stretched limousine, Darien accompanied Sahmbi to the airport where a chartered jet was waiting. Thanks to regular trips to the bathroom where he could confer with Selma, Darien learnt that Sahmbi was taking them towards Reno, Nevada. Their conversation during the trip was limited to discussions of the time ripple and the corruption that had occurred. Utilizing the on board computer on Sahmbi's plane, a system that was not dissimilar from Selma, Darien and the doctor were able to learn that Miles Dyson's project had expanded beyond their ability to contain it, should they decide to attack the problem from that angle. The SAC NORAD system that Miles Dyson had created was well on its way to being integrated into the US defence network computers.

In less than seven months, the system would come on line and Skynet would be born. Twenty days after that initialization, Skynet would become self-aware and decide the fate of humanity on August the 29th, and Judgment Day would become a reality.

Upon arriving at a private airport in Reno, used mostly by Mob dignitaries Darien was sure, another limousine awaited in attendance and then drove them to a large warehouse on the outskirts of the garish city. So far, Sahmbi had made no threatening moves against him, and had to this point, kept faith in accordance with their temporary truce. Despite everything that depended upon his cooperation with Sahmbi, Darien wanted nothing to do with the man.

The warehouse was guarded by every extravagance in 20th century security systems. Electricity and barbed wire made the fence surrounding the facility lethal to anyone who attempted to go through it or over it. Formidable looking security guards patrolled the grounds, carrying heavy assault rifles with dogs sniffing the ground for any unfamiliar scent. As the limousine passed through the sentry posts, Darien wondered what was so important about this place that demanded such extreme measures to protect it.

They finally entered the main warehouse and had to pass through several more security points where Darien observed everything from motion detectors to sensors that detected variations in air density and temperature, controls to more guards at every corner. What on Earth did Sahmbi have hidden away in this place? More importantly, how had he found the financing to pay for all this? Judging by the way he was regarded, it was obvious that Sahmbi was the man in charge, and by the looks of it, paying the bills as well.

"Well Sahmbi," Darien admitted as they stood before a metal door with the thickness of a vault hatch. "You've got me suitably intrigued. What's the purpose of all this? The whole building says 'go away'."

Sahmbi allowed himself a smile as he slipped his card into a slot for a control panel on the wall next to the doorway. The keypad came alive as Sahmbi keyed in the appropriate code. A low hum preceded the sound of a locking mechanism clicking into place activating and the thick door swung open. Darien followed Sahmbi into the room beyond; his question still unanswered by the doctor. The moment Darien looked inside the confines of the room, he understood at last what Sahmbi was protecting with such diligence. Although the memory was four years behind him, Darien remembered every detail with utmost clarity. He saw a dozen or more personnel, wearing their white coats as they conducted their work at their computer stations. Almost all turned towards the doctor upon his arrival, even though Darien's eyes were firmly focused on the machine occupying the centre of the room.

"TRAX." He exclaimed before moving looking to Sahmbi's eyes for confirmation. In truth, he needed no such confirmation. The Transtime Research and experimentation unit was exactly as he remembered it, and judging by the state of it, the device was in complete operation.

"It's taken me two years of funding to complete it." Sahmbi said, undeniably proud of it as he walked towards the TRAX machine.

"How did you pay for it?" Darien demanded, remembering how Sahmbi had managed his funding back in the 22nd century.

"You don't seriously expect me to answer that question." Sahmbi retorted. "Just be grateful that it is fully functioning and will have no trouble sending you back to the 19th century.

Darien frowned. He did not like the ominous implications of those words, but decided that Sahmbi was correct in the respect that he ought to be grateful that there was a way to return to the past to repair the damaged time line. "How grateful should I be for a one way trip?" Darien mumbled, realizing that if he did go back to 1878, it would be to stay. The possibility had loomed in his mind for a week now, but had not seemed more real than at this moment.

"Well that may not be necessarily so, if you wish to play my guinea pig." Sahmbi declared as Darien followed him to the TRAX device. "Until now, the TXP dosage had been limited to two teleportation trips." Sahmbi explained. "However, I have been working the past three years to refine the process significantly. I understand that you've been exposed only once only."

"That's right." Darien answered, trying not to feel a glimmer of hope from such an ambiguous source. He supposed if anyone could devise a way for him to return to the 20th century, it would be Sahmbi. However, Darien wished his only way back did not have to involve his placing his trust in the doctor with whom he had crossed swords with on so many occasions.

"Well I've refined the TXP," Sahmbi remarked as he paused at workbench and pulled out a vial of white powdery substance. "This batch is experimental and I have yet to test it on a human subject. You will be happy to know that the results with laboratory animals have proved encouraging." He smiled with an obvious enjoyment at Darien's discomfort at having to trust him. "However, the data does show that the TXP leaves none of its previous toxic effects. So you may be able to make a round trip without risk of cellular degradation."

"How do I know this isn't a trick?" Darien looked at him suspiciously. If Sahmbi wanted to get rid of him once and for all, this was the perfect opportunity.

Sahmbi let out a weary sigh like he was dealing with an unlearned child. "Believe me, if I wanted to kill you I would find more expedient ways than using a million dollar machine. Now, I am willing to send you back in time and forward again because it benefits me to do so. I do not wish to see my hard work for the past four years come to end in a scant six months, nor do I wish to exist in the 1800's, as enchanting as the idea might seem. Since the 22nd century is no longer what it used to be, it appears that I must trust that you are capable to of correcting the time line."

He had a point, event thought admitting it left a terrible taste in Darien's mouth. "Alright, I guess I don't have a choice, do I?"

Sahmbi looked at him with dark eyes. "I guess not."

And the truth was, he didn't.

---

20th July 1878 — Four Corner, New Mexico

God, she loved this man.

Mary Travis found herself thinking as Chris Larabee kissed her hard, his tongue probing deep into her mouth as her legs tightened around his waist. Her fingers raked across the smooth skin of his back, luxuriating in the feel of taut muscle while his chest pressed hard against her breasts. The covers over their hot bodies felt constrictive and unconsciously, she flung, allowing the crisp linen to form an unruly heap on the floor.

He was inside her and had been for some time now, rocking back and forth in hard, forceful thrusts that was were driving her insane with pleasure. Mary could hear his strained breath in her ear, while his fingers delighted in the feel of her soft golden hair. Chris' eyes were closed as he struggled to control his own needs in his wish to please her. It filled Mary with deep abiding love to know that it was important to him that she enjoyed their lovemaking as much as he did.

And Chris truly was gifted in doing that the way she had never experienced with Steven. He was able to bring her to such dizzying heights so quickly that Mary could still hardly believe it. How many times had he been able arouse her to the point where she was barely conscious of anything except the exquisite sensation of him inside her while experiencing the expert caresses of those gentle hands at the same time?

Mary could start to feel herself start slipping over the edge as the sensations began to overwhelm her with such wanton desire that she could do nothing but moan softly with her head pressed against the pillow, her body arching to his wonderful rhythm. She was hardly aware that she was now moving with him, like dancers to a song only they could hear. She felt herself stiffening in taut pleasure as he pushed harder into her. Each stroke was nothing short of bliss and her incoherent cries only served to increase his momentum until they were both gasping out loud in a duet of ecstasy.

Chris let himself soak up the moment, forcing himself to stay focused because the exquisite sensation of her made it terribly easy for him to lose control. It could sweep him away like a man caught in a tidal wave. The ease in with which it was possible for it to shatter his entire body was such that he was gasping with her and not caring if it was too open a display of his own needs. Chris did not care, as long as he would did not succumb, not until she was ready. For him, the sweetest part of their love making came when he would hear his name spill from Mary's lip in mindless pleasure.

Suddenly, her cries for him not to stop ceased, followed by the familiar contraction of inner muscles that preceded the peak of her arousal. When Chris saw her blue grey eyes glisten and her felt her body shudder beneath him, a low guttural sound escaped his throat and he finally submitted to the release of his own pent up desire. The warmth of his seed filled her insides as he groaned softly, feeling himself descend from the crest of raw, sensual pleasure he had been riding. Mary whimpered softly when he collapsed on top of her, thoroughly spent, their bodies glistening with perspiration in the heat of the fading summer's night.

For a long while, they lay there against the sheets plastered to their bodies, holding each other. It was always quiet after Chris and Mary had enjoyed each other so explicitly. There was almost an understanding between them that words were not necessary after such a passionate exchange. In silence, Chris would marvel at how it felt just as intense and passionate as that first time when they had made love on the floor of her parlour. He could feel utterly drained but he would still want her again and again. Chris knew with certainty that he would never tire of wanting her. Even if every outlaw in the Territory was to come busting through that door at this instant, Chris would probably light a cigarette and tell them to take a number.

"Feeling better?" He whispered in her ear as they slid into a spooning position. Chris loved the smell of her skin after sex.

"I feel terribly refreshed Mr. Larabee." She purred softly, a smile of satisfied contentment on her face.

"I aim to please ma'am." He joked and heard her laugh. He was pleased that she appeared to be feeling somewhat better than she had all day. Mary had not been feeling very well lately and the dark shadows under her eyes gave him reason for concern. It hardly surprised him that she should be so exhausted, considering what her days involved the past weeks. Aside from running the Clarion News, Mary's son Billy had been home from school break and required her juggling her responsibilities as mother and businesswoman. Fortunately, Chris had been able to lighten that load somewhat since the boy delighted in spending time with him, even before Chris and Mary had become intimately involved.

"You are so accommodating." She smiled warmly and averted her gaze after a moment. Mary could see the concern in his eyes for her and wished she could allay his fears, but found that she could barely do the same for herself. For the last few days, a terrible suspicion had been gnawing at her insides and it was only fear that kept her from finding out the truth about it. It was not really a disaster of any magnitude but if what she suspected were true, it would have far reaching consequences in both their lives.

She supposed that in the nature of things, it was inevitable this would happen. After all, how many nights like this had they shared since that first time? Her behavior was hardly proper, she knew that, but he was so addictive and her love for him had clouded her better judgment. There was no doubt or hesitation when she was with Chris, and things like reputation and propriety seemed trivial and mundane. She would not trade their relationship for anything, and for the first time in so long, Mary could conceive of a future where she was not utterly alone.

For months, she had been avoiding the issue because of some unspoken fear of losing her identity. It had taken so long for Mary to learn how to be independent and self-reliant. For the first time in her life, she had been making decisions for herself, and not waiting for Steven to make them for her. She did not want to relinquish the power to decide her own fate. She knew Chris wanted to marry her and that he was uncomfortable with the situation as it stood. He was mindful of her reputation in Four Corners and worried that their nightly dalliances might become public knowledge as it had been in danger of doing so, only some short weeks ago when Victoria Kendall had tried to avenge herself upon him.

However, if what she suspected was true, then the decision was no longer in either of their hands.

---

Vin Tanner did not spend many nights on the open plains, but he occasionally felt the need to be alone and enjoy the wilderness without the voices of others ruining the moment. He was by nature a solitary man and had become accustomed over the years to leading a quiet existence. His occupations had always found him alone, and for a long time, Vin had been oblivious immune to the human need for companionship. Until he had arrived in Four Corners for the first time, Vin had never saw seen the need for making attachments as people had a tendency to disappoint, and he hated being disappointed on in anything. That was, however, before he met Chris Larabee and the others who made up the seven lawmen who were eventually called on to defend the town of Four Corners.

While Vin enjoyed the friendship offered by the men, he still longed for the days when he could saddle up and go riding off for a spell, without the responsibility that Chris often placed on his shoulders weighing him down. Fortunately, Chris was spending more nights in town lately, giving Vin the opportunity to catch up on some well-deserved solitude. He enjoyed sleeping under the stars, especially when summer was in its last days. The air was warm enough to enjoy without being stifling hot, and he could spend hours alone with his thoughts while the sounds of the wilderness lulled him into a comforting sleep.

He had drifted off with memories of Charlotte in his mind, remembering how they had made love under the stars during a night not too dissimilar from this one. Even though he had moved on and left her behind, Vin found stolen moments when he wondered what she was doing and was she happy in the life she had chosen for herself. She was the first woman he had truly loved, and despite advice to the contrary that she would not be the last, Vin knew that he would never be really free of her. Perhaps it was fate that he was never meant to.

A sudden crack of thunder on an otherwise clear night captured Vin's attention. The mountain man looked up from the fire cackling in the middle of his campsite to the distant plains. He could see tendrils of blue lightning flash in quick succession. Vin's brow furrowed as he saw the sky come alive with color, a strange enough occurrence when one realised there was not a cloud in the sky. The clap of thunder was close enough to send his horse into fits of panic, its frantic neighing causing him to hurry towards the animal to calm its hysteria.

"Easy there." He said soothingly, as his hand stroked the long bridge of the animal's nose. The gesture calmed the mare somewhat but not enough to remove the strain of fear he saw in her brown eyes. "Its okay," Vin whispered. "It’s just a little lightning." Of course, it was a little lightning and little thunder when there was not trace of cloud in the sky or rain for that matter, but it was nevertheless nothing to worry about. Nothing at all. It was about a minute later that Vin decided he was trying to calm his own anxieties as much as the steed before him.

There was a noticeable shift in the air. He could smell something burning but knew immediately, it did not come from his fire. The scent was all wrong. It did not possessed the sooty stench of a wood burn but of something all together different. The memory of a train ride some years ago returned to Vin at the moment as he recalled the smell of heated iron. The air reeked of that same stench. The animal began to get nervous again, its front legs stamping it place as it struggled to be free of his grip on her reins. Vin was starting to become somewhat agitated himself.

"Okay stop it," he told the animal firmly. "Now you're making me nervous."

He was reluctant to let go of the reins because the mare was breathing hard and he did not have to hear it to know her heart was pounding. If he released the reins, he had no doubt she would bolt, and he did not relish the walk back to Four Corners if anything went wrong. He looked in the direction of the strange lightning and saw that all was black now. The sky was no longer luminescent and everything was as calm as it was before this whole strange incident had begun. However, the mare was still a nervous bundle and Vin Tanner had learnt enough about animals in his life to know that they were seldom wrong about their instinct for trouble.

The man came up behind him, almost soundless, while Vin's attention was preoccupied with the mare. He heard no footsteps, no familiar sounds that came with human approach, merely a flutter in the corner of his eyes. It was the first time in his life that Vin had ever experienced the unpleasant feeling of jumping out of one's skin in fright. One minute, he was alone and a second later he was not as the stranger stood before him.

First off, and most obviously, the man was naked. He was not merely undressed but bare as the day he came into the world, without a single stitch on him. It took a few seconds for Vin to absorb that first observation before the next one came upon him with similar speed. The man was big. There was not an ounce of fat on him and he was quite tall but he was also undeniably huge. Vin saw the width of the pectoral muscles stretching across his chest, flowing into the taut sinew of biceps and culminating in strong hands that would have little difficulty crushing bone.

"Howdy." Vin said cautiously and grimaced at how stupid that sounded.

The man did not speak. His dark eyes studied Vin without expression as his head titled slightly to the side, as if examining him from all angles.

"What happened to your clothes?" Vin found himself asking, deciding that it would not be rude since it was a fairly obvious observation.

There was no response, merely that indifferent mask that served only to put Vin on guard. Yet his eyes moved as Vin moved, clearly studying the mountain man with deep scrutiny.

"Are you all right?" Vin asked, thinking perhaps that this stranger may have been hurt and not all together right in the head. He seemed alert enough if somewhat distant. "Do you need a ride into town or something?"

The mare was no help whatsoever, kicking her hooves into dust even more frantically. Her breathing became more panicked until its her fear became so thick that it was and tangible that Vin could almost see it. Her eyes were widened with terror until Vin was having trouble keeping hold the reins. "What's gotten into you girl?" He called out, trying desperately to soothe her because this was the worst possible time for his horse to descend into the equivalent of an equine fit.

"You clothes." The man spoke for the first time while Vin was grappling with the mare. "I need them."

"What?" Vin looked at him in astonishment. "Listen mister, I have got problems of my own. If you care to wait a moment, I'll help you with yours but right now, I'm a little busy."

The man stepped forward without a further word and grabbed Vin by the neck before the mountain man could even see the attack coming. The grip around his throat was almost like steel and Vin's felt himself being lifted off the ground. The toes of his boots were scrapping against the gravel on the ground as he struggled to breathe. The man stared at him dispassionately as he continued to crush Vin's larynx. Vin reached for his gun and jammed the weapon into the man's chest with every intention of firing when the man flung him aside before he could pull the trigger.

The mare bolted once Vin's hold on her reins was gone and he heard her hoof beats disappear into the night as he was thrown aside like a rag doll. The weapon fell from his hand and the man waited until he landed on the ground before approaching him again. Vin lay face down in the sand, trying to catch his breath through his aching throat before he became aware that he was no longer armed. He reached into his boot to retrieve the knife he had hidden away for emergencies when the man threw a kick squarely into his face. The power behind it sent him reeling backwards, his face flaring in pain.

As Vin felt jagged fragments with his tongue that might have been his back teeth, he was overcome with a bout of nausea as his mouth filled with blood. It ran a thick rivulet down the corner of his lips and perched precariously from his chin before staining his shirt. The man approached again, relentless in his attack but eerily silent. Vin kicked out his foot and struck a knee. The stranger reacted with no more than a slight drop to his knee before standing up a second later without any ill effects. Anyone else would have been on the ground by now.

Vin rushed him in a belated attack but had barely reached the man before the enemy lashed out with one of those powerful arms and struck him in the face again. This time there was no recovery as Vin Tanner collapsed on the ground, unconscious before he even hit the dirt.

The Terminator looked at the fallen individual for a moment before his dark eyes scanned the area for the weapons the human had carried. They were crude and inefficient but would serve for the moment until he found something better. He approached the unconscious man and saw that the human still lived. Whatever threat he may have posed a moment ago was no more and the Terminator was free to continue with its objective.

However, first things first. He needed clothes.

---

When he opened his eyes, he found himself staring into the sunlight.

The sky was still blue and the sun was still shining as it probably had since time began. The terrain before him looked parched and dry, despite the trees he could see in the distance and the golden fields of sunburnt grass. There was a rugged beauty in the place that may have well been timeless, whatever the date. The plains were devoid of any signs of habitation, a good indication that his journey had brought him where he had wished to go. Nevertheless, the sight of so much open space was disturbing in a way he could not fathom. For a moment, he seemed like the only person in the world.

"Christ." Darien Lambert swore when he finally recovered from the effects of temporal displacement. It was never something he could get accustomed to, no matter how much he may believe he was prepared. He supposed in all honestly, no one could truly be prepared to have their atoms deconstructed and them then reassembled after making a voyage through time and space. It was just something they never covered at the Academy, or maybe they did and he just did not show up for the class.

"Okay Lambert," he said to himself. "We are tripping severely."

"Captain are you alright?" He heard Selma's clear, crisp voice cut through the silence of the cool morning. At least he thought it was morning anyway. Darien glanced upwards and noticed the position of the sun would seem to support that determination.

"Fine." He grimaced slightly, ignoring the throbbing inside his skull. Although it was fading quickly, Darien still disliked the discomfort. When it had diminished to tolerable levels, he took a moment to observe the surroundings. If Sahmbi's machine had worked and he had been sent back in time, then he was now in what would one day be New Mexico. Darien wished that there was someway to know this for certain without first encountering the natives, but there seemed to be little around that could expedite their query. "Just suffering a little jet lag." He responded to Selma's question regarding his welfare.

"The term in is hardly an approximation." She pointed out.

"I've got too much of a headache to quibble." Darien retorted as he took a tentative step towards the equipment that had come with him. "Can you extrapolate where we are?"

"Yes," she answered to his relief. "If Doctor Sahmbi's coordinates are to be believed then the town of Four Corners should lie in four kilometers in a north westerly direction."

"I guess I'm walking." He sighed and knelt down to the length of wooden box at his feet. Sarah had told him what she had faced when she had encountered a Terminator. Her description told him immediately that he could not hope to face it with one of the six shooters that were popular in this day and age. In fact, Darien was not even sure what he had brought with him would suffice. All he had to go on what was Sarah's description, and he hoped she had exaggerated her description of the cyborg. "I'll have to come back for this later."

"Captain, it is unwise to simply leave it behind." Selma stated. "Should anyone happen upon this, it could have severe repercussions on future events.

"I know, I know." Darien replied, knowing the argument all too well. "Relax Selma," he smiled. "I've got it covered. I got Sahmbi to include a portable holographic projector in our party list."

"I still question the trustworthiness of Doctor Sahmbi." She responded after a pause. "He has proven himself to be a most dishonest personality."

"You and me both Selma," Darien answered as he began to pull open the lid of the box. Rummaging through the stryofoam shells, his fingers touched the object he was searching for, and it required both hands to remove the projector. "However, at this moment, we haven't got a lot of choice. He got us this far, didn't he?"

"I am still uncertain if this far is where we were wishing to go."

Darien allowed himself a smile, knowing that his natural scepticism must have rubbed off on Selma, because he never remembered her being so pessimistic. The holographic projector was technology he had brought from the 22nd century. Darien had believed that Sahmbi had financed his small empire by using his newly built TRAX control to send escaping prisoners backwards and forward in time. However, the truth was much simpler. Sahmbi had been selling patents on inventions from the 22nd century. Although the patents included objects that were relatively minor in importance and were more accepted for their entertainment value, like the projector here, it was enough to make the Doctor quite wealthy without resorting to illegal enterprises.

Setting up the projector, he activated the device and the box and everything in its immediate vicinity disappeared behind the light reflection of a fallen tree trunk. It would require someone coming up to it and feeling it with their hands to realise that it was nothing more than an illusion. The projector had a battery life of no more than 48 hours, and that was all the time that Darien had to return to this position and retrieve it and the other items it concealed.

"That does it for now." Darien sighed as he stepped out of the projection field. The image shimmered as he walked through it, reforming once he was clear. From a distant distance, there was nothing suspicious about it and seemed to fade into the landscape. Darien hoped it would suffice as adequate camouflage until he could return with a wagon or whatever it was they used in this area for transporting large objects.

Fortunately, he was wearing clothing to suit the times, although he now wished he had found himself a hat. The boots on his feet did not feel comfortable for walking and as he made his first steps towards Four Corners, he wished he was wearing his sneakers. "Okay Selma," he said finally. "Let's go find Mr. Larabee."

---

"Where is he?" The man growled, his face inches away from JD Dunne's.

JD Dunne felt like a trophy about to be mounted onto someone's wall as his attacker pressed him against the bar room wall a few feet off the ground. He knew he could easily resolve this situation by drawing his guns but he was hoping to avoid resorting to that measure unless it was truly necessary. The man before him was angry and was probably justifiable in his rage, which was why JD did not want to shoot him.

"Come on, Jasper." JD said nervously. "I ain't seen Buck all morning." As soon as the word morning left his lips, JD swore at his own stupidity.

"I know where he was this morning!" Jasper slammed him into the wall again. "He was with my wife!"

JD rolled his eyes wondering how many times Buck would find himself in this situation before it sunk in that married women were bad news. JD was not that as much of a ladies man as Buck was but even in with his youthful years, he had come to the realisation that married women usually had husbands who did not appreciate the dalliance. Especially ones those that came home early and caught their wives in bed with a man other than themselves, like Jasper had done this morning.

"I'm sorry but I don't know nothing." JD croaked weakly, knowing that it was a lame excuse. In truth, he had no idea where Buck Wilmington was at this moment. However, if the man had any sense at all, he would stay out of sight until Jasper Cray calmed down. Although JD was not very tall, and Jasper towered over him easily with his bulky frame and tree trunk arms. At the moment, Jasper had it in mind to do some serious dismembering, and JD had no idea how to talk him out of that particular fancy. "Look Jasper, if you don't put me down, I'm going to have to lock you up."

Jasper looked down at him like he was insane to even make such a threat before pulling back his enormous fist. JD reached for his gun, in fearful anticipation of what those knuckles would do to his face on impact. He really did not want to pull his weapon on Jasper, wishing he had the words to abate the man's anger.

"I would advise against harming the boy." JD suddenly heard Ezra's voice enter the equation calmly.

JD saw the gambler standing behind Jasper; the derringer often normally concealed under his sleeve pressed firmly against the cuckold's side. Jasper shifted his gaze at Ezra Standish who seemed entirely calm in the face of the storm raging in Jasper's eyes. "This ain't got nothing to do with you." Jasper warned, not completely unmindful of the cool steel against his skin.

"And it has nothing to do with my young friend either." Ezra stated firmly. "You are bothering my customers in my saloon and I would like you and your marital problems to depart from the presence of both."

"I want Wilmington." Jasper growled his grip around JD's throat slackening somewhat. The focus of his anger was not aimed directly at Ezra, although he was not as reluctant eager to act upon it as he had with JD.

"Mr. Wilmington," Ezra let his gaze sweep across the saloon where Josiah Sanchez and Nathan Jackson were keeping close watch on the proceedings, in case their assistance was required,. "As you can see, is absent."

Jasper let JD go who and he dropped to the floor with a thud. The young man was on his feet quickly, the fear in his face quickly evaporating to anger. He moved away from Jasper and took up position behind Ezra, while the gambler continued his stand off with Jasper Cray.

"Now you can cool off and have a drink on the house," Ezra said politely. "Or you can leave."

Jasper glared at Ezra, considering the options before him. Although he still looked properly enraged, enough sense had returned to him to know that should he chose to push the point, he would likely end up in a worse situation than he was already facing. An adulterous wife was something he could get over eventually, but a confrontation with the men who defended Four Corners was another thing entirely. "Drinks are watered anyway." Jasper growled and pushed his way through Ezra and JD before storming towards the door. "You tell Wilmington that this ain't over!" He shouted before he left the saloon.

It took a moment for the commotion to die away, with patrons who had been watching the excitement closely returning their attention to their drinks or the various entertainments that spanned across the room. Ezra let out a deep breath and turned to JD. "Are you alright, my young friend?"

"I've been better." JD grumbled, disliking the fact that someone had to come his rescue yet again.

"Where is Buck anyway?" Nathan inquired now that Jasper had gone and disclosure would not cause any of his friends to suffer injury at the hands of the behemoth who was now stalking the streets of Four Corners, searching for Buck Wilmington.

"He and Chris had to deliver Ben Davies to Bitter Creek." Josiah drawled, returning his attention to the book he was reading now that the danger had passed. Ben Davies was an outlaw that had drifted into Four Corners with several outstanding warrants on his head for cattle rustling. Early this morning, Chris and Buck had set out to deliver the rustler to Bitter Creek, despite numerous protestations from Davies who claimed he was framed, even though a dozen witnesses had seen him doing the deed.

"I hear he volunteered." Nathan sniggered, knowing full well what would motivate Buck to volunteer for such a ride under the circumstances.

"If you had that monster running after you," Ezra said returning to their table,. "Wouldn't you?"

"I can't believe Buck would be afraid of that ape!" JD exclaimed, straightening his collar as he sat down and looked curiously at what Josiah was reading. Despite himself, JD could not shake the stinging insult that Jasper had delivered to his pride in front of an entire room full of people. He had been sitting at the table with his friends when Jasper had come up behind him and dragged him from the table like a sack of potatoes.

"He better be." Josiah retorted. "Nothing fires a man's rage more than the love of a woman. Buck should have known better than to involve himself with Mrs. Cray, no matter how fetching she may appear." To that no one could disagree for Mrs. Cray was a very fetching woman indeed with her strawberry gold hair and her smoldering blue eyes. She was shaped voluptuously and was known to be extremely accommodating in bed. While her conquests were well known around town, it was to Buck's misfortune that Jasper had caught him with her and not any of the others.

"There is something to be said about being faithful to just one woman." Nathan pointed out, deciding on that note that he might take a ride to the Seminole village to visit Rain, the girl he had met during the seven's first outing together. He felt a tinge of guilt when he realized just how long it had been since he had seen Rain and felt the idea of seeing her on the weekend become more attractive.

"If Buck knows what's good for him he'll star steer clear of both the Crays for the next month." Josiah remarked.

"Mr. Wilmington has about as much chance of staying away from the fair Mrs. Cray as a moth does from an open fire." Ezra retorted with a faint smile. "He cannot help himself." JD was about to respond in Buck's defense because it he felt it his duty to for some strange reason when suddenly, he saw Vin stagger in through the bat wing doors. His eyes widened and forced the others to follow his gaze as a result of his astonished expression. Nathan was on his feet immediately and crossed the floor of the saloon to reach the bounty hunter. The saloon seemed to quiet as Vin walked in barefoot and shaken, blood drying on his face and a terrible dark bruise forming on the side of his face.

"What happened to you?" Nathan demanded, not hiding the shock on his face.

"Some bastard stole my clothes!" Vin exclaimed angrily as he felt fell into the nearest chair. If it had not been for his mare returning to him hours later, Vin would still be lying out there in the open with little on. Fortunately, his saddlebags contained a fresh set of clothes so he was at least spared the indignity of returning to town buck-naked.

"That's looks nasty." Nathan declared, taking note of the split skin just below Vin's eye. He had been struck very hard indeed and the healer did not doubt that Vin was suffering one terrible hangover, not to mention a very tender face.

"Who did this to you?" Josiah inquired as the others came to the side of their injured comrade.

"I don't know." Vin said, wincing as Nathan examined the swelling on his face. "He just came out of nowhere, naked, and told me he needed my clothes, as bold as you please." The whole encounter had unnerved Vin to some extent because he could not understand it. His clothes and his weapons were gone. "I never seen him before."

"A white man?" Josiah probed further.

"Yeah." Vin nodded as Nathan stepped back, having concluded his preliminary examination.

"Why don't you come with me to my infirmary," Nathan suggested. "You need to have that sewn up." He gestured to the gash on Vin's swollen cheek.

"I'm fine." Vin mumbled, his eyes searching the table for a glass once he had discovered a half-filled bottle. He poured himself a glass of whisky and tired to drink it down quickly when the liquid stung the raw flesh inside his mouth. He spat the fluid in all directions, causing the others to step back to avoid the spray.

"Apparently not that fine." Nathan said skeptically and placed his hand around Vin's shoulder to indicate that he was not about to tolerate any argument from him on this matter.

"Come on Mr. Tanner," Ezra took Vin's other arm in a show of agreement with Nathan's intentions. "We promise to do nothing until you return."

Vin muttered in consternation as he was led out of the saloon with Nathan and Ezra making certain that he did not change his mind on the way to the infirmary. It was rare when anything disagreed with the normally unflappable Mr. Tanner to this extent, but his friends were aware of what he was capable his capabilities when his ire had been properly raised. They had no doubt that left to his own volition, Vin was more than prepared to tear the Territory apart trying to find the man who would be so low down as to steal his clothes and gun. However, though none of them voiced it, the man that could do this to Vin Tanner was not someone the tracker ought to meet when he was injured.

"I can walk fine." He grumbled, trying to dislodge Ezra and Nathan's grip from his arms.

"You keep complaining and I'll send you to Miss Styles." Nathan warned, knowing how Vin hated dealing with the lady doctor in any shape or form. Their arguments when it came to matters of health were displays Nathan enjoyed very much, even though he would voice it to neither.

"That's not funny." Vin glared at him. "That woman is meaner than a rattlesnake."

"Hey!" Ezra exclaimed in mock hurt. "I'll have you know Alexandra is nothing but sweet."

"Yeah right," Vin drawled unhappily as they left the saloon. "To another rattlesnake."

---

"It's early stages yet, but I would estimate about three, no more than four weeks." Alexandra Styles answered, knowing that her words would not be well received by Mary Travis.

Mary let out a breath, unaware that she had been holding it, but once it escaped her, it felt more like a gasp of fear. Her fingers dug so deep into the arm rests of the chair across from Alex's desk that she was certain her nails were leaving crescent shaped indentations in the wood. When she had come to Alex's newly established clinic, Mary had arrived in the vain hope that perhaps her suspicions were wrong and that she really did have a cold or some other ailment. For the last week, the possibility of what Alex had now confirmed as fact had gnawed at her. Before this, it had a quality of unreality that was made the notion bearable. However, knowing a thing and living with it was an were entirely different sensations, and at the moment all Mary could think of was where she could throw up.

"Oh God." Mary finally responded with visible distress.

"I don't see the problem." Alex spoke, aware enough of Mary's relationship with Chris to know that he would receive the news with elation. Although Alex had not exactly warmed to the man in black, she did know one thing for certain. This spirited blond woman before her was his universe and there was nothing he would not do for her. "He loves you. I have the impression he would be thrilled."

"He probably would be." Mary said wearily and Alex could be forgiven for thinking that way because she was right, Chris would love the idea of being a father again. Mary had seen how he wonderful he was with Billy when they were together, despite his outwardly brooding and sombre demeanor. Even if he rarely voiced it, Mary knew he enjoyed the time he spent with her son. Buck had told Mary how much Chris had adored his son Adam before the child's tragic death, and she had no doubt that how Chris would feel otherwise at discovering he was going to be a father again.

Except it was not Chris who had the problem, it was Mary herself.

The idea of a baby terrified her with a fear so cold and stark she could hardly breathe in knowing it was coming her way in a few short months. Suddenly, everything that she had worked for so hard was disintegrating in the gurgle of baby's smile, and Mary felt ashamed for feeling this way. She loved Billy, and motherhood was nothing new, but in the years since Billy was old enough to not require her constant supervision and care, Mary had become a different person. She simply did not know whether she had the strength to juggle all those things again and still be the woman she strived strove so hard to become.

"You have some time before it starts showing." Alex spoke, trying to be helpful because Mary Travis was more than just a patient. In the few short weeks that she had settled in Four Corners, Mary had become a close friend and it was clear her friend was having a lot of trouble dealing with her situation. "Oh God." Mary groaned again, rubbing her brow as if she were plagued with a headache or worse.

"Mary, talk to me." Alex said firmly because it seemed she must. Mary was clearly upset and needed to talk about her fears, although Alex had yet to decide whether it was she Mary needed to speak to or Chris Larabee. "What scares you so much? It can't be motherhood. My God, you raised a child and ran a paper, there aren't many women who could do that in a place like this."

"I didn't have to run the Clarion when Billy was a baby!" Mary exclaimed, the full vent of her anxiety starting to spill over. "I was at home while Steven ran the paper. It's different now! I don't just have responsibility over my son, I have responsibilities to the community and the paper and now it appears to a baby as well!"

"Mary, you're not doing this alone!" Alex tried to convince her, shedding the whole doctor-client relationship completely. "You have friends and a man who loves you and has proved a dozen times over that he will die for you!"

"Dying is easy!" Mary almost snarled at her. "I'm talking about diapers and midnight feeding's and potty training and colic and ....." she began to stutter now. "Can you honestly imagine Chris doing any of those things?"

"Well no," Alex admitted reluctantly, and now that she thought of it, the image of Chris doing any thing remotely like that brought an involuntary smile to her face that Mary unfortunately caught. "But he must have done something like that with his son Adam!" She returned quickly, trying to salvage the moment.

"No, no," Mary shook her head vehemently "That's where Sarah came in. She did the raising while he went traipsing off all over the countryside. I mean he doesn't even know I'm pregnant and he's already gone to Sweetwater."

"I thought you said Bitter Creek." Alex looked at her.

"You see!" Mary declared. "It's starting already and I'm damned if I am going to become Bessie the breeding cow just so he can take off whenever he pleases!"

"Okay calm down," the doctor was trying very hard not to laugh now because all of Mary's concerns were valid, albeit they were somewhat exacerbated by the anxieties she was feeling and magnified over a thousand times, but they were still justifiable concerns. "You are starting to worry your doctor who has the power to have you committed."

Mary paused and gave her a look before breaking into a laugh in which Alex joined. They giggled a few minutes, allowing the humor to put things back into perspective. When both women had finally composed themselves, Alex responded with a warm smile. "Feeling better?"

"Oh yes," Mary sighed, feeling the tension evaporate for the moment. The fears were still there, but they were somewhat more tolerable now. "Poor Chris." She half smiled. "If only he had any idea what the next nine months are going to be like for him. Steven almost went back to Boston and left me here alone."

"Talk to him Mary," Alex said offering the same advice. "I think he'll surprise you."

"Oh he'll be surprised alright," Mary retorted. "Especially the first time he has to go find me go find me chocolate cake and dill pickles in the middle of the night." That thought actually gave her some measure of satisfaction.

"Chocolate cake and dill pickles?" Alex wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"With cranberry sauce." Mary grinned widely, feeling tremendously better now that she had confided some of her worries to a sympathetic ear.

Alex tried to picture the concoction but only one thing came to mind. "Now I think I'm going to be sick."

---

The Terminator ransacked the house after its inhabitants were neutralized. The ammunition in the weapon he had had liberated earlier had been a limited supply, and so he was forced to use his hands to do the work. The children had been the last to meet their premature end because they had remained sleeping in their beds for most of the night. The parents who had been awakened when he arrived at this lone house, one of many if the data on this region were was reliable, that trailed the outskirts of the town called Four Corners.

The man had brandished a shotgun, which the Terminator did not allow him to fire. It was a simple matter of breaking his neck with one sharp movement and the human had collapsed where he stood, like a marionette whose strings had just been severed. He had engaged the Terminator outside the home and that's where he lay sprawled in the dirt. The woman had been in the house waiting for her spouse's' return when the Terminator found her. With as much ease, he had neutralized her in the same way.

He spent the rest of the night searching the house for items he might require, like a new set of clothes. The ones he wore fitted badly, and a Terminator by nature had to blend into the background unnoticed. The man he had killed seemed to be closer to his size that than the previous human it he had encountered, and thus most of his clothes fit the Terminator well, especially the shoes. There was also a small wealth of weapons, though none were what he considered to be efficient. It was becoming apparent that he would not find any of better quality or functionality in this primitive environment. If there was an advantage to this state of affairs, it was that the target for termination would be no better armed and would put up little resistance.

The Terminator would like to have questioned the man further on the whereabouts of the target, for very little information existed on his personal life. There was reference to a spouse but that information was pointless at that moment for the marriage would not take place for some time yet. The data that was available had its origins in some fanciful accounts in what were deemed periodicals in this day and age. It spoke of the target's associations and some violent adventures with the criminal elements of the age, but nothing that was of any use to him.

He calculated the options before him and decided quickly that it would be advantageous if he were to keep the town under surveillance until an optimum moment arrived to eliminate the target. The Terminator had been given very specific instructions regarding the termination of this particular subject. Skynet had returned him to this time period so that no suspicions would be raised by anyone in the future by the subject's termination. This time was known for its violence, and the subject's occupation made the task simpler.

By the time dawn had started to break, the Terminator saw no reason to linger in his present location as he had gathered everything that might be of use to him in his mission objective. It would not take him long to reach Four Corners and once there, he could seek out the target's closest associates as listed in his databanks and begin covert surveillance.

There was no reason for the subject to be aware of his existence until the target was acquired.

Part Three

When Worlds Collide

With the help of Selma's expert navigation, Darien Lambert found himself at the edge of Four Corners and knew with absolute certainty that Sahmbi's device had succeeded in sending him back to the 19th century. He stared at the town, gaping with the wonder of a child discovering that not all fantasies were fiction. When he was a boy in the orphanage, Darien had dreamed of how exciting it would be to live in this rugged and challenging area. So much of the west had been untamed at this point and it added a new strength to those born to it. He remembered the legendary figures of the era, Wyatt Earp, Buffalo Bill and Jesse James just to name a few and knew that they must have lived in towns not unlike this one.

"It’s just like in the movies." Darien grinned as he left the outskirts of Four Corners and began moving into the heart of the town. He hoped the clothes he had choose did not make him look too out of place. Instead of relying on the portrayals from popular movies and books, Darien had referenced accurate historical data when choosing to outfit himself. He needed to blend in and did not want to arrive looking like a reject from a circus rodeo. To a certain extent he succeeded with his selection. His tan duster covered a plain cotton shirt that would have little difficulty fitting in any era and a pair of jeans. Although he missed his sneakers, especially during his walk to town, Darien was forced to concede that the ankle length boots he was wearing sufficed well enough.

It was with open fascination that he observed the horse drawn carriages and wagons rumbling past him. Women wearing long dresses with sweeping skirts and straw bonnets strolled up and down the wooden sidewalk that ran up the length of the town central district. It was almost noon and the heat of the day prickled his skin. Darien pulled the dark hat stock hat favored by Australians everywhere, over his eyes to keep the glare away. He had to admit feeling like a bit of a tourist, as he studied everything closely, enraptured by everything in this world that was so far away from the one he had known before. He supposed the movies did get some things right because the customary jailhouse and saloon, looked exactly like he expected. There were even the barbershops with the familiar barber pole hanging outside the door.

Darien wondered if the sheriff was about and did he look anything like Gary Cooper. Of course where there was a sheriff, there had to be some spirited school mistress or lady saloon owner who was his romantic interest otherwise television had lied to him completely. There was a great deal of people on the street today and Darien wondered if it was always this busy. Fortunately, none of them seemed at all bothered by his presence. Although Darien had no idea that women in this era was so forward. From what he knew women in this time, they were still considered second class citizens and yet those he had encountered since arriving in town were less than shy.

At least a dozen young ladies had offered him warm greetings as he past by them, laced with suggestive smiles and 'come hither' looks that made him wonder whether that aftershave this morning was such a good idea. One had even come up to him and actually commented he looked good without a moustache.

Considering that Darien had tried growing moustache when he was a teenager and was now old enough to know better, he tended to agree with the young lady in her assertion. With growing confusion, he realized that it was the women in town who mostly noticed his presence. They waved and smiled as they passed him by while the men regarded him as just another person in town. However he did catch one or two looks that could only be described as a mixture of hostility and plain admiration which added to his puzzlement.

Deciding that it was best that he did not delve too much into this odd behavior since he had a far more important agenda in mind, Darien made his way to the saloon. If he knew his westerns at all, it would the best place to find Christopher Larabee.

He had not paid attention to the loud footsteps behind him because there were people moving back and forth about their business everywhere. The streets were crowded with so many differing sounds that it was impossible to keep stock of every one. However, when he heard the booming voice that followed those footsteps, Darien was forced to concede that it was for his benefit only.

"You have a lot nerve Wilmington!" He turned around to find himself staring at the clearly enraged face of a huge behemoth. Darien, who was quite tall himself, felt positively tiny next to this giant of a man who possessed the astonishing ability to block out the sun. For a minute Darien wondered if he wrestled alligators for a living. However, judging by the glowering on that thick bone Neanderthal face, Darien realized that discovering this man's occupation was the least of his problems.

"I think you've mistaken me for someone else." Darien said politely, trying not to cause or scene nor did he wish to provoke a fight. He attempted to walk away from the situation before it deteriorated any further.

"Very funny Wilmington." The man slapped a huge palm against his shoulder and held it in a firm grip that clearly indicated that Darien was not going anywhere. "I suppose it wasn't you in my Virginia's bed this morning."

Oh hell. Darien swore under his breath coming to the unhappy conclusion that this was an angry husband out for revenge on his wife's lover. "I assure you," Darien said calmly even though he had the sneaking suspicion that the civilized approach was not going to resolve this case of mistaken identities. Judging by the anger on his face, the man was spoiling for a fight and the moment cared little for what sparked it. "I don't even know a Virginia."

"You're a yellow bellied, low down liar!" The man growled and threw his enormous fist at Darien. Fortunately, like all men of his bulk, he was slow and Darien who was a product of 22nd century genetic engineering was more than equal to the task of fending off his attack. He caught the man's fist easily and used his opponent's forward momentum to flip the man onto his back. He hit the ground and made it tremble slightly because his weight, sending clouds of dust in the air upon impact.

There was shock on his face but only for a moment. Darien saw the astonishment on his face quickly evaporate into a mask of crimson rage. It was quite possible that no one had ever humiliated him this way and with a sinking feeling, Darien realized that there would be no placating the man after such a public injury to his pride. People had stopped what they were doing to observe the proceedings and Darien winced at this. He had no intention of making this altercation into a spectator's sport for the people of Four Corners.

"Look, I don't know who you think I am but I don't want to hurt you." Darien said quickly making a last ditch effort to resolve this misunderstanding peacefully as he saw the man scramble to his feet, covered in dirt and wearing a look on his face that could only be described as murderously angry.

"You're going take your medicine Wilmington!" He growled before lowering his head and charging.

"Oh shit." Darien swore under his breath as he saw the man coming towards him like a cannon ball.

Jumping out of the way easily, Darien saw the man ran straight past him only to connect with a wooden beam holding up a section of short awning, head first. Darien winced as he heard the terrible crack of skull meeting wood before his would be attacker staggered backwards from the collision. He met Darien's eyes for a moment and the expression seemed to be dazed shock.

Then he fell flat on his back and moved no more.

"Well this is good too." Darien sighed as he walked over to the man and felt for a pulse. He did not think the man had injured himself very badly but it never hurt to check. Darien reached for his neck and felt a pulse beating slowly but steadily. Other than a further injury to his pride and a severe headache when he regained consciousness, Darien foresaw little permanent damage.

"Captain are you all right?" He heard Selma whispering.

"I'm fine." He muttered under his breath as he broke through the crowd that had gathered to witness the fallen man's misfortune and continued towards the saloon. After that little episode, he could actually use a drink.

"Very well then," Selma retorted. "I shall return to silent mode."

"I wish you would." Darien grumbled, unhappy that his attempt to make a discreet entrance into Four Corners had been shot to hell. Darien supposed he would have to deal with the man again when he had regained consciousness. Hopefully, that would not happen for some hours. Selma remained silent, probably aware that when his voice took on this particular tone he was in little mood or patience to tolerate questions. Darien knew he should not take his annoyance out on Selma but he could help it.

He reached the saloon and walked through the bat wing doors, hoping nothing else would take place that would bring undue attention to him. He wanted to blend in and carry out his mission. Despite the sight seeing he had been indulging himself earlier, Darien Lambert's mission here could not be allowed to fail. It was rare that he could say with any kind of honesty that the future existence of everything humanity would ever know depended on how he managed the next few days.

Darien sidled up to the bar and climbed onto a stool. No one took any notice of him inside the walls of this establishment, as most of the patrons were too busy downing their drinks or playing cards. Some were enjoying the attentions of garishly dressed women that Darien could only guess were working girls. With very few exceptions, the interior of the saloon looked exactly as he imagined it would.

A most beautiful Mexican woman appeared behind the counter as he waited for service. As she approached him with her dusky skin and sultry features, Darien found himself admiring her heart stopping feminine presence.

"Hello." He said pleasantly as she came up to him.

"Hello?" She returned coldly, her eyes narrowing as she met his gaze. "So much for the new you."

"I beg your pardon?" Darien looked at her blankly.

"I knew you were low," she continued oblivious to his confusion and clearly very angry with him. Her hands were on her hips and her eyes were blazing fire in his direction. "I knew you chased everything in a skirt but a married woman who is known across five states for her reputation! Don't you know you were just another notch on her garter belt?"

"Look I just came in for a drink lady." Darien retorted starting to get very tired of this. Just exactly, who did these people think he was?

"Oh its lady now?" She shouted angrily and Darien looked around and noticed all eyes were staring at him, which is exactly what he had wanted to avoid. If he ever met this Wilmington character, Darien decided he was going to kick his philandering ass from here to the 20th century.

"There's been some mistake..." Darien tried to explain and calm her down.

"Of course there's been some mistake!" She snapped cutting of any attempt he made to explain things to her. "I made it! I trusted you and thought that you had some scruples at least! I will never trust you again Senor Wilmington." With that she poured a glass of whisky into a small shot glass and threw it in his face.

The room exploded into laughter as Darien wiped the dripping alcohol from his face and managed to see a flounce of red skirt moving out of his line of sight with a trailing sob in its wake. "You even shaved your moustache for her...."

---

"Goddamn it woman! That hurts!" Vin snapped at Alex while she was examining the contusions that had formed a substantial lump on the side of his head.

"I said sit still." Alex returned such as sharply.

When Nathan had discovered a sizeable bump on Vin's head while treating his injuries, the healer had been concerned enough to have Ezra summon Alex from her clinic to make a quick examination just in case. Since her arrival in Four Corners, Nathan and Alex had developed somewhat of rapport when it came to the medical health of the community. When he was convinced that he had neither the skill nor experience to deal with some injuries or illnesses, he often consulted Alex if it concerned him enough. On the other hand, Alex found that Nathan was skilled enough to assist her in surgery whenever it was required. Surgery was something Nathan had no wish to try and she knew the few occasions that he had been forced to perform the task had been little more than minor procedures.

"Look I'm fine." Vin complained on the examination table in Nathan's infirmary.

"He was out for a couple of hours." Nathan pointed out, knowing that any kind of blackout following a severe injury to the head required inspection. He regarded Alexandra Styles were highly because she was a real doctor with all the diplomas and education that came with the title but because she treated him like an equal. To her, he was not simply some quack with a modicum of skills. She respected his opinions and even tried to help him expand his knowledge. A copy of Gray's Anatomy sat on one of the shelves in his infirmary, a gift from Alex. Nathan had been genuinely touched when she had presented the worn copy to him not realizing until much later when he read the stenciled name inside its jacket that the book had originally belonged to her father.

"Well," Alex stepped away from Vin, pleased that her examination was more or less concluded because Vin Tanner could be as obstinate as a mule. "I've done all the visual acuity tests and the balance and coordination test. I think its little more than a mild concussion and although his disposition could be better." She threw Vin a look as she made that remark. "I'd say he will be fine."

"I didn't mean to bother you Alex." Nathan responded. "Its just kind of worried me."

"It pays to be careful Nathan." Alex smiled. "What happened to him anyway?"

"I am in the room you know." Vin made himself heard.

Both Nathan and Alex glanced at him for a moment and then continued speaking again. "I'd keep an eye on him for the next day or two." Alex said with a little smirk on her lovely features. "No alcohol or I should say, no more alcohol. If there is any dizziness or nausea, we need to know whether it is caused by the head injury and not just another hangover."

"I'll keep him out of the saloon." Nathan said without any hesitation.

"That will be an interesting trick." Ezra spoke for the first time. When Alex and Nathan were talking shop it was best not to get involved. Most of the time, the content of the healers conversation was so beyond his understanding that Ezra had learnt fairly early in his association with Alex that it was best to sit back and let them continue unimpeded. He particularly enjoyed it when Vin required Alex's considerable medical knowledge because unlike Nathan, who considered them friends' first and then patients, Alex knew no such sensibilities. Friends or not, her medical advice was to be followed without fail.

"Don't worry," Vin drawled rising to his feet. "I won't go anywhere near the saloon." He announced. "I'm going to find the varmint that stole my clothes and my gun."

"Hold it there Mr. Tanner," Ezra interjected. "You are doing nothing of the sort for a while yet. Let us wait until Mr. Larabee returns before we decide on a course of action." Without even hearing his words, Ezra was certain that Chris would not allow Vin embark on any hunt in the condition he was in.

"He could be anywhere by now!" Vin exclaimed in protest.

"He could be," Ezra agreed. "But as you say he was on foot and had no horse. Wherever he is, it isn't far away and the man you describe is not easy to fade into the background."

Vin opened his mouth to protest but he knew Ezra was right. Despite his anger at what had happened to him, he was unable to deny the throbbing in his face and head. His head injury was slightly worse than he had let on but he knew that if his friends had inkling that he was hurt, they might not allow him to participate in catching the man who did this to him. In truth, he did feel woozy and nauseous but he was not about to admit that to anyone, especially after that drink in the saloon.

"Okay," he conceded. "I will get some rest but if he comes into town, I want to know about it." He said looking firmly at Ezra and Nathan so that they would understand how serious he was on this matter. Very little bothered Vin Tanner but this had infuriated him beyond belief. He had not felt so stupid and vulnerable since he was a boy and a part of him was still in astonishment at how a complete stranger had sneaked up on him and taken him out so easily. It stung his normally unflappable confidence to the core and Vin hated feeling like this.

"Of course." Ezra replied. "Now why don't you let Mr. Jackson and I escort you to your lodgings." The gambler offered politely.

Vin shrugged, unhappy at being out of commission for any length of time but he had to confess needing the rest. Begrudgingly, he looked up at the friends who were not about to tolerate any argument on the matter and replied wearily. "Just don't try to help me walk." Vin said as he made his way to the door with great dignity. "I can get there myself."

"I'm sure you can." Ezra said with a completely straight face.

Vin could only glare at him.

---

JD had decided to help Vin in his own way by doing a quick patrol around the town to see if there were any strangers in town. Following Buck's lead, JD made a quick visit to the hotel and boarding houses to see if anyone new had recently acquired lodgings in Four Corners. His search had not been fruitful and after an hour of so engaged in this endeavor, he returned to the saloon to find Ezra and perhaps get some lunch. Even though he considered himself a man, JD had to admit he still had the appetite of growing boy and unlike the others who seemed content with three meals a day if that, JD had to have proper lunches because it was the manner in which he was raised.

Thinking of lunches invariably brought the young man to consider the mother he had left behind. He wondered if she was all right back in the east and made a note to write her this evening if he had nothing better to do. He did not expect to see Buck until dark he probably would have time after he made his customary patrols around town to ensure things were running smoothly. JD took his duties as sheriff very seriously and often considered himself to be the first line of defence when it came to trouble town.

JD walked into the saloon and looked around for anyone he knew. The table normally occupied by Ezra and the others was empty and guessed they had not returned from seeing Vin to Nathan's infirmary. He knew Josiah had mentioned something about fixing a stained glass window in the church he was attempting to build and assumed that the preacher was probably there, since he did not accompany Vin to the infirmary.

Suddenly, JD caught sight of Buck sitting at the counter. For a minute, he did not recognize the older man. For reasons he could not explain, Buck looked different somehow. The most obvious difference was of course the moustache. JD seemed to recall Buck once saying that the only way he would ever be rid of this moustache was over his dead body. Without it, Buck seemed a lot younger actually.

"Buck!" JD called out as he strode over to the tall man at the counter.

Buck did not seem to hear him and that heightened JD's puzzlement further. For a moment, JD wondered if Buck was in disguise so that Jasper Cray would not find him. JD did not for a moment believe that Buck Wilmington was afraid of anyone but then Jasper was pretty mad, not to mention huge as he could personally attest after suffering the brunt of the man's rage earlier.

"Hey Buck!" JD exclaimed slapping him on the back as JD climbed onto to the stool beside him.

JD noticed Buck's eyes rolling in what could only be described as a mixture of indifference and pure annoyance. In either case, Buck turned to him and said very firmly. "Listen kid, I don't know who you think I am and I don't really care but I am not him, got that?"

He had to be joking. It was the only explanation that could wrap itself around JD's rising confusion. "Buck, this ain't funny."

Buck started rubbing his forehead as if he was developing a sudden headache before meeting JD's gaze again. "Exactly who do you think I am?"

Now he was certain that Buck was kidding with him. JD knew Buck had a strange sense of humor or maybe he really was hiding out from Jasper. In any case, JD was willing to play along for a while. "You're Buck Wilmington of course unless you've changed your identity so Jasper don't come after you."

Darien groaned visibly. "My name is Darien Lambert, I'm in town for a few days on some private business. I don't know who Buck Wilmington is and if Jasper is a seven foot tall ape who thinks I've been with his wife, we've already met."

"He must have pounded you good." JD exclaimed, looking Buck over for any signs of injury that may explain this erratic behavior. "Are you hurt? Do you need to see Nathan or Doctor Styles?"

Darien poured himself another drink from the bottle the angry Mexican beauty had left behind. "I'm fine kid." He growled. This young man reminded him of one of the rookies on the force who were too green to walk away from a bad situation until it blew up in their faces. Despite his persistence, Darien could not help liking the boy and he was a boy, even if he was packing six shooters on either side. This was hardly surprising of course. In this day and age, the NRA was not a bunch of gun happy fanatics; it was the corner stone on which the old West functioned.

Darien was about to tell him to go away when suddenly he noticed the silver glint of a sheriff's badge on the breast of JD's waistcoat. "You're the sheriff?"

"Very funny Buck," JD retorted. "I suppose you don't know that you're the one who told me I was a fool for taking on the job?"

With that much Darien agreed with the unseen Mr. Wilmington. "You're just a kid!"

JD bristled at that remark and Darien scolded himself for being so insensitive. The badge was polished and well cared for, a clear indication that the young man who wore it was inordinately proud of the title and the authority behind it. "Listen Buck, I'm getting mighty tired of this game you're playing." In truth, JD was feeling unusually persecuted and was actually angry enough to leave Buck to his little role playing fantasy. He rose from his chair when the older man responded.

"Sit down kid." Darien sighed, deciding that it was not his fault that JD did not understand what was going on. "I didn't mean to insult you. I'm sorry Sheriff.... what's your name?"

"JD Dunne!" JD exclaimed. "That's it, I'm taking you to see Nathan." JD put his hand around Buck's arm. "You're not yourself."

"Sit." Darien said coolly, with a tone in his voice that told JD not to argue. JD did so obediently and Darien turned around on his stool so that he was meeting the young man face to face. "Just assume for a moment that I am not your friend Buck Wilmington. I know I look like this Wilmington person but I am not him. Just empty your mind of that whole concept and start thinking of me as Darien Lambert. I am looking for a Christopher Larabee. Do you know where I can find him?"

If this young man was indeed the sheriff of Four Corners, then Darien had to assume that he would know where the ancestor of Kyle Reese might be at this moment. Considering his luck already, Darien did not think he would have much to lose if the boy knew nothing. In any instance, he would be no further along in his search than he was now.

JD wondered what sort of game Buck was playing with him but something had started to nag at him that the young man was too inexperienced to recognize or heed at this stage in life. "Christopher Larabee? Come on Buck, you know where Chris is better than I do! You went with him to Sweetwater this morning."

At this moment, a man who looked exactly like him was out riding with the very person Darien Lambert had chased across time. The irony of this situation was not lost on him. "Are you telling me Wilmington and Larabee are friends?" Darien started to feel the onset of a very severe headache and was tempted to pour himself another glass of this rotgut that passed for whisky.

"You're really not Buck are you?" JD said softly, finally starting to realize that differences he had been seeing could lead to no other conclusion. The man looked exactly like Buck except there were subtle differences around the eyes and the way in which he spoke. The voice did not have the familiar Texan drawl that Buck possessed. Instead the man's voice possessed inflections that JD had grown up with in the east.

"What made you guess?" Darien smiled faintly. The kid was pretty smart. Darien could see his eyes studying him closely, detecting those little differences that he had ignored earlier.

"You look exactly like him." JD replied somewhat shocked. "I'm not kidding...what did you say your name was?"

"Darien Lambert." Darien answered with some relief that finally; someone was calling him by his own name.

"You look exactly like Buck, Mr. Lambert." JD said studying him even as he responded. "Even without the moustache and I think Buck's a little heavier than you are but for most part, you're nearly identical."

"Terrific." Darien retorted, brushing aside this uncanny resemblance to another person for the moment. Until now he had been reluctant to go asking questions in light of his mistaken identity. However with the aid of this young man who now believed that he was not Buck Wilmington, perhaps Darien could get somewhere with his search for Christopher Larabee. "Look, its important that I find Larabee immediately. You said he's gone to Sweetwater, when he will be back?"

"Tonight." JD replied with some apprehension. There was a threat of something unspoken in the eyes of this stranger who wore Buck's face. JD could sense the hard edge of concern in his eyes that he often saw in Chris' own. Something was wrong. "What's happening? Is Chris in trouble?"

Deciding he had little choice at the moment since he needed the information, Darien decided there would be little harm in taking this kid into his confidence. Judging by the way that he spoke about Chris Larabee, Darien guessed that JD Dunne knew the gunslinger personally. "Someone is coming to kill him." Darien replied, editing the truth for his benefit. JD did not need to know that a killer cyborg was a more accurate description, even if Darien could explain it to him in a way he would understand. "I am here to stop them but I need to know where he would go first when he comes back to town."

"Well that's easy." JD replied without even having to consider the question. "He'd go see Mrs. Travis."

---

The Terminator had chosoe to make its entry into Four Corners once the sun had set. Although there was little reason to fear discovery, his programming had calculated that optimum success would be ensured if he entered the town under the cover of dark. With a community as small as this one where complex social groups were in force, it was likely that the presence of a stranger may raise enough suspicion for the target to escape.

What information there existed about the target was mostly the archival data stored from the periodicals of the age. When the Terminator was being prepared as a vassal for the Skynet intelligence, the read-only function in its neuro-net central processor had been disabled. To date, he was the only model of the Terminator series to have this function made inoperative, as the requirements of a Terminator did not involve being a learning computer. The information necessary to hunt and kill humans on a wholesale basis did not require anything that was not already programmed by Skynet. Skynet was the only artificial intelligence program with self-awareness. It intended to remain that way.

The clothes and weapons that the Terminator had liberated from the humans he had encountered earlier in the day had proved successful in allowing him walk through the community engendering little interest. The scant information in his memory banks regarding the whereabouts of the target indicated that he would eventually arrive at this establishment. As the Terminator made its way up the steps, his internals sensors detected precisely 35 people in the building. The life signs were scattered on both levels.

Stepping through the bat wing doors of the saloon, the Terminator scanned the floor very quickly. Most of the humans present were on a high level of chemically induced intoxication. He saw the bottles on the shelves behind the counter that seemed to prove this point. Some were seated and indulging in games of chance while others drank solutions of questionable quality with hallucinogenic properties. Since Kyle Reese had been coded while in the camps of the future, his DNA pattern was also on record and with this in his memory banks, the Terminator was able to learn that the target was not present. Although its range in this matter was extremely limited and so the subject could be in town without his sensors detecting it.

He found a table in the corner of the room that was presently occupied by a human that was slouched across the table in a complete alcohol induced stupor. As the Terminator approached it, the human made no move to stop his advance. Confident that the human was going to offer any resistance, the Terminator sat down quietly, observing the proceedings in the rowdy establishment with little notice.

A search throughout the town would raise suspicion and allow the target the opportunity to fee and so the Terminator decided against this. According to the information in the archives he had called up for the purpose, the probabilities were heavy that the target would arrive here eventually. If not, the Terminator was equipped with the names of all associates as noted in the periodicals of the time. The target had six other companions and the Terminator decided that if ample time had elapsed without the target's arrival, he would seek the six and use secondary measures to find out his whereabouts.

And if that failed, there was also the matter of the secondary target.

The Terminator watched the proceedings with a mild case of fascination. Once the read-only function was disabled, he was capable of absorbing great volumes of data. The Skynet programming that was currently in existence in its limited confines thirsted for such information with almost human need. The expansion of the Terminator's understanding of human behavior was the one aspect of its programming that needed to be updated at regular intervals. There was no equation or logistical application to human behavioral patterns that could be predicted. Ten Terminators could be expected to react the same way to a given situation but ten humans would react in ten different ways.

The war in which John Connor had defeated Skynet's machine army was case in point of how such an odd behavioral trait could become the defining weapon in the human arsenal. Skynet had to restructure its Terminators to learn from the mistake, to try as best any machine was capable of anticipating human response. At this moment, the Terminator studied the human selection before him and found that they were far removed from those encountered in the future. The group present revealed the worst excesses of human behavior in every vice ranging from avarice, sloth to lust. These humans survived almost completely on instinct. The humans of the future would drive themselves with the belief that survival depended on their ability to discipline themselves against such vices.

If the target was anything like these present individuals, then the Terminator did not expect to encounter much difficulty when the time came to carry out its mission objective.

---

"If this is some joke between you and Mr. Wilmington, I will not be impressed." Mary remarked as she served Darien and JD a cup of coffee. It had taken even more convincing for Mary to believe that this person was not Buck Wilmington. However, if he was Buck then Mary had underestimated Mr. Wilmington's ability to play pranks by a country mile. Even though the face was his, everything else was different. The face looked younger and not as tanned from being under the sun. Obviously the disappearance of the moustache made a difference in how he looked but this man was healthier. Darien was leaner, with more emphasis on muscle than bulk. It could be just the clothes he was wearing but he had the body of someone who was at least five years younger than Buck and probably ten pounds lighter.

"I swear to you Mrs. Travis," Darien sighed, wondering if it was even remotely possible for him to have foreseen this complication when he had decided to make this trip through time. "I am not this Buck Wilmington that everyone has apparently mistaken me for. Trust me, I am not enjoying this any more than you like seeing it. Since I've got here I've been set upon by an angry husband and the most beautiful Mexican woman I have ever seen threw a drink in my face."

Neither Mary nor JD could help laughing upon hearing that. "Well, Inez and Buck have a kind of peculiar relationship," JD tried to explain.

"I thought he was the wild mamba with someone's wife." Darien said confused. Then he remembered the women on the street and how they had reacted to him. "Just how many women does he have?" Darien found himself asking.

"The wild what?" JD asked perplexed by the term.

"Nevermind." Darien shrugged and reminded himself that the use of 20th century lingo on these people would probably serve to confuse them more than anything else. "I take it Mr. Wilmington is popular with the ladies?"

"Extremely," Mary said with a slight nod.

"This just gets better." Darien groaned visibly. "No wonder, I've been getting strange looks all day."

"Well your resemblance is uncanny." Mary pointed out, "as well as your story."

Darien had told them nothing about the future. However, he could not blame them if his credibility was less than stellar. He suspected the only reason that either of them had given him any time of the day was because he looked so much like this friend of theirs. "I can't help that." Darien said honestly. "I can only tell you that I know someone is coming after Christopher Larabee and they will kill anyone he knows to reach him."

"But why?" Mary looked at him in concern. In light of what she had learnt earlier today about her pregnancy and all, she was glad that her relationship with Chris had been kept somewhat private. The last thing she needed to know as that Chris was vulnerable because of her or the child she now carried.

"I can't say for sure." Darien lied. According to the time line in which Darien was born, Christopher Larabee married twice. It is not known what happened to his first wife but the information on the second was quite extensive. He had no doubt that he was sitting across the woman would soon the Mrs. Mary Larabee in Selma's database. The descendants that would give birth to Kyle Reese and eventually, John Connor would begin from this woman as well as Chris Larabee. Darien had no idea whether the Terminator had access to this information but if it did, if it failed to find Chris, this woman would become its most probably secondary target.

"You're going to have to do better than that Mr. Lambert." Mary said firmly. "It may be sheer coincidence that you look exactly like Buck Wilmington but we have no idea who you are or where you come from. I do not wish to sound ungrateful but you've given us nothing to prove your word."

Darien found himself flinching under her high powered stare because he guessed this was a highly intelligent woman who missed very little. Her beauty and her youth could disarm a person into believing she was just another product of her time but they would learn otherwise very quickly. Darien knew he was not going to fool her with any fabrication and he considered the alternatives of telling her the truth. Perhaps, he could ensure more cooperation that way.

Suddenly, a shrill sound tore through the air. Both Mary and JD reacted in surprise, Mary dropping her teacup and spilling hot tea across the floral table cloth while JD jumped to his feet weapons drawn, trying to discern where the alien sound was originating. Mary backed away from the table as hot tea flowed in her direction when she noticed that the sound was coming from Darien, who was the only one who had not reacted violently. Darien was wearing an expression of annoyance on his face and Mary was sure she saw him swear under his breath.

"Selma, stop that." Darien said wearily, wondering if this was Selma's way of helping his with his quandary over revealing the truth to Mary Travis about the part she and Chris Larabee played in the future. "They don't have beepers in this day and age."

"I am sorry Captain." Selma responded amidst the astonished expressions of Mary and JD who was staring at Darien in nothing more than absolute shock at the voice that had started speaking out of thin air. "I felt this was an emergency situation."

Darien let out a weary sigh wondering if Selma had any idea what kind of situation she had just placed Darien. There was no way he was going to explain this away with out telling them the truth. Mary was not a fool even if JD was a little naive. She would not accept any less than the truth no matter how outlandish it may sound. "This better be good Selma." He warned, openly upset at this sudden breach in his orders.

"I apologies Captain," Selma said sounding genuine regretful of what she had done. "However, you asked me to scan for unusual energy signatures at one hour intervals."

"Yes, yes," he nodded, ever mindful of JD and Mary before him. "And?"

"I've detected what could be the resonance from a highly focus atomic power cell approximately 25 meters from this location, in the area of the saloon."

Darien held his breath. "Enough to power a cyborg?" He asked.

"For at least 125 years."

"He's here." Darien exclaimed and looked up at Mary and JD. There was little time to waste and now that he knew what part Mary had in the future, he could not allow her to remain at risk.

"Who was that?" Mary demanded her face almost ashen. JD could only stare dumbfounded because he knew he heard a woman's voice speaking to Darien and it was not Mary.

"I don't have time to explain this to you." Darien said firmly and turned to JD. "He's here and I've got to stop him before he reaches you or Chris."

"You will make time to explain!" Mary demanded angrily. Something was happening here, something that had far more important implications that this stranger was letting on. Suddenly, her mind was opening up to the possibilities that the physical laws she knew were not that immutable. Darien Lambert seemed to be at the heart of this sudden vortex of the fantastic.

"I can't!" Darien returned with just as much fierce determination. "He's out there and if I don't' get to him before he gets to Chris then the future dies tonight!"

Before Mary could say anything else in response, Darien turned to JD. "Listen kid, I thank you for trusting me but I need you to trust me a little more. I want you to keep Mrs. Travis safe. If anything and I mean anything comes through that door, you kill it do you understand me? You kill it!"

"What's going on Darien..." JD stammered. "Who is this guy?" He asked fearfully.

"No one you ever want to meet in this lifetime, Sheriff Dunne." Darien retorted before running out the front door, leaving Mary and JD behind in stunned disbelief.

---

He should really see Mary first but he needed a drink.

The ride from to Bitter Creek had been long enough, without Chris having to endure the tedium of listening to both Buck and Ben Davies claiming innocence for two completely unrelated crimes. While Ben Davies pleaded innocence to all the crimes of horse rustling of which he had been accused of, Buck Wilmington swore that he had no idea that Virginia Cray was married. Considering that Ben had been captured on one of the stallions he didn't steal and the only person who did not know that Virginia Cray was married happened to be Jeff the idiot who cleaned the public outhouse and possibly Buck, did not lend much credibility to either man's statement.

By the time they reached Bitter Creek, Chris Larabee had half the mind to shoot both of them. Initially, he was supposed to have Josiah's company for the trip but after her husband discovered Buck with Mrs. Cray, Chris decided a change of roster would be a good idea. It would give Jasper time to cool off and abandon the idea of dismembering Buck from limb to limb. It was safe to say that after the day he just had, Chris had more then earned his dollar a day as unofficial lawman to Four Corners not to mention, the drink he was going to get when he reached the saloon.

"You think Jasper is still mad?" Buck asked as they both walked up the steps of the saloon. The evening festivities were in full swing and they could hear music and laughter from inside the crowded establishment.

"If I found another man in my wife's bed, it might take more me than a day to calm down."

"Chris, you'd just shoot 'em." Buck pointed out.

"Yeah I would," Chris grinned at him devilishly. "But I didn't want to put your hopes down."

Buck narrowed his eyes and gave Chris a dirty look. "You're compassion is overwhelming."

"Buck, how many windows are you going to jump out of before you learn that taking up residence in someone's hen house in a bad idea?" Chris had known Buck for years and knew for a fact that this pattern of behavior had existed for nearly that length of time. Buck could never say no to a pretty face, whether that face was available to him or not. If Chris did not know better, he would swear that the more unavailable the woman, the more determined Buck would be in his pursuit. The challenge of forbidden fruit was just too much for him to resist.

"I just can't help it," Buck smiled salaciously. "It's like a candy store. I just got to taste every one."

Chris rolled his eyes and shook his head in resignation. "Just be careful someone don't take it in mind to rip out your tongue."

"It would be a loss to ladies everywhere." Buck replied with a straight face.

Chris laughed despite himself and chose to abandon any attempt to sermonize when it was quite clear that Buck was never going to change. Chris also did not believe for one second that Buck would give up his affair with Virginia Cray even in the face of Jasper's discovery this morning. If anything, the dalliance had the added attraction of being a challenge now and that was almost as addictive to Buck as the sex itself. Deciding that a chance of subject was definitely in order, Chris left the issue of the Crays gratefully behind. "Look, I can't stay long, I want to check in on Mary."

"How's she doing?" Buck inquired, aware that Mary had not been feeling well lately. During the few times that he had seen her, she looked somewhat haggard and quite exhausted.

"Better than she was last week." Chris said without much pleasure in that admission.

"Well Billy's a bright kid but like all children, he is a handful," Buck commented as they entered the saloon and spotted Ezra, Josiah and Nathan at their usual table. "Mary's a working woman with a business and a son. It’s gotta take its toll on her sometime." He replied as they weaved their way through the sea of bodies in the saloon.

"I guess." Chris said dubiously in response to Buck's statement. "But she's always managed to handle it before." He pointed out. "Seems kind of strange that it's only now affecting her now." He said shortly, not wanting Buck to know just how concerned he truly was about Mary's state of health.

The atmosphere in the saloon was quite lively this evening, with everyone from drifters to working girls were present. Someone was playing the piano in the corners and a few cattle pokes had taken up post to sing some off key but bawdy songs. The drinking session was in early stages yet so for the moment everyone was behaving themselves. Although the jovial mood remained balanced on a knife's edge and could slip into rowdy at any point, depending on how drunk everyone became.

"True," Buck nodded in agreement, speaking over the dull rumble of voices. "But these days, she got her hands full what with looking after the paper, raising Billy and now keeping you happy at night." Buck threw him a mischievous grin.

"Watch it." Chris grumbled, disliking any talk about Mary in that manner especially in such a public place. His relationship with Mary was special and he did not appreciate anyone reducing it to such a tawdry level, even in jest. Besides, they were still conducting it under a veil of mild secrecy and Chris did not need the entire town knowing about his personal affairs.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Buck apologized laughing, knowing when he had crossed the line from bad taste to an insult. However, he could not resist teasing Chris sometimes, the man got riled up so easily when it came to Mary Travis. "You know I think highly of Mrs. Travis." He said offering Chris a conciliatory bow.

"Yeah." Chris frowned sarcastically knowing exactly what Buck was up to by the time they reached Josiah and the others at their usual table. Pulling a vacant chair from another table, Chris sat down and relished being off his feet for the first time in hours.

However, following the chorus of greeting followed their arrival, Chris soon realized that the circumstances of their return were less than ideal. Judging by the thoughtful look on everyone's faces, Chris guessed quickly that something must have taken place during their departure from Four Corners. Buck continued onward to the bar in order to get them some drinks since it appeared Inez had her hands full with the nearly full house on this particular evening and would not have time to be waiting table. Besides, whatever had happened today, he was certain the others would fill him in when he returned.

"Vin's hurt." Josiah replied explaining the situation to Chris who had no impatient with any form of small talk until he was appraised of everything. "Apparently, someone attacked him before stealing his clothes and his gun."

"Attacked Vin?" Chris said with some measure of disbelief. If it was anyone else, Chris would have no trouble envisioning it but Vin was formidable opponent even without a weapon. Chris had seen him fight before and knew it took some one pretty skilled to incapacitate Vin. "How bad is he hurt?" Chris directed this question at Nathan who would have undoubtedly treated him since Chris had some idea about Vin's attitude towards Doctor Styles.

"He's got a concussion and some nasty bruises." Nathan reported dutifully. "He also lost a couple of back teeth." At the moment, Vin was taking a well needed rest at his lodgings and Nathan made a mental note to check up on him upon leaving here.

"Jesus." Chris remarked distastefully. "Where is he?" He asked, noticing the absence of the tracker at the table.

"Miss Styles ordered him to get some rest." Ezra answered. "She did not feel it appropriate that he indulge in any hard living in his present condition."

Vin would have loved that, Chris thought silently to himself. "Any idea who it was?" He inquired as Buck returned with two glasses of whisky.

"Not a one." Josiah's deep voice responded while the preacher shook his head in distaste. "The man came out of nowhere it seems, stark naked and took Vin down really fast. You should have seen the bruising on him Chris. It looked like someone took after him with a shovel."

Chris winced at description and felt a rising knot of anger stemming from the pit of his stomach at someone doing that to any of his friends, let alone Vin Tanner. He resolved himself to pay Vin a visit after he had said hello to Mary. For Vin's sake, Chris wanted to find whoever had attacked him before Vin chose to do it himself. Knowing just how tenacious the tracker could be when an idea was firmly rooted in the mind, Chris decided it was best to take care of this matter fast but Vin did something they would all regret.

"Well that was strange." Buck announced his return with a look of puzzlement on his face. He kept glancing over his shoulder as if a further look would resolve his confusion.

"What?" Nathan inquired.

"Inez just asked me how I grew my moustache so fast." Buck retorted, wondering about the strange exchange he had just experienced with the lovely bar tender. Just when he thought their relationship was starting to improve, she went and said something that proved otherwise. He guessed she probably heard about Virginia Cray and felt a little guilty for the first time since this whole affair began. Although, he did not know why it should upset Inez so when she had hardly raised an eyebrow at his earlier liaisons with half the women in town.

No one could respond to that as they shared his confusion in what that remark was supposed to mean. Chris shook his head and took the glass from Buck rather than even try to debate the foibles of his friend's life. With Buck, it always seemed as if the man was forever leaping from one situation to another and it almost always had to do with a lady.

Chris raised his glass to his lips when his eyes caught sight of a man coming through the crowd in their direction. The size of the man was what captured Chris' attention first because there was hardly enough material in his light flannel shirt to cover his massive chest and arms. His face was almost sculpted and there was a purpose in his features that sent a chill through Chris, without the gunslinger knowing why. However, it was enough to send every alarm bell in Chris's mind screaming the warning for eminent danger.

Relying on an instinct that had kept him alive for as long as he could remember, Chris knew without being able to explain how, that the man was coming towards him. The stranger's dark eyes were staring straight ahead at Chris, unwavering as strode purposefully towards the table. Pushing the other patrons out of the way, Chris saw the shiny length of a shotgun in the man's hands.

"Get down!" He shouted to the others as the stranger reached the front of the table and raised the double-barreled weapon.

No sooner than the words had passed his lips, the five men at the table jumped out of the way, as the shot gun went off. The table tipped over at their hasty departure with glasses flying in all directions as they leapt out of the way. The discharge from the weapon tore a hole through the wood and kept going. Someone standing behind the five bore the brunt of the blast, catching the shot squarely in the chest. Blood erupted from his ruined sternum as the poor unfortunate uttered a short scream before falling to the floor. The shooter wasted little time and moved swiftly to take aim once more. Around him, working girls were screaming as patrons ran for cover. Nathan was shouting for everyone to get out but his cries were barely heard as the saloon descended into complete pandemonium.

Chris, who was the fastest and the first to see their attacker, had already drawn both his guns. Without thinking twice, he fired out one shot before the man could pull the trigger on the shotgun again. The bullet caught him in the dead centre of his forehead and then did the most amazing thing; it deflected outward. He barely reacted to the unusual trajectory of the projectile, even as the blood began flowing through the small entry and exit wounds on his skin. A wave of red covered his face in a thin veil, staining his shirt in expanding web. Chris holstered his weapon, not expecting the shooter to be on his feet for much longer when suddenly the man blinked.

Chris froze as the man reached for the blood on his face and studied the crimson on his fingers as if he were examining a cut. Ezra, Josiah, Nathan and Buck were starting at him with the same astonishment when the shooter disregarded the injury and then turned his attention back to Chris, showing no indication at being affected by a gunshot wound to the head. With perfect lucidity, he aimed the shotgun at Chris once again and pulled the trigger.

Snapping out of his shock, Chris had barely time to leap out of the way from the incoming projectile. He felt splinters flying into his back as the wooden table was blown to pieces behind him. Glasses smashing against the floor and those in the path of the shotgun pellets sprayed a mist of fine shards in all directions. Chris landed a few feet away, his weight buckling the chair upon which he fell. He rolled onto his feet in time to see Buck and the others had recovered their composure enough to draw their guns and let loose a murderous hail of bullets in stranger's direction. Chris stayed down low as bullets whizzed over his head. In the background he could hear glass shattering and wood splintering in the onslaught of gunfire.

Chris knew he had not missed. He fired a head shot for no other reason than for stopping power. Chris was absolute in the knowledge that he had seen the bullet penetrate the skin. Even now, while the others were firing away at him relentlessly, Chris could see the entry wound of the original bullet.

Despite the impossibility of what they were seeing, this stranger who should already be dead from the first bullet that Chris had put in his head, was still standing his ground against all odds. He reacted to the barrage of bullets with little more than a slight jerk of muscles each time he took a hit and was actually reloading his shotgun. He seemed almost oblivious to the gunfire. Chris could see fresh wounds appear on his skin since almost every bullet that was fired found its mark on his body.

"Goddamn!" Chris heard Buck exclaimed and his response mirrored what everyone in the room was thinking. "Why ain't he dying!"

"Keep firing!" Ezra's voice shouted frantically. Even from here, Chris could hear the fear in the gambler's voice. Chris could hardly blame him. This was not a man they were facing.

Whatever it was before them was clearly uninterested in the others. He seemed to want Chris and only Chris for he soon turned towards the gunslinger once again, shrugging the gunshots like they were raindrops on his skin. He reloaded the shotgun, hardly caring that he was aware or caring that he was being turned inside out by a hail of bullets. His only concern seemed to be Chris himself.

"I'm out!" Chris heard Josiah cry and knew the others would be the same way too. They had been firing continuously for the last few minutes, without pause as they tried to put down this monster that could not for all intensive purposes, die. Chris had no idea how to defend himself, knowing that shooting pointless, if what he had seen so far was any indication of the effect that bullets had on him. However, Chris soon realized that he had reloaded the double barrel and had until he raised the weapon to fire for Chris to decide if he was going to make a run for it or not. Suddenly, he saw Buck run forward, attempting to knock him down before he could fire.

"No Buck!" Chris shouted because Buck as wide open to get himself killed but the shooter was not interested in wasting a bullet as he swung the shotgun outward and slammed the hard wooden but into the side of Buck Wilmington's face. Buck was nearly swept off his feet from the blow before he fell down hard. He regarded Buck impassively for moment and then continued towards Chris once again. Josiah hurled a chair at him but he swatted it away with ease, almost completely dismantling it with his enormous arm.

Chris Larabee did not know how to run from a fight. In all his life, he had never been forced into a situation where he had to tuck tail and run for his very survival. The idea was not only odious but it went against everything he was, especially when his friends were fighting life and limb to defend him. Chris was breathing hard, a tendril of fear had crept up his spine in a sensation that was almost a novelty for him. Despite his fear however, Chris realized that if he was indeed all this thing was interested in then perhaps running would lead it away from the others. Chris could see Nathan scrambling towards an unconscious Buck and knew he wanted to spare his friends further injury. If Chris did not run, this thing would kill all of them just to reach him.

"Chris, get the hell out of here!" He heard Ezra shout as the gambler reloaded his weapon and prepared to fire. By now, they were all perfectly aware that this thing had only eyes for Chris and each one of them would defend Chris to the death before allowing it to kill him.

While it was preparing to fire, Josiah had taken advantage of his concentration and leapt onto the man's back, sliding an arm around his neck in a deadly arm lock. As it tried to shake Josiah off its back, Chris saw the preacher tossed around like a man riding a bull. Using the distraction that Josiah had provided, Chris grabbed a chair and ran forward. He swung it in a wide arch forward and practically tore the weapon from its bloody hands. The shotgun clattered noisily away as Chris now swung the chair at him. He caught it with one hand and practically ripped it from Chris' grip with one powerful yank before throwing Josiah violently off his body. The preacher went flying and smashed into a table, collapsing it and all its contents from the force of his weight.

With lightning reflexes, Chris did not give the monster time to react and he threw a fist into the enemy's bloody face. The thing looked up at him and reacted with little more than a slight jerk of muscles as if it were shaking of the blow. Chris pummeled him with repeatedly in desperation. Even as his fists struck its jaw, Chris felt his knuckles flare in pain. Hitting it was like hitting an iron wall and to Chris dismay, the gunslinger realized with a tinge of panic that he could not keep this up indefinitely.

"Get down!" Ezra shouted having reloaded his gun and preparing to fire.

Chris dropped to his feet as the gambler began firing everything he could at this seemingly unstoppable stranger. The bullets rippled across his broad back and then across the chest as he turned around and took notice of something other than Chris for the first time. Despite the danger in his approach, Ezra ignored the obvious threat to himself and kept firing, determined that this thing whatever it was would not reach Chris. The monster's skin was starting to hang off his massive frame like a carcass that was being stripped by a pack of wolves.

Chris reacted quickly; knowing he had little time before Ezra ran out of bullets or before the thing reached him, which ever came first. He searched the floor frantically for the shotgun that had gone flying only minutes ago. Chris located it under another table and almost dived forward in his haste to reach it. As he dropped to his knees to pull it out as hastily, Chris looked over his shoulder and saw that it was almost on top of Ezra who would not have time to reload to defend himself. Chris checked the barrel of the shotgun and saw one bullet in the chamber. Secretly, he prayed it was enough to stop this thing, since a man was no longer an apt description of what they were fighting.

Ezra had little room to escape when the stranger reached him and grabbed him by the throat. Ezra felt the floor disappear from under his feet as he was lifted into the air with ease. Thick fingers enclosed around his throat with such strength that Ezra could barely budge the digits that were crushing his windpipe. In seconds, Ezra was fighting to breathe. Through the haze of pain, he saw Nathan who had pulled an injured Buck out of the line of fire was now hurrying towards him to aid him in his precarious situation.

"I assure you we can talk this out." Ezra tried to gasp as he felt his spinal chord pressing up against his windpipe with such intense pressure that he was starting to lose consciousness.

"Let him go!" Nathan shouted as he reached for the hand around Ezra's neck. The stranger lashed out with his other arm and swatted the healer away like he was an annoying insect. Ezra saw Nathan being thrown backwards and marveled at the strength of the thing that was strangling him in its relentless grip. Everything was starting to go black when he anchored back to clarity with the sound of Chris Larabee's voice speaking very calmly.

"Let him go or I'm going to blow your fucking head off."

The shotgun was poised to fire and Ezra followed the voice to see the barrel of a shot gun pressed firmly on the back of the stranger's head. The icy cold delivery of that threat told Ezra that Chris would have little difficulty in carrying out the threat. Chris Larabee was known to protect his friends from danger with the savagery of a rabid wolverine.

"Christopher Larabee." The stranger surprised them both by speaking for the first time. His voice was strange; it almost sounded lifeless in a way Ezra could not place.

"You have been schedule for termination." He retorted and then crushed the fingers around Ezra's throat almost into a balled fist.

Chris did not even hear the first gurgle of moist sound from Ezra's throat as he began to choke violently, before pulling the trigger. The resounding blast forced the stranger to release the gambler and Ezra tumbled to the ground, unconscious. Chris felt his heart pounding and prayed that his friend was not dead. He could see blood running out of Ezra's mouth and the terrible discoloration around his throat. However, the stranger did not fall. The blast had staggered him enough to release his grip on Ezra but not enough to drop him. Chris had fired at his head, knowing that angle correctly, a shot like that could easily decapitate a person.

But this was not a person and none of this happened when the smoke cleared.

Chris let out a groan of frustration when he saw a bright red glow of light staring at him through mist of gunfire. What Chris saw then was beyond even his ability to comprehend with any measure of calm. Under the exposed flesh of an eye socket, a bright red eye glowed with illumination Chris knew without doubt was artificial. Like a lamp, it lit the rest of its face. Chris' steel blue eyes widened in shock as he saw the gleam of metal beneath the ruined skin on the man face. Man? It was not a man, it was something that defied description. Chris searched his vocabulary but could find nothing that could adequately describe what this thing in front of him was.

What in god's name was it?

"You have been scheduled for termination." The voice repeated and took another step forward, completely unfazed by the shotgun blast Chris was certain would finish it completely.

"Step away from him Larabee." A new voice entered the fray. "Step away now."

Chris turned in time to see a shape running forward through the chaos of upturned tables and unconscious bodies with incredible speed. His own reflexes were fast but the speed in which this new arrival crossed the floor of the saloon surprised even him. The monster before Chris had little time to react as a very human looking man stopped behind it and produced an odd looking device from his tan duster. To Chris, it looked nothing remotely resembling a weapon. It was squarish and black, with two sharp points protruding outwards. Chris could only hardly guess at what it was meant to do but at this moment, he hoped it would be enough.

Shoving it against the monster's side, Chris saw the man depressed a small button on the side of the object before jumping back to a safe distance before it could grab him. No sooner that the man had withdrawn, tendrils of blue energy erupted across its body. Chris had seen the effect to know that it was some kind of electrical energy for its effect resembled the lightning produced by fierce thunderstorms. His would be killer spasmed with pain, although the expression on his face was more of surprise than actual agony. It jerked around in place like a puppet whose strings were pulled violently before finally being cut.

When it finally collapsed onto the floor with a loud thud a few seconds later, Chris found he was finally able to breathe again. Around them, the saloon was almost demolished by the firefight. The gunfire had left little standing and there were shattered remains of glass littered across floor and there were bullets in almost every wall holding the ceiling above their heads. The room looked like aftermath of a battlefield. He saw Nathan struggling to rise to his feet as the healer crawled slowly towards Ezra whose face was deathly pale and stained with blood. In the corner, Buck was starting to come around while Josiah was buried under the remains of the table he had landed on. The monster and Chris could think of no other word that seemed more appropriate, remained where it had fallen, unmoving.

Chris looked up at the man who had saved his life, in fact saved all of them as he approached the gunslinger. When Chris looked into his face, what he saw that was unsurprising in light of everything that transpired in the last hour. Even though he wore his friend's face and looked identical to Buck Wilmington, Chris knew unconsciously that this was not Buck. From the corner of his eye, Chris could see the real Buck struggling to regain some balance after their ordeal. Suddenly Buck's earlier statement about what Inez had returned to Chris and now made complete sense.

"You're not Buck." Chris stated if only because he needed to hear himself say it.

"No," Darien shook his head. "My name is Darien Lambert and we don't have much time. Come with me if you want to live."

TO BE CONTINUED