Clea couldn't help smiling when she saw that it was covered with a sheet, like a statue waiting to be unveiled. Where, she wondered, had her sister discovered this conceit?
Alissa glanced at her, then yanked off the sheet and displayed her masterpiece.
Clea was genuinely and pleasantly surprised.
"You have done very well, little sister," she breathed. Shu glanced at the tiny I-950's shining face and was both pleased and saddened. For Alissa she stood in Skynet's place, offering praise and encouragement. But for herself there would
be neither.
With an effort she wrenched her mind away from the familiar circle of disappointment and studied the new machine.
With the necessary aid of a Terminator, Alissa had cut down the arm and leg matrices of a full-sized Terminator. She'd added more melanin to the skin and much more body hair, except on the top of the head. The result was a creature that looked like a short Turkish wrestler. While it might lack some speed as a result of the shorter legs, it was clear that nothing else had been sacrificed. It looked nothing like a standard T-101, yet it had all the deadly strength and power.
"Most excellent," Clea breathed. "As soon as it's properly programmed, send it. I leave the matter in your capable hands, little sister."
CAL TECH, CALIFORNIA
Dieter arrived at the campus during the morning rush, fitting himself into the massive river of young humanity that flowed from parking lot to classes among buildings that showed three generations' notions of up-to-date. Today, as usual, he'd entered through a different gate. Also as usual he wore a different hat and today a pair of fake glasses. He made a series of small changes to his appearance, none of which would pass close scrutiny; his height alone made disguise difficult, but they might prove enough to give him a critical edge.
As he walked along in the opposite direction from his destination, he made an unobtrusive scan of his vicinity. As it had done many times in the past, the automatic caution paid off.
Out of the corner of his eye he spied a figure on top of a building. He peeled off with a group of students and entered the nearest doorway. Dieter entered the stairwell and made his way to the roof, hoping that this building was of equal height or higher than the one where he'd caught that human-shaped flash of movement, that blink of sunlight on metal and glass. Coming to the top of the stairs, he stopped for a moment and considered the orientation of the door to the other building.
Not good; if this building was shorter he'd be in full view immediately. Of course, he might have just caught sight of a maintenance man going about his business. In which case this effort to confirm his suspicions was wasted time.
But somehow that's not how it feels. Go with it. After twenty years in the field, he'd learned to trust his instincts.
He cracked the door and peered out. l-'roni where he was standing he couldn't see anybody. The building he was in was indeed slightly lower than the one where he'd seen motion. But there was no help tor it; he had to know. After a moment's hesitation he eased the door open and slipped around its edge in one smooth movement. He felt a soft impact against the back of the metal door, and when he looked down he saw the feathered end of a shattered tranquilizer dart.
Someone's overeager, von Rossbach thought. He could have been a handyman or a stray student. Bad training, or perhaps just a trainee. He now knew that at least they didn't mean to kill him. Not immediately anyway. They wanted to take him in to the local Sector substation for interrogation. So, forewarned was forearmed.
Unfortunately that was equally true for the guy with the dart rifle.
He had to get off this roof. Especially since the man over there had probably sent for backup. What had he been thinking? Here he was trapped like some rookie.
Perhaps deep down he'd wanted to test their intentions, looking to see how deadly they intended to be. Still, he'd been stupid.
He looked around the roof and saw no means of escape. Especially not while under the gun. Dieter moved to the far side of the roof shack and faked an attempt to get to the door from the far side, drawing the shooter's fire.
Ja, he thought. Still paying attention. The soft phfuut and the dart quivering in the tar roofing proved that.
Paying attention specifically to him. Which he'd taken for granted, but it was still some comfort to know this wasn't a student gone bonkers. Those tended to use live ammo. They also tended to attract a lot of official and media attention, something he had no desire to be around.
Speculatively he thumped against the side of the roof shack. It was only a thin, narrow sheet of corrugated steel, made simply to keep the weather out of the stairwell. It should be a simple matter to bend a piece back and slip down the stairs unseen.
He pulled a multitool out of his back pocket and set to work. With considerable effort he managed to dislodge one of the bolts holding the sheet to its frame; then getting his fingers under the edge, he pulled up. With a hiss he let go and looked with dismay at the cuts on his fingers. The damn thing was tack-welded as well as bolted.
I should have expected it, he thought bitterly, sucking on a bleeding finger.
These things have to be student-proof.
Well, he might as well make his move now. Dieter swung around the door and threw himself through the opening. He felt something hit his heel just before he tucked in to control his fall down the steps, rolling to his feet when he came to the landing. Looking down, He found a clutch of feathers sprouting from the heel of his running shoe. He also felt the beginning of a nice set of bruises where the risers had smacked into his back. That was endurable, and the thick muscle had protected his back.
He plucked the dart out with a curse and flung it away, then rolled his aching shoulders and trotted down the stairs.
I'm getting too old for this, he grumbled mentally.
He hit the stairwell door on the ground floor and moved quickly toward the maintenance doors, his eyes moving constantly. He saw no evidence of agents closing on the building. What he did see was a big, sandy-haired jock.
"Hey!" he said.
The boy looked up from his book, his mouth partly open.
"How would you like to make a few bucks?" Dieter asked him.
The kid looked at him for a minute. "How many bucks and what do I have to do to earn it?"
"I want you to put on this jacket and these glasses," von Rossbach said, taking them off. "Then I want you to walk out to the parking lot and come back."
"Oh, yeah?" the kid said. "How come? And you forgot to mention how much."
"Fifty bucks." Von Rossbach flung the jacket over his arm and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket.
The kid looked at him from under his eyebrows. "And the why?"
"I think this guy I owe some money to is following me. I just want to check."
"Hey"—the kid raised his hands—"I don't want no trouble. Noooo, no, no, no."
"Aw, c'mon. There won't be any trouble. He'll know you're not me in a couple of minutes. Which is why I'd like you to run out. You can walk back, though."
Dieter took out two twenties and a ten. The kid still shook his head, so Dieter added a couple more twenties. The kid looked at him sideways and made a keep-it-coming gesture. Dieter pulled out another pair of twenties.
"I did mention that I owed this guy money?" he said.
The kid grinned, grabbed the money and the jacket. "Hey, man, I'm cheap at twice the price," he said, slipping on Dieter's sunglasses.
Von Rossbach took the boy's sunglasses and whipped a blue bandanna out of his back pocket.
"Hey!" the kid said. "Gimme back my glasses."
"Those are RayBans," Dieter said, indicating the pair the boy was wearing.
The kid looked at him tor a moment, then lowered the sunglasses. "Kewl," he said. Then he hoisted his backpack.
"I'll watch that for you," Dieter said hastily.
With a shrug and a slight tightening of his lips the boy acquiesced. " 'Kay," he grunted. "I'll be right back."
"Just run," Dieter said. "Don't look around; just take off, okay?"
The kid shook his head. "Sure, whatever."
As von Rossbach watched him go he tied the bandanna over his hair, put on the kid's funky sunglasses, and picked up the backpack. He watched the boy hit the door and go down the steps at a run. He was taking a shortcut across the lawn when he went down, skidding almost to the base of an oleander. Dieter didn't wait to see any more; he turned and jogged to the building's other door and walked calmly toward the building where the shooter was lodged. Once inside, he ditched the backpack and raced up the stairs to the roof. He had only moments to get behind his target.
Is the Sector getting sloppy, or am I just lucky? he thought as he raced up the stairwell, dodging the occasional student on the lower levels.
Normal procedure would be to have at least two more shooters on the stairwells as backup, in case of just this sort of counterattack. Von Rossbach found nothing
but deserted stairs as he cautiously peered around corners on the last two floors.
The exit door was closed, but as he expected, the tongue of the lock was held down with a piece of transparent tape. It opened silently, and he stepped out on the rooftop, running forward lightly with his weight on the balls of his feet.
The shooter with the dart rifle was dressed in nondescript black sweats—campus fashions were convenient for covert ops people—and lying with the bipod-mounted weapon beside him, looking through a small pair of binoculars down onto the lawn. The attache case the gun had rested in was open, revealing shaped slots to hold the weapon when it was broken down into its components.
He heard Dieter's feet when the Austrian was still five yards away; one of the disadvantages of two hundred and sixty pounds of solid muscle. The sniper was tall but slender, lithe and very quick. He came up off the tar and gravel in a spectacular twirling handstand that sent one booted foot slashing out toward the face of the man running toward him.
Dieter blocked it with crossed wrists, grabbed the man by the ankle, and turned, whipping him through the air like a giant flail. A single incredulous squawk was cut off by a massive thumping sound as the sniper's head hit the rooftop and rebounded. The Austrian dropped the limp, unconscious body, grinning. There were advantages to his build; one of them was that people always assumed he'd be slow.
He peered over the low parapet of the rooftop; two men leaned over the prostrate student. They turned him over and looked at each other, then looked up at the roof where Dieter lay. They couldn't see any details from where they stood because the sun was behind him. All they'd see was his head and some of his
shoulders. He held his hands up in a go-figure gesture and slid out of sight.
Then, crouching low, he moved over to the far side of the building, which overlooked the office of his old friend and teacher, Dr. Paul Wang. Wang was a scientist and engineer who for years had been training upper-level Sector agents in electronic equipment and high-tech gadgetry. Sometimes it took all they had just to stay even with the other side.
Dieter had helped the good doctor with a little problem involving his son and afterward the two men had become friends. Which is why von Rossbach had come here; to meet with a trusted companion he thought could be of help. And while he was certain that Wang could indeed help, he was now equally certain that the professor was not his friend.
Clear the board, he thought. Move on.
Across the street the steps and lawns were empty of life except for a pair of male students leaning against a wall talking. They were perhaps a little old looking for students, despite their books and casual clothes. Still, there were grad students around and Ph.D. candidates in plenty to explain the discrepancy in their ages.
Von Rossbach would still have recognized them as Sector agents, even without the telltale gestures made toward their earpieces that brought them both to higher alert, whatever their disguise. He'd worked with them for several months less than five years ago.
They must think I'm a complete loon, Dieter thought. Why else would they send people he was bound to recognize after him? With a sigh von Rossbach eased himself away from the building's edge and moved carefully toward the door to
the stairway. When he'd backed off enough that he couldn't be seen from the street, he rose to his feet, moving quickly.
Of course, that they were men I'd recognize indicates I may still have a friend in the Sector. Then he pushed the idea aside. That was something to think about on a rainy day. Right now he needed all his wits about him. After all, it might simply mean that they had a dearth of agents in the vicinity.
For now, best to scrub this part of the mission and move on to the next contact.
He'd lay a false trail or two, then head for his rendezvous with John in New Mexico.
***
BOSTON
It had been only ten days, but they had been ten wonderful, glorious, fabulous days. John had never enjoyed himself so much in his life. He'd snuck into classes and spoken with professors, spent hours and hours in the library, worked with Wendy and her friends in the labs.
They'd even found time to just hang out, in Snog's room or in off-campus student cafes, and he'd caught glimpses of Boston's life from a student point of view, bookstores and Harvard Square and little theaters. They'd talked all night about how to save the world, both the world as it was and the way John feared it would be. It was fun and valuable in its way. Though for a couple of days there he'd let himself forget what he was supposed to be doing and just enjoyed it. He'd even gone dancing with Wendy. John smiled at the memory; the girl knew how to move her fine body.
What he hadn't done was so much as kiss her. God knew he wanted to; every time she walked into a room it felt like his veins were filled with melted butter.
His dreams had definitely improved since he'd met her. And the scent of her almost made the top of his head pop off. He very much feared that he was falling in love.
John looked at her and she smiled at him. Then she took his hand and he couldn't speak; even if he'd been able to, his mind was completely blank. His body, however, was telling him exactly what it wanted him to do.
Wendy had insisted that they take the T to the airport. He suspected that she was more interested in spending the maximum amount of time with him than in simply saving money. Not that she had money to spare, or time either.
The sun sparked copper highlights in her hair and John sighed. He didn't know what to do. He knew what he wanted to do, he just didn't think it would be right.
Look what had happened to his mother and father. Besides, he was too young to be thinking in terms of forever.
But… he and Wendy seemed so right together. As though they'd known each other all their lives. After her initial prickliness had worn off, John found that he'd never been more comfortable with anybody except his mother.
And that can't be right, he thought. Should you be able to compare your girl in any way to your mother? Not that they were actually anything alike. Wendy was softer than his mother in every way. And he liked that.
Maybe it was because, like his mom, Wendy knew the truth and believed what
he said about Skynet and Judgment Day.
Not that it had been an easy sale, by any means. Wendy and her friends were smart and they all possessed the natural skepticism of scientists. But the Terminator's CPU trumped all their arguments. Its sheer sophistication left them with nothing to say. Except "wow," which they said frequently, They had all given him their word that no one outside their group would learn of the artifact from them. Meanwhile they would spend every spare hour on working out its design and how it functioned. As well as recovering any possible software and/or data files.
He'd also gotten them to agree to come to Paraguay, or at least to leave the city after graduation. That had been tough since they had all imagined themselves staying on to get at least their master's from MIT.
The Logan stop came all too soon. Hand in hand he and Wendy left the train and
went up the stairs to wait for the bus.
"You won't have much time to make your flight," Wendy said, checking her watch. "Maybe we should have taken a cab."
John smiled slightly. " 'S okay," he said. "It's better this way—less time for security to look me over."
She studied him anxiously. John was without his disguise. He doubted he'd need it given the computer-aged picture law enforcement had of him, which only vaguely resembled him. Oh, it was good enough to help convince people you were telling that you were John Connor that you weren't a liar. But just passing
by wouldn't elicit recognition, he was confident.
They had to stand on the bus, holding on to the pole and looking into each other's eyes. He'd heard about this eye-gazing thing and wondered how people could want to do it. But with Wendy it was magical, enthralling. They almost missed their stop.
It really was late and they ended up running. He smiled at her as the woman at the gate took his ticket, and was about to take it back and board… when with a sound of total exasperation Wendy grabbed him and kissed him.
John came up gasping and then he smiled, feeling… altogether too much.
Wendy looked smug for a moment. "I guess you're not old in every kind of experience," she whispered.
He could feel himself blushing, and when he glanced around the ticket lady looked hastily away but kept her smile in place.
All the world loves a lover, John thought. He leaned close to Wendy. "I hope to see you again," he said fervently.
"Oh, I promise you that you will," she said.
He felt like his grin was going to unzip his head. "Make sure everybody keeps their word," he cautioned.
"You bet," she agreed. "And we'll all leave the city as soon as we graduate, or sooner if you tell us to." For a moment she looked worried. "Take care of
yourself, John. And be careful."
He smiled again. But I can't tell her why— you don't tell a girl who kisses like that that she's sounding like your mom. "I have to go," he said after a moment.
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