“These,” she tapped the screen, “came from the future.
We received them about two weeks ago. I think monopoles are indicators of time travel.”
“How do you know these came from the future?”
“Because—” She laughed self-consciously, and blushed slightly. “Dennis recognized the pattern first. He was in the navy. These are patterned manifestations. A code. Morse code.”
John recognized it now. He felt his face grow warm, even as his stomach and chest cooled. “The monopoles are coming back in modulated groups, spaced out to spike in code…?”
“And apparently,” Jaspar finished, “it’s from someone claiming to be John Connor. Would you care to explain that?”
49
FIVE
The old man stepped through the wide doors of the Lighthouse Mission, attracting little notice. He stood at one end of a long room. Chairs, occupied by perhaps a dozen people—mostly men, wearing worn clothes and weary expressions—lined the outside wall, opposite a long service counter behind which a few somewhat better dressed people worked.
The smell of disinfectant cut through the mingled odors of sweat and soup stock.
“Can I help you?”
He looked toward the counter. A woman leaned over it, watching him. He stepped up to her, lowering the bindle from his shoulder and setting it on the floor. “Yes, I—do you have regulars here?”
“A few,” she answered. She wore a plastic nametag: NORENE. She looked pointedly at the box beneath his arm.
“Do you keep records? Or—”
“Not for public scrutiny, no,” she said curtly. “You looking for a friend?”
“Maybe. I wondered if you could tell me if you have someone named Lee Portis who stays here?”
“Used to. Haven’t seen him in a couple months.” She frowned. “Why?”
“I found this,” he said, sliding the box onto the counter.
“There was an address, but…”
He let the sentence fade and waited for her to pick it up.
50
HOUR OF THE WOLF
He made a show of looking around and spotted a calendar on the wall to the left. March 2007, he noted, feeling oddly relieved.
She drew the box toward her, hesitated, then opened it.
She shuffled through the collection for several seconds before looking up at the old man again. “Where did you find this?”
“Um…trash bin, out by the base.”
She frowned for a moment, then nodded. “Cannon. He used to be stationed there. Long time ago.” She closed the box. “How’d you come to be out there?”
“It’s a long story. But I’m here now.”
She looked skeptical. “You wouldn’t happen to know what became of the man this belonged to?”
He shook his head. As she considered, he moved a small colony of nanocoders to the palms of his hands. He had not remembered he could do this till just then, necessity opening the appropriate file.
“Well, we’re used to not asking too many questions.
Why’d you bring this here?”
“I thought—well, maybe you have a stash for regulars, and—I figured I needed a place to stay myself, for a while, anyway, and—”
“And this would be a nice gesture to make us give you the benefit. Yeah, I get it. But you might want to just introduce yourself and say you need help.”
She slid the box off the counter and took it back to a series of metal shelves that seemed overfilled with mail and boxes and clothing and books and bags. As he watched, she managed to find a space for Lee Portis’s box. Then she returned to the counter. “So?”
He extended a hand. “So…” She clasped his hand. In a few moments, he recognized the change in her eyes as he transferred the ‘coders through her skin. “Norene, I’m Lee Portis. And I need your help.”
“Of course, Mr. Portis. Whatever I can do to help.”
She gave him a bed with a footlocker, which contained 51
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blankets and pillows. Several beds contained occupants, even at this early hour. The long room looked like a recent edition to the sprawling facility, the floor still shiny and unscuffed, walls covered in unscarred wood-grain paneling, all the beds squared up and brightly painted, clean sheets tucked over firm mattresses.
“Is there work?” Portis asked. “I’m going to need money.”
“We can put you on part-time here,” Norene said.
“Doesn’t pay a lot, but you can buy clothes in our thrift.”
“That would be good to start. I suppose I’ll need something better to wear. Do you have a computer with an Internet connection?”
“Plenty,” she grunted. “Last administration wasn’t too generous with money, but computers, sure. Do you need to use it in private?”
“That would be best. Could you help me? I’m not familiar with your data systems.”
“You been out of touch that long? Certainly, I’ll help.
Now, the showers are right through there. Towels in the lockers to your right as you go through the door. We serve two meals a day in the main cafeteria, just through there and down the corridor. If in doubt, follow your nose, cook likes to go heavy on oregano and chili powder. After you get cleaned up and settled in, come find me. I’ll get you some work togs and a meal, and go over a schedule with you.”
“Thank you.”
Portis watched Norene until she had left the room. He sat down on the bed. Despite himself, he was grateful—the mattress felt good. One of the other guests snored briefly, then grunted angrily before lapsing into silence again.
The ‘coders with which Portis had infected Norene would only last a few days. Safety barred him from reinforcing them with another exchange—how they might affect a completely unmodified human brain was a question. One-time use only. So he needed to act quickly. He sat on his bed, folded his legs beneath him, and closed his eyes, sorting through options silently until he chose a path.
52
HOUR OF THE WOLF
Satisfied, he went to the showers.
He stood beneath the thick spray of hot water longer, perhaps, than polite, but it felt so good. He closed his eyes and let it cascade over his body. The wear of his trip suddenly manifested, even as it seemed to flow with the water down the drain at his feet.
I’ve come a far distance, he thought. Farther than possible by any sane reckoning…
He dried himself and returned to the dormitory. On his bed he found a set of off-white coveralls and a pair of work boots. Clothed, he went to the cafeteria. The air was pungent with spices and the smell of cooked meat. Few people sat at the long tables, eating from bowls or plates on plastic trays. Most sat alone.
A pair of men entered from the opposite door. Portis watched them go to one end of a railed-off path before the long steel counter behind which the food was being prepared. They each took a tray and walked along, servers handing them plates and bowls as they went. Portis did the same.
Tray filled, he found a table from where he could watch everyone in the cafeteria. As he ate, he noted the differences between these people, between the guests and the hosts, between those who depended on what they found here and those who offered it.
“Good, you found the togs,” Norene said, coming up behind him.
“Yes. The boots fit.”
“I’ve acquired a good eye for that, working here. May I sit?”
“Of course.”
She took the chair opposite him, folded her hands on the table, and smiled pleasantly. “How’s the food?”
“Good.”
“You’re hungry. ‘Good’ wears off after you get your fill, but thank you. So what kind of help do you need, Lee?”
“I need to become a respectable citizen. I’m not sure what is necessary to do that.”
53
TERMINATOR 2
Norene looked thoughtful. “Well, proper ID, for one thing.
Better clothes and a bank account, some c
redit cards, and an address other than a soup kitchen.”
“How do I go about getting these things?”
“Start by earning some money here—”
“I have a limited amount of time. Sooner than later would be helpful.”
“Ah. Well, finish your food and I’ll take you to my office.
We’ll see what we can do online.”
“That would be fine, Norene. Thank you.”
“No problem. So. Where are you from originally?”
“The future.”
She looked at him blankly until he smiled. Then she laughed. “Sure. Does the future have a P.O. Box?”
“I am from Santa Fe originally.”
“What happened that landed you here?”
“A conflict. A threat. It became necessary to leave.”
“Domestic stuff. I see. I won’t pry. We don’t pry here.
Everybody has problems, some more so than others. When you get on your feet, what are your plans?”
“Eventually, I think I will have to go to Los Angeles. For now…”
“For now, one thing at a time. Sure. Look, I’ll let you finish in peace. You ask anybody where my office is and come see me when you’re done.” She stood. “I’m glad you came here, Lee.”
“I am, too, Norene. Thank you.”
He watched her as she stopped to talk to the other men in the cafeteria. She sat with none of them and only spoke a few words, but they all smiled, happy to see her. Portis resolved to get out of her life as quickly as he could. He wanted no harm to come to someone who brought happi-ness to those with so little.
He finished the roast beef and potatoes and vegetables and the small bowl of pudding. He was still hungry, but he sensed that it would be rude to ask for more. He set the tray and plates where he saw others being placed, then followed 54
HOUR OF THE WOLF
after Norene. He did not need to ask where she went, he picked up her scent easily and followed the trail.
The sign on her door read NORENE BAXTER, ADMINISTRATOR.
Portis knocked lightly.
“Come in.”
The small office contained more than seemed possible.
File cabinets lined the wall below the single window, which framed stained glass objects and feathery devices Portis knew—remembered—were called dreamcatchers. Norene sat before an enormous desk on which a large flatscreen stood flanked by books, file folders, stacks of papers, boxes of floppy discs, and assorted bric-a-brac. A small sofa against the wall behind her was filled with files, paperwork, and cartons. On the wall above hung pictures and a few framed documents.
“Lee, welcome,” Norene said. “Forgive the clutter. There’s never enough time to do the job and make it look neat besides. Here, have a seat.”
She lifted a briefcase from a chair. Portis sat down, gaze drifting across the assorted objects.
“You have no help?” he asked.
“Not regular, not reliable. We get a lot of state aid and a little federal, all those forms have to be filled out just right. Then there are the state Medicare and Medicaid requirements, so our ‘special cases’—residents with state care status who end up in a place like this because the state doesn’t have enough beds this month or they’re not quite bad enough to keep off the streets or—” She sighed. “Anyway, no, to answer your question, I don’t have any help—at least, not enough. Most of the people working here are volunteers. They mean well, but they don’t exactly bring many special skills to the task. Don’t get me wrong, we couldn’t manage without them. It’s just, once in a while, I’d be grateful for a professional office manager on staff.”
She straightened in her chair. “So. What can I do for you, Lee?”
He thought for a few seconds. “I suppose I need a valid identity. How do we start?”
55
TERMINATOR 2
“Well, your name is Lee Portis. Let’s start with the Social Security Administration. Sound good?”
“You know better than I.”
She smiled and began typing on her keyboard. The screen cleared. Moments later, an official-looking emblem appeared.
“Do you have any kind of ID right now?” she asked.
Portis fished the driver’s license from his pocket.
She studied it for a time, frowning. “That doesn’t look like you at all,” she said finally. “We can fix that.” She set the license on the desk above the keyboard and continued working.
Portis looked around at the clutter. “If you wish, I can help you with all this. It would be a privilege.”
Norene’s face showed disbelief and then joy. “Could you?”
“I would be happy to do what I could.”
“Great. Let’s see about getting this taken care of first.
Then I can show you what needs to be done.”
After his daily cleaning, cooking, and front counter duties, he worked late into the night, every evening, for four days.
He went through all the files, sorted out dead jackets from active, cleared space for new ones, then purged dated or useless material from everything. As he did, he read their contents. After Norene showed him the basics, he learned rapidly, and by the second night he knew the system. He improved it, streamlining procedures for her, and by sleep-less main assault straightened up her office. On the third day, he began accessing the Internet to check current protocols against the work on hand, and found several instances in which Norene could have improved the overall status of the mission. It was, he concluded, too much work for a single human—an unmodified human, at least.
As he worked, he acquired a knowledge base: personal histories, bureaucratic procedures, a rough outline of how things worked in this time and place. Filling out forms online, working through the available public service networks, making the appropriate connections, Portis gained 56
HOUR OF THE WOLF
expertise in navigating the system at large. When, on the fourth day, his new identity came through—newly-minted social security card, with the amended changes in his personal profile—he understood well enough how to use it to change his circumstances.
By then, the nanocoders with which he had infected Norene began to decay. She emerged from the artificially created cocoon of trust to find that, indeed, she liked Lee Portis and depended on him. He could tell that the transition troubled her. Occasionally he caught her watching him, a bemused expression on her face, as if wondering where he had come from and how he had come to be so important to her. But he talked to her, showed her what he had done, and by the time she no longer saw him through the filters of his ‘coders she trusted him.
He dressed better. He raided the thrift shop and put away the work togs for slacks and a flannel shirt, loafers, and windbreaker. He kept his eye on what came in until he salvaged a couple of suits, a few pairs of jeans, pullover shirts, and a decent pair of tennis shoes. All this he kept in Norene’s office.
On the fifth night he began exploring ways to improve the other parts of his new life. He ran through employment ads, sorting possibilities that would get him where he needed to be to further his search. While he conducted this search, he created a small program to start searching the web for references to his target, Jeremiah Porter. When it began bringing him obituaries, Portis grew concerned, but as he read through them he realized that though many of the deaths were related—coincidence could not account for so many deaths in so short a time—none yet had been his target. There was time. Not much, but maybe enough.
On the sixth day he had chosen a vector. A university position of some kind would best enable his search. He finished the reorganization of the mission, went over his changes with Norene, then started making the necessary changes to leave Lighthouse and move into the outside community.
57
TERMINATOR 2
He needed money. On the tenth day, he borrowed a small amount from the mission expense account—which, due to his work, was now growing rather than shrinking—and opened an account
at a savings and loan, then took a post office box. After that, he spent several hours “adjusting”
the credit history of Lee Portis. He had to be careful not to attract unwanted scrutiny, so the adjustments were small.
He found his way into the IRS database and the unclaimed refund accounts. By carefully backdating various records, filing new updates, and modifying the ancillary data, he managed to get a sum of fallow tax money rebated to him. He had the funds transferred electronically to his savings and loan account, whereupon he returned what he had borrowed from the mission. He closed the account then, and moved it to a bank. He opened the new account with a revised social security number, then went into that database to make the changes. One digit and the homeless man whose identity he had been using had his back, and a new entity named Lee Portis entered the world.
With that, he began acquiring more ID. In this world, it seemed, one was what the cards in one’s wallet said one was.
Over the next few days, he applied for a number of credit cards. The monitoring systems of several rejected the application, but he still received four, with modest credit limits. He searched for an apartment. He made two more visits to the unclaimed refund account, judging that one more would trip the alarms. When he finished, there was over fifteen thousand dollars in his bank account. He closed it and moved to still another bank, opening another new account with the new social security number, and sending a letter of introduction to the vice president of the institu-tion introducing himself.
Fifteen days after he entered the Lighthouse Mission, Lee Portis packed a single suitcase and left. Norene hugged him, tearful, and he reassured her that she could call him whenever she might need more help. As soon as he settled in to his new life, he would let her know.
58
HOUR OF THE WOLF
He walked away, intending never to go back. It was safer that way, though vaguely it bothered him. He felt uneasy betraying a trust.
A conscience, he thought. Who’d have guessed?
59
SIX
John pulled up in front of their new building, parking just behind one of Ken Lash’s trucks. Two of Lash’s people stood outside the front door, smoking. They greeted John as he walked past them.
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