Infiltrator

real-model computer language.'

'So?'

'So, he'll teach the system we have to answer to spoken commands and to answer verbally,' Warren explained. 'Not just menus. Understanding what it's hearing and saying. Chinese-box stuff.'

Ticker sneered. 'Oh, so you've got a kraut that talks to a box. How nice.'

'He's not a kraut. He's Austrian.'

'So he's a kraut in three-quarter time who talks to a box. No go.'

'Since you already know about him, I'm surprised you didn't realize how amazingly qualified he is,' Warren said.

'Did you know he's a Nazi?' Tricker asked. 'Excuse me, a member of the Integral National Socialist Renewal Movement—Tyrolese branch.'

Colvin and Warren exchanged a glance.

'He is?' Warren said. 'National Socialist?'

'He sure as hell negotiated like one,' Colvin muttered.

'A lot of geniuses, when they have political ideas at all, have these,' Warren chuckled and waved his hands around, 'airy-fairy notions about how things ought to be. Usually it goes no further than an occasional late-night bull session.'

' 'Airy-fairy'?' Tricker said, genuinely appalled. 'I have never before heard Nazism referred to as an 'airy-fairy notion,' Mr. Warren. I'll bet your boy Kurt wouldn't thank you for that description either.' He gave the president a long look. 'In any event'—he pulled a piece of paper out of the file—'your wunderkind has been in a number of marches, for which he's been arrested twice.

Three of his close friends have been arrested for conspiring to blow up a post office and he rarely misses meetings. Maybe that's because he's the secretary for his local chapter.' He tossed the paper across the table. 'This is not the kind of guy we like to see hired to work on our defense projects.'

Colvin flicked the paper toward himself with his fingertips. He read it and

pursed his lips.

'We're going to have to pay a huge kill fee,' he said.

'Which should tell you that he knew this was going to happen and that he was just jerking you around,' Tricker said. 'If you had a half-decent security chief this wouldn't have happened.'

Warren shook his head. 'This guy is the best,' he said. 'We absolutely need him.'

Tricker widened his eyes and leaned forward.

'Well you can't have him,' he said softly.

'Paul's right,' Colvin cut in, looking grim. 'We need him. Without Viemeister we might be stuck for years.'

'Years?' Tricker asked, obviously disbelieving.

Colvin nodded.

'He's basically the inventor of a new science,' Warren explained. 'He hasn't trained anybody, so there's no competition. But there is a lot of competition for his services. Viemeister has only let out hints of what he's accomplished, but if even half of what he's telling us is true it will revolutionize computer communication. We're talking AI here, Mr. Tricker.'

The government liaison looked at him dubiously.

'Just Tricker,' he said at last. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he looked at the two. 'I need to interview him.' Raising his hand, he forestalled an automatic protest from Warren. 'I promise not to bring my rubber hose, okay? But you can hardly expect us to just automatically approve this, especially in light of the previous disaster. And you must have a good security chief—soon.' Tricker pinned them with a blue glare. 'Set up a meeting for me with your kraut. Pardon me, with your cream-pastry-chef fucking Mozart Austrian crypto-fascist.' He tossed them a white card, blank but for an e-mail address. 'Drop me a line when you've got it arranged.'

He put the file together, dropped it into his case, and slammed the lid. Giving them a last, ambiguous look, he left.

'I do not like that guy,' Warren muttered, seething.

Colvin glanced at Cyberdyne's president.

'I really don't think he gives a damn.'

COLORADO: 2028

It was a beautiful, golden day, the air soft and warm, birds twittering melodiously; a gentle breeze wafted pine-scented air to Serena's nostrils. The sky was an azure bowl over the earth, and they were far from the cindered blast zones. Far off, a single Hunter/Killer flew patrol, a black dot against the clear sky.

Lieutenant Zeller lowered her binoculars and consulted her map. 'Almost there,'

she said.

Serena looked at her. The lieutenant's dark, lovely face was tired and serious.

The humans were about to launch an attack on one of Skynet's power-cell factories. Which meant coordinating with several other free roaming teams.

They would be the last in position because of the distance they'd had to cover.

Communication was the key to a successful mission.

Communication was going to be interrupted.

Serena was pleased with herself, and Skynet was also; her mission so far had been a resounding success. She'd been with the team for six weeks now and had, with the help of their intelligence, foiled seven separate missions.

Not all of them were her team's, of course. That would have raised suspicions.

But with very little effort she'd managed to ferret out a great deal of sensitive information. It genuinely never occurred to these people that she might be working for Skynet.

In a way it amused Serena that with all the enhancements, mechanical and genetic, that had been lavished on her, it was the simple ability to look human that was her most valuable asset.

That ability had also helped her to kill—directly or indirectly—four of the original team members. Corporal Ortiz's death had shattered poor Corpsman Gonzales. And if Lieutenant Zeller was the unit's head, then Gonzales was its broken heart. Leaving the whole group's morale very low. And with four untried new team members, they were also very anxious.

Today it was the lieutenant's turn to die. The woman was simply too effective

and too much a leader to be allowed to live. She'd also been giving Serena some rather long and thoughtful looks lately, doubtless because of the T-950's endless questions.

'Let's move out,' the lieutenant said.

They'd been taking a brief rest after a long march through the woods. So far no one had commented on how very sparsely protected this factory was.

Serena found this strange. She'd been monitoring all the humans' units as they came up to their positions and absolutely no one had mentioned it. True, it was supposed to be a hidden facility, but it was also supposed to be vital, and the place should have been swarming with HKs and T-90s.

So why doesn't anyone notice? she wondered. It bothered her. Perhaps I should say something? She fervently wished she could ask Skynet, but they couldn't risk any anomalous signals being detected from her vicinity. Curiosity itched like a healing wound.

The unit moved quickly, but carefully, spaced out, avoiding each other's line of fire but keeping each other in sight, eyes moving at all times.

Serena found herself wishing that something would happen; the stupid twittering birds were getting on her nerves.

The 1-950 raised her plasma rifle, reminding herself to be extremely careful.

Lieutenant Zeller had a better nose for danger, and even better reflexes, than the average human. So far the ambush had gone beautifully; the remainder of the unit was pinned down in a little declivity—the earth-filled remains of a

basement, surrounded by T-90s. Plasma bolts split the night, a night lit ruddily by the burning trees around