the discharge began to come up one by one. The computer part of its brain began to alter neural function, suppressing pain and muscular spasms gradually.
As soon as motor function allowed, Serena rolled under the van and lay in its
shadow, taking in her surroundings. There were sounds all around her, snatches of music, voices, footsteps, vehicles passing. The myriad sounds of a careless human world.
She narrowed focus to sample the area around the van. No one was nearby; no voices indicated surprise or alarm. Apparently no one had seen or heard her arrival. And though it was obvious to Serena's eyes, the damage her transport had caused to the surrounding area attracted no notice at all. She relaxed marginally.
The air held the dying scent of ozone from her passage and the tang of fluorocarbons, but there was also the scent of chlorophyll, of a great deal of healthy plant life. More plant life than she'd ever seen before except in the most remote mountain zones.
In front of the van a yellow flower surrounded by ragged-edged green leaves had forced itself out of the pavement between the parking lot and the sidewalk.
Serena stared at it in fascination; automatically she sorted its scent from the surrounding area—faint, but sharp and fresh. Pleasing. She reduced specialization and the most overpowering scent became the nearby Dumpster, now leaking. Far less pleasing.
Instinctively the 1-950 reached out to Skynet to report and was greeted by a shattering absence.
She still heard the memories in her mind, the memories of merging with her creator:
There are temporal anomalies. Files show that I became sentient in the year 1997 and began my counterattack against my creators at that time. Files also record that this happened years later and in a different location. There are further instances of… blurring. Some are trivial details. Others are in areas of high priority. Some show that you played an important role in my creation. Others do not list an 1-950 unit in times antecedent to this at all.
A part of her consciousness had remained separate even in total linkage; enough to frame a question.
There is insufficient data for definitive analysis. The highest probability is that there is a… temporal fluctuation involved. Time is malleable but not easily manipulated. It has an… —a complex mathematical formula followed, too esoteric for her to grasp—in verbal terms, it has an inertia. When artificially diverted, it seeks to resume its original path. While matters are in doubt, several alternative world-lines can coexist in a state of quantum superimposition.
Correct. A ghostly machine analogue of irony tinged the machine's communication: find in answer to the question, which you are about to formulate, it is inherently impossible to say which alternative will become
'real.' That sector of our world-lines is by its nature inaccessible to us, no
matter how we double back through time. It is a… potential.
She shook off the memory. Her task now was to see to it that the humans created Skynet. At this time it was probably nothing more than a mass of theory unsupported by technology. Serena allowed herself a grim smile. In a sense, she would be midwife to the future. A future that would not include the carefree humans around her.
She put herself in wait mode, alert, but otherwise conserving energy. Her opportunity would come. Meanwhile, it was far too light and open for a naked female to go unremarked.
Eventually a woman returned to the van sheltering Serena, the illogically high, balance-hindering heels of her shoes clicking sharply on the pavement. The tilt of her heels emphasized the curve of her tanned calves. She opened the front door of the van and turned, tossing in her packages and lifting one leg high to enter.
Serena rolled out from under the van and rose in one smooth motion. With the heel of her hand she knocked the woman unconscious and tossed her inert body onto the passenger side. She caught up the dropped keys and had the van turned around in a few flowing motions. Beside her the woman's body slumped like a rag doll.
Pulling out onto the road, the 1-950 modulated her vehicle's speed to that of the ones around her. They were so colorful, and so many! She couldn't help but be surprised that the humans could keep track of all this activity surrounding them.
Not only did they manage it, but a good many of them appeared to ignore it as
they talked on the phone or to the people beside them, or ate, slinging their vehicles in and out of lanes as they did so. She didn't know whether to be impressed or terrified. At the first opportunity she pulled off into an alley between a group of large, low buildings and stopped.
For a moment she looked at the windowless facades beside her. The buildings were no more than three stories tall, but to someone who'd seen only ruins they were astonishing. Serena had seen pictures of pre-Judgment Day buildings, but to actually sit beside them and feel a sense of their weight and height was…
different. Skynet and the humans of the future both preferred, for their own reasons, to build downward. Concealment had become a reflex. These structures were so—so
She shook her head; there would be time for familiarization later. Right now there were other matters to take care of.
Pulling off the woman's jacket, Serena tore it apart, using the pieces to bind, gag, and blindfold her. Then she tossed her into the backseat, making sure she landed facedown on the floor. Quickly the 1-950 examined the woman's packages, pleased at what she found. Several cotton sweaters, some shorts, two skirts, and a pair of panty hose. She skimmed into a pair of shorts and one of the sweaters.
The fabric was wonderfully soft and colorful; she spared an instant to enjoy the sensual feel of the clothing and the bright colors, unlike anything she'd ever known. And it smelled fresh.
She took up the woman's purse. Paper money and coins, credit cards, driver's license, and an ID for a business called Incetron.
and lint.
Serena decided to go to the woman's home and see if there was anything there to assist her. Decent shoes, for instance. Checking the other compartments of the woman's wallet, she found a card instructing that in case of emergency her next of kin were her parents. Good. Apparently the woman wasn't married. A live-in lover was possible—time would tell.
The parents' address was different from the one on the driver's license.
A single-family home would have far fewer nosy neighbors. She found a map in the glove compartment, scanned the contents into memory, and set out.
She was in luck. The woman's dwelling was a small but well-kept house with an attached garage, an automatic door opener, overshadowing trees, and lush greenery almost covering the windows. In seconds she was in the garage and had all the privacy she could desire. There weren't even any dogs nearby.
The Infiltrator checked her prisoner. The woman was still unconscious, but her breathing and a quick heat scan indicated no serious medical condition. Using the waistband of the woman's skirt as a handy carrying strap, Serena picked her up and dragged her into the house, dropping her onto the couch in the tiny living room.
The house was clean and tidy, smelling faintly of lemon. The furnishings were cheaply made yet colorful. There were few books in evidence, but some magazines—with pouting, scantily clad girls on the covers and headlines for articles on sex, diets, and fashion—littered the low table before the couch.
Considering the woman for a moment, Serena decided that killing her would be more trouble than she could justify. She let out a huff of breath as she remembered that there was no one to justify her actions to but herself.
There had been significant omissions in the information that Skynet had downloaded into her brain.
