Infiltrator

him under the desk.

Glancing at the computer, she noticed the page he'd brought up had been replaced by a prompt that asked what information the guard was looking for. She typed in 'games,' hoping that anyone watching over the system, if anyone was, would assume that a bored guard was looking for entertainment. The computer responded with a full- page scolding about playing games on company time.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. They can't seriously imagine that anyone is going to go to the trouble of reading all that, she thought. It's a self administered spanking!

She tapped in the sequence that John had given them and it brought up security; with a few taps she disabled the silent alarm. Something I should have done last time, she thought bitterly. Then she brought up the door locks and changed the entry code to test mode, one that only she, John, and Dieter knew. Then she shut the computer down and rose.

Sarah looked around. The guard's desk stood alone in a very unwelcoming lobby. No chairs for the comfort of waiting visitors, no plants to soften the harsh lines of the place. Just a polished floor and the desk, behind which was a short, wide corridor that ended in a pair of double doors. This led to the storage area, where she hoped to find her bomb-making materials. On either side of the corridor were a pair of elevators.

The desk itself was one of those that had a high shelf in front with the desk space consisting of another shelf below. Even when he wasn't tied up underneath it the guard would be very hard to see from the front.

Which is a plus, Sarah thought. Some passerby glancing through the door wouldn't really expect to see anyone.

She stood still, listening carefully: there was no sound but the sigh of the air-conditioning, and the air it put out had the utter sterility of a high-priced recirculation system. Apparently the guard hadn't been kidding; no one was here.

No one but Ms. Burns, that is, whoever she is.

A group of monitors on the guard's desk showed her from several angles, so there were several cameras mounted around the place. But she saw no point in worrying about them. If she succeeded, they'd soon be so much melted plastic along with their tapes; if she failed, Cyberdyne would know who had invaded them anyway.

Snapping her briefcase closed, she took the key out of her pocket and jogged toward the storage area. The door opened smoothly on the first try. Sarah let out her breath in relief. She'd been half expecting an alarm to go off, or for some secret code to be required.

Sarah entered a warehouse-sized space and made a little sound of despair. This is going to take longer than I'd hoped. She looked around and noticed a bank of elevators along the front wall, flanking the corridor. The elevators had front and back doors. How sensible! she thought in surprise. They've actually made it convenient for people to get supplies. She'd assumed that she would have to drag

everything out front, risking discovery.

This is going to be a snap, she thought.

FT. LAUREL BASE HOSPITAL: THE PRESENT

John looked around the room through slitted eyes; he was in a state of well-controlled terror, not knowing whom he was with or where he was. He couldn't see much, but he saw enough to know he wasn't alone: a man's legs with one foot crossed over his knee were visible off to his side.

He was in a hospital room, from what he could see. There was another bed to his left, but it was empty. The door to the hall was closed. He lay still, which wasn't hard; he was feeling very weak. Better, though. Someone's given me fluids and a trank. I should hurt more. Head's a little fuzzy.

The door opened and a gray-haired man with glasses came in; from his white coat he was a doctor.

'Isn't he awake yet?' the doctor asked, moving quickly to John's side. He took up the boy's wrist and checked his pulse.

'If he is, he hasn't said anything,' Dyson said.

He sounded tired, but John was grateful to hear his voice. If Dyson was still here maybe he wasn't going to be turned over to the master Terminator.

The doctor reached over and lifted one of John's eyelids; he turned on a penlight and John blinked involuntarily.

'Aha! Playing possum were you,' the doctor said cheerfully. 'Well, I need to ask you a few questions, then you can go back to sleep if you like.' He asked a few brisk questions to test memory and visual acuteness. 'Are you in pain?' he asked finally.

'I'm comfortable,' John said.

'Really?' The doctor glanced at his watch. 'Some people have a pretty high threshold of pain, but yours is remarkable. You should be very aware of that shoulder right now, since you're due for a shot of Demerol.'

'I'm fine,' John said again. 'I don't like drugs.'

'I wish more of your generation felt that way,' the doctor said, making a note on the chart. 'Are you hungry?'

John nodded, his eyes closed. He wasn't hungry, but his mother would have insisted that he eat to keep up his strength. Besides, he thought he would feel better if he ate.

'I'll have them send up something, then,' the doctor said. 'Something light, some soup and some Jell- O.'

'Thank you,' John said.

The doctor gave him a quick, dry smile, then looked at Jordan. 'You?' he asked.

'Yeah, please,' Dyson said. 'I haven't wanted to leave. I could use something to eat.'

The doctor nodded, glanced at John one last time, then he left.

John turned his head and looked at Dyson. 'Thank you,' he said.

Jordan rubbed his stubbled face. 'For?' he asked.

'For not turning me over to them.' John's face was serious. 'They will kill me if you do that,' he said. He raised his brows. 'And it may be a cliche, but I'm too young to die.'

Dyson snorted. 'Me, too,' he agreed.

'Where am I?' John asked.

'You're in the base hospital at Ft. Laurel,' Jordan watched John take a breath that was almost like a sob and then go still. 'I haven't reported to my boss, if that's what you're wondering.'

John let out his breath slowly and closed his eyes. 'I was,' he admitted. He looked over at Dyson. 'Why not?'

Jordan grimaced. 'Tarissa told me the full story a few weeks ago,' he said. 'I thought she was the victim of some sort of traumatic-stress/Stockholm-syndrome combination kinda thing. I mean she bought into your mother's delusion so…

completely.' He looked over at the boy. 'I've known that woman since I was a kid, and I always thought of her as one of the most sensible, sanest people I knew. And then she dumps that on me.'

'Only it's true,' John said.

'Yeah, right,' Dyson sneered.

There was a knock on the door and an attendant thrust it open with his foot.

'Dr. Huff ordered this for you,' he said, holding out a tray.

Jordan got up and took it from him.

'Thanks,' he said.

The tray held a bowl of soup, a dish of green Jell-O, a cup of orange juice, a sandwich, and a carton of milk.

'The sandwich is mine, I guess,' Jordan said. 'Do you want the OJ or the milk?'

'OJ,' Connor said. 'I need the sugar.'

Jordan's brows went up. 'If you say so.'