Infiltrator

agriculturist, the most valuable member of the commune in that respect. But sometime he came on so dumb!

'When I said 'assassination' I was speaking metaphorically. When I talk about fear I'm talking about financial risk and losing the good opinion of the neighbors.

When I say 'revolution' I'm talking about a grass-roots movement, maybe something like a religious conversion, where we finally get people to realize the danger this whole planet is in! You used to say 'revolution' all the time, and you

knew what it meant then.' He looked at his onetime friend and shook his head.

'It wasn't all that long ago, George.' He leaned down and picked up the sprayer.

'I feel sorry for you.'

Labane turned and walked away, a little smile playing on his lips. That had felt good.

The next morning he slapped his manuscript down on the table and announced,

'I'm going in to town. Does anyone need anything?'

Every eye was on the pile of paper.

'What's that?' Branwyn asked, coming over from the sink to look at it.

'That,' Ron said, putting on his jacket, 'is my book. Which I am shipping off to New York today.'

' The New Luddite Manifesto,' Lisa read. 'Congratulations, honey.' She put her hand on his neck and reached up to kiss his cheek.

Ron simply stared at her blankly. Since the big meeting he'd been sleeping on the cot in his office. As far as he was concerned there was no longer anything between them. The sooner she got used to that, the better for both of them.

'So no one needs anything?' he said to the group at large.

They shook their heads, silenced by his coldness to Lisa.

'Okay, bye.'

It wasn't until he was actually in the van that he realized he wasn't coming back.

He was going to drive his manuscript to New York. He was going to hand-deliver it to the editor and make that man or woman listen to him. Because giving up on your dreams meant you were ready to lie down and die and he was a long, long way from that.

As far as Ron was concerned he was leaving behind a house full of the walking dead. It was time to cut his losses and look to the future. As he drove past the house the baby began to cry.

CHAPTER FOUR

VILLA HAYES, PARAGUAY: THE

PRESENT

Suzanne Krieger… nee Sarah Connor, she thought. In my previous, pre-Terminators, pre-change-the-future existence… finished signing the contract with a flourish and tipped her chair back, taking a quick look out into the garage through the grimy, streaked glass of the office window.

One of her company's trucks had its hood up and its guts laid out, but nobody seemed to be around. She slid open the second drawer of her desk, and slipped out a flask of cana. Sarah/Suzanne unscrewed the cap and added a healthy dollop of the cane alcohol to her terere, an iced mate drink she'd grown fond of. It went down even smoother with a little help. It also made her sweat a little, but everyone did that in the Chaco—summers here ran over a hundred every day, and it wasn't a dry heat, either.

'Senora,' a weary voice said. There was a hint of censure in it.

Sarah's mouth twisted in exasperation and she looked over at Ernesto Jaramillo, her chief mechanic. His broad, mustachioed face was set, his dark eyes sad.

'Where the heck did you come from?' she asked defensively. 'A second ago there wasn't anybody around.' She stubbed out her cigarette impatiently.

'It's not even eleven o'clock in the morning, senora,' Ernesto pointed out.

'What's an hour or so among friends?' she asked, turning to her work. 'Did you want something?'

'That stuff will rot your liver,' he said.

'Mmmm. Rotten liver, that sounds like a happy condition.' Sarah adjusted her ashtray, then turned over a paper and signed the one beneath it. 'Did you want something, Ernesto?' She gave him a sidelong glance.

He shrugged, frowning.

'I just want you to be healthy, senora,' he grumbled.

She turned and looked squarely at him. 'Thank you, Ernesto. I know you mean well, but I'm not doing anything wrong, here. The business isn't going to fail because I like flavoring my tea with cana.' She smiled at him.

He smiled back, shaking his head. Then he shrugged. 'I just came to tell you that Meylinda is going to take her break in about five minutes.'

'Thanks,' Sarah said. 'I'll be there in a second.'

He lifted his hand in a sort of salute and wandered off. Sarah/Suzanne watched him go, then took another sip. I can't believe the way I pussyfoot around people these days, she thought. Not so very long ago she'd have told Ernesto what he could do with his fatherly concern. But there was no help for it if she was to blend in. Paraguayan culture required women to be mild and somewhat subservient. She was cutting-edge here just for being the boss. Milquetoast that I am.

Sarah stood and smoothed down her narrow dark skirt then checked her hair in the mirror. Even now her appearance sometimes surprised her. The short, dark brown hair cut close around her face and the big, heavy frames of her fake glasses made her look more fragile somehow. But the darkness of her hair brought out the blue of her eyes with surprising intensity. She was feminine enough still to like that. It made up a little for the ugly glasses. A necessary disguise that kept people at a distance.

Outside of work she wore sunglasses, always. Except at night, of course. But since she never went anywhere at night it didn't matter.

Sometimes her lack of a social life bothered her. With John away in school, it was lonely out on her little estancia. But as a single mother, a businesswoman, and a foreigner… people around here genuinely didn't know what to make of her. They avoided any discomfort by avoiding her. Not that that stopped them talking, of course. This place had the small-town vices in spades.

Sometimes she thought it was just as well, sometimes she worried that she should be more involved. With something feminine like a bake sale for charity or

something. After all, her trucking company sponsored a local baseball team, which was a very popular move, but somehow the locals had persuaded themselves that it was her workers who sponsored the team rather than herself. It came down to gender again. If she had been born male she would have been absorbed into this town years ago.

She also handled more than a little of the local smuggling market. Sarah had expected people to suck up to her a bit because of that. But it turned out that was also a strike against her. Smuggling was man's work. As were trucks. Her story of inheriting the business from her husband was the only thing that had made it possible for her to get along at all here.

The local women were very nice to her but kept their distance. Even Meylinda was no more than politely friendly. Sarah had once been checked out by a local widower who was essentially looking for an unpaid housekeeper/nanny that he could boink without censure. But she'd run him off as quickly as she could. She knew she'd have killed the man in a week, leaving seven little big-eyed orphans behind. Then I'd have felt obligated to raise the little monsters.

Once in a while she considered selling up and moving to Asuncidn to become a secretary or even a waitress. But then she'd remember the peace and quiet of her estancia and Linda, her mare, and she'd put it out of her mind. Changing locations wouldn't change who she was anyway. It wasn't just that she was a foreigner and a woman that kept people away. Sometimes, when she was tired or not thinking and sometimes deliberately… she radiated danger and distrust.