Infiltrator

actually been light-headed from the stuff. John felt the slow burn from an ember of resentment deep in his heart. They were not, by any means, so safe and comfortable that it was all right for his mother to sweeten her tea with one-hundred-proof cane juice.

He'd never forgotten the shock that had buzzed through him when he discovered that he was wanted for the murder of his foster parents. I was ten fucking years old, for Christ's sake! They'd been stabbed to death, both of them in the head.

Even if he'd had the upper-body strength he couldn't have reached that high.

Still, even he had to concede that it was a not completely unreasonable deduction given his activities later the same day. And, of course, a T-1000 made of liquid metal would be completely off their radar. So it had to be me, or me and Mom that killed them.

So what the hell was his mother doing slurping cana in the morning? It made him feel vulnerable and confused and he hated that. Besides, the knowledge that his mother could have a weakness so human was disturbing at a deep level. All his life she'd been a rock.

He pictured himself putting her to bed, limp and soggy with drink, and he shuddered. I can't face that, he told himself.

He'd come to rest in the shade of a tree, the park that was the center of the plaza before him. Several boys around his own age were kicking around a soccer ball

and screaming curses and encouragement.

John watched them play. He knew them all, street kids most of them and very tough, who'd made him prove himself over and over until he'd convinced them that he was even tougher than they were. They'd gang up on him and win the day. But he'd seek them out when they were alone and they'd have a little one-on-one. He'd told them as they lay on the ground bleeding and panting, 'Don't make me do this again.' No one ever had. Instead one day they'd kicked him the ball, and that was it, he was in.

In a minute they'd notice him, tease him about his uniform, and invite him to join the game. And he would. And he'd enjoy himself. But he knew that some part of himself would hold back, would observe and evaluate everyone around him.

Well, maybe it's the Terminators. Or maybe it was the way Mom brought me up, knowing I was supposed to save the human race from Skynet. My big fat fucking destiny to save the human race and send my own father back through time to save Mom.

Maybe it was because he didn't have a destiny anymore.

Not that he was going to complain if the world didn't go up in a ball of fire, far from it. But he was pretty much restricted in what he could do and where he could go. He sure as hell couldn't go to college in the United States, now, could he? As for achieving even minor notoriety here in Paraguay, he'd have to be very, very careful lest someone from the CIA or something recognize him or his mother and start extradition proceedings. There were a lot of people hiding out here; it Was a pretty easygoing country, and if you had some cash nobody made problems. But it was one thing to let the kids of a bunch of Germans who'd

arrived in 1946 linger, and another to annoy the U.S. by sheltering a couple of gen-u-ine badass capital-T Terrorists.

It shouldn't matter. It should be easy to let go of ambition, especially at sixteen.

But all of his life John had been told that he was destined for greatness, that he was born to be a hero. Now he seemed destined to run a little trucking company and be a small-time smuggler.

Definitely a blow to the old self-esteem. A self-deprecating smile tugged at his lips. Poor me, he thought to himself. Saved the world at ten and I'm like, where do I go from here? It's all downhill. He grinned. John, you have got to get over yourself. I mean, remember what you always thought of dickweeds who spent their time being sorry for themselves.

Carlos, the youngest of the soccer players, saw him and yelled his name. The others turned and drifted over. Francisco Encinas, the tallest and the gang's leader, played it cool, looking John up and down.

'All dressed up,' he said mockingly. 'You going to a costume party?'

John gave him a slow grin. 'I just got home in time to see you kick that ball like an old lady,' he countered. 'Where'd you pick up those moves? You been folk-dancing again?'

The other kids chuckled and Carlos did a couple of shuffling steps. Francisco gave him a playful shove.

'Last time you played with us you spent most of the time on your face in the mud,' Francisco reminded John. 'So you gonna play or you gonna talk?'

John took off his uniform jacket, folded it and put it under the tree, dragged off his tie, and unbuttoned his shirt.

'I thought you'd never ask.'

Sarah found him there, still playing, a couple of hours later. She leaned against the tree beside his folded jacket and watched him. He was good— graceful and deadly accurate. Much taller now; he'd be six feet or so when he was grown.

Taller than his father—but then, he hadn't grown up scrabbling for food in the ruins of Skynet's war of extermination. Darker than either of them, hair brown-black and cropped short now; his tanned face was sharp and his chin came to a near point. He'd never had baby fat, but now he moved like an athlete, his shoulders growing broad and legs long. The other kids scrambled to keep up with him. John noticed her and waved; she waved back. He said a few words to the others and ran over to her.

'You don't have to stop,' she said. 'I'm perfectly content to watch.'

'Are you kidding? You've saved me, I'm totally bushed. They got me up at five this morning and these guys could go on all day.' He grinned at her, panting lightly. 'I'm also starved.'

'Do you want to eat in town?' she asked. 'Or can you wait until we get home?'

'I wouldn't say no to some empty calories to tide me over,' he said. 'But I'd rather wait till we get home for real food. I miss your cooking.'

Sarah laughed outright at that. 'Those are words I never expected to hear.'

'Don't sell yourself short, Mom,' he said. 'Nobody makes a campfire stew like you do. Nobody.'

John indulged himself with a banana split, the very sight off which made Sarah's teeth tingle. But at his age boys had hollow legs and could take the calories.

Besides, at his school they probably proscribed anything sweet that didn't come directly from a tree.

'Mmmm,' he said around a mouthful of whipped cream. 'I've been imagining this since yesterday.'

'Is it good?' she asked.

'Mmm-hmm. Almost as good as I remember.' He licked the back of his spoon as he looked at her. 'You aren't much for sweets, are ya?'

'Not ice cream, for some reason,' Sarah agreed.

'But otherwise you're so rational.'

She laughed at that, and then smiled at him.

'I've missed you.'

'Missed you, too, Mom.'

He waited until they were driving home to tackle some of the things that were on his mind.

'Do you mind if we don't go camping for a while?' he asked.

'How long is a while?' she asked. 'I wanted to go to Ciuidad del Este before the end of next month. I've got a few appointments and I thought we could hit Parque Nacional Caaguazu for a couple of weeks or so and then swing up to the city.' Sarah shrugged. 'We can go camping anytime, I guess. Why?'

'Luis Salcido's family is having an asado to welcome him home from school and we're invited.'

'Both of us?' Sarah asked. She was surprised and warily pleased. The Salcidos were a fairly prominent family in the area but they'd never been more than polite to her.

'Yeah,' John said. 'Luis and I really hit it off this semester.'

Sarah thought for a moment. 'He has a very attractive sister, hasn't he?' she said at last.