Infiltrator

who'd broken down in his office. Publishing was a puppy-kicking business.

'Look,' he said, 'make up your mind which is more important, the message or the plan. You don't have to put them both in one book, you know. About your plan it may help to think—God got it down to just Ten Commandments and humanity still has a hell of a lot of trouble with them. So keep it simple. Oh, and it's double- spaced, one-sided or they won't even look at it. And that's all the help you'll get from me. Now get out of my office and don't come back.'

'Thank you,' Labane said as he struggled to gather up his manuscript. 'Thanks, really.'

The agent pointed to the door and Ronald struggled through it. When he was gone the agent leaned against his secretary's desk.

'You're a softie,' she said affectionately.

He folded his arms and smiled. 'I just can't shoot down a guy's dreams when he's right in front of me. I think that makes me more of a coward than a softie.'

After a moment she said, 'You're waiting for him to disappear, aren't you?'

The agent rolled his eyes. 'You think I want to ride down in the elevator with him? I'm afraid he'll kidnap me.'

Ronald hoisted his manuscript onto the van's passenger seat with a grunt and ignored the beeping and honking from the crowded street. He was angry, with the system and with himself. He'd made a complete fool of himself in front of that agent; he'd done everything but break down and cry. But he was exhausted and hungry, which always made him prone to being emotional.

Ron slept in the van for the most part; the exorbitant parking fee was still infinitely cheaper than a hotel room. Every few days he treated himself to a night at the Y so he could have a shower. Not that keeping moderately clean seemed to be helping. He could feel himself slowly melting into the kind of troglodyte you sometimes saw scurrying off the end of the subway platform.

Labane leaned his arms and head onto his manuscript and sighed. Nothing in New York had happened the way he'd hoped. With a grunt he sat up and thought that it was time to take stock.

At least the commune hadn't had him arrested for stealing the van. He'd spent more than a few happy moments while he drove cross-country imagining how the conversation must have gone around the dinner table when he didn't come back from town. But, it didn't matter what they thought or felt. He'd been lucky they hadn't charged him with theft—yet. And the decrepit van had performed beautifully in the sunnier climes he'd driven through on his way here. Labane took it as an omen: he was finally heading in the right direction.

Now he had to find some way to make people want to look at his book. And more immediately, a way to support himself. He'd allowed himself to withdraw only three thousand dollars from the commune's account. They'd be a lot less complacent about that, he suspected. But he was quickly running through his money, even living on fast food. So he had to get a job of some sort.

Wait a minute; hadn't someone on the Net mentioned an ecology expo in New York, happening about now? Hey, I could give talks about my plan, he thought.

Maybe not at this one, but he knew there were expos and New Age conventions all over the country, all of the time. They would have information, and he could make contacts.

It would mean catering to the sellouts for a while, but it could be quite profitable.

And the sad truth was, you couldn't accomplish anything without cash and a lot of it. Meanwhile he could revise his work until it became publishable.

Bowed, but not broken, he thought. I will find a way.

'I'm the president and this gentleman is the CEO of Cyberdyne,' Warren explained for the third time to the MP, this time a little more slowly. 'We want to get into our offices to do some work on secured computers. Our home offices are not secure.' He was beginning to wonder if the young man staring into his window was impaired in some way when he finally waved them through.

'Whaddaya suppose that was all about?' Colvin asked out of the side of his mouth.

'Who the hell knows,' Paul muttered as he steered himself into his reserved

space near the entry. 'Typical beef-brained soldier, probably.'

Serena, miles away, listened to their complaints via the bug she'd planted in their car, and smiled. More likely he was letting Tricker know that you were there, she thought. She'd have left orders to that effect. Any unusual activity to be reported.

No entry without personal approval.

She was finding it frustratingly difficult to learn anything about the mysterious government liaison. So she'd begun attributing to him powers and abilities that he might not even have. Better to overestimate an enemy's abilities than to be caught unprepared. Tricker unnerved her.

But these two! When she gave them the disk they were like kids. Human kids, that is: undisciplined and utterly transparent. She'd been able to see that they thought they were very clever, but she wasn't absolutely sure whether they thought they were outsmarting her or Tricker.

She'd watched them arrive at the bar of their choice, listened to them argue in the car about whether one of them should go in while another waited outside for her arrival. Heard them decide it really made no difference and watched them go in together.

Well, it really didn't make any difference. Except that it made it easier for her to plant the bug in Warren's car. What she was really looking forward to was the moment when they put that disk into their computers. It would give her full access to Cyberdyne's computers and she would finally be able to check their progress on Skynet. She would also be able to hear any conversations that took place in front of those computers. That way, if she failed to get the job she'd still be able to influence events to some extent.

I really hope I haven't overplayed my hand, she thought. It had been obvious that the humans were both angry and frightened. And while their attempts to hid their true feelings were amusing, they were also worri-some. Serena wondered how she should handle the situation. Seduction, perhaps?

She hadn't wanted to go that route once she realized that the two men were friends. It would be bad for the Skynet project to have them at each other's throat in a fog of jealousy. Serena tapped the steering wheel with her fingernails, thinking.

Apology, she decided. A simple, up-front, embarrassed apology might work. If she did it right they'd end up charmed instead of appalled. Which they both seemed to be now.

She closed her eyes and forgot about her surroundings for a moment as her computer systems began to receive a flood of information from Cyberdyne.

Opening her eyes in satisfaction, she listened to the real-time conversation between the president and CEO.

'That's impossible,' Warren was saying.

'Not necessarily,' Colvin answered, his voice thoughtful, as though he was still reading. 'This is Dyson's work we're talking about here. That guy was amazing.

Not many people can make me feel like I'm falling behind, but Miles almost always did.'

'A fully automated, computer-controlled munitions factory?' Paul said. 'C'mon, Roger, that doesn't even sound safe, let alone possible.'

There was a long silence. Then: 'We need to see the rest of this,' the CEO said.

'The government will love it!'

'What if there isn't any more?' Warren asked.

'I'm afraid we'll have to cross that bridge when we come to it. But this is Dyson's work, Paul. It has to be! And if there is more of it, then it will probably move our work forward by up to six months. I say we go for it.'

'We still don't know what she wants!' Warren protested. 'Let's not jump into bed with the bitch until we've got that tacked down. That breaking-into-your-house number was a little too psychotic for my peace of mind.'

Colvin laughed. 'I'm not sure I'd be any more comfortable after telling her she wasn't going to get the