Infiltrator

Everyone was laughing and pointing. She stepped back, looking around in vain

for one friendly face. The crowd parted to reveal a huge man in black leather; his head turned like a gun turret, slowly, slowly. It was the Terminator. He began to walk toward her; everything in her screamed to run, but she couldn't move. His face grew softer, the lower planes of it beginning to sprout a beard. He reached into his jacket. When his hand came out it was normal, or seemed so at first. But the index finger kept growing, turning silvery as it grew. Then his body changed, becoming more slender, shorter, until she was looking into the implacable face of the T-1000.

'Call to John,' it said. 'Call to John, now!'

Sarah turned and ran, her heart pounding, tears spilling down her cheeks. The party goers watched her as dispassionately as spectators at a golf game.

Suddenly she was in the Chaco, and grass and scrub were catching at her absurd skirt, twisting and lashing like living whips. Finally she fell and the grasses and thorns grabbed hold as if they were organic barbed wire.

She felt paralyzed, trapped; all she could do was lie there while redheaded Douglas from the Pescadero State Hospital leaned over and slowly, lasciviously, licked her cheek. He stood up and looked down at her while the spit on her cheek burned like acid. She couldn't even scream.

The T-1000 came and stood over her beside the male nurse. The machine and Douglas looked at one another, then down at her. 'Call to John,' the T-1000 said.

He opened his hand and it grew into the shape of an old-fashioned steam shovel, the jaws lined with sharp teeth. They opened and clamped shut, then swept toward her and swallowed her head.

Sarah screamed and flung herself upright.

'Mom?'

John hit the light switch and her lamp came on; she started and shivered. He came over and sat on the bed beside her. Her son stayed motionless and simply offered the comfort of his presence, waiting.

She was at home, she was in bed, she was safe.

After a moment she gathered him in her arms and held him fiercely, breathing in gasps, trying not to cry.

'Bad one, huh?' he said, gently stroking her back. Her hair was wet with sweat though the night was cool, occasionally shudders racked her tightly coiled body.

Sarah let go and leaned back', her hand automatically reaching for a cigarette that wasn't there. She met John's smiling eyes sheepishly. 'If you'd just had that dream you'd reach for cigarette too, you little wise-ass.'

He grinned. 'You haven't had one this bad for a while,' he said, suddenly serious.

'They're all bad, John.' Sarah scooted up the bed so that she was leaning against the headboard. 'Dear old Dr. Silberman once told me that I was a very imaginative woman, and that was why I had such bad dreams.'

She snorted, then looked ruefully at her son. 'Everybody else has dreams where they can't catch the right bus, or they 'show up for work in their underwear. I dream that unstoppable killing machines are coming to murder me.'

'Gee, I wonder why,' John said.

They laughed and some of the tension drained out of her.

'I bet seeing that Dieter guy—'

'Von Rossbach,' Sarah said.

'Yeah. I bet seeing him prompted the dream.' John hooked one leg over the other and looked at his mother, inviting her to talk.

She smiled fondly, appreciating his willingness to help. 'Well, maybe not just von Rossbach,' she said. 'The dream started at the Salcido asado. I was dressed as Scarlett O'Hara.' John started to laugh. 'Only the dress was red and black.'

John looked at her from under his eyebrows. 'I got Scarlett O'Hara?' he said.

'Ya gotta hand it to Silberman; as far as being imaginative goes, he had you pegged, Mom.' He leaned over on one elbow, his head on his hand, making a bridge over her legs. 'You must really be nervous about this party,' he commented.

'Well, yuh,' she said, and shrugged. 'This could be my entree into society. And I'm just not very good at that feminine shtick'—John's eyebrow went up at that

—'that they're so fond of around here.' Sarah sighed. 'I don't want to embarrass you in front of your friends,' she said.

John sat up.

'Mom,' he said seriously, 'you couldn't. You're my hero.' Then he began to sing, falsetto, 'You are the wind beneath my wings.'

Sarah hit him with her pillow. 'Out!' she said, laughing. 'Get out of my room and take your schmaltz with you.'

'Lalala-la-la-la-laaaa-la,' John sang, slowly flapping his arms as he danced out.

'You are the wind beneath my wings.'

'Goodnight, John.'

He leaned back into her room and flipped the light switch.

''Night, Mom.'

Sarah settled back on her pillow and chuckled. God but he was a good kid! And thanks to me, he doesn't have to spend the rest of his life saving the human race from extinction.

Dieter felt good. The first few mornings had been hard; a mere five kilometers had left him exhausted. Today he'd done ten at an easy light trot, jogging in the comparative coolness of dawn with the dry dust of the ranch's roads puffing up around his feet and the pungent smell of the Chaco brush in his nostrils. Then he'd spent a good part of the morning doing kata after kata in the courtyard outside his office.

Now to finish off with something that needs delicacy and control, he thought.

Throwing knives wasn't something that had much practical use, but it was a good

way to keep your edge. He held the tip of the blade between thumb and forefinger, feeling the balance of the weapon as he concentrated; his body glistened with a healthy sheen of sweat and the strong sunlight sparkled off the golden hair on his massive chest.

Elsa Encinas, Epifanio's niece, watched him as she washed the office window.

Her big brown eyes were wide, and her hand moved more and more slowly as her mouth dropped open. She'd been cleaning the same small square of glass for about a half hour now and she was beginning to make Dieter nervous. He didn't think she was even blinking anymore.

Marieta bustled into the office looking for Elsa, intending to scold her for not being finished yet. One brief glance and she was upon her niece, finger and thumb closed on an ear as she dragged the protesting Elsa behind her into the corridor. With a wide sweep of her strong arm she brought the miscreant around to face her.

'And just what do you think that you are doing? Staring at Senor von Rossbach like some puta! What would your mother say?'

'I wasn't!' Elsa protested. 'I was only washing the window!'

'Don't talk back!' her aunt said, shaking a finger. 'I was watching you for five minutes,' she lied. Then she imitated her totally hypnotized niece wiping one pane of glass over and over. 'That is how you looked, you silly girl! Like a fish!'

Elsa giggled. 'I can't help it, Auntie!' She leaned in close to Marieta and whispered, 'He is so handsome.'

Her aunt let out a huff of breath. 'Go dust and vacuum in the library,' she said.

'And try to be finished by suppertime! Vamos!'

Elsa started to walk off, glancing into the office as she went by. Her aunt clapped her hands sharply and the walk turned to a run. Shaking her head, Marieta went into von Rossbach's office to finish up. She picked up the cloth and went to the window. She was starting to scrub when a flash of motion caught her eye.

Senor von Rossbach had just thrown a knife and was straightening up, studying the knife quivering in the