he asked.
'I'm going to check the computers,' she answered promptly. 'See to it that there are no modems in unsecured computers. Make sure that the staff all understand the drill on securing their machines, no disks in or out, that sort of thing. I'll combine it with an introducing-myself-to-the-staff tour. That starts as soon as this meeting is over.'
Colvin cleared his throat; they all looked at him.
'Do you have something for me?' he asked her.
Serena put her attache case on the table and removed a small plastic box, which she slid across to him.
Tricker took it all in with a most interested expression on his face, but held his peace.
Colvin opened the box; Warren leaned close to look into it with him. Then they both visibly relaxed. Tricker's brow went up; he turned to the 1-950, who returned his inquisitive look with one of bland amusement.
'This,' Colvin said, tapping the box on the table, 'represents Miles Dyson's last work for the company.'
Serena crossed her legs and folded her hands over her flat stomach, all her attention apparently on the CEO. But she caught the look of genuine startlement that flashed across Tricker's face before his usual sardonic expression returned.
'Ms. Burns brought me a disk that contained a sampler from each of these. But there was plenty there to convince me that this was a valuable resource and that Cyberdyne had to have it.'
Tricker turned to look at Serena. 'You
She gave a delicate little shudder. ' 'Blackmail' is such a harsh word,' she said.
'Is there a better one?' he asked, leaning forward, giving the two executives a disgusted look.
Serena considered the ceiling for a moment, then lowered her eyes to his.
'No-o. But then 'blackmail' isn't the right word either.' She straightened up in her seat and faced Tricker directly. 'Look, I'm young for this job, and I'm a woman; that's two strikes against me. I could see who my competition was, and it didn't take me long to realize that your choice definitely had the inside track.'
She shrugged. 'I had an ace and I played it. As far as I'm concerned, anyone who
held that card would have done the same thing.' She tilted her head and widened her blue eyes at him. 'Unless you think I should have sent those disks to Dyson's family?'
'Where exactly did you get them?' Tricker asked. His pose was relaxed, but he was anything but. The government liaison was not pleased that the two executives had held out on him and he wondered just how long they'd known about this. 'And how do we know they're genuine?'
Serena looked at Colvin and Warren instead of answering.
'She bought Dyson's old house,' Colvin said, 'and found the disks hidden there.
I assure you, they are genuine. Not only are they written in Dyson's style, but they contain information about his work… and ours that couldn't be obtained from any other source than Dyson himself.'
'The way you guys keep house I'd hate to bet the farm on that.' Tricker sneered.
He turned to Serena. 'Ms. Burns, where
'In the garage,' she said. She'd found a nice, unobtrusive little cubbyhole up in the rafters that she thought might have been overlooked. 'They were tucked away up high.'
Tricker studied! her for a moment. 'Am I to understand that you went looking for something like this deliberately?'
'Oh, yes. I've worked with scientists and engineers since I got out of college.
They value their work and they like to back it up. Frequently they use little
hiding places for their disks.' She shrugged. 'It's just something that some of them do.'
'Uh-huh.' Tricker let the silence stretch as his cold gaze moved from person to person. 'I assume I'll be receiving copies of these disks?'
'That, of course, is up to the president and CEO,' Serena answered. 'If they deem it appropriate, then of course you will.'
If Tricker was startled by her boldness he gave no sign. He resettled himself in his chair, folding his hands on his stomach, and looked at Serena through narrowed eyes. 'And what would you have done, Ms. Burns, had Cyberdyne not hired you?'
'Well,' she said brightly, 'I had four options. To sell the disks, either to Cyberdyne'—she tipped her head at Colvin and Warren—'or to some other interested party. Or I could have sent them on to Miles Dyson's family, who certainly would seem to have a legitimate claim to them, or I could simply have destroyed them.'
'What's your story?' Tricker turned his cold blue gaze on the executives.
'We were afraid you'd screw it up,' Colvin said evenly.
'Well, that's flattering.' The government liaison sneered.
'Not very,' Serena said mildly. 'But I surmised that without interference you would be the one making the final decision. So I moved to circumvent that. You were unavailable, but I sensed that you'd already made up your mind. So I
approached Mr. Colvin. And here we are.'
There was silence for a moment while they looked at one another; Colvin and Warren regarded the other two warily. Tricker suddenly smacked the table with his hand, making the executives jump.
'The little girl knows how to play hardball!' he said, looking almost pleased.
'She does indeed,' Serena assured him.
'What if I said that I didn't like the way you do business and told you that we weren't hiring you after all?' Tricker asked.
'Then I would have badly miscalculated,' the 1-950 replied serenely. 'Is that your intention?'
'I'll have to get back to you on that,' he said with what might have been a smile.
'Take your time,' Serena told him.
OFFICE CDF SERENA BURNS, EXECUTIVE HEAD OF SECURITY: THE PRESENT
WANTED: Assistant head of security at Cyberdyne Systems. Some law-enforcement background preferred. FBI experience ideal. Excellent benefits, pay commensurate with experience. Inquire…
Serena had asked for an assistant more to test her muscle than because she
needed one. The meeting had broken up rather inconclusively, with Tricker's last words hanging in the air like a bad smell. Using what she knew of human psychology, she decided to make demands and spend money, assuming that it would make them reluctant to fire her. At least at first.
She'd already improved the decor of her small office. The new blue carpet was deep-piled and her desk was both better looking and more efficient than its predecessor. The new desk chair was so comfortable that one could sleep in it.
But the original computer was first rate, and she'd kept it. A narrow glass coffee table abutted a small white leather couch along one wall, over which was a painting of blue herons rising from a lake.
The painting was hers. She had bought it because she thought it hinted at vulnerability and femininity. It was always best to keep humans off balance. As for the assistant, if she was going to have one and it wasn't going to be a Terminator—neither of hers was ready yet, both being rather… raw looking—it might as well be Miles Dyson's brother.
She'd become aware of him while she was looking into Cyberdyne and the terrorist attack that had destroyed its earlier facility. Intrigued, she'd examined his record at the FBI. It seemed that he had often risked incurring the wrath of his superiors in order to continue to look into his brother's death.
So she'd hacked into his personal and work computer and examined his files, followed his tracks on the Internet, and had been impressed with what she'd found. Jordan Dyson possessed a single-mindedness that she'd, so far, found to be a rare commodity in humans.
Alone, he'd tracked the Connors south of the border all the way to Brazil. There
the trail had ended. More than one of his contacts had written, with great assurance, that the Connors were dead.
Still, he continued to pursue them.
It was somewhat pointless in a way; bringing Miles's killers to justice would not restore his brother to life,
