Infiltrator

That face! A quick search of passive storage… Yes. That is the model for the features of the T-101A series. The originals… Skynet had chosen the template from a list of antiterrorist personnel; ironic, in a way, since the Terminators were the greatest terror weapon ever developed.

The Connors and von Rossbach's efforts to get rid of the man were not proving very successful. Good! she thought emphatically. Why should she be the only one to suffer the consequences of someone else's self-important stupidity?

As she walked along, she booked Third on a flight to Florida, where it would pick up a short flight to the Caymans. It should be able to prevent the Connors

and their ally from heading for Sacramento within eight hours.

From the way the Connors were pursuing their investigation, Serena doubted they'd be ready to leave before tomorrow. At least she hoped not. It would be better if they could be contained on the island. Once they hit the United States, they'd be much harder to track.

Finally von Rossbach ended the man's arguments by turning him around and pushing him through the office door, which he then slammed in the investment counselor's face and locked. Then he turned to the other two and brushed his hands off. They smiled.

So that's what he looks like, the t-950 thought, studying the smaller male. Of course, he's young just now. She'd only seen his shoulder and the top of his head before Skynet called her away. Her earlier impression had been that Connor was a slender man, but not unusually so, what humans called wiry. Right now, though, he was a skinny little thing and very unimpressive. And that's Sarah Connor. The woman was frowning with concentration. She was also smaller than the t-950 had imagined her.

Well, it was only natural to have imagined them bigger than life. They had, after all, and with twentieth century weapons no less, somehow defeated two Terminators. Not an easy task. But a very, very impressive accomplishment.

Serena frowned as she entered her office, locking the door behind her. Did that thought have a touch of negativity about it? The Connors weren't that impressive. And negativity led to defeat.

The t-950 sat behind her desk and studied them; They were trying to hack into

the Sacramento database. She concentrated on the files her three enemies were working on. She allowed them to look at some administrative records and smirked at their excitement.

Then she had to move quickly to prevent John from exploiting what he'd found to locate another site. For the next hour she dueled with him, over the information she would concede as she struggled to hide anything of real worth.

Sarah and von Rossbach ably assisted him and things were almost at the limits of her control for a while. These people were smart!

It was easy to forget that humans could be so dangerous. The ones she dealt with every day, with the exception of the elusive Tricker, were easy to anticipate and to deal with. Most of them were barely awake, sentient only as a matter of genetic technicalities.

The Connors and their ally were exhilarating. She would have to be careful not to give in to her currently more humanized nature and compete with them. The object was to totally defeat them, not gratify her own ego.

A part of Serena's mind reflected that it was regrettable that she had an ego at all.

She'd prefer to be less annoyed by Colvin and Warren's end run around her awareness, it was distracting— and unquestionably the result of bruised ego.

But experimentation had shown that dealing successfully with humans required the Infiltrator to have one. You couldn't pretend to have something so incomprehensible. It was necessary to have actually experienced it.

True, hers was stunted next to a human's, but the damn thing had a tendency to grow if it wasn't carefully attended to. Part of the responsibilities of her

computer brain was to send a prompt if the thing got out of hand. She expected to receive one momentarily.

The Connors were slowing down now, beginning to get a bit frustrated.

SERENA'S LAB: THE PRESENT

The third Terminator decanted the two who had been in the vats growing their disguise of flesh. He then set them to prepping the next pair, now mere metal skeletons, while he checked the fourth and fifth over for flaws or gaps in their newly grown skin. Finding nothing amiss, he reported a satisfactory rating to the t-950.

Acknowledged, she said. I'm sending you to the Cayman Islands. Dress in light-colored casual clothing, wear sunglasses at all times. Pack a small bag so that you'll blend in with other travelers. Take the low-signature automatic, your passport and driver's license, and one of the copies of the special health certificate. Call a taxi to take you to the airport. She transmitted the details on its flights. Go to Skye's home, terminate all humans that you find there. Your primary targets are Sarah and John Connor. If they are not at Skye's home find them and terminate them.

Understood, it acknowledged. It closed down transmission when the t-950

signaled, Out.

Its chores in the lab finished, Third made its way upstairs to the house. It called a cab, then dressed and packed. There was a wallet with cash and credit cards in the small safe in the home office. It removed these and the travel papers the t-950 had specified, tucking them into pockets about its person. Weapons were

hidden in an access panel in the t-950's bedroom. It took the fiber-and-synthetic pistol it needed and then stood by the front door to wait for the taxi.

The cabdriver wanted to talk and the Terminator let him. It answered any questions as briefly as possible, just as the t-950 had trained it.

'It's important to at least be what humans consider polite,' Serena had instructed them. 'But answer as briefly as possible. Give the humans no reason to remember you particularly.'

It didn't see why it couldn't solve such problems simply by terminating anyone who asked too many questions. It followed orders, of course— it just didn't understand.

So it answered the driver with yeses and no's and grunts. Soon it noticed that the driver wasn't paying attention to its answers anyway.

The airport was already coming into view.

It picked up its ticket and walked through the metal detector. When the security drone made to wave her wand over the Terminator's body, it presented its doctor's certificate claiming that several injuries had led to an implant.

The Terminator walked through Owen Roberts International Airport on Grand Cayman, scanning the brightly clad crowd (salted with blank-faced men in suits) and its surroundings when a movement on the tarmac alerted its sensors. It stopped stock-still and looked out the large window to the ground some twenty feet below.

A boy of sixteen or so came back into view. Third could only see the back of his head, but an instantaneous comparison of the file pictures from Skye's office confirmed that this was John Connor, with a negligible error probability. It signaled the t-950.

Have arrived on Grand Cayman. Have John Connor in sight. He is at the airport, apparently readying to depart. Below, a woman wandered into sight.

Beside her was a large man; another, smaller man seemed to be leading them toward an aircraft. Sarah Connor, confirmed. Dieter von Rossbach, confirmed, it reported.

Stop them, Serena ordered. Terminate them, discreetly if possible. But at any cost, terminate them before they can leave the island.

Third reached out and snagged a passing woman who looked as if she degenerative bone disease that had required the replacement of most of its joints with surgical-steel replacements.

Third's neural-net processor prompted it to say something to accompany the certificate. It selected the third choice.