Rising Storm

But now here was Sarah Connor, and he had some decisions to make all over again. Because now he knew he hadn't had a psychotic break; what he'd had was a taste of Sarah Connor's reality.

Sarah explained, 'Dr. Ray says that now that I've stopped this project from going forward and Cyberdyne has dropped it from their roster, I'll probably never want to destroy their factory again. Obsession works that way sometimes, he says. So the board of review agreed to let me come here prior to my release.'

'Will you have to go to jail after here?' a woman asked.

Sarah shook her head. 'Apparently not. Since I was insane at the time.'

'Well, Sarah,' Dr. Silberman said with a weary smile, 'we hope we can help you to overcome this obsession of yours.'

'Thank you, Doctor.' Sarah smiled tentatively at him. 'I know I was very hard on you when I knew you before and I'd like to apologize. I really can't even imagine ever being that person again.'

'I think, Sarah, that you will always rise to the occasion,' Silberman said enigmatically. He checked his watch. 'Well, group, that's it for today. We'll meet again on Thursday.' He smiled, nodded, and rose from his seat.

'I didn't get to say anything,' a heavy young man protested.

'I'm sorry about that, Dan.' Silberman patted his shoulder. 'We'll be certain to let you talk on Thursday.'

As Sarah went by him at the door he leaned in close and said, 'Sarah, I need to talk to you.'

Well, I don't want to talk to you, Connor thought. 'Now?' She looked around nervously.

'Now would be good.' Silberman gestured down the hallway toward his office.

Her full lips jerked into a smile. 'Sure,' she said, and preceded him down the hall.

'Sit down,' he said as he closed his office door. Then the doctor went to his desk

and sat. He looked at her for a long time, until she felt it was necessary to fidget.

'After you left'—he spread his hands— 'escaped, rather, I was in therapy for a long time.'

'I'm sorry about that, Doctor,' Sarah said. And sincerely meant it. She didn't like knowing what she knew either and she'd certainly never enjoyed therapy.

'After about five years I was able to convince myself that what I saw was a delusion brought on by stress. Of course'—he rubbed a finger across his nose

—'dealing with the fallout caused by having a complete breakdown under stress has been keeping me pretty involved ever since. Running a halfway house is a considerable step down the career ladder from my former position, you realize.'

Sarah shifted uncomfortably.

'And now you're here,' he continued. 'And… it's all come back to me. As clear as the day it happened. And that's the thing, Sarah. It did happen. So what I want to know is… how can I help?'

Sarah's jaw dropped. 'Doctor?' she said.

'I know.' He raised a hand to stop her. 'How can you possibly trust me? You broke my arm, you threatened to kill me, and so on.' He leaned forward, his eyes eager. 'But now I know for certain. What I saw was real!'

She narrowed her eyes and looked at him sidelong. 'Doctor, I've been over this with Dr. Ray. My obsession with Cyberdyne relates to my deeply buried resentment of their lawsuit when I was in the hospital years ago. He explained that I somehow displaced my legitimate anger and grief at the man who hurt me

and murdered my mother onto the more accessible Cyberdyne. I bought into those other people's psychotic fantasies because I'd been so hurt and traumatized.

None of it was real. None of it could be real.'

Silberman let out his breath with a huff. 'I just want you to know, if you ever need my help, you have it.'

'Thank you, Doctor.' Either he's crazier than I ever was, or he's telling the truth. But how was she supposed to tell?

'I mean that sincerely, Sarah.'

'I know you do,' she said gently. 'Thank you.'

NEAR PUERTO VALLARTA, MEXICO

Vera glanced at Dieter as she jogged by again. Every morning she took a hundred turns around the deck, usually wearing pink shorts and a black tank top, her champagne hair wrapped in a chiffon scarf. The bright tropical sunlight blinking off the water turned the colors to the glowing pastels of an old Pop Art poster from the sixties, the sort he'd had up on his wall when he was a grammar-school student.

She's flaky. Dieter thought, but I like her. And who was he to call anybody flaky? He'd recently dedicated his life and fortune to fighting a mad, genocidal computer that hadn't even been built yet. And while she was flaky she was also tough; he'd known many a man who'd have collapsed completely at the sights she'd witnessed.

'I'm in,' she said the next time she came by.

'What?' he asked, looking up from where he was polishing brass.

Vera ran in place beside him. 'I said, I'm in. I know you're not telling me the whole story, von Rossbach. But whatever is going on here has to be stopped.'

Her eyes flickered away and then returned. 'Besides, whether I like it or not, I'm involved now. So I'll help you sneak into the U.S. and I'll help you finance whatever.' She held up a finger. 'I'm not prepared to go bankrupt. But you should be able to get a fair chunk of change out of me. I'm getting older,' she said with a weak smile, 'so I can't hammer one of those things flat with a crowbar. But you can, so I want to help.' Without another word she ran off.

And I didn't even have to sleep with her, he thought, just maybe a little disappointed.

Contrary to what the novelists said, even counter-terrorist operatives didn't often get the chance to seduce beautiful women into financing their schemes. Usually it was more a matter of putting in invoices and arguing with the finance department.

For once, he'd thought life might imitate art. It certainly would have been a lot more pleasant than being beaten up by a Terminator.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

MIT CAMPUS

Who the hell is Sarah Connor?' Snog asked.

Wendy smacked his leg. 'I told you about her, remember? She's kind of a Luddite heroine.'

'Oooh, her,' Carl said.

' You're Sarah Connor's son?' Yam asked.

'Yup.'

'Your daddy was from the future?' Snog said.

'That's right,' John agreed. He wondered if Snog was worth the trouble.

'Cool,' Carl said. He leaned forward eagerly. 'So how does that work anyhow?'

'Wait a minute!' Snog snapped. 'You can't just come in here and claim you're John Connor! Give us some proof, for cryin' out loud.'

John laughed at him. 'Do you seriously think I carry around some kind of irrefutable ID?' He shook his head, grinning. 'Call up the FBI or Interpol Web site and scroll to my name. Look at the age-enhanced photo, then look at me.'

He shrugged. 'Best I can do for ya, buddy. Or you could just take me at my word.'

They all stared at him, then turned toward Snog's computer as he began to type in an address. In a few minutes they were looking at a photo of a smooth-shaven, rather young-looking John Connor. It had been blown up from a class picture taken when John was nine.

John took off his glasses and turned his head to resemble the photo.