Pool looked nervous. 'Actually, sir, we did insert an implant. Since her move we've lost the signal.'
His boss looked disgusted. Pool sat straighten it was a bad sign when Kipfer let you know what he was thinking.
'Well, there's not much can be done about that,' Kipfer said. 'But those agents you have watching her had better be good,' he warned.
'They are, sir. The best.'
'I have another little problem I'd like you to look into.' Kipfer handed him a slip of paper. 'This MIT student thinks it's fun to read my mail. Deal with it.'
Pool took the paper. Wendy Dorset… 'I'll take care of it right away, sir.'
Kipfer flicked his fingers in dismissal and turned to his computer.
Pool rose and left silently. At the front of his mind was the worry that his agents
Still, he would see to it that little Miss Dorset lost all interest in other people's private affairs.
Clea was leaving for the airport in less than three hours and she was nervous.
She paced through the carefully camouflaged upper part of the big log-cabin house, past magazines that were never read but were still ruffled realistically at set intervals, past furniture carefully worn at a regular pace and replaced occasionally.
This would be the first time she'd ever flown, ever left the state where she was born, ever been completely alone with millions of humans. She decided she wasn't nervous. She was terrified, in an abstract intellectual way that her computer side's control of hormones could do nothing about.
Clea tried to hide it from her little sister as she followed her down the hallway to her sister's lab. It was a futile effort, of course. Even if Alissa was fooled, and she probably wasn't, her computer part would identify the signs of stress and relay the information to its flesh half. Still, a human would be fooled, making the practice worthwhile.
Alissa and the Terminators would handle the rest of the move from this point.
The hard work was already done; what remained was just mechanical. The funeral had been held. To her utter surprise her 'uncle' had received a number of floral arrangements from the companies he'd worked for. She had even received a fruit basket from one of them.
The humans at the funeral parlor had been very, even cloyingly, sympathetic. As had the doctor who'd declared the T-101 dead.
When she'd insisted there be no autopsy, indicating by her manner that she was prepared to become emotional about it, the doctor had assured her that because of economic considerations they didn't automatically perform autopsies anymore.
She'd thought it wonderful that a government agency would actually do something so convenient.
Before she left for New York, however, Alissa had insisted that she view the Watcher she'd constructed to spy on Sarah Connor. It was clear that her little sister was pleased with the results of her work.
Clea couldn't help smiling when she saw that it was covered with a sheet, like a statue waiting to be unveiled. Where, she wondered, had her sister discovered this conceit?
Alissa glanced at her, then yanked off the sheet and displayed her masterpiece.
Clea was genuinely and pleasantly surprised.
'You have done
be neither.
With an effort she wrenched her mind away from the familiar circle of disappointment and studied the new machine.
With the necessary aid of a Terminator, Alissa had cut down the arm and leg matrices of a full-sized Terminator. She'd added more melanin to the skin and much more body hair, except on the top of the head. The result was a creature that looked like a short Turkish wrestler. While it might lack some speed as a result of the shorter legs, it was clear that nothing else had been sacrificed. It looked nothing like a standard T-101, yet it had all the deadly strength and power.
'Most excellent,' Clea breathed. 'As soon as it's properly programmed, send it. I leave the matter in your capable hands, little sister.'
Dieter arrived at the campus during the morning rush, fitting himself into the massive river of young humanity that flowed from parking lot to classes among buildings that showed three generations' notions of up-to-date. Today, as usual, he'd entered through a different gate. Also as usual he wore a different hat and today a pair of fake glasses. He made a series of small changes to his appearance, none of which would pass close scrutiny; his height alone made disguise difficult, but they might prove enough to give him a critical edge.
As he walked along in the opposite direction from his destination, he made an unobtrusive scan of his vicinity. As it had done many times in the past, the automatic caution paid off.
Out of the corner of his eye he spied a figure on top of a building. He peeled off with a group of students and entered the nearest doorway. Dieter entered the stairwell and made his way to the roof, hoping that this building was of equal height or higher than the one where he'd caught that human-shaped flash of movement, that blink of sunlight on metal and glass. Coming to the top of the stairs, he stopped for a moment and considered the orientation of the door to the other building.
Not good; if this building was shorter he'd be in full view immediately. Of course, he might have just caught sight of a maintenance man going about his business. In which case this effort to confirm his suspicions was wasted time.
He cracked the door and peered out. l-'roni where he was standing he couldn't see anybody. The building he was in was indeed slightly lower than the one where he'd seen motion. But there was no help tor it; he had to know. After a moment's hesitation he eased the door open and slipped around its edge in one smooth movement. He felt a soft impact against the back of the metal door, and when he looked down he saw the feathered end of
Unfortunately that was equally true for the guy with the dart rifle.
He had to get off this roof. Especially since the man over there had probably sent for backup. What had he been thinking? Here he was trapped like some rookie.
Perhaps deep down he'd wanted to test their intentions, looking to see how deadly they intended to be. Still, he'd been stupid.
He looked around the roof and saw no means of escape. Especially not while under the gun. Dieter moved to the far side of the roof shack and faked an attempt to get to the door from the far side, drawing the shooter's fire.
Paying attention specifically to him. Which he'd taken for granted, but it was still some comfort to know this
