it. This time he waited for Holmes to speak.
'You're serious about this, I can see that,' Doc said at last. 'I'm not gonna tell you it makes me feel good; like you've found a nice hobby to enliven your retirement.' He tightened his lips to a thin line, then met von Rossbach's eyes.
'But I've trusted you before now and been right. So… I'll take a chance and agree to help you. But!' He held up a stern finger. 'I'm not going to be party to any wacko terrorist behavior. If your girlfriend feels an urge to blow up anything
else, I'd advise you to talk her out of it, or I'm gone. Got it?'
'Yes,' Dieter said simply. 'Thank you.'
'So what do you want from me anyway?'
'When the time comes we'll need someplace marginally safe for people to go.'
Dieter looked out at the peaceful lake. 'This would make a good destination.
We'll also need your training skills.' He hesitated. 'And we'll need someplace to stockpile supplies.'
Von Rossbach was enormously relieved. The fact that Holmes had agreed so readily meant that he'd given the matter study and thought. And where Doc led, others would follow; generations of Sector agents and allies had worked with, or trained under, the old man. He was glad he'd taken the chance and approached him.
Doc nodded once or twice, then narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. 'How bad do you expect this thing to get?'
'Bad,' Dieter said. 'Not as bad as it would have been six years ago maybe. But bad. Billions dead. End of civilization as we know it. Possible extinction of the human race.'
Holmes nodded, his eyes on the braided rug beneath his feet, then he looked up, his eyes sharp. 'I really hope she's crazy, Dieter, if that's an
One corner of the Austrian's mouth quirked in a half smile. 'I wish she was.'
If anyone had been able to see through the van's darkened windows, they would have seen a pair of tall, grim-faced twins, a short, dark, balding muscleman, and a child of angelic beauty. Alissa's golden hair curled to the center of her back and she looked adorable in a little blue sundress and white sandals. She carried an adult's white purse that was almost as big as she was.
The purse contained all of their identity papers, driver's licenses for each of the Terminators, the deed on their new house, the van's registration, and several thousand dollars in cash, all that Clea thought they would need to get them safely to their new location in Utah.
The older Infiltrator didn't know that Alissa had gathered all of this material in one place, and would have disapproved if she had known. But to Alissa it felt right, and since she didn't really trust her older sibling, she went with her feelings.
Alissa was looking forward to getting settled in. She was long overdue for her next growth enhancement and the sense of being off schedule tormented her.
Once in a while, to distract herself, she checked her sister's computer to view whatever Clea was looking at. She wasn't interested in communication so much as she wished she was in a more interesting place than the endless expanse of rolling sagebrush outside. New York was enormous, filled with buildings of staggering size and teeming with life, at once fascinating and revolting.
For the most part, like the Terminators, she ignored the often spectacular scenery they were traveling through. Occasionally she would take note of a suitable spot
for an ambush, or places for the automated factories.
But for the most part this land was empty and, as far as she could see, always would be. She flicked her inner vision back to the busy New York streets. That was where the war would take place. There, along the Mississippi, and on the West Coast. Soon, she hoped. For now, this empty land was a good place to begin laying plans and manufacturing allies.
'I'm hungry,' she said eventually. 'Pull in to the next available place.'
The Terminators didn't acknowledge her order; there was no need. Even voicing it aloud was mainly a matter of training herself in humanizing her mannerisms.
They did have supplies on the van, but she was bored and wished to begin socializing both herself and the Terminators to the degree that any of them was capable. You really couldn't terminate humans effectively if they had warning.
The restaurant was clean, with a black-and-white tile floor and chipped Formica surfaces; it smelled of cooking but of no particular food or spice unless it was hot oil. The four of them took a booth where rips in the plastic cover had been carefully patched with duct tape, and a waitress in a pink uniform and comfortable-looking shoes came over with plastic-coated menus. The menus were slightly sticky to the touch.
'Blue-plate special's chicken-fried steak,' she announced to the puzzled machines and Infiltrator.
'Chicken… fried… steak?' Alissa asked. She had a ridiculous mental image of a
fowl flipping meat onto a grill.
The waitress grinned. 'You never had that, honey?' she asked. 'You dip the steak in the same kinda coating you use for chicken, then you fry it.'
'Interesting,' the Infiltrator said. It didn't sound very healthy. 'We will have that,' she said, handing the menu back to the woman.
The waitress raised her brows and looked at the Terminators. In her experience, big, tough-looking men usually didn't take orders from little blond moppets.
'You boys okay with that?' she asked doubtfully. They handed back the menus and just looked at her. 'How would you like those steaks cooked?'
Alissa blinked as she considered this. It felt like a trick question. 'Until they're done,' she said after a moment.
The waitress looked at her, a look that said, 'Don't give me any more nonsense, kid.'
'Rare, medium, or well-done?' she asked tersely.
'Ah, medium,' Alissa said. That sounded like a sale choice.
'To drink?' The waitress's voice hardened slightly under their unwavering gazes.
'Just water,' Alissa said. If the dinner was unhealthy she need not compound the error with fluids made with a surfeit of sugar or caffeine.
'And you boys?' The waitress stood with her pencil poised over her pad.
'For all of us,' Alissa told her.
The waitress sniffed and shook her head as she moved off; maybe they were playing some kind of road game to keep the kid entertained. Who cared? The girl seemed polite enough.
Alissa looked around the room with interest. All of the furnishings seemed to be at least thirty years old, some of the advertisements included. At least those advertisements that took the form of clocks or lights did. Two men at the end of the counter were looking at her. They smiled at her and waggled their fingers in a friendly way. She just looked at them until they turned away.
The waitress eventually returned with their food and placed a plate before each of the Terminators without comment, dropping the last one in front of Alissa, who picked up her fork.
'What do you say?' the woman asked, frowning and smiling at the same time.
Alissa and the Terminators looked at her mutely. The waitress glanced at the Terminators somewhat nervously. 'What's the magic word?' she prompted the Infiltrator.
'Thank you,' the waitress said carefully. She glanced again at the Terminators, then back at Alissa.
'You're welcome,' the I-950 said, equally carefully.
The waitress laughed. 'Enjoy,' she said, and moved off chuckling.
Alissa watched her go nervously. Insane humans were unpredictable and, she'd read, often unnaturally
