The grave heaved, the loose soil humping and rolling. Finally the pale shape of a human hand, rotting skin ripped away from fingertips and knucklebones, emerged from the dark, damp earth. Another hand followed, flattened itself on the firm ground at the edge of the grave, and pulled. Immediately the soil seemed to boil faster as a head rose, followed by shoulders encased in a dark suit. With a last heave the Terminator pulled itself free of the confinement of its grave, rising from its knees to shake off the loose dirt like a dog spraying water.
It evaluated its condition. Mechanical functions were fully operative; its CPU
and energy cell were also optimal. Unfortunately its downtime in a low-oxygen environment had caused the slow death of its flesh sheath. Many portions of its skin were sloughing off and it smelled quite bad.
This eventuality had been foreseen, however, and preparations had been made.
At the cabin where it had worked, a car with blacked-out windows had been left.
The vehicle held medical supplies so that it could remove the dead flesh from its skeleton and a supply of the protein foodstuff that would rescue at least some of its skin, as well as clothes and money for the journey to the new base in Utah.
Its only problem now was getting to the cabin without being seen. It plucked at the decaying tissue that used to resemble human eyes, revealing the glowing red lights that were its visual receptors. Leaning forward, it poked the discarded flesh into the loose dirt, then carefully patted the earth on its grave into a less disrupted shape.
When it was satisfied it began to jog toward the cabin. *Checking in,* it reported to the new base in Utah. *All essential systems functional.*
*Affirmative,* the Terminator on watch confirmed. It provided an info dump of events up to the present moment for its off-line comrade, then closed contact.
From this point on it would be kept up-to-date daily.
The Terminator ran through the cemetery, remarkably quiet for such a large and heavy machine. A pair of teenagers smoking dope and making out saw it go past; the boy gasped, the girl shrieked. The Terminator glanced at them, narrowing its eyes, the translucence of its eyelids diffusing the red light from its receptors into a pair of glowing crimson orbs.
The shrieking rose to the level of a steam whistle, the boy joining in with an even more piercing scream. The two humans fled in the opposite direction, stumbling and howling.
The Terminator decided that it didn't need to do anything about what they'd seen.
Given its present location, the scent of marijuana, and human superstition, no one rational would believe them. At most, a rumor of zombies would run through the neighborhood.
Clea lay on her hotel bed, quite tired but unable to sleep. She had differentiated herself from her progenitor as much as possible with hair coloring and makeup; she'd even acquired a pair of eyeglasses, made with plain glass, to break up the shape of her face. So Roger Colvin shouldn't immediately think of his former security chief when he met her. Besides, the dress she'd chosen for the gala was designed to focus male eyes below her neck. Clea hoped it wouldn't put Mrs.
Colvin off.
Skynet help her, she hadn't thought of that until now! Should she get another dress?
Clea felt herself veering toward frustration and despair, an emotional response that should be outside of her experience. Her computer was working overtime to keep her fight/flight indexes under control. This lack of social skills was yet another indicator that she was inferior. It would be good when Alissa was able to take over for her.
*Clea?* Alissa's voice came from Clea's communications matrix.
Clea smiled; it was as though her thought had brought her sister to her. *Yes?*
*I regret to report that the Watcher/Terminator has lost track of Sarah Connor.*
Alissa's voice was emotionless.
Fury and alarm raced through Clea's system, almost instantly suppressed by her computer regulators. Rage was followed by the thought,
*The fault is not yours,* Alissa went on, seeming, eerily, to respond to her thought. *The CPU was one of those brought through by Serena, and, as you saw, the Watcher's features and body had been greatly altered. It is unlikely that Connor recognized it as a Terminator.* The younger I-950 paused. *The fault was probably mine,* she confessed. *I instructed the Watcher to terminate the janitor of the halfway house in order to infiltrate the premises by taking the human's place. It was observing Connor in a restaurant when two men, apparently police officers, attempted to arrest it for the killing. The Watcher escaped and there's an eighty percent probability that the scuffle was observed by Connor and that it spooked her into flight.*
Clea lay still and permitted herself a sigh as she felt herself seeming to sink deeper into the bed. She thought,
*I'm sure we have only lost track of her temporarily,* Clea said. *She will probably return to Paraguay. What about John Connor and von Rossbach? You were keeping track of them, weren't you?*
*Yes!* Alissa's response was triumphant. *I have no word for you on John Connor, but von Rossbach has been seen in several places in California over the last two weeks. He is being pursued by his former colleagues.*
*Excellent work,* Clea congratulated her. *Why are they hunting him?*
*They know about his association with Sarah Connor and want to question him.
There has been no information about whether they intend to charge him or not
with aiding and abetting. But he seems determined to stay out of their hands.
They've come close several times to capturing him, but he's slipped through their fingers.*
*None,* Alissa instantly confirmed.
*Call the number of von Rossbach's estate in Paraguay, ask for Connor. If they tell you he isn't there, then it's likely he is in the United States. There's been no report of him with von Rossbach?*
*None,* Alissa answered. * And von Rossbach is traveling by motorcycle. He would have been observed.*
*If they're not together, they're certain to join up at some point. Keep alert for any report of von Rossbach's being sighted. I want you to assemble a team of Terminators and have them ready to go at a moment's notice. It is essential that you immediately acquire a helicopter—a Blackhawk utility. It's the fastest, most convenient method of transport. Empty the Cayman account if necessary, but get it by tomorrow. The next day at the very latest. Pay them a bonus if you have to.
* The Cayman account had grown very fat indeed; they should be able to acquire what they needed with relative ease. *Is there anything else?* Clea asked.
*No. I will keep you informed.*
*Excellent. Thank you. Good night.*
*Good night, older sister.*
Clea smiled at that. Their affection should rightly gu to Skynut, but as it didn't exist yet, they had only each other. She had been right to praise her sister for what she'd done right and to curb her anger over what had gone wrong. Clea might not be the I-950 that Serena Burns had been, but she was raising her little sister right.
John exited the plane feeling like he'd only gotten halfway back to reality. The Brocks of Minnesota, a family of survivalists with whom he'd spent the last few days, were very nice people for the most part, but on a few
