and slender, with muddy hazel eyes and a narrow face; his silvering blond hair was beginning to recede and there was an element of grayness about him somehow. But his voice was pleasant, as was his manner, both conveying trustworthiness.
Which was actually quite different from Tricker, who seemed to go out of his way to be abrasive. And yet this man reminded her of no one so much as of Serena's old nemesis.
There was the essential resemblance; like Tricker, this man was competently ruthless.
Clea swallowed. 'Where am I?' she asked.
He didn't answer, but sat looking at her.
'And who are you?' She pulled herself up until she was sitting straight.
'Aren't you going to ask why you're here?' he prompted.
'Well, I assume you're going to tell me,' she snapped. 'Or are we just going to sit and stare at each other until we starve to death? But I've got to tell you, mister, if you're looking for a ransom you've got the wrong girl! My only relative is dead and all I've got in the world is a few thousand dollars in the bank. So what's going on here?'
'That's not entirely true, Ms. Bennet, now is it?' the gray man said. 'You have the house and land in Montana, don't you?'
The I-950's eyes widened quite involuntarily as her mind flashed to that empty grave in the modest country cemetery. Should she have replaced the Terminator with a human corpse? Surely they wouldn't check her background
'Oh yes,' the man continued complacently, 'we know everything there is to know about you. Certainly everything that is a matter of public record.' He gave her a tight little smile. 'And we've come to the conclusion that only we can offer you the resources to allow your inventiveness full scope.'
'Who are you?' she almost shouted. All the time thinking,
'My name is Pool,' he said.
'Just Pool?' Clea demanded sarcastically, remembering Tricker's insistence on being called a simple, unadorned 'Tricker.'
'Yes,' he agreed with a slightly deprecatory smile. 'Just Pool.'
Clea drew in a deep breath. 'And who is
The smile broadened. '
Setting her jaw, Clea tilted her head at a defiant angle. Actually she was delighted; the government had to have taken over the Skynet project when
Cyberdyne's second facility was destroyed… by the Connors, again. But a human would object to this sort of treatment…
'And if I don't
Pool shrugged. 'Then we would have to tell Vladimir Hill that the wonderful new material you've been letting him play with as though it was clay is one of the most carcinogenic materials ever devised.' He paused as if to gauge her reaction.
Clea gave him one. 'Nonsense!' she snapped, sitting forward. Then she looked queasy and leaned back again. 'What are you talking about?'
'He'll probably be dead by next year,' Pool said. 'But that would allow him plenty of time to sue you. And, of course, there would probably be charges of criminal negligence. You'd probably do jail time.' His eyes cooled. 'In fact, you can count on that. And afterward, well, Cyberdyne wouldn't touch you or Intellimetal with a ten-foot pole, and neither would anyone else.' He spread his hands. 'Which would leave you with us. But not before we both lost a lot of time and effort and money. So why not just cooperate and we'll all be happy?'
Clea allowed herself to look shaken; her computer dropped her circulation slightly so that her face would go pale.
'Does Vladimir have… cancer?' Her eyes widened. 'Do I?' she asked, her voice quavering.
'We don't know, actually, your tests aren't back. But the odds are good. As for Hill, in good conscience, of course, we can't let him remain at risk. We'll warn
him quite soon, and if it's caught early enough there's always a chance that he might survive. You, too, of course. But we think you'd be better off if you suddenly became unavailable. Don't you?'
She nodded, looking shell-shocked, or so the mirror told her.
He smiled, an avuncular smile this time; Pool seemed to have quite a repertoire.
'Very wise,' he murmured. 'You won't regret it, I'm sure. Our terms won't be quite as generous as Cyberdyne's, but our facilities are the best and our research budget is virtually unlimited.' He stood, smiling down at her. 'Why don't you lie back down and get some rest,' he advised. 'That drug can pack quite a punch.
Later on someone will come and take you to your room, where you can have something to eat and relax. Then tomorrow we'll outfit you for your new job and by evening you'll be on your way.'
'On my way where?' she asked, trying to sound crushed. Instead, her computer component was suppressing glee; this was turning out
His lips jerked into a mirthless smile, and he turned to the door. 'I'd rather not say,' he told her. Then he walked out the door.
She heard the click of a lock and then his receding footsteps. Clea covered her mouth as though feeling sick and leaned over, hanging her head. Then she lay down and, turning her back to the mirror, began to sob quietly for the benefit of whoever still lurked in the room behind the mirror.
It was too late now to do anything about her missing 'uncle,' she decided.
Agents might still be loitering around asking questions, making it very risky to fill the empty hole.
It was very hard, she reflected, to know when to stop refining a plan.
ALTERNATE USES FOR INTELLIMETAL
· Bullets: Intellimetal, once fired, will expand with the heat of the explosion, mushrooming into the most effective shape possible. On striking the target, it will break apart into smaller pieces, each piece seeking the primary electrical source in the body: the brain. Once there, each individual piece of Intellimetal will respond to the brain's electrical patterns by oscillating at a very fast rate as it seeks to rebond with other pieces of Intellimetal. This will effectively liquefy the brain.
· Mineworms: These antipersonnel devices will be planted like seeds in rows, while the 'farmer' is protected by special gloves and boots, possibly special coveralls as well. When stepped on, the rods of Intellimetal will activate and burrow upward through boot, flesh, and bone, again in search of the body's primary electrical source. As an additional advantage, when anyone subsequently touches the body the activated mineworms will try to
burrow into this subject as well.
Craig Kipfer sat back, his lips pursed as though to whistle but emitting no sound.
There was some additional stuff in the girl's notes about possible security uses for her invention, but it was her ideas for weapons that both fascinated and chilled him.
He'd been around long enough to know that women could outdo men in viciousness; even so, he found it hard to associate these ideas with that young woman's lovely face. It proved once again the truth of an adage he'd been
