"Good night, then," she said, "Oh, um, since there's nothing left there to guard, I guess you and your crew can go home after the police are through with you."
"Great! Ah, yes, ma'am. I'll tell them. Thank you."
She broke the connection and leaned her head back against her chair. The 1-950
was conflicted. This development was essential if she was to convince Cyberdyne and the military to move the factories far from human habitation. The T-950 had always preferred the idea of having the Army Corps of Engineers construct the facility. It wasn't traditional, but it would be cost-effective and very secret. Maybe now…
Serena sighed, almost contentedly. Each crisis gave her a greater margin of control. The fact that she had warned Cyberdyne that this might happen would count in her favor.
Except possibly with Tricker. He'd probably wonder about her prescience, her uncanny ability to read the future. If he only knew, she thought with a smile. The
problem was that a professional paranoid like Tricker didn't believe in precognition, but did believe in people who made things happen.
The trick would be controlling this Luddite revolution. But if the sites are remote enough it shouldn't be a problem. And once the factories were operational she could direct them to build some advanced weaponry for self-protection. It would be good when the first HKs, those dear, old, reliable hunter/killers, rolled off the assembly line. Very good.
But for now she had this problem of her missing assistant and the equally, and more importantly, missing John Connor. Supernatural, she thought. They're positively supernatural.
Two made contact.
"Now what?" Serena muttered.
The T-950 clone has been harvested, Two announced. It has survived the implant process.
Excellent, she sent. Keep me appraised of its progress. How is the other surrogate doing?
Extremely well, Two sent. Shall I terminate it?
Not yet, Serena ordered. Have you terminated this one's vehicle yet?
Not yet.
Keep her for the first week, she ordered. The 1-950 organism will benefit from
the mother's milk. In seven days it should be weaned and you can dispose of the human then.
Understood.
Is there anything else? she asked.
Nothing.
Out, Serena sent.
Out, Two confirmed.
Serena sat thinking. It had been quite an evening; good, bad, and indifferent.
Still, for the most part her plans were moving along just as they should. If only she knew what had happened to John Connor.
FT. LAUREL BASE HOSPITAL: THE PRESENT
Jordan sat in the too small, too short, and too hard plastic chair in the hospital waiting room and stared at the mayonnaise-colored walls as he thought.
How did this happen? How did I allow myself to be talked into this? He was feeling more than a little stunned. This was him? He was here? Really? Jordan sighed. At least Tarissa and Danny will be happy.
Ferri returned and handed him a cup of coffee from the machine down the hall.
"I got a flush, you got bupkiss," the Major said handing over the card decorated cup.
"Gee, thanks," Jordan said with a grin.
They sat quietly drinking the lukewarm brew.
"You are so gonna get your ass fired," Ferri said after a few minutes.
"Yeah, I am," Dyson agreed with a sage nod. "Yup, you got it in one."
The Major looked at him out of the corner of his eye.
"You don't sound too upset," he observed.
"I think I'm too stunned to be upset right now," Jordan said. He waved a hand.
"This is the craziest thing I have ever done. I just can't believe I'm sitting here."
"So, what I'm wondering," Ferri said, "is where the hell you're going with this thing." He waved vaguely. "I mean, this kid should be turned over to the police.
Ya know?"
Jordan nodded and took another sip. Then he shrugged.
"Eventually, yeah. See, the thing is, I agree with Ms. Burns that Sarah Connor is headed our way. I think that having John boy on hand might"— he tipped his hand from side to side, wincing—"make her a little less violent."
"That sucks," Ferri observed.
"Yeah, it does," Jordan agreed. "I keep thinking of my nephew."
The doctor came toward them and both men stood.
"He's going to be fine," he said. "I've given him something for the pain and he'll sleep through until morning at the least and probably most of tomorrow."
"The concussion?" Jordan asked.
The doctor's eyes moved from the Major to Dyson.
"I wasn't sure you cared," he said.
Jordan gave him a disgusted look. "So?"
"You're right, the boy does have a concussion," the doctor conceded. "A very minor one. I don't anticipate any problems, but I've got the nurses checking in on him every hour."
"Good," Jordan said. "Uh, I'd also like to keep an eye on him, so would it be possible for me to… bunk in with him?"
The doctor held his clipboard in front of him like a shield. "Hospital beds are for hospital patients."
"You can set up some kind of a cot," the Major said pleasantly. "Or maybe a reclining chair or something. We have to cooperate with Mr. Dyson on this. It's for the boy's own good."
The doctor opened his mouth to protest, saw the steel behind Ferri's smile, and relented. "Very well," he said stiffly. "I'll have the nurses set something up for you. Good night, gentlemen."
"I don't think he likes you," Ferri observed quietly, watching the doctor walk away.
Jordan shrugged. "I'm not sure I like me very much right now either." He grimaced, then turned to his friend. "Thanks, Ralph. You've gone way above and beyond on this one. I owe you."
"I know," Ferri said with a grin. "And one dark night I just might collect on it."
He slapped Dyson on the shoulder. "But you've already made a partial payment by giving me a heads-up on this Sarah Connor thing. The doyenne of Cyberdyne security hasn't seen fit to let us grunts in on what's going on. If we're not on our toes for this it's my fault, not yours." He gave Jordan another pat on the back. "
'Night."
Jordan watched him walk away, then turned and headed for the nurses' station. I am so gonna get my ass fired, he thought.
NEW YORK CITY: THE PRESENT
Ron Labane studied the pictures on his computer screen in awe. They did it! he thought gleefully. They actually did it! Put a thumb in the eye of the military-industrial complex, kicked the legs right out from under the bastards. And they had the balls to film it as they did it! He didn't even need to be concerned that this would lead the police to him because they'd flooded the Net with these images.
Ron wasn't as happy about the forest fire they'd started and was prepared to be angry until he got a separate message to the effect that the area was already
scheduled for a controlled burn. Very impressive, very satisfying.
The only difficulty, he thought, will be in controlling them. It wouldn't be the first time that early success also led to early imprisonment. And I have plans for these people.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
LAUREL, CALIFORNIA: THE PRESENT