"Okey-dokey." He cracked his knuckles and poised his hands, wiggling the fingers like a 19th-century concert pianist. "Now, let's get radical."
Dieter smiled wryly and began. Now, the first thing is to get into the Sector computers, he thought. That would be easy enough—you never really retired.
Behind him he heard a combination of swift tapping and a low murmur, John accessing the Web by a combination of voice command and keystrokes; the thought of how much concentration that must take made the Austrian's head hurt in sympathy. Sarah was proceeding methodically, referring to a checklist beside her terminal.
"Hey, am I the world-savior hero or what," John said. "Ok… yeah, dump-save it… whoa! Defensive worm program! Don't worry, I dodged it… yeah, we're positive here."
Dieter blinked at the split-screen image that came up. "Advanced Technology Systems Inc., Sacramento, California?" he said.
"Yeah, that's definitely their off-site storage," John said. "Look at the record—
daily mega-dumps. Looks like a complete discrete backup twice a day, twelve and twelve."
He frowned. "The only thing that bothers me is the company name."
"Why?" his mother said, not taking her eyes from her own screen.
"I mean, Advanced Technologies, in Sacramento?"
"Coastal chauvinist," she said.
CHAPTER TWENTY
CYBERDYNE SYSTEMS: THE PRESENT
Serena shifted minutely in her chair, slightly uncomfortable from the laparoscopic surgery her third Terminator had performed last night. Her second had found another host for a fertilized egg and so she'd had one removed and had shipped it off this morning.
This new host would not be given drugs to speed the growth of her fetus. And the clone itself would be allowed to grow more normally. For the sake of the mission, Serena wanted the first to be a well-grown child within six weeks' time.
But since none of the T-950s had been pushed this hard, there was no way of telling what the ultimate product would be like. For now she had to be content with her second's assurance that the fetus appeared to be developing normally.
The 1-950 was delighted to finally have that project on-line, even if it had left her a bit sore this morning. She focused her attention on Cyberdyne's CEO.
Roger Colvin sighed and dropped the report she'd given him onto the desk. He closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose for a moment, then sighed again.
"Why don't you summarize for me, Ms. Burns," he suggested.
"Certainly," she said crisply. "There are some important contradictions here.
When the plane was going down, the pilot, presumed to be Mary Warren, was screaming 'the engines, the engines,' but subsequent examination of the aircraft has shown no sign of engine trouble. In fact there appear to have been no mechanical problems at all. As far as the investigators could determine, the plane was in perfect operating condition."
Colvin tapped his fingers on the desk. "So," he asked, "what do you think that means."
"It means"—Serena held up one finger—"pilot error"—she held up a second
—"murder-suicide"—she held up a third—"or assassination."
The CEO turned away with a pained expression. "Mary had no reason to commit suicide; she loved her life. And those were her best friends," Colvin went on.
"And Mary was a good pilot."
"That would seem to leave assassination," Serena said calmly.
"No, it doesn't!" Colvin snapped. "It could have been wind shear or some other weird localized phenomenon."
There's been an inquiry regarding the Sacramento facility, her third Terminator sent. It hooked her into the ongoing inquiry, and as she followed the unauthorized investigation she also followed the Terminator's trace on the line.
Meanwhile she kept her features trained to the mask of an interested listener for
Colvin's benefit.
"I just don't see Tricker doing something like that," Colvin said. He held out his hand in a reasoning gesture. "I mean, it makes no sense."
"It makes no sense to the average, reasonable human being," Serena said. "But I'm not altogether certain that Tricker belongs in that category."
Cayman Islands, the Terminator said. Account of Jackson Skye, investment counselor. Such people launder money for individuals and corporations.
Serena ordered it to trace Skye's name, to see if he had previously had contact with Connor or von Rossbach. Her tap on the estancia's phone had indicated that von Rossbach had disappeared at the same time as the Connors.
The phone calls had definitely become more interesting since he'd left home—
that Marieta was quite a gossip.
Jackson Skye has been investigated by the Sector; he is currently in their pay as an informer, the Terminator reported.
Serena nodded soothingly at Colvin. Check the Sector's database; see if von Rossbach is the agent that brought him in.
There was a brief pause. Affirmative, the Terminator reported.
See if the Sector has bugged his office. If so, tap in and patch it to me.
Serena shifted in her chair again. "Please don't think that I want Mary Warren to have been murdered," she insisted. "I just… have always found it so strange that
an experienced pilot on a frequently traveled flight path should go down in what were supposed to be ideal weather conditions. And now that the investigation of the wreckage has found no sign of mechanical failure, despite all that yelling about the engines…" She waved her hands helplessly. "Well, I just think we'd better be more cautious than ever. That's all."
Colvin smiled ruefully.
"Well, that is your job," he said.
"Here," he continued. "Before I let you go I should show you this." He separated a sheet of paper from those in his out basket and handed it across the desk. "It's from Ronald Labane. Have you heard of him?"
Serena took the paper and began to read. "No," she said absently. She looked up.
"Should I have?"
Colvin shrugged. "He's kind of a New Agey, environmentalist type. His book is still on the bestseller lists after I don't know how many months. Go ahead," he said with a sweep of his hand, "read his letter."
"This came in the mail?" Serena asked.
"E-mail," Colvin said. "I got it this morning."
The letter was brief, and to the point. Labane told them that he'd heard about their totally automated factory concept and listed his objections to it. He pointed out that it would, if successful, put huge numbers of people out of work. He pointed out that such people would be very angry and warned that he would do
his utmost to organize them. It ended with a plea to Cyberdyne to reconsider their actions.
Serena looked up, her face grim. I don't need this right now, she thought.
"How, I wonder, did he hear of this," she said evenly, "when this is the first I've heard of it?"
Colvin cleared his throat and looked away. "We didn't tell you this, but the military absolutely loved the idea. We've been moving ahead on it and we've just broken ground for a munitions factory in Texas."
"So the leak could be anybody." She handed the paper back, her face stern. "In a way, I'm relieved. With so many other people in the loop, it need not represent a leak at the highest levels of Cyberdyne." In other words, this didn't happen on my watch. Of course, everything to do with Cyberdyne was on her watch, technically.