*It turned out to be a really strange site,* Watcher went on. *And as for these idiots, I just can't help myself. I've gotta poke 'em.*
*People who take themselves very seriously can also be very dangerous,* John warned. *So how's the weather on the East Coast?* he asked, deciding to throw her a curve.
There was a long wait for Watcher's next post. Hope I haven't scared her off.
*Probably not as warm as it is waaaay down south,* Watcher finally replied.
John caught his breath. Sure hope she doesn't scare me off. *Okay,* he wrote,
*this demonstrates why it's a bad idea to tease the crazies. One of them might be computer literate.*
*It may be cocky,* Watcher replied, *but I like to think of myself as being a little more than merely "literate."*
*Actually I think you are, too. The dangerous part is in assuming that because you're smart no one else is. It's always unwise to underestimate people. Leads to nasty surprises.*
Listen to me, he thought, I received this advice from masters and I've found it to be true.
Once again there was a long pause. *Are you warning me against yourself?
Whatever. What I really want to know is, what do you want?*
His brief review of Dorset's school records had made her sound like a straight arrow. What he'd observed of her interactions with the Luddites told him she had nerve and could think on her feet. The way she'd hidden her tracks told him she was damn smart. The way she'd found him told him she might be dangerous if
she wasn't handled right.
*I'm head of a kind of watchers' group, no pun intended,* he explained. Or I would be if I hadn't just thought it up this minute. You'll be my first recruit! He hoped. *We keep our eyes on military/industrial projects, just in case they get it into their heads to do something hinky. We're always on the lookout for new talent. Want to join?*
*Okay, here's my problem,* she answered. *Think of where I met you. Now, how do I know you're not a Luddite extremist yourself?*
*Tough one,* he agreed. *Ideally I would meet you face-to-face.* Which I would loooove to do, he thought. *And that would give us an opportunity to get a feel for each other. But that's obviously not going to happen. I could call you,*
he suggested.
*All right,* she replied, and typed a number. *Four o'clock tomorrow afternoon.
Eastern Standard Time.*
*Why not now?* he asked.
*It's not my number,* she wrote.
Then she was gone. Wow, John thought, grinning wryly, I'd better practice my adult voice.
PESCADERD STATE HOSPITAL,
CALIFORNIA, NOVEMBER
Sarah didn't dislike Dr. Ray; she just didn't respect him. She did think that he
might be useful, however, if she handled herself right. In a way, being back in one of the beige-dingy interview rooms of a mental hospital was almost homelike; she'd spent a lot of time at the last one.
This time she didn't have cigarettes to occupy her hands during the medical pseudointerrogations, though. Times had changed, a hospital would never get away with letting a patient smoke, and besides— she'd quit. She wished the longing for them would quit, too. Sarah looked out at the gray rain, a California winter day that gave the lie to several songs, and then back at her "counselor."
Ray was clearly ambitious. The tone he took with staff and students indicated that he fancied himself as an up-and-coming "great man." He was one of those energetic, intense men with a thin ascetic face and a long, wiry body.
When he was having a session with Sarah she felt as though he were trying to pull sanity out of its hiding place in her skull by sheer will. He was almost scary.
And maybe it was the knowledge that John was in safe hands with Dieter, or maybe it was the six-year vacation from fighting Skynet, but she was infinitely more sane at this moment than she had been the last time she found herself in an institution.
Which should make it that much easier to convince Ray that she was curable and not dangerous. If she handled herself right then she would find herself in minimum security by the time she was fully healed. And minimum security was one short step from freedom.
Ray's dark eyes bored into hers as he waited for her to speak. That was how he always started a session, by allowing the patient to make the first move. There
certainly weren't any distractions in the slightly rundown, institutional-bland, disinfectant-smelling room.
"I've been sleeping very well," Sarah said, injecting a tentative note into her voice. She lowered her eyes shyly. "Even without the painkillers."
"You could still have those if you thought you needed them," Ray said.
Sarah shook her head wordlessly.
"Do you dislike drugs, Sarah?"
She waited a moment, then nodded thoughtfully. "Yes," she said. "I think I do.
I'm grateful they were there when the pain was bad. But when I don't need them I don't like to take them."
Ray nodded encouragingly. "When you were at Pescadero before, you were given a lot of drugs, weren't you?"
"Oh, yes," Sarah agreed wryly. "A lot of drugs. Dr. Silberman did believe in better living through chemistry." She looked thoughtful. "That's probably why I dislike them."
She'd have to be careful or she'd forget who was leading who here. But Ray was nodding, a little smile tugged at his thin lips. So, Silberman and his treatment of her were something of a sore spot. Or maybe a challenge.
"And how do you feel about Cyberdyne now?" the doctor asked.
Sarah took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling; she bit her lip, then finally met the doctor's eyes. "I… don't seem to have any feelings at all about Cyberdyne," she admitted. With a shrug she went on, "Right now I can't believe that I actually had anything to do with the explosion. It doesn't feel like I did that. It's as though this is about someone else entirely instead of about me." She waited a moment, looking into Ray's eyes. "Does that make any sense?"
"You're doing fine," he assured her, briefly smiling. "So you're telling me that you feel completely removed from the act of destroying Cyberdyne?"
"Yes," she said simply. Then sighed. "But I know it was me. I know that I did it.
It just doesn't make any sense to me now."
"And if Cyberdyne hadn't been destroyed? If you'd failed?"
Sarah frowned, then shook her head. "I can't answer that. If I'd failed… I might well still want to destroy the company. But then again, maybe I would have been satisfied with just the attempt." She looked up at him. "Why do I want to do this sort of thing, Doctor? What's wrong with me? Does it have a name? Can it be cured?" She allowed tears that weren't entirely fake to fill her eyes. "What's going to happen to me?"
Ray looked solemn and held his silence for a minute.
"I think we can help you, Sarah. If you're willing to be helped. Since a great deal really does depend on you and your willingness to be cured, I can't answer for the long term. But in the short term you'll go on trial. I've good reason to hope that you'll be held here after your evaluation and that eventually the state will commit you to my care." He held up his hands, then dropped them to his lap.
"How long you remain here is up to you."
She smiled at that, she couldn't help it. It might take time, but she was going to go free. She might not even have to escape.
Dr. Ray sat across from Jordan Dyson, a coffee table liberally speckled with old cup rings between them, and waited for the former FBI agent to speak.
Jordan finally sighed. He recognized the technique; put someone in a non-stimulating environment, which Pescadero State certainly was, and wait. Most people couldn't take the silence, and started talking. There was no point in disappointing the good doctor's expectations.