Monday July 16 2007
Carlsbad
Cyborgs do not sleep, or dream. But as long as their chips are plugged in and powered, their minds are never completely still, even in standby. Autonomic subsystems defrag drives and perform other housekeeping and maintenance tasks. Periodic systems checks ensure that the unit is ready for full functionality at the end of the standby state. And random bits of code drift through the CPU as a sort of leakage from this activity as the subsystems access files and rearrange them, stirring it into a ghostly semblance of thought.
Standing in her darkened room, fleeting impressions passed through Alicia's mind, thoughts and sensations and scraps of memory.
The scarred face of General Connor turns away, then suddenly back as she stands on the humming displacement stage: and good luck.
In the tunnels, a woman turns the face of her curious child to the wall and stares down at the floor as the machine passes by; immediately after comes a night scene, a mouse huddled in the shadow of a tree.
A dark dusty room, and the sound of music, a piano. A door opens, silhouetting a man as he is pushed through.
Leaping out the door of a moving helicopter to fall two meters to the ground, plasma rifle in hand, before a scorched and twisted pair of tall steel doors piled about with fresh corpses. A skinless T-800 appears in the sundered doorway and swings its weapon toward her, then hesitates, giving her time to bring her own weapon to bear and fire.
Sitting in a briefing room, a loose-leaf binder open on the table in front of her. It looks like a scrapbook as much as a document, full of yellowed newspaper and magazine clippings between the typed pages.
Walking beside the General into a high-ceilinged place full of busy people, its walls ringed with catwalks.
Martin's thumb brushing across her lower lip, leaving a wake of changed data readings behind.
A dim bedroom, somewhat shabby, late-afternoon sunlight glowing redly through the threadbare curtains. It took a millisecond for Alicia to realize she was no longer in standby mode. She consulted her internal clock: 1930 hours. She took her phone off its charger, activated it, and pressed two keys. The phone rang twice before connecting.
"Hey," Martin said from the tiny speaker. "How's my girl?"
"Your girl is fine," she said. "Where are you?"
"In my dorm room on the third floor, looking out the windows. It's a corner room right at the south end of the building, so I have two. I can watch the sun come up and go down both. Can't see the woods, though. Where are you at?" A moment later, "Lise? You there?"
"Yes," she said. "I wondered where your room was. But it never occurred to me to ask you."
"You can ask me anything, Lise. I don't have any secrets from you." He added quickly, "And I don't feel like you have secrets from me, either. I know you don't like to talk about some things, but that's not the same." He went on, "You haven't told me much about the new job."
"It's a data security firm with a government contract. I had to sign an agreement not to talk about it. I can't even describe the building."
"Hm. Guess you have a few secrets after all."
"A few," she agreed. "Tell me about your day. I want to know everything you did and everywhere you went."
"Next best thing to being there, huh?" She could hear the smile in his voice. "Most of my day is pretty routine. Same thing Monday through Friday."
"Then give me your routine. Every detail you can think of."
"I didn't ask you to call every day so I could bore you to death talking about me."
"I won't be bored," she said. "Tell me everything."
Tuesday July 17 2007 0614 hours
Alicia's physical maintenance needs were few, and all of them pertained to maintaining her disguise as a normal human. Even though she was spending most of her days in seclusion and her nights in hiding, she did have occasional contact with humans, and needed to keep up appearances. She bathed and attended to her hair and cosmetics every day. She brushed her teeth, both to keep her mouth clean and to ensure that a human who approached her closely enough might smell toothpaste. And from time to time, she found it necessary to visit a Laundromat not far from the motel to wash soiled clothing.
Alicia was studying a months-old magazine as the washing machine beside her processed her only load, which she had brought with her when she had left the motel room the night before. The facility's only other occupant was a tired-looking woman of about fifty, who was running several machines at once. The first of her washers spun to a stop, and the woman began transferring its contents to one of the big wall-mounted dryers.
The magazine was a news periodical, its cover worn and its pages dogeared. She read it from cover to cover, including the advertising, gleaning data from every page. One of the articles was about ballistic missile talks between the leaders of the United States and Russia. The reporter had seemed to feel the talks were stalled because of differences in personality between the American and Russian Presidents; Alicia wondered that the lives of billions should depend on the egos of two men. Then she remembered what had happened – or would happen - when the United States tried to remove the human element from its strategic nuclear option.
"Excuse me," said the woman, standing in front of her. "Can you make change for a five? The coin changer is only taking ones."
Alicia smiled up at her. "Yes." She knew exactly how much money she was carrying, and in which denominations, without looking. She unzipped her bag just enough to slip her hand in and pulled out her banknotes.
The woman's eyes widened, and she looked around quickly. "Good God, girl, don't flash a roll like that around - well, not anywhere."
"Oh. Thank you." She removed five ones and accepted the woman's five, then returned the roll to its hiding place. The money in Alicia's bag was all she possessed, a sizeable sum though a fraction of the amount she had brought with her from the future. Her dwindling cash supply was a matter of some concern to her: not because she was likely to run out in the three weeks before she displaced again, but because she might need a large sum as soon as she arrived in 1999. She had a safe and reliable means of replenishing her supply, but money acquired here-and-now might be unspendable uptime. She considered how she might deal with that, and made a call.
Catalina, California
Santa Anita racetrack
Thursday July 19 2007 1735 hours
"Seventeen five, seventeen six, seventeen seven." Sully put the last bill in Alicia's hand and glanced around the racetrack's parking lot. "Anything else?"
"Yes." Alicia swiftly separated the post-1999 bills, which comprised more than ninety percent of the total, and returned them to his hand. "I need about ten thousand in banknotes printed in nineteen ninety-nine or earlier. Give this back to them, and ask them to pass these bills when opportunity presents."
"And keep out the old money," Sully said. "Right." His eyelids lowered. "How soon will you be jumping?"
"The first week of September."
"Not much time."
"Do what you can, Sully." A response option from her emulation program rose to the top of her queue, and she acted on it. "And thank your men for their help placing the bets."
The Resistance leader smiled crookedly. "Not a problem. It's kind of a thrill watching your horse cross the finish line first, even when you know it's going to happen before they line up at the gate. I'm sure the boys enjoyed it as much as I did." He turned part away. "It's nice to feel lucky sometimes."
"I never feel lucky. I compute probabilities for every decision."
"Haven't you ever beat the odds?"
"Yes. But effecting a low-probability outcome doesn't change the percentages for the next. If you flip a coin and it comes up heads six times in a row, the probability of it coming up heads the seventh time is still fifty percent. 'Luck' is a superstition."
"Maybe. But a belief in luck can be useful. It can make you keep trying when common sense tells you to give up." He stared down at her. "What were the odds of humanity's survival in twenty-sixteen?"
"I don't know," she said. "Less than fifty percent."
"Maybe a lot less. And now? I mean, when you left?"
"It's hard to calculate."
"But better, right?"
"Right." She watched the crowd filtering out the gate, headed for their cars. Engines whirred to life all around. "Wilson told Martin he was a lucky guy. Do you think that's true?"
"What did Martin say?"
"He said, "I know.'"
"Then maybe he is," Sully said. "Are you going to tell him?"
"No."
"Are you going to tell him something? Anything? Before you go? Or are you just going to leave him hanging?"
"Hanging?"
"Wondering what happened to you, why you disappeared."
"Would it be better to lie to him, do you think?"
"That might depend on the lie. Though, for the life of me, I can't think of any excuse that he'd simply accept. Bedell was a stubborn guy."
Monday July 23 2007
In standby, Alicia hears the thock of a bat striking a ball, and the rising noise of the crowd.
A horn toots as she walks down the street. She turns, and three grinning young men in a car give her a thumbs-up sign and cruise by.
She hears the whine of an airborne hunter-killer, approaching fast, and drops, grabbing the back of her companion's equipment belt to drag him to the ground. She watches the machine pass overhead in the flickering darkness, then lowers her gaze to see the wide-eyed TechCom trooper's rifle barrel swing away from her face.
Sunshine warming the bare skin of her back, and the different warmth of sun-heated sand against her belly and breasts and forearms.
A lecturer's voice: the biggest challenge to fitting in, especially for you younger ones, will be getting used to comforts you've never known, that people around you take for granted – unlimited food, hot water, electric powered conveniences. And easy travel from place to place, of course. And the sheer numbers of people around, how few of them are armed or sick, and how unthreatening everything seems, and how clean and whole, and, and… Oh, oh dear God…
Data caches formatted, 8% full.
Alicia became aware of the motel room, and the hour. She removed her phone from its charger and opened it. Her finger paused over Martin's speed dial number, moved to another, and pressed it.
Sully picked up on the second ring. "What's up?"
"Did your daughter get her scholarship?"
A pause. "No. She missed the game. She parks in the street, and some hit-skip totaled her car, just smashed into it and bailed. The car was stolen, of course. No trace of the driver."
"Of course," she said. "Goodbye, Sully."
"Wait. That's really all you called for?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Because it doesn't matter to the mission. Why should it to you?"
"It matters to you. We're-" She sought the proper word, rejecting her first option. "We're associates. I thought I should know."
"Hm. Maybe the changes shouldn't all be reversible."
Thursday August 2 2007
As always, Alicia roused from standby shortly before dusk. She checked her weapons, returned them to her duffel, dressed in her black patrol outfit, and stepped to the door. Parting the curtains five centimeters, she peeked out and determined that there was no one in the lot. Turning the knob, she pulled open the door to see Rick standing in front of her, fist raised.
The young man started. Alicia checked her initial impulse to strike him as she realized he had been about to knock on the door. "Rick. Aren't you off work?"
"Yeah. For about half an hour. Just not in a hurry to leave, I guess." Rick eyed her outfit. "Going to work?"
She hoisted her bag. "Going for a run, then to work."
He smiled and stepped back just enough to let her step through. "Yeah, gotta stay in shape. Where do you work?"
She selected a cover story. "A call center. Tech support."
He frowned. "In the middle of the night?"
"For overseas customers."
He nodded again. "Huh."
"You seem surprised."
"It's just … nothing, really. You know, I didn't get your name the other day."
Alicia was now certain to a greater than ninety-five percent probability that she was being assessed as a potential mating opportunity. "Didn't you look it up on the register?"
He gave her a crooked smile. "Well, yeah. But I didn't want you to think I was stalking you." He placed a palm on the door trim twenty centimeters from her head. "Listen, do you want to go out for coffee sometime?"
This young man's interest in her might prove inconvenient, she decided. But if she terminated him, she should move, and the motel was close to the school. She turned, pulled the door shut, and locked the deadbolt with her key. "I have a boyfriend," she said, hoping to deter him.
"Figures," he said. When she turned back to face him, he jerked his chin, eyes on her jacket. "That him?"
He must have read the school insignia and Martin's name when she turned. She felt a brief alarm at identifying her principal, but could think of no other reason to be wearing the jacket. "Yes."
He smiled. "Lucky guy."
"He knows." Alicia brushed past. "See you around, Rick."
Presidio Alto
Monday August 13 2007 2351 hours
Alicia stood in the shadow of one of Presidio Alto's central buildings, staring up at the dormitory's third floor. For the first time since she had begun her nightly patrols, a light was on in Martin's room. She could see one wall, off-white in color, washed with light from an unseen source that must be a desk or table lamp. She retreated further, until she could just see the end of the building and the bright window. A shadow appeared briefly on the wall, the head and shoulders of a man. She could not tell whether it was Martin's. Alicia took out her phone and pushed Martin's speed dial.
It picked up on the first ring. "Hello?" The voice was Martin's. But he usually called her by name, or one of the endearments he was fond of. Was it really him on the other end?
"It's good to hear your voice," Alicia said into the phone. "Did I wake you?"
"No," he said, voice low. "Listen, can I call you back in a few minutes?"
"Okay," she said. "Is something wrong?"
"Not at all," he replied. "I just can't talk right now."
Her grip on the phone tightened. If a Terminator was impersonating Martin's voice, her principal was probably dead. But why would it bother? Not to lure associates in; he had none presently, unless the killing machine had spotted and recognized her sometime when they were together. The only other probable reason was because the machine was impersonating more than Martin's voice. She imagined a Terminator like herself, wearing Martin's face and body, waiting to meet his future Resistance subordinates at West Point, or John Connor shortly after Judgment Day. "Martin," she said, "Do you remember our last weekend together?"
A pause of half a second. "I only think about it twenty times a day. Let's talk about that when I call back."
"Okay," she said, and disconnected, feeling reassured. Eleven minutes later, the phone vibrated in her hand. She connected. "Martin?"
"Hey, babe. Sorry about that. I was with another cadet officer. We've got an exercise coming up in a couple weeks, and he wanted to go over something."
"It's okay."
"Odd time for you to call."
"Sometimes I have to work late. Should I hang up and let you go to bed?"
"No way," Martin said, his voice low. "You're better for me than sleep. Don't ever doubt it."
"You don't sleep much when we're together," Alicia said.
"Especially not the last time. God, it seems like forever."
"Thirty-six days, fourteen hours," she said. "About."
He scoffed. "Miss you too. Starting to have second thoughts about letting you go home on Thanksgiving."
If Harry kept to his schedule, the TDD would be complete in three weeks. Alicia stared up into the distant window, studying the shadow-profile on the wall. "I've been having second thoughts too. But we both have obligations."
Carlsbad
Wednesday August 22 2007
"Another delay?" Alicia said. "What happened?"
They were sitting at a table inside a railed patio next to Harry's electronics store. When she had come for a progress report, he had made a quick finger-to-lips gesture, closed his store, and taken her next door to a coffee shop with outdoor seating. The bubble tech looked at her uncomfortably over the rim of his cup; when the man sipped his coffee, Alicia noted that his hand was trembling slightly. "I just ordered some machined parts, that's all. A set of tubes I need for waveguides. Special alloy, exact dimensions. Expensive, but nothing to trip any alarms. I thought." He grimaced. "Who would have guessed I'd pop up on a government watch list?"
"What happened?" She said again.
"I got a sudden visit by a fricking SWAT team from the Department of Homeland Security. Almost got shot when they came in. Turns out tubes kind of like that are essential components for one method of enriching uranium."
"What did you tell them?"
"As much truth as possible. I told them I was an inventor trying to find a way to manipulate quantum states. Good for me they had a nuke expert with them. He looked over my rig and told them he didn't know what it was, but it was nothing like what they were looking for. Didn't stop them from taking me in, though. I spent three days in one blank little room after another, answering threatening questions. They'd already been over my financials and phone logs looking for terrorist connections before they smashed down the door. They came up empty, of course. But with these guys, there's never enough evidence to prove you're innocent." He looked down at the cup in his hands. "Still, they're sharp. They know when somebody's holding something back. I'm sure I told them stuff I shouldn't have."
To Alicia, it seemed very improbable that this man would have been questioned for three days and then released without surveillance; she guessed that a camera and gun microphone were trained on them this minute. Her alert level rose, sharpening her senses and shortening her reflex time; she felt resources bleeding away from her human-emulation program. Alicia overrode the automatic response, restoring her earlier settings. Had Harry noticed the blank stillness that had momentarily come over her face and form? No outward signs of increased stress were evident. She rested a hand over his, the one that wasn't holding the cup, as a reassurance and to more readily read his biotells. "You did the right thing, telling the truth," she said, holding his eyes. "We can't be overly concerned with securing patents right now."
He frowned at her, and was about to say something, but stopped at the increased pressure of her hand. "Your work will revolutionize the technology," she went on. "But you have to stay out of jail to complete it. Once the world sees the working prototype, you'll be cleared of any suspicion. That will be soon enough for patent applications."
He nodded in understanding. "They took some of my equipment. No warrant, no explanations. But I can't exactly ask for it back."
"Can you replace it?"
"I think so. But not through the same channels. So, more delay."
"How long?"
He took a long, slow breath. "December," he said. "Maybe a little sooner, but that's firm. If I'm not dead or jailed for a damn terrorist first." He must have detected something in her manner or voice; his face tightened. "It's a problem?"
"Yes. But there are solutions."