That's one of the things I actually like about humans— their willingness to explain away anything strange. From what she'd observed, on her own and through Serena's memories, they'd perform some unbelievably convoluted feats of logic to return to their everyday frame of reference. At times she found it incredible that these people had conceived and built Skynet.
The I-950 set her battered briefcase on the conference-room table and extracted a portable computer, smiling nervously at the two men as she set it up. The new corporate HQ was nothing like Serena's memories of the underground center the Connors had destroyed; it was pure minimalist functionality, the sort of
"nothing" that cost a great deal of money, and left you wondering if anything as vulgar as paper ever crossed anyone's desk. Some of the people in the cubicles outside weren't even using thin-screen monitors; they were peering into the telltale blackness of vision goggles, miniature lasers painting text and diagrams directly on their retinas.
"Would you like some coffee?" the president of Cyberdyne offered. Paul Warren hefted a carafe with his own hands, considerable condescension from an executive at his level.
She shook her head and gave him a shy smile. He smiled back warmly and she knew she'd taken the right tack with him. Serena had considered initiating a romantic affair with him, but she'd miscalculated his affection for his wife. This was one instance in which Serena's mistake really didn't matter, though. The woman had had to die, even if it did turn out to be a setback in other areas.
By now, though, he must be lonely and his distress over his wife's death should be fading. Perhaps she should co-opt Serena's plan for herself. Although the very thought of intimate relations with a human revolted her.
"Welcome to Cyberdyne," Roger Colvin said. "I think, based on what I saw at the unveiling the other night, that we've got a lot to offer each other."
Clea squirmed as though pleased and allowed her face to flush as though she was
embarrassed. Don't overdo it, she warned herself. "Thank you," she said aloud, allowing just a touch of Montana into her voice.
"I was just wondering," Warren said, "what have you named your product and have you got a copyright on it."
"I, uh, sent in the paperwork, but I hadn't heard back before I left home." She shrugged. "It may be that it hasn't caught up with me yet."
"We'll check on that for you," Colvin said. "What name have you registered it under?"
"Intellimetal," Clea said. She smiled ruefully. "That's more for what it will be one day than for what it can do now. What Mr. Hill was working with was my earliest successful prototype."
"Really," Colvin said, his voice dripping with interest.
"Uh-huh," she said, smiling. "But"—she twisted her fingers together—"I'd rather not go into detail until we've come to some sort of agreement." Clea shrugged prettily. "My uncle was a stickler for getting things in writing. Never agree to anything until you see it written down, he'd say. It always looks different then."
Warren and Colvin exchanged a glance that said, "This little lady might be inexperienced, but she's nobody's fool."
They set to work, and work it was. Clea knew exactly what she wanted, how much she wanted, and what terms she'd accept. As far as she was concerned, almost nothing was negotiable, however hard the two humans tried. Two hours
later Clea typed in the last word of her "rough notes," as she called them, on her portable and handed the CEO a disk.
"There ya go," she said cheerfully. "Now I'll need to see this all written up formally before I can even begin to decide for sure what I want to do."
"Thank you," Colvin said palely.
"You're welcome." She met his eyes and leaned forward confidentially. "I would like to leave you contemplating this one little idea I had. Now, I haven't done any real special work on it, but I've been thinking about it real hard." Watch the Montana effect, she warned herself. She was in serious danger of enjoying her role too much.
"We'd love to hear about it," Warren said, leaning forward himself.
"Well. You know the F-101, that flying-wing stealth plane?"
The two men nodded.
"The only reason something like that can keep from crashing is because it has an onboard computer that makes thousands of adjustments a minute." Her listeners nodded again. "So I was thinking, what we need is a machine that can do that and know it's doing it. You know what I mean?"
Colvin and Warren exchanged nervous glances.
"A machine like that could control thousands of planes, thousands of miles apart.
And not just planes, either, but tanks and gun emplacements and even battle
robots." Clea sat back, having noticed long since the subtly appalled expressions on their faces. "Not detailed control—it would be a distributed system—but a strategic artificial intelligence… Is something wrong?"
"No, no. It sounds fascinating," Warren reassured her. "But… well, perhaps at some future date we could look into something like that. But right now you've put so much into developing Intellimetal that we'd like to help you with that project."
She was silent for a moment, her glance roving from one to the other. "Really?"
Clea tapped her fingertips on the arms of her chair. "Because I've always thought of Cyberdyne as one of the foremost robotics specialists in the field. I had the impression that artificial intelligence was sort of your bailiwick."
"You have to understand, Ms. Bennet"—Colvin spread his hands helplessly
—"that in some instances our hands are tied."
Her eyes widened. "Oh!" she said, looking from one to the other. "I see." Then she shrugged, and allowed another blush. "And here I thought I was being original."
"I'm sure that anything that comes out of that brain of yours is original, Ms.
Bennet," Colvin said.
"Absolutely," Warren agreed eagerly.
Clea smiled at them. "Well then," she said, rising. "I'm sure you gentlemen have a great deal to do and I've already taken up an amazing amount of your time."
"Not at all." Colvin rose with her and extended his hand.
She shook it, smiling, and turned to Warren, who had offered his hand as well.
"I'll look forward to hearing from you, then."
With a nod the I-950 preceded them out of the room and without another word or backward glance marched down the corridor toward the elevator.
Warren looked askance at the CEO and gestured toward the young woman. "Is she annoyed, or something?" he asked.
Colvin shook his head. "No, I don't think so. She may be a little socially backward. Apparently she was raised by an eccentric uncle in the wilds of Montana and they didn't get out much. Home schooling, the whole nine yards.
She's never even been to a university."
"You're kidding!" Warren said, appalled.
Colvin held up his hand. "I know what you're going to say."
"Yeah, and I'm going to say it, too. Why would we want to hire some kid who's never even graduated from college, especially at the price and on the terms she's demanding? That's crazy."
"We're trying to hire her so that we can exploit this metal she's invented. You have to see this statue to believe it, Paul. It's the most amazing thing I've ever laid eyes on."
"Why don't I just hop on a plane to New York, then, and go take a peek?"
Warren asked.
"Why don't you just trust me, buddy?" Colvin said, putting an arm around the president's shoulders. "I know what I'm doing here. Believe me, if we don't snap her up now somebody else will. Look, we're going to put in an escape clause, right? So we can both walk away if it doesn't work out and nobody's a loser.