Excerpt from the novel Infiltrator by S.M. Stirling

ECOLOGY EXPO, NEW YORK: PRESENT DAY
     “This is boring,” Peter Ziedman said. He frowned and shifted the heavy camera on his shoulder.
     “No kidding,” his soundman and college bud Tony Roth agreed. “It’s nothing like what I expected.”
     They glared at the neatly set-up booths and the casually well-dressed people around them. Even the loopier outfits had cost real money, you could see that. They’d been expecting a lot more over-the-rainbow stuff from the New York Ecology Fair.
     Ziedman had been pinning his hopes on it, in fact. He’d graduated from Chapman University only two months ago, with honors, and already his dad was asking, “So what did I spend my money for?”
     Like you could get a full-fledged movie together over the weekend. Well, okay, some people had done that, but not lately, and probably not while sober.
     So Peter had decided to do a documentary on an inspired madman. They’d find their guy at a place like this and then follow him around while he tried to convert the world. It would be hilarious.
     But what he’d found instead was a slew of start-up businesses looking for venture capitalists. And while he knew there was a story worth telling in that, at the moment he needed something fast, easy, and moderately entertaining from the first shot. The story of water-purification devices just wasn’t going to do that.
     “Where are the nuts?” he shouted.
     A young woman beside a solar-energy display turned to look at him. “The Rain Forest Products booth is giving away Brazil nuts in aisle four.” She pointed vaguely in that direction.
     Ziedman looked at her; she was attractive in a washed-out, WASPy kind of way. He walked over to her and said, “I’m making a documentary and I was hoping for some more colorful characters to spice up the narrative.” He shrugged and then shifted the camera. “It can’t be all facts and figures.”
     She nodded, looking vaguely disapproving. That was when he noticed that her badge said she was the fair’s cochair.
     “So what exactly are you looking for?” she asked.
     Peter thought that he was probably very lucky that she wasn’t asking him to leave, as he hadn’t received permission from the fair to film here. She looked capable of kicking him out. He decided to be honest.
     “I’m looking for someone with a message,” he said. “Someone who can’t get anyone to listen but who thinks he, or she, can save the world. You know anybody like that?”
     She laughed, and it changed her whole face. She really was attractive. “Oohhh yes,” she said. “I know tons of people like that. But they tend to avoid places like this. To them we’re all sellouts.” She looked around and seemed to spot someone. Pointing to a tired-looking man on a folding chair near the door, she said, “Try him. That’s Ron Labane. He used to be a pretty good guy, associated with a small, fairly successful organic farm in Washington state.” She shook her head. “Now… it’s kinda sad really. He’s got a book he’s trying to get published. He’s kind of into a lone-wolf thing right now.”
     Ziedman looked at the man. He was wearing tan chinos and a sport jacket over a sweater vest and an open-collared blue shirt. Though he was clean-shaven and his hair was neat, there was something a little shop-worn about him. His whole body spoke of discouragement and exhaustion.
     Peter turned on the camera and zoomed in on him. As if by instinct, like the lone wolf the woman had named him, Labane turned to look directly into the lens. He raised one brow and with a lopsided smile raised his hand and gestured Peter over.
     “Thanks,” Ziedman said to the woman. He and Tony hustled over.

Excerpt from the novel Infiltrator by S.M. Stirling

PARAGUAY: THE PRESENT
     Sarah watched in the mirror before her, aimed to catch the view through a filthy window, as the man she’d been almost certain was a Terminator reached down to pet the dog. She stood up slowly and let out her breath in a rush, then stood there panting, shaking from adrenaline reaction.
     Licking her lips, she tried to think what to do. If a dog can tolerate him, he can’t be a Terminator. Humans can be fooled, but not dogs. As von Rossbach turned to walk away, she made up her mind.
     Unlocking the window, she lifted it and slipped through, easing it down behind her. “Wait!” she called weakly.
     If he wasn’t a Terminator she had to find out what, or rather who, he was, and why he had come looking for her. He couldn’t have seen her spying on him this morning, could he? Her skills were rusty, but surely not that rusty.
     She went to the nearest building and peeked around the corner. The man was leaning over, trying to persuade the dog to go home, though it was obvious just looking at the mutt that it didn’t have one.
     “You’ve got a friend for life there,” Sarah said, trying to keep her voice steady. The man looked at her. Her voice had quavered a bit and her hands were still shaking; she might as well try to use that, along with her diminutive size, to seem harmless. It might wipe that closed look off his face.
     “I’m sorry,” Sarah said. “I’m so sorry.” She brushed her hair back and gave a nervous little laugh. “I thought you were someone else.” She looked at him, wide-eyed, then burst out, “But you’re not. Obviously.”
     “Who did you think I was?” he asked. His voice was quite, but his eyes were hard, evaluating her.
     She lifted her hands and then dropped them; shaking her head, Sarah walked a few steps toward him.
     “Please,” she said, her eyes on the ground as she walked, “I’d rather not say. I’m so embarrassed as it is. Anyway, you don’t want to know about it. It’s just…” She waved her hands helplessly. “Please, could we start over?” Sarah looked up at him and smiled tremulously, trying to look innocent.
     “Who are you?” he asked, still suspicious.
     “I’m Suzanne Krieger,” she said, holding out her hand. “That’s my trucking company.”
     “Oh, really.” He sounded dubious.
     “A lot of people are surprised to hear that,” Sarah assured him, smiling weakly. There was an awkward moment of silence. “I just want you to know that was a very uncommon reaction,” she said, twisting her fingers together nervously. “I really don’t make a habit of running away from my customers. Honest.” Don’t overdo it, Connor, she warned herself.
     “You’re an American,” Dieter observed.
     “Yes. But my husband was Paraguayan.”
     “Was?” Dieter walked by her side as they wended their way back to the trucking company.
     He found her face attractive in an angular way; her blue eyes were very expressive and her mouth was… tempting. A good figure, too, he thought.
     But he was still not lulled by either her fluttering manner or her refusal to explain. He noticed that she kept as far from him as she could in the narrow alley.
     “Yes, he died the year after he bought the company.” She lapsed into silence for a few moments. “Anyway, that’s enough about me,” she said as they came to the open door of the garage. “What is it you came her for?” Boy, do I want to know that.
     Dieter could actually feel the word “sperm” pressing against his teeth, but he restrained himself. “I have a shipment from the King Ranch,” he said instead.
     “Oh, yes,” Sarah said with a smile. “It’s in the fridge, I’ll go get it for you. You know the way out front,” she said with a little laugh and a gesture toward the open door to the offices.
     Sarah looked at him sweetly until at last he nodded and headed out to the front office. When he was gone she leaned against the wall and allowed her shoulders to sag.
     How can this be? she asked herself. Her stomach clenched. He’s the spitting image of no less than two Terminators! Except for the beard. She wondered briefly if Terminators could even grow beards. He even sounds like them! Well, maybe the accent wasn’t as pronounced. But in every other way Dieter von Rossbach was a physical duplicate of the T-101’s she’d known. But how? There has to be a connection, but what?
     Sarah brushed her hair back off her forehead and blew out her breath. It’s time to discuss it with John, she thought. He’ll probably have some ideas. Meanwhile… Sarah went to the fridge and took the special box out. King Ranch—probably sperm, then.
     The labels and stamps and customs papers all seemed authentic, so if this was some kind of ruse, it was a very elaborate one. Also irrelevant. No one smuggled drugs from the United States to South America as far as she knew. So, obviously, that wasn’t it. And going by the paper trail this box had traveled by legitimate courier all the way. So Mr. von Rossbach, in this instance at least, probably was just a rancher interested in improving his cattle.
     She wondered why they’d never dealt with this guy before. Most likely he’d used somebody in Asunción. It didn’t really matter. Getting rid of him and returning home to John to discuss this weird situation did.
     Though I have to wonder if his choosing Krieger Trucking was happenstance or if there’s some motivation behind it. The coincidences were mounting up. She could feel the paranoia taking over.
     “Here you go,” she said as she walked into the front office. Sarah picked up a clipboard from Meylinda’s desk. She noticed that her hands were still shaking. Okay, so we use that, she reminded herself. I’m just a shy, decent widow doing her best.
     Von Rossbach stood foursquare behind the counter, his eyes never leaving her, taking in every movement, every nuance of expression.
     “You’re making me nervous,” Sarah accused as she laid down the box. She presented the clipboard to him with a pen. “Would you sign here, please?”
     He took them, but continued to study her. Sarah ducked her head and looked away. “Please,” she said.
     “I would really like to know who you thought I was,” Dieter said steadily. “Please explain.”
     Sarah took a deep breath, not looking at him and let it out, then nodded. “I can easily see why you might be offended,” she said, swallowing. “Okay.” Sarah paused for effect, biting her lips. “When Paul died someone wanted to buy the company. But I wanted to keep it for our son, and because I’d put a lot of effort into it myself. This guy who wanted to buy it took my refusal personally and was very, very angry. He made threats. I told him to leave us alone.
     She stopped and glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. That unwavering stare of his really was making her tense. Not that I need any help with that, she thought ruefully.
     “You thought I was this man?” he asked.
     “Uh, no, not exactly. Anyway, for a while nothing happened. Then little accidents began to occur, things went missing, and some of our shipments were hijacked. He came back and made another offer. This one was ridiculously low, insulting actually, and I told him to go away.”
     She dipped her head, and shrugged. “That’s when things began to get scary. There was this man, a big man; I began to see him everywhere, watching me, getting closer all the time. I’d be shopping for groceries, for instance, and suddenly I’d feel someone behind me and I’d turn and it would be him, just… looking at me. One day he asked me about my little boy.”
     Her voice broke on the last word. Sarah was proud of that touch; she hadn’t been sure she could do it. She took a deep breath, blinking as though afraid there might be tears to hide. “There’s really not much else to tell. I decided to move the company here to Villa Hayes because I thought there’d be less competition. But I liked that it was so near a big city. I thought we’d be safe here.”
     She gave a little laugh. “I gave up smoking today, so I’m nervous as a cat at a dogfight, and when I looked up all I could see was your outline and”—she shook her head regretfully—“I panicked. I’m so sorry. I am not, ordinarily, such a scaredy-cat. It was like a flashback. You know?”
     Dieter gave her a long look, revealing nothing. He watched her fidget for a few moments, then signed her form. She tore off a portion of it and gave it to him as his receipt.
     “Thank you,” she said, smiling bravely, her heart thudding in a nerve wracking combination of anger and fear. “Good luck evading that dog.”
     Sarah could see the disreputable mutt waiting hopefully outside her front door. I hope he sticks to you like a burr and gives you some horrible parasite, she thought viciously.
     Given her plausible explanation and, to her mind, very convincing performance, she couldn’t help but think of him as a bully. If she really was a helpless little widow, she’d be ready to burst into tears by now.
     Dieter turned to look and his shoulders twitched. Sarah liked that; it made him seem more human and she finally began to calm down.
     He picked up his box.
     “Hasta la vista,” he said, and walked out. The dog fell in behind him, its chin a fraction of an inch from the big man’s boot heel.
     Sarah closed her eyes slowly. Then she turned to check the clock. Five-thirty. I can’t keep quitting early like this, she told herself as she headed for he office. Picking up her purse and her keys she went into the garage.
     “Ernesto,” she called. Her voice was still shaking a little and Sarah frowned at the evidence of weakness. She cleared her throat.
     He came out from under a truck. “You all right, señora?” he asked, his face full of concern.
     “Actually, I feel lousy, Ernesto.” She was willing to bet that she looked almost as bad as she felt. “I’m going home early. Can you close up for me, please?” I’ll lock the front door myself, if you’ll take care of back here.”
     “Sure,” he said, sitting up. “That man…?”
     “Oh…” Sarah waved a dismissive hand. “Mistaken identity. I feel like a complete fool. He’s just a rancher, I guess. “She shook her head. “Nothing to worry about, my friend. I’m just nervous and feeling rotten. I’ll see you in the morning.”
     “Sí. I hope that you feel better soon,” he said and waved to her before pushing himself back under the truck.
     He’d learned early in their relationship that Suzanne Krieger did not take kindly to being coddled. So showing that he was on her side was all he was prepared to do right now. But he would love to know why his tough-as-nails boss had gone running out of the garage with “just a rancher” in hot pursuit. Although he had to admit, at least to himself, if that man had started chasing him, he’d have run, too.
     “Not my business,” Ernesto muttered, picking up a wrench. She knew where to find him if she needed his help.

Excerpt from the novel Infiltrator by S.M. Stirling

VILLA HAYES, PARAGUAY: THE PRESENT
     Suzanne Krieger… née Sarah Connor, she thought. In my previous, pre-Terminators, pre-change-the-future existence… finished signing the contract with a flourish and tipped her chair back, taking a quick look out into the garage through the grimy, streaked glass of the office window.
     One of her company’s trucks had its hood up and its guts laid out, but nobody seemed to be around. She slid open the second drawer of her desk, and slipped out a flask of caña. Sarah/Suzanne unscrewed the cap and added a healthy dollop of the cane alcohol to her tereré, an iced maté drink she’d grown fond of. It went down even smoother with a little help. It also made her sweat a little, but everyone did that in the Chaco—summers here ran over a hundred every day, and it wasn’t a dry heat, either.
     “Señora,” a weary voice said. There was a hint of censure in it.
     Sarah’s mouth twisted in exasperation and she looked over at Ernesto Jaramillo, her chief mechanic. His broad, mustachioed face was set, his dark eyes sad.
     “Where the heck did you come from?” she asked defensively. “A second ago there wasn’t anybody around.” She stubbed out her cigarette impatiently.
     “It’s not even eleven o’clock in the morning, señora,” Ernesto pointed out.
     “What’s an hour or so among friends?” she asked, turning to her work. “Did you want something?”
     “That stuff will rot your liver,” he said.
     “Mmmm. Rotten liver, that sounds like a happy condition.” Sarah adjusted her ashtray, then turned over a paper and signed the one beneath it. “Did you want something, Ernesto?” She gave him a sidelong glance.
     He shrugged, frowning.
     “I just want you to be healthy, señora,” he grumbled.
     She turned and looked squarely at him. “Thank you, Ernesto. I know you mean well, but I’m not doing anything wrong, here. The business isn’t going to fail because I like flavoring my tea with caña.” She smiled at him.
     He smiled back, shaking his head. Then he shrugged. “I just came to tell you the Meylinda is going to take her break in about five minutes.”
     “Thanks,” Sarah said. “I’ll be there in a second.”
     He lifted his hand in a sort of salute and wandered off. Sara/Suzanne watched him go, then took another sip. I can’t believe the way I pussyfoot around people these days, she thought. Not so very long ago she’d have told Ernesto what he could do with his fatherly concern. But there was no help for it if she was to blend in. Paraguayan culture required women to be mild and somewhat subservient. She was cutting-edge here just for being the boss. Milquetoast that I am.
     Sarah stood and smoothed down her narrow dark skirt then checked her hair in the mirror. Even now her appearance sometimes surprised her. The short, dark brown hair cut close around her face and the big, heavy frames of her fake glasses made her look more fragile somehow. But the darkness of her hair brought out the blue of her eyes with surprising intensity. She was feminine enough still to like that. It made up a little for the ugly glasses. A necessary disguise that kept people at a distance.
     Outside of work she wore sunglasses, always. Except at night, of course. But since she never went anywhere at night it didn’t matter.
     Sometimes her lack of a social life bothered her. With John away in school, it was lonely out on her little estancia. But as a single mother, a businesswoman, and a foreigner… people around here genuinely didn’t know what to make of her. They avoided any discomfort by avoiding her. Not that that stopped them talking, of course. This place had the small-town vices in spades.
     Sometimes she thought it was just as well, sometimes she worried that she should be more involved. With something feminine like a bake sale for charity or something. After all, her trucking company sponsored a local baseball team, which was a very popular move, but somehow the locals had persuaded themselves that it was her workers who sponsored the team rather than herself. It came down to gender again. If she had been born male she would have been absorbed into this town years ago.
     She also handled more than a little of the local smuggling market. Sarah had expected people to suck up to her a bit because of that. But it turned out that was also a strike against her. Smuggling was man’s work. As were trucks. Her story of inheriting the business from her husband was the only thing that had made it possible for her to get along at all here.
     The local women were very nice to her but kept their distance. Even Meylinda was no more than politely friendly. Sarah had once been checked out by a local widower who was essentially looking for an unpaid housekeeper/nanny that he could boink without censure. But she’d run him off as quickly as she could. She knew she’d have killed the man in a week, leaving seven little big-eyed orphans behind. Then I’d have felt obligated to raise the little monsters.
     Once in a while she considered selling up and moving to Asunción to become a secretary or even a waitress. But then she’d remember the peace and quiet of her estancia and Linda, her mare, and she’d put it out of her mind. Changing locations wouldn’t change who she was anyway. It wasn’t just that she was a foreigner and a woman that kept people away. Sometimes, when she was tired or not thinking and sometimes deliberately… she radiated danger and distrust.
     With a half smile Sarah put down her brush and fluffed her bangs. Funny, that’s just what makes the smugglers trust me. She added a touch of lipstick. Her mouth was the same, still the full lower lip, but now it was bracketed with what she chose to refer to as smile lines. Not that anyone would want to see the smile that could produce such marks.
     Sarah walked into the front office with her drink and her cigarettes to find Meylinda browsing a magazine instead of filing the massive stack of invoices at her elbow. Sarah suppressed a sigh. She’d fire the girl in a New York minute except that Meylinda was a vast improvement over the previous two. Being a known smuggler kept many families from allowing their daughters to work for her. Including the families of smugglers. She was lucky to have anyone.
     Tapping out a cigarette, she smiled at her employee.
     “Oh! Thank you for coming, señora. See you in fifteen minutes,” Meylinda said cheerfully. She picked up her pocketbook and magazine and flitted out the front door.
     Fifteen minutes. Riiiight. Sarah lit up and took a drag of her cigarette. Picking up the stack of invoices, she took them over to the filing cabinet. I’ll be lucky if she makes it back in time to go to lunch.
     Ernesto had told her that there was an apparently serious flirtation going on between Meylinda and a boy who worked at the confitería down the street. And serious flirting took time. I wonder if she’ll be getting married soon. If so Sarah would soon be in the market for another receptionist. She dreaded the prospect.
     There was someone behind her. Sarah continued to place invoices in their files and she tried to sense something about the mysterious presence. It didn’t smell like one of the mechanics or drivers, no sharp scent of gas or oil. She heard the whisper of fabric, of slacks or jeans, making probable the intruder was a male. He moved young. And then she knew.
     “Hi, John,” she said, smiling.
     “How do you do that?” he demanded. “I could have sworn I didn’t make a sound.”
     She turned, still smiling, and opened her arms to him. When he stepped into her hug she blinked to find her chin resting on his shoulder. “Whoa!” she said, holding him off. “You’ve grown!”
     “I’m sixteen, Mom. It happens.” He looked smug as he said it.
     Sarah looked him over, shaking her head. There was a lighter mark on the cuffs of his school uniform jacket where the sleeves had been taken down, but even so his wristbones were visible. The trousers showed the same problem.
     “Did they send you home early for being a disgrace to your uniform?” she asked.
     “They sent me home be-cause.” He held up an envelope containing his report card.
     Sarah took it with a raised eyebrow and opened it. There was a note inside from the principal/commandant of the very expensive military academy she was sending him to.
     It told her that her son was an extraordinary student who had saved the life of one of his fellows while they were out on field maneuvers. The boy had been bitten by a snake. John had applied a tourniquet, and had organized his squad to make a stretcher from their rifles and blankets, and then he had led them back to the academy. For his presence of mind, for his exceptional leadership qualities, and for getting straight A’s, he was being rewarded by being sent on summer break early.
     “Congratulations,” she said. Quiet pride shone from her eyes.
     He waggled his eyebrows and grinned.
     “Hey, I had a good teacher. I’m supposed to be, like, this great military leader, remember?”
     She hugged him again, knowing he didn’t mean the teachers at the academy. “Exceptional leadership qualities, the commandant says,” Sarah reminded him. “Nobody can teach you that.”
     “Yeah, but you knew that before I was hatched,” he said. “No problemo. It’s just my nature.”
     Sarah snorted. “Don’t get cocky, kid. It’s when you’re taking bows that the world most likes to kick your butt. Listen, I’m kinda stuck here.” She looked over her shoulder at the messy desk. “Meylinda’s on break and in love.”
     John laughed. “You want me to hunt her down?”
     “Mmmm. No, I’ve still got a couple of things to finish up. But if you can entertain yourself until one, I’ll call it quits for the day and let Ernesto lock up.”
     “Great,” he said. “God, I’m dying of thirst.” John went to the desk and picked up the glass of tereré. “This yours, Mom?” He took a gulp before she could stop him. “Hoo-waah!” he said, tears in his eyes. “What did you put in this,” he rasped, “battery acid?” He waved a hand in front of his face. “Whoo!”
     “That’s what you get for not asking permission,” she said, coming over to the desk. Sarah took another drag of her cigarette and rolled her eyes at his disapproving glare. “What?” she snapped.
     “I thought you’d given up smoking,” he said. He looked disappointed.
     This is not my day, she thought. Every man I see is disappointed or disapproving. Then she felt a little brighter inside. She’d actually thought of her son as a man.
     “I mean after what you went through quitting last summer, I can’t believe you took it up again.” He shifted his stance awkwardly, then put down the tereré. “C’mon, Mom, you’re tougher than that.”
     Sarah rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay.” She tamped out the cigarette. “But can we talk about this later, hmm?”
     “Sure. Um, I’ll go get a soda, or something. Maybe keep an eye on Meylinda.”
     Sarah laughed. “She’ll probably use you to make this new guy jealous. Do you need money?”
     “Nah, I’ve got some.” He looked at her for a moment, and then he reached over and gave her a peck on the cheek. “See you in a couple of hours.”
     “Bye.” She watched him go, noting the new maturity in his walk, and sighed. Funny he mentioned the cigarettes but not the caña in her tea. He would, though. She could rely on that.

Excerpt from the novel Infiltrator by S.M. Stirling

NEW LIFE ORGANIC FARM, OREGON: THE PRESENT
     “I’m sorry about that scene the other night,” George said.
     Ronald stopped spraying the soap mixture and looked down at him. The fresh spring air and the scent of blossom wafted by, unnoticed. Birds hopped and cheeped, and something small and furry scurried through a row of blackberry bushes not far away, intent on its own affairs.
     “That wasn’t a scene,” Ron said, “that was an assassination attempt.”
     George curled up his lips and looked down at his work boots. “No one is trying to kill you, Ron,” the older man said.
     Labane climbed down the ladder so that he could look him in the eye.
     “You have all lost your focus,” he said. “You now want nothing more than to have a nice peaceful life with slippers and babies and apple pie and screw the revolution. Let the kids take care of it, I’m tired,” he mimicked. “When we were kids we were going to do it. Now you want the ones you were going to do it for to do it for you!”
     George shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe we’re older and we’ve got a better sense of perspective,” he offered. “We know what a giant job it is and that maybe it’s too much for just us to do.”
     “You know what, George? The only people who ever accomplish anything in this world are the ones who are prepared to risk everything. People who try to hold on to what they’ve got and play by the rules just get old and die and a generation later nobody even knows they ever lived at all. They don’t get rich, they don’t change anything, the just spawn and die.”
     He moved a little closer, standing in George’s space.
     “But I haven’t lost my focus. I am willing to risk everything and there isn’t one of you that doesn’t scare easy. You resent it, too. And that’s what that ‘scene’ the other night was really about. It was about fear and knowing that you’ll never accomplish your goals because you’ve lost the will. And envy that I haven’t given up.”
     George stepped back a couple of paces and frowned. “You keep using these violent words, man. ‘Assassination’ and ‘revolution’ and ‘fear.’ Just what do you mean when you say stuff like that?”
     Ron looked at him in mild exasperation. Sometimes he thought George was a bit dim. He was a wonderful agriculturist, the most valuable member of the commune in that respect. But sometime he came on so dumb!
     “When I said ‘assassination’ I was speaking metaphorically. When I talk about fear I’m talking about financial risk and losing the good opinion of the neighbors. When I say ‘revolution’ I’m talking about a grass-roots movement, maybe something like a religious conversion, where we finally get people to realize the danger this whole planet is in! You used to say ‘revolution’ all the time, and you knew what it meant then.” He looked at his onetime friend and shook his head. “It wasn’t all that long ago, George.” He leaned down and picked up the sprayer. “I feel sorry for you.”
     Labane turned and walked away, a little smile playing on his lips. That had felt good.

     The next morning he slapped a manuscript down on the table and announced, “I’m going in to town. Does anyone need anything?”
     Every eye was on the pile of paper.
     “What’s that?” Branwyn asked, coming over from the sink to look at it.
     “That,” Ron said, putting on his jacket, “is my book. Which I am shipping off to New York today.”
     “The New Luddite Manifesto,” Lisa read. “Congratulations, honey.” She put her hand on his neck and reached up to kiss his cheek.
     Ron simply stared at her blankly. Since the big meeting he’d been sleeping on the cot in his office. As far as he was concerned there was no longer anything between them. The sooner she got used to that, the better for both of them.
     “So no one needs anything?” he said to the group at large.
     They shook their heads, silenced by his coldness to Lisa.
     “Okay, bye.”
     It wasn’t until he was actually in the van that he realized he wasn’t coming back. He was going to drive his manuscript to New York. He was going to hand-deliver it to the editor and make that man or woman listen to him. Because giving up on your dreams meant you were ready to lie down and die and he was a long, long way from that.
     As far as Ron was concerned he was leaving behind a house full of the walking dead. It was time to cut his losses and look to the future. As he drove past the house the baby began to cry.