T2 RF

The cop strode into John’s bedroom and began
searching methodically in the dark. It didn’t need
lights. It could sense the molecular structure of things
by touch. Calmly and dispassionately it ran its finger
across the surfaces of things in the room. As it touched
a desk, the fingers fleetingly turned dark brown, then
as they passed over a sheaf of papers, white. Whatever
the fingers stroked, they momentarily began to mimic
its molecular structure. The T-1000 hesitated over
the small Tandy home computer, letting the digitized
information on the discs nearby flow into its hand.
Names. Dates. Video games. Scnoolwork. It could
read magnetically encoded plus-minus information
directly, if it chose. There was nothing that the T-1000
found useful. But it was all filed anyway in the liquid
memory.
 	It was only when it ran its hand over a Public Enemy
poster on the wall that it stopped. But it wasn’t what
was on the flag. It was what was beneath it. The cop
ripped the poster down and saw a small hole that had
been crudely carved into the wallboard. In it was a
battered shoebox filled with stacks of audio cassettes.