Rising Storm t2-2

by S. M. Stirling

  There would be no better time than the present.

  RED SEAL BASE, ANTARCTICA

  Clea was enjoying her new lab; it had all the equipment she could ever use, and any materials she wanted, however exotic, toxic, or illegal, were provided within forty-eight hours. She'd tested this and didn't even try to hide her glee when she was presented with some obscure and costly element.

  Tricker had cautioned her that she couldn't continue to make such requests without producing tangible results. Clea had countered by giving him an

  extremely long and involved lecture on the advantages of pure science. He'd come as close to running away as she'd ever seen him.

  The lab itself was small, but its efficient design made up for the lack of space. Its white walls and gleaming metal surfaces somehow gave it the illusion of size, though its dimensions were more those of a large walk-in closet. The overhead lights were the kind that mimicked natural light, making it more comfortable still. It suited her.

  Meanwhile, her research into the T-1000 matrix was going very well and she was able to keep most of the work she was doing secret from the humans while seeming to produce a lot of new data. Their expectations, naturally, were based on what they thought a human could accomplish, so that, all in all, they were thrilled with her.

  All of the scientists were watched all of the time. So the first thing she'd done was to spend long periods just sitting and thinking, or staring into a microscope.

  Once she knew they had a fair-sized archive of such activity, she became more active.

  Her first real effort was to create some bugs, fiddling with the components so that no one thing seemed connected to another, then put them together as she walked from her lab to the cafeteria, or to her room; looking for all the world as though she was picking at her fingernails. When they were complete she set them loose in the ventilation system. One of her bugs was programmed to lurk in the tape banks and at her signal to run archival footage of her doing nothing at all.

  They'd already collected some fascinating information for her, both about the

  other scientists and the base staff, as well as confirming her suspicions about being under observation. The entertainment value of spying on everyone else didn't make up for the lack of communication with the outside world, but she was working on that.

  As part of her plan to keep the humans off balance regarding her real work…

  She had a dozen projects going forward more or less simultaneously. She destroyed a great deal of what she accomplished without storing the information on their computers. She had her own, after all.

  But she had to be careful. They sorted trash here with obsessive-compulsive thoroughness. Therefore they knew to the ounce what materials had been used and how. So she used only minute bits of things, working at speeds no human could duplicate on things the human eye could barely see. So far they suspected nothing.

  One of her side projects was the creation of what she hoped would one day be a nano-machine. Right now it was huge, easily visible with the naked eye if you knew where to look. And, unfortunately, its range of functioning was extremely simple, requiring several to actually accomplish a task of any significance.

  About a dozen together were not much smaller than the bugs she and Alissa had created for surveillance. But they were much more complex and with time she was certain she'd find ways to diminish their size without losing utility.

  Clea was gearing them toward affecting biological processes because she had a plan. But the one thing that was difficult to get here were animal test subjects.

  When she'd submitted that request Tricker showed up to suggest that she

  concentrate on Intellimetal.

  Clea had carefully explained about how carcinogenic the stuff was and how, though she was trying hard to make it less dangerous, there was only so much a computer simulation could do. He'd stared at her for a long time, then said he'd see what he could do.

  She could see why Serena had liked Tricker. The I-950 found it amusing to manipulate him, and moving him to sarcastic exasperation was actually pleasurable. In this she knew she was definitely becoming more like Serena; she found that reassuring and disquieting.

  Checking a gauge, she made a note, solely to satisfy the watchers.

  The I-950 had to admit that though she liked her lab she was feeling slightly claustrophobic. It wasn't being underground so much as it was the lack of information. The base was completely cut off from the rest of the world; no TV

  or radio, no telephone calls, and no Internet. This despite the very reasonable argument that cutting them off from observing the progress in their individual fields might slow their work, or even render it useless.

  She'd been told that those who complained to Tricker had been given his look and told that they'd better hope not.

  That Tricker, she thought with a secretive smile, always trying to intimidate.

  Everyone treated the agent as though he was a power in the community, but the I-950 knew that the agent was in no way involved in decisions regarding the fate of the imprisoned scientists. Well, perhaps as an end point, she conceded.

  Though she had no evidence of that. But otherwise he had only a little more freedom than they did.

  Kurt Viemeister had told her that Tricker was being punished for something and that was why he was here. The idea that the abrasive agent was subject to someone else's whim tickled her.

  But she didn't actually know whether to be pleased or distressed that the agent was nearby. On the plus side, she knew where he was and what he was doing.

  On the negative, he was much too close to Skynet.

  Clea glanced at her watch. It was almost time for her to meet Kurt for dinner.

  The I-950 was working covertly with Viemeister on his project and had put in a request to make it official. She had every expectation that it would be approved.

  Hadn't she laid the groundwork for this long ago?

  Her relationship with the human was surprisingly satisfying. He was a brilliant conversationalist and hearing his ideas about how he was planning to create the intelligence that would be Skynet was deliciously exciting. Her computer could barely restrain her emotional responses to him.

  Instinctively the I-950 had been reluctant to try sex so far. Though she was mostly meat herself, the act itself had seemed a little too animal. However, Viemeister had taught Skynet to talk and to think, and so he was like the creator of her god, a hero to all her kind. In other words, more than merely human—an opinion which precisely corresponded with his own outlook. Moreover, something about him strongly appealed to her and she found herself slowly succumbing to his persuasion.

  Of course he'd assumed her reluctance was due to her being a virgin. A quaint notion that she'd allowed him to keep. He'd asked her for the information and she'd provided it, finding it somewhat amusing that while it made him no less determined to have his way, it caused his manner to change entirely. Clea had decided it was probably best to let him think of her as young and naive.

  It didn't hurt to have Tricker thinking of her that way, too. Especially since he continued to look at her suspiciously when he met her. He had told the I-950 that she resembled someone he'd known, but she sensed that he hadn't yet connected her to Serena.

  But she'd been careful to keep her manner and her voice as different from her parent as she could. Still, she watched him carefully. After all, even Serena had been wary of his intelligence.

  She hopped from her stool and headed toward the door. So far there was no need for her to do anything about him. When there was a need, she'd find a way. Clea snapped off the lights.

  She found Kurt in the cafeteria. Seated alone, as usual. He'd once told her that he'd discouraged the other scientists from socializing with him.

  When she'd asked him why, he said, "Because they're not very bright outside their own little field, and as people they're not interesting."

  So she'd asked him, "Should I be flattered because you think I'm
both intelligent and interesting? Or should I just assume you want to jump my bones?"

  He'd laughed and assured her it was the former. She didn't believe him naturally, but took note that he could be diplomatic when he wanted to be.

  Now she watched him watching her approach, and something in his eyes evoked a sensation of warmth below her waistband. The scrubbers stopped it, of course, but it had been very pleasant while it lasted. She gave him a smile, bold and shy at once, and kept walking, though with slightly more swing to her hips.

  This was going to be an interesting evening. And… well, Viemeister was Skynet's creator, not Skynet… so it wouldn't be quite like incest.

  ***

  Clea was feeling oddly pleased with herself as she went to confront Tricker.

  Every now and again a sense of well-being would sneak up on her. She knew that her processors were scrubbing endorphins by the bucket out of her system.

  If she'd known sex was so pleasant she'd have tried it much sooner. Though she suspected that the right partner was important.

  The I-950 knocked on the agent's door and opened it without waiting for an invitation.

  Tricker looked up, his blue eyes unwelcoming. "Yeah?" he snarled.

  Clea gave him a dazzling smile and entered his office, leaving the door open behind her. "I was wondering if you'd heard anything about my request?" she chirped.

  "Which request was that? You're pretty much a never-ending fountain of gimmees."

  She pouted, then smiled at him. "My request to work with Kurt Viemeister," she said. "Has it been approved?"

  "You really ought to stay away from that guy," Tricker said. "You're kinda young for him, for one thing."

  "We've gotten very… close," Clea told him, and blushed, smiling at him.

  Tricker held up a hand. "I don't want to know." He pulled forward a set of papers. "Your request has been approved. But you'll need to sign these waivers."

  "Really?" she said, taking them and looking them over. "What's the point of that?"

  "So that you'll know how serious what you're dealing with is." He stared at her, his gaze impossible to interpret.

  Clea laughed. "What are you going to do to me if I tell someone about what I'm doing?" she asked. "Send me to Antarctica?"

  "You never know." He sat forward in his chair, picking up a pen and offering it to her.

  Clea rolled her eyes and took it. She signed the papers and handed them back to him. "I have another request to make."

  "Surprise, surprise," he muttered.

  "I'm finding it harder and harder to endure being indoors all the time," she said.

  "It's like the walls and ceiling are closing in on me."

  "Hey, baby, it's cold outside," Tricker quipped.

  Clea waved that aside. "I'm from Montana. Cold doesn't frighten me. But being closed up like this does. I need to get outside. I'd like to combine my time outdoors with a project I've thought up. I want to study some of the seals that live nearby."

  Tricker sighed. He had a steady stream ot scientists wanting to get away from the base. But not one of them had suggested simply going out for a nature walk.

  "There are plenty of scientists on this continent studying seals," he began.

  "And it wouldn't hurt anything to have one more." She looked him in the eye.

  "Please," she said quietly. "I wouldn't have come to you about this except that it's really becoming a problem for me. I'm just not used to being indoors all the time like this. These other people have probably never been on a hike in their lives. I grew up in the mountains, and they don't call Montana the Big Sky Country for nothing." She let a few tears wet her eyelashes and swallowed hard. "I need to get outside," she whispered.

  And she did. Not for the reasons she was alluding to, but to further her plans, to test her new micromachines on a living subject. And hopefully to send messages to her sister through a specially designed radio collar she intended to put on some lucky seal.

  Tricker rolled his eyes. "So submit a request," he said. "I'll send it up the pipe."

  "Thank you," she said, endeavoring to look more misty-eyed than ever.

  "Hey, I'm not promising you anything."

  "I know. But if you put your recommendation on it they'll take that into consideration, won't they?"

  He just looked at her. She smiled slightly, and lifting her hand slightly, she turned and walked away.

  Had she overplayed it? Time would tell. She thought she would get her way in this. If for no other reason than that he'd want to know what she was up to.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  VON ROSSBACH ESTANCIA, PARAGUAY

  "Dieter entered the living room, where John half lay on the couch, reading a manual on source codes, a beam of bright sunlight spearing through one of the high clerestory windows to bring out the slight reddish hints in his dark hair. The Austrian dropped a package into the young man's lap.

  John started as though he'd been asleep and looked from the package to von Rossbach. "What's this?" he asked.

  "A package," Dieter said, with a slight edge of sarcasm.

  John snorted. "Thanks!" he said, and rose. "I'll be in my room if you want me."

  Sarah came in just as he was leaving and he leaned over on his way out to kiss her cheek. Her eyes widened and she turned to watch him go, then turned back to

  von Rossbach, her eyebrows raised in inquiry.

  "Something came in the mail from that girl in Boston," he explained, sitting down in one of the leather chairs, the rest of the mail in his lap.

  "Ahhhh," Sarah said thoughtfully. She moved slowly into the room. "What girl?"

  This time Dieter's brows rose. "He didn't tell you about her?"

  Trying to keep the hurt out of her expression, Sarah sat next to the big Austrian.

  "Uh, no." Her mouth twisted ruefully. "He's seventeen, and this is a girl and I am his mother…" She sighed. "I guess it's only natural he'd want to keep her to himself."

  Dieter looked at her sympathetically. "But you're hurt anyway." As far as he could tell, they were unusually close. It was probable that until now they'd shared everything.

  Sarah was quiet for a moment, then she wrinkled her nose at him. "A little.

  Maybe." Then she sighed. "It annoys me that I am, though, because, really, I'm pleased that he has someone. It would be nice if she were nearby…" She leaned toward him. "Tell me about her."

  He shrugged his massive shoulders. "There's not much I can tell you," he said.

  "She's somebody he recruited on-line to keep an eye out for mysterious doings.

  Then, when we went to the U.S., he took her and her team the Terminator's CPU.

  She's a student at MIT," he added. "And clearly, something clicked between them."

  "Hmmph," she said. "I guess I'll have to go to the source."

  John closed the door to his room, tore open the box that Wendy had sent him, and pulled out her letter.

  Hi, Sweetie, she'd written.

  Well, that's flattering, he thought. One kiss… On the other hand, we felt close right off. Evidently three months' separation hadn't altered her feelings—and that was extremely reassuring. He read on:

  Some of us went to New York this week to attend the New Day show. That’s the show that Ron Labane of the Luddites hosts. It wonderful! I can’t begin to tell you how inspiring I find him. I wish you could have been with us. About a hundred of us from MIT went down in buses.

  A hundred? John reread that, shocked. A hundred MIT students went to the New Luddite show? Those people must be more powerful than he'd thought.

  The idea shook him. He'd assumed the group would be just another flash in the pan, a this-year's-cause sort of thing. Certainly not the kind of thing that would appeal to really intelligent people. Like Wendy, he thought, troubled. He straightened the folds of her letter and continued reading.

  I’m more convinced than ever that his brand of intelligent Luddism is the answer to so many of our problems: pollution, poverty,
overpopulation. I have to confess to you right now that I took the pledge.

  John looked up from her letter, frowning. She took "the pledge"? What the hell

  did that mean? He didn't think she drank.

  In case you’re wondering just what I’ve pledged, I feel a little aawkward about telling you. I know I should have discussed it with you, though that might be presumptuous of me. And maybe you’ll say I was swept away by the enthusiam of the crowd. But I did take it, and I mean to keep my word.

  In case you haven’t heard of the pledge, it’s a promise to have no more than two children. If I divorce and remarry and my second husband hasn’t any children, then I’m allowed to have one with him. Though ideally I would have had my tubes tied after I had my second child.

  The hard truth is, the only way we’re going to reduce our population is by making sacrifices like that. And reducing population is step one; everything follows from that.

  Wincing, John lowered the letter and rubbed his brow with his free hand. Oh, Wendy, if you only knew, he thought sadly. Overpopulation was not likely to be a problem in a few years.

  Anyway, I hope you won’t be angry with me for going ahead on my own. But I know you’re a sensible person and so I’m trusting you’ll understand.

  On a completely different subject, we also saw some the sights while we were there and I got this for you at Lincoln Center. This is the most amazing sculpture; I’d love for you to see it for yourself. But the video is very good and has a “making of” section at the end that you’ll probably find interesting.

  Hope to hear from you soon. Love and kisses…

  John pulled the video out of the mailing box and looked at it. On the cover was a photo of a weird-looking modern sculpture. He wasn't impressed, but then he wasn't a big fan of modern art. The back of the box was filled with not very informative blurbs from other artists and bits culled from critical reviews.

  But, hey, if Wendy was impressed it must be really something.