Rising Storm t2-2

by S. M. Stirling

  In a world without Terminators she had to improvise.

  Clea plunged the needle into the seal's neck at the base of the skull and inserted the machines.

  "Clea! What did you just do?" Hiram Locke trundled gingerly over to her across the ice. "Did I just see you inject air into that seal?"

  She couldn't see his face at all, as it was covered by a fleece balaclava and mirrored goggles, but she could tell from his voice that his expression as disapproving. "Hiram!" she snapped back. "Wouldn't that kill the animal?"

  He hesitated. "Yes," he said.

  "As we both already know that, what possible reason would I have to do something so stupid?"

  Locke looked around, as though hoping for backup. "What were you doing?" he asked uncertainly.

  "I was trying to get a blood sample. But my fingers are numb and I missed the vein. Would you like to give it a try?" She stood and held out the syringe.

  "No, no," he said, backing a step, holding up his mittened hands.

  She took a step closer to him. "I had the impression you didn't think I knew how to use one of these." Her voice was hard, leaving no doubt as to how she felt about his interference. "Wouldn't you like to demonstrate?"

  "Sorry," Locke said, continuing to back away. "I spoke out of turn."

  "What do you want" Clea asked.

  She wasn't happy that he'd come looking for her. He was supposed to be a couple of miles away with his partner. She'd been taking chances and he might have seen something. But the risks had been unavoidable. Her time alone was severely limited; safety regulations demanded that no one go out on the ice alone. She'd only managed to acquire this time by making herself completely unendurable to the two humans.

  Still, I shouldn't have been taken unaware like that.

  With her whole head muffled by a balaclava, goggles, and a fur-trimmed hood, even her computer-enhanced senses were severely hobbled. She judged that she was currently human normal in the realm of her senses. Which put her way ahead of her companions.

  Still, she should be more alert than a human. Especially because of the reduction in her abilities. Clea wondered if at some level she was trying to get caught. Or perhaps I'm looking for an excuse to kill a human. Perhaps it was frustration over how long it was taking to get Skynet on-line.

  The computer that would one day be Skynet was exceptional, but it was just a machine, completely empty of consciousness. Being in the presence of such a

  truncated version of her creator was acutely painful in the emotional sense. It certainly kept her own computer busy balancing her brain chemistry. Perhaps too busy.

  "We were concerned," Locke said. "You're not supposed to be alone out here. If anything happened to you…"

  She laughed at him. "If anything happens to me it will be my own fault and there'd be nothing you could do about it."

  "Well, I don't want to be the one to tell Tricker that you were left alone out here like this." His voice was sullen.

  "Then don't tell him." Clea shrugged one shoulder. "What he doesn't know won't bother him. Do you think I'm going to complain to him about it when we get back?" She leaned toward him. "Look, I have my work and you have yours. And guess what? My work is more important to me than yours is. I don't want to help you, or hang out with you, when I could be accomplishing things on my own."

  They'd discussed all of this, ad nauseam, before they all set out to work this morning. Possibly the human was nervous and wanted to cover his butt in case Tricker somehow found out about her working independently.

  "By the way, if we're not supposed to be alone out here, where the hell is Kushner?"

  Locke shuffled his heavily booted feet. "He'll be all right."

  "Well, so will I!" Clea snapped in frustration.

  The scientist drew himself up. "But you're a woman."

  Does he honestly think I'm unaware of my gender? she wondered, momentarily confused. Her computer gave her a prompt. *Human females have historically been considered the weaker sex.* She almost laughed aloud.

  "Yes," she agreed quietly, "I'm a woman." Sort of. "But I'm also a lot younger than both of you and in much better shape. I suggest that you two watch out for each other and leave me to my no-doubt-deserved fate."

  "There's no need for you to get snippy," Locke said huffily. "I'm only trying to help."

  "There's no need to get patronizing. Go away, I'm busy."

  They stared at each other. It's a good thing he can't really see my face, the I-950

  thought. He'd probably have a heart attack. Of course, then at least half of her problem would be solved.

  Killing them both was so tempting. She could toss the bodies down a crevasse today, and by the time searchers found them, the two would be so frozen no one would be able to tell exactly when they'd died, and even if she beat them to a pulp they'd most likely attribute the wounds to the fall. Then she'd be free to work in peace. A perfect solution.

  Except… it would also redouble Tricker's surveillance. She sighed, looking around at the white, white landscape with its drifting wisps of ice crystal under the deep-purple-blue sky. In the long run she supposed the best thing to do was to simply put up with them. But it is so tempting. Without them, I could imagine

  there were no humans in the world at all. This place is… clean.

  "Look," the I-950 said, trying to sound conciliatory, "I'll call in every half hour, and if anything, anything at all seems to be going wrong, I'll call you and immediately head back to camp." Clea shrugged. "What more can I do? If I don't do this now it will be time to go back and I'll have accomplished nothing."

  Locke folded his arms across his chest and seemed about to speak.

  "Unless you'd both like to give up some of your time out here to stay with me while I work?" she suggested.

  He barked a laugh. "The thing is, Tricker…"

  Here we go again, she thought. "Who's going to tell him?" Clea demanded. "I'm not." She shrugged. "Look, it's cold out here and we're losing working time. Why don't we discuss this later, back at camp?" Just like they had every day so far.

  After a moment's hesitation he nodded. "All right," he said. Then, almost reluctantly, he turned and tottered off.

  Clea watched him go. Suddenly an image of him squirming on the ice with blood pouring from his mouth came to her. If only, she thought, and regretted the virtue of necessity.

  She looked down at the seal. Its heartbeat was normal and it seemed to be sleeping naturally. The circuit that activated the machines she'd implanted was controlled by another one in her complex and somewhat bulky wristwatch. Clea activated them, testing each one in turn and getting a positive signal. Now all

  that remained was to give them an actual field test.

  Something to look forward to, she thought.

  She looked behind her and saw Locke disappearing around a wind-sculpted ridge of snow touched with exquisite shades of pale blue. Clea watched for a full minute and saw no sign of him, not even in the ultraviolet stage. Her ears hadn't picked anything up that sounded human either.

  Picking up her backpack and sliding it on, she jogged off, looking for another leopard seal. Time wasted delayed Skynet's advent.

  Kurt was there to greet her, in the chamber that resembled an air lock when they came in off the ice. Clea grinned and ran into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist and kissing him passionately.

  "We have permission to work together," Kurt murmured in her ear when they came up for air; then he licked her neck.

  The I-950 giggled and snuggled her head into his shoulder. "Good," she whispered.

  "I hate to break this up, kids," Tricker said, "but we have some things to discuss."

  Clea continued to cling to Viemeister like a monkey as she glanced over her shoulder at Tricker. She offered him a lazy smile. "Oh? Then let's make an appointment," she suggested.

  "Hey, I'm free now," he said, appearing totally unimpressed by their display of

  heated sensuality.

 
The I-950 looked adoringly at Kurt. "But I'm busy," she said. Then she looked over her shoulder again at Tricker. "Perhaps in a couple of hours?"

  "Perhaps now?" Tricker didn't try to hide his dislike for either of them most times; now he seemed to be doing his best to project it. He had an extremely effective way of suggesting what he was seeing when he looked at a person—

  something reminiscent of a small, yapping, incontinent dog that might be too valuable to be put down.

  Viemeister moved his hands from Clea's waist to cup her buttocks; he hoisted her up and she laughed. "Two hours," he said, and started to walk off.

  "Kurt," Tricker said, pointedly not looking at the muscular scientist and his comely burden, "you make me wait, I make you wait."

  Kurt and Clea looked at each other and sighed as one, then smiled wickedly. He let her down slowly, and she came over to the security chief.

  "What exactly is there to discuss? You've received permission for me to work with my friend. So… ?" She shrugged, her eyes wide.

  "I need to know what you're going to do about your work," he said through clenched teeth.

  "I think this is more important," Clea told him. If you only knew how much more important, human. "Once my attention is engaged like this, it's very difficult for me to concentrate on anything else."

  "So you're just going to abandon the work you were brought here to do?"

  "Well, actually…" She produced a disk and handed it to him with a sweet smile.

  "It's largely finished. I think you'll find several people here—" she named them

  —"can handle the remaining details. That's okay with you, isn't it?"

  Tricker bit the inside of his cheek. "Sure," he said after a moment. He gave her an insincere smile. "Run along, kids. Get some work done." The sarcasm was as thick as butter.

  "All in good time." Clea blew him a kiss, then engulfed Viemeister's muscular arm in a hug and looked up at him. "All in good time."

  She walked off with Kurt, feeling as happy as it was possible for her to feel without Skynet whispering in her mind. She looked forward to the sex she would soon be having with Kurt. And it was good that she now had official permission to work with him on Skynet. No one on earth, with the exception of Alissa, could offer more help in developing its intelligence. As a bonus, she'd annoyed Tricker again.

  Serena had regarded him as an exceptional human being. But Clea wasn't finding him to be that formidable; he hadn't even pursued her resemblance to her parent, which, frankly was a relief.

  It was also a relief to know that she'd finally convinced her computer to allow her natural reactions to sex to prevail. She'd successfully argued that as she was less experienced than her predecessor, she was less able to fake her reactions.

  Therefore, it was reasonable to assume that someone as intelligent as Viemeister

  would almost certainly detect her lack of enthusiasm.

  Her stomach fluttered pleasantly in anticipation. Life was good.

  ROUTE 9, PARAGUAY

  Wendy had somehow thought of Paraguay as a small country. She supposed that was because it looked like a peanut nestled between Brazil and Argentina. But the place was; as big as most American states and its character had changed completely since she'd passed the Brazilian border. Lush semitropical forest full of smoking clearings had given way to flat, dry grasslands where scattered cattle grazed between occasional clumps of palms. It smelled strange, too: hot in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature; dusty like spices and acrid musk.

  Even the smells of cattle were alien. She'd been a city girl all her life.

  According to what John had told her, he was living on a farm or something just outside Villa Hayes. Sometimes it sounded like he was talking about Dogpatch, and sometimes like the Ponderosa.

  She was tired, and she was hungry, and she was fighting the feeling that she was hopelessly lost, it was hot and everything that she'd brought with her was made of black velvet at Snog's insistence. She'd kill for a T-shirt and shorts right now.

  Money was rapidly running out, making her want to continue to drive, not stopping for bed or food, but she could barely keep her eyes open. Besides fighting sleep, she was fighting the sneaking suspicion that John wouldn't be too happy to see her.

  Should she call him, warn him that she was coming? What if he said no, he

  wouldn't help her? Wendy's heart beat faster at the thought, exhaustion allowing panic a footlhold.

  Her ordinary sunny self-confidence was gradually eroding in the face of the sheer foreignness of her Surroundings, not to mention her circumstances. She was homesick and scared and very lonely. Wendy found it disconcerting to realize just how protected she had always been until now. She'd always considered herself an independent, self-sufficient type of woman.

  But I'm really just a clueless college girl on the lam. Wendy licked dry lips and decided to press on, deciding she wouldn't give John a chance to say no. After everything else she'd been through over the last few days, she was learning to take things as they came.

  VON ROSSBACH ESTANCIA, PARAGUAY

  Epifanio Ayala, von Rossbach's overseer, watched the plume of dust approach the main house of the testancia and assumed it was yet another delivery. They had received many such in the last few days: although littie remained, for Don von Rossbach and young John had taken the accumulation away to Asuncion in the estancia's truck today. Epifanio's wife, Marietta, from whom almost no secret could be kept for long, had informed him that these things were mostly very warm winter clothing and expensive camping gear.

  "Maybe they are going mountain climbing," he'd suggested.

  Marietta had only shrugged and rolled her eyes expressively. But he'd known what she meant. Ever since he'd met Senora Krieger, Senor von Rossbach had been going away without warning to do who knew what.

  Epifanio shook his head as he watched the dust plume grow closer. The senor was a nice man, and Senora Krieger and her son, they were nice, too. But since they'd come home, Epifanio himself was the only one involved in running the estancia. True, he was the overseer, it was his job. But not so very long ago Senor von Rossbach had taken an interest in every aspect of the ranch, riding out to check the cattle, making plans to improve the stock and the land. It was worrying to see such a change in him.

  Marietta thought it was for the best. "He is much more alive," she'd insisted. And she favored the senora's presence. But that was a woman for you, always hoping for romance. To him it seemed there was never a woman more cold and businesslike than Susan Krieger. Although she, too, was neglecting her business, staying mostly at the estancia fiddling with the computer. And that bandage on her hip… He was a peaceful man, but he knew a gunshot wound when he saw it.

  The dust wasn't coming from a delivery truck, it seemed, but from a small sedan, so covered with dirt that its original color was completely hidden. His brows rose. Those were Brazilian plates—common enough in Asuncion, but not in the country.

  Epifanio rose from his seat on the portal and went down the steps to stand before the great house, patiently waiting for the car to arrive. No doubt it was some lost traveler, for the vehicle certainly didn't belong to anyone Ayala knew and the senor and his guests never received visitors.

  He could dimly see the figure of a woman through the dirty glass of the side window as she pulled up beside him. Epifanio waved some of the swirling dust that accompanied her aside with his hat and took in details to relate to Marietta

  later on.

  The car was new and designed for city driving; its low-slung chassis must have had a hard time on the rough roads surrounding the estancia. A very impractical vehicle, with no storage capacity to speak of and much too small for a family of any size. It seemed to be a pale blue under the dust.

  The woman inside slumped behind the wheel, unmoving, and after a moment Epifanio tapped lightly on the window to get her attention. She lifted her head with a start, as though she'd fallen asleep, then she rolled down the window.
>
  He saw that she hadn't been sleeping, but reading. It was a girl, perhaps nineteen years old and very tired looking, dressed in black velvet and sweating because of it. She glanced from him to her book and brushed a hank of sweat-soaked dark hair back from her face with one hand.

  Then she told him, in terrible Spanish, that she was looking for John Krieger.

  Really, it was only the name that gave him a clue as to what she wanted. What a terrible accent, he thought. She probably didn't speak Spanish at all, but was parroting phrases from the book.

  "Senor Krieger is not here right now," he said politely. "He will not be back for several hours, I think."

  Epifanio had taken care to speak slowly so that she would understand, but the girl looked back at him with big eyes that held no more understanding than a cow's. Si. No Spanish at all. And not likely to speak Guarni, which was his only other language beyond a few words of German. She looked so tired, and so lost, that he couldn't help but take pity on her.

  "Senora Krieger? Perhaps she could help you?" he offered.

  Alarm flashed briefly in her eyes, then her mouth firmed and she nodded once.

  Opening the door, she stood, as stiff as an old lady. Then she said, " Si. Senora Krieger, por favor."

  Epifanio smiled at her, pleased at their progress, and gestured toward the portal with his hat, holding out his other arm as though to herd her into the house. To his surprise she put her hand on his arm to steady herself and he instantly took her elbow to support and guide her.

  Marietta was going to love this.

  Sarah looked up from her work, frowning, at Epifanio's knock. Beside him was a young woman in a long-sleeved, ankle-length, and ill-fitting black dress. If her hair hadn't been purple Sarah would have thought she was a very young nun.

  Suddenly something about the girl clicked and Sarah said to herself, American.

  "Yes?" she said aloud.

  "Pardon my intrusion, senora. But the young lady"—he gestured at the girl with his hat—"is looking for your son, I think."