Rising Storm

freezing air seemed to hit him like a slap. He slid down from the sledge and forced himself to stand, though he kept one hand on the supplies in order to keep himself upright.

She gave him an anxious glance, then shoved a PowerBar into his hand. Looking away, she went to work folding up the tent and rolling his sleeping bag. Wendy secured them, working around him, casting sidelong glances at him that he

couldn't see, ready to catch him if he fell. Instead, it looked as though he'd been right. Standing did seem to be helping return some of his strength. Which was good—God knew they'd need it soon.

John studied the base through his binoculars, pleased to see no sign of life but a faint trail of steam or smoke from one of the huts. Everything else seemed to be shut down. Dieter's little gizmo showed no sign of surveillance equipment either.

At least not at this distance.

I wish we had another day, he thought. But then he also wished he had Dieter.

And Mom. It would definitely be good to have Mom. Wendy was watching him and he reached over and patted her back.

'Guess there's no point in waiting till dark,' he said. He tried to put a smile into his voice while keeping his face still. It was amazing how much a smile could hurt, and chewing that PowerBar had been indescribable.

'How do we approach it?' Wendy asked.

John nodded. 'We walk in,' he said. 'Watch what I do and follow in my footsteps. You got your stuff?'

She nodded.

'Then let's rock-and-roll.' It might be an old-fashioned phrase, he thought as he climbed to his feet, but it works better than let's rap or let's hip-hop. He supposed that one day it would be replaced. Or it might become one of those antique phrases you use without thinking about. Whoa. I'm free-associating, he thought.

Not good. Focus, John, focus. Wendy's life might depend on it.

Wendy watched him move slowly toward the base and shook her head. 'John,'

she called, and he carefully turned to look at her. Oh, yeah, she thought, let's rock-and-roll. 'Let's take the snowmobile.'

'They'll see us,' he protested.

'Assuming anyone is there,' she agreed. 'But if anyone is it's probably just a skeleton crew and this way we'll find out who it is right away.'

He stared at her, swaying slightly. 'That's stupid,' he finally said. 'They'll lock us up. We're not even supposed to be here.'

'We're tourists. We got separated from our group by the storm, our guide fell into a crevasse and died; it's plausible. Besides, you've been injured, we're both under twenty-one—they'll believe us. Nobody sends out a couple of white-bread kids like us to commit sabotage. Especially not to Antarctica, where we'll stick out like a sore thumb.'

'They'll see us!' he protested.

'John! There isn't any way to avoid being seen.' She swept her arm toward the base and the flat, empty ground between them. 'They'd probably see us if we crawled over there! And let's be honest, neither one of us is up for that.'

He studied the ground for a long moment, then shrugged. 'And like I said, there's no point in waiting for dark.'

She grinned. 'At least we'll arrive in comfort and style.'

When the snowmobile pulled up with two figures wearing blood-smeared white parkas, Tricker was surprised. He'd expected them to be a little more covert.

Nobody takes pride in their work anymore, he thought. Then felt more depressed when he realized that was the kind of thing old codgers say; and field spooks generally didn't live that long. He stood before the door of the hut saying nothing as he watched the smaller figure help the larger climb off the snowmobile.

'Is there a doctor here?' she asked.

A girl! he thought. Some vestigial remnant of Affirmative Action, he supposed.

Not Sarah Connor anyway. He'd heard recordings of her voice, which was lower and smokier. The girl was propping up her partner, looking at him.

'No doctor,' he said aloud. He paused. 'Does this mean you'll be leaving?'

The two stared at him, unmoving, then they glanced at each other as though confused. 'Won't you please help us?' the girl said, her voice quavering. 'My husband is hurt.'

Tricker sighed. She sounded like some nice, middle-class kid. The very people I started out meaning to defend. Every now and again it was good to be reminded of them. So that if he had to, he'd be able to break this little girl's neck for their benefit. Tricker walked over to them and put his arm around the silent one's waist.

'C'mon in,' he invited. 'Glad ta see ya.' He hated waiting.

They steered the girl's companion to the nearest chair and eased him down, then Tricker went to close the door. The girl stripped off her gloves and began

loosening her husband's clothes, pushing back his hood, unzipping his parka. She pushed back her own hood, yanking off her goggles impatiently and pulling off the balaclava.

Tricker was surprised; she looked younger than he'd expected, maybe nineteen or so. A fair ways from twenty-one anyway.

Wendy leaned over John and gently removed his goggles, then carefully peeled back the balaclava. She could feel that it had stuck to the cut on his face and hesitated.

'Yank it,' he said stoically.

So she did, gritting her teeth as she pulled it off in one movement.

'Holy shit!' Tricker exclaimed. 'What the hell happened to you?'

This wasn't something they'd set up to get sympathy and lull him into a false sense of security. The boy had a lump the size of a softball on his forehead and one side of his face was swollen and bruised, bleeding slightly from where the balaclava had been ripped away, with inexpert stitching holding together one of the ugliest cuts he'd ever seen.

It looks like he's been savaged by an animal.

'You wouldn't believe me,' the boy said, obviously trying not to move his face.

Probably not, Tricker agreed silently. But what the hell, I'm always up for a good story. 'Tell me anyway,' he invited. Then held up his hand as he caught the

girl's genuinely anxious look. 'You kids hungry, thirsty?' he asked.

'Thirsty,' they said as one.

'Coffee?' Tricker offered. They nodded and he poured them each a cup. 'You should take sugar,' he said to John. 'Even if you don't take sugar.'

John nodded and accepted a cup with two large spoonfuls.

'So,' Tricker said after his guests had taken a few grateful sips of the hot brew,

'give. Who are you people?'

'I'm Wendy and this is my husband, Joe.'

Joe/John made a little sound that turned into a groan.

'Would you like some aspirin?' Tricker asked.

'Yes,' John said fervently. 'Aspirin would be good.' He held up three fingers and nodded his thanks when Tricker put the tablets in his hand.

'You guys seem a little young to be married,' he said, sitting down again.

'That's what our parents said.' Wendy took John's hand and smiled up at him.