Rising Storm

'But we think we know what we're doing.' She looked over at Tricker and said brightly, 'They gave us this trip as our honeymoon.'

'They sent you to Antarctica for your honeymoon?' Tricker said. There's a message there kids if you can read it. He shrugged. 'Wouldn't have been my first choice.'

'Ecology,' John said, his voice muffled.

'We're very interested in it,' Wendy agreed. Her face grew solemn. 'But it's been a disaster. First we got separated from the rest of the group by the storm, then our guide fell down a crevasse, and then J-Joe was attacked by a seal.'

Navy SEAL? Tricker wondered for a split second before rejecting the idea. 'A seal' ?' he said aloud. 'Where were you when this happened?' ' Cause there sure aren't any seals around here.

Wendy shook her head. 'We don't know. Maybe the guide did… but without him we have no idea. I don't even know where we are now.'

'Your guide is dead, I take it,' Tricker said.

They both nodded. Wendy took John's hand and her breath caught in a sob.

Tricker was impressed. Somebody had died, this he believed, and whoever it was had meant something to these kids. But a guide… Maybe it was Sarah Connor.

'Look, is there anybody I can contact for you?' he asked.

Wendy looked at John, who nodded slowly, once. 'Our ship is the…' she paused and the blood rushed to her face. 'The Love's Thrust,' she said.

Tricker turned his bark of laughter into a cough.

Wendy frowned at him. 'Vera Philmore is our cruise director…' Her voice petered out. She looked from John to Tricker. 'I just can't tell her. I just can't.

Can we wait a little?' She pleaded with her eyes.

'They'll be worried about you,' Tricker said.

Wendy looked worried, then shook her head. 'I just can't.'

Tricker raised an inquiring eyebrow at John, who also shook his head. 'Okay, look,' Tricker said, 'why don't you two take a nap. Then, after you've had a little rest, we can talk about this some more.'

'Thank you.' Wendy turned to offer John a hand up. He took it and made a project out of rising, then didn't release her hand once he was on his feet.

Tricker led them down a short hall and opened a door. 'It's not the Hilton,' he said, gesturing them in to a small room furnished with two bunk beds and four chests and a table, 'but it's warm.'

'Looks like the Hilton to me,' John mumbled.

'Thanks,' Wendy said.

'No problem,' Tricker said with a smile. He pulled the door closed, fitted the hasp over the staple, and fitted a padlock through it. He gave it an experimental tug and, satisfied,, walked away. All the sleeping quarters had locks on the outside of the doors just in case someone got a touch of cabin fever. It just went to's;how, y'never knew when something was going to come in handy.

Tricker made his way back to the workroom to power up the radio, half expecting the kids to pound on the door, yelling to be let out. But there was dead silence behind him. Maybe they really were just a pair of lost kids who wanted

nothing more than to sleep. I doubt it, but whatever. Silence was good.

He sat down and leaned into the microphone. 'This is X-79er,' he said. 'Come in, McMurdo.'

He sat back, waiting for a response. What came back was static. Tricker made some adjustments and tried again. Again, static. Tricker sat back and considered the situation. Once may be coincidence. Twice may be happenstance. Third time, someone's fucking you around.

It could be the weather, which was far from stable, or a solar flare of the type prone to interfere with radio signals. So he could take the radio apart and find nothing wrong with it. Or… Tricker got up and went to the door. It could be some kind of jamming, provided by his young visitors. Which he thought was much more likely.

He opened the door, intending to take a look at that packed sledge. Only he couldn't see the sledge, he couldn't see anything. It was like someone had put a big, thick sheet of white paper over the doorway, one that blew freezing confetti at him. Tricker took a step back and slammed the door. So much for that :idea.

Nobody came to Antarctica for the climate.

He went to the desk and sat down. Oh well, he thought. It wasn't like it made a difference. He had them under lock and key, and the weather was going to keep anybody else from approaching the base. All he really had to worry about was Bennet. He clicked a couple of keys and the computer screen changed to a view of her lab. She seemed to be mesmerized by her own screen, sitting utterly motionless.

Tricker watched her, wondering, what she was thinking. As her stasis held he began to get a little worried. What, has she gone catatonic? he wondered.

Normal people can't just sit around without moving a muscle. The thought instantly calmed him. Like anybody here is normal! Especially not the geniuses that he and his crew were guarding. Sheesh! For a moment there he really had himself going.

***

'What are we going to do?' Wendy whispered. She and John lay cuddled together on one of the narrow lower bunks.

'Take a break for a couple of hours,' John suggested. 'Enjoy being warm, maybe get served a meal. I want to be sure he's alone here.'

Wendy was quiet for a moment, then she said, 'But he shouldn't be alone. You said the Terminator would be here.'

'Yup,' he agreed. 'So let's conserve energy by letting it come to us.'

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

RED SEAL BASE, ANTARCTICA

Clea had summoned the remaining three seals to the base over her computer's objections. The computer argued that it was a waste of resources. The I-950

countered that she had created those resources to be of help to her and that she needed that help here and now. If the seals didn't make the trip, they didn't; hut if they did, they might make the difference between Skynet's survival or John Connor's.

She checked on the seals and found them exhausted, but closer than she'd dared to hope. Reluctantly she decided to allow them a few hours of rest. After all, it would be better if they were capable of moving once they arrived.

Her computer informed her that it was time to eat. Clea stood up impatiently and went to find something. If the damn thing wasn't satisfied that she was taking care of herself, it wouldn't leave her alone, flashing a continual reminder in the corner of her eye. Besides, Tricker was probably checking up on her, so she had to act like a human to satisfy him as well.

As one of Skynet's most advanced weapons, she found the situation annoying.

Mentally, she did a final rundown… no, no weapons on the base. Should she improvise explosives? No. Contraindicated. Ironically enough, she was better off making this a body-to-body confrontation. Anything she made, John Connor might turn against her: he had an eerily good record at doing just that. Her strength and speed and skill she could rely on.

Still, it was annoying that there were no spare firearms. On the other hand, it wouldn't be like Tricker to leave anything to chance.

It was a pity he was human; sometimes he seemed more like one of her type.

Dieter woke slowly, rising to consciousness through frantic dreams of being pursued. He moved in his sleep, and pain brought him fully aware, causing him to suck in his breath sharply—only to have it cut short by a slash of