Rising Storm

taught when he first started in this service. Beauty is a weapon. Feel free to use it, never let it use you.

From the moment he heard about that statue in New York, he'd been interested in Clea Bennet. And when she began throwing out ideas that paralleled the Skynet project during her meeting with Colvin and Warren, he knew that he wanted her to work for him, else he'd never have ordered her picked up. But this!

Talk about a bonus, he thought.

Kipfer sat forward in his chair and pulled out his keyboard. He'd been of two minds about the woman; keep or kill. Pool was waiting for his orders.

*Send her to Antarctica,* he typed, then sent the message. After this, he'd hear about her in progress reports or not at all. Until, that is, such time as he had to review his decision to let her live.

RED SEAL BASE, ANTARCTICA

They arrived at night, delivered by an Osprey tilt rotor with no markings and no

way to see out from the passenger compartment; Clea and two rather groggy-looking men—or perhaps they were just sullen. She decided to imitate their look and manner, adding a bit of frightened little girl to her demeanor.

They were hustled through the freezing darkness to a building like a shed. Clea had the impression of a vast reflective whiteness as they rushed through the dark, as though the surface of the moon were under their feet.

Once inside the shed, they were made to go down a flight of stairs into a small, unfurnished room. Two of the men from the plane were with them, silent, their eyes always moving among the three of them, as though they expected something to happen, both holding Ingram machine pistols.

The room began to move and Clea gasped. The men glanced at her apathetically, the guards sharply. She looked at them as though she wanted to say something, but then changed her mind.

Serena had definitely had the easier part to play, she decided. All she'd had to do was portray a ruthlessly efficient human. Whereas Clea was trying to convey inexperience, naivete, brilliance, and humanity. She'd have to work at simplifying her portrayal as she went along. This was tedious.

She didn't know a great deal about Antarctica, but she rather thought that digging this deeply into it was something forbidden. She did know that according to international treaty, it was supposed to be free of military influence. This installation would seem to put the lie to that pretty notion.

It suddenly occurred to her that the more she interacted with humans, the more her thoughts became like Serena's. Either my brain is overcoming any damage

done by my accelerated growth, or I'm doomed to fail, she thought sourly. Or both.

She wanted to contact Alissa but hadn't because her captors might be able to detect such communication. Better to wait until she knew more. But she resented the break in contact.

The elevator finally stopped and they were led out into a corridor lined with doors that had numbers and message pockets on them. The floor tiles and walls were beige and the ceiling had acoustic tiles and fluorescent lights. They could be anywhere on earth rather than literally at the end of the earth.

The three of them were marched down the corridor until they came to a door like all the others. One of the guards knocked, then opened the door, motioning them inside.

It looked like a small meeting room; a chalkboard and desk were placed at one end of the room with several rows of chairs in front of them. A middle-aged man in good physical shape sat on the edge of the desk; he raised his head to look them over.

Tricker! Clea thought, almost delighted to see him. It was like unexpectedly finding an old friend. Then, He'll recognize me! she thought. But he didn't seem to at the moment. He appeared bored, so much so that even though he was looking at them, he wasn't really seeing them. I suppose I can keep out of his way. Time would tell if he was going to be a problem. I'll think of it as a challenge, she decided.

Somehow he seemed to wear his tan chinos and plain gray flannel shirt as

though they were a uniform. Casting a brief look at the guards, he nodded and the two men went out, closing the door behind them.

'Welcome to Red Seal Base,' he said. 'My name is Tricker. I'm the chief of security and I'll be your supervisor here. If you have any problems, or needs that we aren't meeting—and I mean anything—come and see me.'

He looked them over as though trying to ascertain if they'd understood him, then he continued. 'You're probably tired, so I won't keep you tonight. Tomorrow morning at 0800 hours I'll take you to the cafeteria and introduce you around.

After breakfast, we'll take a brief tour of the base. It will be a brief tour, as you aren't allowed into most sectors. Then I'll show you to your own labs and you can get settled. After dinner, we'll have another meeting and you can tell me about anything that you need that we haven't yet supplied.'

Tricker paused, assessing each of them with cool blue eyes. ' 'It's important that you understand from the outset that you are not to discuss anyone's work with them, or to discuss your own work with anyone else.'

Clea saw the two men glance at each other.

'Obviously,' Tricker said, not even trying to hide his exasperation, 'if you're working together, that doesn't apply as far as your own work goes. If you find this too confining come and speak to me and we'll see what we can set up. Do not'—he held up a warning finger—'simply decide to break this rule. You would regret that, I promise you.' He looked at them; they looked at him. 'Do you understand?'

'Yes,' they mumbled.

'There are sandwiches and coffee in your rooms for tonight,' Tricker told them,

'but generally you'll eat in the cafeteria with everyone else. We'll do our best to make you comfortable here, folks. How comfortable is up to you.'

Maybe he's asleep, the I-950 thought, surprised that he hadn't responded to her appearance. He certainly sounded it.

'The people outside will escort you to your rooms,' Tricker said, rising. 'You'll receive a wake-up call at 0700. Be ready for me to pick you up an hour later.

Good night.'

The two men and Clea looked at one another, then turned and toddled to the door, somewhat awkward in their heavy clothing. Outside two men and a woman were waiting for them, smiling for all they were worth.

'Welcome to Red Seal Base,' they said cheerfully and more or less in unison.

'You must be Clea Bennet.' The woman stepped forward offering her hand. 'I'm Josephine Lowe, your buddy.'

The I-950 just stared at her. This was almost unbelievably presumptuous, beyond anything she'd yet experienced from humans.

'You know, like in swimming class or fire drill,' Josephine continued. 'We're in a dangerous place, you know, and so they feel we should all have someone looking out for us; that way, if we have to evacuate in a hurry no one will get left behind. Unless'—she chuckled—'both buddies are together.'

Lowe was plump, and crammed into a belted gray jumpsuit with sneakers on her feet. She was about forty- five with short blond hair brushed back from her rather ordinary face. She wore no makeup.

'I'm right next door to you,' Josephine was saying.

Somehow Clea didn't find this reassuring in the least. She looked around and saw the two men going off with their buddies.

'You look exhausted, you poor thing,' Clea's buddy said. She lifted her arm as though she was going to put it around the I-950's shoulders but didn't actually touch her. 'Let me show you to your room. A little supper and a good night's sleep will do wonders for you.'

Ah, Clea thought, I look exhausted. That's why Tricker didn't recognize me.

Well, she'd have to see what she could do to continue looking mousy and uninteresting. Meanwhile she'd have to see what she could learn from this source. 'Have you been here long?' she asked Josephine, smiling tentatively.

'Oh! Just ages, honey! At first I thought I'd go stir-crazy, but then I really got to like it here. We've got a