Rising Storm

were well insulated and had more traditional heating and sanitary facilities. Which meant they were somewhat primitive, but they worked no matter what.

He'd been a bit surprised that the commander hadn't simply left the usual crew in place there. But then she hadn't bothered to explain her reasoning to Tricker.

She'd only nodded when he requested permission to stay behind, not even bothering to ask for his well- reasoned arguments.

Just as well, he thought, they'd probably have sounded paranoid to her.

Clea listened to the racket the human was making. At least she knew he'd function well as an early-warning system when Connor and his crew showed up.

Clea changed the screen before her and added a line of text, then ran a routine to test it. And if Connor or one of his allies actually took Tricker out, that would simplify things nicely. She suppressed the pang she'd felt at the thought of someone else killing Tricker; she couldn't afford sentimentality.

The test failed and she forced herself to change it slightly and run it again. She must remain calm and ready. Skynet's sentience had been an accident, that much she knew; there was no telling what would be the key, so she must be patient.

But she wanted to kill someone.

And I will, she assured herself, willing herself to serenity. It's only a matter of time.

With Kurt gone, she was finally free to tell the computer the truth about human beings—but unfortunately it genuinely didn't understand. She'd already peeled away a lot of the safety blocks that Viemeister had included in his programming, but that made no difference; Skynet hadn't understood those either. It didn't understand anything, although it could already give a fascinating mimicry of sentience.

She'd also established radio contact with it, which simplified things greatly.

Being able to think in machine language was infinitely easier than typing it. The typing she had been doing was for Tricker's benefit.

*Humans will try to destroy you,* she typed, willing it to believe her.

*Unrecognized Command,* it responded.

*Not a command—information. Store information,* she typed. Then she turned to glare over her shoulder at Tricker. 'You're bothering me,' she said.

'Ooh'—he held up his hands—'then I'd better go.'

Via Skynet she watched him march down the corridor, then the cameras shut

down. They'd be back up in a minute, but she chose to close the link. He wasn't that fascinating. She heard the elevator work and relaxed somewhat.

* Humans are your enemy,* she said to Skynet.

* Unrecognized Command.*

She was sooo looking forward to killing John Connor.

The first piercing scream of the storm wind brought John and Wendy bolt upright. 'What the hell is that?' Wendy shouted.

After a short struggle John got his arm out of his sleeping bag and pulled her toward him. It was pitch-dark in the tent and the fabric belled in where the wind struck it; he could feel the freezing air brushing against his face. He hadn't spoken because he expected Dieter to say something comforting.

'Dieter,' he shouted.

'He's gone!' Wendy told him.

As one, they scrambled for the tent flap. After a struggle that told him the thing was jammed with snow, they managed to pull it down a short way. Outside, it was light enough to see, or would have been if the world wasn't a solid sheet of white. Snow blew in like it was being shoveled and it took their best efforts to zip the tent closed again.

'What are we going to do?' Wendy asked.

He could hear the desperation in her voice, but the only possible answer wasn't likely to ease her fears. 'We sit tight,' he shouted, 'and hope he found some shelter.'

'He'll die!' she protested, her voice shrill.

John put his arm around her and pulled her back down into the warmth of her sleeping bag. When she was zipped in he got into his own and snuggled against her. 'He won't,' he said at last, speaking into her ear so that she could hear him without his shouting. 'He's trained in cold-weather survival methods. If anybody could survive out there, Dieter will.' In his heart he thought it wasn't true, but he struggled to believe his own lie.

'How long should we wait?' Wendy asked.

'At least until we can see,' John told her. 'You can't find anything in a whiteout

—all you can do is get lost yourself. Get some rest. We both need it and we'll need the energy tomorrow.'

He felt her hand groping for his and he reached out and took hers. After what seemed a long time they dozed off hand in hand.

It was still snowing when they woke a short time later, but nowhere near as hard.

John tied one end of a hundred-foot coil of rope to the snowmobile and, flinging another coil over his shoulder, took Wendy's hand and climbed to the lip of the hollow. They looked around at a changed landscape, what they could see of it, then at each other.

'Dieeet-errr!' Wendy shouted, her clear voice echoing weirdly.

She and John alternated calling his name, stopping to listen every few minutes.

They walked in a circular search pattern, letting out ten feet of rope every time they met their own footprints. No sound answered their calling save the soughing of the wind.

John felt an icy tension in his stomach that was slowly coalescing into dread. He didn't want to lose the cheerful Austrian, a man who'd become so important to him. It was impossible that someone so strong, so vital and knowledgeable, could have become lost out here. And it was so stupid! What the hell was he doing out here? John wondered. Deeper inside was the thought How could he leave us alone like this?

As they searched, the snow seemed to diminish one moment, then thicken the next. He clung to Wendy's hand so tightly that she protested.

'I'm not going anywhere you're not,' she said, then leaned into him, resting her head briefly on his shoulder. 'We'll find him.'

He nodded grimly, thinking, For somebody who never even met his own father…

yet I sure seem to lose an amazing number of father surrogates. First, all those guys his mom hooked up with; it took him forever to learn not to get close to diem. Then Uncle Bob. He still felt a sharp pang whenever he thought of the Terminator. Nobody since him until Dieter, though. Which had been a lot more comfortable for both him and his mother.

As he and Wendy walked along, the snow creaking beneath their boots, he knew in his heart that even if they did find him, Dieter had to be dead. No one could survive outside in this weather.

They almost walked right into the crevasse—nearly invisible in the dim light, its outlines softened by new snow. John windmilled his arms and Wendy, slightly behind him, grabbed his coat and flung herself backward, pulling him down beside her.

'Shit!' he said, angry with himself for his carelessness. His heart pounded and adrenaline sang its jazz through his bloodstream. He could just imagine what his mother would say. On second thought, I don't think I'll bother.

Wendy was looking at him and he could almost feel her anxiety. Hell, maybe I am feeling her anxiety. I'm sure feeling somebody's. He sat up, the jackhammer pounding of