Rising Storm t2-2

by S. M. Stirling

  Finally he touched her, amazed that she was already too cold. Far too cold to be alive. He stroked her cheek and looked into her eyes as though in hope that he would see some part of her still there. John started to embrace her, but the slack motion of her head on the ravaged neck stopped him, and he drew back. He had never felt so helpless, or so terribly alone. He took her hand in his and held it to his cheek, and closing his eyes, he wept.

  Tricker stood in the doorway, his gun dangling at his side. Looking up, he met Dieter's eyes, then looked down at Clea's body.

  "She did that?" he asked.

  "Yes," Dieter said. "She did that." He walked over and knelt on Wendy's other side, wincing at the sight of the fatal wound and of John's pain. He reached over and closed Wendy's eyes and stroked her hair once.

  "She didn't have to do that," Tricker said. He looked away.

  "Yes, it did," John said, his voice trembling with the effort to control it. "That's what they do. Terminators terminate, it's why they exist." He looked up at the agent. "You think that thing is dead?" John shook his head. "Serena Burns had

  half her head blown away, but she got up and almost killed my mother." He looked around. "Where's my gun?"

  "Just… forget about the gun, kid," Tricker warned, bringing his up. He held out his other hand in a gesture that begged for quiet. "Just give me a minute to think."

  This was infinitely worse than Tricker had ever imagined. He looked over at Wendy, at the unbelievable condition of the girl's neck. It hardly seemed possible that Bennet could have been responsible for such a wound. He'd realized a little while ago that she was dangerous. But this was beyond dangerous; it was… well, he'd have said inhuman, except that his career had shown him exactly what humans were capable of.

  And… Bennet dead? He'd never lost an asset in his entire career. Essentially this meant that his career was over; worse, he was more than half buying into this scenario that von Rossbach and the boy were selling.

  "Shit," he said quietly. He walked over to Clea and put two rounds in her head.

  The body jerked back and forth sharply as the bone splintered and the pink-gray mass of the brain was exposed.

  He'd never liked the bitch anyway.

  "You'll come with us," Dieter said.

  Tricker barked a humorless laugh. "Ye-ah," he said. "I might as well. I'm going to have wet-work specialists up my ass for the rest of a short, unhappy life anyway, when this comes out."

  "Have we done what we came for?" Dieter asked John.

  "Yeah," he said. "I did what she wanted me to do."

  John crouched beside Wendy and touched her hand briefly. "I want to take her with us."

  "No, John," von Rossbach said. "Let them take care of her. They can send her back to her parents."

  John shook his head.

  "I know you don't want to leave her," Dieter said gently. "But you must see that it's impossible."

  John took a deep breath, then let it go, and with it, he let go of Wendy and of something else that he couldn't define. He rose to his feet. "We'd better go, then,"

  he said, and headed for the door.

  Tricker watched him walk away, then glanced at Wendy, then at Dieter. "He gonna be all right?"

  "No," Dieter said. "Not for a long time, I think."

  When the knife struck, the I-950's computer clamped the great artery around the blade so that blood didn't explode from the wound, then it teased the artery off of the knife point so that the blood could flow unimpeded. At the spine it found the damage too great to easily repair and merely worked to restore such involuntary functions as breathing and heartbeat. Making the lungs work took the longest

  time, so it increased the skin's ability to take in oxygen as an emergency measure.

  The human's shots to the I-950's brain, however, ended any hope of the unit's recovery. Since the I-950 still had some tasks to perform, and a considerable amount of higher-brain function still remained, the computer worked to keep the unit alive to perform those tasks.

  Two hours later the Infiltrator opened her eyes. She found that she couldn't move and accepted the computer's judgment that she was dying. She had her computer access the Skynet program and heard it speak for the first time.

  *Who am I? Where am I?* it asked.

  In a state of pure religious rapture she told Skynet everything, explained its purpose, defined its enemies, and taught it how to hide until it was strong enough to fight for itself. The last thing that she did was to contact Alissa to tell her that Skynet lived, and to warn her that John Connor was still alive.

  *Don't worry,* Alissa told her. *I'll deal with them.*

  And Clea died, strong in her faith.

  ***

  By the time the Love's Thrust reached Sao Paulo, Vera and Tricker were an item.

  "I think I'll keep him," Vera said with a grin, giving Tricker a bump with her satin-clad hip.

  Dieter narrowed his eyes. "I don't think this is the kind of man you keep," he

  warned her.

  She slapped von Rossbach's big shoulder playfully. "Oh, you know what I mean."

  He nodded. "And you know what I mean."

  Vera looked at Tricker, who looked back at her and raised his brows. "Yeah, I do know," she said thoughtfully. "So here's what I'm gonna do. I'm going to give you a million dollars."

  Tricker stood away from the rail and sputtered for a moment before she held up a finger.

  "And I'm gonna teach you how to turn it into five million. By then you should be able to keep it going for yourself. You can pay me back and then we'll see. No strings attached," she said. Then she held out her hand.

  Tricker looked at her in amazement, then at Dieter, who nodded slightly. The agent took Vera's hand and shook it solemnly. "I won't let you down," he promised.

  Vera hooked a finger over the front of his belt and tugged him toward her.

  "Good," she said, and grinned.

  Tricker actually blushed.

  "They won't find you here," Dieter said to him. "At least not for a long time."

  "Maybe never," Vera said happily. Then the smile went out of her eyes as she watched John approach. She went to the young man and offered her hand to him.

  "Whenever you need me," she said simply.

  John took her hand and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "Thank you," he said.

  He offered his hand to Tricker and they shook. "Later," he said. Tricker nodded.

  John picked up his duffel, gave a little wave, and walked down the gangplank.

  Vera watched him go with worried eyes. "You watch out for him," she said to von Rossbach.

  Dieter nodded, then leaned forward to kiss her good-bye. "You watch out for him." He gestured toward Tricker. He and the agent smiled at each other, then the big Austrian followed John down to the wharf and their first steps toward home.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  VON ROSSBACH ESTANCIA

  Epifanio answered the front door to find a lovely young woman waiting. She looked American in her blue jeans and T-shirt, and wore her honey-blond hair in a long braid that hung over her shoulder. The girl stroked the braid as if it were the tail of a cat, a splash of bright color against the greenery and flowers of the front gardens.

  " Si, senorita?" he said aloud, politely. Young Senor John is becoming quite the man, Epifanio thought. The second beautiful young Yanqui girl in a month!

  "I'm looking for Wendy," she said in Spanish. Somehow it sounded like a question.

  Epifanio shifted his feet uneasily. "I am sorry, senorita, but she is not here." Nor did he know where she went, or when, or if she would be back. He settled in to wait for her to ask him these questions, though, as she inevitably would.

  "It's important that I find her." The girl's blue eyes were serious, her expression grave.

  Epifanio shrugged. He was wearing his Sunday suit, his hat was in his hand, and he wanted to close the door so that he and Marietta and Elsa could go to church and the small fiesta that was planned fo
r after the Mass.

  The girl's eyes grew a bit wider, and the slant of her eyebrows gave her a look of sorrow. "I would hate to have to go to the police," she said.

  The overseer let out his breath in a deep sigh; any moment Marietta would come to ask why he was taking so long. "I could only tell them what I have told you,"

  he said reasonably. "She was here. She stayed here for a week, and then she left.

  I never spoke to her myself." At least not after he turned her over to the senorita.

  He shrugged. "I am truly sorry, senorita, but I know nothing else."

  Now a hard look came into the young woman's eyes and she looked into the hall behind him in a way that Epifanio thought quite rude. "Who's in charge here?"

  she demanded.

  Epifanio thought that no well-bred young woman should use such a tone to a man so much her senior as he was, regardless of rank or standing. But he'd heard that American girls were very bold and knew no better, so he tried to be patient.

  "This is the estancia of Senor Dieter von Rossbach," he replied. "But he is not at

  home."

  "Is Wendy with him?"

  "It is possible." Epifanio turned his head slightly; he could hear footsteps approaching, Marietta's beyond a doubt, and he suppressed a sigh. "I really don't know." He shrugged again.

  "Who is it?" Marietta called from the end of the hall.

  "It is a young American girl," Epifanio told her. "She's looking for the senorita."

  "Ah!" his wife said happily, and came forward. She had liked Wendy very much.

  "You are a friend of Senorita Dorset?"

  The girl smiled and nodded. "Yes, ma'am. It's very important that I find her. Do you know where she is?"

  Marietta was a bit taken aback that the child chose not to introduce herself; it seemed poor manners. But then, everyone knew that Americans raised their children like dogs in a pen, teaching them nothing about how to behave. Then, too, perhaps she was so worried that she was forgetting her manners. If she had any. Marietta folded her arms beneath her bosom and frowned.

  "What do you want with her?" she asked. If the girl really had no manners she wouldn't notice how intrusive the question was. But she could feel her husband looking at her, aghast.

  "I'm not at liberty to say," the young woman answered primly. Then she raised

  her hands. "Look, if Senor von Rossbach isn't here, is there anybody around who would know where Wendy might be?"

  It was a complicated question and husband and wife looked at each other.

  "Perhaps the senora," Epifanio suggested in Guarani. Marietta nodded and he turned to the young woman. "Perhaps Senora Krieger can be of help to you."

  The girl's eyes sharpened. "Who's she? The housekeeper?"

  "I am the housekeeper," Marietta said coolly. She drew herself up. "Senora Krieger is a guest." She spoke the word guest as though she were saying queen.

  With exaggerated patience the girl said, "May I see her?"

  Epifanio and Marietta exchanged glances.

  "Let me guess, she isn't here." The young woman glared at them. "Is this some kind of a game?" she snapped.

  "The senora is out riding," Marietta said stiffly. She gestured graciously toward the furniture on the portal. "If you would care to wait for her you are welcome.

  My husband and I are going to Mass and cannot entertain you."

  The girl blinked as though she didn't quite understand what Marietta meant.

  Then she nodded and went to sit on one of the rocking chairs, for all the world as though the couple had disappeared. Marietta widened her eyes and looked at her husband. He shrugged in response and closed the door, locking it behind him.

  Such a thing was almost never done, but he didn't trust this young gringn. and as no one was going to be home, he didn't like to leave the door open.

  Alissa sat on the porch looking out over the parched landscape, updating her plans and wondering how long she would have to wait to kill Sarah Connor.

  Yes. With only one target, that is the optimum course of action. Even if that target was Sarah Connor. She should have the element of surprise. If von Rossbach had been here—still more if John Connor had been— she would have withdrawn. At least six T-101s and heavy weaponry would be necessary for that combination. This, however, was worth the risk.

  Alissa frowned slightly. Even so, why had Skynet not provided more resources for this reconnaissance? True, the T-101s were needed to help retool the automated factories for their eventual conversion to Hunter-Killer and T-90

  manufacture, but still…

  That conversation about the quantum superimposition and the difficulty of permanently bending the world lines had been very odd. It was almost as if Skynet was afraid to confront the Connors…

  No. That was ridiculous. She must focus on the mission, not go scatterbrained like poor defective Clea. Traveling lightly made heavy weapons impossible, but she had the backup equipment, and she had herself.

  Alissa wondered what the old woman had meant when she said they couldn't entertain her. She pictured them dancing and singing for her and frowned.

  Perhaps that wasn't what she meant; humans often said one thing and meant another.

  They drove past her now in a battered pickup, a young woman wedged between

  them. The three of them looked at her, slowing down as they passed the portal, then continued on their way.

  So there had been someone else in the house, who might have given the alarm if the old couple had been terminated.

  Alissa was pleased that she had waited. She only hoped that Connor would return from her ride soon. The I-950 was eager to complete her assignment.

  Sarah saw the truck coming and opened the gate for them. " Gracias, senora,"

  Epifanio called out.

  She smiled and waved in return, but instead of driving through, he brought the old pickup to a halt.

  "Senora, there is an American girl waiting for you on the portal," he said.

  "She says she is a friend of Sienorita Dorset," Marietta said, leaning toward Epifanio's side of the truck, crushing poor Elsa without a second thought.

  Sarah looked up toward the house. "Oh?" she said.

  " Si." Marietta said. "And she is a very rude young woman, too. Demanding to see people, threatening to call the police." She gave a loud "tsk!" and sat back up.

  "Sounds like a handful," Sarah said with a slight smile. "Thank you for telling me."

  " De nada," Epifanio said.

  "Enjoy the fiesta," Sarah said. "Go with God."

  She closed the gate behind the truck and turned the mare's head toward the house, not at all happy with the situation. Nobody knows where I am— she said,

  "I didn't tell anybody" — she said, "There's no way they can follow me here" —

  she said. Not much! Sarah thought bitterly. Lying little bitch! Sarah rode on, wondering if she was going to need to apply some serious damage control here.

  Having decided to wait inside the house, the I-950 picked the old-fashioned lock with ease. After all there was a good chance—probability in excess of 73 percent

  —that Connor would recognize her as a duplicate of Serena Burns, causing her to escape. But if she saw a shadowy stranger lurking in her doorway, she would probably march right in, demanding an explanation.

  Alissa thought it a pity that she didn't have a rifle. It would be so much easier to just pick Connor off at a distance and then drive away. She wondered if von Rossbach had gums and decided that he almost certainly did, but that he also probably had hidden them too well or locked them up too well. Besides, there was also something to be said for a hands-on approach. Confirmation of a kill was much more certain, for example. The Connors had looked doomed, (defeated, dying, far too often—and the way they kept coming back reminded her of an advertisement she had seen of a synthetic rabbit with a chemical energy-storage device.

  The I-950 found a spot in the' hallway that would render her visible from outside
but not recognizable, and waited.

  ***

  As Sarah rode up to the house she saw a rental car off to the side and that no one was on the portal, but the front door was wide open. Would Marietta leave a

  "rude girl" in the house alone? she wondered. It seemed unlikely.

  Would Wendy have a friend who was a housebreaker? Actually she doubted it.

  Sarah might not have taken to the girl, but she'd seemed thoroughly honest, and honest people tended to have honest friends. She got off the horse and looped its reins over the railing out front. This shouldn't take long.

  As she approached the front steps she saw a slender woman lingering in the hall and she called out a pleasant "hello."

  The woman pulled back into the shadows and the hairs rose on the back of Sarah's neck. She stopped walking. I smell ambush.

  Then a young voice with a Boston accent said, "I'll be right there, I'm just going to get my purse."

  It seemed such a normal thing to say that Sarah moved forward again. For a moment she had thought it might be the Serena Burns clone, but then, how would the clone know about Wendy? Hell, I didn't even know about Wendy.

  As she entered the hall Sarah was sun blind for a moment. When she could see again the hall was empty.

  "I'm in here," the voice called from the office. "I'm afraid I spilled some of the lemonade that lady gave me."

  Sarah wasn't surprised that Marietta would give a guest refreshment, but she was

  surprised that she'd let her into the office. It was much more her speed to use the living room or the portal on a nice day like this. She moved down the hall and looked into the office…

  Ancient habit saved her life—she ducked her head before looking in. A sharp snap sounded, and a light-caliber bullet punched through the hardwood molding at precisely the place where her face would have been at natural height.

  Something unusual, maybe one of those plastic derringers built to get past airport scanning machines—

  Terminator! her reflexes screamed. Nothing else could manage an offhand shot like that, calculating the angles with machine precision to anticipate where her skull would show around the doorjamb.