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 agony. He choked, then let out the excess air in slow bursts to ease the excruciating pain in his side. The sensation was familiar, but it wasn't one you ever got used to. This time he didn't seem to be waking up in a hospital, either—always a bad sign.
Broken rib, he thought. At least one.
Von Rossbach opened his eyes to surprisingly dim light. Then realized that he was in some kind of snow cave, which explained why he hadn't frozen solid. In fact, comparatively speaking, he was relatively warm; snow could be good insulation, at the very least it stopped the wind. He moved his legs experimentally and found them merely cold and not broken. One of his arms was free, but the other was pinned and numb. Carefully he lifted his head to take a look.
A seal's head and neck pinned him down. The surreal sight brought the circumstances of his fall back to him in a rush. Was that when all these huge blocks of snow had fallen, too? He lowered his head and realized that he'd laid it down on something reasonably soft. Turning carefully, he saw that he was also lying on top of a seal. Sandwich, he thought wryly. Blubber made good insulation. Another reason why I'm not a Popsicle.
John won't know where I am, he suddenly thought.
He shoved at the seal's head with his free arm, with about the same results as pushing at a boulder. The whole animal had stiffened into one solid piece; four hundred pounds of meat stiffened into rigor mortis could only be shifted by a crane. He raised his head to study the situation and decided to try sliding out from under it. Only its head, neck, and part of a shoulder held him pinned.
Luckily. Otherwise he'd never have woken; the weight of the thing on his broken ribs would have smothered him or driven the broken ends of the bones into his lungs. But its slowly cooling body had saved his life.