T2 Rising Storm, page 38
part #2 of Terminator Series
Sometimes you could put off trouble.
***
Through the windows of the lounge Dieter watched the young man automatically adjust his stance to the rolling of the big yacht, ignoring the V-plumes of spray that erupted skyward every time it dug its bows into the cold gray water.
"It's freezing out there," Vera observed. She shivered dramatically, causing the ice cubes in her Scotch to clink. "But it is fantastic." Her eyes glowed as she watched the steel-colored sea heave itself into mountains of water. "I love the sheer power of it! I'm so glad you convinced me to come down here, darling." She wrapped her arms around one of his and grinned up at him mischievously.
Dieter knew she was well aware that he got nervous when she did that and he smiled down at her in a carefully pleasant but not encouraging way.
She indicated the direction of Wendy's cabin with a tip of her well-coiffed head. "That nice little girl has been pretty broody, too."
"No"—Dieter patted Vera's hand—"not brooding. She's working on something. It has to be done by the time we reach our landing point, so she's just concentrating."
With a very unladylike snort, Vera said, "Yeah, right. And Johnny?"
Dieter shook his head. "He's eighteen."
"Ah," Vera said wisely. "That explains a lot."
John blinked and studied the waves as they roared toward the yacht, broke at the bows, and cataracted down the sides, doing his best to empty his mind and simply feel. He was out here to acclimate himself to the cold, and the mealy scent of the everlasting ice was strong. He kept telling himself that this was a useful exercise that would test his endurance. I'll build confidence knowing I can keep going through the discomfort. Jungles I'm used to, and mountains, but not ice.
Unfortunately he suspected that in reality he was enduring the discomfort because he felt guilty about leaving his mom behind and didn't want to discuss his feelings with Dieter and Wendy.
Not that Wendy seemed to be on the same planet with the rest of them at the moment. Sometimes she looked right through him, her head moving in little jerks as her eyes roved the room and her fingers tapped in a keyboard rhythm on the tablecloth. What she was like the rest of the time he didn't know since he only saw her at meals.
My girlfriend, the zombie, he thought bitterly, knowing he was being unfair. He paused in his thinking. I'm whining! I'm actually whining— and to myself! Did other people do that? It seems I do. So what was he supposed to make of that?
His feet and fingers hurt from the cold and the hairs in his nose felt like they were snapping off with every breath. Maybe his body was whining, quite justifiably, and this was the way his mind was interpreting its complaints. He sighed and could have sworn that he saw ice crystals fall from the plume of his breath. Impossible, with the air this saturated with moisture, but they should have…
The whining might not be justified, but the guilt was. Or at least it was understandable. By insisting on coming, he'd broken with a near-lifelong habit of assuming that his mother understood the situation better than he did. At least as far as Skynet went.
But he'd been right. I'm supposed to be a great leader. Nobody is going to follow someone who makes preserving his own precious pink personal buttocks the maximum priority.
His mother's still face came before his mind's eye. He had sensed her deep unhappiness and ignored it, choosing instead to crack jokes and to lift her off her feet with his good-bye hug. It was as if he was saying, See, Mom. I'm all grown up. I'm bigger than you are! Suddenly he felt very gauche.
He wondered if he shouldn't have confronted the situation, let her tell him what was on her mind. Like I didn't know, he thought grimly. Wendy was coming with them and Sarah couldn't. Wendy was an unknown quantity, an untested weapon, and Sarah wasn't going to be on hand if that weapon failed.
He had to give it to her; his mother knew how to cover his back, even if some part of him resented her presence there more and more as he grew older. At the same time he appreciated her devotion, even if he didn't want to examine it too closely. How hinky is that? he wondered, and decided not to examine that question too closely either.
Maybe he was just tired. The cold really burned energy and the heavy clothing he was wearing was… heavy. Still, he didn't move to go into the warmth of the lounge. Maybe he was punishing himself in some daft effort to make it up to his mother because he felt guilty. Guilt again. Though considering his insensitive behavior at their parting, he had good reason for feeling it.
Aside from that, whatever his mother felt, to him Wendy wasn't a weapon of any kind. What she was, quite simply, was the most important person in his life. Uh-oh. Did I really think that?
He'd been aware that he had very strong feelings for her, but he hadn't realized until this moment the depth of those feelings.
But Mom knew. She was as sensitive as a cat when it came to gauging people's feelings. Which might explain her distrust and resentment of the younger woman. Replaced and abandoned. The thought made him want to squirm.
But, hey, wait a minute. Look at it from another angle and this just clears the way for her to get together with Dieter. If everything goes according to plan this could all work out as neatly as a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta.
It unnerved him that he honestly didn't know if he was being sarcastic or not.
A wave heaved itself over the railing and drenched him from head to foot. And on that note… Grasping the safety line, he made his way to a door, grateful that he could choose to go in. One or two of the crew had to stay outside at all times, and every one of them came from the tropics. At least he'd seen snow.
Wendy saw John move past her porthole and flew to the door; throwing it open, she rushed down the corridor, opened the hatch to the deck, and flung her arms around his neck.
"I'm done! I'm done! I'm done!" she sang, hopping up and down. Her eyes grew round. "I'm cold! I'm cold! I'm cold!" She turned and fled back through the hatch.
He followed her in, grinning at the sight of her shivering, her teeth chattering as she hugged herself. As soon as the door was closed she rushed him again, then pulled back.
"You're wet!" she said in dismay. Then she looked down at her shirt. "I'm wet!"
He could see that. He could also see through the thin wet fabric that she wasn't wearing a bra. Now that's a sight for sore eyes!
"Never mind," Wendy said. Suddenly all business, she took his hand and towed him toward her cabin. She opened the door and turned to him, her eyes glowing. "Come in," she invited, tugging him forward.
"I'll come back," he promised. "I'm drenched."
Wendy laughed. "Use my shower," she suggested. Her voice dropped and went slightly husky. "I'll scrub your back." Then, taking him by surprise, in one smooth movement she pulled him in, closed the door, and leaned against it.
John blinked. Scrub your back was pretty unequivocal. He could feel himself blushing, but he was pretty sure that it was more about desire than embarrassment. He glanced at the porthole and Wendy moved to the wall and drew the short curtain over it. Turning, she raised a brow at him, then without a word went to the door and locked it.
"That should ensure privacy," she said. Wendy moved closer and looked up at him. "And your mother isn't here now, so there's no need to be shy."
He backed up a step and said uncertainly, "I just don't want to take advantage of you."
"Pleeease!" she begged him, crossing her eyes and shaking her folded hands in the classic pleading posture. "Take advantage of me! I've just done the impossible and I want to celebrate, and I want you! Moments like this only come along once in a while, John," she said as she began untying the ribbons on his life jacket. "You have to grab them while you can."
Beer commercial, he thought irreverently. Then, somehow, the life jacket was on the floor and she was reaching for something else. John grabbed her hands.
"We've only known one another for a little while," he protested. "I don't want you to feel that you have to rush into anything you may regret."
She stared at him as though he'd been speaking Swahili, then she blinked and looked determined. "I've known you long enough to know that I won't regret this, John. But here's the deal. Once we land, we're not going to be alone for however long it takes us to do this thing. And we'll be in a place so cold your breath sticks to your lips. And we could all be killed. Okay? Do you get what I'm telling you?"
"Now or never?" A smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
"That's one of the things I love about you, sweetie," Wendy said, attacking the half-frozen zipper on his jacket. "You're quick on the uptake."
By the time they were finished undressing him, they were both on the floor, panting and laughing. He flung the last sock onto the formidable pile of garments and fell onto his back. Wendy leaned over him, smiling. Then she straddled him. putting her hands on either side of his head and her knees on either side of his hips; she held herself above him grinning at the way he lay blinking up at her. She leaned forward and planted tiny, nibbling kisses on his lips.
"You're not going to tell me that you're too tired to move, are you?" she asked.
Putting his arms around her waist, he gently tried to pull her closer. "C'mon down here," he growled, "and I'll show you how tired I am."
Wendy grinned, but resisted. "Ah, but you're so far ahead of me," she complained.
He sat up and Wendy retreated until she was sitting on his thighs. John reached out and undid the top button of her shirt and Wendy drew in a shuddering breath, causing him to look up at her. "Don't you dare stop now," she warned.
Grasping his head, she pulled him to her for a passionate kiss. He matched her ardor, running his fingers through her hair, then down the curve of her neck and back, drawing her closer, deepening their kiss.
Wendy pulled back, panting. "I love you," she said. Then she gave him a gentle push. "But we still have this clothes problem." She got to her feet and began to unbutton her cuffs.
"No," John said, standing. "Allow me."
Grinning, she held her arms out. "I am entirely at your disposal."
"Not like loading stuff at a dock," John said.
"No," Dieter said. "More creative."
More of a pain in the ass, John thought, looking shoreward.
The yacht was anchored in the lee of a headland. The shore was shale and rock, rising to high rocky hills whose black expanse was split by fingers of white—the outliers of the great interior ice sheets of Antarctica. Nobody had bothered giving the bay a name; Desolation would be about right. The rocky upthrust to the east sheltered the Love's Thrust from the westerlies, but there was still a definite chop, with white-caps on the short steep waves. That made the big pleasure craft pitch at its anchor, a sharp rocking motion more unpleasant than the long surges of the huge deep-ocean waves. Several of the crew were looking green as a result, which wasn't helping with unloading.
Getting the big inflatable raft over the side had been a nightmare. Getting heavy parcels into it was worse. Right now the boxed snowmobile was swinging up on the pivoting boom.
"Slowly… slowly…" Dieter said, leaning over the side and making hand signals to the man operating the power winch. "Slowly… I said slowly, dummkopf!"
John hopped nimbly over the side and slid down the rope ladder, landing easily on his feet and helping the two crewmen guide the big Sno-Cat down. The raft was a military model, with aluminum stringers to stiffen the bottom; it had been designed to take a dozen troops and their gear into a beachhead or on a commando raid. With three men gripping the front and two corners of the crate, and Dieter blasphemously directing the winch operator, they managed to get it down despite the continual seesaw of differential movement between the two crafts. Which was fortunate, because if the crate had come down really hard, it would have gone straight through the bottom.
The crewmen threw John looks of surprised respect as he helped guide the crate down and lash it firmly in place. He gave them a grin and a thumbs-up—Hey, I'm a lad of many skills, thanks to Mom—and swarmed back up the ladder to the deck.
"That's the last of it," he panted.
Dieter and Wendy were there, their hiking clothes covered with a final layer of orange water-resistant coat and pants, to find Vera waiting for them, a vision in pink. Her fine skin looked greasy from the sunblock she wore, and the big pink sunglasses that shielded her eyes from Antarctica's fierce ultraviolet rays made her look like an owl with bloodshot eyes.
God knows where she found a pink anorak, John thought. But he wasn't really surprised. By now he knew that whatever Vera wanted, Vera got. Well, with the exception of Dieter. So far.
"Sweetie," she said, rushing forward to give John a farewell embrace. "You take care of that nice girl, now. Y'hear? And take care of yourself, too."
She planted a kiss on his cheek, then pushed him away and gave him a swat on his bottom. Then she turned to Wendy, leaving John to wonder if that was a grandmotherly slap on the tush or a lecherous one.
Too fast to be lecherous, he decided. Besides, there's Dieter right in front of her.
Vera kissed Wendy on both cheeks, then tugged her sunglasses down to give the girl a conspiratorial look. Wendy giggled and blushed, then enfolded the older woman in a fond hug. "We'll see you soon," she promised.
Vera tapped Wendy's nose with a pink-gloved finger. "You'd better," she warned. Then she pushed her sunglasses back up and turned to Dieter, one hand on her hip. "Well, big boy," she said, somehow managing to slink toward him in her parka and heavy boots, "looks like this is it."
"I sincerely hope not." Dieter smiled. "Or you might not come back for us." Then he took her in his arms and gave her a kiss that made her moan for more. When he finally let her go she staggered slightly and he gently held her shoulders until she seemed steady on her feet.
"Wow!" she said, grinning. "I'll come back for sure if you'll promise me another just like that one next time I see you."
He chucked her under the chin. "I'll look forward to it," he promised.
Vera waggled her brows. "So will I, honey. So will I."
With that, John handed down the last duffel and swung out onto the ladder that led down to the Zodiac. Wendy followed, and when she was far enough down he took her by the waist to steady her as she stepped down from the ladder. Dieter handed down Wendy's equipment and then his own duffel, following it down with economic efficiency.
The crewman fended the huge inflatable boat off the side of the yacht and started the motor. The three travelers looked up from their seats to wave at Vera and her merry crew, who continued to wave at them all the way to the shore.
Giovanni, Vera's handsome crewman, efficiently beached the Zodiac onto a smooth spot on the shale so that they didn't have to wet their feet to step ashore; it was less than a dozen paces to the beginning of the snow. All four of the men joined in pushing the crate containing the Sno-Cat up a collapsible metal ramp, over the side of the Zodiac, and then down to the beach. Then the Italian tossed them their bags. Returning to the motor, he pulled the boat off and turned it in a sway and flurry of foam.
As he headed back to the yacht he waved and shouted, "Good luck!"
Wendy waved back while John and Dieter strapped the duffels to the pile of supplies on the sledge. Two of them would ride the Sno-Cat while an unlucky third took a more precarious ride atop the supplies. They'd fashioned a sort of seat out of the softer goods they carried, but it was still going to be tricky.
"There's sure a lot of wildlife around here," Wendy commented.
John had to agree. He'd known the animals were there but somehow it hadn't registered. Off to the right, far enough away to mute both their sound and smell was a huge… herd, he supposed… of penguins. To the left a small pod of seals lounged.
Dieter looked back and forth between them. "It's unusual for that many leopard seals to get together," he said quietly. "They're usually solitary creatures. I don't see any pups, so that can't be it…"
"I think the penguins are watching them," Wendy commented.
"Leopard seals eat penguins," Dieter said. He looked at them for a few moments, unable to shake the feeling that while the penguins were watching the seals, the seals were watching the humans. He shook off the feeling and went back to work.
"Would you hold on to this for me, hon?" John called out.
Wendy turned away from the penguins and headed toward the sledge. Suddenly something hit her in the head with enough violence to knock her down.
"Wendy!" John shouted, and rushed over to her. "Are you okay?"
She rolled over, one hand holding the back of her head, tears in her eyes. "Yeah," she said. "I guess so. What the hell hit me?"
John looked up in astonishment at the bird that had struck her. It looked like a huge brown pigeon wearing an unpleasant expression on its avian face. He pointed and she looked up.
"That was a bird"? It felt like a rock. A big rock. Was I near its nest or something?" she asked, looking around.
"That's a skua gull," Dieter said. "They do that. No one knows why."
"Bastard," Wendy muttered, getting to her feet. She kept a weather eye on the sky, though the bird only dive-bombed them one more time.
Finally everything was secure. "So," Dieter said, "do we draw straws or what?"
Suddenly Wendy rushed past him, climbing up the pile of supplies as agilely as a monkey to plop down among the duffels, her legs stretched out before her. "C'mon, guys," she said cheerfully, "let's go! Maybe the damn birds won't follow us inland."
"Good enough for me," John muttered.
Dieter grinned and took his place on the seat of the snow mobile. "Then by all means," he said, starting it up, "let's go."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
RED SEAL BASE, ANTARCTICA
"Useless!" Clea shouted, and swept the desk clear of printouts pens and calculators. "Useless!" She kicked her chair and sent it rolling into the wall hard enough to dent the plaster. The action wasn't even satisfying; the huge weight of rock and ice above her seemed to swallow her anger, and the antiseptic air of the base to muffle even the sound of a scream.
