Clea allowed herself to look shaken; her computer dropped her circulation slightly so that her face would go pale.
"Does Vladimir have… cancer?" Her eyes widened. "Do I?" she asked, her voice quavering.
"We don't know, actually, your tests aren't back. But the odds are good. As for Hill, in good conscience, of course, we can't let him remain at risk. We'll warn
him quite soon, and if it's caught early enough there's always a chance that he might survive. You, too, of course. But we think you'd be better off if you suddenly became unavailable. Don't you?"
She nodded, looking shell-shocked, or so the mirror told her.
He smiled, an avuncular smile this time; Pool seemed to have quite a repertoire.
"Very wise," he murmured. "You won't regret it, I'm sure. Our terms won't be quite as generous as Cyberdyne's, but our facilities are the best and our research budget is virtually unlimited." He stood, smiling down at her. "Why don't you lie back down and get some rest," he advised. "That drug can pack quite a punch.
Later on someone will come and take you to your room, where you can have something to eat and relax. Then tomorrow we'll outfit you for your new job and by evening you'll be on your way."
"On my way where?" she asked, trying to sound crushed. Instead, her computer component was suppressing glee; this was turning out exactly as planned. And if it hadn't been sixty-seven percent probability of terminating all units here and escaping without irreparable damage, she calculated automatically.
His lips jerked into a mirthless smile, and he turned to the door. "I'd rather not say," he told her. Then he walked out the door.
She heard the click of a lock and then his receding footsteps. Clea covered her mouth as though feeling sick and leaned over, hanging her head. Then she lay down and, turning her back to the mirror, began to sob quietly for the benefit of whoever still lurked in the room behind the mirror.
It was too late now to do anything about her missing "uncle," she decided.
Agents might still be loitering around asking questions, making it very risky to fill the empty hole.
I'll just have to take a chance on it, she thought. But even if they do open the grave to find it empty, that proves nothing. At least, nothing against her. Even so, it bothered her.
It was very hard, she reflected, to know when to stop refining a plan. I should inform Alissa of the latest developments…
CRAIG KIPFER'S OFFICE, SOUTHERN
CALIFORNIA
ALTERNATE USES FOR INTELLIMETAL
· Bullets: Intellimetal, once fired, will expand with the heat of the explosion, mushrooming into the most effective shape possible. On striking the target, it will break apart into smaller pieces, each piece seeking the primary electrical source in the body: the brain. Once there, each individual piece of Intellimetal will respond to the brain's electrical patterns by oscillating at a very fast rate as it seeks to rebond with other pieces of Intellimetal. This will effectively liquefy the brain.
· Mineworms: These antipersonnel devices will be planted like seeds in rows, while the "farmer" is protected by special gloves and boots, possibly special coveralls as well. When stepped on, the rods of Intellimetal will activate and burrow upward through boot, flesh, and bone, again in search of the body's primary electrical source. As an additional advantage, when anyone subsequently touches the body the activated mineworms will try to
burrow into this subject as well.
Craig Kipfer sat back, his lips pursed as though to whistle but emitting no sound.
There was some additional stuff in the girl's notes about possible security uses for her invention, but it was her ideas for weapons that both fascinated and chilled him.
He'd been around long enough to know that women could outdo men in viciousness; even so, he found it hard to associate these ideas with that young woman's lovely face. It proved once again the truth of an adage he'd been 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.