Excerpt from the novel Rising Storm by S.M. Stirling

VON ROSSBACH ESTANCIA, PARAGUAY

     *Craig Kipfer,* John wrote. *Definitely someone up to something. He’s not in science or engineering or computing, at least not that I can discover. His name doesn’t appear on any government payroll after his fifth year in the army, when he was honorably discharged. But his computer is hedged around with more protections than the CIA. Not that they’re the very best, but that’s beside the point. Just thought you might like to check him out.*
     *You found him,* Wendy answered. *Why don’t you check him out? He might just be paranoid. Lots of people are. What’s he supposed to do for a living?*
     *Hell if I know,* he wrote. *Look, if he notices that he’s being watched and finds out where I’m from, he’s going to think I’m more dangerous to him than I am and probably will act accordingly. If he gets your address he’ll think mischievous student with too much time on her hands. Besides, I honestly think you’re probably better at this sort of thing than I am.*
     *Flatterer,* she wrote. *What do you mean he’ll “act accordingly?” Do you think this dude is dangerous or something?*
     Do I? John asked himself. Would he put Wendy in danger to satisfy his curiosity about this guy? Dieter didn’t recognize the name, though he agreed the guy seemed suspicious. Frankly they didn’t know enough to tell if he was dangerous or not.
     *I can’t answer that,* he admitted. *He’s strange enough that I’d advise you to handle him with extreme caution. And if he does seem to become aware of you, lose his address fast. I wouldn’t ask you to check him out if I really thought he was trouble, but anytime you do this stuff you’re taking a risk.*
     *I know,* Wendy agreed. *Okay, I’ll look into it. I need to keep my hacking skills sharp anyway. Bye.*
     John frowned. Kipfer’s files were mysterious enough to raise a warning flag with him. With his experience, though, warning flags meant something very different than they might to Wendy. She could get herself into serious trouble. His mind shied away from the word danger. He felt vaguely guilty about possibly putting her in harm’s way.
     That’s something I’ll need to get over before I become the Great Military Dickhead, he thought scornfully. Still… Aw, c’mon! He’s probably a lot less dangerous than those Luddites she used to tease. Which was almost certainly true, even if he was simply looking for an easy way out of an unpleasant feeling.
     Maybe the reason for this guilt was that he really wanted to get to know Wendy a bit better. He liked her voice. Maybe I could call her again, he thought. Then he remembered that she hadn’t been all that impressed with him the first time they’d spoken. Of course this time he’d be calling because he was interested in her rather than in her skills. But I don’t think she’d appreciate my letting her know that.

Excerpt from the novel Rising Storm by S.M. Stirling

MONTANA

     Clea sat absolutely still; one small part of her consciousness monitored the activity of the Terminator on the roof as it upgraded their solar power system. The (highly capable) remainder of her mind was learning from the future experiences of Serena Burns.
     When she’d been younger Clea had very much enjoyed these lessons, particularly those which allowed her to view Burns’s exchanges with Skynet. Especially those moments when Skynet actually took possession of Serena’s implanted computer, essentially becoming Serena.
     Now she found that they depressed her, reminding her forcefully of what she would never have, never know. Once she actually took up her assignment, Clea was certain that her emotions would settle down. This tendency to brood might well be a side effect of her chemically induced rush to maturity.
     Certainly she found Serena’s lightheartedness inappropriate and her cheerfulness obnoxious. Clea was glad she’d never met her progenitor face-to-face; the I-950 was sure she’d have been unable to avoid terminating Serena.
     The memory she was reviewing today was of Serena’s time with the soldiers of the future, when she was infiltrating the enemy in the human-Skynet war. She closed her eyes and saw Lieutenant Zeller coming toward her. This was how she saw all of these memories, from behind Serena’s eyes, as though they were happening to her.

THE YEAR 2029

     “Burns,” Zeller said, looking grim. She made a gesture that indicated the Infiltrator should follow and stalked off.
     Serena tilted her head, then followed. As she walked she reviewed all of her actions from the past week and found nothing to worry about. Yes, she’d managed to get poor Corpsman Gonzales killed, but there was no way the lieutenant could connect her with it. She’d risked directing a small herd of T-90s to the Corpsman’s station behind the lines. Such lines as they had.
     True, it had been a calculated risk; there was always the chance that someone, somewhere, might be monitoring in hopes of detecting such signals. But finding the source in the middle of a firefight when the whole episode had lasted mere seconds was remote in the extreme.
     Besides, Zeller always looked grim. It was just as likely she wanted to recruit the Infiltrator for some hazardous, secret attack. If so, excellent. She wouldn’t be able to return to Zeller’s unit, but some other, distant group would take her to their collective bosom.
     They made their way to a secluded glen and Zeller turned on her heel to glare at Burns. “I don’t know how you did it, but I know you killed him!” she snarled.
     Serena blinked. “What?” she said. “Who…?” It could, after all, have been one of a lot of people.
     “Gonzales!” Zeller stepped a little closer, shaking her head, her mouth a bitter line, her shoulders slightly hunched forward. “He liked you! He liked everybody, and all he wanted to do was help people. How could you?”
     The Infiltrator allowed her mouth to drop open in feigned astonishment and she couldn’t help it—she laughed, trying to make it sound nervous. “What the hell are you talking about, ma’am?” she said. “I wasn’t anywhere near Gonzales when those T-90s found him! There’s no way I could possibly have had anything to do with his death!”
     Serena watched Zeller straighten up, but her glare didn’t diminish. Instead, contempt twisted her attractive features into something like a sneer.
     “I haven’t trusted you from the first moment I saw you,” she said. “Sometimes you can just smell trouble, and you, Burns, stank of it from day one. I’m gonna be watching you, bitch! Watching who you team up with, watching who you go off with. I tell you right now”—she shoved her finger in Serena’s face—“they’d better come back alive!”
     The Infiltrator gave a deep sigh and reached out, intending to break the lieutenant’s slender neck. Instead, the sweeping hand met Zeller’s knife; Serena clamped down on the pain and clenched the fist, jerking the human’s weapon away.
     Zeller’s eyes went wide as Serena’s face stayed mask calm despite the bloody wound. “You’re one of them,” she gasped, snatching fro the plasma rifle slung over her shoulder. “But you can’t be—”
     “Inefficient.” Serena batted the muzzle aside as the burst of a stripped ions tore past her ear. If you’d just shot, you might have gotten me.
     Zeller clubbed her across the side of the face with the butt of the rifle, and Serena caught her in a bear hug and began to squeez. Knees, fists, and a small holdout knife struck her again and again. With what must have been the last of her strength Zeller plunged the knife into the I-950’s side, high up, as though seeking the heart.
     Serena felt the knife puncture her lung and gave the lieutenant a fierce, impatient shake. If she couldn’t smother the stupid bitch, breaking her spine would do nicely. With a gasp Zeller went limp and the Infiltrator dropped her. Infrared confirmed that the body was losing warmth. Not something the cleverest human could fake.
     With a spasm of coughing Serena fell bleeding beside the corpse of Lieutenant Zeller and lay watching the leaf-shadow rustle against the sky while a few hopeful crows looked down and waited. She woke one of the T-90s she’d secreted nearby in a resting state, gave it her location, and ordered it to come to the dell and destroy itself in such a way that it would look as though she had done it.
     The T-90 acknowledged the communication and broke off.
     Laying her aching head back down and rolling onto her side to avoid drowning in her own blood, Serena ordered her computer to moderate the damage she’d taken so that she wouldn’t die before help arrived. She could actually feel the bleeding slow as veins and arteries clamped down, almost stopping the flow.
     Without a doubt she would need time to recuperate in the base hospital. She licked her lips. Perhaps it was time to move on. Zeller might well have revealed her fears to someone eles.
     There was a clicking sound. The T-90’s approach. Serena saw it come up over the rim of the shallow little dell and closed her eyes, allowing herself to go unconscious, confident that the Terminator would follow her instructions to the letter.

MONTANA, THE PRESENT

     Clea frowned. There! That was exactly the sort of thing that annoyed her about her predecessor. Failing to take notice of how those around her might interpret her actions, having no backup plan. What if Zeller had decided to accuse the Infiltrator in front of a crowd? It was obvious that all Serena had planned to do, if she’d even planned anything at all, was to bluff.
     Such lax behavior had been a hallmark of all her missions. It was the product of overconfidence, in Clea’s opinion. Which, given the many successes that humans were having at the time Serena was sent back, was inexcusable.
     Letting out an annoyed breath, Clea bit her lip. She was supposed to be learning from these studies, yet all she seemed to be gleaning from Serena’s experiences was how much she disliked her.
     With a shake of her head she rose and went to her lab. At least there she could be doing her own work, not imitating her highly unsuccessful “parent.”

Excerpt from the novel Rising Storm by S.M. Stirling

CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS

     Wendy brushed back her smooth dark red hair and eyed the phone lying on the table before her, willing it to ring, as she took a sip of the cooling coffee. Her eyes swept the almost empty confines of the shabby café, with its bored waitress and long-dead pastries behind filmy glass; she felt nervous, war… and a bit excited, she admitted to herself.
     Perhaps this secret watchdog group could help. Perhaps they were part of the problem and were onto her and just trying to find out what she knew before they—
     Wow, she thought sardonically, great plot line, there. Maybe I should take a course in screenwriting. Zzzzzt! Cue the black helicopter!
     Real life didn’t have a plot. It just bumbled aimlessly on its way, unless you directed it by sheer force of will. Which was harder to do than to say, she knew. She’d seen that in her father’s life. When he was her age he’d been an ardent activist, fighting against the war in Vietnam, fighting for civil rights.
     Now he ran a moderately successful insurance business, just like his dad had done. And as far as Wendy could tell, he had no idea how he’d gotten from firebrand to burnout. She saw herself at his age, complacently middle class, being careful not to rock the boat too hard.
     Did middle age bring about a failure of will, or did you just have more to lose? I guess, she thought, that you always have a lot to lose, it just seems less important when you’re young. So I guess it’s better that you’re inclined to fight the good fight when you’re young and don’t have a lot of commitments. Yeah, commitments, that’s the glue that slows you down, and when it sets, well, your life’s over, I guess.
     Wendy lifted a brow. Maybe this wasn’t the best attitude to assume when she was about to meet AM. Or anyone else for that matter.
     She tapped the cell phone on the table before her. It belonged to the house mother, a really nice woman who left it all over the place, so it wouldn’t be missed. Everyone “borrowed” it, then returned it with a cheerful “Were you looking for this?” She glanced at her watch. It was four; AM should—
     The phone rang.
     She bit her lip and stared at it. Just before the third ring she picked it up. “Yeah?” she said.
     “Watcher?”
     It was a young voice; the youth of it hit her before the fact that it was also a male voice. “How old are you?” she demanded.
     There was a long-drawn-out sigh. “I get a lot of that, he said dryly. “Not as young as I sound, I know that for sure.” Damn! he thought. “Does it matter?”
     “Ye-ah! Why would I want to get involved in someone’s high-school project? Look, kid—”
     “I found you, didn’t I?” John asked, letting his voice get hard. “It took about a minute.”
     “Oh, no it didn’t,” Wendy snapped back. She’d worked very hard obscuring her trail, no way some kid could find it in less than an hour.
     “Wendy, if I’d known you were going to be so judgmental about my voice, I would have had you speak to one of my associates. If this is an issue for you I can hang up now. It’s up to you.”
     Associates, she thought. The kid has associates. Well, that was intriguing. Besides, though he sounded young he sure didn’t come across as a kid. Still…
     “Look, this was supposed to be a get-acquainted conversation,” she said at last. “So why don’t you tell me something about yourself and, uh, your organization, I guess.”
     “We’re not exactly an organization,” John explained, relaxing a little. “We don’t have a central location, for example. Our associates are spread all over the world, all over the Net—”
     “Do you have a central address where their reports can be accessed,” Wendy interrupted. “I mean I assume that you’re collecting information for a reason, which means that you interpret what you collect. Presumably you allow your contributors to assist in that.”
     “Actually…” John thought for a moment. How to put this? “Evaluating the kind of information we’re going after isn’t something a person can just walk in and do. You need training.”
     “So, train me.” Wendy tapped a fingernail on the Formica table. “That’s my price ’cause I don’t work for free, and I refuse to work blind.”
     John raised his eyebrows at that. He didn’t need a loose cannon on board. “You’re not even hired yet and you want a seat on the board,” he protested with a light laugh.
     “Look, why did you even want to talk to me if you don’t think I’m worth investing time in?” She was beginning to get annoyed. Speaking of time, this is a waste of it.
     “It was obvious that you’re very smart,” John said. “Also that you might be so bored you didn’t realize you were killing time in a very dangerous way. A lot of you computer jockeys think that what you’re doing on-line isn’t real and doesn’t count. You think you’re perfectly safe behind your keyboards and monitors, but let me tell you, Wendy, if you kick the tiger hard enough it will find you and it won’t be friendly. Those are real fanatics you were talking to.”
     He paused and ran a hand through his dark hair. “I wanted to take your intelligence and talent and direct it into a useful channel. I’d like you to be safe, lady. You’re at MIT, for God’s sake! To the Luddite movement that’s like ground zero, and you think they couldn’t find you. You’re kidding yourself.”
     Hunh, Wendy thought, the kid’s really passionate about this. She knew she was suppressing the unease his words had awakened in her. Perhaps she had been foolish. Careless? Well, unwise, maybe.
     “So what do you want from me?” she asked quietly.
     “I want you to keep your eyes and ears open and to report to us anything you find out that might be useful. Useful being defined as something that will prevent harm from being done. I really don’t care which camp is generating the damage. Are you interested?”
     Wendy thought about it. Was she interested? I dunno, this all sounds kinda weird. A kid gathering information for some undisclosed reason and passing out dire warnings? I don’t think I want to get involved. It wasn’t like she didn’t have enough to do with her time, after all.
     “Sure,” she heard herself say. Then laughed at how she’d surprised herself.
     “What?” John asked.
     “Sure, whatever,” Wendy said. “I guess I’m game. Tell me what you want and I’ll try to get it for you.” It wasn’t like she was joining the army or something.
     So John told her what he was looking for, gave her a few Internet addresses he wanted her to check into and a few general guidelines. When he was finished he hesitated.
     “What?” she said.
     “You might like to recruit some friends to help you out,” he suggested. “People you can trust.”
     Wendy sighed. “Well, I’d like to think I’m unlikely to recruit people I don’t trust.”
     John winced. “Well, you know what I mean.”
     “Yeah, I guess. See you on-line, kid.”
     He could hear the smile in her voice and pressed his lips together impatiently. This wasn’t a terribly auspicious beginning to their relationship. He’d prefer that his recruits not find him amusing.
     Hey, he reminded himself, if she knew the real story she’d run a mile. Screaming.
     “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll keep in touch.” He hung up and sighed heavily. I really need to be grown up, he thought. Too bad it wasn’t something you could arrange. I guess I could work on my voice, or maybe get some sort of synthesizer. I feel grown up, I just don’t sound it. Oh, well. For real emergencies there was always Dieter.

Excerpt from the novel Rising Storm by S.M. Stirling

VON ROSSBACH ESTANCIA, PARAGUAY, NOVEMBER

     John clicked a few keys and found himself on the Sarah Connor Website; the von Rossbach estate might look like the Paraguayan equivalent of backwoods, but the satellite-link communications were first-rate, with outlets in every room.
     Things had calmed down at the site over the last few months. There were occasional updates, and old E-mail got cleared away, but it was very different from the days when it was new.
     What he was here for was the secret Luddite chat room, where things remained hot. In fact, the Luddite movement seemed to be getting stronger and more active worldwide—it had practically gone mainstream, putting up political candidates and organizing outreach stations and Web sites. Unfortunately, this was accompanied by an increase in terrorist acts both large and small every day, everywhere.
     The tone of the conversation in the rooms was different, too. It lacked the almost pleading exasperation of previous listings that wanted to teach and had become more militant. Much more us versus them. And that attitude, too, seemed to be becoming more mainstream with every passing day.
     John simply lurked in the topic and chat rooms, gathering information, but he’d noticed one user, styled Watcher, who occasionally shook things up. Lately the threats the Luddites made against Watcher for questioning their methods and ideas had become chilling.
     He decided to seek out this character. Someone with that sobriquet might know some very interesting things, and might be someone he could add to his growing list of informants on the Web.
     He was in luck; Watcher was on-line, discussing a recent bombing with the Luddites. If you could call such a hostile exchange a discussion. Good thing Watcher isn’t in the same room with these people. On the Internet the gloves came off and people said things they’d never say in meat space. But if you were right there with them when they were saying it… who knew what would happen.
     He glanced around his whitewashed bedroom with its black quebracho-timber rafters and tile floors. E-presence was very different from the physical world. It liberated the id. Maybe the people threatening to wear Watcher’s intestines as suspenders wouldn’t harm a fly in reality. But with all the bombings and beatings and vandalism going on, who could be sure anymore?
     John checked out the address at the top of Watcher’s messages and found it a dead end. But, he thought, there are other ways of finding you, buddy. After a tedious half hour he found the time Watcher had logged on, then correlated that with an IP address. That brought him to the MIT Web site in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Cool, he thought, and not surprising. It was pretty obvious from his posts that Watcher was protechnology.
     Narrowing it down to the university was good, but he’d need some power to get the information he wanted. He constructed a password that got him into the operational side of the MIT site—a little lockpick-and-insertion program that Dieter had brought with him from the Sector was very useful here—and registered himself as a systems administrator. That essentially made him a system god, giving him access to all the on-site users’ real tags.
     He continued to trace Watcher, which was turning out to be a job and a half. This guy knows how to cover his tracks, he thought in admiration. Very definitively a good recruit if all worked out. Finally he located Watcher’s origin.
     Aha! A freshman student at MIT, Watcher was Wendy Dorset. John hacked into her school records, finding a picture. Cute, he thought. Not important, but nice to know. He pulled up an encrypted talk request and sent it to Watcher.
     *I’d like to talk with you,* he sent.
     There was a long pause. Finally she accepted the request, creating a secure shell in which they could speak. John’s screen split into he said/she sad columns, as did hers. Now they could communicate in real time.
     *Who are you?* Watcher asked.
     John’s tag was AM, which stood for Action Man, not necessarily something he would ever reveal.
     *I could be a friend,* John typed. *Why don’t you blow off these bozos. I think we have similar interests.*
     *Similar interests?* she asked.
     *Beyond making fools of fools,* he typed with a smile. *But first we should get to know each other.*
     *And how are we going to do that? And why should I trust you?*
     *Trust?* he wrote. *You trust these guys? Hey, at least I’m not threatening to kill you if we ever meet.*
     *Good point. Okay, I’ll ditch the creeps. They’re getting more excited than is good for them anyway.* Watcher was gone for a moment then came back. *So, what do you want?*
     *What drew you to that particular site?* John asked.
     *It’s rude to answer a question with a question,* Watcher pointed out.
     *True, but I’m asking.*
     And he wasn’t going to answer any questions until he had a satisfactory answer. *Whatever. I was just looking around when I found it. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just killing time. Y’know? But something about the Sarah Connor story reached me. Maybe it was that lone-wolf thing. I’m a sucker for underdogs.*
     Underdog, John thought. Yeah, I guess that pretty well describes my mother. At least in the old days. God! He was still only sixteen and he actually had “old days” to refer back to.
     *It turned out to be a really strange site,* Watcher went on. *And as for these idiots, I just can’t help myself. I’ve gotta poke ’em.*
     *People who take themselves very seriously can also be very dangerous,* John warned. *So how’s the weather on the East Coast?* e asked, deciding to throw her a curve.
     There was a long wait for Watcher’s next post. Hope I haven’t scared her off.
     *Probably not as warm as it is waaaay down south,* Watcher finally replied.
     John caught his breath. Sure hope she doesn’t scare me of. *Okay,* he wrote, *this demonstrates why it’s a bad idea to tease the crazies. One of them might be computer literate.*
     *It may be cocky,* Watcher replied, *but I like to think of myself as being a little more than merely “literate.”*
     *Actually I think you are, too. The dangerous part is in assuming that because you’re smart no one else is. It’s always unwise to underestimate people. Leads to nasty surprises.*
     Listen to me, he thought, I received this advice from masters and I’ve found it to be true.
     Once again there was a long pause. *Are you warning me against yourself? Whatever. What I really want to know is, what do you want?*
     His brief review of Dorset’s school records had made her sound like a straight arrow. What he’d observed of her interactions with the Luddites told him she had nerve and could think on her feet. The way she’d hidden her tracks told him she was damn smart. The way she’d found him told him she might be dangerous if she wasn’t handled right.
     *I’m head of a kind of watchers’ group, no pun intended,* he explained. Or I would be if I hadn’t just thought it up this minute. You’ll be my first recruit! He hoped. *We keep our eyes on military/industrial projects, just in case they get it into their heads to do something hinky. We’re always on the lookout for new talent. Want to join?*
     *Okay, here’s my problem,* she answered. *Think of where I met you. Now, how do I know you’re not a Luddite extremist yourself?*
     *Tough one,* he agreed. *Ideally I would meet you face-to-face.* Which I would loooove to do, he thought. *And that would give us an opportunity to get a feel for each other. But that’s obviously not going to happen. I could call you,* he suggested.
     *All right,* she replied, and typed a number. *Four o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Eastern Standard Time.*
     *Why not now?* he asked.
     *It’s not my number,* she wrote.
     Then she was gone. Wow, John thought, grinning wryly, I’d better practice my adult voice.