The Weathermakers (1967) Read Free Page B

know that we haven’t created a condition where an even worse storm will develop? Or perhaps caused some changes in the natural balance of forces that will cause trouble thousands of miles away. No, there’s too much involved, too much that we don’t understand and probably never will understand. Believe me, as far as weather control is concerned . . . it’s impossible.”
    “But those people in the other office—they were talking about weather control.”
    Rossman tried to smile again, but his eyes narrowed. “That’s Ted Marrett. As I just explained to you, there’s always a lot of talk about controlling the weather. Mr. Marrett is young and ambitious—going for his master’s degree at MIT and all fired up, the world-beater type. I’m sure you’ve met his kind before. He’ll settle down someday, and then he’ll probably make a very fine meteorologist.”
    “Then . . . then there’s nothing you can do to help us?”
    “I didn’t say that.” Rossman tapped the pencil against his chin for a moment. “We can provide you with realtime service on our forecasts, for one thing. In layman’s terms, that means we can furnish you with our forecasts by computer link as quickly as they’re printed out here. I assume you’re getting your forecasts now by commercial videophone, which is twelve to eighteen hours behind our printers.”
    “I guess that’ll be some help,” I said.
    “You can also apply to the Government for financial assistance. Of course, you can’t have the entire mid-Pacific declared a disaster area, but I’m sure you can get some help from a number of Government agencies.”
    “I see.” Suddenly there was nothing left to talk about I started to get up from my chair. “Well, thank you for your time, Dr. Rossman.”
    “I’m sorry to have to disappoint you.”
    “My father’s going to be the one who’s disappointed.”
    He walked me to the door of his office. “Can you come back tomorrow? I can put you in touch with the people who will make the arrangements for this realtime forecasting.”
    I nodded. “All right. I wasn’t planning to leave until tomorrow afternoon anyway.”
    “Good. We’ll do everything we can for you.”
    I walked down the hallway, past the now-empty office where Ted and Dr. Barneveldt had been, and made my way back to the lobby. The building seemed completely deserted now, and I was feeling awfully alone.
    Ted was slouched across one of the couches in the lobby, thumbing through a magazine. He looked up at me.
    “Dr. Bee figured you might not have any transportation back to town. Tough to get a cab around this time. Need a lift?”
    “Thanks. Are you going into Boston?”
    “Live in Cambridge, just across the river. Come on.”
    His car was a battered old Lotus two-seater. He gunned it out of the parking lot and onto the beltway, engine howling, and roared down a manual-control lane. Probably the car had no electronic guidance equipment, I thought.
    It had been a long time since I’d been in New England in April; I’d forgotten how chilly it can be. Zooming through the twilight, and still wearing my Island sports clothes, I could feel my teeth start to chatter. Ted was happily unaware of this. He talked steadily over the growl of the engine and the whistling cold wind, gesturing with one hand and steering through the thickening traffic with the other. His monologue changed tack almost as often as he switched driving lanes: he talked about Rossman, Dr. Barneveldt, something about turbulent air flow, mathematics, air pollution, and even threw in a quick lecture on the peculiarities of Hawaii’s climate. I nodded and shivered. Every time he zipped past another car I wished we were on the automatically controlled section of the highway.
    He dropped me at the hotel I told him I wanted, after raising his eyebrows in mock respect at the mention of its name. “Fanciest place in town; you travel top class.”
    My room was comfortable. And heated. I was surprised,