The Weathermakers (1967)

by Ben Bova

  I was shut out. I even had trouble finding Jim Dennis. Finally, I tracked him down in the Capitol Building: he was in a committee session, but came right out when he got my note.

  “I hope I didn’t take you away from anything important.”

  “No,” he said, grinning. “They’re talking about appropriations. We’ll go around the mulberry bush a few times before any real work gets done.”

  We paced down the ornate hallway outside the committee room, and I told him about my shutout at ESSA and the Pentagon.

  He shook his head. Looking out a window at the wilting city, he murmured, “They’ve been talking about putting a dome over the District, like the Manhattan Dome. We could use city-wide air conditioning on a day like today.” He turned to me. “What do you think Ted would say about that?”

  I shrugged. “I think he’d rather put a dome on Rossman . . . or whoever’s slamming the door in our faces.”

  “It’s Rossman, all right,” Dennis said. “The word is out. He’s got his own drought-control ideas. He’s keeping it very, very quiet right now, but I’ve been able to learn that he plans to start some limited experiments next spring. In the meantime, he’s going to do everything he can to keep you out of the picture.”

  “But . . . it’s not fair. It’s not right!”

  “I agree with you,” the Congressman said. “But what good does that do? Rossman is known and respected in the Weather Bureau. He’s got the power.”

  “Well, can’t you do something?”

  “If I were chairman of the Science Committee, maybe I could kick up a fuss. But I’m only a Congressman . . . and a pretty new one, at that.”

  “There ought to be something we can do!” My mind was racing, trying to figure a way. “I low about arranging a meeting between Ted and Rossman? We can at least make him know we’re on to his game. And that we might complain to the Science Committee.”

  He mulled it over for a moment. “I don’t know if it will help any. But I’ll do it. I’d like to see the two of them in the same room,” he added, with a grin.

  Ted literally exploded when I told him that evening about my day in Washington. Tuli, Barney, and I had to talk with him for hours. He was all for racing straight to the newspapers and screaming his head off. Finally I explained that Dennis was going to get Rossman to sit down with us and talk the whole thing over.

  He nodded. He didn’t speak, but merely nodded. I noticed his hands were clenching into fists, over and over again, like a gladiator testing his weapons in the final few moments of waiting before entering the arena.

  The meeting took place in Congressman Dennis’ office in Lynn. It was a pleasant enough spot, in a small office building that housed lawyers and insurance agents. Both sides had agreed to it as neutral territory.

  We sat around Jim’s desk, Dr. Rossman on one side and Ted and me on the other.

  “I asked for this meeting,” the Congressman said from his leather desk chair, “because Jerry here feels that Aeolus Research is being stymied by the Weather Bureau in its attempts to break the drought. Since the subject is probably the most important one in New England at the moment, I think it deserves our careful attention.”

  Ted and Dr. Rossman just glared at each other, so I said, “Aeolus is ready to start modification work in a week or two. If we’re allowed to go ahead, we think we can break the drought this year. If not, it’ll be another year—probably not ’til next autumn—before we have another chance to improve the situation.”

  “That may be,” Rossman replied somberly. He had a paper clip from Jim’s desk in his hands and was twisting it incessantly. “We’ve been studying several approaches to modifying the drought condition at the Climatology Division. We expect to spend this fall and winter doing laboratory experiments. Some small modification missions might be run in the spring, if everything goes well.”

  Ted couldn’t stay silent any longer. “Won’t work,” he said flatly. “Need the fall and winter precipitation. Otherwise the water table’ll never get high enough. Soon as the growing season begins you’ll be back where you started. Worse.”

  “That’s only your guess,” Rossman snapped.

  “No guess! You need the autumn rains and a winter’s worth of snow and runoff, otherwise the spring storms are only a trickle. You’d get wetter in a bathtub.”

  “This autumn will be much too early to start full-scale modification work.”

  “For you, maybe. You’re six months behind us. You’ll do a little tinkering in the spring, give it up when it doesn’t help enough, and then claim weather control’s a waste of time and money. We’re ready to go now. And we’ll do the job right I All we need is permission.”

  The paper clip broke in Rossman’s hands. “You can’t fly out and try weather experiments just because you want to be first. Suppose the experiment doesn’t work? Suppose something was missing from the calculations? Suppose a modification boomerangs and makes conditions worse instead of better?”

  “Suppose there’s an earthquake?” Ted mimicked, “or the sky starts falling in?”

  “Let’s not . . .”

  “Listen,” Ted said. “We’re not playing games. We’ve checked out the whole scheme. We’ve built theoretical models. We’ve done computer simulations. We’ve checked, point for point, exactly what’ll happen every step of the way. Ask the MIT people; they know what we’ve done. We’re ready to go now, and a year from now we couldn’t be more ready. I can tell you exactly what the weather will be over New England, day by day, for the next two months. And I can tell what it’ll be either way—with the modifications or without.”

  “You haven’t convinced me or any other reputable meteorologist that your scheme will work.”

  “You don’t want to be convinced!”

  Ted was almost out of his chair. I reached up and put a hand on his shoulder. “Dr. Rossman,” I said, “perhaps it would help if you’d come down to Aeolus and let us show you what we’re planning to do. Perhaps then you could . . .”

  Rossman shook his head. “I simply can’t allow modification experiments to take place until I’m convinced that every possible safeguard has been taken to make certain the results won’t be harmful.”

  Ted slumped back in his chair. “Meaning six more months of diddling and cross-checking the work that’s already been done.”

  “If necessary, yes.” Rossman turned to Jim Dennis. “Our first responsibility is to serve the public: were not in business to turn a quick profit.”

  “Serve the public,” Ted muttered. “Serve ‘em another year of drought.”

  Rossman got to his feet. “There’s no point in earning this argument any further. When you finally grow up, Marrett, maybe you’ll learn that being fast doesn’t always make you right.”

  Ted growled back, “Age doesn’t make you any smarter; just slower.”

  Rossman slammed out of the office. Jim Dennis shrugged helplessly. “I’m inclined to be on your side. But he’s got all the votes. The ones that count.”

  We were a sad, dispirited crew when we got back to Aeolus that afternoon. Tuli, after hearing the news, moped in his lab. Ted sat at his desk, feet propped up, staring vacantly at the viewscreen map with the drought pattern on it. I couldn’t sit still. I prowled around the place, getting strange looks from the people who were still busily working without knowing yet that their work was going to be for nothing.

  Barney showed up around five thirty. She had heard the news, I could tell from the look on her face as I met her in the hall.

  “Welcome to the funeral,” I said.

  “I came as soon as I could get away. The whole Division is buzzing about it.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “Ted must be furious.”

  “I think he’s in a state of shock.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Come on,” I said.

  But he was no longer in his room. Nor in Tuli s lab; they were both gone.

  “Let’s try the roof,” I suggested
.

  Sure enough, that’s where they were, standing amid the jumble of Weather Bureau equipment that made up the observation station.

  “Come to see the sun go down?” Ted asked us. “And the future with it?”

  “Is it that bad?” Barney tried to force a smile.

  “Yep.”

  “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

  He shook his head. “Look around, what do you see? A few thousand dollars’ worth of equipment, all marked, ‘Property of U.S. Government: Do Not Touch.’ That’s where we stand. Surrounded by tools we can use better than they can . . . but we can’t touch.”

  “Water, water everywhere,” I mumbled to myself.

  “Rossman’s got the keys and we’re locked out,” Ted said. “Worst of it is, he’s not going to do the job right. By the time he works up enough guts to really grab the problem and fix it, the drought’ll be over anyway.”

  “But there will be pressure on him to produce,” I said. “The farmers, the newsmen, the state governments, and Congress . . .”

  Ted waved a disgusted hand at me. “What pressure? You heard him today, the Official Voice of Science. He’ll just tell ‘em the same fairy story he told Dennis . . . he’s protecting the public from harebrained schemes. Weather modification could make things worse instead of better. By the time he gets done talking, the newsmen’ll be down on their knees thanking him for rescuing ’em from kooky kids and their wild ideas.”

  He turned away and looked out toward the harbor. From our perch on the rooftop, we could see pleasure boats crisscrossing the water. A jetliner screamed down the airport runway and hurled itself into the sky.

  “Why?” Ted slammed his fist against the guard rail. “Why is he blocking it? He knows it’ll work! Why is he pussyfooting?”

  “Because he wants the credit for being first,” Barney said, “but he doesn’t want to take the risks. He’s very cautious.”

  “The plowhorse that wanted to win the Kentucky Derby,” Ted grumbled.

  “He wants the glory very much,” Barney said. “He’s worked all his adult life in the Weather Bureau, and done some very good work, but he’s never been in the spotlight.”

  “He’ll never get the spotlight unless he moves faster than he’s planning to,” Ted answered. “By the time he’s ready to do some real weather control, it’ll be old enough to write up in the Encyclopaedia Britannica.”

  “He can’t move faster until he’s perfected his version of your long-range forecasts,” Tuli said. “Until he does that, he must go slowly.”

  Ted looked up at the Mongol. “You’re right, Tuli. He needs the . . .” His voice trailed off, and he frowned with concentration.

  Finally, Ted said, “Suppose I went to Rossman and offered to pool forces with him?”

  “What?”

  “Okay, I know it sounds kinky, but listen. He wants the glory, but he needs the forecasts. We want to get the job done, but we need his permission. Let’s get together on it!”

  “He’d laugh in your face,” I said.

  “Would he? Would he pass up the chance to grab the glory . . . and have somebody to dump the blame on if things go wrong?”

  “It’s crazy,” I said.

  Tuli said, “If it were someone else, Dr. Rossman might be tempted to try it. But not with you, Ted.”

  “Do you realize what you’re saying, Ted?” Barney asked, wide-eyed.

  “Sure.”

  “Dr. Rossman would never let anyone outside the Climatology Division assist him. Even if he wanted to work with you, it would have to be under his control.”

  Ted shrugged. “Then I’ll ask him to take me back into the Division.”

  “You’ll what?” I screamed. “Quit the Lab? You can’t! This outfit was built for you, you can’t just pack up and leave. It’s . . . it’s . . . treason, that’s what it would be!”

  “You’re making money out of the Lab,” he answered. “You’ll still have the long-range forecasts and a topnotch technical staff.”

  “But you can’t just pull out!”

  “You don’t own me, friend.”

  “But don’t you have any sense of responsibility? Or gratitude? Or anything?”

  His jaw settled ominously. “Listen. I don’t have a few million bucks to play with, or an ancestral manor, or a dozen different businesses to dabble in. All I’ve got is weather control. We started this Lab to make weather control work. If I’ve got to leave the Lab to get weather control, I’ll leave it. If I have to walk off the edge of this roof to get weather control, I’ll do that too! Don’t talk about responsibility or gratitude, buddy. I’ve made this Lab a money-making proposition. I’ve pulled your old man’s dredges out of trouble. Now count your money and let me do the work I have to do.”

  He stormed past me and went downstairs, leaving me trembling with helpless fury.

  I didn’t see Ted again for a week. And when I did, it was only for a brief phone call one evening at my hotel room.

  “Rossman gave in. I’m starting at Climatology tomorrow morning. I’m here at the Lab to pick up my junk . . . be here an hour or so, if you want to talk to me.”

  I punched the phone’s “off” switch so hard it jammed shut.

  From most points of view, Aeolus seemed almost unchanged. Tuli left with Ted, of course. He was very apologetic about it, in his Oriental way. But he went. So did a few other technical people.

  I sat in the office and brooded while the staff ran things. The long-range forecasts were going smoothly and our work on drought control was being written into a series of reports for our customers. The only work that stopped was the preparations for the actual drought modifications.

  I stayed at Aeolus for nearly a month. Barney called once or twice, but it was always very brief. Too busy working on the drought modifications, she said.

  Two weeks after Ted left, we had a sharp thunderstorm that dropped nearly two inches of rain into the vanishing reservoirs. A few days later it drizzled for nearly thirty-six hours straight. Nothing spectacular, but everyone was grateful for it. Finally one morning late in September it clouded over and really poured rain, steadily, all day. Children ran home from school through puddles, splashing and sloshing in their yellow slickers and boots. People gathered at office window’s to watch it, grinning. Grown men and women dug out old umbrellas and overshoes and actually went for walks in the first prolonged rain of the year.

  I couldn’t stand it any more. I bolted out of the office, drove through the rainy streets to the hotel, and started packing. I was finished with Ted and Barney and the whole idea of weather control. I was going back to Hawaii.

  12. Shifting Winds

  I THREW things blindly into my travel bag while the rain streamed down the window of my room. Clothes, shoes, shaving gear, everything stuffed in as fast as I could pull it from drawers and shelves.

  The door buzzer sounded. “It’s open!” I yelled.

  Barney stepped in. “Jerry, isn’t it wonderful! The rain . . .”

  She stopped when she saw what I was doing. She stood by the doorway in a dripping raincape and pushed a lock of glistening hair back away from her face.

  “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes,” I said, still packing.

  “Because of Ted.”

  “Right again.”

  I walked into the bathroom to check the medicine cabinet. Everything was cleared out.

  “When are you going?”

  “On the first flyable machine that’s heading for Hawaii.”

  Barney let the cape slip off her shoulders and drop on the chair by the door.

  “I suppose I don’t blame you,” she said.

  “That’s generous.”

  “Jerry, don’t be sarcastic.”

  “Why not? I thought you like guys who are sarcastic, and tough, and throw temper tantrums.”

  “I don’t like people who run away.”

  I slammed the travel bag shut. “What do you expect me to do? Sit at my desk and count mo
ney while you and Ted soar on to new heights of scientific marvels? What’s left for me to do around here? Nothing. Ted’s got what he wants and you’ve got what you want. So I’ll go back home and try to forget the whole mess.”

  “What do you mean, I’ve got what I want?”

  “Ted’s back with you, isn’t he? You’re together every day now; working side by side for sweet science. Just the two of you, with your Asiatic sidekick. The little rich boy from the islands has outlived his usefulness.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “I saved his neck when he was ready to throw in the towel. Now he doesn’t need me any more. And as long as he’s with you, you don’t need me any more either. So why should I hang around? Just to watch his rain fall?”

  “If that’s true, Jerry,” she said, “then why did I come here?”

  I didn’t have an answer for that one.

  “If you can talk quietly for a few minutes,” she said, going to the sofa, “perhaps I can show you how wrong you are.”

  “I’m wrong?”

  “Ted’s an unforgivable lout,” she said, “there’s no argument about that. The way he treated you was shameful. But if you’ll listen to me for a minute, I think you’ll see why he’s the way he is.”

  “I don’t want any amateur psychoanalysis of the young genius,” I snapped.

  “No, you’d rather run away home and hide behind your father I”

  Her voice was suddenly sharp with real anger; I had never seen her angry before.

  “Ted treated you horribly, there’s no excuse for it. I expected you to be hurt and mad at him. But I didn’t think you’d be so sorry for yourself.”

  “All right,” I said. “Just why did you come?”

  “Because Ted owes you an apology, but he’ll never make it himself. So I thought I should.”

  “As his chosen representative?”

  “You’re being sarcastic again,” she said.

  I went over and sat beside her.