spent a lot of time showing potential customers what we can do for them. He’s our all-star team, all in one man.”
“It sounds as if you’re in reasonably good shape, then.” Father looked almost happy about it.
“We’re afloat. We’ve signed up four new customers, besides the Thornton concerns, and three other companies are talking about contracts with us.”
“Good. You’ve got the company on its feet. Your friends are gainfully employed. You’ve had a year’s worth of experience . . . and fun. Now I want you to come back home, son. I need you here.”
“Home?” I snapped forward in the chair and grabbed the desk hard with both hands. “But I never . . .”
“Thornton Pacific is your company, Jeremy. Not this weather business.”
“You can’t expect me to just walk out of here!”
“I certainly can,” he said firmly. “I want you back home where you belong.”
“I can’t leave now.”
“You mean you won’t!”
“Are you ordering me to come home?”
“Is that what you want me to do?”
By now I was sitting on the front inch of my chair. Father and I were glaring at each other.
“Listen, Dad. The first Jeremy Thom put his money into clipper ships when all his advisers and friends were backing the Erie Canal. Grandfather—Jeremy the Second—put the family into the airplane business. You yourself marched off to Hawaii and went into the undersea business. All right—I’m following the family pattern. I’m sticking here and weather control is what I’m after.”
“But it’s impossible.”
“So were airplanes and deep-sea dredges.”
“All right!” he shouted. “Be a stubborn little idiot. But don’t think you can come running home to safety when your pipe dreams fall flat! You’re on your own, don’t ask me for help or advice.”
“Isn’t that the same speech Grandfather made to you before you went to Hawaii?”
He snapped off the connection. The screen went dead. I was on my own.
And enjoying it! I had never really worked before starting Aeolus, never really sunk my teeth into a job that just wouldn’t get done unless I did it. Now I was working night and day. I spent more time in my office than in my hotel room. I forgot about TV, and sailing, and even visiting
Thornton. But I don’t think I’ve ever had as much fun, as much of a feeling of building something worthwhile, as I did when we were getting Aeolus into high gear.
Late one night, a week or so after Father’s explosion, Ted popped into my office.
“Still working?”
I looked up from the contract I was trying to read. “There’s a lot of fine print to wade through in this job.”
“Got a friend of yours outside. Took her to dinner and she wanted to come over and say hello. Hasn’t seen much of you the past couple of weeks.”
“Barney? Where is she?”
“Down in my shop, with Tuli.”
“Tuli’s still here? What’s going on tonight?”
Ted leaned nonchalantly against the doorjamb, his big frame filling the open doorway. “Been doing some calculations about the drought. Barney’s checking ‘em over.”
I closed the contract folder and shoved it into a desk-top basket.
“This must be pretty special,” I said, getting to my feet. “You could have used the regular Aeolus computations group to check your calculations.”
“Already did. Barney’s double-checking . . . and seeing if Rossman’s done anything along the same lines.”
We walked down the hall to Ted’s room. He didn’t have a regular office; his room was big enough to hold a squash court. He had all sorts of junk in it: a desk with a table to one side of it and an electronics console on the other, half a dozen file cabinets, a tattered old contour lounge that he had somehow smuggled out of the Air Force, a conference table surrounded by the unlikeliest assortment of chairs, and no less than four coffeepots standing in a row on the windowsill. Outside the window was a small automatic weather station.
The entire wall
“It sounds as if you’re in reasonably good shape, then.” Father looked almost happy about it.
“We’re afloat. We’ve signed up four new customers, besides the Thornton concerns, and three other companies are talking about contracts with us.”
“Good. You’ve got the company on its feet. Your friends are gainfully employed. You’ve had a year’s worth of experience . . . and fun. Now I want you to come back home, son. I need you here.”
“Home?” I snapped forward in the chair and grabbed the desk hard with both hands. “But I never . . .”
“Thornton Pacific is your company, Jeremy. Not this weather business.”
“You can’t expect me to just walk out of here!”
“I certainly can,” he said firmly. “I want you back home where you belong.”
“I can’t leave now.”
“You mean you won’t!”
“Are you ordering me to come home?”
“Is that what you want me to do?”
By now I was sitting on the front inch of my chair. Father and I were glaring at each other.
“Listen, Dad. The first Jeremy Thom put his money into clipper ships when all his advisers and friends were backing the Erie Canal. Grandfather—Jeremy the Second—put the family into the airplane business. You yourself marched off to Hawaii and went into the undersea business. All right—I’m following the family pattern. I’m sticking here and weather control is what I’m after.”
“But it’s impossible.”
“So were airplanes and deep-sea dredges.”
“All right!” he shouted. “Be a stubborn little idiot. But don’t think you can come running home to safety when your pipe dreams fall flat! You’re on your own, don’t ask me for help or advice.”
“Isn’t that the same speech Grandfather made to you before you went to Hawaii?”
He snapped off the connection. The screen went dead. I was on my own.
And enjoying it! I had never really worked before starting Aeolus, never really sunk my teeth into a job that just wouldn’t get done unless I did it. Now I was working night and day. I spent more time in my office than in my hotel room. I forgot about TV, and sailing, and even visiting
Thornton. But I don’t think I’ve ever had as much fun, as much of a feeling of building something worthwhile, as I did when we were getting Aeolus into high gear.
Late one night, a week or so after Father’s explosion, Ted popped into my office.
“Still working?”
I looked up from the contract I was trying to read. “There’s a lot of fine print to wade through in this job.”
“Got a friend of yours outside. Took her to dinner and she wanted to come over and say hello. Hasn’t seen much of you the past couple of weeks.”
“Barney? Where is she?”
“Down in my shop, with Tuli.”
“Tuli’s still here? What’s going on tonight?”
Ted leaned nonchalantly against the doorjamb, his big frame filling the open doorway. “Been doing some calculations about the drought. Barney’s checking ‘em over.”
I closed the contract folder and shoved it into a desk-top basket.
“This must be pretty special,” I said, getting to my feet. “You could have used the regular Aeolus computations group to check your calculations.”
“Already did. Barney’s double-checking . . . and seeing if Rossman’s done anything along the same lines.”
We walked down the hall to Ted’s room. He didn’t have a regular office; his room was big enough to hold a squash court. He had all sorts of junk in it: a desk with a table to one side of it and an electronics console on the other, half a dozen file cabinets, a tattered old contour lounge that he had somehow smuggled out of the Air Force, a conference table surrounded by the unlikeliest assortment of chairs, and no less than four coffeepots standing in a row on the windowsill. Outside the window was a small automatic weather station.
The entire wall
Similar Books
