opposite the door was covered by Ted’s private joy: a viewscreen map of the continental United States. He had worked nonstop for weeks to make the map exactly the way he wanted it.
Barney and Tuli were sitting at the conference table as we walked in, thumbing through sheets of notes that were partly computer print-out and partly Ted’s heavy-handed scrawl.
She looked up as we entered. “Jerry, how are you?”
“I’m fine. How have you been?”
“She’s obviously in wonderful shape,” Ted cracked. “Now, what about the numbers, Barney?”
“I can’t find anything glaringly wrong with them,” she said with a shrug. “Of course, I haven’t had time really to go through it thoroughly—”
“Could use our computer,” Ted suggested.
Tuli said in that quiet way of his, “The computer runs at any hour of the day or night. It’s entirely free of human frailty, such as the need for sleep.”
“All right, so I’m asking a favor,” Ted said, waving his hands. “I’d feel better about the numbers if Barney checked ’em out.”
“Can I start tomorrow night?” she asked.
“After dinner,” I said.
“Okay, we’ll all eat together,” Ted countered.
I asked, “What is this all about, anyway?”
Instead of answering, Ted paced to the console beside his desk and touched a few buttons. A weather map sprang
up on the lighted viewscreen: lines and symbols that showed air masses and storm cells across the country, and the weather reported at each major city.
“Here’s the way it looks right now,” Ted said. “Those numbers down in the bottom right corner are precipitation totals from New England. So far this year, we’re standing at nearly half the region’s average rainfall.”
“And snowfall,” Tuli added softly.
“That pile of calculations I showed you,” Ted went on, squatting on his desk, “is a general forecast for New England as far ahead as I can make halfway accurate numbers. Runs to the end of the year.”
“Seven months,” Barney mused. “The reliability won’t be terribly high . . .
“Maybe not, but take a look.” Ted fiddled with the control buttons, and we watched the weather patterns unfold across the face of the continent. Hot summer air welled up from the tropics, late-afternoon thunderstorm symbols flickered here and there, cooler air masses swung in from the north and west, triggering squall lines across their fronts. You could see autumn taking hold of the nation, and hurricanes hitting Florida and the Gulf Coast. Then came winter and bitter Arctic air, with tiny starlike symbols of snow sprinkling over the northern two-thirds of the country.
“It’s now December thirty-first,” Ted said when the map stopped changing. “Happy New Year.”
“Not very happy,” Tuli observed, “if those precipitation figures are correct.”
I looked at the numbers; New England had received less than half of its usual rainfall.
“Drought pattern,” Ted said. “And a rough one. This neck of the country’s in for trouble. While the Midwest’ll be flooded.”
“What are you going to do about it?” Barney asked.
“Stop it.”
“How?”
“Don’t know . . . yet. But I’m going to make it the business of this Lab to find out.”
Turning from the map toward Ted, I said, “We’ll have to find considerably more money to work on a problem of this size.”
“We’re going to work on it,” Ted answered firmly. “You can worry about the money. If you can find people who want to pay us for it, great. But we’re going to work on it anyway.”
He turned to Barney. “Rossman doing anything like this?”
“Not that I know of. Of course, his official forecasts don’t run this far into the future.”
“But unofficially?”
“I think he’s trying to figure out your type of forecasting technique. He has a small group of people doing some special work for him. It’s very hush-hush. At least, no one will tell me anything about it.”
Ted didn’t answer, but his
Barney and Tuli were sitting at the conference table as we walked in, thumbing through sheets of notes that were partly computer print-out and partly Ted’s heavy-handed scrawl.
She looked up as we entered. “Jerry, how are you?”
“I’m fine. How have you been?”
“She’s obviously in wonderful shape,” Ted cracked. “Now, what about the numbers, Barney?”
“I can’t find anything glaringly wrong with them,” she said with a shrug. “Of course, I haven’t had time really to go through it thoroughly—”
“Could use our computer,” Ted suggested.
Tuli said in that quiet way of his, “The computer runs at any hour of the day or night. It’s entirely free of human frailty, such as the need for sleep.”
“All right, so I’m asking a favor,” Ted said, waving his hands. “I’d feel better about the numbers if Barney checked ’em out.”
“Can I start tomorrow night?” she asked.
“After dinner,” I said.
“Okay, we’ll all eat together,” Ted countered.
I asked, “What is this all about, anyway?”
Instead of answering, Ted paced to the console beside his desk and touched a few buttons. A weather map sprang
up on the lighted viewscreen: lines and symbols that showed air masses and storm cells across the country, and the weather reported at each major city.
“Here’s the way it looks right now,” Ted said. “Those numbers down in the bottom right corner are precipitation totals from New England. So far this year, we’re standing at nearly half the region’s average rainfall.”
“And snowfall,” Tuli added softly.
“That pile of calculations I showed you,” Ted went on, squatting on his desk, “is a general forecast for New England as far ahead as I can make halfway accurate numbers. Runs to the end of the year.”
“Seven months,” Barney mused. “The reliability won’t be terribly high . . .
“Maybe not, but take a look.” Ted fiddled with the control buttons, and we watched the weather patterns unfold across the face of the continent. Hot summer air welled up from the tropics, late-afternoon thunderstorm symbols flickered here and there, cooler air masses swung in from the north and west, triggering squall lines across their fronts. You could see autumn taking hold of the nation, and hurricanes hitting Florida and the Gulf Coast. Then came winter and bitter Arctic air, with tiny starlike symbols of snow sprinkling over the northern two-thirds of the country.
“It’s now December thirty-first,” Ted said when the map stopped changing. “Happy New Year.”
“Not very happy,” Tuli observed, “if those precipitation figures are correct.”
I looked at the numbers; New England had received less than half of its usual rainfall.
“Drought pattern,” Ted said. “And a rough one. This neck of the country’s in for trouble. While the Midwest’ll be flooded.”
“What are you going to do about it?” Barney asked.
“Stop it.”
“How?”
“Don’t know . . . yet. But I’m going to make it the business of this Lab to find out.”
Turning from the map toward Ted, I said, “We’ll have to find considerably more money to work on a problem of this size.”
“We’re going to work on it,” Ted answered firmly. “You can worry about the money. If you can find people who want to pay us for it, great. But we’re going to work on it anyway.”
He turned to Barney. “Rossman doing anything like this?”
“Not that I know of. Of course, his official forecasts don’t run this far into the future.”
“But unofficially?”
“I think he’s trying to figure out your type of forecasting technique. He has a small group of people doing some special work for him. It’s very hush-hush. At least, no one will tell me anything about it.”
Ted didn’t answer, but his
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