Heavy Weather

The Project wasn't that much different, in its basic digital operation, from Jerry's weather modeling-except that Jerry's simulations were firmly based on openly testable, fully established laws of physics, while April Logan was not a scientist but an artist and design critic. As far as Jane could figure, April's analytical armature wasn't much of a genuine intellectual advance over a tarot deck. And yet, like a tarot deck, no matter what nonsense the damn thing threw out, it always seemed to work somehow, to make a certain deep and tantalizing sense.

It wasn't science, and didn't pretend to be, but it had made April Logan into a very wealthy and influential woman. She had left academia-where she had been doing quite well-and now commanded enormous fees as a private consultant. People-sensible, practical people-paid April Logan huge sums to predict things like "the color of the season." And whether there might be a mass market for disposable fast-food plasticware that you could chew up and eat. And why hotels were suffering a plague of teen suicides inside glass elevators, and why installing bright pink carpeting might help. April had become a genuine Design Guru.

The years hadn't been kind to April. Seeing her teacher in person again, outside the hard controlled gleam of April's precisely calculated public image, Jane noticed tremor and flakiness there, a touch of madness, even. April ~an was not a happy woman. But success hadn't changed her much. April had always had that i

"True i

"Same old Professor Logan."

"I might have known I'd see you end up in the heart of an event like this, Juanita. There's no question that it's an event of some pivotal importance. I've watched it work its way from speculation, to fad, to near mania... . If it's a natural disaster that matches its advance billings, this could become a long-term societal landmark."

"And we're documenting it."

"It's very dangerous, isn't it? Not only physically, but it is clearly attracting a large nexus of unstable social elements."

"Fortune rewards the brave," Jane said cheerfully. "We'll be fine. We know what we're doing. And so will everyone else, if you will help us."

"Interesting," April said. From her, that was high praise. "I did a comprehensive category search through the Project for neural weightings for your friend, Dr. Mulcahey. It's rare for the Project to single out any individual, especially one as publicly little known as he is, and yet Dr. Mulcahey registers in no less than fourteen different categories.

"Really."

"That's quite extraordinary. And yet he has an even lesser-known brother who showed up in no less than seventeen!"

"Do you ever look yourself up in the Project?"

"Every day. I've gotten as high as five, sometimes. Six once, briefly." She frowned. "Of course, you could argue that a lower number of categories deepens the basic societal influence."

"Right. Have you looked me up, lately?"

April gazed tactfully across the camp. "What is that device they're launching?"

"Weather balloon," Jane said, standing up. No use taking offense. It was just a big damn fortune-telling machine. 'Would you like to watch?"

JERRY STOOD BEFORE the firelight, his head bare, his hands behind his back. "Tomorrow we are going to track the most violent storm in recorded history," he said. "It will break tomorrow, probably by noon, and it will kill thousands, probably tens of thousands of people. If it's stable and it persists beyond a few hours, it may kill millions. If we had time, and energy, and opportunity, I would try to save lives. But we don't, and we can't. We don't have time, and we don't have authority, so we can't save anyone. We can't even save ourselves. Our own lives are not our top priority tomorrow."

The people in the powwow circle were very silent.

"In the terrible scale of tomorrow's event, our lives just don't matter much. Knowledge of the F-6 is more important than any of us. I wish this weren't the case, but it's the truth. I want you to understand that truth and accept it, I want you to take it into your hearts and feel it, and resolve to act on it. People, you've all seen the simulations, you know what I mean when I say F-6. But people, the damned thing is finally upon us. It is here, it's real, no playback this time, no simulacrum. It is with us in stark reality. We have to know all that we can about the real F-6, at all costs. It is a terrible event that must be documented-at all costs. Tomorrow, we must seize as much of the truth as we can possibly steal from this dreadful thing. Even if we all die doing this, but some survivor learns the truth about it because of our efforts, then that will be an excellent price for our lives."

Jerry began to pace back and forth. "I don't want any recklessness tomorrow. I don't want any amateurism, I don't want any nonsense. What I want from you is complete resolve, and complete understanding of the necessity and the consequences. We have only one chance. This is the greatest heavy-weather challenge that our Troupe will ever face, and I hope and believe it will be the single most violent weather event we will see in our natural lifetimes. If you believe that your life is more important than hacking this storm, I can understand that belief. It's wise. Most people would call it sensible. You are all here with me now because you're definitely not most people, but what I'm asking from you now is a terrible thing to ask of anyone. This isn't just another storm pursuit. It's not just another front, and another spike. This thing is Death, people. It's a destroyer of worlds. It's the worst thing human action has brought into this world since Los Alamos. If your life is your first priority, you should leave this camp immediately, now. I am forecasting a weather event that is more swift, more volatile, more massive, and more violent than the strongest F-S maxitornado, by a full order of magnitude. If you want to escape the disaster, you should flee right now, due east, and not stop until you are on the far side of the Mississippi. If you stay, stay in the full knowledge that we are going after this catastrophe head-on."

Nobody moved. Nobody said anything.

Suddenly the air was split with a bloodcurdling bestial yell, a warbling, yodeling, exultant screech like a madwoman gloating over a freshly severed scalp.

It was Joa

Even Jerry seemed stu

"I've said enough," Jerry realized, and deliberately sat down.

Rudy Martinez stood up. "Jerry, are you nowcasting tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

"I'll go anywhere as long as Jerry is nowcasting. I've said enough." Rudy sat down.

Joe Brasseur stood up. "I'm available for consultation by anyone who hasn't made their will. Dying intestate, that's no joke for your heirs. We got enough time tonight to record a will, put on a digital signature, and pipe it to an off-site backup. This means you, Du