The Weathermakers (1967) Read Online Free

though, that the hotel wouldn’t give me a suite. Too many people and not enough floor space, the registration clerk told me. I ordered a wardrobe by viewphone—nothing too much, just some slacks and a jacket, and incidentals.
    Dinner felt strangely like lunch until I realized that my body was still on Hawaii time. I was far from sleepy even at midnight, so I watched the all-night TV movies until I finally drifted off.
    The sun rose brightly across the western half of the globe, its unfailing energy heating the seas and continents—and the restless, heaving ocean of air that mantled them both. Powered by the sun, twisted by the spinning Earth beneath it, the atmosphere moved like a living, throbbing creature. Winds and currents pulsed through it. Gigantic columns of air billowed upward for miles and sank again, absorbed moisture and released it, borrowed warmth from the tropics and carried it poleward, breathed life wherever they touched. Above this endless activity, the turbulent air ocean became more placid, except for the racing rivers of the jet streams. Higher still, electrical charges swirled through a darkening sky where meteors flashed and unbreathable gases blocked all but a small slice of the sun’s mighty radiance. Pulled by lunar and solar tides, mixed with magnetic fields and ghostly interplanetary winds, the ocean of air gradually thinned away and disappeared on the dark shore of space.
    I slept late, dressed hurriedly, and got a rental car for the ride out to the Climatology Division. While the auto guided itself through the impossible crush of Boston traffic, I bought the best breakfast that the tinny vending machine in the back seat had to offer: synthetic juice, a warmed-over bun, and powdered milk.
    I phoned ahead as the car threaded its way to the throughway and picked up speed. Dr. Rossman’s secretary answered that he was busy but would detail someone to meet me in the lobby.
    Climatology’s parking lot was jammed now, and the lobby fairly bustled with people. I announced myself to the receptionist, who nodded to a lovely slim blonde sitting near the desk.
    She was dressed in a light-green sweater and skirt, touched off with the fresh, outdoor fragrance of flower fields.
    “I’m Priscilla Barneveldt,” she said. “Dr. Rossman asked me to see that you got through the Services Section without trouble.”
    Her eyes were grayish-green, I noticed. Her face was a trifle on the long side, but well put together, with firm features and a determined little chin.
    “Well,” I said, “you’re the most pleasant surprise I’ve had in the whole Weather Bureau so far.”
    “And that’s the most pleasant compliment I’ve heard all day . . . so far.” She spoke with a slight, unidentifiable accent. “The elevators are down this way.”
    “Don’t forget your glasses, Barney,” the receptionist said.
    “Oh, thanks.” She went back to the chair she had been sitting in and picked up the eyeglasses. “I’d be squinting all day without them.”
    “Barney?” I asked as we walked to the elevators.
    A trace of a smile shaped her lips. “It’s better than ‘Prissy’ or ‘Silly’ don’t you think?”
    “I guess so.” The elevator doors slid open and we stepped inside. “But isn’t it a little confusing?”
    She really smiled now. “I’m afraid I’m not a very highly organized person . . . not with people, anyway. Third floor please,” she said to the elevator control panel.
    It took nearly an hour for me to fill out the forms in the Services Section that would send Dr. Rossman’s up-to-the-minute predictions to our Honolulu offices. Barney helped me with them and fed the finished paperwork into the automatic processor that made up most of the Section.
    Then she said, “Have you seen the rest of the building? I could give you the official guided tour, if you like.”
    Nothing could have bored me more, I thought. Except sitting in the airport, waiting for the afternoon flight. “Okay,