Misfits (5 page)

* * *

The Scout stood by while Brunner teased a
possible pattern from the various historical models. If the Scout
recognized what he was doing, or knew how it might be done more
efficiently, he said nothing, but that was the way of Scouts--they
interfered as little as possible unless you failed of doing what
they wanted of you. So, for the moment at least, the Scout wished
him to work.

Eventually, Brunner smoothed the touch panel
with a reluctant thumb, watching as the images reformed, showing as
the storm moved in reverse, dividing into two smaller storms and a
smudge of low pressure. He tapped the screen again, looked up to
his silent watcher.

"Service? It will be a number of minutes
before the information I seek appears on screen."

The Scout sighed lightly, his hands saying
something Brunner couldn't read, and then said, quite abruptly,
"While the data, which should belong to all of us, is encrypted,
the words, which should belong only to the speaker and their
intended recipient, are not."

Brunner felt his face heat.

He bowed, acknowledging receipt of
information.

"And this is monitored where beside my own
instruments, if I may know?"

"It is recorded, as a side channel, along
with all the broadcasts from Klamath."

"This is not simply a science station,
then?" Brunner asked sharply, though he had for some time
suspected--…

"Of course not, except as you allow the
study of human systems in disintegration to be a science."

Brunner acknowledged the point with another
bow, and looked back to his screen.

"Science can be so many things," said the
Scout, speaking to the wall perhaps, or to the floor, or to
himself. "It can be imprecise and immediately useful and reek of
technology and action, or it can be an escape of beautiful
equations and elegant systems, backed by theory and distanced by
case numbers and modeled meta-statistical analysis."

The Scout paused as the screen Brunner was
watching reformed. The storm systems moved forward once more,
dutifully came together, marched across the planet picking up
energy, joined two into one, and again, two into one, the cyclonic
motion barely apparent early on and then--…

Thumb-tap.

The systems stopped moving.

Thumb-tap.

The screen now displayed four views, all
tagged with the same date and time.

The top left showed a widespread storm,
faltering, moving northward above the equator with its center
diffuse.

The top right showed a tight-knot of mini
storms first hugging the northeastern coast above the equator, then
following a wide bay north.

The bottom two veered from the northern
route and crossed the isthmus, where both blossomed into monstrous
cyclonic storms. While the one on the right rushed eastward and
then slowly dissipated, the one on the left veered deep into the
Chilonga Mountains after striking the river delta.

Brunner knew the why of the blossom into
major storm: on the west side of the isthmus the ocean level was
considerably higher and considerably colder than on the east side.
Assuming the storm survived the not inconsiderable plunge down the
cliffs of the isthmus.

"These are the major models which are now at
work." Brunner said conversationally. "One and Two are most
standard. Four is the "preferred" model of my predecessor. She was
very climate-oriented in her approach, I think. In going back over
her work and comparing it to the standard models, I find that hers
were often less wrong than those models, which is interesting given
the variability we think we see."

"Less wrong is a useful trait, is it not?"
murmured the Scout.

They both watched as the images ran again in
hypermotion, Brunner mumbling a distant, "Indeed. In theory, it is
better."

Thumb-tap. Models One and Two disappeared
from the screen. Three and Four immediately resized themselves,
greedily filling the space.

Number Four played its image out, giving way
to another image, which formed itself with a view of a cloud
formation far to the west. That formation, shown as small storms,
dispersed into a weak trough, then--… the trough joined a small
storm, which merged with a larger which--… stopped about where
Number Three began.

"My current model," Brunner said, "is Number
Three. On screen to the left is the model that predicted the
current positions within this--" a touch on keypads, a screen tap,
an overlay.…

The images were not identical by any means,
but on a gross scale storm overlaid storm, calm highs overlaid calm
highs.

"Ah," said the Scout, executing a small
bow.

"My model works from the assumptions my
predecessor made initially, modified to reflect my conclusions that
we have here in Klamath a planet acting more like a gas planet than
a core planet, a planet whose weather is not only driven by surface
and near surface conditions but by core convection and other
inconvenient energy sources such as groundswell tides and the
like."

"So there might be a paper in this for you?
A publication is always good for the career!"

Brunner shook his head, his attention still
mostly on the screen and the predicted, coming storm.

"I am not so sure," he said to the Scout.
"The information may be owned by my employer, after all. If they
care to admit that it exists. At the moment the chief is
broadcasting my real-time information, but uses the old model for
the official predictions he broadcasts."

The Scout raised his hands, palms up.

"Chief Thurton values the neutrality of the
station high, does he not?"

Brunner sighed. "Staff is under orders to
write a letter of dissent to your involving the mercenary unit in
our work. I am to report any actions I perform under your orders or
in your name."

"Yes," said the Scout, who was pacing the
long axis of the room almost as if he were at exercise. "You must,
of course, follow protocols. My orders to this point amount to you
doing your work, making your predictions, and sharing that
information with interested parties. My actions are the same;
report them as you must. In the meanwhile, you must be aware that
your communications with those on the surface may be public."

Now the scout favored him with a bow of
direct instruction.

"As I understand matters you are from time
to time in direct contact with the party carrying your monitor.
Continue that association, and share with that group your exact
forecasts. You are to make the fullest use possible of the Stubbs
unit. Read the manual thoroughly, and forward information as may be
required to maintain the unit's performance. Report and forecast
the weather accurately. I do not require you to seek out other
interested parties to share your predictions with: simply make
them, forward them to your party on the ground and to the control
room where Chief Thurton must see the information shared."

He spun, standing ready on the balls of his
feet, as if he expected to need to run, or leap--

"Understand me, Brunner. In so far as you
are able, insure the continued performance of the Stubbs unit. That
serves the purpose of the organization which hired your company and
it serves my needs as Scout-in-Place. As to the needs of the group
carrying the unit--… inform them that I have forbidden landings by
unaccredited spacecraft, and that ongoing scheduled unmanned
replenishment may go forward. I have broadcast a request
planet-wide that civilian populations not be targeted and that I
will permit landings on my approval only and by agreement of
locally recognized authorities."

Brunner bowed in receipt, and considered his
latest predictions.

"Then I am to suggest to--… Corporal
Robertson--… that the Stubbs should be on a protected elevation
away from rivers within three Standard days and that wind speeds of
up to one fourth the speed of sound are probable?"

The Scout bowed his assent.

"You are so instructed."

* * *

"Brunner, you guys are life savers!"

"Please, if you are in a secure location do
not leave it! You are only in the eye!"

A very slight delay and then:

"Oh boy, aren't we. This has gotta be the
best weather we've seen on this place. Feels great. Even smells
clean, kinda like ocean!"

Yes, of course it smelled like ocean.…

"Redhead, you are not in the center of the
eye--this lull is very glancing. Mere moments. Eat something! And I
must say it is very dangerous for you to move during the storm.
Please do not do it again unless threatened--… You are already. .
."

But there, he hadn't thought to start a
threaded conversation, and the delay was small, so a thread was not
really required--…

"Are you crazy? I was hunkered right down
here the whole time. Haven't moved a bit except to empty water out
of my boots!"

Not moved? But, the instruments were quite
clear, and quite accurate!

"Say again?"

A sound: footsteps behind him. He waved for
quiet.

"I said I haven't moved!" Redhead repeated.
"I felt like I was floating a couple times but there's no water
here that didn't drain off! We're tucked in a grain storage ranch
with everything made out o' crete! But the rest of your info is
right, hey? Been working out for you?"

Indeed, the rest of the information was
useful--treasure beyond price. And her report of floating; the fact
that the unit reported it had moved by nearly a meter! That
required study.

"It is excellent," he told her. "You have
done well, and I am very pleased!"

"Good. I'm gonna grab something to eat! Liz
says a spotter claims to see a wall o' clouds. Out."

"Out," said Brunner, but she had already
gone. He sighed and turned away from the monitor.

The Scout stood nearby, smiling.

"The young Terrans, they are amazing. One
can hear the excitement in their voices--…"

Brunner frowned. Was it possible that the
Scout did not know? "Terrans?" he murmured.

"Brunner, for this, yes, Terrans. Jack asked
me--… but no matter. Liz vouches for the child as from Surebleak.
Liz is from Surebleak. Surebleak is Terran."

Brunner bowed in acknowledgment, allowing
irony to be seen, and turned back to his equipment.

"Your point, Tech Brunner," the Scout
murmured, perhaps amused. "In the meanwhile, it may be well for you
to produce both local and regional forecasts, as usual."

"I have been remiss," Brunner said, without
looking around. "In yestermorning's recorded note from our
galandaria was this message, which you have perhaps not heard." He
touched a key.

Flat silence except for the susuration of
the room's air moving equipment, then Miri Robertson's steady
voice, "Liz ain't too happy about these new landing regs. Says it
sounds iffy as all get out. Wants to know if I can pinbeam a voice
message outta here to Merc Headquarters if things get tight. Dunno
what that might do to the power supply and your info." A slight
hesitation, as if she was listening, then: "Liz says relay to the
Scout that any merc transport should be passed, no questions."

Brunner looked at the Scout.

"I have not answered."

"I hear this." The Scout sighed.

"Ah. Well, hear also that the girl holds the
master key. When she is bored she reads the manuals."

The Scout glared--and then laughed, fingers
dancing out an unread phrase.

"Yes, of course! All honor to you. Were I on
a strange world which is doing its best to rid itself of humankind,
encircled by enemies who are trying to kill me, I would also need
light reading. Liz Lizardi hires quality help. I hear this, too,
Weatherman."

* * *

No matter how engrossing the work, a man
must sometimes tend to other necessities. Brunner acknowledged that
he was becoming a danger to the data when he caught himself
reviewing the same data loop for the fifth time.

Dragging himself to his quarters, he fell
fully dressed into his bunk, plummeting instantly into sleep.

"Ichliad Brunner! Report to the meteorology
lab!"

The words reached him in the dreamless
depths, senseless as stones.

"Ichliad Brunner to the weather deck,
pronto. Ichliad Brunner---"

That voice roused him, and he pushed
upright, still more asleep than awake. The weather deck--…Yes,
surely! He had told her to call for him by name--

"Ichliad Brunner to the weather-deck,
pronto!" Again came the demand in Jack's big voice; the speaker at
his bedside taking up the cry; echoing those in the hall outside
his quarters. The door buzzer gave tongue, followed by
pounding.

Brunner threw himself across the room,
slapped the door open and stepped back as Jack all but fell into
the room.

"You're needed. Sorry to wake you."

Brunner stared. "What can possibly be worth
all this--"

"Under seal," Jack interrupted. "We'll talk
when we're private."

* * *

His lab room was hardly private. The
planetologist's intern huddled near the real-time monitors, openly
weeping. Brunner stopped, horrified. Why had she not been given the
privacy such emotion required? He looked 'round to Jack, but that
noisy person had stepped over to the aux monitors, toolbelts
silent, for a wonder, as if he wished not to be noticed.

The Scout stood with Station Chief Thurton
some distance from the weeping girl, his face half-averted, as if
he, too, wished to grant her seclusion. Dr. Boylan, the
planetologist, stood at the intern's side, apparently taking the
part of kin.

She looked up as Brunner approached, face
grim.

"Ah, here you are, Weatherman. Estrava," she
said, carefully touching the intern's shoulder, "was following up
on my request for drift correction. We've been using the dome of
the Governor's Hall as a target, it being gold-plated and
reflective in a number of useful frequencies." She took a hard
breath and nodded at the screen. "We need you to confirm a
disaster."