Misfits Read Online Free PDF Page B

the
operator. Brunner continued on Slot C, and no one complained, save
the company's accountant, who felt that he should not receive a
bonus for working a shift he clearly preferred. He signed a paper,
waiving his right to the Slot C differential, and was left alone to
do his work.
    To hear the news source tell it, the
introduction of "professional warriors" had taken the heart out of
the enemy or enemies. All fronts were quiet; even the reports of
atrocities decreased. The enemy-or-enemies had, the news source
reported, withdrawn, to pray and to take counsel of such wise ones
and elders as they had. The government in Chilonga Center, in the
province where Lizardi's Lunatics had been stationed, audibly held
its breath.
    Brunner watched the weather, made
predictions, noted his errors; he collaborated with Dr. Boylan, the
planetologist, on a study of the likelihood that there was a
long-term subsurface flow echoing the jet stream. The Stubbs
continued to report, so whoever had been targeting the stationary
weather machines seemed not to have the interest--or the means to
destroy--a roving unit.
    Betting pools were formed--days until the
end of the war; where the next cyclone would form; which government
would fall to a coup.
    As always, Brunner declined to bet, but
found himself importuned anyway, as those who had formed a pool on
the probable length of survival of the various mercenary units
inquired after the supposed "inside information" he was gaining
from his contact on the surface.
    In retrospect, it was a time of peaceful
repose such as Brunner had rarely experienced during his tour of
duty.
    * * *
    The first hint that things might be
returning to normal came, not from Brunner's intense study of
Klamath's erratic weather systems, nor from his rather less intense
study of the news reports, but from his contact on the planet's
surface.
    "Okay." Robertson's recorded voice sounded
breathless. "Just wanted to let you know that we got through it
fine, and the machine's good. Some of us got messed up and we had
to send a few off to the hospital in Chilonga Center. We had real
good luck, though, 'cause I read the manuals, and when I can I have
the local prediction mode up. Caught a march on the Bluebies that
way. Anyhow, we're gonna be moving fast so don't expect too many
updates for awhile."
    What "it" had been he did not know, though
he was heartened to hear that she had survived it in good health
and with the Stubbs intact.
    Automated reports flowed up from the
surface, though there was no communication from the operator for
nearly a Standard week. Brunner chose to view the arrival of the
data as proof of her continued good health--after all, she had said
she would be out of contact.
    He went back to his work. The pressure
systems had undergone a subtle and not-entirely comprehensible
change. Brunner pulled archives, did overlays, ran projections,
sorted and resorted the data, stretching his work shift well into
Slot A.
    Ten days after assuring him of her survival
of "it," Robertson sent another message, short and barely
intelligible over a sound like ship's engine cycling.
    "Wow! Lotta wind!"
    And indeed there had been a lot of wind as a
high and a low had fought their own battle over a quarter of the
planet, starting at the pole and spiraling down across the equator
where they'd formed battle lines over the tortured isthmus
connecting Chilonga's embattled territories with those of their
bitter invaders.
    He had taken heart from that message as
well; whatever fighting that may have taken place since her last
contact was far from her mind at that moment.
    The winds continued to grow; the shift in
the pressure systems suddenly painting an all-too-cogent picture.
Brunner worked longer hours still, pushing himself and the
station's resources, combing the literature.
    Something--… Terran would have it that
something "bad" was hovering on the horizon. One hesitated to
ascribe such values to the outcome of systemic interactions.