look kinda beat.” Binch exhaled smoke through his broad nostrils, which had hairs growing out of them. He eyed Brad shrewdly. “Have you still got that pollution bee in your bonnet? Is that it? Come on, Brad, buddy, you’re taking it far too seriously. This old ball of mud isn’t gonna peg out just yet.”
Brad gestured. “These anomalies ... every month more of them ...”
“We’ve always had them, for Christ’s sake, ever since records were kept. In fact we’re probably finding more freak conditions today precisely because every Tom, Dick, and Harry is monitoring the climate more closely. Ever think of that?”
“I’ve thought about it.”
“But you’re not convinced.”
Brad kneaded his palms, his eyes downcast. “Do you remember the preface you wrote to the last summary?” he said quietly. “I can’t get one line out of my head. ‘Reports of long-standing records being broken were received almost daily from all seven continents.’ Those are your words, Binch, not mine.”
The corpulent physicist squirmed a little in his chair. “Yeah, all right,” he conceded, “so the weather isn’t behaving normally just now. But what in hell is normal? You’ve got to see it over the long term, Brad. What we consider ‘average weather’ for the first half of this century needn’t necessarily be ‘average’ for the latter half. Most of the records we use for comparison stretch from 1900 to 1970—but maybe that period was abnormal and the climatic pattern today is the normal one.” He stubbed out his cigarette and shrugged elaborately. “Plain fact is, we simply don’t know.”
“And what about DELFI? What does she have to say?”
“DELFI’s like most females. Keeps changing her mind. Anyway, she can only come up with a prediction based on existing data; it’s merely an extrapolation of present trends.” It sounded like an evasive reply, which it was. If the computer’s forecasts weren’t worth a row of beans, why bother with it in the first place? The truth was that Binch didn’t want to admit that the computer was a washout (he needed those Washington dollars), while at the same time he was unhappy with its pronouncements.
In the manner of such beasts it was named after the rather forced acronym for Determining Environmental Logistics for Future Interpretation. In plain English its function was to analyze and correlate changes in global weather and to predict climatic patterns in the future. To this end it was directly linked with NORPAX (North Pacific Experiment) and CLIMAP (Climate Long-Range Investigation Mapping and Prediction). Taken together, these three should have provided the most accurate forecasts of what would happen to the global climate over the next fifty years. So far, however, the conclusions had been contradictory, which was what upset Binch. The computer was his brainchild, but it was showing itself a somewhat recalictrant offspring.
He turned back to the keyboard and punched keys. The terminal chattered and jerked out more paper. Binch scanned it in silence, wiped his moist fingertips on the front of his shirt, and pressed more keys.
Against his will, Brad felt his attention wrenched to what DELFI was spewing out.
united states:
In northern and central areas the mean temperature anomaly was 11°C. , making it the coldest winter this century. Many stations recorded new temperature minima. Los Angeles had its lowest temperature since 1882.
He began to hum a tune, repeating the same fragment of melody over and over again. Something about “a marbled bowling ball.”
Binch stopped typing and glanced up uneasily. Brad was staring into space, oblivious, humming his tune.
One of Maj. Bradley T. Zittel’s keenest pleasures was to stand at the wide window of his third-floor office and lose himself in contemplation of the picture-postcard scenery. The view warmed his soul and calmed his mind: the icy backbone of the Rockies thrusting sharply against the
Brad gestured. “These anomalies ... every month more of them ...”
“We’ve always had them, for Christ’s sake, ever since records were kept. In fact we’re probably finding more freak conditions today precisely because every Tom, Dick, and Harry is monitoring the climate more closely. Ever think of that?”
“I’ve thought about it.”
“But you’re not convinced.”
Brad kneaded his palms, his eyes downcast. “Do you remember the preface you wrote to the last summary?” he said quietly. “I can’t get one line out of my head. ‘Reports of long-standing records being broken were received almost daily from all seven continents.’ Those are your words, Binch, not mine.”
The corpulent physicist squirmed a little in his chair. “Yeah, all right,” he conceded, “so the weather isn’t behaving normally just now. But what in hell is normal? You’ve got to see it over the long term, Brad. What we consider ‘average weather’ for the first half of this century needn’t necessarily be ‘average’ for the latter half. Most of the records we use for comparison stretch from 1900 to 1970—but maybe that period was abnormal and the climatic pattern today is the normal one.” He stubbed out his cigarette and shrugged elaborately. “Plain fact is, we simply don’t know.”
“And what about DELFI? What does she have to say?”
“DELFI’s like most females. Keeps changing her mind. Anyway, she can only come up with a prediction based on existing data; it’s merely an extrapolation of present trends.” It sounded like an evasive reply, which it was. If the computer’s forecasts weren’t worth a row of beans, why bother with it in the first place? The truth was that Binch didn’t want to admit that the computer was a washout (he needed those Washington dollars), while at the same time he was unhappy with its pronouncements.
In the manner of such beasts it was named after the rather forced acronym for Determining Environmental Logistics for Future Interpretation. In plain English its function was to analyze and correlate changes in global weather and to predict climatic patterns in the future. To this end it was directly linked with NORPAX (North Pacific Experiment) and CLIMAP (Climate Long-Range Investigation Mapping and Prediction). Taken together, these three should have provided the most accurate forecasts of what would happen to the global climate over the next fifty years. So far, however, the conclusions had been contradictory, which was what upset Binch. The computer was his brainchild, but it was showing itself a somewhat recalictrant offspring.
He turned back to the keyboard and punched keys. The terminal chattered and jerked out more paper. Binch scanned it in silence, wiped his moist fingertips on the front of his shirt, and pressed more keys.
Against his will, Brad felt his attention wrenched to what DELFI was spewing out.
united states:
In northern and central areas the mean temperature anomaly was 11°C. , making it the coldest winter this century. Many stations recorded new temperature minima. Los Angeles had its lowest temperature since 1882.
He began to hum a tune, repeating the same fragment of melody over and over again. Something about “a marbled bowling ball.”
Binch stopped typing and glanced up uneasily. Brad was staring into space, oblivious, humming his tune.
One of Maj. Bradley T. Zittel’s keenest pleasures was to stand at the wide window of his third-floor office and lose himself in contemplation of the picture-postcard scenery. The view warmed his soul and calmed his mind: the icy backbone of the Rockies thrusting sharply against the
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