The Project Gutenberg eBook of Climate—Incorporated

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Title: Climate—Incorporated

Author: George O. Smith

Release date: January 17, 2023 [eBook #69820]

Language: English

Original publication: United States: Standard Magazines, Inc, 1948

Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CLIMATE—INCORPORATED ***

CLIMATE—INCORPORATED

a novelet by WESLEY LONG

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from

Thrilling Wonder Stories August 1948.

Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that

the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

CHAPTER I

Disabled Car

Patricia Morris drove through the countryside idly, but too fast for the time of year. It was late winter, and the road was slippery. Snow still lay damply on the ground and there were ice floes on the lakes.

But Patricia was not driving for fun. She was driving in anger and sheer boredom. She was sick and tired of the surroundings of her home. Another person might have liked them—and Patricia had liked them once but, like her life, they now seemed entirely too artificial. The daughter of the Governor of the State is in a position to wonder about the honesty of those who importune her. Since she was mentally competent and physically attractive, she was quick to question the true, often hidden, desires of the men who sought after her.

And so now Patricia, filled with boredom, was driving too fast on a slippery road. And naturally, the inevitable happened. Patricia's car skidded on a slippery spot on the road and spun completely around twice. The car careened into the ditch, against a light fence-post, and was still.

A man, clad in a heavy overcoat, muffler, and overshoes, emerged from the woods, approached the car and opened the door. Patricia, unconscious, fell from the car seat into the man's waiting arms.

He shook her gently, rubbed her cheek with his hand, and murmured soothing words to her.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him.

"What happened?"

"You had an accident," he told her. "You should not drive so fast on slippery roads. You might get hurt."

"Am I hurt?"

"Forget it," he said, propping her back into her seat in the car. "It's been fun!"

So saying, the man leaned forward and kissed Patricia full on the lips. Then he turned and left, heading across the road into the woods, where he disappeared.

He left nothing—but the tingle of his caress.

She swore softly in a cool contralto.

Getting out of the car, she looked it over. The right front wheel was dished; the left fender was turned under against the wheel.

Furthermore, no one without a tow truck could ever set that car on the road again for driving, even after it was repaired.

Patricia kicked the wheel with a small overshoe and swore again.

Then she laughed, and in the cool air, her voice tinkled happily.

Boredom? This time she had escaped it.

From the glove compartment in the car, Patricia took a road map and spread it out over the hood. It was thirty miles to the nearest town along either way of the road. Through the woods, however, it was not far. A few miles.

It was about noon, and the air was exhilarating and Patricia was well clothed. Somehow the idea of trudging along the hard concrete of the road seemed less fun than cutting through the woods. Getting lost didn't bother her. She wouldn't get lost. Using her nail file with sheer womanlike ability to work mechanical miracles, Patricia disconnected the little automobile compass fastened to the windshield and looked at it carefully.

"Die true, North-Northeast," she said aloud. She blew out her breath and shrugged at the little white cloud. She'd be cold by then, but not frozen.

What fun!

Deep in the woods, the snow tapered off to nothing. The ground was not damp as with freshly-melted snow, but dry. A duck pond a little farther on was clear and not a spot of ice marred its surface. Ducks floated on its surface happily, fishing.

The trees about her here were budding ever so slightly and the grassy forest floor was truly showing the verdant green that marks the coming of spring.

But it was still Mid-March and the awakening of spring not due for a full six weeks in this climate.

Patricia continued on. Tiny leaves were visible here, and still further along there was the full-leaved tree, blossoming flower, and heavy grass of full summer.

And then before her she saw a tall tower of girder and glass, surmounted by a three foot sphere of mirror-shining metal. A comfortable brick building stood near the tower and there were a few other smaller buildings handy. She stood there, wondering about all this, and definitely connecting the summery appearance of the place with the tower, for waves of warmth came from the shining metal sphere on top. She knew because she could feel the warmth of her face as she looked up at it.

Before her, Patricia saw a tall tower of glass, surmounted by a sphere, mirror-bright and shining.

"Summery, isn't it?" came a wry voice.

Patricia gasped. A tall man stood behind her with a crooked smile on his face. A Doberman stood beside him, regarding Patricia with mingled suspicion and patience.

"I—was—"

"Blind," replied the man without humor. "These signs are printed in a fair grade of legible type in a good semantic form. They make no exceptions for personable young ladies, regardless of their desirability."

"Don't be insulting," snapped Patricia.

"I'd be a four-star liar if I told you that you weren't personable and desirable," he told her acidly. "You may be blind, but I am not."

"I'll leave your land at once," she answered in tart tones. "I saw no signs."

"I know." He grinned. "Your car skidded into the one you should have seen."

Patricia bent a cold gaze upon him. "You've been following me?"

"Yes. And if you hadn't stumbled on this, you'd have gone on through without seeing anybody."

"What is the secret?" she demanded.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" he told her.

"Seems to me that any secret project should have guards and a fence."

"I can't afford either."

"But—" faltered Patricia, waving a hand vaguely at the tower and the forest. "But—"

"You've stumbled onto something that I'd have much preferred to keep secret, Miss Morris."

"You know me?" she gasped.

"No. Just connected the license-plate listing with the girl driving it."

"And," she said loftily, "is your name as secret as this—project?"

He grinned at her again. "Don't be snippy. For one thing, you didn't think my name important enough to ask, and for another thing, you're the trespasser, not I."

"Well?"

"In an earlier era," he said with a smile, "a man could hurl a trespasser into a donjon keep. Or set the dog on the trespasser. I'm James Tennis, Miss Morris. And I'd not turn Doby here on you because I'd hate to see you trying to outrun a doberman on those high-heeled overshoes. Instead, I'll invite you in for a spot of hot tea, after which I'll drive you to someplace where you can arrange for transportation home."

"For which I'll thank you, Mr. Tennis. And this—"

"This is my own project," he said. "And it is not perfected and tested yet. I'll explain, but you must swear secrecy."

"That, I promise," she said with a lift of her head.

He walked beside her toward the larger of the brick buildings. She noted with interest that he stood a full seven inches taller than she, and that he seemed more than sure of himself.

The house itself was neat but lacking in the frills and gadgets of a real home. It was starkly utilitarian and obviously womanless. Heavy drapes of the kind that require little attention hung over the windows and in other ways the place had the appearance of a house where only the scantiest attention had been paid to those details which a woman considers important.

Tennis led Patricia into the kitchen and set a kettle of water to boiling on an electric stove of modern design.

Then he turned from the stove and conducted her back into the living room. Here, he showed her a small metal case about eight-by-eight-by-ten inches. Atop the case was a tall glass insulator surmounted by a shining sphere. A standard line cord ran from the case. Tennis plugged it into the wall socket and snapped the single switch on the case.

"This is an effect I uncovered during some experiments," he explained. "I know no more about it than I did two months ago when I first discovered it. But—"

He took her wrist and held her hand near the sphere.

Warmth flowed from the sphere and Patricia nodded.

"A smaller example of the larger one out there?"

"This is the first one. That one is the second. It was set in operation along about the middle of January. It seems to be doing fine."

Patricia looked out at the green woods. "That it does," she said.

"This thing," he told her, "develops about the same thermal output as a fifteen-hundred-watt electric heater with an input of about twenty-five watts."

"It sounds as though you should be able to make a large fortune," observed Patricia.

"It does," he agreed. "But I'm inclined to wait until I'm certain of what the devil is going on. It might be dangerous."

"Why?"

"Energy must come from somewhere," he said. "The problem is where. Until I'm sure that nothing dangerous will take place, I'm not inclined to release it."

"You seem to have something that might well change the earth," she said.

"I'd like to be certain that the change will be all to the good," he answered with a laugh. Then he trotted to the kitchen to take care of the tea kettle, which was beginning to make high-pitched noises.

She followed him and he served her as she sat on the tall stool in his kitchen.

CHAPTER II

Intruders

The man on the road flagged the car down and climbed into the seat beside the driver as it came to a stop.

"That's her car, all right," he said.

Blackman nodded. "It is."

Howardson smiled wrily. "So what?"

"So we follow," said Blackman.

"Now look," grumbled Howardson. "No dame wrecks a car on purpose."

"Naturally."

"Then what's the use or sense in following her? We can't get nothing on her this way."

"No, but you can never tell."

"If she were heading for a love nest or something, she wouldn't have to wreck a car to do it," said Howardson.

"I admit it. But you can't tell what will happen. For instance, why did she head through the woods instead of walking along the road. You said she headed into the woods."

"She did. Her footprints point that way. But if you'll look on the map, it's thirty miles along slippery highway in either direction before you hit a town of any size. On the other hand, it's just a few miles through the woods to Redmond. I'd head that way."

"Yeah," admitted Blackman. "And dear Patricia does like to ramble in the woods, we know. So we ramble too."

"Waste of time."

"Waste of time it may be, but we're making a living by following Patricia Morris for Hendy. And Charles Hendy pays well. He'll pay even better when we can come up with something that will get Joseph Morris a political black eye."

"That's going to be hard."

"We know it. Morris is a clever, wise man. But Patricia is a young, headstrong woman. She'll slip sooner or later and then the newspapers will take off on the entire Morris Family. So now we follow her."

Parking the car, Blackman followed the footprints through the woods. Patricia's trail was easy to follow across the snow and, like Patricia, the two men eventually came upon the edge of the cold weather and into the circle of warmth. Unlike Patricia, both men questioned this demarcation as faint as it was, and then they went more carefully, watching the signs of growing spring as they progressed.

"There's more to this than meets the eye," snapped Blackman. "Glad we came, now?"

"I'll let you know later," said Howardson.

Through the trees, they saw the buildings and the tall tower upon which was the shining ball.

"Now," said Howardson, "I'm glad."

"Sh-h-hh!" admonished Blackman.

Out of the door came Jim Tennis and Patricia Morris. "I have no telephone," he was saying. "So I'll have to drive you to Redmond."

"I don't mind," she returned cheerfully. "From there I'll have someone come out and collect my car."

"And as soon as they do," he told her, "I've got to replace that signpost you clipped."

"You never did tell me how you knew I was there," she said.

"That signpost contains a photo-cell unit," he explained with a smile. "Doby can almost read the signs; and he knows when the photo-beam is broken. Well, Miss Morris, I must say that I am not sorry you dropped in. Too bad you had to wreck a car to do it, though."

She faced him with a smile. "The next time," she said firmly and honestly, "I shall not wreck a car."

He was a bit flustered and mumbled something unintelligible.

Patricia entered his car, saying, "There will be a next time, you know."

He laughed happily as he climbed in beside her. They drove away chatting animatedly.

Blackman turned to Howardson. "So?" he asked.

"So this may turn into something. I'm a bit scared, though."

"Why?" demanded Blackman.

"Look," said Howardson, "supposing it gets out that Patricia Morris, the Governor's daughter, is Number One girl friend of a scientist who has what it takes to create a summer resort out of a hunk of midwinter Minnesota?"

Blackman grunted. "It wouldn't do Morris's chances for re-election any harm, would it?"

"Nope."

"Unless," said Blackman slyly, "someone else came up with it first. Someone who was a good, firm friend of Charles Hendy. Someone, perhaps who would not conceal it from the public, but would give it, freely, in the name of Charles Hendy, Public Servant."

Blackman took a vest-pocket sized camera out and made a few initial snaps. Then, with Howardson watching the road, Blackman entered both the house and the laboratory and took picture after picture of everything in sight, hoping that of the batch there would be enough dope for a clever scientist to work on.

It was a month later—about the middle of April—that Jim Tennis looked out of the laboratory window to see Patricia Morris come driving up the roadway. He went out and waved; she came to a sudden stop and smiled. Her smile was generous and neither sudden nor fleeting.

"It's warm," she said, jumping out of the coupe and shedding her fur. He stood there in shirt sleeves and smiled at her.

"Naturally it's warm here," he agreed.

"I knew it would be," she answered with a smile. "So I dressed in a summer frock. Like?"

Patricia paraded herself for him, a vision that left him trying to think of something to say that wouldn't sound idiotic.

"Elsie was frantic," Patricia went on. "Elsie's my maid and she is horrified at the idea of wearing a summer silk in April. It isn't done, doncha know," she finished, imitating.

Then she turned back to her coupe and took out a basket. "Furthermore, Joe thinks I'm crazy. Joe's that chef at the Governmental mansion and he never heard of packing a picnic basket in April. Now," she finished, "you're going to relax!"

"I am?" he blurted.

"You are. You seldom do, I bet."

"We relax," he said with a final laugh. The doberman came bounding up, and Patricia leaned back into the coupe and produced a large and juicy bone. She tossed it, and Doby watched the bone arch through the air, backed out of the way as it landed, and then flopped down with his chin on the top of the bone and looked at Jim.

Jim nodded.

Then the doberman stood up and picked the bone between his jaws. He followed them, his tail wagging furiously.

"There was a lake," said she.

There was. It was warm and pleasant by the lake. Joe did well, too. In the basket was cold chicken, cold beer, and potato salad. The chef had also packed in a thermos full of boiling hot coffee; obviously Joe did not quite believe the girl and was taking no chances. But disbelief was discounted because they used the coffee, too.

That it was mid-April seemed unbelievable. It was too pleasant for that early in the spring—too warm and too fragrant, though from time to time there came a cool breeze from beyond the circle warmed by the radiant heat from the machine.

And while they were lazing there by the lake, enjoying a summer day, and getting acquainted, a more strenuous activity was going on behind them....

Blackman had not been far behind as Patricia drove up to the roadway. The somewhat perplexed frown disappeared as her car approached Tennis's place. Then he nodded as though accepting the answer to a problem.

"What was that for?" asked Howardson.

"I couldn't quite figure out the reason for the picnic lunch, complete with cold beer and the trimmings. That dress she wore was strictly for August. I'd almost forgotten about this place—and my mind hadn't quite accepted it yet. But now it's clear. Seems to me we should thank Patricia for her aid."

Howardson grinned wolfishly. "Yeah," he drawled.

Blackman was fumbling for some equipment. He took it out and approached the signposts at the off-jut of Tennis's road from the main highway.

"When I get it set," he told Howardson, "you drive through!"

They drove up to within a few hundred yards of the place and then emerged. "Is this safe?" asked Howardson.

"Yeah. Patricia is a looker, and Patricia is gone on that goon. It'll be moonbeams and daisies as long as she's here."

Howardson nodded dubiously. "Betcha the doberman isn't in love with her."

Blackman held up an atomizer. "The doberman will enjoy this if he comes snuffling at us," he snarled.

Blackman did not try the thing, which was just as well to Howardson. Then, armed with a list of items missed before, they went to work, being very careful to displace nothing nor to leave any sign of search. The minute camera came out again and again, and Howardson made some sketches and took some notes. They photographed page after page of Jim's notebook.

CHAPTER III

A Tower in the Sky

Down by the shore of a warm lake, Patricia was talking to Jim Tennis.

"But suppose someone comes in here?" she asked.

"Well, this isn't strictly a military secret," Tennis replied. "After all, the best I can do is to discourage visitors. I cannot keep them out excepting by law. Furthermore, I doubt that anybody could duplicate it just by seeing the gear from the outside. As far as any further developments, no one can force me to disclose it. I've got a notice filed with the patent office on an electric heater, which I must complete by next November some time.

"People seldom come through here, and those that do set off the photoalarm and I intercept them long before they get to the warm circle. If they insist on walking through, I walk along with them chatting furiously. We eventually swerve off to one side or the other so that we bracket the circle. They come out on the opposite side having seen nothing."

"I'd hate to see you lose out after all this work," she told him. "And I can't help feeling that all this is far too loosely kept."

"It can be kept no other way," he said. "A barbed wire fence of normal size would keep no one out. If it were adequate to keep people out it would be large enough to create curiosity. And I'd have to go out and intercept them anyway."

"But am I the first to enter?" asked Patricia.

"Not at all," he replied with a smile, "Jones, who owns a farm not far this side of Redmond, was hunting for a lost dog once. He wandered into the circle before I could locate him—I started for the segment of photo-beam he broke and he continued to circle—and so he knows. He also knows that it is under test and Jones is a close-mouthed character."

"Too many people aren't."

"No," he agreed. "But Jones is well read and his farming is done from a degree in agriculture, which indicates that he understands science well enough to know that something that appears like a universal panacea on Tuesday may sprout horns on Friday and be more of a detriment than a blessing until it is well-tested."

"You've done well," said Patricia.

"Them's fine words of praise, lady," he grinned.

"I think they're deserved."

"Quick judgment."

Patricia shook her head. Then she smiled and nodded. "Yes and no," she said with a smile. "Quick judgment, based upon—"

"Upon—" he prompted.

"Jim," she said earnestly, "do you think being the Governor's daughter is a sinecure?"

"It looks like nice work if you can get it," he laughed.

"It's a job of bending over backwards so that people won't think you're shoving too hard," she said with a trace of bitterness in her voice. Then Patricia leaned back on the picnic blanket and looked up at the sky. "That's why I like it here," she said. "Light me a cigarette, Jim, and I'll tell you something."

Jim smiled, lighted two cigarettes simultaneously, and leaning over, placed hers between her lips.

"I like it here," she said quietly, "probably because I think it is the first place I've found in years where I can take off my shoes and be comfortable."

"Why, again?" he asked, looking down at her.

"Jim, you're reasonably competent."

"I like to think so."

"When this thing is proved to your satisfaction, you know exactly what to do with it?"

"Oh—but definitely."

Patricia blew out a cloud of smoke, directing it away from his face. She said, "I don't have to inspect everything you say and do for motives. In fact," she went on with a smile, rising on one elbow, an act that brought their faces very close together, "I may have to entice you. This thing might be a very swell item for Dad's political future, you know."

He chucked her under the chin. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," he told her. "I must look up the competition."

"Huh?" she asked with a slight, perplexed frown.

"The opposition may have two beautiful daughters," he laughed.

"None," said Patricia with a smile.

"Um—then—"

"Me—I'm going to wade!" she said suddenly. She slipped off her shoes and stockings and stood up.

"I do not advise that," he told her with a slight grin.

"I seldom take advice," she laughed.

She went forward and dangled one big toe into the lake. It was pleasant, and so Patricia stepped full into the water. There was a screech and she retreated swiftly.

"Migawsh!" she spluttered, hopping around on the other foot. "What's in there?"

"That lake is stream-fed from the hills," he told her. "This isn't really mid-August. This is still April in the rest of the country around here."

"Makes one forget, doesn't it?" she said dropping to the blanket again.

Jim nodded. From his pocket he took a large linen handkerchief and dried her foot. Patricia slipped back into shoes and stockings.

"One more cigarette," she asked, "and then I must go home."

He smiled regretfully. It was a shame to see such a fine day come to a close....

"What was that screech?" said Blackman.

"I don't know. Sounded female to me. Nearly finished?"

"Snake, probably," grunted Blackman.

"Yep."

"Okay. Then we leave but quick. They'll be coming back now that some snake has invaded Eden."

Making all haste, they packed up and left. When they reached town, they went directly to Hendy's office. Charles Hendy heard their report, then leaned back in his heavy desk chair and looked over the desk. "And it's still going fine?" he asked.

"Fine as silk," replied Blackman.

"Good. You keep on the trail. We're doing fine." Hendy grinned evilly. "Not only will the public like Hendy for discovering this," he said, "and giving it to them, but they will be rather irate at Morris and Company for having had it so long without mentioning it."

"But they—won't—"

Hendy waved a newspaper. "This is mine," he said expansively. "This one will uncover the fact that Morris intended to keep his discovery secret until just before election. That'll fix Morris."

"What are we doing?" asked Howardson.

"We are going to hustle," said Hendy.

Out in the central part of Minnesota, a few weeks later a vast tower reared skyward. Men swarmed the girders, riveting and welding. Up and up the tower went, reaching skyward as the weeks went by. A special high-tension line snaked across the countryside heading for the location, and construction workers built a medium-sized building at the foot of the tower.

Skyward it went, and then at the top they started to weld together the segments that were the lower circle of a sphere. Rounder and more perfect grew the sphere as the weeks went by, and as it progressed toward completion more and more, men polished the outside until it was mirror smooth and silvery-shining. Trucks of equipment came on a special trail.

Only in such a remote location could such a thing be built. Only with great wealth could such a thing be financed. Up it went, with many people knowing about it, but not once were the proper authorities notified that the State of Minnesota was sprouting a metallic mushroom of Paul Bunyanian proportions.

Hendy was a great fixer. Even the airlines were re-routed from the district, for they, too, observed the signs.

The Army believed it to be a Navy proving station of some sort and shunned it like the plague, while the Navy thought it had to do with an Army program and wouldn't have gone any closer to that section of Minnesota than they could have approached with the U.S.S. Minnesota itself. The Marines asked no questions.

And so progressed the work—and the summer and a romance. Jim could not leave his little garden, felt that it might be dangerous to leave. So Patricia came often. As the summer wore on and the rest of the country reached the temperature known to Jim's garden spot since early spring. No longer was the lake cold, and Patricia climbed to the top of a small tower and did a perfect back flip into the inviting waters of the lake. She came up blowing, to smile at Jim when he turned from tending the fire to remark that she had displayed perfect form.

Patricia felt amused, also, because they were toying with an open fire when there was the finest in electric stoves not more than an eighth of a mile from there, where the coffee would be brewed perfectly, the hot-dogs would not taste of smoke, and the potatoes not be filled with sand.

But this was more fun.

"What?" chuckled Patricia, looking around. "No salt?"

"No salt?"

"No salt."

"Shucks."

"Shucks nothing. Me get. Stick around, Pat."

"Don't bother," she told him.

"But look, it's only a few yards. I can get it quickly."

"It's not important."

"Look, Pat, open-fire baked-potato might taste all right to you without salt, but not to me—and when I bring it back I won't give you any—yah!"

"Why bother?" she insisted.

"Because, little one, it's no bother!" He put a hand under her chin and lifted her face. He kissed it quickly but tenderly, then turned and started to dog-trot towards the main building of his cluster.

In the house Howardson saw him coming.

"Whoa!" yipped Howardson.

"Who?" demanded Blackman.

"Tennis—on the run."

"Let's get out of here!" cried Blackman.

"Too late—he's in!"

Tennis came dashing into the house. He skidded to a stop. His eyes winked in disbelief. Finding the intruders flustered him.

"W-what's going on here?" Tennis blurted out.

CHAPTER IV

Conspiracy Charges

Promptly the pair headed for Tennis, Blackman high, Howardson low. Then they charged, and Jim, still shocked, struck back.

They both hit him at one time, high and low, and all three went sprawling. On the bottom, Jim gouged outward, swung a mean elbow and caught something soft and yielding. A fist hit him in the face. He kicked upward and hit something hard. A heavy blow caught him in the pit of the stomach and, simultaneously, a flailing arm batted him across the ribs. They rolled free, then, propelled by Jim's knees.

On their feet, Howardson leaped and Jim ducked below the swinging fists. Blackman came down on the back of his head with a heavy fist, driving him down again. He turned over on the floor and kicked upwards, catching Blackman in the solar plexus. Howardson kicked Jim in the side of the head, and the room reeled, darkly, mistily, and was all awry.

The intruders wrenched themselves free.

A loud bark cut into Jim's fading consciousness, and he struggled to his feet to watch Doby make a quick leap for Howardson. Blackman turned and kicked the dog, tugging at his pocket. The doberman turned on Blackman just as the man got the atomizer clear.

There was a spray from the atomizer, and the dog shrank back, pawing at his face.

Blackman and Howardson rushed out, heading toward the woods as Jim Tennis sank back onto the floor.

He awoke with his head in Patricia's lap.

"Wh—what gives?" he asked vaguely.

"I don't know," she said. "I heard Doby bark and an automobile take off. I came to find out what had happened."

"Who were they?" he demanded.

"I don't know," she said.

Jim Tennis staggered to his feet and went to the laboratory table. There was a pencilled list of things to search for. The two men had left the miniature camera behind, and some diagrams.

"Spies," Jim said, his head clearing.

"Spies?" she asked in surprise.

"Spies," he said. "Patricia, who are they?"

"I wouldn't know," she said. "It's possible that someone followed me."

"Oh, fine," he snapped. "And if they've been doing that since last spring, they know plenty."

"Look, Jim," said Patricia. "Come on in with me. We'll see Dad. He'll know what to do!"

"How about Doby?" asked Jim, running out of the house and approaching the dog. The odor of ammonia was still strong, and Jim Tennis swore revenge.

"You go!" said Jim. "I'll take care of Doby."

Patricia leaped into her coupe, still dressed in dripping swim suit. She drove like mad until she heard the whine of a motorcycle siren behind her. She pulled to a quick stop, smiling.

"Where's the fire, sister?" said the motorcycle cop, stopping beside the coupe.

"No fire, Officer."

"Driver's license?"

"In my other suit," she chuckled.

"Funny, isn't it?" he demanded seriously.

"Not particularly. Look, officer, I'm Patricia Morris. This is an emergency, and if you'll give me a clearance to the Governor's mansion, I'll see that you're rewarded."

"Is this a gag?"

"No. Would I be entering the Governor's house in a wet swim suit for a gag?"

"Might. But I'll take a chance!"

And so, having authority, Patricia drove the miles to the capital at high speed. As she headed into her father's house, leaving the officer to be congratulated by the wondering butler and the Governor's secretary, she saw her father coming out of his office with a frown.

"Dad!" she exploded. "I've got to talk with you. It's important!"

"Important, Patty?" he asked absently. "So is this!"

He held up a newspaper. On the front page was a huge picture of a tall tower surmounted by a glistening sphere. The headlines said:

CHARLES HENDY, PHILANTHROPIST, SUPPORTS WEATHER-CONTROL PROGRAM!

NEW DEVICE TO BRING SUMMER WEATHER ALL WINTER!

HENDY OFFERS SERVICE FREE!

"That," said Patricia, "is what I want to tell you about!"

Three hours later, Governor Morris was shaking his head regretfully in Jim Tennis's laboratory.

"If I'd only known," he said. "We could have protected you."

"But can't we do something?" pleaded Patricia.

"Not much. Jim can file on his patent, of course, and there is no doubt that he will get it. But since it will be claimed that the sciences were developed simultaneously, Hendy will allege that he reduced the thing to practice before you received your patent. All you need is some evidence that they stole their ideas from you?"

Jim looked around. He shook his head. "This notebook is meaningless," he said. "There's a lot of listings and questions in it, but nothing that points to anything crooked. Nothing, anyway, that would show conspiracy and they'd probably assert they were my own questions and scribblings. The camera and film mean nothing, since anyone can expose film. The diagrams are definitely copied from mine."

"Fingerprints?"

"Both men wore gloves."

"But on the camera and the booklet?"

"There's just that chance," admitted Jim.

"Well, you hold tight and I'll get the State's Attorney working on the case. Hang it, young man, you'll get protection if I can give it as Governor of this State."

Patricia touched Jim's arm. "My fault," she told him.

He patted her hand. "Couldn't have been helped," he said. "And all we can do is to wait it out again."

The door opened to admit the fingerprint expert from the State's Attorney's office.

"Without a doubt," he said firmly, "these are the fingerprints of Blackman and Howardson. I—"

"Give me that statement," snapped Jim Tennis. He grabbed the sheet of paper from the fingerprint expert's hand, jumped in his car, and drove away at top speed.

Tennis was halted at the door to Charles Hendy's office. The secretary spoke into the communicator and shortly there was a reply, telling Mr. Tennis to enter.

Jim went in, loaded for bear.

"Hendy?" he demanded.

"I am Charles Hendy. What can I do for you?"

"Do you know men named Blackman and Howardson?"

"I do. They are men who are performing a great service for the public."

"Well, I'm charging them with theft, breaking and entering, and trespass."

"Indeed. And why?"

"I'm James Tennis. I am the inventor of the device you intend to use—the climate machine, as the newspapers call it."

"I've been under the impression that this machine was the invention of the men whose names you mentioned."

"They stole it from me!"

"That is a grave charge, Mr. Tennis. Doubtless you have proof?"

Jim explained about the battle in his laboratory and the resulting collecting of the evidence bearing their fingerprints.

"If this is true, it places an entirely different picture of the case," replied Hendy suavely. "They are at the central plant now—unless they've fled, Mr. Tennis. However, I shall demand that they come here at once; which will take them until tomorrow morning. I suggest that you prepare your evidence and profess formal charges. We'll have a preliminary hearing before more is done with this case. I believe that Governor Morris and State's Attorney Jones are both very interested parties?"

"Yes," said Jim Tennis carefully, "but not so interested that justice will not be done!"

CHAPTER V

Summery Winter

Hendy scowled at his pair of henchmen. It was very early in the morning, and both Howardson and Blackman were still blinky with sleep, whereas Hendy looked sharp despite his corpulence.

"You're a pair of halfwits," he sneered.

"We were—"

"Caught. And you were caught dead to rights."

"So now what happens?"

"If they trace you to me, there'll be the devil to pay."

Both men paled a bit. The devil they did not fear, but Hendy was a different matter. They would take their chances with Satan.

"It's a bust," said Hendy. "And you're it."

"But look, boss—"

"Shut up!" snapped Hendy. "You're both going to jail."

"But boss, you promised us protection," Blackman protested.

Hendy speared Blackman with a cold eye. "It'll keep you quiet, too," he said.

"But—"

"I keep hearing you say nothing except 'but'," said Hendy in a scornful voice. "I don't like it. It interrupts my thinking. If I hear that word again you'll be sorry."

There was no interruption this time.

"Now, you fools got caught. I'm now so deep in this publicly that I can't disclaim you. However, bright gentlemen, you stole that gadget on your own hook and sold it to me as your own idea. See?"

"We see."

"Believing that I had every right to this thing, I went ahead. You criminals, you thieves, you blackguards, you will go to jail for your temerity. You will, of course continue to receive your salary and, so soon as I am elected governor, I'll see that you are released on some sort of pretext, pardon, or parole."

"I suggested that we might sell it to you once we got it," said Howardson in an oily manner. "Blackman planned the way to steal it."

"Check." Hendy pressed a button and a secretary entered. "Miss Altman, please call the police and have an officer sent up at once."

"Trouble, Mr. Hendy?"

"Yes, indeed," thundered Hendy. "These fine pair of intellects believed that they could steal an invention and palm it off as their own."

"What crooks!" said the secretary. "I always thought they had dishonest faces. Aren't you afraid to be left alone with them?"

Hendy stood up and towered over the pair. "I can handle them," he stormed.

The pair of worthies were handcuffed and under the watchful eye of an officer when Jim Tennis, Governor Morris, and State's Attorney Jones entered the office. Hendy nodded and pointed to Howardson and Blackman.

"Are these the gentlemen who stole your invention?" demanded he.

Jim Tennis shrugged. "They are the same pair that I had the fight with."

"The circumstantial evidence is overwhelming," Hendy said with a smile. "No one knows whether they took the idea, but they were stealing something from your place and they were selling something to me that sounds very much like it came from your place. Officer, take them away!"

Tennis looked askance at Morris. The Governor shrugged.

"There remains only a matter of the settlement of honor between Mr. Tennis and myself," said Hendy. "Surely Mr. Tennis must admit that I have been operating in good faith."

Attorney General Jones cleared his throat. "I doubt very much that any evidence could show that you have not," he said drily.

"You sound as though such evidence may have been concealed," said Hendy stiffly.

"Not at all," said the State's prosecutor. "My statement was merely that finding such evidence would be most difficult. You are assuming that such evidence does not exist."

"Furthermore," said Jim Tennis, "this situation evolves into a situation where I must either accept your 'good faith' or darned soon prove otherwise. Give just cause, and so forth. Right?"

"You place me in a very embarrassing position," complained Hendy. "I should like to prove conclusively, but I believe my scientifically-minded young friend here will admit that negative evidence is seldom conclusive. It is almost impossible to prove the absence of anything. Right?"

"Correct."

"There remains the settlement," said Hendy suavely, but appearing quite sincere. "I believe it only fair that my investment be protected in some way—after all, I spent a considerable sum of money in this philanthropy. Oh—" he said quickly as he saw dubious expressions starting to form, "—please do not indicate that you think me idiotic. If this scheme works, and the State of Minnesota is maintained at summer temperature all winter, I shall happily give my investment to the State of Minnesota. I shall make my return out of similar machines, erected at a profit for every state in the union requiring one. This shall become world-wide, eventually."

He smiled at the nods of agreement.

"However, I find that this invention is not my own," he went on. "It rightfully belongs to my young friend Tennis. It shall be his. I only ask one favor. I ask that it be known that I did and do and will hand over to the State of Minnesota this machine, built out of my own funds from the plans of its inventor James Tennis. I am, you see," he said, spreading his hands wide, "offering nothing that I rightfully own for the sake of my reputation."

"How about the money?" asked Jim.

"A considerable sum," nodded Hendy. "But a sum I can afford, so long as it is not too well known that Charles Hendy was taken over by a pair of confidence men."

Governor Morris nodded perceptibly. State's Attorney Jones lifted an eyebrow as though to ask what Hendy had under cover. Jim Tennis shrugged.

"All you ask is that it be known that I supplied the plans instead of those two thugs?" Jim mused.

"That is all," said Hendy. "Otherwise, James Tennis, things are as they seem. They were your plans; it was my money. Clear?"

"Okay," said Jim. As they left the office, Jim envisioned selling his idea to the earth and felt that losing one machine was small enough loss, since he had not paid for it.

After they left the office, Charles Hendy began cursing Howardson and Blackman for their stupidity in losing for him the makings of a fortune, but then he was planning to control it anyway. After all, a machine of that potency could and would control countries. He who controlled the Tennis Climate Machine would control the earth!

Winter came. It came like its usual cold fury to the rest of the United States and Canada. A standard, normal, nasty winter. Michigan Boulevard in Chicago was hit with Lake blizzards; Fountain Square in Cincinnati was piled with drifted snow. The streets of Manhattan were mixed mud and snow, which prompted one of the daily newspapers to invent a new word: "Smud" to describe it. Boston was a snow-piled city from one end to the other.

But Minnesota was a verdant, semitropical gardenland. From the center, where it was downright hot, the temperature dropped gently as the edge of the vast circle was approached. At the very edges, where the blowing winds came into the charmed circle, the air was brisk and cool.

It is improper to say that immigration set in. Immigration had been high ever since the announcement of tropical heat. People who ordinarily went to Florida for the winter went to Minnesota. In fact, people who lived in Florida and California and Bermuda all the year around went across ice-strewn fields of winterland to visit the oasis of warmth.

Scientists came by droves, scientists who came to measure and calculate and predict, and scientists who came to enjoy a vacation. And each state sent its own representatives to see what could be done about buying the same for their own states.

There were the standard proportion of crackpots and religious fanatics who claimed that God (or their own particular, personal deity) would most certainly visit his anger upon those who insisted upon tampering with that which was His domain. No one paid any attention to them, but they were there.

There were also a number of people who left Minnesota because they enjoyed a cold winter. They were not missed.

Christmas was green; and not the usual dull green of the occasional green Christmas of other years. This was a lush Green Christmas with farmers watching waving fields of grain while their sons cut the Christmas Tree in shirt sleeves. Cattle grazed on verdant pastures while the Christmas carols were being sung, and mothers were forced to explain lamely that Santa Claus had his sleigh equipped with wheels so that he could come as usual.

He did arrive, too, because with an extra crop, the farmers were well equipped with that necessary essential with which to buy gifts, while the city dweller prospered due to the great influx of visitors, guests, and people who had something either to buy or sell.

By contrast, moving picture lovers went home through snow and ice, grumbling because the newsreels gave a large piece of film devoted to the glorious climate enjoyed by the people of Minnesota on Christmas Day.

In the Governor's mansion, Jim Tennis caught Patricia Morris under the mistletoe. This was lip-service to the custom in all entendre of the phrase. It might be dramatic to give an account of their first kiss, but Patricia hung the mistletoe with non-malice aforethought and carefully and brazenly stood there with parted lips, waiting. Jim required absolutely no signposts—and it is equally true that Jim required absolutely no mistletoe, either. It was just a conventional nod to custom, was that mistletoe.

CHAPTER VI

A Cold Surprise

An hour later Jim arose from the chairs where they had been sitting without the mistletoe, and handed Patricia to her feet. He felt in an inner pocket and came up with a small envelope.

"Tickets," he said. "And curtain's at eight o'clock."

Patricia nodded. "Four minutes to repair my face," she said. "And I'm ready!"

As they were approaching the front door of the Governor's home, Governor Morris himself came driving up in a furious haste, skidded his car to a stop at the bottom of the stairs and leaped out. Up the stairs he came two at a time, hurled the front door open and saw Patricia and Jim. Then he took a deep breath and said "Thank God!"

"Why do you say that, Dad?" Patricia asked.

"Look, kids," he said, as soon as he caught his breath. "I don't want to do this. I'm in your favor, all the way."

"But what?" asked Jim suspiciously.

"You two mustn't go out this evening!" Morris said.

"But why?"

Morris shook his head. "I don't like it," he said.

"Don't like what?"

The Governor looked at Jim with a hurt smile. "Jim, my boy, believe me, you have my blessing and so help me, I think you can handle her. But this is above it, hang it. I must ask your indulgence in the whim of an old man."

"What's going on, Pop?" demanded Patricia.

"The Sentinel has me—we—us—across a barrel," blurted Morris.

"Huh?"

The Governor took out a tabloid daily and opened it to the editorial page. They read:

Political Move?

Governor Morris is an astute politician. Never unwilling to give his constituents the best that is available, Governor Morris is politically intelligent enough to give them the best—at the best time for his own political future.

Witness the clever manner in which the Hendy-Tennis Climate Machine was handled. A wonder of the age, it has been presented to the People of Minnesota.

But by whom?

Certainly the fact that James Tennis and Miss Patricia Morris are firm friends and that a wedding is rumored to be impending should be sign enough that Governor Morris was aware of his daughter's friend and the kind of work he was doing.

Could Governor Morris have been waiting for an election year before unveiling this Eighth Wonder of the World?

This is unanswerable. It is rendered unanswerable only because thieves broke in to the secret laboratory of James Tennis and sold his invention to a man who accepted it in good faith to present to the State of Minnesota. We believe that Charles Hendy is to be given every credit for giving the People the best—regardless of when it turns up.

But it would have been a smart political move. Or do we assume that James Tennis and the Governor's Family are more closely attached to one another than most persons are aware?

"Um," said Jim.

"Oh, Pop!" cried Patricia. "It's so unjust!"

"That's it, kids," said Governor Morris. "And it ain't good. If they see you two together tonight, everybody is going to be over-sensitive about this editorial. I hate to ask you, but this is not only a game I'm playing; I'm running a life's work, and I believe that I am protecting the State of Minnesota against a very clever politician. If Charles Hendy runs for election, we'll know it."

"Conniving Hendy!" snarled Jim Tennis. "What a trickster! I hope he burns his fingers!"

"Okay, Pop. We'll not parade ourselves tonight. We'll stay in, Jim. There'll be other nights."

January wore into February and people grinned at one another on Groundhog day and told one another that they did not mind the clear bright sky, for they could stand the delayed spring so long as the remaining winter were no worse than it had been. Other sections of the country gritted their teeth in snow and ice at the newsreels that showed a girl, wearing a swim suit in a green flowery garden, petting a groundhog.

February went into March, which came in like a hibiscus and went out like a hyacinth, and into April which had somewhat the appearance of a drowned rat.

"Unusual weather," they called it.

And the Sentinel editorials harped on the Governor's sly political move that had failed. These editorials seemed to be timed after each date between Jim Tennis and Patricia.

While Jim was swearing about being as big a political football as his machine, the great sphere in the center of the state continued to pour out its warmth. It was turned off now, for spring was approaching, and soon the external temperature would be approaching that enjoyed within the state. This was done at the suggestion of meteorologists who pointed out that one of the tempering factors of a warm summer was the thermal energy necessary to raise the frozen land to a summer heat. Thermal input from Sol being thermal input per se, they feared that the rise from zero-odd to ninety degrees as normal might become a rise from ninety degrees to one hundred and eighty-odd.

Accordingly, the machine was turned off.

April passed into May and May turned blithely into June. It was noticeably cooler now, for the machine had stopped pouring its heat into the ground and the air.

And on the fifteenth of June there came a chill spell and a faint flurry of snow.

Hastily, the machine was turned on—

But the flurry of snow became a blizzard. Snow swamped Minnesota from end to end. For four days it snowed, and icicles hung from tree and wire and roof.

A hasty message was sent to the Climate Machine, and there was no answer. Then Jim Tennis was sent for, and a group started to head for the machine. Minnesota became colder and, as they approached the site of the machine, the weather became more bitter. It was Polar climate by the time they approached to within ten miles of the machine, and the expedition sent back for Polar equipment. It was flown in on ski-equipped planes, and the expedition—for it had become that—continued.

Almost topped by a mighty snowdrift, the shining silver-plated ball seemed to rest atop the snow. Considering that the tower was a full six hundred feet tall, the snowdrift was staggering. The expedition stopped.

The biting cold from the sphere was noticeable.

Tennis shook his head. "So," he said.

Roberts, one of the technicians sent along with Jim, nudged his elbow. "What's with the gang running the thing?"

"When you're buried under six hundred feet of snow," said Jim, "you're in trouble—especially when the house below was made of summer-flimsy. They had an air-conditioning unit, remember? But not a heater in the place!"

Roberts took off his hat solemnly. Then his face hardened and he said, "I was about to accuse them of turning the machine on backwards!"

Jim shook his head. "Unless they know more about it than I, it's impossible," he said. "There's more to this than meets the eye. Confound it, there can't be any power entering that machine!"

"That's what the powerline company claimed," admitted Roberts. "But what do we do now?"

"We can't drill down through six hundred feet of ice and snow," said Jim. "The lower layers are probably packed into solid ice by the pressure."

Roberts looked at the naked ball of silvery metal. "Why isn't that thing encrusted with ice?" he asked.

"That thing is much colder than the freezing point," said Jim. "And it is radiating cold. A drop of water coming down would freeze solid long before it hit, and when it hit the droplet of ice would glance off."

"So what do we do?"

"We can cut the cables below it," said Jim. "That won't take much burrowing."

The caterpillar treads of the Polar gear fought with the bank of snow and dug in deep, for it was not true snow but hard-frozen sleet beneath their treads. Droplets too cold to form snow crystals; they had landed and stayed there like a myriad of minute, irregular ball bearings. A few yards below the surface, they were welded together by the pressure, however, and the Polar equipment hurled great fountains out in mighty arcs as they plowed their way along.

With heaters going at full blast, the Polar machines approached the sphere.

"Notice that the warmer place is between the heaters and the sphere?" asked Tennis. "And on one side only?"

"Yeah, but why?"

Jim smiled wryly. "You can't properly state that anything is radiating cold. 'Cold' is but the 'Absence of heat.' You cannot radiate the absence of anything. But, confound it, you can attract and absorb a positive thing. That sphere is drawing the heat from everything. Despite the fact that the heaters are supposed to radiate in all directions, all of their thermal energy is being drawn toward the sphere—like air being drawn into a vacuum!"

"How are you going to cut that connection?" demanded Roberts, after thinking the previous statement over for a moment.

"It's not too hard," said Jim. "We're going to drive our plow-blade right through it!"

Under the tower they went, under the shining sphere, and at the central cable that ran from the generating equipment below to the radiating sphere. There was but a minor shock as the rotating blade hit the cable, and a lurch as some of the cable wound itself in the rotating blade and tried to lift the plow. Then the machine settled once more and as they emerged on the far side, Jim pointed to a thirty foot length of cable wound in the blade.

"Any power that can get across that gap—" he said. His voice trailed away in wonder.

For the sphere was still drawing the heat from the heaters.

"What can we do, now?" Roberts asked.

Jim shook his head. "Dynamite!" he said with gritted teeth.

One hour later—and from a safe distance—they watched the vast sphere of metal distort, burst into segments like a crushed orange, blast outward like an exploded basketball, and throw curved shards of itself in all directions. A depression formed below the site in the snow, and where the sphere had been there was nothing.

Nothing?

Nothing but an invisible sphere—invisible and intangible—that continued to suck heat from everything that possessed an erg.

They delineated the sphere and discovered it to be the same size as the metal one had been. But they could not remove—nothing. The expedition turned and fled.

CHAPTER VII

Cutback in Time

When the expedition got back to the state capital, Jim Tennis hurried to the Governor's mansion.

"That," said Jim Tennis to Governor Morris, "is what I've been fearing, why I wanted to test the thing thoroughly before announcing it. It wouldn't have really shown in my laboratory test, for I did not set the pilot model up until late in the winter. I was prepared to wait one solid year, however, before making the invention public."

"But why?" asked Governor Morris.

"I don't know," said Jim helplessly. "But it should really fix Charles Hendy's clock!"

"Think about it tomorrow," suggested Morris. "You're tired. Take it easy for a night and go to work on it in the morning."

Jim nodded wearily. He was suddenly aware of the toll that the expedition had taken. He would work better for a few hours of relaxation. He smiled in a wan way at Patricia who smiled at him affectionately.

Jim relaxed. But in the same city, Charles Hendy was not relaxing one bit. In his office he had several newspaper reporters, and he was working hard at being a politician:

"I'm perplexed, gentlemen," he said.

"Mr. Hendy, you started this in good faith?"

"Of course. I'd as soon cut off my arm as bring this disaster to Minnesota."

Moran of the Sentinel asked: "Is it possible that James Tennis might have known what would happen?"

Hendy blinked—a well-planned blink. "You are suggesting that Howardson and Blackman may have been in the employ of the Morris-Tennis gang?"

"I am merely hypothecating."

"I'd hate to accuse anyone of that," said Hendy modestly. His reply was made in such a manner that everybody present knew that what he meant was that he merely lacked proof.

"Offering a political rival a weapon with which he can commit political suicide is not a new idea," said the reporter, operating on a well-laid plan.

"No?"

"I understand that there is to be a grand jury investigation," said Moran.

"It will find me blameless," said Hendy. "But perhaps it will fix the responsibility. I feel like a helpless pawn, or perhaps an unwilling and ignorant executioner. I think perhaps Howardson and Blackman should be questioned."

"Thank you, Mr. Hendy. Now I must leave because I gotta make a deadline," said Moran.

"You other gentlemen may remain if you wish," smiled Hendy. "If you wish to cover Mr. Moran's deadline to prevent a news scoop, you may use the telephones here."

In a corner of the room there was a portable bar and sandwiches on a table. The idea intrigued the reporters, and after using the telephones, they fell to with a will—

—which gave Moran of the Sentinel plenty of time to drive to the prison where Howardson and Blackman were incarcerated for their little trick. Moran asked for Blackman, and when the prisoner came, Moran started questioning:

"I understand that there is to be a grand jury investigation."

"Oh?" answered Blackman.

"It is suggested that perhaps you were a cohort of James Tennis."

"Perhaps."

"And if so, you offered Hendy this devilish machine as a bit of bait, hoping he would commit political suicide?"

Blackman smiled. "Could be."

For a few seconds the reporters stared at Hendy. Then one of them said:

"Then, of course, Jim Tennis is the real crook, and Governor Morris is as low a criminal as he is. How on earth did he coerce you? Blackmail?"

"Might be," Blackman nodded. "But what of Hendy?"

"Charles Hendy thinks only of the people. How could he possibly have known that he was being bilked. He is a great philanthropist, not a scientist. Besides, the machine rightfully belongs to James Tennis, you know. It is his—and he can have it!"

"I think I know what you mean. Mind if my friend Howardson is told of the later developments?"

"No," said Moran, keeping a very straight face. "He's a most interested party. Perhaps Tennis had something on him, too?"

"I'll ask him," said Blackman.

The grand jury investigation started. The word of a felon is not too well accepted. Yet there was the suspicion of a doubt, and they worked at it thoroughly.

In the grand jury room, Jim Tennis fumed and swore at their damning testimony even though it was based on the word of felons. The trouble was that Howardson and Blackman had been convicted of felony carried out by them. To have them point out someone high up who had aided the plot gave their story an aura of truth.

Being no scientists nor directly involved in politics, there had been some question as to why a pair of felons would take the time and the trouble to steal an invention when there were banks and other places to burglarize. The slightly fish aroma cleared—even though it left a bad taste in the mouth.

Finally the grand jury retired to consider the evidence. After an hour or so, they returned to the box and the foreman gave a folded paper to the bailiff who carried it to the judge. After reading the verdict of the jury to himself, the judge cleared his throat. "James Tennis, arise," he said sternly.

Jim Tennis stood up.

"Regardless of motive or outcome of other men's machinations, James Tennis, there is no doubt in the minds of this jury that you are responsible for our seasonal disaster. Therefore, before returning an indictment against you for endangering the health of the people of the State of Minnesota, I ask if you have anything further to say."

"Your Honor, had my plans not been stolen, this would not have happened," Jim protested.

"That is no excuse for perfecting such a machine which has become a grave peril."

"My invention would have been harmless had it been correctly used," retorted Jim.

"Therefore," continued the judge angrily, "I return this indictment against you, upon behalf of the Grand Jury of the County of—"

"Your Honor!" said Jim Tennis loudly. "Before you sign that indictment, may I remind you that I cannot solve this problem from a cell?"

"That's true," said the judge dubiously. "We are aware that you know more of this—this—questionable scientific feat than any other man alive. So I shall revise my procedure. I shall suspend the jury's findings for a period of ten days, during which period, James Tennis, you will direct your activities toward solving the weather problem. If at the end of that time, you have produced a solution, the indictment shall be dismissed. If not, you will be tried on charges."

"Ten days!" gasped Tennis in baffled fury. "What can any man do in ten days?"

But the Court was adamant and a short while later, Tennis was released, baffled and confused, to return home. All the rest of the day he worked hopelessly at the problem, beset by worry, yet trying desperately to discover the reason for the amazing variations which his weather machine had unexpectedly developed.

One night Patricia found Jim sitting dejectedly before his small model, his brow creased as he stared at the vacuum tubes and high inductance coils.

"I don't know, Pat," he told her. "I honestly do not know."

"But what does it do?" she asked.

"I don't know," he repeated.

"Then how does it work? Can't you guess something from that?"

"Patricia-mine, I've been guessing for eight days now and I'm out of guesses. Work? I don't—well, I can tell you what happens. You start with a simple circuit—like this. That's a sort of threshold circuit; a field generator, sort of. The thing that counts is the voltage at this point.

"As you run it up, you eventually strike a point where the heat-output is at maximum. Beyond that point it cools off again. Generally speaking, that is. It vacillates quite a bit, and on the way 'up' for instance, you hit several peaks and valleys, the average of which is a trend upward.

"Once you hit the peak, you throw in the locking circuit, which maintains the voltage on this anode at the proper value to develop the maximum output. A simple automatic bias control."

"This one," he continued in a puzzled voice, "behaves differently. The first very few volts causes a chill, after which it gets normal and behaves as the rest of them did. I'm stumped, Patricia."

Governor Morris came in with a wan smile. "Jim, lad. Any hope?"

"None," he said. "I'm licked."

"Sorry, kids. Dead sorry. But I've just decided that the ambitions of an old man aren't worth ruining several young lives for."

"What do you mean?" asked Jim.

"I've prepared a statement and a complete pardon for you, Jim, absolving you from all guilt as an innocent victim of circumstances. Hendy will leap onto that with both feet. But I'll not see you sacrificed."

"But, blast it all, you can't do that!"

"No? Well, you can't spend ten years in the calaboose to spite a political machine. It isn't worth it."

"But we can't let 'em beat us!"

"Forget it," said Morris, "and tell me what you've been doing."

"Trying to figure out how it works," replied Jim. "Or, rather, why! I've been back and forth across all the theory and abstract ideas that I've ever had. I'm completely stuck—as baffled as Benjamin Franklin might have been if he had been shown a radio receiver and told that it ran by electricity. How and why are unanswerable, so far.

"So," he continued unhappily, "I've been wondering where the energy came from. I've got just a few hours left before I—before I—before—"

His voice trailed away. Patricia, to keep his mind from the imminent doom, said the first thing that came into her mind.

"The machine is still good, Jim," she said. "At least, it takes some of the heat of last summer and saves it over for the winter—"

"Hey!" he exploded.

"Hey, what?" she asked him.

"Maybe it doesn't save some of last summer's heat," he said, thoughtfully. "Maybe it takes the heat from next summer!"

"Can you prove that?"

"Yes, if we can remember to shove this thing in the refrigerator all day tomorrow. That might account for the initial dip—" He paused. "But that's no solution," he said.

"Oh," said Patricia, "but it is!"

They looked at her dumbly. Patricia began to explain....

Bright and early, Jim Tennis appeared in the Grand Jury Room to address the judge. Seated up front in one of the chairs was Charles Hendy who had gone there to witness the discomfiture of his political rivals. He was positive the indictment would be returned against Tennis.

"Your Honor," said Tennis, "this is a case of the misuse of a scientific principle. The discoverer of electricity is not responsible for the deaths each year by electrocution. The inventor of the airplane cannot be held responsible for the deaths there, either.

"I have discovered that this invention of mine actually delivers the energy which will be received by it at a later date. In other words, what happened was that last winter the machine was sending forth the energy which would be received by it the following summer. Thus, of course, when summer arrived, the summer heat had already entered the machine and had been sent back to make last winter warm, when we enjoyed it.

"This I can prove.

"However, this is no solution. The solution is, of course, to rebuild the machine, and 'tune' it for the summer following. This must be done carefully so as not to make the following summer cold and bitter. If the machine is used very carefully, and with considerable planning, it can accomplish the one thing that mankind has always wanted done: Saving some of August's intolerable heat to diminish the rigors of January's bitter cold. We—Your Honor—are the victims of our own avarice in wanting perfect summer all winter. Moderation is the answer."

"You are a lucky young man," said the judge. "I give you a sharp judicial warning not to let dynamite lying around loose for felons to steal, and I hereby permanently dismiss the indictment returned against you eight days ago." The judge's voice grew thoughtful. "But before the court is dismissed, may I ask how you proved that the machine actually drains 'Next Summer's' heat to warm 'Last Winter' and so forth?"

"The Climate Machine is actually a time machine," said Jim Tennis promptly.

"Time Machine?" exploded Hendy scornfully.

Jim Tennis turned and pointed to Hendy. "The same means of proving my point indicts you, Mr. Charles Hendy. Your Honor, I have here a series of pictures taken by myself. It shows Miss Patricia Morris in her car, wrecked. It shows the path she took through the woods. It shows—ultimately—Messrs. Blackman and Howardson following her. It shows Blackman and Howardson leaving, and the route they took to get to the home of the great philanthropist Charles Hendy."

"When were these pictures taken?" asked the judge.

Tennis grinned. "Less than an hour ago—and a year ago, both. I went back in time."

Hendy, grasping for any irregularity, spoke up sharply. "Can you prove that these pictures are not faked? Just name me one proof that you were there at all? Just one. Who saw you? Who recalls you? Have you a witness?"

Tennis stammered. "Why—I—"

There came a gurgling cry from the rear of the courtroom. It had been uttered by Patricia Morris, who came forward with a smile. But it was a relieved smile, and there was something in her eyes that told Jim Tennis that the relief was far more personal than the facts of the trial or of any other matter at present hand.

"So you," she said to Jim Tennis, "are the big lug in the overcoat, muffler, and overshoes who cradled me out of my damaged car—and kissed me!"

Patricia turned to the judge and explained. Then, with a twinkle in her eye, she finished: "And now, Your Honor, there remains but one item to prove to my satisfaction that it is the same man. That muffler he hung over the coat-rack looks the same, but might have been coincidental. Similarly the overcoat and the overshoes. Also other minor details, including the possible fact that the lipstick he forgot to wipe off matches my own.

"But there's only one man who—"

"Court dismissed!" exploded the judge quickly. After all, what Jim Tennis was about to do might be considered in contempt of Court.

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