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.

[Illustration: 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.