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And
yet--something--… at least different was bearing down upon them.
Hints whispered to him from the altered pressure systems, from the
increasing erratic winds, if only he had wit enough to
understand--…
    * * *
    The Scout stood by while Brunner teased a
possible pattern from the various historical models. If the Scout
recognized what he was doing, or knew how it might be done more
efficiently, he said nothing, but that was the way of Scouts--they
interfered as little as possible unless you failed of doing what
they wanted of you. So, for the moment at least, the Scout wished
him to work.
    Eventually, Brunner smoothed the touch panel
with a reluctant thumb, watching as the images reformed, showing as
the storm moved in reverse, dividing into two smaller storms and a
smudge of low pressure. He tapped the screen again, looked up to
his silent watcher.
    "Service? It will be a number of minutes
before the information I seek appears on screen."
    The Scout sighed lightly, his hands saying
something Brunner couldn't read, and then said, quite abruptly,
"While the data, which should belong to all of us, is encrypted,
the words, which should belong only to the speaker and their
intended recipient, are not."
    Brunner felt his face heat.
    He bowed, acknowledging receipt of
information.
    "And this is monitored where beside my own
instruments, if I may know?"
    "It is recorded, as a side channel, along
with all the broadcasts from Klamath."
    "This is not simply a science station,
then?" Brunner asked sharply, though he had for some time
suspected--…
    "Of course not, except as you allow the
study of human systems in disintegration to be a science."
    Brunner acknowledged the point with another
bow, and looked back to his screen.
    "Science can be so many things," said the
Scout, speaking to the wall perhaps, or to the floor, or to
himself. "It can be imprecise and immediately useful and reek of
technology and action, or it can be an escape of beautiful
equations and elegant systems, backed by theory and distanced by
case numbers and modeled meta-statistical analysis."
    The Scout paused as the screen Brunner was
watching reformed. The storm systems moved forward once more,
dutifully came together, marched across the planet picking up
energy, joined two into one, and again, two into one, the cyclonic
motion barely apparent early on and then--…
    Thumb-tap.
    The systems stopped moving.
    Thumb-tap.
    The screen now displayed four views, all
tagged with the same date and time.
    The top left showed a widespread storm,
faltering, moving northward above the equator with its center
diffuse.
    The top right showed a tight-knot of mini
storms first hugging the northeastern coast above the equator, then
following a wide bay north.
    The bottom two veered from the northern
route and crossed the isthmus, where both blossomed into monstrous
cyclonic storms. While the one on the right rushed eastward and
then slowly dissipated, the one on the left veered deep into the
Chilonga Mountains after striking the river delta.
    Brunner knew the why of the blossom into
major storm: on the west side of the isthmus the ocean level was
considerably higher and considerably colder than on the east side.
Assuming the storm survived the not inconsiderable plunge down the
cliffs of the isthmus.
    "These are the major models which are now at
work." Brunner said conversationally. "One and Two are most
standard. Four is the "preferred" model of my predecessor. She was
very climate-oriented in her approach, I think. In going back over
her work and comparing it to the standard models, I find that hers
were often less wrong than those models, which is interesting given
the variability we think we see."
    "Less wrong is a useful trait, is it not?"
murmured the Scout.
    They both watched as the images ran again in
hypermotion, Brunner mumbling a distant, "Indeed. In theory, it is
better."
    Thumb-tap. Models One and Two disappeared
from the screen. Three and Four immediately resized