The people in the powwow circle were very silent.
"In the terrible scale of tomorrow's event, our lives just don't matter much. Knowledge of the F-6 is more important than any of us. I wish this weren't the case, but it's the truth. I want you to understand that truth and accept it, I want you to take it into your hearts and feel it, and resolve to act on it. People, you've all seen the simulations, you know what I mean when I say F-6. But people, the damned thing is finally upon us. It is here, it's real, no playback this time, no simulacrum. It is with us in stark reality. We have to know all that we can about the real F-6, at all costs. It is a terrible event that must be documented-at all costs. Tomorrow, we must seize as much of the truth as we can possibly steal from this dreadful thing. Even if we all die doing this, but some survivor learns the truth about it because of our efforts, then that will be an excellent price for our lives."
Jerry began to pace back and forth. "I don't want any recklessness tomorrow. I don't want any amateurism, I don't want any nonsense. What I want from you is complete resolve, and complete understanding of the necessity and the consequences. We have only one chance. This is the greatest heavy-weather challenge that our Troupe will ever face, and I hope and believe it will be the single most violent weather event we will see in our natural lifetimes. If you believe that your life is more important than hacking this storm, I can understand that belief. It's wise. Most people would call it sensible. You are all here with me now because you're definitely not most people, but what I'm asking from you now is a terrible thing to ask of anyone. This isn't just another storm pursuit. It's not just another front, and another spike. This thing is Death, people. It's a destroyer of worlds. It's the worst thing human action has brought into this world since Los Alamos. If your life is your first priority, you should leave this camp immediately, now. I am forecasting a weather event that is more swift, more volatile, more massive, and more violent than the strongest F-S maxitornado, by a full order of magnitude. If you want to escape the disaster, you should flee right now, due east, and not stop until you are on the far side of the Mississippi. If you stay, stay in the full knowledge that we are going after this catastrophe head-on."
Nobody moved. Nobody said anything.
Suddenly the air was split with a bloodcurdling bestial yell, a warbling, yodeling, exultant screech like a madwoman gloating over a freshly severed scalp.
It was Joanne Lessard. They all stared at Joanne in complete astonishment. Joanne was sitting cross-legged on a patch of bubblepak near the campfire. She had just washed her thin blond hair and was combing it. She said nothing, but only smiled sunnily in the flickering firelight, and shrugged her shoulders once, and kept combing.
Even Jerry seemed stunned.
"I've said enough," Jerry realized, and deliberately sat down.
Rudy Martinez stood up. "Jerry, are you nowcasting tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
"I'll go anywhere as long as Jerry is nowcasting. I've said enough." Rudy sat down.
Joe Brasseur stood up. "I'm available for consultation by anyone who hasn't made their will. Dying intestate, that's no joke for your heirs. We got enough time tonight to record a will, put on a digital signature, and pipe it to an off-site backup. This means you, Dunnebecke. I've said enough." He sat down.
Nobody said anything for a long time.
Finally Jane felt she had to stand up. "I just want to say that I feel really proud of everybody. And I have a good feeling about this. Good hunting tomorrow, people. I've said enough." She sat down.
April Logan stood up. "Forgive me for interrupting your deliberations, but if it's all right with the group, I'd like to ask all of you something."
April Logan looked at Jerry. Jerry lifted his brows.
"Actually, it's something of a poll query."
"Go ahead, just ask," Jane hissed at her.
"My question is: When do you think the human race conclusively lost control over its own destiny? I'd like everyone here to answer, if you don't mind." April produced a handheld notepad. "Please just start anywhere in the arclc-here at my left, will do."
Martha Madronich stood up, reluctantly. "Well, I hate ao first, but in answer to your question, um, Professor, I figured we lost it for good sometime during the or Emergency." She sat down.
Ed Dunnebecke stood up. "I'd have to say 1968. Maybe 1967. If you look at the CO2 statistics, they had a chance to choke it all back right there, and they knew well they were screwing the environment. There was iitely revolutionary potential in the period, and even ~me political will, but they squandered the opportunity in the drugs and the Marxism and the mystical crap, and they never regained the momentum. Nineteen sixty-eight, defiI've said enough."
Greg Foulks stood up. "I'm with Ed on that one, except was one last chance in 1989 too. Maybe even as late after the First Gulf War. Well, that one was actually econd Gulf War, strictly speaking. But after they blew big chance at genuine New World Order in '89 and they were definitely trashed. I've said enough." He sat down.
Carol Cooper stood up. "Well, you hear this question bit, of course... . Call me romantic, but I always thought 1914. The First World War. I mean, you look at peace in Europe before the slaughter, and it looks ation might have had a chance to stick. And if we 't blown most of the twentieth century on fascism and communism and the rest of the ism bullshit, maybe we tiM have built something decent, and besides, no matter at Taney says, Art Nouveau was the last really truly looking graphic-art movement. I've said enough." ~am Moncrieff took his turn. "Late 1980s ....here re some congressional hearings on global warming that rybody ignored... . Also the Montreal Accords on chlorofluorocarboflS; they should have passed those with some serious teeth about CO2 and methane, and things would be a lot better today. Still heavy weather, probably, but not insanely heavy. Late eighties. Definitely. I've said enough."
Rick Sedletter rose. "What Greg said." He sat down.
Peter Vierling stood up. "Maybe it's just me, but I always felt like if personal computers had come along in the 1950s instead of the 1970s, everybody would have saved a lot of time. Well... never mind." He sat down.
Buzzard stood up. "I think they blew it with the League of Nations in the twenties. That was a pretty good idea, and it was. strictly pig-stupid isolationism on the part of the USA that scragged that whole thing. Also the early days of aviation should have worked a lot better. Kind of a real wings-over-the-world opportunity. A big shame that Charles Lindbergh liked fascists so much. I've said enough."
Joanne stood up. "Nineteen forty-five. United Nations could have rebuilt everything. They tried too. Some pretty good declarations, but no good follow-through, though. Too bad. I've said enough."
Joe Brasseur stood. "I'm with Joanne on the 1940s thing. I don't think humanity ever really recovered from the death camps. And Hiroshima too. After the camps and the Bomb, any horror was possible, and nothing was certain anymore... . People never straightened up again after that, they always walked around bent and shivering and scared. Sometimes I think I'd rather be scared of the sky than that scared about other human beings. Maybe it was even worth heavy weather to miss nuclear Armageddon and genocide... . I wouldn't mind discussing this matter with you later, Professor Logan. But for the meantime, I've said enough."