Last Gasp by Trevor Hoyle Read Free Book Online Page B

terminal in the cavernous air-conditioned basement where DELFI was housed behind hermetically sealed three-inch steel doors. This precaution was less for security reasons than to protect the germanium circuitry and memory disks against changes in temperature and humidity. The predominantly male staff had decided that DELFI was female, and thus any temperamental outbursts or fits of electronic pique were put down to premenstrual tension.
    Data from all parts of the world were received at the National Center for Atmospheric Research, Boulder, Colorado, and fed into the computer, and it was the physicist’s job to extract the climatic anomalies and prepare a summary, which was circulated to various government agencies. What purpose this information served nobody knew—it was Binch’s hunch, as he confided to Brad Zittel, that it merely served to justify Washington’s funding of the center, made them feel they were getting sufficient “drudge for their dollar.”
    At the moment he was up to his ears in print-out, his stubby, hairy arms paddling through it like a swimmer breasting a wave. Down here it was quite cool, though Binch still sweated—with his girth he could afford to—the garish strip-lighting reflecting on his damp scalp through baby-fine rapidly thinning hair.
    “You wouldn’t think it could get any worse, but it always seems to,” Binch complained in his reedy voice. “Just look at all this stuff!” Brad Zittel settled himself on a gray metal console. Reels spun in the shadowy background; relays chattered discreetly. He wasn’t at his best this morning. Dark circles ringed his eyes. For two months or more he’d been waking at 4:00 A.M. , making a pot of China tea, and watching the sky slowly brighten from his study window. Sometimes he didn’t expect the sun to perform its daily miracle.
    “Worse in what sense?” he asked dully. “The anomalies are getting worse or there are more of them?”
    “Quality and quantity both up. This is supposed to be a two-day job and it’s going to take a week. Listen to this.” Binch snatched a print-out at random and read: ‘“Sweden: Rainfall increased by two hundred percent with some areas recording average monthly amounts in one day.’ And this: ‘Finland: Coldest December on record in Helsinki since measurements began in 1829.’”
    He lifted a thick sheaf of print-out and thrust it toward Brad. “Here, look for yourself,” he mumbled, sitting back in the swivel chair and lighting a cigarette.
    Brad took a breath, trying to quell the too-familiar panic rising in his chest, trying to tell himself not to be such a prick. He breathed out and fixed his eyes on the neat blocks of electric type.
     
libya:
Highest maximum December temperature since 1924. Precipitation during December and January exceptionally low.
belgium:
Coldest winter since 1962-1963. Fifth coldest this century.
brazil:
Northeast state of Caera experienced worst drought in living memory. Frost reported on 6-7 days in the south and snow fell in Rio Grande do Sul (extremely rare event) .
czechoslovakia:
Severe cold temperatures during early January accompanied by heavy snowfall.
australia:
Record maximum temperatures in Western Australia. Town of Cockle-biddy reported a new max of 51.7°C.
antarctica:
McMurdo and South Pole stations measured record max temperatures during late December.
arctic ocean:
Both Canadian and Russian sources report temperatures 14°C . below normal, making it the coldest February on record.
     
    Brad discovered that his hands were shaking. He couldn’t read any more. He attempted to fold the print-out, made a hash of it, and dropped it on the pile.
    “What’s the matter?” asked Binch alertly. “Are you okay?”
    Brad Zittel smiled diffidently and smoothed back his brown wavy hair. A NASA pin flared in the lapel of his cotton jacket. “I haven’t been sleeping too well, I guess. Joyce keeps telling me I need a vacation. Could be she’s right.”
    “You do