De Paolo pulled himself out of his chair and walked to the window. It was no longer raining but the sky was still gray. "I wish I had not agreed to listen to you," he said, staring out at the decaying city. "I wish I had never heard this. The temptation ..."
Marrett tapped his watch. "In exactly five minutes you'll see some blue sky. The sun will break through."
The Secretary General glanced over his shoulder at the big man. "You are certain?"
Nodding, Marrett replied, "Just as certain as I am that the UN—or somebody—has got to grab this power. We can't keep it a secret much longer. There are plenty of meteorolo- gists and fluid dynamicists who are aware of the potential. Once they work up the guts to admit to themselves that the weather can be controlled all around the world, it'll be the next big international crisis."
"And this Kinsman," De Paolo asked. "He is an honor- able man? He can be trusted?"
"I think so. He wants to have his new nation admitted to the UN, and recognized as an independent country. He offers a way to enforce world peace."
The Secretary General shook his head. "It's frightening. Too tempting."
"You mean the potential power?" Jamsuren asked.
"That," the old man answered, "and the responsibility. We have all wrung our hands about the United Nations' 498 political impotence for years, decades. But this changes everything. Everything!"
"It's using technological power to attain political power," said Marrett.
"I am not certain it's the right thing to do. I am not at all sure that we're ready for this. It's the use of force—a different kind of force, perhaps—but still . . ."
"Force is the only way to move an object," Marrett said.
"Newtonian physics." replied the Secretary General. He smiled wanly. "You see? I am not entirely ignorant of science."
He turned back to the window. A lance of sunlight broke through the gray clouds. A slice of blue appeared in the sky. "Your prediction was too conservative," De Paolo said to Marrett. "Five minutes have not elapsed yet."
Marrett shrugged. "I'm always on the conservative side."
"Are you?" The Secretary General squared his shoul- ders, like a man who had finally decided to accept a burden, no matter how heavy. "Very well. I suppose I must meet with this Kinsman. Do you think he would be willing to come to New York?"
The California sunshine was strong and brilliant, coming out of a sky so blue that it needed occasional puffs of white cumulus clouds for contrast.
Frank Colt squinted, even behind his polarized glasses. The glare coming up from the concrete runways and taxi aprons was powerful. But I can handle it, Colt told himself. That, and anything else they care to send my way.
The two Air Policemen walking in stride a few paces behind him were both over six feet tall, with football phy- siques and big automatic pistols bolstered on their hips. They followed Colt wherever he went. Technically he was under house arrest and confined to this desert base until the masterminds in Washington decided whether he could be blamed for any responsibility in the lunar rebellion.
Colt grinned sardonically. Not every dude has his own bodyguards following him around. Status symbol.
