Storm (Swipe Series)

protests here and there, of the loyal men and women in uniform who were containing it—the word “IMPS” was never officially used—and of the occasional statement made by Lamson or Parliament addressing both the sanctity of democratic dissent, and also the importance of keeping the peace across city streets. But to date, the mainstream press had saidnothing of Logan or Lily or the Dust or Acheron or any of that, and the Langlys didn’t know what they were missing.
    They had an inkling, perhaps, that there was more to the story than they knew. But it was no more than that.
    Ironically, had the Langlys spent even one night listening to the radio program that Charlotte’s mom was broadcasting in secret just six floors above, they’d have long ago learned everything they were so eager to learn. But once again, the Langlys didn’t know what they were missing. And Grandma Sonya couldn’t risk telling.
    “Dianne still here?” David asked when Sonya entered a few minutes later.
    “She left,” Sonya said.
    “Good game of gin rummy?” Charlotte asked.
    “Yes, quite fun,” Sonya lied. As far as her daughter and son-in-law knew, Dianne Phoenix’s nightly visits had nothing at all to do with a nationally broadcast, illegal talk show. And they certainly didn’t know that tonight, their own missing son Logan had placed a hacked computer call to talk frantically with Grandma afterward.
    “Actually,” Sonya said, “tonight Dianne and I got to talking about . . . ahem . . . weather mills, in fact—your area of expertise!”
    “That’s interesting,” Charlotte said, clearly uninterested.
    “It’s funny, really—she and I got into the most bitter argument over how Lahoma’s weather mill was run.”
    “Oh?” Charlotte asked, more out of manners than anything else.
    “Yes, you see . . . Dianne thinks that the cloud seeding is done by plane. But I told her, ‘No—it’s all automatic now, dozens of ground-to-air missile launchers, controlled from a single, central hub.’ She didn’t believe me, but I’m just sure I’m right!”
    “Yes, you’re right.” Charlotte yawned.
    “Oh, so it is all by control panel these days?”
    Charlotte nodded.
    “My! Well, isn’t that something—I knew Dianne had her facts wrong! You know, Char, I would just love it if you would show me how that whole system works!”
    Charlotte looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “You thinking of picking up a part-time job?” she asked.
    “Oh, no, no.” Sonya laughed. “It’s only . . . well, if I knew how these weather mills were run—how their control panels worked, and so on and so forth—oh, well, then I could really rub Dianne’s nose in it, so to speak, during our game tomorrow. You wouldn’t happen to mind bringing me up to that office of yours and explaining it to me, would you, dear?”
    Charlotte shrugged, still flipping through pages of useless news sites online. “Sure,” she said. “In fact, I even have a copy of the electronic manual for Lahoma’s technicians. Got it years ago from a colleague. I could just give you that, if you’re interested.”
    “ Could you?” Sonya asked, delighted. “Oh, that would be marvelous!”
    David rolled his eyes on the couch and stayed glued to the news. How anyone could be so concerned over gin rummy small talk with all these important things going on, he would honestly never know.
    5
    That night, Logan, Hailey, and Peck sat down in a corner of the Sierra Science Center’s third floor, and they discussed next steps. They’d gotten the weather mill control manual from Logan’sgrandma, they had the full story and marching orders from Lily, and the only thing left to do now was chart a course along the River and push off.
    “We agree?” Logan asked.
    Hailey nodded quickly. But Peck sat quietly, deep in thought.
    “Yes,” he said finally. “It’s the right thing for you to do, I think.”
    Logan looked at him, leaning in. “But . . . ?”
    “But I have a feeling . . . ,” Peck said. He held his breath for a moment before letting it out in a big, frustrated burst. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it. But all this research I’ve been doing out here, all these talks I’ve been having . . . I just feel . . . unprepared. And suddenly it feels very urgent that I begin taking steps to fix that.”
    “What are you talking about?” Logan asked. “What’s urgent is making sure this weather mill is safe.”
    “I know that,” Peck said. “But for me, it