“Jim,” she said in greeting. “Let me guess: Mouse has recruited you for our little project.”
I nodded. “Yeah, but he’s been skimpy on the details.”
She smiled. “Well, allow me to enlighten you.”
She gestured towards a couple of open wooden crates that I hadn’t noticed before. Standing just a few feet from BT, the first was rectangular in shape and roughly five feet in height. The second was smaller – approximately two-by-two feet in size – and sat on a table next to the first.
Curious, I walked over and took a look inside the larger crate. It was full of cylindrical metal rods that reminded me of tent poles. The crate on the table contained some kind of advanced machinery that seemed to have more than an ample number of buttons and dials, as well as a screen and small keyboard. I couldn’t immediately identify it, but the equipment in the crates all seemed familiar – and then it hit me.
“A force field generator?” I asked hesitantly.
Mouse and BT both grinned at that, with the latter saying, “No, but close.”
“It’s a localized temperate clime converter,” Mouse added. “It does generate a field, but – unlike a force field – one that’s permeable, and within which we can make subtle alterations to atmospheric conditions.”
I wrinkled my brow for a second, trying to make sense of what Mouse’s words. A moment later, the clouds parted in my mind.
“Oh,” I said solemnly. “It’s a weather dominator.”
BT laughed. “That’s what I said!”
“No,” Mouse insisted. “It’s a temperate clime–”
“Weather. Dominator,” BT plainly declared in a surprisingly loud voice as she cut my mentor off. Still laughing, she held up a hand, palm outward, in my direction. Chuckling as well, I promptly high-fived her.
Shaking his head in disgust, Mouse mumbled something incoherent about “amateurs” and “belittling my work.”
My mentor then cleared his throat, getting our attention. “Well, if you two are done congratulating yourselves on your equally inept skill at nomenclature, we can get started.”
*****
<There,> I telepathically announced with finality as I pushed the last of the metal rods into the ground. <That’s the last one.>
<Activating,> BT stated in response.
Almost immediately, the rod began extending, stretching up until it reached a height of about nine feet. At the same time, a small diode – previously unnoticeable – began flashing near the upper end as a small metallic canopy opened up, covering the top of the rod like a conical hat.
This was the same scenario that had played out with all of the other rods, which I had – at BT and Mouse’s direction – placed equidistant from each other around the edge of my father’s estate. As I understood it, the metal poles generally framed the area that would fall under the control of the weather dominator, which was the device that had been in the smaller crate.
The work had naturally gone a lot faster with me involved, since I could essentially teleport to each spot where the rods needed to be placed. Moreover, rather than having to dig or force the poles into the frost-hardened earth, I simply phased the necessary portion of the ground and then slid the rod into it before making it solid again.
<It should be working now,> BT continued, bringing my mind back to the present. <Are you noticing anything different in the weather?>
I thought about his question for a moment. <The wind. It was gusting the entire time I was putting up the poles, but now it’s gone.>
<Good,> BT declared. <I think you’re done. You can come back now.>
<Roger that,> I affirmed. A second later, I was back on the terrace with BT and Mouse, who was busy typing on the keyboard of the weather dominator.
“Good job,” Mouse said, barely looking up.
“Thanks,” I replied. “How soon before I can whip out the T-shirt and shorts?”
“The immediate cessation of wind was expected,” Mouse explained. “The actual temperature change will be more gradual, but should be comfortable by the time of the party.”
That sounded good to me, and I was about to say as much when a deep baritone sounded from the direction of the mansion’s interior.
“How’s it going out here?”
I looked around to find Alpha Prime, dressed in a black thermal shirt and dark khakis, stepping out to join us.
At six-foot-seven, my father typically stood at least a head taller than anyone else around. On most occasions, however, he appeared even taller because – rather than walk – he usually just floated from one place to another. Thus, it still occasionally caught me by surprise whenever I saw him trudging along the ground like the rest of the mere mortals.
“I think we’re good,” BT asserted in answer to my father’s question. “This entire place should be nice and cozy – at least in terms of temperature – by the time guests start arriving.”
“I’ve also locked the controls,” Mouse added, “so no one will accidentally turn this place into a burning desert or a landlocked iceberg. Still, we probably need to put this” – he pointed to the weather dominator – “somewhere safe.”
Alpha Prime nodded. “I’ve got a couple of places that should work. You can let me know which you think is best.”
“Any place will do, as long as there’s no general access.”
My father turned to me. “Jim, can you put that in Storage Room B?”
“No problem,” I said, then teleported with the weather dominator.
I popped up in a darkened, windowless antechamber, holding the weather dominator aloft telekinetically. After a moment, automatic lights came on, revealing my current environs to be a room about a hundred square feet in size. The place was practically bare except for a built-in desk in one corner, on
