Storms, they cost us so much in so many ways.
There's a big one coming tonight. I've checked the predictions, and it is going to be nasty. I can't stop it, it would take the output of a couple of decent sized reactors to do that. But I can tweak it a bit. Divert some of it, weaken a couple of bits. Make it a bit less.
I know some people love storms. Even go chasing them. And I get it. I know the thrill. That used to be me. But not anymore. Now, I hate them. I've hated them for years.
I get in my car, and drive out to Osborne Park. I own a block of factory units there, and have one reserved for my own use. It's a 50 minute drive from where I live.
As I drive I wonder what Dad would have said. Even though I hate him almost as much as storms. He had been a fisherman - owned his own boat, and contracted out to one of the big concerns. But he lost everything in Alby when the mooring failed. And it broke him. His death never showed up in the statistics about the cyclone. He died a year later. And took my family with him. But I still wonder what he would have made of my machine.
This time the storm is moving slower than predicted. That is both good and bad. It is bad as it means the storm will hang around longer. It is good, because it gives me more time.
I pull into the driveway of the units. This late on a Saturday there should be no-one here. My headlights flash over a figure as I pass a speed bump.
He looks to be in his twenties. About my age when Alby ruined everything. He's just standing there.
I can see his expression in my headlights now that I've stopped. He's watching me. I can tell that he knows what I am here to do.
And I can tell that he knows that I know.
A minute passes. He does not move. I guess it is up to me.
I switch the car off, get out, and start walking towards him. When I'm about ten metres away, I veer towards my unit.
"Come on", I call out to him, "I haven't much time. We can talk while I work."
I hear his footsteps following me as I open the door and step inside.
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