Free Storm (Swipe Series) by Evan Angler Page A

Dane insisted. “No one would.”
    “But, Dane,” Hans said, lifting his arms to the clear blue sky.“You don’t understand. The clouds haven’t been seeded since September. By all evidence . . . General Lamson already has.”
    3
    It was dinnertime back in Lahoma, and when he entered the dining room, Connor did his best to be polite, as ever. The very first thing he did was comment on how delicious everything smelled. The corn, the mashed potatoes, the soyloaf with ketchup . . . he thanked his parents for their cooking, set the table, and sat down to wait patiently with his napkin on his lap, hands folded, elbows off the table.
    Before his family began their meal, Connor even gave a toast to Lamson and to Cylis—to the great Global Union and to his family’s fortune for living in it—as he almost always did.
    The fact was, Connor wanted to be a gentleman. Even when he was very upset.
    “So how’d the ’screen game go?” Father asked. “Any big upsets?”
    “Sally won, as usual,” Connor said. “Mark-opoly. We didn’t get around to playing anything else.”
    “No G.U. Risk?” Mother teased. “I’m surprised you even let them leave without at least a go of it.”
    “We got distracted,” Connor said. And he waited for them to take the bait.
    “Distracted by what?” his father asked.
    “Well, first of all, by talking about that stupid General’s Award.”
    Father stopped eating midchew. He swallowed the lump offood whole and put his fork and knife down onto his plate. “I’m going to assume,” he said, “that it was Sally and Steve doing the talking.”
    “I didn’t say anything about the visit, Father, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
    “It is.”
    On Connor’s other side, Mother sniffed in that short, curt way of hers; a tic that came out when she was upset. “Then what exactly was there to talk about, Connor?”
    “Why—what a great, astonishing, unbelievable honor it is, of course,” Connor said caustically.
    “It is those things, Connor.”
    “It isn’t and you know it. It was a political diversion with me as a prop—and it’s left me hated by every kid in Lahoma.”
    “Jealousy is flattery—” Father began, but Connor wouldn’t let him go on.
    “Father, stop. I get it. And I don’t care. Lamson’s entitled to use me any way he wants. That’s his choice as general-in-chief, and that’s fine.
    “But what I do care about is that this request of his is ruining our town. Do you not see that? It’s tearing Lahoma apart!”
    “Uh-oh,” Mother said sincerely. “Who was it this time?”
    “Sally’s dad. Fired. They’re moving. Who knows where.”
    “ Cylis, ” Mother cursed.
    And for a moment, Father held his tongue. When he did speak, he did so quietly, sympathetically. “Connor. What Lamson asked of us . . . it’s bigger than this family. It’s bigger than this town. It’s for the good of our entire American State.”
    “It’s killing our American State!”
    “Not yet, it’s not.”
    “It will! When spring rolls around!”
    Father sighed. “It’s possible . . . ,” he said. “It’s possible that this will all be over by then.”
    “Yeah, you got that right,” Connor said. “Because guess what—that other distraction this afternoon? It was news from Steve’s dad.”
    Father’s eyes went wide.
    “Yeah, you guessed it. He’s onto you.”
    Mother dropped her fork. “Us specifically?”
    “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But he knows it’s not just some technical malfunction over there anymore. He knows someone’s sabotaging America’s weather mill. And I’ve gotta believe it’s only a matter of time before he figures out who.”
    Father leaned in closely. “Connor,” he said. “You know we can’t stop.”
    Connor wiped his face with his hands. “Why not ? Because Lamson says so?”
    “Because it’s what the country needs.”
    “ Why ? You’ve never told me why! And it sure isn’t making sense all on its own! Tell me how a