That evening, Evgeny Sergeyevich turns on the televideo-phone and places a call to the “Kakhetiya” ship. His wife then smiles from the screen, and Nina stands near her, shouting, “Daddy, we had such a warm, warm little rain today!”

When Igor’s father lands and exits the flying weather station, he gives his son the longest hug of their lives.

Back in the capital, despite dark skies, the people prepare to celebrate. There is extraordinary excitement in the streets. Muscovites go around snatching newspapers from each other, reading about the latest accomplishments of Soviet science in weather control.

When, at last, the station stops emitting meson energy, and the black glass is raised, and the tornadoes, as if by magic, have vanished. The flying weather station had saved hundreds of people.

The head meteorologist lowers black glass over the windshield. Technicians man the control panel. A blast of light then cuts into their eyes, even through the black glass… The station radiates waves of invisible meson energy. The emissions battle the tornadoes.

On the television screen in the station, an image of the Black Sea coast flashes. A gigantic tornado rips off the roofs on homes, tearing apart a century-old village.

Permission is granted. And outside the windows of the flying weather station, mountainous watery pillars are already crashing down. They reach the very clouds themselves.

“We’re going to ask permission to evacuate people using the weather control station,” says the head meteorologist. “We’ll fly there ourselves. Of course, we’ll be risking our lives, but we have to save the children, the sailors, and the ships.”

“The explosion in the South Pacific Ocean is causing terrible hurricanes and windstorms. We need to start rescuing people immediately!” the head meteorologist says decisively. “Is our flying station ready?”

Evgeny Sergeyevich, Igor’s father, thinks, his mind burning with a terrifying thought: ships, floating kindergartens, and, there, his wife, and Nina, and Vitya… The hurricane was drawing nearer with every minute. And his weather station still hadn’t been outfitted with radio control.

Meanwhile, back at the Central Institute for Weather Control, where Igor’s father works, there’s dire news. “We’ve just been informed,” the head meteorologist says, “that the last remaining imperialists, hiding on a remote island, have tested a banned meson weapon. During the test, there was an explosion of unprecedented strength, which destroyed the entire island and simultaneously created atmospheric disturbances around the planet.

“But the flying stations have a bright future in weather control. A person will be in an office and push a radio-control button, and a machine will fly to a place and put out a hurricane, eliminating a storm.”

“Here is a model of the new construction for the earther; it’s as fast as a drilling machine. This earther will work using the new meson energy, which will double excavation speeds.”

“For now, flying delivery stations are only operational temporarily,” Vladislav Ivanovich explains, “and creating the conditions for the uninterrupted delivery of goods is possible only using an intercity metro through the entire Arctic.”

“Here, beneath the earth, an eternal spring reigns,” he says with pride. “But the volatile weather up above interrupts our schedule for shipping out what we produce.”

Then everyone goes for a ride through the streets of Uglegrad. The air is filled with the subtle scent of linden trees. Glancing at people, tanning on the beach beneath the quartz lights, it’s hard to believe that there is a blizzard raging above.

A half hour later, Igor was already far from the capital. The Arctic greets the newcomers with a wild blizzard. Local workers surround the Muscovites.

“Are you … in the Black Sea?” Igor asks, surprised. “I’m here for work,” she says. “I’m inspecting the Black Sea’s floating kindergartens, and I also dropped in on ours. Call Dad and tell him I won’t be home until tomorrow.”

Next, Mother looks in from the screen of a televideo-phone. She’s standing on the deck of a motor ship. This is where her youngest children go to kindergarten. “Did you manage okay with breakfast?” mother asks, smiling.

Igor carefully starts the contraption and inserts the instruction note. Fulfilling the order, invisible beams probe the contours of the letters on the note, automatic scoopers measure out what’s needed, and special knives quickly chop vegetables.

The next morning, Igor is awakened by a light flick across the nose by a wall clock invented by his father as a joke. Igor’s father works as one of the dispatchers in the Central Institute for Weather Control.

When the cinema show has ended, the geography teacher, Nikolai Borisovich, reminds the class that tomorrow’s lesson will be a field trip to the underground city of Uglegrad, located in the Arctic Circle.

Then in the film, the Earth itself disappears. In outer space, almost at the speed of light, photon interstellar rocketships set off for the nearest and faraway planetary system, Alpha Centauri.

The children hear the voice of the narrator: “And here is the dam across the Bering Strait. Do you see what’s whizzing over it? Atomic-powered trains. The dam blocked the cold water currents from the Arctic Ocean and the climate in the Far East improved.

And here are those students in 2017 in a school cinema hall. This “time loop” special cinema device allows them to view how the new face of their country was created.

And so we will look into the future, carrying ourselves 50-60 years forward. Maybe, on the eve of the Great October centennial, school children just like you will watch a cinerama in geography class about the recent past and the present of their country — a film about how Soviet people are remaking the natural world in order to bring peace and happiness to the planet.

Who isn’t worried by questions about the future? What will it be like? Who doesn’t want a glance at the next century? Reading science-fiction books, and learning about new scientific research and bold new engineering plans, you can paint yourself a picture of the future.

It’s a new year, and before this one is over Russia will mark the centennial of the Bolshevik Revolution. A hundred years ago, the men and women who brought Communism to the Tsarist Empire had big plans. Decades into that experiment, the U.S.S.R. was leading the world’s “Space Race,” and it seemed there was nothing the country couldn’t do. In 1960, the Soviet movie studio “Diafilm” released a filmstrip titled “In the Year 2017,” by V. Strukova and V. Shevchenko, depicting a vision of the U.S.S.R. set 57 years in the future.

The 45-pane filmstrip is as spectacularly fantastic as it is dated. In Strukova and Shevchenko’s vision of 2017, it’s the “imperialists” of the West who have destroyed themselves, and the Soviet Union has mastered science to such a degree that “atomic trains” traverse the Bering Strait and flying power stations control the planet’s weather. The story even captures the U.S.S.R.’s fascination in the 1960s with “meson energy” — a theoretical type of atomic energy later rejected as impossible to harness.

“In the Year 2017” is about a future world liberated by Soviet science, but it’s also the story of a boy and his family. The full filmstrip is available here, in Russian.