Hold Zero! (12 page)

“Oh, sure, it’s just one of those things the engineering companies sell for thrills.”

“So?”

“So, what’s bothering me is what it says. I thought you ought to know since this is a class project now.”

“Well?”

“Well, it says ... and you gotta remember last fall when we were pretty disappointed in everything ... you know ... no help from anybody ... ”

“Yes?”

“It says ... ‘Blast You All!’ ”

At first Mr. Brian laughed and Steve was relieved. Then he apparently thought about it for he said, “Let’s take it out if you’re concerned.”

“That’s the trouble. We can’t. That is, not without the boys knowing I told. We all agreed not to, so I can hardly take it out without my losing my friends ... and I’m something of a turncoat in their eyes anyway ... Cathy, and dances, you know.”

“Steve, don’t worry about it. Maybe they’ll think you spelled ‘Off’ wrong and that it was supposed to read ‘Blast Off.’ But don’t worry. Go to sleep.”

“Okay. I guess it’s not important. Maybe no one’ll care.” He hung up and crawled back into bed. Relieved, he fell asleep.

Batta Day began at five o’clock as the boys at Batta ran outside to see how the day was dawning. The stars were still out, the sky was a cobalt blue. The homemade thermometer—green ink in a Coke bottle, corked, with a straw running into it—read thirty degrees. And the sun was not even up. Craig held up a stick with a cheesecloth butterfly net attached. It hung limp in the windless predawn.

“All’s well,” said Phil.

During breakfast Craig read off the Batta booster countdown once more; then they worked on the cork and buzzer in the water clock until eight. At that hour they decided to go out. The chickadees were gleaning the fat round hemlock cones, the air smelled of frost and dried catnip. Craig jumped on Johnny and rolled him to the ground. Johnny got a half nelson on Craig and pinned him. Phil watched. His rib was in no shape for wrestling.

At nine o’clock Craig heard the swamp buggy chugging across the slow stream. He grabbed Johnny and rushed to the wharf to greet Mr. Brian, Steve, and the officers of the science club. Mr. Brian called that the rest of the class was at the other wharf and that Officer Ricardo had his car all set. “Seems to be enjoying this,” he added.

There were still things to do. Craig gave Mr. Brian a copy of the flight data and countdown sheets and watched him snap them on his clipboard. He was glad to see that the teacher was calm. He wasn’t.

It was time to push back the rocket covering. Steve and Johnny leaned against its poles and gently shoved it away. The rocket pointed up into the sun and the clear blue sky.

“She’s green all the way,” Craig said to Mr. Brian. They both admired the cluster of first-stage rockets, the rounded cones, and the long slender second and third stages. The payload stood on the ground to the left, ready to be put in place at the count. The engines were in the supply box, laid out in order.

“I am terribly impressed,” said Mr. Brian as he looked closely at the rocket.

At quarter to eleven Steve showed Mr. Brian and the two members of the club how to stand behind the mud bags in the observation bunker. Watches were wound and checked. Craig gave Mr. Brian a Batta walkie-talkie and showed him how to flip the buttons to listen or speak. He handed Phil and Steve theirs and kept the fourth. Johnny would be beside Steve in the command center and wouldn’t need one.

Then Craig nudged Phil and they jumped to their posts in the launch pit. Steve sat beside Johnny on a stump in the command station. He checked the ignition control panel, then examined the police transceiver. He turned it on and opened the switch on the long-range walkie-talkie.

It sputtered, then a voice came over it. “KX2BAT unit two, this is KX2BAT unit one on Rushing Road. Come in Batta control. Do you read me? Over.”

Steve answered into the transceiver so he would be amplified on the car radio. “All systems are go.” He glanced through the observation window at Craig and Phil and looked at Johnny.

“It’s green all the way,” Steve added. A murmur arose in the walkie-talkie. Craig could hear the cheers of the class coming through. It sounded like a high wind. He grinned. There was a silence. Craig stared at his watch.

“It is now eleven
A.M.,”
Steve went on. “The countdown for the Batta extracurricular activity will begin.”

“T-minus twenty. Test communications systems.”

Craig checked in, then Phil, Mr. Brian, and then Officer Ricardo on the police walkie-talkie.

“All systems are green,” Steve announced.

“T-minus nineteen. Place engines in payload capsule assembly. Check fittings.”

Craig worked swiftly. “Green and go,” he said.

“T-minus eighteen. Check transistor payload beeper and radio direction finder system.” Craig picked up the payload. Phil checked the radio direction finder.

“Hold,” said Phil.

“Holding at T-minus eighteen for recheck of beep,” Steve announced. Half a minute ticked off.

“Go!” Phil said.

“We are now resuming the count at T-minus seventeen. Check parachute recovery system for all stages including payload.”

“Green.”

“T-minus sixteen. Insert radio beeper into payload.”

“Mission accomplished.”

“T-minus fifteen. Check snails in test tube and seal.”

“Accomplished.”

“T-minus fourteen. Wrap aluminum insulation foil around test tube.”

“Affirmative.”

Carefully Steve leaned away from the transceiver so that his voice would be heard only on the Batta walkie-talkie.

“T-minus thirteen and one-half. Check banner assembly around second-stage booster.”

“Hold!” It was Mr. Brian.

“We are holding at T-minus fourteen,” Steve announced. He sounded puzzled.

Craig glanced up perplexed. Mr. Brian stepped into the launch pit. He picked up the payload, pulled off the lower capsule, and took out the aluminum-wrapped test tube. Craig stared, Phil scratched his head. They shrugged. Steve strained to see what he’d done, but the teacher’s back was to him. Mr. Brian climbed from the pit and returned to the observation bunker.

“Proceed with countdown, Batta control,” the teacher said.

“We are resuming the count at T-minus thirteen,” Steve relayed. “Install payload capsule assembly on main booster.”

“Mission accomplished.”

“T-minus twelve. Install first- and second-stage booster engines.”

“Accomplished.”

“T-minus eleven. Install nichrome igniter wires in first-stage booster engines.”

“Go.”

“T-minus ten. Clean and attach microclips.”

“Green and go.”

“T-minus nine. Check firing angle.”

“On the line.”

“T-minus eight. Clear the area. Check for low-flying aircraft.”

There was a sound from the shore. Craig imagined the class looking into the sky. They’re either getting terribly noisy, he thought, or the communications system’s going bad.

“Clear and go,” said Mr. Brian, who had the widest view of the sky.

“T-minus seven. Recovery crew go to your stations!”

Phil and Craig plunged out of the pit, taking the radio direction finder and the Batta walkie-talkie with them. They skidded around the bushes and leaped onto the swamp buggy. Craig started the motor after two pulls, but did not put the engine in gear. Phil untied the line. He lifted his walkie-talkie.

“Ready and waiting.”

“T-minus six. Arm the launch panel!” Johnny put his hand on the switch.

“Go,” said Johnny.

“T-minus five.”

“T-minus four.” The police walkie-talkie crackled with a welling sound. Then it bellowed and thundered.

“Hold,” Steve said. “We are holding at T-minus four for a communications check. Batta command to Officer Ricardo, we are getting a noisy reception. Do you read me clear?”

“I read you fine. The noise is your audience. There must be five hundred people here. There are cars on both side of the road holding up traffic. The whole police force is here except Harry, who stayed on fire duty. The town board is here. There are merchants, teachers, and newsmen. Over.”

“Gee whizz!” said Steve.

“Furthermore,” Officer Ricardo blared on, “Mr. Brundage has most of his congregation out and three buses have brought students from the Wilbur Junior High in Greensburg.

“Your parents are all here. They look nine feet tall. We’re all with you. We hope it’s ‘Go’ all the way!”

The crew on the island peered at each other over and around the mud bags. Phil and Craig on the swamp buggy whistled through their teeth.

“We are resuming the countdown at T-minus four.

“Three.

“Two.

“One.

“Zero.

“Ignition!” Johnny threw the switch. The engines fired instantly, held their power a few inches off the ground to steady the craft, then thundered into a fifty-mile-an-hour climb.
“We have a launch!”
Steve shouted. “We have a perfect launch!”

Craig saw the rocket rise above the edge of the pit. It sped over the tops of the reeds, going at twenty-five degrees to the vertical. It gleamed and the engines burned red. Smoke streamed out.

The class on shore shouted as it shot into view and roared above the bushes, the trees, the top of the ridge.

“The first-stage engines have burnt out.” Steve’s voice was shaky. “There goes the first stage falling away!

“Whoops! The first-stage parachute has opened.” Horns tooted.

A silence; the banner had dropped out of the parachute and fluttered open in the clear air. It rippled into view,
“BLAS YOU ALL”
it read as the
T
spiraled to earth.

Mr. Brian gasped over the Batta walkie-talkie.

“Bless you all, too!” shouted Mr. Brundage over the police walkie-talkie. “But learn to spell!”

The crowd laughed and cheered. “Ray! Ray! Hooray!”

Craig laughed and slapped Phil as the second stage ignited and the rocket sped on.

“The second stage has fallen away,” Steve announced. “The third stage is ignited!” A red burst marked the explosion of the last engine.

“The payload engines have ignited!” Steve cried. The capsule shot higher and higher speeding upward now on its own momentum.

It reached its apogee, then arched over and began its descent.

“Two parachutes should open,” Steve called out, “bringing the payload capsule ten feet north by northeast of the far shore.”

A small red parachute unfurled and blossomed. It was followed seconds later by a big striped one. Checked with a sudden jerk, the payload drifted earthward on the quiet morning air.

“Recovery crew!” Steve called. “The altiscope indicates it’s coming down at splash point A. Take a fast ride!”

The grass mower engine roared and the awkward buggy rolled over the water.

“Phil to Steve. I hear the transmitter. It is beeping loud and clear. We are closing in on it. Man! It worked!”

Steve repeated Phil’s message. Suddenly he shouted, “Phil caught it in the air! We have a perfect rescue. Now how ’bout that!”

Horns honked. Voices cheered. There were toots and whistles and a single blast on a trumpet.

“Unit one to unit two,” Steve shouted in order to be heard over the roar. “We have a surprise for you. We have a surprise. Twelve snails have been sent up in the payload to see if they’ll continue normal behavior at two thousand feet.” Another sound arose from the shore, a bellow so loud it was heard above the communications system.

“
Phil, can you give us any details?” Steve shouted. “Are the snails acting like they do in the swamp water? Raise your right hand if they are. Raise your left hand if there has been any change.”

Phil and Craig lifted their heads simultaneously and stared at each other. “What’s the matter with Steve?” Craig said.

“Is he crazy?” asked Phil.

“I dunno.”

“Phil,” Steve repeated, “raise your right hand if the snails are all right.” The roar from the shore died as the audience waited. Suddenly Craig understood what had happened. He grabbed Phil’s shoulder.

“The banner!” he said. “Mr. Brian found out about the banner, and I’ll bet he thought he had taken it out! Steve doesn’t know he took the snails!”

“My gosh, you’re right,” exclaimed Phil. “Now, whatda we say? We can’t make him look stupid. He’s too nice a guy. And
I
can’t lie!”

Craig agreed as he thought of all the trouble Phil had gotten into in the first place by not telling the truth.

Phil bit his lip and leaned forward. “Here goes my neck,” he said and lifted the walkie-talkie. Suddenly he gave a gasp of glee and reached into the water. He slowly raised his right hand.

“Aw, don’t,” Craig said. “It’s not worth it.’

“The snails are doing the same thing!” Phil announced firmly. Steve repeated his words. The crowd cheered. Horns blasted. Hands clapped.

Craig grabbed Phil’s shoulder and shoved him back to search his face. “Whatdidja lie for?” he whispered. “You’ll get it.”

Phil held out a snail. “
This
snail is doing the same old thing,” he chuckled. “No one asked me what snail.” Craig sighed and slumped against the motor.

Phil clutched a paddle and steered the craft to shore. They were met by Steve, Johnny, the two students, and a tarrying Mr. Brian.

“Thanks, Phil!” Mr. Brian said as he came ashore. “But you didn’t need to lie to cover for my stupidity.”

“I didn’t lie,” said Phil with a huff. He handed Mr. Brian the snail he had found. “I’ve never seen a more normal snail in my life.” Mr. Brian threw back his head and laughed from the bottom of his belly.

With a whoop Steve threw his arm around Phil. Craig whacked Steve on the back. Johnny jumped on Craig, he fell, and pulled Steve with him into the grass. The three rolled and wrestled. Phil held his chest and tried not to laugh for laughter hurt his rib; but he couldn’t help it. So he laughed and then he cried and then he laughed again.

Horns resounded from the shore, voices rose and fell. Presently Officer Ricardo’s voice boomed over the police walkie-talkie sitting unattended on the shelf of the command center.

“Bravo!” he crackled. Steve stumbled forward and picked up the instrument “—was great!” Officer Ricardo went on. “And by the way, the reporters here want to know what your next big project will be.”