Astrotwins — Project Blastoff (6 page)

Barry talked while he dried. “Rockets were actually invented by the Chinese hundreds of years ago, then improved on by the Indians—the East Indians, I mean—and the British.”

Putting dishes away, Mark threw back his head and sang: “O-oh, say can you see-e-e, by the dawn's early light, what so proudly we hailed—”

Scott slapped his ears with his sudsy hands. “Make him stop!”

Barry laughed. “Yup, ‘the rockets' red glare' in ‘The Star-Spangled Banner' refers to British weapons fired in the War of 1812. Rockets were originally weapons and fireworks. The first guys to think of using them for space travel were science fiction writers like H. G. Wells and Jules Verne.”

“Oh,
sure
—like I believe writers thought of that before scientists,” Mark said. “You're just saying it because you like that science fiction stuff.”

Scott turned the water off and pulled the stopper out of the sink. “I don't see why those writers thought a rocket would work best for going into space. Why not a giant slingshot powered by a giant rubber band? The astronaut climbs into a harness and
vrroooom!
—he's off in space.”

“Except,” Barry said, “accelerating to top speed instantly flattens his bones, not to mention all his organs, and”—Barry ran a finger over his throat—“no more astronaut.”

“How about a giant ladder?” Mark asked.

“It wouldn't put you in orbit, for one thing,” said Barry. “And besides, any ladder that tall would collapse under its own weight.”

“I guess we're stuck with a rocket,” said Scott.

“That's the best anybody's figured out so far, anyway,”
said Barry. “A rocket doesn't need atmosphere. It's a reaction engine, which means it works on the basis of Newton's Third Law—action–reaction. Action: the exhaust being pushed out by burning fuel. Reaction: the rocket going in the opposite direction.”

Mark said, “And when you're blasting off, that direction is supposed to be up.”

“Ye-a-a-ah, but only at the beginning,” said Barry. “Once you get to the right altitude, you pitch over and the velocity shifts to horizontal so you can fly parallel to Earth's surface—in other words, you're put in a stable orbit. Galileo and Newton both devised equations describing the necessary velocity for orbiting a body or for escaping its gravitational pull—like if you want to go to the moon or Mars.”

“Mars!” said Scott. “Hey, that's a great idea!”

Mark was equally enthusiastic.

But Barry waved the dish towel like a flag of surrender. “How about we stick to one thing at a time?”

Since Grandpa didn't have a TV, the twins had to miss
Emergency!
, Mark's favorite show, that night. Instead, they lost to Grandpa at gin rummy while listening to the Yankees beat the Tigers on the radio. The next morning, they got dressed to go swimming after breakfast.

“What? No chores?” Barry said as they headed down the path to the water. “I thought we'd at least have to build a barn or clear a few acres of brush.”

“That's later,” Mark said.

“After we go to the library and improve our minds,” said Scott.

“Hey”—Mark slapped Barry's shoulder—“we told you it'd be fun if you came with us to Greenwood Lake. Aren't you glad you're here?”

Barry grinned. “Sure. No matter how many chores we have to do, it's good not to be listening to my dad nagging my brother, and my mom nagging my dad for nagging my brother.”

“Is it like that all the time?” Scott asked.

“Enough of the time,” Barry said. “My dad was a pilot in Korea. He came back, went to work, then went to college at night on the GI Bill, which pays for school for veterans. He doesn't see why it should be any different now, but Joe says it is. I don't know who's right, so I stay clear of them when the subject comes up.”

The path to the beach went by Grandpa's workshop, then through a patch of trees past a field that had been cleared for houses, and then through a mess of low-lying shrubs before going over a rise and arriving at a quiet beach. Mark sprinted for the water: “Last one in's a rotten egg!”

The boys swam for a while, then took Grandpa's rowboat out.

“Look—Newton's laws in action,” Scott said as he used the oars to push the boat through the water.

“If it weren't for friction, you'd only have to row one time, and then we'd just keep going forever,” Mark said.

“Sounds relaxing,” said Scott.

“Doesn't gravity come into it, too?” Mark asked. “Why aren't we sinking?”

“Newton's Third Law,” said Barry. “Action: The force of gravity pulls the boat down. Reaction: The water pushes it up.”

“What keeps it from tipping over?” Mark asked.

“The center of gravity is in line with the center of buoyancy,” Barry said.

“
Boy
-ancy! You mean as opposed to
girl
-ancy, right? Good thing we didn't invite Egg to come with us, or we'd sink,” said Mark.

“I don't think that's what he meant,” said Scott.

“The way the mass of the boat is balanced, the gravity acts on one particular point—that's the center of
gravity
,” said Barry.

“Even I've heard of that,” Mark said.

“Because you're a genius,” said Scott.

“As is well-known,” said Mark.

“Uh-huh,” said Barry. “Anyway, the center of
buoyancy
is the center of gravity of the volume of water that the hull displaces—the water moved out of the way because the boat takes up the space where it used to be. The center of buoyancy needs to be above the center of gravity. Because if it isn't and they get out of line, the boat starts to tip. It will probably keep tipping, tipping over, and probably sink. So if you load too much weight high in the boat, this can happen and if there is a wave or something, it can tip the boat over.”

“And you drown,” said Scott.
“Glug-glug-glug.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Mark. “I'm a good swimmer.”

It was almost lunchtime by then, and the three boys were hungry. Mark rowed back, and together they pulled the boat onto the beach. They were walking back along the path when Mark stopped in his tracks and looked around.

“Hang on a sec,” he said. “What do you guys think of this as a launch site?”

They were standing in the bare field between the shrubs and the trees. Grandpa said a builder had brought in a bulldozer and cleared it to put up houses, but there was some problem with money so the project was on hold.

“It's a pretty big area,” said Scott.

“Out of the way, too,” said Barry.

“Nothing to blow up, either.” Mark grinned. “I think it's perfect.”

Grandpa Joe did the library drop-off that day, and the pickup, too. “Peggy—that is, Mrs. O'Malley—shouldn't have to do all the chauffeuring,” he explained.

As the kids had done the day before, they spent part of the afternoon in the library and the rest in the park. When they were finished, Scott sighed and pronounced it “three lost hours of my precious summer.”

Mark punched him.

They dropped Egg off at her house in town and Howard at Nando's Auto Repair. Then Grandpa steered the car for home. “You guys are awfully quiet,” he noted.

Riding in the back with his brother, Mark leaned his head against the seat. “That's because building a spaceship turns out to be harder than you'd
think. Did you know NASA spent millions of dollars on the Mercury program?”

“What's your budget?” Grandpa asked.

“Negative numbers,” Scott said. “We still owe Dad for the calculator.”

Barry shook his head. “I am trying really hard not to say ‘I told you so.' But if you think about it,
I told you so
.”

“Lucky you're in the front seat, or we'd pound you,” Scott said.

“I wouldn't have said it if I
weren't
in the front seat,” said Barry.

They drove for a few minutes in silence; then, in a voice like a stage actor's, Grandpa said: “We choose to go to the moon not because it is easy but because it is hard, because the goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, uh . . . something something . . . because the challenge is one we are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone.” He shrugged and said in his normal voice, “I'm paraphrasing.”

Mark closed his eyes and shook his head. “Grandpa, my brain's so tired it aches, and now you start talking crazy. What was
that
about?”

“President Kennedy, right?” Barry asked.

Grandpa nodded and looked at Mark in the rearview mirror. “The president's point was that sometimes you do the hard thing because doing hard things is good
for you.”

Like Grandpa, Scott and Mark were usually optimistic. But the stuff they had learned at the library about NASA's Mercury program did make their project look either impossible or crazy, or maybe both.

Besides the budget, there was the matter of rocket fuel. The Atlas rocket that shot John Glenn's
Friendship 7
spacecraft into space carried almost thirteen tons of rocket fuel. Where were they going to get that, as well as a rocket big enough to contain it?

Finally, there was the matter of personnel. Given all the challenges involved, their best bet would be to make the mission as simple as possible, and as light. That meant one astronaut. But both Mark and Scott wanted to be the first kid in space. For all they knew, maybe Egg, Barry, and Howard all expected to be astronauts as well.

Who would get to go?

After so much physical activity at the lake and mental activity at the library, the boys were exhausted. Back at the house, they plopped down on Grandpa's old, super-comfy sofa and closed their eyes.

“What time's dinner, Grandpa?”

“Soon as you want to make it,” Grandpa said, and all three boys groaned.

Without opening his eyes, Mark said, “If we're cooking, it'll be Froot Loops with a generous side of Frosted Flakes. I hope that's okay with you.”

Grandpa pretended to consider. “I'd hate to die of sugar poisoning. Here's an idea. I'll make dinner. You boys go out and take a look at my workshop. Maybe some of the odds and ends will prove inspirational.”

Mark sat up in a hurry. “Seriously?”

But Scott sighed. “You're not going to let us give up, are you, Grandpa?”

“You can't give up now,” Grandpa said, “not when the whole thing's going so well.”

“Going well?” said Scott. “We just realized the whole thing is totally impossible!”

“True,” said Grandpa. “But look at it this way. You haven't had a fight all day, and the level of destruction around the house is way down.”

“Before we can start building, we need plans,” said Barry. “Have you got any graph paper, Mr. McAvoy?”

“I do, and I've got something else, too,” Grandpa said. He went into the bedroom where his desk was and came back with an old issue of
Life
magazine that had a diagram of John Glenn's
Friendship 7
spacecraft.

“People said I was crazy to save this,” said Grandpa, “but I knew it would come in handy one day.”

Friendship 7
was the first American spacecraft to orbit Earth with an astronaut inside. It was made up of four parts. By far the tallest and heaviest were the two stages of the Atlas launch vehicle, the fuel-filled rocket whose entire job was to push the smallest part, the capsule containing the astronaut, up and into orbit.

While Grandpa started dinner, the boys studied the magazine pictures. Then Scott called into the kitchen, “Are you sure it's okay if we go out to the workshop, Grandpa?”

Mark punched his brother. “Don't ask again, idiot! What if he says no this time?”

“I heard that, Mark, and yes, it's okay,” said Grandpa. “Just don't—”

“—blow anything up!” the three boys chorused.

“Well, there's that.” Grandpa appeared in the kitchen doorway. “But what I had in mind was something else. I haven't been out there in a while, so it's probably pretty dusty, and who knows but some critters might have taken up residence.”

“Critters?” Barry frowned anxiously.

Grandpa shrugged. “Nothing to worry about. None of 'em will be as big as you are. But the place is pretty stuffed with clutter, and with the daylight beginning to fade, you won't be able to see well till you hit the fluorescents. You remember where the switch is, right?”

“Is there a chain that drops down from the fixture?” Mark asked.

“Right. It's in the middle of the room,” Grandpa said. “So you have to go inside before you can turn the lights on. What I was going to say was, try not to trip over anything.”

Their energy restored, the three boys were out the door before Grandpa had finished speaking.

“We'll be careful,” Scott called back.

“We promise,” said Mark.

The sun was low in the sky as Mark, Scott, and Barry jogged down the path toward the big red barn. The twins could hardly believe they were being allowed inside without Grandpa coming along to supervise. Did he think they were growing up, getting more mature?

Or maybe he was just counting on Barry the brainiac to be a good influence.

Grandpa Joe was what his daughter—the twins' mom—called a pack rat. He could never resist acquiring anything that might be useful even if no one else could imagine how, and he could never throw anything away. The people who used to own the property had built the red barn for horses, but Grandpa had always used it to store stuff.

The barn's front doors were huge, to accommodate horses, but the back door was a regular human size.
When Mark turned the knob and pushed it open, the hinges squealed. Inside, the air smelled like sour dust and it was hard to see after having been in daylight outdoors. A few beams of early evening light shone through chinks in the siding, but instead of lessening the gloom, they added to the creepiness.