Stealing Air (3 page)

Alex started up the ladder. “Yeah, Mad Max, hurry up.”

Max sighed and joined them. Brian watched them both. Something in Alex's voice and Max's slowness and silence was sounding alarm bells in his mind.

“Come on,” Alex called down from up in the hayloft. “You'll love this.”

Brian and Max joined him. Giant bales of hay were neatly piled to form a mountain all the way up to a big opening in the front wall near the roof. Bits of dust swirled in the beam of light. Max sneezed. Alex took hold of the end of a rope that hung from the rafters and climbed up near the top of the haystack. Brian backed off to the side to get out of the way.

Gripping the rope in both hands, Alex took a running leap off the hay, swinging a dozen feet above the floor of the loft. He kicked his legs at the farthest reach of his swing, then swooped back to land on the haystack. “Dude! You have to try this.”

It did look fun. Brian climbed the hay, took the rope, and stared at the big empty space down in front of him.

“Scared?” Alex asked Brian.

“Nope,” Brian answered. This seemed just like pulling off a skating trick. If he took too long, he'd end up skater spooked. He ran back a few paces, then sprinted forward and pushed off as hard as he could. Out into the air, swooping like he was falling, down toward the wood floor, then up and away toward the other side of the barn. The horses whinnied in their stalls far below, but he flew over them, untouchable. At the far end of the swing he seemed to hang there, weightless and floating, before gliding back through the air to land on the hay. “Awesome!”

“Good swing,” Alex said.

“Want to try it, Max?” Brian said.

Max shook his head. He was standing off to the side with his arms folded over his chest. He looked angry or sad or something.

Brian frowned. “Come on, Max, it's like flying. Or as close to flying as I've been since my dad sold his plane.” He looked up to the dusty rafters. “I just wish the barn roof was a lot higher. We could get an even bigger swing.”

“I appreciate the offer,” said Max. “However, I'm okay just watching.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Mad Max.”

Max let out a long breath. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Do you miss flying, Brian?”

Was he serious? Brian launched another swing, kicking his legs at the far end before sailing back to the hay bales. “I miss it more than anything. There's nothing better than —”

“If you want to fly, let me show you something.” Max went down the ladder before Brian or Alex could ask another question.

Brian shrugged and started to go after him. He stopped halfway down the ladder when he noticed Alex hadn't moved. “You coming?”

Alex shrugged too and made for the ladder. “I guess so.”

Max waited for them at the bottom.

“Where are we going?” Alex said.

Max led them out of the barn, then down to a large shed by the barbed-wire fence on the west edge of the property. He peeked around the far corner to the house, checking to make sure Brian's grandpa wasn't watching, then turned back. “I want to show you what I have inside this building.”

Alex let out a loud sigh. “Nobody has been in this old shed for years, Max. The padlock on the doors is all rusted. We'd have to cut the lock to get in.”

“I never said I entered through the door.”

“Oh, what? Did one of your dorky
Star Trek
books show you how to build a transporter?”

That was mean, but Max didn't seem to notice. He pushed back a branch from a raspberry bush and lifted a piece of plywood to reveal a big hole dug out beside the wall. “We enter through here.”

Alex bent down to look closer. “What is that? Some kind of animal den?”

“No,” said Max. “I just go in through —”

“Oh, Mad Max,” Alex said, “you're lucky that whatever dug that didn't claw your face off.” He chuckled. “It could have been a badger, Max. A badger would have killed you.”

“It's not a badger den,” Max said.

“It could be,” Alex said.

“Badgers aren't even indigenous to this area. They mostly live in —”

“Who cares about badgers?” Brian said. “Who cares what dug the stupid thing? What's inside?”

Max looked hurt. “Well, I dug it. It's a tunnel. Follow me.” He crawled down into the hole. The last thing Brian could see were Max's legs sticking out from under the wall, almost like the first dead witch in
The Wizard of Oz
.

“This is stupid. I'm going home,” said Alex.

“Don't you want to see whatever it is he's so excited about?”

Alex shook his head. “Listen, man. You're new here. The rest of us have lived here forever. Max used to be okay when we were little kids, like playing with toys and building forts and stuff.” He picked up a small rock and threw it across the fence into the field. “But then he got all nerdy. He's too smart for his own good. Nobody cool really hangs around him. He actually put on a
Star Trek
uniform and shaved his head to be Captain Kirk at Trekfest last June.”

Captain Kirk was never bald. “You mean Captain Picard?”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Dude. Seriously.”

Brian turned away toward the tunnel. Stupid. Alex was clearly a cool guy, the sort of friend Brian needed if he wanted to make more friends in this place. Hopefully he'd forget what Brian had just said. He also hoped Max hadn't heard any of it. He couldn't just leave Max in there waiting. But if he went in alone, Alex might think Brian was just like Max.

“I'll give your five bucks back if you go in there with me,” Brian said.

“What?” Alex asked. “Why?”

“I just … I don't want to go in by myself.”

“Good point.” Alex motioned toward the hole. “You first.”

Brian took a deep breath and crawled down into the tunnel.

The tunnel was about two feet deep and nearly three feet wide. Brian ran his hands along the smooth walls and floor. The dirt had been hardened with some kind of clear sealant, so there was no dust or loose pebbles. The floor of the shack was cut out next to the wall, so he entered the building as soon as he stood up.

“Oh … wow.”

He had expected to find a dusty tool shed full of shovels and rakes, maybe an old lawn mower. Instead, he had emerged into what looked like a science lab. A white sheet hung over something on a wood table in the center of the room. Whatever was under the sheet was so big that it stuck out past the edge of the table on both sides. Technical diagrams, blueprints, and complex mathematical equations with some symbols Brian had never even seen covered the walls. There wasn't a speck of dust or a cobweb anywhere.

On a big wood workbench on the far wall was another rocket like the one from Max's bike. A life-size Captain Kirk cardboard cutout stood next to the bench. Model airplanes and a few model starships hung from the ceiling. Brian recognized some little biplanes, the starship
Enterprise
, a couple jets, a Romulan warbird — even the SR-71 Blackbird.

“What is all this?” Alex said as soon as he entered.

“Gentlemen,” Max said. “Welcome to what I like to call the Eagle's Nest.”

“The Eagle's Nest?” Alex asked.

Max shrugged. “It sounds better than ‘secret workshop.'”

Whatever Max called it, it was well equipped. Another workbench ran the length of the wall under which Max had tunneled. That held a huge assortment of tools: saws, screwdrivers, hammers, sanders, chisels, pliers, clamps, soldering irons, even a big vise on the end.

“Is this a computer?” Alex was looking over a bunch of hardware on a table at the south end of the shed. A couple of screens, a keyboard, and three computer towers had been opened up and wired together. “Did you build this thing yourself?”

Max nodded. “It's a hybrid, constructed from several older models that my father was no longer using. The three computers working together form an impressively efficient system.”

“You got Internet?” Alex asked. Max nodded again. Alex examined the computer more closely. “Yeah, but how? You couldn't call the Internet company and have them install it in a secret workshop.”

“I'm picking up wireless.”

“From who?” Brian asked. “My grandpa isn't online.”

Max took off his glasses and chewed the end of the earpiece. “That's not important.”

“My house,” Alex said. “You're stealing Internet from the wireless at my house across the street.”

Max put his glasses back on. “It's not really stealing when people don't password protect their wireless routers.”

Alex folded his arms over his chest. “It'll be password locked from now on, Mad Max. Believe me.”

“Max, how did you get all this stuff in here?” Brian asked. “It wouldn't fit through the tunnel.”

Max went to the north end and tapped a small metal plate on one of the big double doors. “The padlock on the outside is rusted nearly solid, but if I take out a few screws, the whole locking mechanism falls off outside. I brought the big stuff in through the doors when it was dark or when Brian's grandpa was away.”

“And you've been using his electricity,” Brian said. “How long have you been breaking in here like this?”

Max fidgeted. “I realize this could be construed as criminal trespassing, but it was the only place I could find in town to work on all of this in secret.”

Brian looked at the diagrams, the model airplanes, and the sheet-covered thing on the table in the center of the room. It all pointed toward the impossible … except that Max had already proved he was pretty smart and resourceful, the kind of guy who could build a mostly successful rocketbike. He grabbed the sheet and yanked it away.

“Oh wow,” Brian whispered again.

A real airplane rested on the table. This was no toy, no model. It was a full-size flyer, a low-winged aircraft like many he'd seen at the air shows he and his father used to attend — functional and well-assembled, unmistakably homemade, but with a certain elegance. She was constructed from gleaming white plastic, about eight feet from propeller to tail and nine feet from wingtip to wingtip. She reminded Brian of a soaring hawk, its head the engine up front, wings spread wide in the middle, and a light smaller tail rising up behind.

Almost afraid to touch her, he reached out slowly and spun the two-bladed propeller. “Is this a lawn mower engine?” The spark plug and pull start cable were in the right place, but it had been tipped on its left side, with its deck removed and a big plastic fuel tank to its right. The whole thing had been upgraded with a complex set of plastic tubes, cogs, and gears.

Max put his hand to the propeller to stop the spin. “It was a lawn mower, but I've created and installed smaller, lighter, stronger engine components that require less lubrication. The engine as originally designed had only one cylinder providing all its power. I've been able to add three more cylinders and improved engine efficiency enough that the flyer is up to about thirty horsepower, able to reach takeoff speed.”

“Takeoff speed?” Alex said. “You don't think this thing will actually fly, do you? I mean, it has skateboards for wheels.”

Brian smiled. Alex was right. Instead of regular wheels, this aircraft rested on two parallel skateboards situated about a foot apart. A support strut extended down from the engine to a bar bolted across the noses of the skateboards. Two other struts rose from the middle of the boards, attaching under the wings near the center of the aircraft.

“The tilt of the nose on each skateboard, as well as the curve of the engine cover and wings, provides the lift,” Max said. “Also, despite their small size and light weight, skateboard wheels can handle the significant speed required for takeoff and landing.”

“That's true.” Brian remembered his rocket-towed ride on
Spitfire
. He ducked under the wing, admiring the perfect aerodynamic curve of its underside, then moved the aileron flap up and down.

“But there's no cockpit. No cabin,” Alex said.

“There's not supposed to be a cabin on this aircraft,” said Max. “It's completely open air.”

Alex tapped one of the models. “You mean like this biplane, with the pilot's head sticking out the top?”

“No.” Max reached up and put a hand on each of the two green plastic school desk chairs bolted to the central beam. “The pilot and copilot just sit in these chairs with their legs on either side.”

“They ride it almost like a motorcycle?” Alex asked.

Max shrugged. “A flying motorcycle, I guess.” A clear plastic windshield mounted on top of the engine casing protected the pilot, who would control the plane with the simple throttle, yoke, and foot pedals arranged in front of the seat.

Max went to a drawer in the desk under his computer and pulled out a toy
Star Trek
phaser. He pressed a button on the phaser, shooting a small red dot of light onto the white wings. He'd put a laser pointer into a
Star Trek
weapon. Alex elbowed Brian and rolled his eyes as Max continued. “The wings are at the balance point, the center of gravity on the aircraft.” He shot the phaser at the engine. “The motor, though quite light, is still the heaviest component on the plane, so it's right in front of the wings, while the tail rudder assembly provides a counterbalance in the rear. It is a very small, simple, lightweight aircraft. It could be used by the military or even to replace the automobile.”

“No kid would be able to build a real plane that works,” said Alex.

“Like I always say, any problem can be overcome through proper research,” said Max.

“Seriously?” Alex said. “You really always say that?”

Max's cheeks reddened a little, but he acted like he hadn't heard. “I just had to consider the ratio of the area and curvature of the wing to the lift force. I had to study engines and theorize how much horsepower would be required for flight in an aircraft of this nature. Information about all of this, data, plans, and schematics for various existing similar aircraft, can be found online and in books. It's simply a matter of the correct application.”

“But the controls,” said Alex. “My family and I flew to Mexico once, and I caught a look inside the cockpit. There were about a billion buttons and levers and things.”

“That's for a big commercial jet,” said Brian. “A little single-engine plane is much simpler. I used to go to air shows with my dad, and there were plenty of planes that weren't much more complicated than this.” He shrugged.

“But I bet you never saw a plastic airplane at any of those shows,” Alex said. “This thing is just a toy!”

“The majority of the flyer is actually constructed of Plastisteel.” Max's eyes met Brian's for a moment, and then he looked away.

“Plastisteel?” Brian asked. “Like the Plastisteel your mom is working on?”

“You mean plastic?” said Alex.

Max folded his hands over his chest. “Plastisteel. It's the fusion of elements of steel into a dense polymer.”

“English, please?” Alex said.

“Essentially, Plastisteel is an extraordinarily durable but very lightweight plastic.”

“Dude, I think you need therapy,” Alex said. “This is a cool model or whatever, and you might be smart, but there's no way plastic could be strong enough —”

Max held up his hands. “I assure you that you haven't seen anything like this before.” He went to the end of the tool bench and cranked open the vise, then slipped a small piece of sheet metal in and clamped the vise tight. From under the bench he pulled out a big sledgehammer. “Here.” He held the hammer out to Alex. “Please strike this piece of heavy aluminum as hard as you can.”

Alex took the hammer. “This is stupid.”

“Please just indulge me in this one thing. I promise you will be impressed.”

Alex sighed. “Fine.” He lifted the hammer and twisted back like a major league baseball player. Sparks fell as the sledge slammed into the sheet metal with a dull clang. Alex put the hammer down and Max released the vise. He held up the piece of metal, bent at a right angle where Alex had smashed it.

“Now let's try that again,” said Max. He cranked the vise tight on a piece of white plastic. “This time with Plastisteel. You will note that this sheet of Plastisteel is slightly thinner than the aluminum.”

“Okay.” Alex picked up the hammer and started to swing it again. “I don't see what the point of — OW!” The sledge crashed into the plastic and bounced back. He dropped the hammer.

Max took the white plastic out of the vise and held it and the metal up. “As you can see, this sheet of aluminum, similar to that used on most small aircraft, is completely bent as a result of the hammer impact. The Plastisteel, though lighter, thinner, and struck with approximately the same force, suffered much less damage, and is bent approximately an inch.”

Alex rubbed his arms. “You could have warned me, Max! I feel like I just punched a solid wall.”

“I apologize for the discomfort,” Max said.

Brian held out his hand and Max gave him the piece of Plastisteel. So this was the stuff Dad had invested everything in. They'd left Seattle and come out to this tiny town in the corn for this special plastic. He extended it back to Max, but held on when Max tried to take it. “Where did you get this?”

Before Max could answer, Alex reached between them to spin the propeller. “Plastisteel construction. A rebuilt motor. You know, guys, if this could actually work …” He faced Max, rubbing his knuckles against his chin. “I'm seeing green here. Green as in money. People would go nuts to know that sixth grade boys built a plane and flew around in it.”

Brian frowned. So now Alex suddenly thought this was cool?

“The construction is complete,” Max said quickly. “What I really need are two people to serve as pilot and copilot.”

“You mean, two people besides you?” Brian said.

“Um … precisely.” Max's face was getting red. “I require a pilot and copilot. Two people besides me. I won't actually be flying it. You see, I'm acrophobic.”

Alex frowned. “You're afraid of acrobats?”

“He's afraid of heights.” Brian sat down on a stool by the table.

“You're afraid of heights, so you built your own airplane?” Alex asked.

“Last year at the science fair I did a project with a wind tunnel and various configurations of model planes. I worked hard on it.” Max shrugged. “My parents said I did a thorough job, but it was a fairly unoriginal project. I wanted to take my research to the next level.”

Brian thought this was the next level, all right. Could it really take off? The wings were raised as high as other low-winged aircraft he'd seen. Their size looked comparable to planes he'd seen too. It would be incredible to be at the controls, to not just sit in a plane with his father, but to pilot his own aircraft. To actually fly. Out in the open. Riding the sky. Brian ran his hands along one of the smooth wings. He looked up and saw Alex's and Max's big grins.

“Remember how awesome it was swinging on the rope?” Alex aimed little finger guns at Brian with both hands. “Now think of that, but on, like, the most vicious energy drink of your life!” He pushed his thumbs down, firing the guns. “Way higher. Me and you, flying in our own plane. A sophisticated, one-of-a-kind aircraft.”

Brian grinned back. It was a long shot, but like Dad always said, “Great success comes only through great risk.” “Let's do it,” he said.

“All right!” Alex said. He fist-bumped with Brian, but Max only reached out as if to shake hands. Alex slapped him five instead. Brian laughed and then shook Max's hand. “So when do we fly?”