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  With the money in the bank, I went to the company’s web site to make sure the kit was still available. I was a little anxious that it wouldn’t be there anymore but after poking around on different pages, I found it. It even came in two colors; black and red. I chose the red one and submitted my order. Dad had warned me about some sites that are scams and rip people off, but these guys had been around for years now, and I figured they had to be for real. They were, because after five days of impatient waiting, a box arrived, and I had a kit bike to build.

  It was the first real project I had attempted on my own. My mechanical ability was getting better. After looking at all the pictures and reading some of the directions, I laid out all the parts and began putting it together.

  First the wheels, with their heavy motors, went on the frame. Then the center stand, handlebars, and seat. The rear fender had the fuel cell on it. A small tube exited the cell, going into the tubular frame, then out of the frame in front to hook into the storage cylinder for the hydrogen on the front fender. On the center of the frame, under the seat, was the regulator which also contained a small battery and the microchips to control everything. The web page said pedaling wouldn’t be required unless you ran out of hydrogen or were going up a steep hill. I remember making a mental note to never run out of hydrogen. The bike weighed about fifty-five pounds without me on it.

  With the parts all fit together, I tightened the nuts and bolts. Now it looked like a bike. I still had to do the electrical hookups and was afraid that would be the hardest part. But it turned out there were only three plugs; from the fuel cell to the regulator, from the throttle - which had the gauges mounted next to it - to the regulator, and from the regulator to the motors. It was a lot simpler than anything my dad had taught me.

  The directions said that after pumping hydrogen into the cylinder, the fuel cell would have to run for an hour to get the initial charge into the battery. While I was waiting, I decided to read the rest of the owner’s manual. This was something Gramps had suggested I do. “Don’t be like me! Read the manuals!” he would say repeatedly, so I did.

  What’s particularly nice about this model of hy-ped is the motors in the axles generate electricity while coasting down hill. Since no power is required, this allows the batteries to recharge and the fuel cell to use less hydrogen. All this is controlled by the degree of twist on the throttle and, of course, the micro-chip in the regulator. Even the braking is somewhat automatic in that the throttle has a neutral point; twist back from neutral to go, twist forward to apply the brakes. It really is a cool machine.

  The warm memories leave me feeling kind of stupid. After all, it’s only a machine. Gramps had confided once that he always became attached to his bikes, almost as much as family. He said it was always a joy to bring a new one home, and a sadness in seeing one go. I think I am beginning to understand.

  I’d like to take a ride, but the hydrogen cylinder is down to five percent. I roll the bike over to the compressor and connect the hose. This is one of the more convenient things about generating your own hydrogen; you can always fill up. It takes about fifteen minutes to completely refill the cylinder, so I head into the house to get a glass of milk and a few cookies.

  The house is quiet with everyone gone. I get my snack and head back out to the shed to monitor the fill-up. Handsome, seeing the milk, follows me out thinking he’ll be able to tease me for a lap. The hydrogen is only half done, so I head upstairs to wait in my chair.

  After the last cookie is gone, I pour a drop of milk onto my finger and let Handsome lick it off with his scratchy tongue. Then he jumps up on the desk to preen himself.

  I pick up the jar which contains the gray bits that Jen and I had made on Friday, turning it over in my hands, watching the blue cloud float to the top. It’s heavy enough not to float, but I also begin wondering if it dropped, would the glass break or would it just float down to the floor? I decide it isn’t worth the risk to find out, and get another envelope, write ‘CONVERTS’ on the outside, and transfer the bits from the jar into it. I secure the envelope by putting the jar on top of it until I decide where this group should be kept; somewhere other than with the group from the shiff.

  I sit back in the chair, leaning my head against the high top, and think about how well things are going. Handsome, done with his wash up, walks over the desk to jump onto my lap. Soon he is purring contentment while I stroke the fur between his ears. I look at the clock; it’s 1:10.

  Suddenly I’m disturbed by the raucous noise of someone yelling downstairs. At first I think maybe Jared is pulling some prank but quickly realize there is more than one voice. The sound of heavy boots on the stairs cause Handsome’s fur to bristle. Jumping off my lap, he zips over the desk, brushing against the jar enough to tip it off the envelope.

  I refocus my attention from the stairs to the envelope just in time to see it quickly float up off the desk. Instinctively, I stand to snatch at it, but I’m too late. I turn to face the steps again as the first man reaches the top. He holds an automatic handgun and immediately uses it to motion me away from the desk. I am glad to comply.

  A second man reaches the top. It’s the poor guard who has met with Gramps’ intruder termination devices. No wonder he came up second. The third man up is Captain Stiles. He has a huge grin on his face.

  “Couldn’t keep us out this time?” he sneers, as he walks over to the desk.

  “You have no right to be here,” I say timidly.

  “Oh, we aren’t here,” he replies, opening the drawers one by one to check their contents. “We aren’t here anymore than you don’t have something which belongs to us.”

  A fourth man has come up the stairs. He appears more technical than military. He proceeds over to the desk to assist Stiles with the search.

  “In fact,” Stiles continues, “We planned this operation carefully to make sure you were home alone in your little…” he holds his arms out as if to present something, “laboratory. That grandfather of yours doesn’t leave you by yourself very often.”

  His comment makes me wish Gramps were here. I feel powerless but he’d tell these guys where to get off. All I can do is stand here and hope none of them looks up.

  “Sir,” the technician type says, “I think I’ve found it.” He holds a manila envelope out, demonstrating how it rises from one hand to the other.

  Stiles grins at me. “Weigh it!” he orders without looking away.

  The tech pulls a device from a pocket, clips it to the envelope and releases it. As the envelope floats, the digital readout registers some negative numbers. “It’s all here sir,” he announces.

  “Are you absolutely sure?”

  “Yes sir. The number may appear a little light, but allowing for the weight of the envelope, this is all of the material we estimate as not being with the original, offloaded group.”

  “Good,” Stiles gloats, “then I guess we’re done here. Let’s go.”

  “We’ve got company, sir,” one of the armed men reports. “Sounds like a motorcycle coming down the drive.”

  I become aware of the sound too. Sounds like Gramps is back. Now these guys will get it. But the motorcycle sounds different.

  “Out then, quickly!” Stiles commands. The three are down the stairs and gone instantly. “If you try to report this to the anyone, we’ll just deny it, and I don’t think you have the same credibility as we do.” He turns to go. “Oh! And thanks for returning our property,” he adds smugly as he heads down the stairs.

  I cross the room to look out the window. Stiles quickly reaches the car they had come in and they’re heading out as Gramps nurses his poorly running motorcycle slowly down the drive. Stiles waves to him. Gramps just looks back in surprise. Then he looks over towards the shed. I don’t know if he sees me, but he immediately puts the side stand down on the bike and runs the rest of the way to the shed. Soon he is at the top of the stairs. I become aware I am shaking.

  “Are you okay?” he asks gently, putting a hand
on my shoulder.

  “They didn’t touch me,” I report quietly, “but they sure scared the crap out of me.”

  “I guess that explains why my motorcycle didn’t want to run today. They must have spiked the gas. Tell me what happened,” Gramps says, motioning for me to sit down.

  I explain that I was waiting for the hy-ped’s tank to finish filling up and was taken totally by surprise. I mention the guns and the search; how it all happened so quickly.

  “So they got their stuff back,” Gramps concedes. “What about the converted bits?”

  I point up and for the first time look to see the other envelope nestled in the roof rafters. Gramps laughs a little while I quickly fill in the part about transferring the converted bits, and how Handsome saved the day.

  “Good boy, Handsome,” Gramps says, as the cat comes out of hiding, jumping up on my lap for some consoling. “Well, I guess they’re as safe up there as anywhere. Why don’t you go in the house to relax a bit. I’ll get my motorcycle parked properly and join you.”

  “That’s probably a good idea,” I agree.

  “You know? I figured something like this might happen,” he confides as we walk out of the shed. “I see it as a good thing though. At least Stiles isn’t as much of a concern anymore. He’s got his stuff, and I’m sure it will never occur to him that we could have produced some duplicates. Heck! I barely believe it!”

  “Need any help with your bike?” I ask.

  “I can handle it okay,” he assures me as he walks towards the motorcycle. “You go and relax. Something like that can really be unsettling.”

  It couldn’t have been more that fifteen minutes before I hear the screen door slam. “We’re home,” Mom yells. Dad walks into the living room followed by Uncle Earl.

  “Hey buddy. How’s it going?” he asks. Without waiting for a reply, he continues. “Make yourself comfortable Earl. I’ve got to run upstairs for a minute.”

  Earl comes in and sits next to me on the couch. “Hey Ty,” he says quietly. “How’s it going?” He gazes around the room uneasily, fidgeting where he sits.

  “How’ve you been, Uncle Earl? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Well, they’ve been keeping me busy,” my uncle replies, “you know, trying to get my brain straightened out.”

  “Uh huh,” I say dumbly.

  “Yeah,” he continues, “so I play along.” He peeks over towards the kitchen then back towards me. “There’s really nothing wrong with me,” he whispers.

  “I know that,” I say softly, starting to feel a little more than uncomfortable. I wish Mom or Dad would come in.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Earl continues in a whisper, “and with my past, acting a little crazy is the easiest part.”

  “What are you talking about?” I’m not sure where this conversation is going.

  “You know. The night after the shiff landed. In the hangar. You were there!” He still speaks softly but shows more animation.

  “I don’t have a clue as to what you’re talking about,” I lie.

  “C’mon, Ty.” He looks at me dead serious. “I know you and your buddy heard me down there in the hallway to the prep room. I waited until I heard you go up those stairs. I knew you were up to something.” I start to get up but Uncle Earl claps his hand on my thigh forcing me to sit. “I knew you two were on your way to board that shiff, and I knew the odds were you’d get caught.” I sit like a kid in the principal’s office, not daring to look him in the eyes. “So I hightailed it out of there through another exit and started banging on the outside door to the hangar to get those guards’ attention.” I flush with embarrassment. “And from the little room they took me into I saw you and Jared make your escape. I was anxious for you, but I was glad I was able to help you get away.”

  I sit for a moment, thinking back to that night that seems so long ago now. I remember hearing the noise in the stairwell. We just figured it was some kind of animal. Had we been caught, it probably would have ruined our futures.

  “I… I don’t know what to say,” I stammer, looking up.

  “‘Thank you’ would be a good start.” Uncle Earl sits back in the chair.

  “Yes, thank you,” I offer. “But...”

  “Why?” he interrupts. “Because people expect crazy from me, not from you, and I want you to be more than I will ever be. I know a lot of people consider my glass to be more than half empty, and I’m okay with that because I’ve got other talents. But I care about your mom and dad and you. I figured, with my past, I could get off a little easier. But you, they’d have screwed you to the wall with everything they could think of.”

  He stops there. It scares me a bit, knowing how deep we are in. I wonder if Earl has any clue about that. I debate telling him about the raid on my lab earlier.

  “So tell me,” he whispers, leaning forward again. “Did you find any aliens?”

  I almost laugh in relief. “No, Uncle Earl. And that’s the truth. There were no aliens.”

  “Well, that just means they probably got them all off the night before.”

  “Yes. Probably.” I look at my uncle. For all of his oddities, family still means a lot to him. I vow to try and stay close as I get older, even if he does make me a little uncomfortable. This man saved my butt! Jared’s too! I have no idea how I will ever repay him.

  Just then Mom calls from the kitchen. “Sounds like your grandfather’s home.” I can hear the rumbling of a motorcycle coming up the drive. I get up to take a look. Earl follows.

  “Gramps is in his shop already,” I inform her, passing through the kitchen. “He came back a while ago because his bike was running rough. He’s been out there trying to fix it. Just then I remember about pressurizing the hy-ped and head out the door.

  “Where are you off to?” Mom calls out behind me.

  “I hooked my bike up to the hydrogen to recharge the cylinder and then forgot about it.”

  Henrietta Watts is just pulling her helmet off. “Hey Ms. Watts,” I greet her. “Gramps is in the shed.”

  “Hey Tyler,” Henri replies. “Hi Tom,” she waves, looking towards the shed.

  Gramps is standing in the door to the shed as I pass through. I walk over to my bike while they exchange greetings. The gauge for the cylinder reads ‘FULL’, so I close the valve on the hose and disconnect it. I reach for the chart on the wall to record what hydrogen we use outside of the house.

  6/11/23 | Hy-Ped | 14.2

  Chart back in place, I roll my bike off its center stand and out the door. “Going for a ride?” Gramps asks, looking over from where he and Henri are standing.

  “Yeah. I thought one more time before I get my license on Tuesday and start driving real vehicles,” I answer, with a hint of sadness in my voice.

  “Tuesday your 16th then?” Henri asks.

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Well, Happy Birthday then. On Tuesday.”

  “Wish I could remember my 16th,” Gramps comments to Henri, eliciting a chuckle from her. They continue a private conversation so I turn the valve on to start the hydrogen flowing so the fuel cell can begin producing electricity. It’s so familiar that I feel like I’m with an old friend.

  “Tyler?” I look up to see Mom calling from the kitchen door. “Oh good,” she says, seeing me standing by the bike. “You’re still here. Could you help me move the table. I want to wash the kitchen floor,” she yells, putting a hand on her stomach.

  “Sure. I’ll be right in,” I respond. Then quietly, to myself, “Can’t somebody else do it?”

  “Sounds like nesting season has begun,” Henri interjects, overhearing the conversation.

  “What’s that?” I look up, embarrassed that the last part of my response has been overheard.

  “Nesting,” she reiterates. “It’s what some women do when they are expecting. They try to make a house more of a home.” Turning to Gramps, she continues. “Tom, you should explain these things to your grandson. His mom and dad are obviously too b
usy.”

  “He knows enough to stay out of trouble,” Gramps assures her with a smile, and again they chuckle before resuming their conversation.

  I make sure the bike is solid on its stand and head for the house, kicking at stones on the drive as I go. I guess this is part of the change that I figured was coming. In a couple more years, I’ll be off to college and out of here. Then, as I walk up the steps of the porch, that thought puts me in a more melancholy mood. I walk through the door into the kitchen realizing how much I enjoy home.

  “Surprise!” I hear, before the screen door has time to close behind me. I feel a hand clasp hold of my shoulder and look around to see Dad standing there.

  “Happy birthday, son,” he says, putting his arm around my shoulder to give me a side hug.

  “Happy birthday, Tyler,” Mom adds, planting a kiss on my cheek. “With everything else that’s happening, we wanted to make sure you know how important you are to us.”

  I look around the kitchen. Jared, Kylie, and Jen are standing there laughing. “When did you guys get here?” I ask, wondering how I hadn’t seen them. Willie is standing against the other wall. “Hi Willie. Cheri…” I say to the girl standing next to him who I recognize from school. Uncle Earl smiles from the passageway to the living room. The door slams behind me as Gramps and Henri walk in.

  “I couldn’t have set that up any better,” Gramps compliments me. “It was my job to get you out of the house and there you were, right on cue, coming out to the shed.”

  “But I didn’t see anybody.”

  “We were around the side of the house waiting for you to disappear,” explains Kylie as she walks over and pecks my other cheek. I can feel my face flush in embarrassment.

  “Better blow out the candles so we’re not all eating wax,” Mom suggests, beginning a chorus of the birthday song. Everybody joins in as I take aim and reduce the candles to smoldering wicks.