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  “Fun, isn’t it?” he asks, wiping his hands on a rag before handing it to me.

  “I guess,” I answer. “It just surprises me it took so long for this process to be widely used.”

  “Yeah. Kind of sad, too. But like most things in this country, in the world really, it has to be the right combination of cost and benefit before it really takes off. It really didn’t become feasible until oil went over two hundred dollars a barrel in 2014 and stayed there.”

  “But there have also been the other benefits; cleaner air for one.”

  “And less industrial pollution for another. I know. But that’s how a market economy is. Somebody’s got to be able to make a profit on something before it becomes widely used even if there are other, non-profit based benefits. That’s one of the sadder things about the world.”

  He’s in a rambling mood. Mom says that’s a good thing because it’s a sign of Dad’s contentment. He does seem more at ease these days. He picks up the spent plates and carries them over to the pile on the workbench. “Hmm. I thought there were more of these,” I hear him say to himself. “Tyler? Have you been using these for something?” he calls over to me.

  I search for an answer. I don’t want to lie, but I don’t feel I should tell him the whole truth either. “Yes sir,” I reply, hoping he won’t ask any more questions.

  “What for? I can recycle them when I get enough saved up. They’re worth a little bit of money anyway.” I can hear a little disappointment in his voice. “You know you shouldn’t be taking things without asking me.”

  I feel trapped. And worse, like I have let him down. I hear a shuffling over by the passage to the other wing of the building. I look up to see Gramps. He is fiddling with something in his hands, but he is looking at me to see what I am going to do.

  “Tyler? Is there something you want to tell me?” Dad prompts. That’s his way of issuing a last warning. I have heard it often growing up. I look at him anxiously and for a fleeting moment, think about how I would be letting my friends down.

  “Tell him, boy,” Gramps says quietly.

  “Tell me what?” Dad demands, realizing he is out of the loop on something.

  “Better yet, show him,” Gramps suggests. “I don’t think your friends would mind.”

  I look at Gramps again, then at my father saying, “What I have to show you is upstairs.”

  I know I sound glum. I figure this will be the end of the project. Dad will never allow us to continue. I walk slowly up the stairs, like a man climbing a gallows. Dad follows me with Gramps behind him.

  I go directly to the narrow shelf next to the old sofa, pushing aside a few old computer parts to get at the jar which holds the envelope of converted bits. Dad and Gramps meet me at the desk where I set it down. The jar appears empty because the envelope is hidden by the lip of the lid when looked at from the top. That’s why I thought it would be such a good hiding place.

  “What is this?” Dad asks impatiently.

  “Watch,” Gramps says excitedly. “Flip it over Tyler.”

  I turn the jar upside-down. The envelope appears, immediately rising to the bottom of the inverted jar.

  “What the…” Dad stammers. He reaches over and flips the jar right-side up. Just as quickly, the envelope rises to the top, nestling in until it is again hidden by the lid. “How in the heck?” he says turning the jar bottom up once more to watch the envelope rise again.

  “I’ve got videos of the experiments we’ve been doing,” I inform him. “Let me start one up. It will explain what happened to the nanotubes from the plates.” He looks at me, perplexed by the envelope but nods for me to proceed. I boot up the computer and play one of the video files.

  While he watches, I’m once again amazed at what Jennifer and I have done in little more than a month. I’ve watched this video by myself once before, but this is the first time in a couple of weeks. Dad looks at me a couple of times. I think he’s having a hard time believing a couple of kids could do this sort of thing. I know I do.

  There is nothing on the video about where the original bits came from. I feel sure he will ask when it ends, and I’m not sure what I should say. The truth, I guess. And then it will all be over. The visions I have about flying cars and saucers rising into orbit will begin disappearing from any future plans I make. I resign myself to the possibility of having a boring job, a typical life, and nothing in the way of the excitement I had dreamed about. I feel depressed as the video ends.

  “So how did you stumble across this… this…” he doesn’t know what to call it, “this find?” He doesn’t sound mad. I figure it’s a delayed reaction and wait for the inevitable while I explain about the shiff landing, the armed guards, and how we had snuck into the hangar the following night to retrieve a sample of the bits. I leave out the role Uncle Earl had played. And I leave out the fact that the envelope he has just seen in the jar does not contain the original material. He’d really be mad if he found out about Stiles’ men, the way we’d trapped that one guy, and Stiles storming in to retrieve the originals.

  “How long have you known about this?” Dad demands turning to Gramps, who has ambled over to the old sofa to sit down.

  “Oh, almost from the beginning,” he answers casually.

  “And you encouraged it?”

  “I didn’t discourage it,” Gramps answers. “The way I see it, if it’s kept a secret by the privileged men of business, who have most of the politicians in their pockets, they will have control over its development and delay its use by the people on the planet who sorely need it. I don’t think that’s right.”

  “I’m aware of your political views,” Dad says. “So you’re going to use Tyler and his friends to get back at the government for what they did to you. Is that it?”

  “I suppose you could look at it that way, but that is not my intent. I just don’t want them to have sole control over this material. What do you think would happen?” Gramps is becoming animated. “They effectively slowed the development of solar-hydrogen production and fuel cells at the suggestion of the coal and oil industries, by suppressing legislation to press the solar issue forward. We didn’t have to go through the economic crisis partially triggered by that lack of foresight. They caused it and they were never held accountable.”

  “So this is your way to even the score?”

  “No!” Gramps declares. “It’s just one way to ensure that it doesn’t happen again,” he finishes softly, sounding apologetic.

  The room is silent. I can see Dad wrestling with his values and ideals. “So what happens when this goes public?” he asks waving in the direction of the jar. “How do you think that will all play out? And what are the chances Tyler and his friends will do lengthy prison terms?” He shoots a worried look at me a second before fixing his gaze on Gramps.

  “Slim to none. I know how these things work.”

  “Yeah, I know. You were some hotshot engineer for some government contractor. A lot of good it did you,” Dad mutters insultingly.

  Gramps disregards the statement. “They won’t want it to appear like a cover up was attempted. By the time they figure what’s going on, it’ll be too late.”

  “So there’s a plan to expose all of this new technology?”

  Gramps looks to me to explain further. “It’s the saucer,” is all I can squeak out.

  Dad looks incredulous. “What? Something that doesn’t even exist? And when is this supposed to happen?”

  “During Homecoming,” I state matter-of-factly, “during the parade.”

  “I don’t believe it! You’ll never pull it off!” He stands up, swinging his head widely side to side, as if trying to shake off a bad dream. “But what if they do get arrested? Then what will you do?” He stares at Gramps again.

  “I’ll take the fall. Tell the investigators that I put them up to it; that I’m the top man. I’m old. I wouldn’t be in prison for long and they’d get off with lighter sentences.”

  “Well, let’s hope it doesn
’t come to that!” Dad moves towards the stairs. “And don’t tell your mother. Not yet. Not in her condition!” And without another word, he flies down the stairs, slamming the shop door as he exits the building.

  Gramps smiles at me. “That went well,” he comments sarcastically.

  “I thought he’d put an end to it for sure,” I say, expecting he’ll turn around and come back for that purpose any minute.

  “I didn’t,” Gramps disagrees. “You’re dad used to be quite an idealist himself. Wasn’t until he got older that he lost it. I guess that’s the way for most generations. Back in my youth, in the 1960’s, we thought we could change the world by talking about peace and love. Unfortunately, too many other people in the world didn’t see it our way. We eventually chose money and possessions, too, to drown our failings. But you’ve heard all that before, haven’t you?” He smiles at me. I nod and pick up the jar to return it to the shelf. “So what’s next?”

  “Well, yesterday at Jared’s, we did a lot of talking and kind of came up with a plan. I have to create a spreadsheet of the parts we’re using to build the saucer, so we can come up with an idea of what it will weigh. And Jennifer is supposed to come over tomorrow so we can run more tests to see how much lift we can get out of the G-bits so we can determine how many lifters we’re going to need, and from that we’ll figure out how many pitch controllers we’re going to need.”

  “Has anybody figured out how to control all these lifters and pitch things?”

  “Kylie’s setting up the software to use a joystick for the direction and a lever for lifters, kind of like a helicopter.”

  “What’s the interface?”

  “We haven’t gotten that far yet, I guess,” I state somewhat embarrassed.

  “Maybe I can help. Do you think Kylie would be able to come over tomorrow while Jennifer’s here? I’d like them to look at something I’ve been working on.”

  I look at him quizzically. “I can call her and ask.”

  “You do that.” He turns for the stairs. “Now get to work on that spreadsheet. Organization is only one of the keys to success. Another is doing all of the boring, monotonous stuff that takes so long.”

  “Thanks Gramps.”

  “For what?” he asks, stopping on the third step down and looking back.

  “For being here, and explaining to Dad. I don’t think I would have sounded so convincing.”

  “You’ll learn. And you’re welcome.” He continues down the stairs.

  I sit down in front of the computer and open the spreadsheet program to begin making the list from what I remember from yesterday, but my mind soon wanders off, mostly around what Dad had cautioned about Mom. I honestly hadn’t thought about the effect what we’re doing might have on her and I resolve to be more careful.

  After a while, I call Kylie’s cell. It’s calming to hear her voice after the earlier confrontation with Dad. She isn’t busy on Sunday and says she can come. I mention to her that Gramps has some questions about the interface so she could think about it a little. After we say goodbye, I feel good knowing she’ll be around tomorrow.

  Jennifer and Kylie show up together just after 2:00. The two of them look a little cramped on the scooter. Jen’s heavy box of parts is in the trunk, too. That scooter has a lot more spunk than I would have guessed.

  I’m surprised Jared hasn’t come along. Kylie explains that her father has roped him into a painting project at the house to spruce it up. Then she says something about having a guest for dinner but doesn’t elaborate. She seems glad to be away from home, and with Jennifer, and I hope with me.

  They stop in the house to say ‘Hi’ to Mom and Dad. Kylie asks how the baby is doing. Jennifer doesn’t seem that interested but remains polite. When Mom asks why they have come over, Kylie explains that we are going to review the program for the gyroscope exhibit just to see how it’s going. And then probably play some games. It’s hot outside, so Mom agrees it’s probably a good idea to hang out in the A/C of the loft. She also suggests we pack the cooler to take some sodas or something else to drink. A half hour after they arrive, we finally head out to the loft.

  Gramps is hunched over his workbench when we come through the door. The smell of solder is in the air and he has on his mini-binoculars. I call them that because I don’t know their real name. He said he had a dentist a long time ago who used them to see the insides of a patient’s mouth in more detail. The two small magnifying glasses are held in front of his eyes by a strap around his head. A tiny, high-powered quartz lamp is set in between the glasses. When he looks around at us the beam dances across our faces.

  “Good, good. You’re finally here,” he greets us, sitting up and arching his back to straighten it. After adding a little moan, he waves us over. “I’d like you to look at this.” Kylie goes first. Jennifer follows her giving me a questioning look as she passes by.

  “It’s for our project,” I say quietly. I suppose I should have called her yesterday so she’d know what to expect, but after talking to Kylie, I just didn’t think of it.

  Gramps is sitting in front of an electronics engineering breadboard, the kind still used by hobbyists who install parts on it to try new circuits. I recognize the few resistors and capacitors, and the high-speed computer connector at one end. Wires are running every which way connecting the components. On a clipboard hanging in front of him is a crudely drawn schematic diagram which looks something like the arrangement on the breadboard.

  “I was thinking you might need a little help interfacing your virtual program with the real hardware components of the saucer.” Kylie nods affirmatively. “Tyler has kept me up-to-date with your findings,” he nods towards Jennifer, “but I didn’t hear of any consideration in this area, so I thought I’d tinker a little bit. Hope you don’t mind.” He looks around at each of us.

  “To be honest, we had no idea where to begin,” Kylie confesses.

  “Well then, I hope I can help, but it’s by no means complete. I need some data from both of you young ladies because I’m not exactly sure what I’m shooting for here.”

  “We’re not exactly sure either,” Jennifer says. “That’s why we came over; to work with Tyler to figure out what might control the bits and how many are needed to lift something.”

  “So I understand,” Gramps states. “Hopefully, by the end of the day, you’ll have zeroed in on your goal. But my questions are more basic at this point. For instance,” he looks at Jennifer, “have you determined if you will use alternating or direct current?”

  “Direct,” Jennifer answers confidently. Gramps grabs the clipboard off the wall, picks up a pencil and writes ‘DC’ in the margin of the drawing.

  “Have you determined the range of amperage you will need?”

  “We’ve had good results already using milliamps but haven’t determined the high range at which the G-bits begin to lose their efficiency. The number of windings per coil will have an effect too. I just haven’t been able to put it all together yet.” Jennifer sounds a little frustrated.

  “G-bits?” Gramps asks quizzically.

  “That’s what we’ve decided to call them,” I reply.

  “Cute,” he comments. sounding disappointed like he was giving a critique on a sophomoric idea. “Well, that’s not a big deal. I would only have to incorporate an electronic rheostat with wider specifications. Keep me posted though, okay?”

  “Okay,” Jen agrees.

  Gramps makes a few more notes on the paper before turning to Kylie. “Now it’s your turn, Ms. Kylie. How is your program going to see all of this stuff?”

  “Well,” Kylie starts slowly, “based on a discussion we had yesterday, the graphic I’ve decided to use to test the software will have a double circle. The inside circle will start out with sixteen points representing the lifters, but I’m guessing there will be more. The outside circle, the pitch controllers, will also start with sixteen. Using input from a joystick and some sort of lever, I will send values to each of the components s
eparately.”

  “And how will you address them?” Gramps asks.

  “I haven’t figured that out yet. I’ve never designed any hardware capable of addressing.”

  “I’ve done a little,” Gramps admits, “but that was long ago, and I’m not sure chips are still available for that IC burner.” He makes some more notes on the drawing. “How many connectors are on the computer you’re using?”

  “Two, I think,” Kylie answers. “Four, maybe; I’ll double check.”

  “Good. More is always better.” Then he slips into thought for a minute. “I guess that’s it. For now anyway. Let me know what you figure out today. I’ll keep Tyler informed of my progress so he can pass it on to you two.”

  We all gush our thanks feeling like another major obstacle has been hurtled. Then Gramps’ eyes brighten up. “No. Thank you! I haven’t had this much fun in a decade,” he says, beginning to motion us out of his workshop. We head upstairs.

  I know we’ll have to convert more bits, so while Jen and I work to set the test up, I ask Kylie if she could harvest more nanotubes from some plates I had brought upstairs. I guess we’ll need at least two pounds of them today. I tell them about dad’s questioning, my confession, and the support I had gotten from Gramps.

  Jen has prepared a larger version of the containment field frame and coils. It must have taken her hours to do the windings. She has also mounted it inside a clear plastic tube about six inches in diameter. At the bottom of the tube, she has attached three obtuse, triangular feet. It looks a little like a model rocket without the nose cone. The irony strikes me.

  The only way I can think of to test weight is to use Dad’s old free weights. I had gotten some of them out of storage from the other side of the shop’s attic a little earlier. I laboriously hold one up. “Do you think this will work?” I ask Jen. “I thought we could run some rope through the hole and connect it somehow to your cylinder.”

  “That should work okay,” she replies starting to attach wires from the transformer to the coils. “But we’ll have to drill some holes in the tube.” I quickly run downstairs to ask Gramps for his cordless drill and a bit.