by Mark Kelly
“Yeah, Mark, why?” Scott asked, trying to look innocent.
That, at least made his perfect brother stammer. “Uh . . . Tommy mentioned it, uh . . . for no reason in particular, I guess. Because he’s a pilot?”
If their parents noticed that Mark was flustered, they didn’t say anything. “Do you remember when you were little and wanted to be astronauts?” their mom asked. “You still can be, you know. I don’t think a couple of Cs in fifth grade will count too much against you—provided you work harder in the future.”
Mark said, “I will, Mom.”
Scott didn’t say anything.
CHAPTER 24
* * *
The next morning, Mark opened his eyes and announced, “There’s only a few weeks till school starts. I think we need to make a schedule or we won’t get done in time for the science fair.”
Scott had been awake, staring at the ceiling, for several minutes by then. “Get what done?” he asked.
“Project Blastoff—what did you think?” Mark rolled over and looked at his brother.
“Oh, that,” Scott said.
“Look,” Mark said, “we always knew only one of us could go. If it was the other way around, I wouldn’t mind. I’d be happy for you.”
Scott tilted his head to look at his brother. “Ha!”
“I would!” Mark said. “Anyway, I’d try. So you have to try too. Besides, it’s not like you can quit or anything.”
“Who says I can’t quit?” Scott asked. “What do I care if Egg gets a blue ribbon? Maybe the grown-ups are right and we’ll make a mistake and blow something up. Maybe I think Project Blastoff is dumb. Maybe I think it’ll never work.”
Neither twin said anything for a few moments; then Mark asked, “Do you think that?”
“Yes,” Scott said. “No. I don’t know. I’m just mad, I guess. And disappointed. And life is unfair, and I wish I didn’t have a brother, and I don’t even like you, and I’m hungry.”
“Well, I don’t like you either,” said Mark. “Do you want pancakes for breakfast? I’ll make ’em.”
Scott wasn’t sure how pancakes were supposed to make up for his not getting to go into space, but he knew that was what Mark meant by the offer.
“I think I’d rather not be poisoned, thank you.”
“Funny, very funny.” Mark climbed out of bed and started to get dressed. “Did you know vomit in space is even more disgusting than vomit on Earth? It floats around in blobs and you have to chase it and catch it because if it hits the wall or your spacesuit, it’ll smear and get everywhere.”
“Thank you for telling me that before breakfast,” Scott said.
“You’re welcome. Plus if you vomit with your space helmet on, you can drown in it. I mean, for real, drown in your own vomit. I found out something about going to the bathroom if you stay in space a long time, too. Since there’s no gravity, you have to attach a vacuum system to—”
“Ewww!” Scott said. “Can we change the subject?” Then he threw off his covers, climbed out of bed, and left the bedroom, heading for the bathroom. While in there, he silently thanked nature for providing gravity, which made so many things easier.
CHAPTER 25
* * *
Luckily for Scott’s digestion, Dad, who had the day off, was already in the kitchen mixing up batter when the two boys made their appearance.
“What have you got going on today?” Dad asked them.
“Is there a calendar around?” Mark answered the question with a question. “We need to make a schedule so we can get our project done.”
“My gosh, you guys are serious. Sure—there’s a calendar on the desk in the den. You can get it after breakfast.” Dad served their plates.
Mom, who was off too, came in and sat down at the table. “Did somebody say schedule?” she asked. “I can fill in items one and two—weeding and mowing.”
The twins groaned because they knew they were expected to groan, but really their mom’s request made them both realize something important. If they were going to convince their parents to take them to Greenwood Lake a whole bunch of times in the next few months, they would have to be model members of the household.
No taking apart calculators or other valuable devices. No “forgetting” to walk Major Nelson. No leaving their bicycles in the driveway instead of the garage. No talking back. In fact, they would probably have to volunteer to do extra chores.
It was going to be horrible.
But if the launch from Greenwood Lake was successful, it would all be worth it.
If the launch was successful?
Make that when the launch was successful!
Breakfast over, Mark and Scott both jumped up to clear the table and do the dishes.
“You just relax, Mom and Dad,” Mark said. “Did we mention those pancakes were delicious, by the way?”
“How about another cup of coffee?” Scott offered.
Dad raised his eyebrows and looked at Mom, who said, “They’re up to something.”
Dad nodded. “That’s for sure, but let’s enjoy it while it lasts.”
Once the kitchen was clean, the boys settled down to write their schedule. As they wrote, they realized that Howard, Lisa, and Egg were going to have to do a lot of the work without them. Meanwhile, as model citizens, the twins hoped they could convince Mom and Dad to let them stay at Grandpa’s as much as possible.
The schedule took a while to complete, and when it was done it looked like this:
Week of Aug. 3, 1975: Add instruments to instrument panel; complete cockpit console, including wiring and communications equipment. Begin constructing heat shield.
Week of Aug. 10: Begin capsule construction; build periscope. Begin construction of launch site bunker and launch pad.
Week of Aug. 17: Integrate seat and instrument panel and console to capsule. Install flight computer. Connect all wiring. Install attitude controller, periscope, window, and communications antenna to outside of capsule.
Week of Aug. 24: Complete launch site bunker. Install parachutes and attitude control jets. Install heat shield.
Week of Aug. 31: Begin constructing launch vehicle (rocket), rocket engine, and fuel tank. Integrate environmental system including air and water tanks to capsule. Complete construction of launch pad.
Week of Sept. 7: Move construction operations to launch site. (School starts in West Milford.)
Week of Sept. 14: Integrate fuel tank and rocket engine to the launch vehicle. (School starts in West Orange.)
Week of Sept. 21: Integrate spacecraft to launch vehicle at the launch pad.
Weeks of Sept. 28–Oct. 19: Testing of spacecraft and rocket systems. Simulations of mission, including a full dry run of launch day and launch countdown.
Oct. 24: Raise rocket with capsule into the launch position on the pad. Fuel the rocket and pressurize the tanks.
Oct. 25: L-0. Also known as . . . Launch Day!
“Now all you have to do is recopy it to send to Egg,” Mark said.
“So while I’m wearing my fingers to the bone making this copy, what useful thing are you going to do?” Scott asked.
“Ride my bike,” Mark said, and when he saw his brother scowl, he added, “Maybe some push-ups. I’ve gotta get in shape if I’m gonna be an astronaut. All those guys are really strong.”
“How about if you get in shape by mowing the lawn?” Scott said. “I’ll be out there in the hot sun to help just as soon as I finish working on this. Don’t be surprised if it takes me a long time to finish up with it, though.”
CHAPTER 26
* * *
An engineer named Max Faget designed the original Mercury space capsule for NASA. It had to withstand being launched on top of a rocket, orbiting Earth, and falling back through the atmosphere while also protecting anything and anyone inside. The capsule looked like an upside-down wooden top, more stubby than streamlined because it would experience air resistance only briefly during its flight.
The capsule’
s squat shape had another advantage as well. It would create drag to help slow the capsule down during descent.
Over the course of the next six weeks, Mark and Scott not only learned from Lisa how to weld the exterior surfaces of the spacecraft, they also learned from Grandpa how to use a shear to cut and roll sheet metal, how to plumb the pressurized environmental systems, and how to wire the electrical instruments in the cockpit.
The kids’ plans were based on drawings found in books in the library, some of them surprisingly detailed, complete with dimensions and specifications for materials. The kids didn’t have access to the shiny new components that NASA used and had to make do with what they had on hand at Grandpa’s workshop and with what Nando could get from the wrecking yard.
For that reason, they did a lot of hammering and bending to force items to fit together. The big rubber mallet Grandpa Joe kept in his workshop came in very handy. So did the scuba tanks Grandpa had salvaged from a dive shop going out of business. The tanks would provide the air for the capsule.
Among the most important components of the spacecraft was the heat shield that covered the blunt end of the capsule. If it didn’t work, the capsule would burn up on re-entry.
But how to make one?
It was Egg—who could engineer a blueberry pie—who had the idea of taking fireproof insulation from an old building, shaping it into bricks, and covering the bricks with duct tape. Grandpa got a sheet of fiberglass from a swimming pool company, and the kids affixed the bricks three deep to that sheet. For the innermost layer, they used a badly scratched oak tabletop Grandpa had purchased at a flea market years before.
“It’s probably time I admit to myself that I’m never going to get around to refinishing this,” he told Scott and Mark when he lent it to the cause. “But it proves my point that junk is worth keeping around.”
The nylon parachutes came from a friend of Mrs. O’Malley’s who used to be in the air force. Lisa could not only weld, she could sew, and she stitched them together to form the two chutes they needed.
When the police department in West Orange announced it was upgrading its radio system, the twins’ parents agreed to liberate some of the old police radios before they were scrapped.
“Why is it you need radios again?” Mr. Kelly asked Mark as he handed over a cardboard box brimming with components and disconnected wires.
“For the project,” Mark said simply.
“Right. The project,” Mr. Kelly said. “And you’re sure it’s safe?”
“Dad,” Mark said, “even Scott and I couldn’t blow anything up using old police radios. Could we?”
“If anyone could, it’s you two,” Dad said.
The project taught them resourcefulness and building skills and something else, too: how to work as a team.
Different as they were, Mark, Scott, Barry, Howard, Egg, and Lisa had to get along. When there were disagreements, the twins kept in mind that each person had something to offer the group and the project. None could have built a spacecraft alone, not even with all the time in the world. Experience taught them that doing something hard requires a skill called collaboration.
* * *
It was on a Friday in late August that Mr. Perez came into Grandpa’s workshop carrying a sheet of titanium he’d been lucky to find at the junkyard.
“Where do you want me to put this?” he asked Howard, who was nearest the door.
“Oh, great, thanks.” Howard pointed to a section of the workshop where other metal sheets were leaning against the wall. “Do you need some help?”
“I’ve got it,” said Mr. Perez. He dropped off the piece of metal and surveyed the work in progress. “You know,” he said at last, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re building a darned good replica of a Mercury capsule like Friendship 7.”
Lisa had been kneeling on the floor, soldering electrical connections in the instrument panel. Now she pulled off her work goggles, wiped the sweat from her forehead, stood up, and looked at her friends. Egg and Scott were installing a heat sensor. Mark was working on the antenna fairing. Barry was tightening a pipe fitting for the oxygen system.
“Guys,” said Lisa to get their attention. “Maybe it’s time we let him in on the secret.”
The other kids stopped working and looked up. Taking her cue from Lisa, Egg spoke up. “Uh, sure. I guess so at this point.”
Lisa said, “That’s exactly what it is, Dad. A replica.”
“A replica!” Egg and Scott repeated.
“Good word,” said Mark.
“It’s not so much a secret from you,” said Egg. “Mostly, it’s a secret from Steve Peluso. I’m going to enter it in the science fair, and I don’t want him to find out in advance.”
Mr. Perez shook his head. “No, no. I won’t say anything. It’s just a science fair project, after all. I mean, you don’t, uh . . . have any intention of launching it, right? I don’t see a rocket anywhere.”
“I’m not gonna fly in it,” Lisa said truthfully.
Egg looked at Mr. Perez. “You probably think we’re crazy, right? To do all this work?”
“I think your ambition is admirable,” said Mr. Perez, “and yes, a little bit crazy.”
Mark had a brainstorm. “Crazy—that’s it! We can call our spacecraft Crazy 1!”
The kids had been looking for a name. So far they had rejected Jersey Jet, Greenwood Hornet, Leapin’ Lizard, and Kellys’ Komet.
“I get it.” Howard nodded. “Like, ‘That Mark, he is a crazy one.’”
“Sounds wrong somehow,” Barry said. “The Mercury spacecrafts all had the number 7 for the seven original astronauts.”
“So in that case, how about Crazy 6?” Scott suggested. “For the six of us.”
“What about Grandpa? He helped,” said Mark.
“And Mr. Perez,” said Egg.
“Oh, you kids don’t have to—” Mr. Perez began.
“No, Mr. Perez, we do have to! And anyway, that makes it better,” said Egg. “The Crazy 8!”
“It does have a certain ring to it,” said Mark.
“It does,” said Howard solemnly.
“Let’s put it to a vote,” Egg said. “All in favor of naming our spaceship Crazy 8?”
“Aye!” said all six kids.
“Aye!” said Mr. Perez. “And thanks.”
They had a name, an astronaut, and a launch site. Very soon they would have a spacecraft. Only one big problem remained. They needed the rocket itself—the vehicle that would launch their spacecraft into orbit. And they needed a way to fuel it.
CHAPTER 27
* * *
“I can’t believe we’re going to school a week before we have to,” Mark grumbled to his brother.
It was the second Monday in September. Along with Mrs. O’Malley, the twins were climbing the steps toward the front doors of Egg, Lisa, and Howard’s elementary school in West Milford. The boys were spending their last week of summer at the lake with their grandpa so they could work on the spacecraft. Egg had asked them to come by that day to meet Mr. Drizzle, her science teacher.
“A school, not our school,” Scott reminded his brother. “It’s all these poor kids who are prisoners, while we enjoy another week of freedom.”
Following at a reluctant distance, the twins walked down the first-floor corridor past the school office. In spite of the number of kids who had trodden on it that day, the linoleum remained shiny and unscuffed, and everything smelled like a combination of floor polish, school cafeteria pizza, and paper fresh off the mimeograph machine.
Mr. Drizzle’s room, Room 7, was at the far end of the first-floor hallway.
The door was open, and inside was a man seated at a desk. Two kids—Egg and a boy with curly brown hair—were standing before him.
The man’s hair was gray and in need of combing. He had a beaky nose. He wore black pants, a short-sleeved shirt with a paisley pattern, and a blue-and-green tie. His translucently pale skin had a dusting of cinnamon-colored freckles
. When the boys walked in, he nodded, but then he saw Mrs. O’Malley and stood up.
Meanwhile, Egg and the boy continued their argument at an ever-increasing volume.
“Enough,” the man said at last. Egg and the boy were instantly silent. “Good afternoon, Mrs. O’Malley. Jenny told me we’d have visitors. I’m Mr. Drizzle.”
The twins had the same thought at the same time—they should’ve identified this guy immediately, based on his looks. Mr. Drizzle was the typical nutty-professor type.
“I hear you have quite a project, a secret project, for the science fair,” Mr. Drizzle said. “Now, don’t worry. I’m not even going to ask. Just promise me you won’t—”
“—blow anything up.” Mark and Scott finished his sentence for him.
“We won’t,” Mark added.
“It’s not fair,” said the scowling boy with curly brown hair.
“There’s nothing in the rules, so it is too,” said Egg, and it was apparent this was the subject of their argument. “Tell him it’s fair, Mr. Drizzle.”
“The rules are mum on the subject of collaborators, Steve,” said Mr. Drizzle.
Aha—so this must be the famous Steve Peluso, defending science fair champion. Mark and Scott sized him up and came to the same conclusion: He didn’t look so smart. They were pretty sure they—that is, Egg—could beat him.
Steve shot the twins an evil look. “They don’t even go to our school!”
Mr. Drizzle’s voice was sympathetic but firm. “The rule book doesn’t mention that either. Jenny has to write her presentation and make her display, but if she wants help on the underlying project, she can have it. When you won with your mechanized model of the solar system, you were using the work of other scientists—Galileo and Kepler.”
“Yeah, and your dad probably did most of the work for you anyway,” Egg said.
Egg’s mom frowned.
“Sorry,” said Egg.
Mr. Drizzle continued. “Steve, you’re welcome to recruit help yourself, if you want.”
