Ben looked around the class, all silently staring at Mrs Deacon. Even Bruce and his gang seemed less self-assured than usual. At a guess Ben would be third to present, maybe fourth. That would give him enough time to iron out the last little issues he was having with the trim. The Hoverclaw, since its most recent rebuild, listed to the right, making a successful grab a fifty-fifty chance. If he could improve it just a little, he'd stand a better chance of passing the exam.
As Mrs Deacon left with the first student and the low murmur rose again, Ben set about getting the Hoverclaw airborne. He'd told himself earlier that morning that he wasn't going to fiddle with the trim any more in case he made it worse, but the closer he got to presenting and the more angry the butterflies in his stomach seemed to get, the more he felt compelled to give the claw once last tweak.
Putting the machine in hover mode, he watched it lazily drift to the right. It wasn't much, but not much was still too much for Ben. Some other students looked at the Hoverclaw for a moment too, then returned back to their own projects. Ben felt a swell of pride, and also nerves—his project was by far the most ambitious and impressive. It also seemed to be the most temperamental.
As Mrs Deacon returned with the first student, who looked pale and shaken as they clutched their project, Ben saw Bruce tinkering with his own, a lock box that automatically turned the locking mechanism away from anyone it didn’t recognise. It was a good idea, and Ben was actually quite impressed—much to his own annoyance—but it still wasn't a patch on his Hoverclaw. Simple mechanism; simple software, too, easy to code.
Ben realised he was distracting himself from his own work when another student yelled, "Hey!" as the Hoverclaw wandered into their space.
"Sorry," Ben apologised as he pulled it by the claw back in front of him. He switched it off and took a look at the gyro stabiliser. It was mounted in a frame that had been cracked when it was dropped, and one of the little screws used to adjust it had bent. Unfortunately, that was the screw he needed to turn to shift the trim and fix the drift.
"Tom, what should I do?" he whispered.
"You know I can't help you," Tom whispered back. "That would be cheating."
Ben sighed. "I know," he said, peering at the screw. "It's so annoying, all I want to do is adjust this one little screw."
"Then adjust it," Tom said.
"I can't—" Ben began, then stopped himself. Adjust the screw! That's it! Don't adjust the screw, adjust the screw! Trim adjustments were so fine that simply changing the weight of the screw would probably make enough of a difference to bring the trim into line. He sprinted to the workbenches and the tool draws beyond, glancing off other students whose complaints he barely heard, and found some abrasive material. It was a crude fix, but the only chance he had.
At that moment, Mrs Deacon entered. Ben held his breath, expecting her to call his name. It was too late. He had failed.
"Ava Eilhermann, come with me, please," she said. Ava stood and followed Mrs Deacon out of the room as Ben breathed a sigh of relief. He would be next. He needed to hurry.
Gingerly, he took to the screw with the abrasive, pressing hard enough as he drew it back and fourth to watch a pocket of metal shavings grow in the crevice between the screw and file—but not so hard that the precariously repaired gyro cage would crack apart again. Once he had taken off a noticeable amount of material, he again set the claw to hover with baited breath. To his delight, it lifted almost straight and hovered with a definite reduction in drift.
"Thank you, Tom, you're a lifesaver," he whispered.
"That was you, not me," Tom replied. "You had the answer all along; you just needed to know where to look for it."
With some more metal removed, the Hoverclaw flew even more true, and with a little more again it was practically perfect. As Ben switched the claw off and took a moment to appreciate the relief, Mrs Deacon returned.
"Benjamin Forrest," she called out. "You're next."
The relief was gone in an instant. Ben could feel the blood draining from his face already. Unsteadily he stood, gathered the Hoverclaw up in his arms and headed towards the door, towards Mrs Deacon. She stood waiting for him, and it seemed to take a lifetime to reach her. As he drew close, she turned to leave, him required to follow. At that moment, without even thinking, he turned to look at the classroom behind him, at his classmates—at Bruce.
Bruce was watching him with a cold, hard stare. At once Ben realised his mistake, but it was too late. Bruce shook his head slowly, a wicked grin forming on his face. It was like it was just Ben and Bruce in the room, frozen in time, Bruce's bared teeth somehow sucking Ben's life from him. In a snap, Ben looked forward again, but the grin was burned onto his retinas, clouding his vision.
He didn't remember the walk to the gym, or being lead onto the temporary stage that had been built for the presentation. The parents were all there, sitting on hard plastic seats, quietly talking among themselves. One by one they noticed Ben and Mrs Deacon's arrival, and they fell to a hush.
Mrs Deacon addressed them. "Our next student is one of our best and brightest, Benjamin Forrest. Today he will be demonstrating a project that he has developed to automatically retrieve objects on command. Of the five technical merits for this project, the three he has chosen to pursue are precision engineering, software development and mechanised automation." She turned to Ben and gave him a rare smile. It only made him more nervous. "Ben," she said to him, indicating for him to come forward.
Chapter 5
As Ben followed her instruction, legs walking him forward on autopilot, he scanned the audience. He struggled to focus, the world around him slow-moving and blurry, like a dream. Squinting, he picked out faces among the parents, some he recognised, some he didn't, looking for the two that meant the most to him.
"Hello everyone," he said, now the centre of attention. Mrs Deacon had stepped away without him noticing. Now it was just him up there—him and his Hoverclaw. "The project I chose to do," he said, reciting the presentation he'd stayed up most of the night before writing and trying to memorise, "is to provide the—a practical application for returning—retrieving—objects that you either can't find or don't want to get up to … get."
He could feel his mouth going dry and sticky, his lips turning numb, his face flushing pink. Sweat blurred his vision even further, the burned in image of Bruce's grin swelling in front of him. His audience was rapt.
"I used three-dimensional modelling program—software—to design a flying claw that can get what you ask it to get. I used lightweight materials like thermal—thermo—plastics and titanium to make my project, uh, lightweight. I used a compact motor for power and a transfer box of my own design and construction to have—make—the power go to the bits I want the power to go to."
Could the silence of the audience be anymore distracting? Couldn't one of them cough, or sneeze, or say something? Hearing just his own voice, so loud and so hollow, made his insides squeeze tight. How long had it been already? An eternity, it seemed.
"For propulsion I used four ion lifters that I designed myself for maximum thrust and quietness. I wanted them to be quiet so they weren't too … loud. Because that can be annoying."
A small titter emanated from the crowd. It gave Ben a flutter in his stomach, but not a horrible one, not a nauseating one—no. If anything, it almost felt … good. A smile twitched the corners of his mouth.
"The machine consists of three main parts," he continued, his confidence rising, his vision returning to clarity, the image of Bruce's grin fading. "The lift and stabilisation assembly, the transfer box and the claw. I call it the Hoverclaw because, well—because it hovers and his has a claw."
Another laugh from the audience, his audience, fuller this time, stronger.
"Well, I'd say that was enough boring techno talk," Ben said, standing taller. "Time for some action. Who'd like to see the Hoverclaw do its thing?"
For a moment, there was nothing. Then, to Ben's surprise, the audience broke into
applause, clapping and whooping. They wanted to see his machine. The smile was real now.
"Okay," he said, and the parents fell to quiet once more. He had planned to do a simple fetch and return on stage with a small foam ball, but his confidence in the machine and himself had risen exponentially. "I need a volunteer. Someone with a small object in their pocket, something not too heavy. This is a child's school project after all."
That got another laugh, and hands began to raise, holding objects up for Ben's choosing. There, in the middle, a parent with a small pocket tool. Big enough to see, small enough to carry. It was perfect.
"You sir," Ben called out, pointing, "Chris's dad."
Chris's dad seemed quite pleased to have been chosen. Ben could only guess that the presentations so far had been predictably dull.
"If everyone else could please put their hands down," Ben continued, "while you keep yours held up."
The parents did as instructed. It was exhilarating. Ben switched the Hoverclaw on, placed it down on the stage and stepped back. A small green light flashed occasionally to indicate flight readiness.
"The Hoverclaw uses the voice and image recognition system built into the station's computer, Tom," Ben told them. "By relaying positional data back and fourth, the claw can in real time locate and fly to anything on the station. If the object were to move mid flight, the Hoverclaw would simply adjust its perimeters and continue without hesitation. The transfer lag between it and Tom is less than a millisecond, so it's not even noticeable."
He was posturing now, building up his audience. The feeling of confidence, of excitement, he couldn't really believe it. It was like something had taken over his body. Where he struggled to communicate with people one on one, with an audience he felt somehow … safe.
"Hoverclaw," he instructed. The parents were quieter than ever. Were some of them even holding their breath? "Get the tool in Chris's dad's hand."
A small gasp came from a few of the parents as the Hoverclaw rose into the air. It had never been the most elegant of machines, but it was impressive, almost intimidating. The thin squeal of the lifters as it rose into the air was mechanically formidable. It reached the top of its climb and rotated towards Chris's dad, not faltering off centre by even an inch. Then, to another gasp, it moved out over the audience. Ben heard Mrs Deacon shuffle uncomfortably behind him.
They all watched as it hummed through the air of its own accord, claw swinging back with the machine's momentum. Then it stopped, right over Chris's dad.
"Move the tool," Ben said to Chris's dad.
Chris's dad hesitated.
"Go on."
Chris's dad moved the tool, and with it the Hoverclaw squealed as it sent power around the lifters, steering it and keeping it level above the moving tool. There was an "Ooh…!" from the audience.
"Now hold it still."
With the tool still, the Hoverclaw began to lower, the claw itself opening up to receive its payload. Chris's dad held his hand flat as the claw closed around the tool, then—as Ben watched with his heart in his mouth—all four lifters screamed at full power to lift the tool from his hand. Ben could hear that the Hoverclaw was maxed, and he held his breath as he waited to see if it could gain height with the extra weight. Perhaps he'd been overconfident, picked something too big. Definitely, in fact. It would never lift that, what had he been thinking—
But even as he internally berated himself, the Hoverclaw rose from the crowd, the tool swinging below. It returned to its original altitude, then headed for the stage. The crowd erupted into applause. Some even stood in their seats. As the Hoverclaw drew closer, he looked out among them, soaked it in, felt the warmth of adulation and appreciation comfort him like a blanket.
It was then that he realised that his mum and dad were absent. They hadn't made it. He'd felt sure they'd be there, longed for them to see him demonstrate months of hard work. As the audience cheered, he fell cold, a muffling cloud of confusion and anger separating them from him. Why couldn't they be there? Why, just this once, couldn't they be there?
But Ben didn't have long to think about it, because a loud popping sound above him grabbed his attention. The parents gasped as the Hoverclaw lurched suddenly back towards them, losing height. Immediately Ben could see what had happened: the gyro cage had come unglued and snapped apart—causing the popping sound—and so the stabilisation was now completely out of alignment.
"Hoverclaw, cancel!" he yelled as the parents in the first few rows ducked to avoid being hit. The claw opened and the tool dropped, thankfully into someone's lap, and the sudden lightness sent the straining lifters in overdrive, shooting the whole machine forward again towards Ben. This time it was coming in low and fast, out of control. There was only one way to stop it.
Ben balled a fist, stood aside and thumped the Hoverclaw as hard as he could as it barrelled past him. It span downwards and hit the stage, splintering into more pieces than he'd ever seen it in before. The motor, separated from the drivetrain, squealed unrestrained for a few seconds, then died. The silence it left was horrible.
Something warm and wet made Ben look at his hand. A dribble of blood ran from a gash on the edge. It started to throb, and he felt lightheaded.
"Let's get you to the infirmary," he heard Mrs Deacon say.
The walk to the infirmary, with Ben holding his hand above his head, was a long and quiet one. Ben wasn't sure if it was the cut or the incident playing over and over again in his mind that was making him dizzy, but he said nothing and kept walking until he was there.
The cut was quite deep but it wasn't serious, and once Doctor Whittaker had cleaned it out and properly dressed it, it only stung a little. Mrs Deacon stayed with Ben the whole while, but they barely exchanged words. Ben was glad of that. The last thing he wanted to talk about was the presentation. He didn't want to talk at all.
His parents arrived soon after, looking flushed.
"Adam, Jane, like I said, nothing serious," Doctor Whittaker assured them. Mrs Deacon stepped outside with Adam, while Jane gave her son a squeeze.
"I was so worried about you," she said, holding him.
"I'm fine."
She squeezed him again, then sat back. "What happened?"
"Nothing," Ben said.
Doctor Whittaker coughed. "I'll give you a moment," he said, leaving the room.
"It can't be nothing," Jane said. "Nothing doesn't land you in the infirmary, does it?"
Ben said nothing. He had nothing to say. His mum stroked his hair.
"You're not in trouble," she said. "If you don't want to say, you don't want to say. That's fine."
Ben looked at his hand, all swollen and tight with bandages. It was so stupid. He should have done the simple demonstration and then he wouldn't be in this mess. He should have taken on a simpler project than the stupid Hoverclaw in the first place. "I'm sorry, Mum. I failed my presentation."
She smiled sympathetically. "I'm sure everything will be fine."
Adam entered the room without Mrs Deacon. "How are you doing, champ?" he asked tentatively.
"Okay, Dad," Ben said.
Adam sighed. "Look, Ben—we're sorry we didn't make it to your presentation. We've been really busy with the incoming supply of refurbishment materials and—' He stopped himself, hands on hips, looking at the floor. "That's not an excuse," he said. "We should have been there."
Jane nodded. "Please forgive us."
Ben nodded. He felt dizzy again, his head filled with fog.
"Tomorrow's your birthday," his dad continued. "I've asked Mrs Deacon if you can have the day off to recover. I'm sure me and your mum can take the afternoon off, too. You can sleep late in the morning, get your energy back and then we can do something special together in the afternoon, what do you think about that?"
Ben had completely forgotten that it was his birthday tomorrow. He knew it was soon, but with the presentation at the front of his mind, the day had seemed so far away. He felt strangely empty about it.
"What do you say?" his mum asked him.
"Okay," Ben said. He'd been looking forward to his birthday for months, looking forward to finally getting the chance to live his dream and go for a ride in the tug.
Right now, that seemed further from him than it ever had before.
Chapter 6
Ben looked across at his clock for the millionth time that morning. Ten past three. It had been a long, restless night. Any excitement about his birthday had been lost to the misery of knowing he'd messed up. He kept replaying the moment when the Hoverclaw had dipped down towards the parents, when they'd ducked to get out of its way. What made his stomach really churn was the thought of what could have happened, what very nearly did happen. His hand throbbed under the bandage as he pictured the damage the Hoverclaw would have done if it had actually hit anyone.
"It didn't though," he whispered to himself.
"You need to get some rest," Tom said softly. "You've barely slept all night."
"I know," Ben said, turning over and drawing his blankets tight around himself. "I can't sleep."
"Would it help if I played some relaxing music for you?"
"No, thanks."
"Okay. Happy birthday."
"Thanks."
What was going to happen to him? He would fail the exam for sure, but would he be suspended as well? Expelled? He'd heard rumours of a rule to expel the worst students, but he'd never known it to actually happen. Would he be the first? Whatever happened, he'd resigned the tug tour to the list of things he'd never get to experience. His dream of clouds, grass and flying would remain a dream.
After finally getting to sleep, Ben stirred as he heard his door open a crack. He kept his eyes shut. He didn't really know why—perhaps it was simply to avoid the truth.
"Happy birthday," he heard his mum whisper through the crack. He stayed still. The door closed. Then there was some moving around outside, and then silence. They'd gone to work. Ben checked the clock. Seven.
Suddenly Astronaut Page 4
