Charlie Numbers and the Man in the Moon Page 3

  “These people have moon rocks,” Charlie said. “The real thing. They aren’t doing anything illegal. Trust me. They know my dad. They’re NASA.”

  Charlie had uttered the magic word. Jeremy’s eyes turned to saucers. NASA was a sort of Holy Grail to the Whiz Kids, maybe even better than Harvard or MIT.

  Jeremy didn’t say anything after that, but Charlie was certain he was interested enough to trust Charlie for the rest of the afternoon. The escalator steps creaked as they were whisked downward into the underbelly of the museum. They stepped out onto a dingy, gray, utilitarian rug spanning the entirety of the huge room. To the right, the blue wing had an open ceiling and courtyard-style architecture. The minor bits of wall space that were not covered with displays bore an eighties-era, lime-green paint job. The place was bustling with the after-school crowd, maybe a hundred kids of various ages bouncing about in groups as large as ten, but because of the open-courtyard format, it didn’t feel crowded. It was just after four p.m., and Charlie could see that groups of kids were already gathering in the workshop area, a cordoned-off section of the atrium with striped carpeting, beneath a huge yellow sign that read ENGINEERING DESIGN WORKSHOP.

  The only adults nearby were the museum volunteers, garbed in red lab coats: two standing behind the main engineering booth, two standing at the testing table, and a fifth standing next to a huge, vertical, Plexiglas tube. As Charlie and Jeremy got nearer, Charlie could hear the whir of a fan blowing air up through the clear cylindrical structure. The tube had to be at least nine feet tall, almost reaching the yellow sign. At the moment, one of the volunteers by the testing table was putting the finishing touches on what appeared to be a paper airplane; after a few final folds, he took the airplane and placed it into an opening at the bottom of the Plexiglas tube. Immediately, the plane leaped upward, buoyed on a blast of air from the fan. It rose halfway up the tube, settling between a pair of red lines, then spun around once, and slowly dropped back down.

  Pretty cool. Charlie had been to many engineering workshops at the museum before; a sort of competition, the goal was always to apply some sort of engineering principle, to design some type of object—be it a plane, a boat, a car, etc.—that, on a miniature scale, worked the way a larger version of the object was supposed to work. Today’s project looked to be to make a paper airplane that was folded perfectly enough to rise to the two red lines in the tube. As simple as that seemed, Charlie knew it actually involved some really advanced physics. Aeronautics comprised so many complicated principles—lift, thrust, torque—that to someone like Charlie, folding a paper airplane could never just be folding a paper airplane.

  “Hey,” Jeremy whispered, as they took a few more steps toward the testing table. “Looks like your friends got here first.”

  Charlie followed Jeremy’s gaze. Anastasia and her stone colleague stood out like sore thumbs. They were still in their dark suits, and the woman also hadn’t removed those ridiculous sunglasses. Too well dressed to be parents, too old and serious-looking to be museum volunteers.

  “Let me do the talking,” Charlie reminded Jeremy.

  He was pretty sure the invitation from Anastasia had been for him alone; but he hadn’t felt right not at least including his best friend. He had kept Jeremy in the dark once before—when he’d brought Jeremy along to Incredo Land to beat the amusement park, without letting Jeremy know what he’d really been up to—and it hadn’t felt good at all. He’d sworn not to deceive any of the Whiz Kids ever again; they were a team—they always had each other’s backs. So if Charlie was going to get himself into another adventure, this time he wasn’t heading into the mist alone.

  “Anastasia, Mr. Porter. I want you to meet my friend, Jeremy Draper. I know he doesn’t look like much, but he’s a master physicist. Sometimes even better than me.”

  Charlie could feel Jeremy tugging at his sleeve. Jeremy was good at physics, sure, but nobody had ever called him a master before. And certainly, he wasn’t in Charlie’s league.

  Anastasia turned those sunglasses toward Jeremy. Jeremy seemed to shrink a few inches as she inspected him up and down. The stone man, Porter, didn’t shift his gaze from Charlie. He just kept on staring with those cold blue eyes.

  Before Anastasia could respond, Charlie reached for one of the sheets of paper from the testing table and passed it to Jeremy.

  “He’s really a genius,” Charlie said. “He even won a junior Noble Prize for his work on aerodynamics, back in fifth grade.”

  “A Nagassack Noble Prize,” Jeremy piped in, fumbling with the sheet of paper, his long fingers nearly tying themselves in knots as he tried to make a semblance of a paper airplane. The prize had been Nagassack’s version of the Nobel Prize, and was the highest honor in the school’s science department. One was awarded each year to a student who was voted for by all of the teachers to have achieved some sort of advancement in science, be it an experiment, a presentation, or an invention. The boundaries were limitless, but the prize was only one. When questioned about the spelling of the prize by the principal, the science teachers told him that they thought it was a cool play on words to change the name to “noble” despite the renowned prize being named after Swedish inventor Alfred Nobel, because the winner of this prize at Nagassack was indeed considered “noble” for his or her achievement.

  “Nonetheless, Jeremy, you won the prize. You’re like . . . an Einstein of flight—”

  “Okay, okay,” Anastasia finally exhaled. “He can stay. And yes, as I think you’ve begun to guess, the science of flight—aerodynamics—is at the core of why we’ve come to you. More specifically, well, this.”

  She waved her hand toward the entire engineering design area, where kids had now begun folding paper airplanes on either side of them. Charlie raised an eyebrow.

  “Paper airplanes? I thought you said rocket propulsion. . . .”

  “Rocket propulsion and paper airplanes have a lot more to do with one another than you might realize. Yes, it was your paper on rocket propulsion that got us interested in you in the first place. But what we need from you—I guess, what we need from both of you—has to do with paper airplanes. Charlie, Jeremy, to be blunt: We need you to use your scientific abilities to infiltrate a paper airplane–building contest.”

  Charlie stared at her. What does she mean by “infiltrate”? Jeremy was halfway into folding his airplane, and it looked like something a four-year-old might make: stubby at the front, too wide at the back. As Charlie stood there, churning what Anastasia had just said in his mind, one of the volunteers handed him his own piece of blank paper. He began to fold it, starting with a crease right down the middle.

  “A paper airplane–building contest?” he asked, as his fingers worked the paper.

  “In Washington, DC. It’s a week-long competition, involving twenty teams of kids. It’s a distance competition; two members from a team of up to five compete to see who can make a plane that goes the farthest. But the rules are tough. Paper only, no tape, no other materials. And the kids who compete are good. Really good. This won’t be a Nagassack Noble Prize. The other teams come from all over the country. This will be on a national level.”

  She continued to explain the rules: Each team would have three minutes to design, fold, and prepare a paper airplane out of an 8.5-by-11-inch piece of standard twenty-pound copy paper. The team would consist of up to five members, but only two could do the actual physical competition: One would act as the folder, the other the thrower. The three nonparticipating contributors could provide verbal support during the competition but would not be allowed to touch the paper. The design of the plane could change, but that’s where experience and expertise came in. You could alter your design or go with a previous design, and designs did not need to be original. Because it would be a live competition, the feat of folding the plane was part of the competition, so repeated designs were allowed.

  Charlie waved his half-built paper airplane at the two suits.

  “Why do you need us?” />
  Anastasia lowered her voice.

  “The team that has won for the past three years is led by a kid genius named Richard Caldwell. He was groomed as a newbie fourth grader three years ago and today is the reigning captain. Maybe you’ve heard that name before. He’s the son of a former astronaut, Buzz Caldwell, who now runs a private rocket-building company, Aerospace Infinity. We need someone who can fit right in seamlessly with Richard and the other teams. Someone with a science background who understands thrust, acceleration, and the physics involved in flight. But understanding all of those concepts is not all that’s required. Stamina, motivation, and a drive to succeed are all necessary qualities to make it to the end of the competition. We don’t expect you to be a champion, but we do need you to at least get into the finals.”

  Charlie had certainly heard of Buzz Caldwell—heck, he had a poster of the man on the door to his closet. One of the original space shuttle astronauts, Caldwell had been to space six times. He’d never been to the moon, of course—nobody had been to the moon since the Apollo program ended in the early seventies—but he’d been in orbit, again and again. He was a true American hero.

  Charlie didn’t know anything about his son, Richard—but being the kid of a real live astronaut must have been incredible. No surprise the kid was a genius.

  “The competition takes place at the Smithsonian’s Air and Space Museum, but is partially sponsored by Caldwell’s company,” Anastasia said. “We want you to enter the competition and get to the finals because we believe Aerospace Infinity is somehow involved with the missing moon rocks. We have reason to believe that the rocks are inside their labs somewhere—but we can’t investigate as we normally would, because Caldwell is a national hero. We can’t accuse an astronaut of being involved in stolen moon rocks unless we have solid evidence. And that’s where you come in. You could help us get that evidence—if you can get inside Aerospace Infinity.”

  Charlie took a deep breath. So they wanted him to get inside this aerospace company by getting to the finals of a paper airplane competition. It sounded exciting, but the idea of going after one of the original space shuttle astronauts gave Charlie chills.

  “How can Buzz Caldwell be involved with stealing moon rocks? I can’t believe he’d do anything like that.”

  “That’s what we need to find out. Maybe it’s someone who works under him. Maybe it’s all some sort of big mistake. All we know is that witnesses have seen those moon rocks within the Aerospace Infinity labs. We’re not sure where those labs are, but we need someone to get inside, to investigate. Charlie, think of it this way: You could clear Buzz Caldwell’s name. And you don’t have to worry—I’ve just spoken to your father, right before you arrived here. I told him all about the paper airplane competition. He’s given his permission for the trip to DC.”

  “You told him about the moon rocks?” Charlie asked. Charlie hadn’t seen his dad since he’d left for school that morning. Jeremy’s parents had dropped them off at the museum, instead of the circus. “And about Buzz?”

  “Not exactly. The moon rocks and an American astronaut’s involvement are a matter of national security. These things are strictly confidential. Charlie, Jeremy, you need to keep these things secret. NASA is counting on you.”

  Charlie felt his heart pounding. Of course his parents would approve of him entering a science competition. But would they really approve of him doing something that was so secretive? Then again—it was NASA.

  “And just so you know,” Anastasia added, “the competition winners get a special invitation to visit NASA with their families, and a cash prize of thirty thousand dollars for each student. And if you help us with the moon rocks, I can promise you that your names will reach the highest levels at our organization. One day, you could be working right alongside us.”

  Charlie looked at Jeremy and could see the excitement in his friend’s eyes. Then Charlie glanced down at the paper in his hands. Two more folds, and it looked kind of like an airplane. He nodded at Jeremy, and they both grabbed their respective planes and headed to the Plexiglas airflow tube. One by one, they handed their creations to the volunteer working the testing area. The volunteer’s red braids were almost the same color as her coat, and her pale skin was as white as the paper being used for the planes. She took the two planes and opened the hatch in the lower part of the tube.

  “What did you name your planes?” the volunteer asked.

  Charlie thought for a moment.

  “Mine’s named Moon Rock.”

  Jeremy laughed.

  “Mine’s NNPF, short for Nagassack Noble Prize Fighter!” he said a little too loudly.

  The volunteer shrugged, then placed the two planes into the tube.

  In one swift whir of the fan, both planes rose up a few inches—then plummeted straight back down, crashing into the fan at the base of the tube. There was a loud metallic groan as the fan chopped the planes to pieces. Then a cough as it spat them both back out, right up the tube and out the top—minced into a plume of snowy paper confetti.

  Charlie blushed as he glanced back toward Anastasia and her partner. Anastasia was looking away, equally embarrassed by the display. But Porter was staring directly at Charlie, his eyes narrowed to snakelike slits.

  NASA, Charlie reminded himself. Astronauts and moon rocks.

  Watching the paper confetti raining down around him, he had to admit that maybe he didn’t know as much about the physics of flight as he’d thought. But if there was one thing Charlie knew about himself for sure—he was a fast learner. They didn’t call him Numbers for nothing.

  5

  IT WAS WELL AFTER five by the time Jeremy’s parents dropped Charlie off at the end of his driveway, but even so, he took his time marching the last few yards to his front door. The white slats running up above the door to the roof of his house needed a fresh coat of paint, worn down from the past few New England winters. His home was typical for the area. Newton was known for its cookie-cutter homes, near enough to each other to foster a nice neighborhood feel, but far enough so that if you wanted privacy, you only needed to erect a white picket fence. Charlie’s dad had never quite gotten to the fence, but still they barely knew their neighbors. That’s what happened when you had two professors for parents, who had always been more comfortable with their heads in scientific journals than gathering in the yards of neighbors for block parties and barbecues.

  Par for the course, Charlie could see his dad sitting on the couch in the living room, reading an old issue of Nature, as he entered the front door. From the kitchen on the other side of the living room, Charlie could smell the distinct odor of burnt toast. Since his mom taught evening classes most weekdays, Charlie’s dad had taken to making dinner for the two of them, and burnt grilled cheese was usually somewhere on their Spartan menu.

  “Let me guess, Dad. Grilled cheese?”

  His dad looked up from the magazine, and it took a full beat for the nerdy glaze to fade enough for him to recognize his own kid. Then he offered a wide smile.

  “You got it, Charles!”

  Charlie dropped onto the couch next to his dad. He decided to get right into things; if he waited too long, his dad would be back into the magazine, and Charlie would lose his chance. Grilled cheese, bath, bedtime. Somewhere in that timeline his mom would wander home, maybe turn on some classical music, and then she and Charlie’s dad would be off on some deep, scientific debate until well after Charlie was fast asleep.

  “Dad,” Charlie said, as his father eagerly eyed the magazine. “I met some pretty cool people today, and they say they know you.”

  His dad thought for a moment, then finally remembered.

  “Anastasia Federov. That’s right, she called me this afternoon. So nice to hear from her. A quiet student, if I remember, but she had a lot of promise. Some real engineering skills. Shame that she let it go to waste.”

  “What do you mean?” Charlie asked. The woman worked at NASA, after all. That didn’t sound like a waste to him
.

  “Well, from what I’d heard through the grapevine, she’d dropped out of grad school shortly after she took my class. Never finished her degree. I hadn’t heard from her since, until today.”

  “But she’s still involved with NASA.”

  “It seems so,” Charlie’s dad said. “She told me she wanted to sponsor you in some sort of competition. Aeronautics, was it?”

  “So you know about the competition? She said you’d given your permission. What did Mom say?”

  Charlie and his dad had a habit of keeping little secrets from Charlie’s mom—nothing serious, but they liked to think some things were “need to know.” Like, for instance, when Charlie had mistakenly blown up one of his mom’s vases with a homemade firecracker. Or frozen the paint off the bathroom wall during a liquid nitrogen experiment that his dad was supposedly supervising.

  “I haven’t had a chance to tell her yet. But I wanted to wait until you decided whether or not you were going to do it. DC isn’t that far, but a week on your own is still a pretty big deal.”

  Charlie wouldn’t be on his own, of course. The Whiz Kids would be with him. At first, he’d thought it would just be Jeremy; but after his display with the airplanes at the Museum of Science, Anastasia had agreed to let him choose a team to help him. It had been easy to come up with three perfect names to add to his roster.

  “I don’t know, Dad. I want to enter the competition, but there’s more to the game than just paper airplanes.”

  Charlie’s dad fingered the Nature magazine, then ran a hand through Charlie’s mop of brown hair.

  “Son, I know you get worked up when it comes to things like this. I know you don’t take competition lightly, and you always try harder than might be necessary. But you have to remember: It isn’t about winning. Sometimes we’re even prouder of you when you lose.”

  Charlie wanted to explain to his dad that this time, it wasn’t about winning or losing at all; it was about stolen moon rocks. For a brief second, he considered telling his dad everything; but he knew that would probably lead to a phone call to Anastasia, and then Charlie would have broken her trust right from the start. He’d be able to forget NASA, the $30,000 cash prize, the trip to DC. A matter of national security, she’d said. It sounded a little overly dramatic, but then again, anything involving Buzz Caldwell was likely to be dramatic.