Trent Reedy - Stealing Air

“No kid would be able to build a real plane that works,” said Alex.

“Like I always say, any problem can be overcome through proper research,” said Max.

“Seriously?” Alex said. “You really always say that?”

Max’s cheeks reddened a little, but he acted like he hadn’t heard. “I just had to consider the ratio of the area and curvature of the wing to the lift force. I had to study engines and theorize how much horsepower would be required for flight in an aircraft of this nature. Information about all of this, data, plans, and schematics for various existing similar aircraft, can be found online and in books. It’s simply a matter of the correct application.”

“But the controls,” said Alex. “My family and I flew to Mexico once, and I caught a look inside the cockpit. There were about a billion buttons and levers and things.”

“That’s for a big commercial jet,” said Brian. “A little single-engine plane is much simpler. I used to go to air shows with my dad, and there were plenty of planes that weren’t much more complicated than this.” He shrugged.

“But I bet you never saw a plastic airplane at any of those shows,” Alex said. “This thing is just a toy!”

“The majority of the flyer is actually constructed of Plastisteel.” Max’s eyes met Brian’s for a moment, and then he looked away.

“Plastisteel?” Brian asked. “Like the Plastisteel your mom is working on?”

“You mean plastic?” said Alex.

Max folded his hands over his chest. “Plastisteel. It’s the fusion of elements of steel into a dense polymer.”

“English, please?” Alex said.

“Essentially, Plastisteel is an extraordinarily durable but very lightweight plastic.”

“Dude, I think you need therapy,” Alex said. “This is a cool model or whatever, and you might be smart, but there’s no way plastic could be strong enough—”

Max held up his hands. “I assure you that you haven’t seen anything like this before.” He went to the end of the tool bench and cranked open the vise, then slipped a small piece of sheet metal in and clamped the vise tight. From under the bench he pulled out a big sledgehammer. “Here.” He held the hammer out to Alex. “Please strike this piece of heavy aluminum as hard as you can.”

Alex took the hammer. “This is stupid.”

“Please just indulge me in this one thing. I promise you will be impressed.”

Alex sighed. “Fine.” He lifted the hammer and twisted back like a major league baseball player. Sparks fell as the sledge slammed into the sheet metal with a dull clang. Alex put the hammer down and Max released the vise. He held up the piece of metal, bent at a right angle where Alex had smashed it.

“Now let’s try that again,” said Max. He cranked the vise tight on a piece of white plastic. “This time with Plastisteel. You will note that this sheet of Plastisteel is slightly thinner than the aluminum.”

“Okay.” Alex picked up the hammer and started to swing it again. “I don’t see what the point of — OW!” The sledge crashed into the plastic and bounced back. He dropped the hammer.

Max took the white plastic out of the vise and held it and the metal up. “As you can see, this sheet of aluminum, similar to that used on most small aircraft, is completely bent as a result of the hammer impact. The Plastisteel, though lighter, thinner, and struck with approximately the same force, suffered much less damage, and is bent approximately an inch.”

Alex rubbed his arms. “You could have warned me, Max! I feel like I just punched a solid wall.”

“I apologize for the discomfort,” Max said.

Brian held out his hand and Max gave him the piece of Plastisteel. So this was the stuff Dad had invested everything in. They’d left Seattle and come out to this tiny town in the corn for this special plastic. He extended it back to Max, but held on when Max tried to take it. “Where did you get this?”

Before Max could answer, Alex reached between them to spin the propeller. “Plastisteel construction. A rebuilt motor. You know, guys, if this could actually work…” He faced Max, rubbing his knuckles against his chin. “I’m seeing green here. Green as in money. People would go nuts to know that sixth grade boys built a plane and flew around in it.”

Brian frowned. So now Alex suddenly thought this was cool?

“The construction is complete,” Max said quickly. “What I really need are two people to serve as pilot and copilot.”

“You mean, two people besides you?” Brian said.

“Um… precisely.” Max’s face was getting red. “I require a pilot and copilot. Two people besides me. I won’t actually be flying it. You see, I’m acrophobic.”

Alex frowned. “You’re afraid of acrobats?”

“He’s afraid of heights.” Brian sat down on a stool by the table.

“You’re afraid of heights, so you built your own airplane?” Alex asked.

“Last year at the science fair I did a project with a wind tunnel and various configurations of model planes. I worked hard on it.” Max shrugged. “My parents said I did a thorough job, but it was a fairly unoriginal project. I wanted to take my research to the next level.”

Brian thought this was the next level, all right. Could it really take off? The wings were raised as high as other low-winged aircraft he’d seen. Their size looked comparable to planes he’d seen too. It would be incredible to be at the controls, to not just sit in a plane with his father, but to pilot his own aircraft. To actually fly. Out in the open. Riding the sky. Brian ran his hands along one of the smooth wings. He looked up and saw Alex’s and Max’s big grins.

“Remember how awesome it was swinging on the rope?” Alex aimed little finger guns at Brian with both hands. “Now think of that, but on, like, the most vicious energy drink of your life!” He pushed his thumbs down, firing the guns. “Way higher. Me and you, flying in our own plane. A sophisticated, one-of-a-kind aircraft.”

Brian grinned back. It was a long shot, but like Dad always said, “Great success comes only through great risk.” “Let’s do it,” he said.

“All right!” Alex said. He fist-bumped with Brian, but Max only reached out as if to shake hands. Alex slapped him five instead. Brian laughed and then shook Max’s hand. “So when do we fly?”

“The flyer is ready to fly now. We could conduct our first test flight tomorrow night after dark.”

“A night flight?” Brian asked.

Max frowned. “I realize that flying at night doesn’t offer the most ideal conditions. However, we’ll need to take the flyer out of the Eagle’s Nest through the double doors. We’ll want to move after dark to avoid detection. In any case, the runway I have in mind is well lit and should facilitate a safe landing.”

“Sweet,” Alex said. “We’re set to fly tomorrow night, then. Just tell your parents that you’re going to my house to study or something. We’ll meet here and wait for the sun to go down.”

“Hey,” Brian said. Thinking of his parents reminded him of the meeting they’d escaped earlier. “Didn’t that rich lady say she would invest her money in Synthtech only if she was impressed or having fun or whatever?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Alex said.

Brian explained Synthtech’s money troubles. “And she talked about a Plastisteel car, but what could be cooler than a Plastisteel plane? If we can fly this, as soon as Mrs. Douglas sees how awesome it is, she’ll invest all kinds of money in Synthtech.”

“As Mr. Spock might say, that’s a logical approach,” said Max.

“So dorky,” Alex whispered. He shook his head. “Okay, but until the lady forks over the cash, we better keep this project quiet. If we lose control before we can publicize our flight, we won’t make any money.”