by Anthology
"Yeah, Dad," Johnny sniffed, "We watched her till she went clear out of sight ... she was kickin' her legs and we could hear her barkin' too."
"For heaven's sake, Ralph," Mary cried, "don't you go near that window!"
"Yes, you'd go up too, Dad," Jim added.
Clutching tightly to the mattress, I assured them I wouldn't go near the window, or the door either, for that matter. Just the thought of that poor dog sailing up in the air made me sick in the pit of my stomach.
"How high will she go, Jim?" I asked.
"Gee, I don't know, Dad. But I think she'll just keep right on going, clear up out of the air." Jim had a hard time keeping a sob out of his voice too.
"What'll happen to her, son?"
"Well, you see, between the cold and the lack of oxygen, she'll just go to sleep.... I remember reading about fliers at high altitude."
"Thank Heaven," Mary breathed. And I added a silent "Amen."
About 3:30 Professor Jordan arrived and Jim brought him in and introduced us. The professor was probably 40, but looked hardly older than Jim, and was built along the same tall and gangly lines. A very business-like man though, thank heaven, and he got right to the point. After the first shock of seeing me on the ceiling, he turned to Jim, "Now, tell me. Exactly what happened, and what is this rig you have here?"
* * * * *
Jim told him the whole story of how Duchess and I got caught, then went into great detail about the plastic plate, the kinds of metal he had used, and the different settings on the transformer. He finished by telling how Duchess had sailed off into space.
At this, Professor Jordan looked more closely at the transformer hookup. "You say the settings are still the same?"
"Yes, sir, it's still the same. I haven't changed a thing except to pull the plate out in the hall."
"Have you tried it since your father was caught?"
"No, sir ... in all the excitement I haven't gotten around to fooling with it again."
The professor walked out in the hall, reached in his pocket for a handkerchief, tossed it over the plate. It rose! Straight up, and stuck to the ceiling!
"My gosh!" Jim blurted. "Somebody must have plugged that thing in again!"
Mary and Johnny, who were watching in silence, both spoke up to say that neither of them had. Jim reached down and picked up the AC line. Sure enough, it wasn't plugged in!
"Well, this is going to take some studying," Professor Jordan muttered, looking rather awed at Jim's gadget. "Jim, let's start at the beginning again, and be sure you tell me everything you did, every move you made, what kind of metal you used, how finely divided it was, what concentration you used and what voltages and frequencies you used."
"I'll try, Professor," Jim said, "But it's going to be sort of a hit or miss proposition because I fiddled with this thing for an hour or so before accidentally dropping my cigarettes on the plate. When they went up, I was surprised, to say the least, so I tried other things."
"What we've got to figure put first of all, is whether it was caused by a combination of changes, or whether it was the last setting you used," Professor Jordan said. "If it was a combination of voltage and frequency changes, then we've certainly got a problem on our hands."
All this time of course, Mary and Johnny had been standing more or less open-mouthed, listening, and I, from my vantage point high on the ceiling, had been taking it all in too.
"Can you think of any way to run the experiment over?" The professor asked. "Do you think you can remember the formula for the plastic plate?"
Jim thought a moment, snapped his fingers and said, "By golly, I believe I've got another piece of that plastic around here somewhere. I made it up at school and had to cut a little piece off so I could get it in my suitcase. I'll see if I can find it." And stepping gingerly around the plate in the hall he came back into the room and started rummaging around in his luggage.
* * * * *
The professor looked at me. "Mr. Wilson, what sort of sensation did you have when you stepped on the plate?"
"Well, as near as I can remember, I don't remember," I said. "I started to reach up and pull Duchess down, and the next thing I knew my head hit the ceiling. Still got a bump big as an Easter egg."
"Did you have a giddy, light sensation?"
"No, as I say, I don't remember anything but the whack on the head."
About that time, Jim hollered, "Hey! I found it! Now maybe we can find out what goes on here."
Jim and the professor very carefully disconnected the transformer from the plate in the hall, made sure the dial settings were the same, then hooked up the new plate. It was a lot smaller than the first one, being only about six inches wide and two feet long.
"I wonder if shape has anything to do with it?" the professor mused.
"We'll find out in a minute," said Jim. "Everybody stand back now, and I'll plug in the transformer."
He plugged it in and in a few seconds the plate began to glow the same as the other one. "We'll give it a few more seconds," Jim said, "then we'll see if it works."
The professor fumbled around in his pockets, started to toss his pipe onto the plate, thought better of it and put it back in his pocket. Johnny, who had been watching the whole proceedings, pulled out his Boy Scout knife. "You can use this, Professor."
Professor Jordan took the knife, got up close to the plate, gave it a toss, and plunk! It flew over the plate and went straight to the ceiling! And stuck!
"Well, thank goodness, we know it's the present combination of voltage and frequency, and not a series of changes," Jim said, relieved.
"Yes, and size and shape apparently have little to do with it too," the professor answered. "Now all we have to do is find out why. That's our problem."
"And how long it lasts too," said Jim, glancing up at me. Then turning to the professor; "Sir, I've been wondering what you think of the idea that maybe these plates change the electrical charge of whatever object is placed on them, or over them."
"I had that thought too, Jim, when I found out we couldn't turn that plate off. Any ideas how we might go about grounding or dissipating the charge?"
"Or getting me down from here? I don't know if you or Jim realize it, but old Mother Nature is going to make things rather uncomfortable for me pretty soon. I've been up here for almost eight hours already, and I'm getting a bit uneasy, to say the least."
For the first time the professor's eyes crinkled a bit at the corners, and looking up at me, he chuckled, "Mr. Wilson, you've brought up a rather touchy subject, and we'll hurry as fast as we can."
* * * * *
Mary came in then with some more sandwiches and coffee, and I went through the same routine with the straw, only this time I got choked. Thank Heaven I did! That sounds funny, but while I was coughing and sputtering, spewing coffee all over the place, Jim had walked over so that he was right under me. He stood for a moment watching me sputter, then let out a whoop and hollered.
"Hey! Dad! Professor! Mom! I've got it! I've got it." He paused a second, then, "I hope...."
I was still sputtering, but Mary and Professor Jordan both grabbed him and started asking questions.... "What are you talking about? What's your idea?"
"Professor, did you see what happened to the coffee?"
"Your father got choked, why?"
"When he sputtered, did you see what happened? The coffee went up!"
"Well, yes, it did. But I don't see.... By jove! Wait a minute! I see what you're driving at!" And turning to Mary, the professor added, "Mrs. Wilson, do you have a garden hose long enough to reach into this room?"
Mary was shocked. I was still listening between sputters.
"Why, yes, we have. What are you going to do?"
"I hate to tell you this, Mother," Jim said, "But if Professor Jordan is going to do what I think he's going to do, you're not going to be very happy about it. Neither is Dad."
"But we hope to get Mr. Wilson down," the professor said, "Even though it may get
a little damp in here."
"If you can get Ralph down, I won't mind how damp it gets," said Mary. And turning to Johnny, who was standing open-mouthed, "Johnny, will you hook up the hose?"
"Yes, Johnny, and run it through the window so it'll come inside the room," Jim explained, quickly.
* * * * *
This whole thing sounded like Greek to me, but by now I had recovered from the sputtering spell, and if a garden hose run through the bedroom window would get me down I was certainly in favor of it. "Will this garden hose scheme you both seem to have thought of really work?"
"We hope so, Dad. It's going to make a mess in my room, but it's worth a try."
"What do I do, climb down it?"
"In effect you do," said the professor. "We'll know in a little while, I hope."
"Will someone unhook the screen?" Johnny was outside.
Jim unhooked the screen and pulled the hose into the room. "Do you want to try it, Professor?"
"Yes, but first, let's clear things out of the way."
"Hey!" I hollered. "You're not going to turn that hose on in here are you?"
The professor chuckled. "Hope you don't mind too much, but we hope it'll get you down."
"Well, I sure don't see...."
"Dad, the professor and I had the same idea. Maybe I can explain it ... you see, apparently anything you come in contact with takes on a bit of your 'charge.' In the case of the coffee, the small drops became charged and went up. I imagine that the plates and cups picked up a small charge too, while you held them, but it wasn't enough to make them rise. Is that about right, Professor?"
"It seems that way, Jim. Anyway, it's worth a try." The professor looked up at me, "Mr. Wilson, I'm afraid you aren't going to care much for this. As soon as we clear the room a bit I'm going to turn the hose on you."
My mouth dropped open. "Turn the ho...?"
"Yes.... You see, if whatever you touch picks up a bit of the charge, then about the quickest way to 'discharge' you would be to touch you with a large volume of something. Water sounds logical, doesn't it?"
"Well, I suppose so," I mumbled. "But, there must be something ... some other way...."
"There may be, Dad," Jim said, "but you want to get down from there fast, don't you? OK! Here we go!"
* * * * *
So, Jim turned the water on and in a few minutes of course, I was soaked through my bathrobe and pajamas, right to the skin. Johnny was looking through the window laughing fit to kill, and with a look of horror on her face, Mary was watching the water cascading across the ceiling and down into the room. Jim and Professor Jordan were watching me like hawks. Waiting for me to fall, I guess. Fortunately the weather was warm, because the water certainly wasn't. This must have gone on for an hour, but it apparently wasn't, because when they turned the water off, Jim said to the professor, "I hope you timed that, sir. I forgot to."
The professor had, and it turned out to be about ten minutes. He looked up at me, "Do you feel any lighter?"
"What do you mean, lighter?"
He grinned. "I mean can you push yourself away from the ceiling?"
I rolled over on my side and tried to push. By golly! I did seem to move a little easier! "I may be a little lighter, Professor, or maybe it's my imagination, but turn that hose on again!"
Splat! On it came, and it's been on and off and on and off for, let me see, this must be the third day now. And I don't mind telling you I'm not going to need a bath for at least two months when I get down. When I get down! Do you know where I am right now? I'm about two feet from the ceiling, which puts me still ten feet from the floor ... hanging there in the air like the assistant to an Indian fakir! Only this is no trick.
Oh, it's not so bad now; I'm wearing swimming trunks and Jim and Professor Jordan with the assistance of Johnny and Mary, rigged a sort of trough arrangement to carry the 'charged' water out of the window and up into the sky. The water that didn't pick up a charge and fell to the floor is being pumped out the window with a hand pump. Oh, yes, they had to dam up the doorway to keep the rest of the house from being inundated. And I shudder every time I think how much damage has been done to Jim's bedroom. I'm coming down though, slowly, and Professor Jordan has it figured that at the present rate it's going to take five to six more days. I don't know how he came to that conclusion, but I sure hope he's right and hasn't underestimated. The constant soaking has my skin looking like damp corduroy. All over too.
What about the transformer and plate? Well, I believe Professor Jordan is going to take a leave of absence and he and Jim are going to do some full time research on the device, whatever it is. They both think it has many possibilities. So do I, but I'm going to keep my feet on the ground. If they ever get there!
* * *
Contents
FIRST MAN
By Clyde Brown
To keep the record straight: Orville Close was first man on the Moon. Harold Ferguson was second. They never talk about it.
It started on that October morning when the piece came out in the Parkville News. Harold grumbled that they'd gotten the story all wrong, calling his ship a rocket ship, and treating him like a flagpole sitter or a man going over Niagara Falls in a barrel. His wife took their sad, thin little girl and went to live with her brother. The city police blocked off Elm Street, letting no one through except the residents. The neighbors were getting up a petition. But Orville refused to become excited.
What was going to happen?
Why, nothing.
Harold would probably crack up completely, but this evening that thing would still be standing there, solid as the Washington Monument.
Nevertheless, Orville's wife Polly was going to her sister's, across town. She wasn't going to stay there and be blown up! While she was getting ready, Orville picked up a package by the sink and carried it outside to the alley and dropped it in the garbage can. He wore his double-breasted fall suit. He strolled to the boundary fence and leaned against a post.
A reporter was taking angle shots of the spaceship. Flashbulbs were scattered over Harold's garden.
It really does catch the eye, Orville thought. Smarten the ship up a little, put some stripes running down from the nose, a few pieces of chrome around over the body....
* * * * *
Poor old Harold came off his back porch carrying a thermos jug and six loaves of bread.
"Morning, Harold," said Orville.
"Oh--morning, Orville." Harold flinched. Another reporter had come out of the shed and taken their picture.
"What's your name, mister?" the reporter asked Orville.
"I'd rather you left me out of this," Orville said.
A loaf of bread had broken open and slices were falling out. Harold put down the thermos jug and picked up the slices and stuffed them back into the wrapper. The first reporter came over.
"It's got Vitamin D." Harold grinned wretchedly. "Costs two cents more a loaf, but I thought, what the heck--"
"How about a shot of you and the missus saying good-by?" the first reporter said.
"Why--she left me," Harold blurted. He tried to get away, but the reporters hemmed him in.
"Was she scared?" the second reporter asked.
"Look, boys!" Orville put his hands on the top rail of the fence and climbed across. He was getting his shoes wet in the weeds in Harold's garden, but he didn't care. "The man has work to do. Can't you leave him alone?"
* * * * *
He picked up the jug and took Harold by the elbow and led him into the shed.
There, resting on some concrete blocks on the dirt floor, was the base of the ship. In the semi-darkness, it looked harmless enough: like a tank, six or eight feet across, reaching up through a jagged hole in the roof.
"Harold, you could make a good thing out of this," Orville said. "All this publicity."
Harold was climbing a rickety ladder to the roof. Orville followed.
"Mount this thing on a trailer. Take her around to fairs and carnivals."
Orville waited on the roof while Harold climbed another ladder to the small oval door in the side of the ship. Harold called down: "You never saw the inside. Want to look around?"
"Well...." Orville glanced into his back yard. Polly wasn't ready yet. He climbed up and handed the jug to Harold and stuck his head in.
"Huh!" There wasn't much to see. Just a small compartment with some pipes leading from below into the nose. "You got to fix this up," he said. "Some Rube Goldberg contraptions."
"The works are all up here." Harold climbed a ladder and disappeared through a hole overhead. "C'mon up, I'd like you to see this!"
Orville looked down again into his yard. "It'll take her forever! Polly, I mean. Okay, I guess I got time for a look." He stepped in and climbed until his waist was through the hole.
* * * * *
The nose of the ship was dark. Harold was shining an extension lamp around. There were parts of a junked car and some old plumbing fixtures and Orville recognized the wheels of a lawnmower he'd left by the alley for the trash men to pick up. This didn't look like the inside of a spaceship. It looked exactly like a corner in Harold's basement.
"Oh, Lord," Orville said.
"I call this my scope." Harold was shining the light on a shaving mirror, on a long arm that could be swung and tilted about. "How about that? Pretty neat, huh?"
Neat was hardly the word for it. "Look here, Harold! The neighbors are getting an injunction. Why don't you play it smart? Fight it out in the courts. There'll be a lot of publicity--"
"They are?" Harold was hurt. He was shining the lamp in Orville's eyes.
"Yeah. Now while you're fighting it out in the courts--"
"Do you call that neighborly?"
"They're scared. They're afraid you'll blow the whole neighborhood to pieces."
"Well, hell with them!"
"While we're on that subject, ain't that my trouble lamp you're holding?"
"Yeah. Guess it is. Need it right away?"
"Just want you to remember where it came from."