The Boy Who Could Fly Without a Motor (4 page)

Bosun Jeffers, directly behind Jon, stopped. His laugh was puzzled. "I must be seeing things, Jon, but it looked like you just floated." Jon felt panic. He hadn't intended to levitate. He hadn't directed his body to levitate.

"I kind of skipped," he replied. What had happened?

"On these steps, that's very dangerous."

"I won't do it again." Could his levitation get out of control? Ling Wu hadn't mentioned that possibility. And he certainly would have warned him.

Though maybe not.

Jon's father nodded, but his frown didn't go away. He shook his head. "That didn't look like a skip to me."

They went on up, and Jon reminded himself to be more careful in the future. But he hadn't been daydreaming as they climbed. The floating had surprised him as much as it had surprised his father. He was certain he hadn't told himself to float. Maybe his brain was having so much fun with levitation that it was taking control. That was a scary thought. He remembered Ling Wu cautioning him about something. "What was it?

Perhaps he should try to contact Ling "Wu and ask him what to do. He had no intention of stopping this wonderful, miraculous, sensational, extraordinary, supernatural use of his brain cells. But at the same time, he had to be able to control them.

THAT NIGHT, AT
about ten-thirty, when the Jeffers were sleeping peacefully, Jon pulled on his jeans, a heavy wool shirt, and shoes. Then he put on his warmest jacket and his red wool cap. He said good-bye to Smacks and levitated several feet, straightened out, and passed through the window, crossing over the cove, heading for Persiphone Reef and Three Fathom Shoal.

Staying about thirty feet above the wave tops, he gazed about him and wondered how fist he was moving. Maybe ten miles an hour, maybe fifteen. The ocean was a mass of dark waves, broken here and there by patches of yellow silver as rollers crested. Now and then Jon could see trails of phosphorus as fish darted beneath the surface.

Most of his brain, almost all of it, was committed to levitation, but a few million stubborn cells lingered to worry about flight control. Was he his own pilot? His own navigator? But he soon pushed aside those uncomfortable questions and let the excitement of body flying, the pure joy of it, of being an eagle or a hawk, express itself with a shout: "
Wow!
"

It took just a few minutes to reach Persiphone, which was a long narrow shelf of coral a few thousand yards from Clementine, washed almost constantly by the ocean. He hovered a moment but saw nothing of interest. No ghosts down there.

Onward to Three Fathom Shoal, a quarter-mile north. Water boiled over the hidden, dangerous ledges capable of slicing a ship's bottom. Then he spotted a bobbing light farther out.

Positive it was a ship, Jon could not resist the temptation to investigate. It didn't seem too far away. But distances at sea, particularly at night, are often tricky, and the bobbing light was probably another mile west of the shoal.

Pressing on, watching as fish knifed below him, Jon was not aware that behind him the friendly light of Clementine was growing fainter. Nor was he aware that he was moving with a strong breeze.

Once, he almost collided with a gull that was beating its way south. Screeching angrily, the gull swerved off, a look of wide surprise in its eyes. Jon reminded himself to be more careful while navigating the night skies.

Closer, the bobbing light revealed a fishing boat with its nets out. Men were working on the lighted deck. Jon had never had an aerial view of a trawler and found it very interesting. In feet, it was so interesting that before he knew it, the strong breeze had carried him to within a few inches of the mast and, as he passed over the boat, had blown off his red cap.

"Good lord, what was that?" came a shout from the deck.

There were more shouts, and Jon knew he'd made a terrible mistake. Suddenly, a spotlight caught him. He saw the feces of a half dozen openmouthed fishermen as he skimmed into the dark on the opposite side of the boat. Ling Wu had said that people weren't accustomed to seeing other people levitate.

Isn't that the truth,
Jon thought.

JON MADE A WIDE CIRCLE AWAY FROM
the boat and then headed back for Clementine, having learned that you just don't go about startling fishermen by floating across their mast in blue-black darkness.

Clementine Light was still strong but much farther away than Jon had thought. Suddenly, he realized the offshore wind that had helped push him to Persiphone and Three Fathom was now strong in his face, holding him back. He kept his nose straight into it and pushed on, knowing he'd be very weary by the time he reached the red cottage.

After an hour Clementine was still a half mile away, and Jon was nearly exhausted. He told his brain to add another two million cells to the job. As he gradually slipped from thirty feet down to ten, spray from the wave tops peppered his face. His hands felt almost frozen and his feet were numb. Every muscle and bone ached. He was wishing he'd never even
thought
about body flying.

Why, oh why, had he gone out so far? He thought of his warm, dry bed and his parents. If his brain cells suddenly failed, Jon would splash into the cold ocean and never be seen again. The breeze caught his tears and flung them behind him. With no one to hear, it wouldn't do any good to yell for help.

Near midnight Jon used his last ounce of energy to lift himself to the top of Clementine and glide down into the grass. He lay still for a moment, panting, but then finally got up and staggered toward the red cottage. He barely had the strength to climb into the window and crawl onto his bed.

Smacks almost wagged his tail off at the sight of his friend.

In the morning Jon's mother found him sprawled fully dressed on the yellow pelican spread, sleeping soundly. She left shaking her head.

JON WAS IN DEEP TROUBLE. OVER THE
past three days, he'd levitated several times without calling on a single cell. There was no pattern to it, and he'd had to quickly anchor himself before his parents noticed. The only long-range solution to his problem was to again use telepathy to contact Ling Wu and beg for help.

The immediate problem was to stop his brain cells from acting on their own. He spent almost an hour thinking about it and then remembered reading an article in
Popular Science
about deep-sea diving. Lead weights were used to pull divers down into the depths. So why not substitute small rocks for weights? Jon decided to try it.

Just before lunch Jon's father tapped him on the shoulder, and Jon suddenly came off the floor about two inches, the stones in his pants pockets rattling.

Perplexed once more, Bosun Jeffers asked, "How did you do that?"

"I just jumped," Jon said nervously, realizing he'd have to add a few more rocks as soon as possible. But people did jump when startled.

"That was a funny jump. I could swear you just went up into the air. Please do it again."

Jon's mother was looking on, frowning.

Hoping he wouldn't go up all the way to the ceiling and bump his head, Jon gave his toes a slight tap and rose six or seven inches.

"That's amazing!" his father exclaimed. "How did you learn to do that? I've never seen such a thing."

His mother said, "Jon, do you have gas in your stomach?"

Jon's face was as red as Ling Wu's gown. "It's easy. I just jump."

As they all sat down, Jon noticed that his parents were staring suspiciously at him. Worse, every time he moved, the stones rattled. Finally, his father looked all around the room for the source of the noise, and Jon confessed, "I picked up some rocks at the cove."

"Oh," his father said, clearing his throat and glancing at Jon's mother, a troubled look on his face. His mother's face mirrored the look. Did their nine-year-old son have a sudden physical problem of some kind? Jon was acting like he had a balloon inside him. Was it muscular? Something in his nervous system? Had a spirit invaded his body?

After lunch Jon got up very carefully. One thing was certain: He needed more anchoring weight. A few steps away from the door, probably because of all the bobbing stress and strain in the kitchen, Jon got the hiccoughs. Every time he went, "Eeglup," he rose several inches into the air.

Mrs. Jeffers called Bosun Jeffers over, and they watched in despair as their small son went across the green grass like a frog.

"Ee-glup." And hop.

"Ee-glup." And hop.

"Ee-glup." And hop.

Mrs. Jeffers said with determination, "Just as soon as that supply boat comes in, I'm taking him to the mainland and the hospital."

"Absolutely." Bosun Jeffers nodded.

Jon went back down to the cove and added three more stones to each pocket, then returned to the red cottage at the foot of the lighthouse and said he was going to take a nap. A long afternoon of emergency telepathy was ahead, to try to reach Ling Wu, a ghost Jon now wished he'd never met.

"That does it," Jon's mother said to Bosun Jeffers. "Jon hasn't volunteered to take a nap in five years." As Jon walked out of the kitchen, a final massive hiccough grabbed him. He went, "Eeglup," and his heels rose three inches despite the added stones.

Mrs. Jeffers began to weep.

Later that same day, there was some unusual excitement. A squadron of Army Air Corps fighter planes flew back and forth to the west of Clementine, about two miles out.

Rocks in his pockets, Jon went up the ladders to the top of the lighthouse and used his father's telescope to watch. The planes were Curtiss-Wright P-36s with Pratt and Whitney Twin Wasp engines. He wondered what they were doing.

THE NEXT DAY, WHILE UP ON THE TOWER
platform, looking through the telescope at a tanker headed south, Jon spotted a small white boat moving toward Clementine. He focused in on it, and saw that it was Coast Guard, with three or four people aboard. Aside from when the steam supply-tug came,the only time an official boat visited the rock was for the annual lighthouse inspection.

There was chop, and the boat bounced through the whitecaps. Jon and Smacks quickly descended the ladders and steps. Jon's father was in the kitchen, busily making his monthly nonfood, maintenance needs list, which included oil for the diesel and other items.

"Dad, there's a Coast Guard boat approaching," said Jon. His father put down his pencil.

They went down to the cove, Smacks romping ahead, wagging his tail furiously. Visitors were always welcome.

The boat held three officers as well as a civilian and a two-sailor crew. The officers and civilian climbed out as the sailors tied the boat to the dock.

The Coast Guard lieutenant introduced himself and then the other two officers and the civilian. The major was from Army Intelligence, the lieutenant commander was from Naval Intelligence, and the civilian was an agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Jon had never seen an agent, but he'd often listened to the FBI show on the radio. Now here was a real one.

Jon saw the frown and puzzled look on his dad's face. What in the world did these intelligence folks want on remote Clementine Rock? Jon felt the same way.

The lieutenant said, "Boats, could we have a chat?"

Jon's father said, "Sure. Let's go up to the kitchen. We'll have some coffee." He led the way, with Jon and Smacks following the group.

Jon wished he could talk to the FBI agent and ask him if he'd ever been in a gun battle with bootleggers.

They all sat down around the old oak table while Mrs. Jeffers made coffee and asked if they wanted a piece of the apple pie she'd just baked. If the men turned it down, Jon thought, they were fools. Just breathing the smell of his mother's pies was a treat.

The lieutenant commander smiled at her and said, "Certainly. Thank you." He then said, "Tuesday night there was a trawler fishing about three quarters of a mile, perhaps a mile, off Three Fathom Shoal at approximately eleven o'clock. What I'm going to tell you now must remain top secret..."

Jon's mouth hung open and his heart did cartwheels.

"A flying object passed over this boat, circled it, and then disappeared into the darkness. Six of the eight crew members saw it, so it was not a figment of their imaginations. And it was not a big bird. You may laugh at what I will tell you next: The flying object was human and did not have wings or a motor."

Jon's legs began to turn to jelly.

"We all know it is impossible for humans to fly without wings or an engine. And if this flying object is indeed human, or a subhuman Martian, our country feces a complete security catastrophe."

Jon wanted to turn into a puddle on the floor.

"President Roosevelt is terribly worried, as are our military leaders. Beyond the possibility that someone has learned how to fly without wings or a motor, can you imagine millions of people, once the secret is out, flying all over the skies everywhere in the world? Can you imagine foreign flying soldiers, each carrying rifles and hand grenades?"

Jon wanted to run out and throw up on the grass, but he also wanted to keep listening.

"Wednesday morning the Army Air Corps sent out a squadron of fighters to search the area where the fishermen saw the flying object."

So that's what the planes were doing,
Jon thought, feeling boneless.
Searching for me!
Should he tell them? Plead guilty? Promise never to levitate again? Suffer flaming straw up his nose?

"Now, my question to you, Boats, and to you, Mrs. Jeffers, and to you, sonny, is have you seen anything out here that might resemble an aerial vehicle, human or Martian?"

Bosun Jeffers shook his head. "Not me.

Mrs. Jeffers said, "My goodness, no."

Every eye on him, Jon had a millisecond decision to make. Boiled in dragon's bile or have his toes nailed to a shark's back? He said, "I was asleep
most
of Tuesday night," which was true, and the lieutenant commander let it go at that. Was he going to grill a four-foot-two, fifty-two-pound boy of nine? Jon never thought that a body-flight request to a living-dead magician would lead to this.