The Space Mission Adventure (2 page)

“I never thought about it,” Rashawn said. “But I suppose there's lots of training.”

“You gotta learn how to read the instruments and fly the space shuttle,” Rico offered. “And know what to do if you have to walk in space and fix something on the outside of the shuttle.”

“I figure you need to practice what it feels like to be weightless so you don't throw up, mon!” Ziggy added.

“When we get to Space Camp, you practice that one by yourself—okay, Ziggy?” Jerome laughed, held his nose, and moved to a chair away from Ziggy.

“Let's go over this stuff, so the Black Dinosaurs Space Team is ready,” Rico said. “I can't believe my dad is taking us all the way to Huntsville,
Alabama, for the weekend. I hope it's warmer there than it is here in Ohio!”

“Your dad is the bomb, mon,” Ziggy exclaimed. “I know you only see him on vacations and stuff, but that is so cool that he's a pilot in the air force.”

“Yeah, my dad really is all right,” Rico replied. “He took me up in a jet last year on my birthday.”

“Awesome!” Jerome said.

“Did you throw up?” Ziggy asked.

“Of course not! You focus on the strangest things, Ziggy.” Rico shook his head.

“How long will it take to get there?” Rashawn asked.

“My dad says about seven hours by car. We go from Cincinnati, through Louisville, Kentucky, and Nashville, Tennessee, all the way down to Huntsville. But that's not counting stops at fast-food places or to see cool stuff,” Rico told him.

“You think we can find our hometown chili dogs in Alabama?” Jerome asked. “Cincinnati makes the best chili in the world.”

“You know,
every
city thinks its chili is the best,” Rico replied with a grin.

“It's even better if you put jelly on your chili dogs, mon,” Ziggy said cheerfully. “Gives them that extra-sweet flavor!”

“Yuck!” Jerome, Rashawn, and Rico all threw sofa pillows at Ziggy, who dodged them easily.

“So, what do we take with us besides bug spray?” Jerome asked as he glanced at the stacks of papers that Rico was handing each of them.

“There are no bugs in space, mon!” Ziggy said with authority, holding two of the sofa pillows on his lap.

“Yeah, but I bet there are plenty in Huntsville!” Jerome replied. “I take no chances, my man!”

“Let's see,” Rico said, reading from the top page of the instructions. “Toothbrush and stuff, pajamas, socks, deodorant . . .”

“Don't forget that!” Rashawn said with a laugh.

“It also says not to bring portable music players or handheld video games,” Rico continued.

“Not even my Mega Mighty Martian Blasters game?” Ziggy asked with dismay. “How will we practice dealing with invading Martian spacemen without that game?”

“Maybe we'll get real information instead of pretend video-game stuff,” Rico replied sensibly.

“You mean it's not real? There aren't any Martians out there ready to attack Earth, mon?” Ziggy rolled off his chair and onto the floor, making zapping sounds like a space weapon.

“Probably not, Ziggy,” Jerome told him. “But maybe you can ask somebody about it when we get there.”

“If there's even just a possibility that Martian invaders might be real, I want to be ready, just in case. Martians are purple, have three heads, and spit fire, you know, unless they're in disguise. They can make themselves look like anything they want—a cat, a dog, even an Earthling.”

“How do you know this?” Rashawn asked him.

Ziggy looked at him with surprise. “Because I've played the game a million times, mon!”

Rico laughed. “What else did you learn from that game, Ziggy?”

“Martians live in trees and eat rocks, mostly. But they have a special fondness for chocolate-covered pickles, just like I do, so they can't be all bad!”

“I bet the folks at Space Camp don't know any of this,” Jerome told Ziggy.

“Well, I'll be sure to tell them! I guess the future of the planet is going to depend on me, mon,” Ziggy said. “I can't wait to get to Space Camp!”

ONE WEEK LATER, ON A FROSTY, COOL MORNING, THE
four friends loaded their bags into the back of Rico's dad's big SUV.

“It's so early, the birds aren't even up!” Jerome said as he tossed his sleeping bag into the truck.

“I like the morning, mon! It's like the day smells fresh and new—ready for adventures!” Ziggy twirled around in Rico's driveway, excitement showing on his face.

“I think that's your mom's sweet rolls you smell, Ziggy,” Rico told him. “Nothing better than hot cinnamon rolls on a chilly morning.”

“You're right. My mum was up hours ago making these for our trip. They're still warm.”

“Are you gonna do something weird, like put ketchup on them or something?” Rashawn asked, wrinkling his nose as he climbed into the SUV with Jerome and Rico.

“Not my mum's sweet rolls, mon! Be sensible!” Ziggy climbed in the back row of seats with the others and gave everyone a roll even before they got to the end of the street. He made sure Rico's dad had two. “Must keep the driver happy, mon!”

Mr. Roman thanked Ziggy and drove smoothly down Interstate 75 for several hours. The boys dozed until he stopped at a gas station near Jellico, Tennessee.

“Would you look at that?” Rashawn said as he climbed out of the car and stretched.

“Wow!” Jerome echoed.

“That's the biggest dinosaur and Ferris wheel I've ever seen, mon!” Ziggy said with awe. “And look at that rocket ship!”

Mr. Roman chuckled. “I think they designed this
place so kids could stretch their legs and stretch the wallets of grown-ups as well.”

“Now
that's
a dinosaur worthy of the Black Dinosaurs club,” Rico said as they walked around the huge green model.

Mr. Roman snapped a photo of the boys as they mugged with the dinosaur.

“The dinosaur looks fake,” Rashawn commented as the boys crammed close to see the result, “but we sure look good.”

“I'm going to gas up the car. You guys look around a bit, and we'll leave after we eat,” Mr. Roman said.

“That rocket looks pretty realistic,” Jerome said. “Do you think it can really fly?”

“Naw, it's just a model like the dinosaur. I want to see the
real
stuff. I wonder what they'll have at Space Camp,” Rico mused.

“Maybe that's where the Martian invaders will be hiding,” Ziggy said as he patted the rocket ship. “Maybe disguised as dinosaurs like that one.”

“You're always talking about Martians, Ziggy,” Rashawn said with a sigh. “If you're so sure they
exist, why haven't you ever seen one?”

“I don't know, mon! Maybe I have. I told you they use different disguises.” Ziggy looked around, pretending to search for hidden aliens.

“Well, the Ferris wheel over there—maybe the one they flew in on—seems to be broken, so let's go inside and get something to eat. I'm starved,” Rico said.

For four hours, the boys played a marathon state license plate bingo game, a noisy and confusing version of I Spy, and sang every camp song they'd ever learned. Finally, the boys looked excitedly out the window at their first glimpse of the U.S. Space and Rocket Center in Huntsville. Black and white rockets of various sizes stretched majestically into the sky as if waiting to be launched. Mr. Roman looked relieved as they pulled into the lot.

“Wow! And you thought that play rocket in Jellico was cool. Look at all those space vehicles!” Rashawn gaped with wonder. Standing several hundred feet tall, the largest rocket, painted with huge black and white rectangles, loomed boldly before them.

“Is that real, Dad?” Rico asked.

“Yes, son. That's the
Saturn Five
—the real thing. It was the largest operational launch vehicle ever produced. It's more than 363 feet high. If you could
stand a football field on its end, the rocket would be taller. That's the kind of rocket that goes to the moon.”

“To the moon,” Ziggy repeated, his voice full of awe. “Wouldn't it be cool to walk on the moon you see up in the sky every night?”

The other boys nodded in agreement. “The rest of the rockets and rocket boosters and shuttle orbiters you see are real as well,” Mr. Roman continued. “Some of them are models that were used for planning and practice, and some have actually flown in space.”

“Hey, it's not cold here—must be at least seventy degrees,” Jerome said as he took off his heavy jacket.

“Thanks for driving us, Mr. Roman,” Rashawn said, helping him unload the bags. “I know we can be a pain in the butt sometimes.”

Rico's father smiled. “I was a kid once, Rashawn. I'm glad the four of you are such good friends. I just wish we'd had something as cool as Space Camp when I was your age.” He looked around at the towering rockets with almost as much awe as the boys.

Ziggy, for once, was speechless. He gazed at the
rockets and jets and space equipment that decorated what was called Rocket Park and just stared silently, a look of wonder on his face. “Awesome, mon,” he whispered.

A Space Camp representative came to meet them as they headed to the registration area. A red, white, and blue sign read
WELCOME TO U.S. SPACE CAMP AND U.S. SPACE AND ROCKET CENTER—THROUGH THESE DOORS ENTER AMERICA'S FUTURE ASTRONAUTS, SCIENTISTS, AND ENGINEERS.

“That's me, mon!” Ziggy said, swaggering a little. “Space soldier in training!”

“My name is Stanley,” a young man in a navy blue Space Center T-shirt greeted them, shaking first each boy's hand, then Mr. Roman's. “Welcome to Space Camp!” He checked his list. “The four of you are here for Pathfinder Camp, right?”

“That means we get to do a mission, doesn't it?” Rashawn asked.

“Sure does,” Stanley replied.

“A mission?” Ziggy asked. “What does that mean?”

“Your counselor, Samantha, will explain it all.
Every camper is assigned to a group that has a cool name—the four of you have been assigned to Team America.”

“Awesome,” Rico whispered.

“You gonna tell us how to prepare for a Martian invasion?” Ziggy asked.

Stanley laughed. “I bet you can get to the ninety-ninth level on Mega Mighty Martian Blasters, can't you?”

Ziggy's eyes grew wide. “How'd you know, mon?”

“I know my way around the galaxy,” Stanley replied with a wink. “I'm not sure if we'll have time this weekend to get to Martians, but I guarantee you'll go home with more information about space than you ever dreamed of,” he assured Ziggy. “Let's get you guys signed in.”

They hurried through the registration process, getting name badges, bed linens, and Pathfinder T-shirts. “Who wants a top bunk?” Stanley asked as they headed toward the stairs to the sleeping quarters he called the Habitat.

“I do!” Rashawn said enthusiastically.

“Me too, mon!” Ziggy echoed him. “It's closer to outer space.”

“Three feet up isn't going to make much difference, Ziggy,” Jerome said. “I'll stay close to the ground. I may need to escape in a hurry.”

“I'll take a bottom bunk too,” Rico said. “Just seems safer.”

“Okay, we have two up and two down. Let's get going,” Stanley said.

The four boys grabbed their gear and the bed linens and T-shirts they'd been given and hurried up the stairs.

Rico said a brief good-bye to his father, who had decided to spend the weekend playing golf nearby. “I'll see you guys at graduation!” he called out to the boys, who were noisily climbing the stairs to the Habitat. They waved and didn't even notice when he left.

“It looks like an army barrack!” Rico said in dismay as they entered the room they'd been assigned to. There were a total of seven narrow beds, five of them top bunks. Underneath three of the top bunks were desks. The room was clean, bare of the carpet
and wallpaper and room decorations the boys were used to at their homes, and very, very small.