On Friday night Robbie was daydreaming in bed about the new bike his mother was going to buy him on Saturday and the fun he and Billy Hrdina were going to have on the weekend. Billy had made Robbie’s first week at the new school easier than he could ever have imagined. His new friend had shown him the ropes and given him the lowdown on everyone in their class. Gradually, though, Robbie became aware of the buzz of conversation rising from the first floor of the house.
He got up and padded over to his bedroom door. Pulling it open quietly, he crept out onto the landing, inching up carefully until he could peer through the railing. Several men were seated around the fireplace in the living room. As he pressed closer to the railing, his mother appeared from the kitchen with two plates of sandwiches. She placed them on a low table, where cups of coffee already sat in front of some of the men.
A short blond man with a moustache was speaking. “I see no reason to doubt we can achieve Mach 2 with the Iroquois engine.”
Robbie almost whistled in surprise. He knew that Mach 1 was the speed of sound, which varied depending on the air temperature and humidity and atmospheric pressure but was about 740 miles per hour at 32 degrees Fahrenheit and sea-level pressure. If his mother was working on a plane capable of flying at Mach 2, twice the speed of sound, then it had to be something pretty special.
“Are you sure, Jack,” a potbellied, balding man asked, “that we can rely on those model tests? I still wonder if we shouldn’t have gone the prototype route.”
“There’s no reason for the data not to be accurate, Bob. With the rockets the models will be able to reach Mach 1.7 and give us all the information we need. Anyway, it would’ve taken too long to develop a prototype, and you heard Crawford today. We have to get this thing up and flying as a production model fast if we want to keep the politicians off our backs.”
Robbie wondered what models they were talking about and how they flew, because he realized they would have to be flying models to supply the information they would need. I’d sure like one of those, he thought excitedly.
The conversation then became very technical and way over Robbie’s head, so he carefully made his way back across the landing and into his room. Climbing into bed, he found he couldn’t sleep and lay staring at the ceiling. All thoughts of his new bike were pushed aside for the moment. What he wouldn’t give to see one of those jet models the men downstairs were talking about.
Emily was surprised on Saturday morning when she entered the kitchen and discovered that Robbie wasn’t up yet. She went back upstairs and into his room to find her son still asleep. “Hey, come on, sleepyhead. I thought today of all days you’d be chasing me out of bed this morning, not the other way around.”
Robbie awoke with a start, then remembered what day it was and shot out of bed. “What time is it, Mom?”
“Late enough. Now get yourself into the bathroom while I make some breakfast.”
Robbie ran to the bathroom as his mother disappeared back downstairs. As the shower water ran over him, Robbie found the excitement about buying his new bike overshadowed by what he had heard the previous night. He had tried to imagine what this super plane might look like, but no clear images came into his head. One thing was certain, though: he felt an overwhelming pride in his mother and his country who were leading the world in aviation development.
After breakfast Robbie and his mother headed for the cycle shop, all thoughts of the super plane gone. He examined every bike with enthusiasm. Eventually he settled on a gleaming red-and-chrome CCM sports model and watched anxiously as the clerk stowed it in the trunk of his mother’s car, carefully packing the old blankets his mother had brought around the bicycle and tying down the trunk lid.
Billy was waiting outside their house when they returned and eagerly helped unload the new bicycle. “Wow, some bike, Robbie! Can you take it out now?”
Robbie looked at his mother. Emily smiled. “Go on, on your way, and be careful. And don’t be late for lunch.”
Leaping onto his brand-new machine, Robbie pedalled off furiously, with Billy in full pursuit. Quickly Billy nosed in front to show Robbie the way to High Park. Ten minutes later they arrived there, gasping for breath. As they rested, the events of the previous night flooded back into Robbie’s head. “If I tell you something really special, will you promise not to tell anyone, Billy?”
His friend looked puzzled but nodded.
“Not anyone ever. Promise?”
Billy scratched his left ear. “Sure. I promise. What’s the big deal?”
“My mom’s company is building a super fighter jet. It could be the fastest in the world.”
“How do you know?”
“Some of the men who are working on it with my mom were at our house last night talking about it.”
Billy frowned doubtfully. “They were talking to you?”
Robbie laughed. “No way. I woke up and heard these voices, so I crept out onto the landing and listened. They claim the plane will fly at Mach 2.”
“Boy, that’s fast...isn’t it?”
“You bet. It’s twice the speed of sound.”
“Gosh, you must be awfully proud of your mom.”
“Yeah, I guess I am.” Robbie was a little embarrassed at voicing his pride.
“Do you think you’ll hear any more?”
“If they meet again, I will. I’m going to stay awake next Friday and see if they do. It seems like a regular thing, because my mom had sandwiches and all that ready.”
Billy kicked at a stone. “Will you tell me?”
“Of course, but remember, it’s got to be our secret, otherwise I’m sure my mom could get into trouble. And I know I would.”
“You can trust me, Robbie. It’s our secret.”
Three
Robbie wasted several good nights of sleep for the next three Fridays before discovering on the fourth Friday that the meetings obviously only happened once a month. He rubbed his eyes again, trying to stay awake. It was lucky they always had their meetings only on Fridays, or he would have had a hard time getting up for school the next morning. Robbie had been on the landing, listening for close to an hour, but had heard nothing except technical stuff, which probably was the real reason for his sleepiness.
“Think we’re going to stay on schedule with all these alterations for the new engine, Bob?”
Robbie came fully awake when he recognized the voice of Joe Wilkie, a man who had been at the previous Friday get-together.
“It would have been a lot easier if the Pratt & Whitney people hadn’t decided to scrap the J-67 engine in favour of the J-75,” said a chubby man who had been introduced earlier as Bob Jenson, an engine expert. He was slouched in one of the deep armchairs by the fire.
“Of course, but they insist this is a better engine, and I doubt it’s the last time we’ll have to deal with sudden changes,” Joe said.
“It’s a shame we can’t get the Iroquois engine online faster,” Jenson said. “We’d have a much better engine than even this new one and, best of all, we wouldn’t be hogtied to the Americans.”
“Unfortunately we’re a couple of years away from that, and since we’ll have the first plane ready before then, we’ll have to rely on the Americans for a while