Sputnik In Manhattan(Hassane Fall) Sputnik In Manhattan
By H.F


Today was a beautiful day, with the exception that the sky was cloudless; the solar radiation was too intense that it dried the clouds of what is only made up of condensed water vapor. I like the clouds; they are a complement that fully defines the beauty of nature.

And then disturbance came about when my mother abruptly gave three hard knocks on my door saying, “Hartley, sweetie, I told you not to lock yourself in your room.”

I suddenly stopped what I was doing and leaned behind the door.

“Mom, it’s my room,” I said in frustration, tired of being taken as child despite my being twelve years of age. “I can do whatever I want, whenever I want.”

“You’ve locked yourself in the whole day. I haven’t seen you since morning.”

“That’s because I’m doing important stuff.”

“You’ve been doing this for two weeks. I’m beginning to worry.”

“Mom, I’m not in danger. I’m doing my homework.” I lied.

“Are you masturbating?”

“What? No! Mom, that wasn’t cool!” The longer she stood there the more painfully my head was beginning to ache.

“Honey, if you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

“Mom, I told you, I’m not masturbating. I’m doing my homework.”

“Anyway, honey, your friend is downstairs waiting for you.”
I knew it was my best friend James. He always comes to my house on the weekends. I told her to bring him to my room.

When I finally resumed my project, I was surprised to find my room in an utter mess; instruction manuals, mechanical parts and screws and silicon wirings all scattered on the floor. I ignored them and decided to assemble some parts into my project.

A minute later came a knock on my door.

“Hey, Hartley, open the door. It’s James.” I opened the door and stared at James from head to toe; he wore a black trench coat and a blue Yankee hat. The combination didn’t seem that stylish or attractive.

“Why are you wearing a raincoat?” I bothered to ask.

“I told you I’m sensitive to light,” said James. He was one year older than me.

“You’ll die young,” I said.

“Well, you’ll be a virgin before reaching old age.”

I let him in and made sure my door was locked.

James stood in amazement as he surveyed my room, and then finally rested his gaze on my project.

“What is that?” said James.

“That is my project,” I told him.

“It looks more like those flying objects in space.”

“Oh, you mean satellites. Yeah, my project here is a satellite, if you’re asking.”

“Does this satellite have a name?”

“I call it ‘Sputnik’.”

“‘Sputnik’? What kind of name is that?”

Of course, James was an average teenager with an average mind, that is to say he knew nothing of the stuff I know. I’m a prodigy who graduated from NYU with a 4.0 grade point average. Afterwards NASA representatives recruited me to assist them in hopes of making a feasible space shuttle for the purpose of space tourism. Though I opted to take a break from it and work on Sputnik.

James stood there with an uncertain look on his face, waiting for me to lecture him.

“Sputnik was the first satellite to be launched by the Soviet Union in 1957. Sputnik successfully reached our orbit, which enabled the USSR to obtain valuable information.”

“Wow!” said James. “Do I have to know that?”

“No, I don’t think you do.”

“So, if the first satellite was named ‘Sputnik,’ why would you name your satellite after it?”

“Because I’m inspired by it,” I said.

“Inspired? But why do you need a satellite, or Sputnik whatever, to reach the orbit? Did NASA ask you to do so?”

“No. My Sputnik is only 4 feet by length and 3 feet by width, and is only intended to reach the stratosphere, about 25,430 feet, I believe. It will only cover within the range of Manhattan.”

“So what can your Sputnik do?”

“Once it reaches the stratosphere it’ll activate on itself due to the change in gravitational force. From there, all the information reaching the satellites in space will be redirected to my Sputnik. My computer will obtain the data, which are the whereabouts of vehicles, telecommunication signals, money transactions, et cetera. Much about everything that’s going on in this world.”

“Is that even legal?” asked James.

“Who said it wasn’t legal to invent something and use it?” James scratched his head as he pondered over what I said.

“Can I help you with anything?”

“You can clean my room?” I told him as he frowned.

“If I do so, then you’ll pay for my lunch?”

I nodded and so we both reached an agreement. As I finished assembling my mini satellite James used my laptop while chatting with a girl on Facebook whom he likes.

“What are those two rectangular wings on Sputnik?” James asked while pointing to the two wing-like panels.

“These are panels made of small units called solar cells. They can convert solar energy, or sunlight for your sake, to electricity; it’ll power up the satellite nonstop.”

“But, if I may, how is the satellite going to remain in the air if not in space, since gravity will eventually pull it toward the earth?”

“I was hoping you’d ask. Well, I don’t expect my Sputnik to be successful at reaching the stratosphere and remain there like a regular satellite would in space. This is also a matter of testing my theory.”

“What’s your theory?”

“I developed a device called ‘energy-matter exchanger,’ which can convert hydrogen gas to heat. Since the stratosphere has a high density of moist air, the satellite will collect it and be converted to gas from the heat. The gas will spin the turbines, and in turn generate electricity, which will power the rotary wings so Sputnik can fly. That being said, my theory is that an object or rotorcraft, like a helicopter, can still fly at high elevation as long as the ratio of the velocity of the rotary wings to the time it takes for enough power to be generated is 1:1.”

“I still don’t get it,” said James.

“It’s okay, I don’t blame you.”

“Aside from testing your theory, what are you planning to do with the information once Sputnik becomes successful?”

“Honestly, I can’t tell you that. Maybe not now.”

“When are you planning to fly it?”

“Monday, probably before midnight. But I have to figure out how to get to lower Manhattan. I’m still twelve.”

James said not a word until moments later.

“My older brother can drive you there.”

“You sure about that? I don’t know. I don’t want people to find out about my project. You’re the only one who knows.”

“You can trust my brother. He’s 19 and studies astrology at some college. He’ll be interested to help with your launch.”

“Thanks.”

It was already past six when James and I went to a pizza restaurant. I paid our lunch using my visa card. For every purchase I make I ask for my balance. As of now I have $8,024 available.

Before we parted ways James gave me the contact number of his older brother, Tim. I returned home and found out my mom was asleep on the sofa, so I went to her bedroom and returned with a blanket and covered her halfway.

My father was still at work, our household Chihuahua was licking itself, and the dark began to loom on the streets of New York.

The next day, Sunday, my blackberry phone woke me up from a rare dream. The number indicated it was James. I rubbed my eyes, took a deep breath, and answered.

“Hello?”

“Oh, hey Hartley. How’s it going! It’s James. Have you talked to my brother yet?”

“I can’t believe you woke me up, and no, I didn’t call Tim yet.”

“You were sleeping? My bad! But it’s 3:31pm.”

I was shocked when I looked at my bedside clock; it was past three in the afternoon.

“Sorry if I woke you up,” apologized James.

“I’m going to hang up now,” I said with a rusty voice.

“Wait!” James said out loud on the other end of the line. “Hey, are you sure what you’re doing isn’t illegal? I mean…the satellite stuff is big stuff.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I reassured him. “And it’s not legal, yet.”

“Okay, then. I guess I'll talk to you later?”

I said yes and hung up. I took a quick shower, ate the breakfast left by my mother who had to meet with her sister for a wedding.

It wasn’t before five when my father emerged in the dining room, out of nowhere.

“Hey, Hartley, how’s work?” he said.

“Work?” I wondered.

“Yeah, work. You have a job with NASA, so I might as well treat you like an adult. So, how’s work?”

“Thanks dad. Work is great, I guess.”

“I have to get to work now. Talk to you later. Oh, and make sure Daphne gets something to eat.”

Daphne, our Chihuahua, never stops eating. What surprised me is that she never gets fat. My father gave me a copy of the house key before leaving for work.

After washing the dishes I left the house and headed to an automobile store, which is a five-minute walk from home. Once there, I grabbed a gallon of gasoline and a metal glass tube with a certain diameter good enough for five to go through.

Once at the register, a clerk — an old lady with a serious face — looked at me.

“Are you alone, mister?” she asked. I nodded. “You’re too young to purchase items of this type. Sorry, but you’re going to have to come back with an adult.”

I reached my wallet and pulled out a photo ID as a proof that I work for NASA. I showed her my identity and said, “I may look young, but my mind is beyond maturity and intellectuality. I need the items for my project, or if you want you can call my supervisor at NASA headquarters.”

The clerk looked at me, then back at the photo ID. She handed it back to me and decided to let me pay for them.

I returned home and fixed myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. At the table, while eating, I dialed Tim’s number. After several rings came a voice.

“This is Tim. Who is this?”

“This is Hartley Givens, James’ friend.”

“Oh, yeah! I heard you were working on some super stuff!”

“It’s not super stuff, really. It’s just a project.”

“I can drive you to where you want to go before 11:40pm. So 11:00pm sounds good?”

“Yep, it sounds great. Thank you.” We hung up after that. After finishing my meal I returned to my room to grab some supplies from the closet and went to the basement along with the items I just bought.

Today was the last day for my project to be complete. I spent almost three hours making an environmentally-friendly biodiesel to make a rocket that would propel Sputnik up in the air. It took me several months to realize a way to convert gasoline into a safer fuel, a discovery I’ve never told anyone.

On Monday night I told my mom that I was going to James’ house to sleep over until tomorrow. She agreed but was still oblivious of my true intentions.

Tim came to pick me up at exactly 11:00pm. I was discreet when hauling my satellite to the back of the car. As I told him the address he began, “I wish I was a genius like you.”

“Yeah? Unfortunately I’m one of those rare ones.”

“Sputnik in Manhattan, now that is a huge accomplishment,” he said with a smile. I remained silent.

Once we got there Tim wished me luck and said he would return before the launch at midnight.

Outside the streets of New York, close to the Hudson River, where no one was in sight, I assembled my Sputnik and sat on the sand holding a match. I was alone, waiting in the dark before midnight.

A voice from behind startled me when an officer of the law said, “Hartley Givens!”

I turned around and noticed the officer pointing his flashlight at me.

“I know who you are, Mr. Givens, or should I say, Mr. Genius?” the officer said, approaching slowly. “You are under arrest for being about to commit something without the official’s approval, and I mean launching Sputnik in Manhattan.”

Behind the officer were James and my mother. My best friend told them what I was planning. I couldn’t believe it. My mind was full of whys. Why did he tell on me? Am I trustworthy to him? Or maybe, I was blinded the whole time, not realizing that I underestimated the law. Maybe, James knew if they found out later on he might be thought of as an accomplice; he was saving himself from me.

At first I felt Sputnik was the beginning of a journey for me, to claim power. My only goal was to steal international funds and classified information that would get me high praise for being a savior. All of that can be achieved through my Sputnik, but now it was too late.

The officer strapped both my wrists with a plastic handcuffs. He led me away. As I approached James, the only words that came out of him were, “I’m sorry, Hartley.” I smiled at him and said I forgave him. I was too late to say thank you for him stepping up, as I was being dragged far from his reach so that the words wouldn’t reach him.

I turned to where Sputnik stood still ready to be launched in Manhattan for the first time in history. What a waste, I muttered to myself.

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