This Will Indeed Be A Little Gem, Page 2

more. I shuddered to think what could have happened if I had depressed the Auto button at the same time as Propel. I would have voyaged to the stratosphere and probably perished.

  I needed to know more about the contraption. Being a chemist by training, my scientific background helped me in understanding it, but, as of now, I had no idea what might be the scientific principle or principles upon which it worked. The inventor of the machine could, of course, supply all the answers, but who was that person? It occurred to me that the periodical I had found near the gem might provide a clue. I retrieved it and found that even though it looked like a technology magazine, it was really a professional journal. The title was The Journal of the American Physicist Association. There was a mailing label visible on the cover, but it's outer surface had been peeled away and I could not tell to whom it had been mailed. An idea occurred to me. Possibly, this subscriber's name could still be read in the remnant of the label that remained. I drove to my office, and flooded the label with a source of ultraviolet light. My efforts were rewarded when I saw a dim, but clearly readable name and address. This subscriber's name was Doctor James T. Hardesty, 18081 43rd Street, New York, NY 10010. At once I knew that I would have to visit this person.

  I called the Hardesty home. A woman answered. "Hello," I began "Would James Hardesty be home?" "No," the woman replied, "he is in Wilson Hospital. Are you a friend of his? He was hurt several days ago, and is not expected to be leaving the hospital for a couple of weeks."

  "Oh," I responded, "this is Philip Stanton. I wonder if I could see you on a business matter."

  "What would that be?" She asked. I did not want to give away too much. "This has to do with a small mechanism that can be used to propel objects in various directions at various speeds," I explained. "Would you know anything about this?"

  "Shouldn't you talk to Dr. Hardesty?" The woman asked. "I'm his wife."

  "Yes, I think so," I responded, "but I'd like to speak with you also. I could meet with you in a couple of days."

  Mrs. Hardesty agreed to meet me on May 30 and gave me directions to her home. Somehow, she seemed to sense that I would not use the roads and streets to get to her house. The directions were in terms of landmarks that could be seen from the air.

  I could take the train to Manhattan, of course, or use the airlines, but I decided that there could be no greater adventure than to fly to New York via the little gem.

  Even though the gem could take me there at a rate of several thousand miles per hour, this was clearly foolhardy. I thought I could get there at, say, several hundred miles per hour if my face and body were properly protected.

  I took the next couple of days off from work. I had some vacation time coming and no one questioned my request for personal time. I visited a motorcycle shop, and purchased a snug fitting helmet and a double-layered winter traveling suit that covered me from chin to toe. I completed my uniform with sturdy boots and heavy winter mittens. I realized that, in order to operate the buttons of the little gem, I would need to have my fingers free. I intended to carry it within the mitten on my right hand. In my left hand, I planned to carry a cellular phone.

  My next trip was to a stationery store to buy some detailed maps of New York State. I needed to know the geography of New York State better. On the way home, I heard a news report that people in the Capital District were abuzz with reports of mysterious human flights being detected in Troy and its outskirts. The public suspected U.S. Air Force training. The Air Force announced that they did, indeed, have experimental rocket equipment for humans, but were not doing any training in Troy.

  On May 30, my preparations were complete and I dressed in the motorcycle suit and donned the full-face helmet. I pulled on the boots, selected an empty suitcase, and tramped out the house. Looking around, I made sure there were no faces in windows or people on the street. I started the gem and pointed it upward while pressing the Propel button. I rose into the sky at a good pace and was at five hundred feet within seconds. I was surprised to see the suitcase had no apparent weight. It seemed to be enclosed in the same force field that enclosed me.

  I pointed the gem in the direction of the Albany airport and pushed the Propel button. I allowed about two minutes to get there since I wanted to enjoy the scenery. A USAir jet was preparing to take off, and I thought it would be good fun to fly along as the takeoff was being made. I understood this action was dangerous, but, somehow I couldn't resist the temptation. As the plane was moving along the runway, I descended, and placed myself alongside. I kept myself far from the engines knowing full well that they were capable of sucking me in and ending my life instantly. There were passengers peering out the windows. The surprised looks on their faces rewarded me for undertaking the dangerous adventure. The plane accelerated to takeoff speed and I did the same. We rose side-by-side. I positioned myself alongside the cockpit's window and waved to the pilots, then veered away. How did they tell the tower what they had just seen, I wondered?

  Now, I turned my attention to New York, so I turned south and pushed the Propel button hard enough to increase my sped gradually to about four hundred miles per hour. The heavy suit kept me safe from hazards. Soon I arrived at Hudson. Since I had been born and raised in the city, I reduce my speed so that I could descend to view my hometown. My childhood home had been on McKinstry Street. I hovered fifty feet above the ground. Ellen Wilson, an old friend, was walking to Stewart's. "Hi, Helen," I yelled. She glanced upward and horror flooded her face. She appeared not to recognize me, which was not surprising considering the gear I was wearing.

  I turned south again setting my height and speed as before. The cities of Saugherties, Kingston, Poughkeepsie, and Newburgh came and went so fast that I barely had time to recognize them. This part of the trip took five or six minutes. Increasing my speeds slightly, I observed the cities of Peekskill, Ossining, White Plains, and New Rochelle. Another six minutes went by. In another minute or two, I saw the complex of runways and buildings of Kennedy Airport. There were planes in various stages of landing and taking off, and I did not want to venture too close. I wondered whether I could be seen on radar.

  Now I needed to find the World Trade Center. I turned east and saw the towers in the distance. In a few seconds I was above them. I eased myself down and came to a gentle stop on the roof of the South Tower. I took off my motorcycle gear and placed the items in the suitcase. Then I tried a nearby door and found that it was locked. Using my cellular phone, I dialed the security desk. Soon the door opened and a puzzled guard approached. "How in hell did you get out here?" He asked. "I dunno," I responded. "I had no difficulty getting on the roof but couldn't get inside. I'm glad you answered my call." The guard was suspicious and seem to be on the verge of calling the police, but he finally allowed me to go inside the building after I had identified myself and showed what was in the suitcase. I left the building, and despite the fact that the streets were crowded, started the little gem, pointed it upward. Suitless, I rose to about 1000 feet. A sea of startled faces stared as I did this. Looking around, I could see the landmarks that Mrs. Hardesty had mentioned. I arrived at 43rd Street and saw the beige colored apartment house that she had described. Standing at the front door, I rang the bell. The door was opened by a slim, gray-haired, middle-aged, woman. She was dressed in a conservative but elegant brown suit.

  "Hello, Mr. Stanton." She smiled graciously. "I estimated that you would arrive at about this time. I see you've learned how to use the Levitator."

  "I call it the little gem," I ventured.

  "My husband invented it, and he named it Levitator," Mrs. Hardesty commented tartly as she led me into a spacious living room, impeccably furnished. There was a fireplace against one wall. "Would you sit down," she said. "Tea?" I nodded, and sat in a velour-covered armchair.

  My hostess was gone for only a few moments. She came back with a serving tray, and placed it on a low table near the armchair, then sat on a sofa facing me. She gazed at me intently. "My name is Kathleen," she said. "I f
eel I know you because of the Levitator. It's been missing since my husband was injured. How did it come in your possession?"

  I told Mrs. Hardesty everything that had transpired since I had found the contrivance. She listened attentively. "You're so like my husband," she observed. "There is a wild side to him. I'm sure he will enjoy meeting you. Maybe we can go to the hospital together with the Levitator.

  Your husband was hurt?" I inquired. "Did this happen at the train station just before I found the little… Levitator?"

  "Yes, probably," she responded. She lifted the lid on a small case that lay on the table, and uncovered several instruments similar to the one in my possession. She picked up one of them. "Look," she exclaimed. "My husband made several of these, each an improvement over the previous one. He's an atomic scientist and, researching independently, discovered how to start an atomic reaction within a very small space. The Levitator operates on nuclear power. There is a tiny power source embedded in it. It will last for years."

  "My husband