Hold Zero! Read Free

spoke up from the straight-backed chair in the comer.
    The officer cleared his throat. “You seem to know the rules. Don’t you know you’re supposed to get permission to set off a rocket?”
    “Yes, sir,” Steve said.
    “Why didn’t you?”
    “We didn’t think anyone would know any more about them than we do, and so we didn’t bother,” Steve replied.
    Craig glanced down at his shoes and then up to see how the officer was taking Steve’s answer. Craig almost smiled when he saw the man’s face—his eyebrows were trembling, and he seemed to be trying to decide whether to be shocked or angry.
    “What makes you think the police staff hasn’t had this kind of problem before?” the officer finally asked. “I took the Rogers boy to the police firing range to put off one he’d made. Now, we could’ve done this for you.” His voice was firm. “Why didn’t you call? You know the rules.”
    “This isn’t exactly a rocket you can put off on a firing range,” Steve answered. “It’s a three-stage booster with a remote control launching panel. Rules set up by the rocket clubs say you have to launch it electrically from behind a foot-thick barricade. I don’t think we could do that at a rifle range.”
    “I see,” said the officer, but his tone did not sound as if he saw at all. He laughed. “You boys today are great ... launching panel. When I was a boy we had firecrackers. Put ’em under tin cans and sent them sky high.” He twisted his head at pleasant but dangerous memories. “It’s a wonder we weren’t all killed. We didn’t call them launching panels in our day. Didn’t know the words. We just called them bombs.”
    Johnny said that must have been keen fun, and the conversation died.
    Craig’s mother came to the rescue. “It may be all right,” she said brightly. “After all, they’ve made radios with little parts and pieces.”
    “Condensers and resistors,” Steve explained.
    Officer Ricardo slapped his knees together in pleasure, and Craig had the awful feeling that he was not taking them very seriously.
    “Maybe you ought to come see what we’ve done,” Craig suggested, somewhat surprised at his own calmness.
    “Yes,” his mother said. “Perhaps it’s not as dangerous as we think. It may be quite good.”
    Another condescending pause.
    “After all,” she began again, “Mr. Diamond gave that radio kit to Craig—wires all hanging out—because he couldn’t make it. Said he had bought it as a project so that he and his son might get to know each other better.” She laughed. “He said the directions were absolutely unintelligible and that the whole thing had ended up in his being frustrated and angry at his son.”
    “You boys got it together?” asked the officer.
    “Oh sure,” answered Steve. “Craig and I talk on it all the time. Phil and Johnny are too far away for the FCC regulations. You see, we can only use a fifty-foot aerial or we’ll interfere with other bands.”
    “I see,” said Officer Ricardo.
    “What I don’t understand,” Craig’s mother broke in, “is why this whole rocket business started anyway. This town has everything to make a child happy. There are dancing classes, orchestras to play in, bands, soccer, football, Little League, Boy Scouts, choirs, drama groups, ski trips, ice skating ... seems sort of silly to go off by yourselves and make rockets and radios when there is so much offered.” She sighed.
    “Frankly, Mrs. Sutton,” Officer Ricardo said rather gently, “I don’t know what the stir’s about. So, some boys made a rocket. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll have a look at it and get the chief to okay the whole thing. I’m sure he will.” He rose. “Where is it, Steve?”
    “On an island in the marsh.”
    “That sounds safe.” The officer crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe we can let you boys go ahead with it.” He turned to Johnny, who had bounced to his feet happily.
    “How high does it go? Thirty or forty