The SpaceNow Representative put out a hand to greet Nick but then stopped when she saw the shed.
"What is this?" Disbelief would be one word to describe Cheryl's expression. She raised up a tablet while retrieving a stylus from behind her right ear.
"So this is the headquarters of Nick and Company Technologies?" She sniffed, and then cough-gagged into the crook of her arm. "That smell is horrific!"
"Nick hasn't showered in a couple of days," Tim announced.
"He's committed to the work," Helen explained, shooting Tim an angry look. "We're all committed to the work. I mean. I took a shower this morning, but I'm still committed to the work."
"Noted." Cheryl Miller wiped tears from her eyes and tapped something on her tablet. She pulled out a Kleenex to swat the offensive smell away. "This is the location of Nick and Company Technologies I ask again?"
"That is us," Nick confirmed with fists bunched at the side, aiming for confidence. "And here's our machine."
Cheryl followed Nick's proud gesture toward the Viachron. Her expression was that of a person watching a building on fire, and it was filled with puppy dogs.
"Science Advisor, Daniel Kobayashi," Cheryl Miller gazed around the room, found the Japanese boy leaning on a crutch, and curled her lips. "You advised him to build this contraption?"
"Daniel provided our team with in-depth knowledge and support," Nick interjected. "For the entire project he used his superior intelligence, his IQ being a 143, to advise me along the way."
Cheryl tapped the tablet with his pad. "And what was your advice, Senior Science Advisor Daniel Kobayashi, on building this machine?"
"Don't," Daniel answered.
"I thought so," Cheryl sniffed.
"My half-brother Daniel is super conservative on such endeavors," Xanthus's chuckled and waved his hand. "But rest assured, bro, this machine shall change the course of human history."
"You're marketing," Cheryl raised an eyebrow.
"Marketing director," Xanthus said, looking quite pleased with himself. He raised his right hand like he was kicking off a rap battle. "They call me brand-master Xanthus."
"Xanthus?" Cheryl raised an eyebrow. "That's your real name then? Xanthus?"
"I—" Xanthus fidgeted. "Before we moved to the refugee camp, my mom let me name myself. "
"Of course she did." Cheryl rolled her eyes and continued onto Helen. "What's your contribution to Nick and Company Technologies? Don't tell me." She passed a withering glance over her karate gi. "You bring the Kung Fu."
Without breaking eye contact, Helen performed a perfect half crescent kick, flicking Cheryl's stylus out of her hand. It clanged somewhere on the far side of the room.
"As Nick and Company's security director, my role is to hurt people when they get on my nerves."
"She's security," Nick smiled, confident that Cheryl was about to storm out. "Remember Helen. Our future rests in the hands of this woman."
"She has baby hands," Helen tisked. "Baby koala hands."
"I don't have to be here," Cheryl's eyes flared indignantly, throwing her tiny hands around. She paused, glanced at her fingers and then clenched them, apparently now insecure. She reached into her small satchel to pull out another stylus and mumbled again to herself. "I really don't have to be here. Bunch of ratfugees."
With an adjustment of her turtle neck, she regained her composure and let out a "I hate my job" sigh.
"Let us proceed. I have two others after you. According to this application, it says your team, "Nick and Company can, I quote: 'Store the light of the sun and recast it to any part of the Earth's surface, solving the problem of the Great Cloud that has blocked out the sun for nearly thirty years. Our team will totally win this prize because we're super smart and have the best ideas.' Unqoute." She sighed. "Seems everyone is here and accounted for. Please continue."
Nick cleared his throat and started a well-practiced speech, "I submit to you the first ever solar light battery projector. Please distribute the protective eyewear, Tim."
Tim pulled out an old shoe box and opened it. The contents looked more like a collection of swimming goggles than protective eyewear. He started passing them around. Snaps of rubber straps came from around the room as everyone stretched the bands over their heads.
"OK. SpaceNow rep." Nick deepened his voice and raised his chest as he continued his speech. "It is common knowledge that Earth's climate has been altered over the last hundred years, leaving us with the Great Cloud and a lack of UV radiation." He pointed through the window to the never ending gray sky. "The sun's output is eighty percent less than what it used to be—"
"Two percent less." Cheryl corrected him. "If it was eighty percent, we'd be talking to each other through an ice sheet."
"Right," Nick cleared his throat, trying to stuff down the moment of embarrassment. "That's why SpaceNow hired you! Hah! Two percent. That's what I meant. Anyway. Oh. Don't forget the helmets, Tim."
Tim had already shoved a glittery red football helmet over his own head while reaching into the army bag for another one. He handed it to Helen.
"Wait," Helen frowned. "Aren't these St. Bartholomew's missing helmets?"
Ignoring Helen, Tim handed a helmet to Cheryl.
"Really?" Cheryl laughed at Tim. "What do we need helmets for?" Tim stared back at Cheryl long and hard. The SpaceNow representative's grin disappeared, and he quickly shoved on the helmet.
"Currently," Nick continued his speech. "Artificial UV light has been used to compensate for the lack of sunlight, but they're really expensive to maintain and, you know, suck a lot of power. One day I was watching this video on Ned Talk—"
"I love those," Xanthus said under his breath.
"—They were talking about the updated solar batteries in cars. Everyone knows that cars used to run off the old solar batteries until the Great Cloud. They had to redesign the batteries so it could capture as much of the sun's radiation as possible. They took the photovoltaic cells, which converts solar into electricity, and upped their intake by three hundred percent. That got me thinking. What if we didn't convert it to energy fuel for cars? What if we collected up all that solar light flying around in the air, stored it somehow, and then, you know, shot it back out onto cities. We could bring the sun into our living rooms and streets and houses.
As the gods brought fire from the heavens, I bring you what I have named: Prometheus 10,000!"
"You mean Grand's Viachron," Tim mumbled under his voice.
Ignoring his brother, Nick shifted to the left, holding his hand out proudly.
"Woohoo!" They all clapped, their football helmets bobbing back and forth.
Why are you doing this?" Cheryl Miller said, lifting up her tablet to record Nick's response. "What's your motivation?"
"Your boss, Rick Killings is offering a colonial plot of land on the moon for me and my team if we can come up with an invention to help us combat the Great Cloud. I don't have to deal with crazy parents. My friends can get out of their refugee camps. All I have to do is, you know, invent the machine. Then we can finally get off this planet, Earth. Simple."
"Simple?" Cheryl cocked his head.
"Yeah," Nick shrugged. "Invent machine. Win prize. We all leave Earth and start a new life on our own lunar plot of land. Simple."
"That sounds nice," Xanthus perked up.
"Yeah," Helen said to the SpaceNow rep. "We all really want to get out of here."
"So," Nick said. "Awesome, right, Mrs. Miller? The plan: Build the machine. Win the prize. All go to the moon and live a life of luxury and adventure?"
"I think," Cheryl Miller said, "the football helmets were a good choice."
"Now … " Nick bowed proudly. "Let the demonstration commence!" He snapped on rubber gloves, donned a welder's mask, and made a quick hop, grabbing the Viachron.
Nick took a deep breath. This had to work, he thought. Everything had come down to this. He knew how horrible his friends lives were in the refugee camp. He saw it first hand. Twelve year olds shouldn't be left to die.
Jermaine was only twelve.
Nick turned the machine toward a lone fish in a glass bowl at the far end of the room. With the monstrous machine pointed in its direction, the fish zigged and zagged desperately. It recalled previous experiments involving the untimely death of its brethren.
"Are we ready, Tim?" Nick said.
"Sure," Tim said slowly.
"All right, Tim. Now, I think we made a mistake in the laser's focus last time. Needs to be a little more focused." Nick reached around Grand's machine to an odd assortment of knobs. He turned a large silver one, then pulled a rope. A hole appeared from the roof, casting gray light over the machine.
"The machine will now take the diffused solar light—" Nick explained, "—store it in the machine, and re-project it onto our test subject."