When Reed told Ben about the NASA offer that evening, his roommate's reaction surprised him.
"Wait, let me get this straight," Ben said, sitting on his bed and staring at Reed in amazement. "NASA offered you twenty million dollars and your own research center, and you asked them to slow down because you don't want to skip the rest of college?"
"I know it sounds crazy, but..."
"Reed, that's not crazy," Ben interrupted, his voice full of respect. "That's the smartest thing I've ever heard. Most people would have jumped at that offer without thinking about what they'd be giving up."
"Technically, it's for advanced propulsion research," Reed corrected, but he was grinning so widely his face hurt. "But yes, essentially we're talking about real spacecraft that could reach Mars in months instead of years."
Ben grabbed Reed in a bear hug that lifted him off his feet and spun him around their small dorm room. "This is it, buddy! This is everything we used to dream about when we were kids! You're actually going to build rockets that can fly to the stars!"
"We're going to build them," Reed corrected, setting Ben back down. "I can design the propulsion systems all day long, but without your structural engineering expertise, they're just theoretical curiosities. NASA understands that. They want both of us."
Ben's expression grew serious as the full implications sank in. "You realize what this means, right? We're actually going to do it. All those crazy conversations about space exploration, all those late nights working on impossible engineering problems. It's actually going to happen."
Reed nodded, feeling a mixture of excitement and terror that was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. "Ever since I was a kid, I wanted to fly to the stars."
"And I always wanted to be the guy flying the ship," Ben replied, echoing their childhood conversation with a voice full of wonder.
The formal presentation to NASA took place three weeks later in a conference room that felt more like a situation room than an academic meeting. Reed found himself facing a panel of administrators, engineers, and government officials who collectively represented more scientific expertise and funding authority than he'd ever encountered in one place.
Dr. Elizabeth Morrison, NASA's Advanced Propulsion Research Director, was a sharp woman in her fifties with steel gray hair and eyes that missed nothing. She studied Reed with the intensity of someone evaluating a multimillion dollar investment, which, Reed realized, was exactly what she was doing.
"Dr. Richards," she began, and Reed still felt a jolt of surprise at being addressed with that title, "your theoretical work on electromagnetic plasma containment has caught our attention because it addresses fundamental limitations that have stalled propulsion research for decades."
Reed nodded, trying to project confidence despite the enormity of the situation. "The key breakthrough was realizing that traditional magnetic bottle configurations fail because they don't account for plasma instabilities at the quantum level. By incorporating superconducting field geometries with dynamically adjustable containment parameters, we can maintain stable plasma streams indefinitely."
"And the energy requirements for sustaining these field geometries?" asked Dr. Robert Anderson, NASA's chief propulsion engineer.
"Significant, but manageable with fusion power sources," Reed replied, pulling up detailed calculations on his laptop. "The beauty of the system is that it becomes more efficient as scale increases. A Mars mission vehicle would actually use less energy per unit thrust than ground based test platforms."
Dr. Morrison leaned forward, her expression intense. "Walk us through a practical implementation. How would this technology actually work in a real spacecraft?"
Reed took a deep breath and launched into the presentation he'd been preparing for weeks. He explained how his electromagnetic containment fields could channel superheated plasma streams to generate thrust levels far beyond chemical rockets. He detailed the engineering challenges Ben had helped him identify and solve. He showed calculations proving that Mars missions could be completed in four months instead of nine.
The questions came fast and technical, probing every aspect of his theoretical framework. Reed found himself in his element, explaining complex physics concepts with the enthusiasm that had once made his elementary school teachers uncomfortable but now commanded respectful attention from some of the world's top scientists.
"The plasma injection system would need to achieve temperatures of over fifty million degrees Celsius," observed Dr. James Butler, a propulsion specialist from JPL. "How do you prevent thermal damage to the containment apparatus?"
"Magnetic levitation," Reed explained, pulling up a detailed schematic. "The plasma never actually touches any physical surface. The entire reaction takes place within a magnetic field matrix that channels the thermal energy directly into thrust vector generation."
Dr. Morrison exchanged glances with her colleagues before speaking again. "Dr. Richards, what you're describing isn't just an incremental improvement over existing technology. You're talking about a fundamental paradigm shift that would make interplanetary travel routine rather than heroic."
"That's exactly what I'm talking about," Reed replied, his excitement growing as he realized they truly understood the implications. "Chemical rockets are like trying to cross an ocean in a rowboat. What I'm proposing is more like building a supersonic jet. We're not just going faster; we're operating on completely different principles."
The meeting lasted four hours, with Reed fielding questions that ranged from theoretical physics to practical engineering to budget considerations. When it finally ended, Dr. Morrison asked Reed to step outside while the panel deliberated.
Reed found himself pacing in the hallway, his mind racing through everything that had just happened. The questions had been tough but fair, and he felt like he'd answered them well. But the magnitude of what was being decided in that conference room was almost overwhelming.
Ben found him there twenty minutes later, still pacing and muttering calculations under his breath.
"How'd it go?" Ben asked, though Reed's nervous energy probably told him everything he needed to know.
"I think it went well," Reed said, running his hands through his hair. "They asked good questions. Really good questions. Technical stuff that showed they actually understand what I'm proposing."
"And?"
"And now they're deciding whether to bet twenty million dollars on an eighteen year old's crazy idea about electromagnetic space propulsion."
Ben clapped him on the shoulder. "Reed, if they're smart enough to work for NASA, they're smart enough to recognize genius when they see it. You're going to get this grant."
Ben's confidence was reassuring, but Reed couldn't shake the feeling that his entire future was being decided by people he'd just met. Everything he'd worked toward since his father's death, every equation he'd developed, every late night spent pushing the boundaries of theoretical physics, it all came down to this moment.
The conference room door opened, and Dr. Morrison emerged with an expression that revealed nothing.
"Mr. Richards," she said formally, "could you join us for a moment?"
Reed's heart was pounding as he re-entered the room, but Dr. Morrison's next words changed everything.
"Congratulations," she said with a smile that transformed her entire face. "NASA is prepared to offer MIT a twenty million dollar grant to establish the Richards Advanced Propulsion Research Center, with you as the lead theoretical researcher. We'd like to begin the preliminary phase immediately, scaling up as you complete your undergraduate degree."
Reed felt his knees go weak with relief and excitement. "Thank you. This is incredible. This is everything I've ever dreamed of."
"Mr. Richards," Dr. Morrison continued, "we believe your work represents the future of space exploration. We're not just funding research; we're investing in technology that could take humanity to the stars."
When Reed finally returned to his dorm room that evening, he found Ben waiting with a bottle of champagne that he'd somehow acquired despite both of them being underage.
"So?" Ben asked, though Reed's expression probably made the answer obvious.
"We got it," Reed said simply. "All of it. Twenty million dollars, our own research facility, and a mandate to build actual hardware."
Ben whooped with joy and popped the champagne cork, sending foam cascading across their small room. "This is it, buddy! This is everything we've been working toward!"
As they celebrated with plastic cups full of champagne, Reed felt a profound sense of completion. He was finally honoring his father's memory in the way Nathaniel would have wanted, pushing the boundaries of human knowledge and capability. More importantly, he was doing it alongside someone who shared his vision and valued his friendship.
"You know what the best part is?" Reed said as they sat on their beds.
"What's that?"
"We're actually going to do it. All those crazy dreams about flying to other planets, all those late night conversations about exploring the universe. It's not fantasy anymore. It's real."
Ben raised his plastic cup in a toast. "To the future of space exploration."
"To finally reaching the stars," Reed replied, and they clinked their cups together in celebration of dreams that were finally becoming reality.
News of Reed's NASA grant spread across campus like wildfire. Within days, what had been respectful recognition became something approaching celebrity status. Students pointed and whispered as he walked across the quad, professors nodded with new deference, and the MIT administration suddenly took a very personal interest in Reed's academic success.
"Mr. Richards," Dean Patterson said during an impromptu meeting in his office, "I trust you understand the significance of what you've accomplished. The youngest principal investigator in NASA history, a twenty million dollar research grant, international recognition for MIT's propulsion research program. This is precisely the kind of innovation our institution strives to foster."
Reed shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Thank you, sir. I'm just glad I can contribute to the university's research mission."
"Contribute?" Dean Patterson laughed. "Mr. Richards, you've single handedly put MIT at the forefront of advanced propulsion research. We're fielding calls from universities around the world asking about our 'genius undergraduate program.'"
The attention exploded beyond anything Reed had experienced, even after two championship seasons and his memorable "Well, I just assume every quarterback thinks exactly like my roommate when he's trying to figure out what to have for lunch" comment that had gone viral on sports networks. The kid who had become famous for revolutionizing college football defense was now making headlines for potentially revolutionizing space travel.
"Mr. Fantastic Goes to Space" read the ESPN headline, alongside a split screen showing Reed in his MIT football jersey next to a photo of him presenting electromagnetic field equations. The story detailed how "the teenage mastermind who brought MIT two consecutive football championships has now earned NASA's largest undergraduate research grant in history."
Scientific American featured Reed on their cover with the headline "The Mind That Stretches From Gridiron to Galaxy," while Aerospace Weekly ran a technical analysis of his propulsion theories titled "Richards Equations: The Future of Interplanetary Travel." Even late night talk show hosts were making jokes about the "kid genius who can design both defensive schemes and spacecraft."
"You know you've made it when Saturday Night Live does a sketch about you," Ben said, coming back from the common room where he'd been watching TV with other students. "Some comedian was doing an impression of you explaining rocket science using football analogies. Though I have to say, their version of you sounds way more nasally than you actually do."
"They did a sketch about me?" Reed asked, looking up from the stack of magazine covers featuring his photo.
"Yeah, and it was pretty funny actually. They had 'Reed Richards' drawing plays on a chalkboard, but instead of X's and O's, he was using rocket ships and planets. The punchline was him saying 'It's simple physics, just like a blitz package but with more thrust vectoring.'"
The media attention had reached a fever pitch that made Reed's previous football fame look modest by comparison. Sports reporters who had covered his defensive innovations were now trying to understand electromagnetic propulsion. Science journalists were digging through old football interviews looking for signs of his broader genius.
"From Touchdowns to Space Travel: The Reed Richards Story" was being pitched as a documentary, and Reed had already turned down three book deals and a made-for-TV movie offer.
But Reed found his salvation in the daily routine he and Ben had established. Despite the chaos of media attention and administrative meetings, they maintained their morning workout schedule with religious dedication.
"Come on, celebrity scientist," Ben called out one morning in April, finding Reed buried under a pile of interview requests that ranged from Sports Illustrated wanting a follow-up on his football success to CNN requesting an explanation of his NASA research. "Time for your daily dose of reality."
"Ben, I have three reporters calling this morning, a conference call with NASA at noon, and Professor Williams wants to discuss the preliminary lab designs," Reed protested, but he was already reaching for his running shoes.
"All of that will still be there in an hour," Ben said firmly. "But if you don't take care of yourself, you're going to crash and burn before you ever get to build those rockets."
Their morning runs had become Reed's anchor to normalcy. No matter how surreal his life became with NASA grants and media attention, those thirty minutes with Ben reminded him of who he was beyond the headlines.
"You know what I love about this?" Reed said one morning as they finished their circuit training session, both of them sweating and breathing hard in the campus gym. "For thirty minutes every day, I'm just a guy working out with his best friend. Not some prodigy, not a principal investigator, just Reed."
"That's the point," Ben grinned, toweling off his face. "Fame is great and all, but you're still the same guy who couldn't do a single pushup six months ago. Don't let all this attention make you forget what's really important."
Ben's grounding influence became even more crucial as Reed's research partnership with NASA intensified. The preliminary phase involved weekly conference calls with Dr. Morrison's team, detailed technical reviews of Reed's propulsion equations, and the beginning stages of laboratory design.
"The energy density calculations look promising," Dr. Morrison said during one of their phone conferences in late April, her voice crackling slightly through the long-distance connection. "But we need to address thermal management in the containment system. Have you considered superconducting magnetic bottles with active cooling?"
"Actually," Reed replied, consulting the faxed technical drawings spread across his desk, "I've been working on a design that uses the plasma exhaust itself for cooling. By channeling a small percentage of the reaction mass through heat exchange coils, we can maintain stable temperatures while improving overall efficiency."
There was a pause on the other end of the line. "That's brilliant, Mr. Richards. You're essentially turning the cooling system into part of the propulsion mechanism. Can you fax me those calculations today?"
After hanging up, Reed slumped back in his chair, feeling the weight of expectations settling on his shoulders.
"Heavy thoughts?" Ben asked, noticing Reed's expression.
"Sometimes I wonder if I'm in over my head," Reed admitted. "These are people with decades of experience, and they're asking me to solve problems that have stumped the aerospace industry for years."
"And you are solving them," Ben pointed out. "Dr. Morrison wasn't just being polite when she called your idea brilliant. You saw a solution that nobody else had considered."
Ben sat down across from Reed, his expression serious. "Remember what you told me when I was struggling with calculus? That intelligence isn't about having all the answers, it's about being willing to ask the right questions. That's exactly what you're doing with NASA."
The football team provided another source of stability amid the chaos. Despite his newfound fame, Reed remained their defensive coordinator, and the players treated his NASA success as just another impressive accomplishment from their strategic mastermind.
"So, Mr. Fantastic," Tommy Morrison said during a team meeting in late April, "when you're designing rockets to Mars, you gonna remember us little people down here playing football?"
"Football is just applied physics with more running around," Reed replied with a grin. "Besides, you guys taught me everything I know about working under pressure and adapting to unexpected situations. Those skills are pretty useful when you're designing spacecraft."
"You know what I love about Reed?" Ben told the team during one of their spring practice sessions. "Success hasn't changed him at all. He's still the same guy who gets excited about explaining electromagnetic theory at two in the morning."
"Some things never change," Reed laughed. "Though now when I stay up late working on equations, I'm designing actual spacecraft instead of just theoretical models."
By May, the preliminary laboratory designs were complete, and construction was scheduled to begin over the summer. Reed would have access to equipment that most graduate students could only dream of, resources that would allow him to test his theories under controlled conditions.
"The electromagnetic field generators alone cost more than most university research budgets," Professor Williams told Reed as they reviewed the lab specifications. "NASA is essentially building you a miniature version of their own advanced propulsion facility."
Reed studied the architectural drawings with a mixture of excitement and intimidation. "It's incredible. But also terrifying. What if I can't live up to their expectations?"
"Reed," Professor Williams said gently, "they're not investing twenty million dollars in your potential. They're investing in your proven ability to solve problems that have challenged the aerospace industry for decades. You've already exceeded their expectations just by developing the theoretical framework."
The spring semester ended with Reed's official recognition as MIT's Outstanding Undergraduate Researcher, an award typically reserved for graduate students. The ceremony was attended by his professors, fellow students, and a delegation from NASA led by Dr. Morrison herself.
"Mr. Richards represents everything we hope to achieve in higher education," Dean Patterson said during the award presentation. "Brilliant theoretical work combined with practical applications that will benefit all of humanity. He is truly the future of scientific research."
Reed felt embarrassed by the attention but genuinely grateful for the recognition. As he looked out at the audience, seeing Ben's proud grin and Professor Williams' approving nod, he realized how far he'd come from the isolated boy who had arrived at MIT feeling like he didn't belong anywhere.
"Thank you," Reed said as he accepted the award, then paused with a slight smile. "I have to admit, when I woke up this morning, 'give an acceptance speech' wasn't on my to-do list, so you'll have to forgive me if this is a little improvised."
The audience chuckled, and Reed felt some of his nervousness ease. "This recognition belongs not just to me, but to everyone who has supported my work. My professors, my research partners, and especially my best friend Ben Grimm, who keeps me grounded and reminds me that the best discoveries happen when brilliant people work together."
Reed's expression grew more serious as he continued. "I also want to acknowledge someone who isn't here tonight but whose influence guided every equation I've written. My father, Dr. Nathaniel Richards, was a theoretical physicist who taught me that the universe always has more secrets to reveal. He worked right here at MIT on electromagnetic field theory and quantum mechanics, pushing the boundaries of what we thought was possible. He showed me that science isn't just about understanding the world as it is, but about imagining what it could become."
His voice grew stronger with emotion. "The propulsion research that NASA is supporting builds directly on theoretical foundations my father helped establish. In many ways, this award belongs to him too, and to everyone who dares to ask impossible questions and then works tirelessly to find the answers."
The applause was thunderous, but Reed's eyes were on Ben, who was wiping away what looked suspiciously like tears of pride.
Later that evening, as they sat in their dorm room surrounded by congratulatory flowers and certificates, Reed felt a profound sense of gratitude for the journey that had brought them to this moment.
"You know what's funny?" Reed said to Ben as they looked through newspaper clippings about the award ceremony. "A year ago, I was just trying to survive my first semester of college. Now I'm apparently the future of space exploration."
"Not apparently," Ben corrected. "You are the future of space exploration. And I get to be along for the ride."
Reed smiled, feeling more confident about the challenges ahead. With Ben beside him and the resources of NASA behind him, the stars no longer seemed impossibly distant. They were simply the next destination on a journey that was just beginning.
—
December, 1991
The championship game was a masterpiece of defensive strategy that would be studied in coaching clinics for years to come. MIT's Engineers faced their toughest opponent yet, a powerhouse program that had spent months analyzing Reed's innovations and developing specific counters. But Reed had anticipated their approach and designed defensive schemes that turned their preparations against them.
"They think they've figured us out," Reed told the team during their final preparation meeting. "They've studied every formation, every coverage, every adjustment we've made all season. But that's exactly what makes them vulnerable."
Ben grinned from his position at the front of the room. "Let me guess. We're gonna show them something they've never seen before."
"Better than that," Reed replied, pulling out diagrams that represented months of theoretical work. "We're going to show them exactly what they expect to see, then pull the rug out from under them when they least expect it."
The game unfolded like a chess match between masters, with Reed's defenses appearing to follow familiar patterns before revealing innovations that left the opposing offense completely bewildered. By the fourth quarter, MIT led 28-3, and the crowd was chanting "Mr. Fantastic! Mr. Fantastic!" every time the defense forced another turnover.
When the final whistle blew, confirming MIT's third consecutive championship, Reed found himself hoisted onto the shoulders of players who had become genuine friends over the past three years. The shy, awkward teenager who had once hidden from attention was now comfortable being celebrated for achievements that brought joy to thousands of people.
"Three championships in three years!" Ben shouted over the crowd noise, grabbing Reed in a bear hug after the team finally set him down. "You realize what we've accomplished here? We've made MIT football history!"
Reed grinned, still wearing his coaching headset and looking slightly overwhelmed by the celebration happening around them. "We've done more than that. We've proven that intelligence and athletics aren't mutually exclusive. That thinking and performing can work together."
The locker room celebration was epic, with players and coaches taking turns praising Reed's strategic genius while pouring Gatorade over anyone who stood still long enough. Coach Peterson was practically bouncing off the walls with excitement, his wild gray hair even more disheveled than usual.
"Gentlemen!" Coach Peterson announced over the chaos, "Three years ago, we were a joke! A footnote! An afterthought in college football! But look at us now! Back-to-back-to-back champions! And it's all because of the beautiful mind of our Mr. Fantastic!"
The team erupted in cheers, and Reed felt that familiar mixture of embarrassment and pride that came with public recognition. But looking around at the faces of players who had become family, he realized that this success belonged to all of them. His innovations had provided the framework, but their execution had made the victories possible.
"This is incredible," Tommy Morrison said, holding up the championship trophy. "But you know what? I'm already excited about next season. Think we can make it four in a row?"
"Why stop at four?" Ben laughed, still high on victory adrenaline. "Let's go for five! Ten! Let's never lose another game!"
As the formal celebrations wound down and the team began to disperse, Reed found himself looking forward to the inevitable victory party. After three years of championship celebrations, he had learned to appreciate these moments of pure joy and camaraderie. The academic pressures, the NASA research, the constant media attention, all of that would still be there tomorrow. Tonight was for celebrating with friends.
"So," Ben said as they walked across campus toward their dorm, "I heard through the grapevine that tonight's party is going to be something special."
"How special are we talking?" Reed asked, though he was already smiling at Ben's conspiratorial tone.
"Let's just say that a certain MIT alumnus who graduated in 1987 and has been studying abroad decided to sponsor our victory celebration. Apparently, money is no object, and the theme is going to be... epic."
Reed raised his eyebrows. "Which alumnus? And what kind of theme requires that level of buildup?"
Ben's grin widened. "Tony Stark. Ring any bells?"
Reed nearly stopped walking. "Tony Stark? The guy who graduated summa cum laude at seventeen? Four-time Robot Design Award winner Tony Stark?"
"The very same. You know, the kid genius who was building V8 engines when he was six and designing circuit boards before most people could tie their shoes. Heir to Stark Industries and apparently still the most legendary partier in MIT history."
"The very same. Apparently, he's back from studying engineering in Europe, and his best friend James Rhodes is finishing his master's degree in aerospace engineering. Tony wanted to throw one last blowout party before heading home to his parents for Christmas."
"And the theme?"
"Roman toga party. Complete with authentic decorations, catered food, and enough alcohol to float a battleship. Tony's rented out the entire Alpha Tau Omega house for the night."
Reed shook his head in amazement. He had heard stories about Tony Stark during his time at MIT, legendary tales of brilliance, excess, and parties that became the stuff of campus folklore. Tony had supposedly graduated summa cum laude while simultaneously setting records for both academic achievement and social extravagance.
"How did we get invited to a Tony Stark party?" Reed asked. "I mean, he graduated before we even arrived here."
"Are you kidding?" Ben laughed. "Reed, you're famous. The guy who revolutionized college football and got a twenty million dollar NASA grant? Tony specifically asked for the 'genius kid who's making MIT look good.' Plus, Rhodey apparently follows our football team religiously. He's been telling Tony about our defensive innovations for months."
When they arrived at the Alpha Tau Omega house that evening, Reed understood immediately why Tony Stark's parties were legendary. The entire building had been transformed into something that looked like it belonged in ancient Rome. Massive columns flanked the entrance, ivy and grape vines hung from every surface, and servers dressed as Roman citizens carried trays of food and wine.
"Holy crap," Ben muttered, straightening the makeshift toga he'd created from a bedsheet. "This is like something out of a movie."
Reed adjusted his own toga, feeling slightly ridiculous but caught up in the spectacle nonetheless. The attention to detail was incredible, from the authentic Roman music playing throughout the house to the elaborate feast spread across tables in the main hall. This wasn't just a college party; it was a production.