2018-06-15 Skyboard 1/4

My goal was not only to win the bet, but to have the experience of surfing the air.

I can't think of a greater high that you could possibly get than by inventing something.—Stephanie Kwolek

It was a perfect day for flying, for running as fast and as far as I could. The early morning sunlight diffracted rainbow gleams through the translucent deck. I shifted position to correct a subtle roll and pitch, feeling the steady hum of the thrusters underfoot. The white noise of airflow was barely a whisper. The light breeze ruffled my hair and fluttered the tattletales spaced around the deck's perimeter. The horizon was cloudless in all directions but directly astern where a weather front massed in the distance. The treacherously clear air revealed my aircraft to anyone in line of sight.

I could have wished for a persistent fog or a low cloud deck. Flying would have been uncomfortably chilly and damp, but I would have worried less about observers. Robot trucks on a highway and slowly rotating wind turbines on a distant ridgeline were the only visible movements in this open countryside, but I was not reassured.

Of course, I would not actually wish for bad weather on a test flight; that would be insane. It might also interfere with my measurements and observations, and I do like my science clean whenever possible.

This maiden flight of my skyboard should have been a triumphal occasion, a prolonged 'Eureka!' Instead, my thoughts were coerced, divided between piloting, observing the test flight, and attempting to analyze the multiple threats that had pressed me into this hurried course of action. I had over eight hundred kilometers to cover before nightfall in an untested experimental aircraft while remaining unobserved. This was not the way things were supposed to go.

My flight suit was warm enough, and the pressure of my goggles was not uncomfortable. My stomach growled and I realized that I had not eaten anything since before midnight. I ate a pocket snack, a bar rich in fat and salt and sugar, and sipped from a water bladder. I barely noted the taste of cashews and dark chocolate.

The aircraft's remote control weighed down my dominant hand. My off hand counted off one two three four, thumb to tip of each finger in rapid succession, four three two one and back again.

My heart rate should have been steady, close to resting. Instead, my pulse randomly shot up as if I were facing a fight, and only fell off slowly. My adrenaline had also spiked repeatedly, from no apparent cause. I was on the edge of a panic attack.

Why did I have to be on the run from a demonstrably unstable federal agent? Why had another stranger tried first to damage then to destroy my invention, nearly immolating a dozen people in the process?

My skyboard was unique, a prototype and proof of several concepts, evidence of a series of achievements, and a valuable fraction of my assets. I could not afford to lose it or my own freedom and agency.

I should not have had to be worried about either. I had been transparent, civil, friendly, sharing news of my experiences with like-minded colleagues. I had been making an effort to be social, and the social conventions did not imply that anything like this would happen.

Until I had answers for this betrayal, I needed to hide my skyboard and myself.