Dusky pink steam trails crisscrossed the postcard blue sky. Mopping his brow with a monogrammed handkerchief, Steve “Bull” Warren stared up at the clouds. Bull glanced over his nervous little project manager Danny to check in with the big boss man. CEO Regis Golden was playing FruitNinja on his phone. A silver blur buzzed by.

Danny yelped with surprise, splashing Regis with his water bottle. Stifling a chuckle, Bull watched Danny hurriedly try to blot Regis to death with his shirt. The silver blur returned. With a pneumatic hiss the silver stopped and a teen hovered stock still before the trio. The kid raised his visor.

“Hey Bull,” Danny’s kid Rus said. “Catch out my sick moves.”

Bull waved. Rus soared twenty feet into the air and started a celebratory dance.

“Rus, no wait, come down. You see Mr. Golden the Wingz represent the next generation of personal transformation—I mean teleportation—I mean transportation. Personal transportation. Let me—“ Danny sputtered.

With an impressive booty shake, Rus buzzed his father. Bull couldn’t hold back his laughter. Regis shot his Head of Engineering a murderous stare. Quickly he covered his merriment with a cough. Bull looked around the old go cart track. Realizing that old Danny must have spent a spare chunk of money on this “invention,” Bull sobered. Danny was still plugging away at his sales pitch.

A pair of bikers parked nearby to watch the weird display. Danny was trying to explain solar charged hydro batteries thingambobs to Bull and Regis. It involved a lot of hand gestures. On titanium wings Rus headed for the leather clad bikers. In tight circles the teen zipped around the bemused spectators. Finally Danny noticed his kid’s shenanigans.

“Get your narrow ass down right now young man!”

Chagrined, Rus puttered back in his father’s direction. Darting back and forth, Rus looked confused. The teen slapped at the controls for his flight equipment. Uncontrollably Rus soared upwards. Danny raced towards his boy. Suddenly the winged flyer plummeted.

“No! God, no!” Danny shouted running into the desert.

Lifting his watch, Danny pointed at his boy. The teen slowed but not enough. A silvery streak split the bright blue. Bull followed by Regis raced towards the eventual crash. Six feet from the ground the kid stopped as if an invisible mighty hand scooped Rus up. Heart racing, Danny fell to his knees. Rus smacked the desert floor hard but not dangerously hard.

The boy lay still as marble. Danny gathered his child in his arms. The bikers sped over. They jumped off their motorcycles. One pulled a first aid kit from her satchel. Rus’ eyes opened with a slow flutter.

“That was mad fire,” Rus said.

Danny shook his boy and then hugged him crying.

“Yo bra I can’t breathe,” Rus squeaked.

“I was an Army medic, bud. Let me check you over,” Thierry one of the bikes said. “Ariadne honey hand me that kit and the thermal blanket just to be safe.”

Ariadne said, “I have a Girl Scout badge in rolling bandages and sassmouth.”

Thierry and Ariadne helped the boy and gave him the all clear. Exchanging information and encouto the teen, the bikers drove off. With the most nicest he could muster on a wasted hot afternoon in the desert, Regis explained the jet pack was a hard pass for his company. Still playing FruitNinja, Regis headed for his SUV.

“Don’t look at this as a failure, Danno. Your intellectual property is yours now. Free of Regis and your contract with Cretan Engineering. Patent your thingabob if you like. I don’t get it myself. Who wants to fly?” Bull said walking away.

Dreading the long drive home, Rus couldn’t look at his dad. Danny hugged his boy again twice as hard. Arm in arm the pair walked back to their truck carrying their winged treasure. Rus pulled a business card from his flight suit.

“Beeswax Aeronautics, president Ariadne Royal. Isn’t that thorough, dad. She wrote, I get it. Call me.”