I mash my foot to the floor, and the hum of the engines grows into a full roar. The atmosphere whistles around the small canopy of my Tesla X800 as I push it to the max. Both turbines are roaring behind me now, leaving twin streaks across the sky. The air in front of me compresses, the whole ship seems to quiver in fear, and then it passes into silence. I’ve left sound behind.
I love flying. It’s the only place where my thoughts clear. Up at twenty five thousand feet it’s just me, my ship, and my mind. Everything else just fades away. It’s the only place where I can find an escape from the hustle and bustle of the topside. Even the underground has become too loud. More and more people are immigrating every day. The constant tunneling machines and shouting of workers combine with the cacophony of traders and imports. Up here, I can escape from all of that. Make my own path through the stars.
“Hey! Hey Trilobite! Your times up! And shut the door behind you!”
Only three more years. Then I can fly for real.