Hobart pops four Dramamines, thinks, and pops two more. The coach seat is tight, and of course he got a window.

A ponytailed teenager squeezes in beside him. “Fly much?” he asks brightly.

“No,” mutters Hobart.

“I love it. Heard about the new runway here? They say it’s a half-mile draw. Think how far that would take you!” He laughs.

Up front, the stewardess demonstrates safety procedures in her padded suit, and Hobart can hear the hoarse teamster outside. He swallows hard. With a subsonic creak, the oxen draw the giant rubber band back even further; any second, they’ll let go.