THREE
STEVEN ARKIN floated at a comfortable speed above the suburban landscape, in sight of the Metropolitan sprawl off to the right.
“Where to?” he asked Erica Tate, who was on his back.
They rose above the land in the whipping breeze. Over his shoulder her finger pointed.
“All right.” Steve darted off north toward the fields of green on the horizon. “Is this too fast?”
“Nah! Faster!”
Arkin had his usual flight plan, and soon they arrived over a series of farms. Down to the grass, he closed fast on a herd of horses. With a tilt to his left the pair arrived beside the running animals and raced them across the pasture. Steve swerved close to fly beside a spotted white pony, which quickly fled in the opposite direction.
He heard Erica laughing.
They again flew up into the sky. At
