I Am Speechless

177.

I am the first one there. It is thirty minutes before our scheduled meet time so I have an opportunity to walk a bit, stretch my back and scout the location. It is just as I remember, red rock mountains of the moon. The only signs of life are the occasional passing of an RV and a floating of unhurried black prehistoric birds contrasted against the bright blue cloudless backdrop. If I had the time I am confident I could investigate deeper into the landscape and discover another layer of abundant flora and fauna but as I consider this anthropology I hear another Jeep approach.

I watch closely as the Jeep four-wheels over the crushed rock path leading to the established GPS coordinates and stop two feet from where I have parked. I surveil The Queen and her assistant, whom I immediately recognize as her former, and perhaps current, boyfriend, Cyrus. It has been three weeks since our last face-to-face and I am surprised to see her hair now shaded a hue of frozen pink. She is sporting huge leopard-skin sun glasses and wearing an Army surplus flight suit. Her footwear could be standard Army issue or Doc Martens, either way more utility than fashion. She indicates to Cyrus that the cargo is to be off-loaded and placed in the direction of her finger point. As he begins his manual labor we both turn to see what, and whose, machine is creating the internal combustion whine.

Slightly unnerved, I stifle a patronizing grin at the sight of Drysdale side standing his dirt bike and removing his helmet. He greets Her Majesty with a bow and fist bumps Cyrus who drops a huge Pelican case to accommodate the welcoming gesture. From behind a huge boulder I smile at the blatant camaraderie displayed by the assembled team and leave my cover to meet and greet.

“Glad you could make it,” I sarcastically open, looking at my watch.

Simultaneously they glance at their own chronometers and laugh at the inside joke, it officially being ten minutes prior to the etched in stone show time.

We all shake hands and I propose that we use our time wisely and begin the flight test. All agree.

Cyrus picks a flat spot in the center of a growth of tumbleweeds and cactus. He flips the six latches on the Pelican case and gently removes the Drone, placing it on the sun-soaked prehistoric gravel. He quickly adds the titanium propellers and installs the four battery packs. As he puts the finishing touches to the device, The Queen prepares the Helmet, appropriately painted in desert cammo.

In less than the time it would take to change a tire, she has pulled the Helmet over her pink hair and adjusted the shoulder padding. She ceremoniously nods her head like a welder about to strike a torch and the face mask responds by snugly closing with a snap. She adds the glove attachment to her right hand, looks around in a three-hundred-sixty degree scan and then at me.

I do likewise and give my non-verbal approval and good-to-go sign.

The Drone comes to life with a swoosh sending dirt and loose debris flying away from its calibrated high-pitch monotone. The Queen points at it and it follows her finger upwards in a smooth, controlled lift. She performs a series of maneuvers including spins, dives, holds and the most impression move, a tumble and turn inverted ascent to an elevation nearing invisibility.

I stand and watch the demo as I see her look at me, and from behind the tinted face mask I can almost see her expression saying, ‘watch this’. The Drone initiates a sudden kamikaze dive directly towards us. I want to run for cover but trust that the Queen has this under control. Amazed and awed by the in-flight capabilities of this device I watch agog as a thin high-tension cable unrolls from the unit’s fuselage and grips Drysdale’s Honda CRF150R dirt bike with a pair of hooks and lifts it into the air with ease.

I look at Drysdale to gauge his reaction but he is gone. The Queen pilots the Drone behind the boulder I had used for cover and I watch as it lowers the flying moto. In less than sixty-seconds the Drone has recoiled the cable and is dancing a thermal gig overhead.

Drysdale rides up on the Honda grinning like high-school kid on his first date.

They are all glaring at me waiting for my reaction.

For the first time in a very long while, I am speechless.