"I'm not sure I can do this, Dad," Michael said as he looked as looked at the suit in the cabinet, "I'm an engineer, not a hero."
"Neither was I, son. And you'd be amazed how few mystery men know how to field-repair their toys. Piloting a jetpack takes a few days to master. Building one that can evade radar and hook up to remote boosters takes years of study. And you're better at the tech end then I ever was -- I was just a jet jockey with a space fixation."
As John Hitchens finished talking, Michael sighed and put on the suit. First came a close-fitting pilot suit, minorly armored and thermally-controlled. Above that went a jumpsuit fitted with ceramic bases and a series of pouches. Onto the bases screwed and snapped two sets of secondary rocket boosters. Over the pilot suit's feet slipped a set of solid leather boots, inlaid in the sole with two small discs -- emergency boosters. Finally, came the the classic elements. A vintage 1950's US Army Air Force bomber jacket, a close-set metal helm (updated with a HUD hidden in the amber lenses), and a vacuum-steel capsule on the back -- the main rocket booster pack.
"You'll do fine son. You've flown it before."
"Flying it on a ground range is one thing. Dropping off the Rocketstar into low orbit and flying halfway around the Earth is something else entirely."
"Just go rendevous with the Jester, Rocketman. I'll try and track down what's been happening from here."
Attaching a final element -- a gun belt -- to his waist, Michael Hitchens smiled at his father and walked to the open panel on the floor and dropped out. A few moments later, the flare of his retrorockets were visible from the Rocketstar, then he was gone.
"Well. You've been patient," John Hitchens quipped as he spun his wheelchair around and looked at the figure standing in the shadows, "afraid to face a crippled old man until his backup's gone?"
...
Fourteen seconds later, Rocketstar One exploded. Seimic sensors as far away as Bangalore picked up the blast. No bodies were found in the wreckage...
