The first hour went rather well. Then he was caught by a Greenhouse storm front boiling off the sullen Gulf of Mexico. He was blown all the way to Arkansas. Cannily reading thousands of Doppler radars, the smart and horribly cheap little vehicle darted sickeningly up and down through dozens of local thermals and wind shears, stubbornly routing itself toward its destination with the dumb persistence of a network packet. Blistered by the chafing of his harness, Oscar finally passed out, lolling in the aircraft’s grip like a sack of turnips.