The blueberry-stained teens rise in unison along the nearvertical wall and invert, the crowd’s oohs and ahhs quickly turning to gasps as gravity’s invisible fingers latch on to two of the boys closest to the center. Suspended upside down, they are yanked from their boards, the rippling disturbance sending the entire pack tumbling headfirst toward the crash mats forty feet below.

On ultrasound proximity alert, air-bag suits inflate a milli-second before the first body strikes the tarmac.

For a long moment the dazed adolescents lie motionless in an entanglement of purple-blue flesh and equipment, their crash collars and helmets momentarily restricting all movement. Gradually the air suits deflate, freeing bruised but intact limbs. A smattering of applause greets the daredevils, encouraging them to reorganize and attempt the impossible assault again.

Above, the bright Miami skyline buzzes with a high-pitched whine coming from a dozen VTOLs—Vertical Takeoff and Landing vehicles. Powered by four fixed turbine ducts that provide thrust for launch, these two-man skycars whiz back and forth over Biscayne Bay like swarms of giant polyurethane wasps. Less-maneuverable one-man VFVs (Vertical Flying Vehicles) hover over the nude sunbathers along South Beach, the two-propeller craft rented by the hour.

Below, the aqua green surface is crisscrossed by sailboats and schooners, windsurfers and super yachts, all competing for maneuvering space within the crowded marina. The occasional Luxon-glass nose cone of a two-man minisub sneaks a peek above the watery playground, the Argonauts ever fearful of the whirling blades that cut great swaths across the ceiling of their more private underwater domain.

At the center of this entertainment Mecca is the MTI Orange Bowl—a mammoth steel-and-tinted-glass horseshoe rising sixteen storeys above the sweltering south Florida playground. Home to the University of Miami’s PCAA-champion football Hurricanes, the arena is bursting with the energy that comes from its capacity crowd of 132,233.

Patches of orange, lavender, and teal bare-chested bodies denote the different skin-stained Miami fraternities harbored in the west bleachers. A group cheer prompts a response from the visiting Florida State student body, their own skins dipped ‘Seminole red,’ while bare-chested women from both universities pose for hovercams, showing off their ‘calypso’ tanned and augmented breasts.

After six minutes of play, the home team trails cross-state rival FSU 3 to 0, and the Miami crowd is beyond antsy. Chants of ‘Mule, Mule, Mule’ bounce across the cushioned Teflon seats, electrifying the air as the ’Canes’ offense sprints onto the field for the first time, taking possession at their own sixteen yard line.

There are no team huddles. All instructions are communicated from position coaches directly into the players’ helmets via encrypted microspeakers.