Kylie grinned. "Watch me, Rocket Daddy."
The engines roared. The sky turned to fire. And somewhere above the clouds, a new star was born.
Since the phrase is open to interpretation, here’s a creative take:
Kylie strapped on her helmet, the visor fogging with each excited breath. "Rocket Daddy," she whispered, tapping the fuel gauge.
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He wasn't really her father—just the old engineer who'd found her hiding in a cargo bay ten years ago, headed for the moons of Jupiter. He'd taught her to weld, to navigate asteroid fields, to calculate slingshot trajectories in her head.