“Time,” explained Bill as he inspected his military surplus chute, “is relative. Einstein proved that time slows down for a moving observer, relative to a stationary one. A skydiver hits one-twenty miles per hour in free-fall before his chute opens. When he lands, he’ll have aged slightly less than his friends on the ground.”
“Is that why you skydive?” I shouted over the propeller roar. “So you don’t age as fast?”
Bill waved his wrinkled hand dismissively. “A few femtoseconds don’t matter to me.” He threw open the door. “This does.”
I peered out open door, past the high-wing of our aircraft. Deep green conifer forest carpeted the ground below. A lone majestic peak, sunlight glistening off her snowy surface, held back the alpine skies. Bill the treasure-hunter and I saw this world as only the birds usually do.
“Magical, isn’t it? Keeps you young and alive!”
He leapt. I followed. One way or another, we’ll never grow old.