“Do you have any reason to believe those things will work less well in the real than in the VR?” Remy asked.
“How am I to know?” he challenged. “I’ve only ever seen them work in the Virtual. How would I know if the virtual depictions are accurate if I don’t test the theory?”
“I do not have a drone large enough to pick you up and carry you back if you are injured beyond mobility,” the AI informed him stiffly.
“No, but you have an army of the smaller ones,” he snapped in return. “I assume if enough of them try to lift me, they’ll succeed.”
Silence followed. It was short, but Remy had computed the chances and likelihood of the drones doing what he had claimed they could.
“It would work. You might acquire surface injuries from being partially dragged but the drones could retrieve you.”
John slapped the table and made his empty crockery jump.
“Then it’s a deal,” he exclaimed. “I’ll be back for lunch.”
“You will not be fed if you are not.”
“So if I’m not back, you’ll know to send a search party,” he retorted.
Remy chuckled.
“Go, but don’t hurt yourself. I will not be responsible for explaining to Stephanie why one of the most promising mages in a long time was killed because I let them out the gate.”
“Most promising?” he teased. “I’m the only mage you’ve seen.”
The door to the mess hall opened.
“I will see you at one.”
He glanced at the surveillance camera but couldn’t think of anything to say. Instead, he hurried to the foyer and the outer gates, his mind already considering the possibilities.
Now he knew Remy could get him to the med pod, much of the apprehension he’d felt had dissipated. He stepped through the gate and looked at the cliffs and canyons that surrounded the compound.
They seemed awfully high for what he was about to do.
To give himself time to steady his nerves, John walked to the cross and cairn he’d built for Becca. He crouched in front of it and touched the plaque with one finger.
“Well, Becks,” he told her. “I found someone to help me learn more of what I had to. I only have to see how well I’ve learned it and decide what to do next.”
Although hadn’t told Remy, he didn’t intend to stay at the compound forever—and certainly not to wait for a return he had no date for. Stephanie was coming back but he didn’t know when, and he wanted a chance to let the world in on the secret.
He wanted her to come back to people who believed in her—and who knew she was coming. She deserved to be welcomed and not with the standard-issue pitchforks and flame-throwers the Regime had primed its people to greet her with.
She deserved to be given a hero’s welcome.
While he wasn’t sure he could give her that, he was determined to try.
“In the meantime,” he said, stood quickly, and gave Becca’s cairn another glance, “I need to see if I’m ready and if what I’ve learned translates to the real world as well as the simulation says it does. Promise not to laugh, okay?”
The woman did not reply but he didn’t expect her to. The lightening of his heart was all the encouragement he needed.
He turned to one of the rock walls and began to run. As he did so, he pulled Talent in, pushed it into his legs and body, and strengthened them so that his strides grew longer and he remained balanced.
Finally, he vaulted upward and directed the energy beneath him to create a platform that levitated from the earth.
“It’s almost like flying,” he whispered and wondered how the gun turrets would react, given that Remy knew what he was doing.
As if his thoughts had summoned him, the AI spoke.
“Why don’t we make this a little more realistic?”
“What?”
“I’ll fire the wall turrets at you.”
John jerked his head in time to see a flash as one of the guns fired. He didn’t take time to think and thrust an instinctive barrier of blue up as he leapt onto one of the rock formations at the foot of the cliffs.
He landed safely and looked around.
“I don’t suppose I should shoot back?” he asked the AI.
“I would appreciate it if you used something benign,” Remy advised him. “One of those balls of force would suffice. I would register the buffet and de-activate the guns.”
“I wish you’d asked me first,” he answered and bounded from his perch as several of the guns spoke at once.
“Now, John, where would the fun be in that?”
He didn’t answer because he simply had no time. Almost instinctively, he bounced high, flicked his body into a tumble, and flattened into a glide.
At the same time, he threw another shield between him and the turrets and grinned when the bolts exploded on impact. The pressure buffeted him off-course and he corrected quickly.
Gliding was easy. All he did was ask the eMU to form a long, broad wing over his back like a glider, while he held his hands in front of him and “steered” in the direction in which he wanted to go.
Occasionally, he’d lower his feet and touch down on one rocky outcrop or another, only to spring away when the guns fired again.
Rather than keep a large shield in place, John contented himself with creating several smaller shields as and when he needed them. By alternating shield creation with sending a bolt or ball of force at each turret, he deactivated each one.
Now and then, he twisted to avoid a bolt he hadn’t managed to block. It took some practice to get his aim right and hit what he needed to. He was covered in sweat and breathing heavily by the time he’d disabled the last turret that could reach him.
“Nicely done,” Remy informed him and he bounced to the ground.
He grinned. “So, lunch?”
“You are late for lunch,” the AI said blandly, and he stopped and the smile faded from his face.
“Which means?”
“You’re late for class.”
“Uh-huh.” His expression unamused, he walked to the main gates.
The sound of the guns powering up was all the warning he received and he managed to pull a dome of energy over himself as the first rounds struck.
“Remy!”
The AI chuckled.
“And what would you have done if I hadn’t been fast enough?” he demanded from under the shield.
“Picked up the pieces?” the AI suggested mischievously.
“What?”
“I am joking. I knew you would have been fast enough to avoid damage.”
“But what if you’d been wrong?” he demanded.
“John, I am never wrong,” Remy assured him. “I know what you are capable of, even if you do not.”
“It’s still not funny.”
“It was a joke!” The voice had taken on an edge of exasperation. “Just as I was joking when I said you were late for lunch.”
“You mean I’m not?” John’s jaw dropped.
“No, you are right on time,” Remy replied.
“I don’t think you’re very funny,” he grumbled.
“The joke was not funny?” He sounded puzzled. “According to my files, this is the kind of stunt the team and Stephanie would have laughed at.”