I raised my right hand, making a fist. The wetsuit covering my arm scrunched as I moved. Her explanation bothered me. Shouldn’t we know how things like this actually worked? Of course, I didn’t understand how computers or mobiles worked either, and that didn’t bother me. Those didn’t have mysterious motivators, though, and weren’t built after studying the cells of dead Epics.
And they also didn’t, so far as I knew, defy the laws of physics.
Those were probably questions for another day. For now, I needed to focus on the task at hand: learning to use the spyril. “So how does it work?”
“This,” Mizzy said, taking my left hand and flipping a switch, “is the streambeam. You point it at water and make a fist.”
“Streambeam?” I asked dryly.
“I named it,” Mizzy said happily.
I inspected the glove. One of the coin-roll devices on the back kind of looked like a laser pointer. I stepped to the edge of the roof and pointed my left hand at the water just below, then made a fist.
A bright red laser shot from my left hand. Even in full daylight, even with no smoke or anything dusting the air, I could see the beam easily. The device on my back started to hum.
“The streambeam draws out water,” Exel said, clapping me on the shoulder. “Or … well, teleports the water to you, or something like that.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“Now, you have to be careful,” Mizzy said, “as your other hand will control the flow. You need to—”
I made a fist with my right hand. Jets of water erupted from my feet, flipping me into the air end over end. I shouted, flailing my arms. The streambeam twisted toward the sky, then turned off as I was no longer making a fist. The jets immediately cut out.
The world spun around me, drops of water spraying everywhere, then the force of the ocean hit me as I crashed into it. It was a huge shock, even with Prof’s forcefield to protect me. Brackish water sprayed into my mouth and up my nose. For a brief, terrified moment my mind was convinced I was drowning to death.
I thrashed, remembering the time before when I’d been towed down by the weight on my ankle. My panic was accompanied by a deeper, more ancient terror—a primal fear of drowning mixed with a fear of what could be out there, in those depths, watching me.
I struggled to the surface, sputtering, and swam awkwardly to the rooftop. I grabbed hold of a partially submerged windowsill and wiped my face, trying to catch my breath, stilling my nerves. Even with the wetsuit, I felt cold.
A laugh bellowed out from up above. Exel. He reached down, and I took hold, letting him help me from the water. I sat on the side of the roof, pulling my legs up. No reason to give the sharks—which I was sure were down there—anything to chew on.
“Well, it works!” Exel said.
“Let me check the flow rates,” Mizzy said, kneeling beside me. Today with her jeans she wore a shirt that had frills cut along the hem. Behind the two of them Prof stood with crossed arms, his expression dark.
“Sir?” I called to him.
“Carry on with the practice,” he said, turning away. “I have things to take care of. Exel and Mizzy, you can handle this?”
“Sure can,” Exel said. “I coached Sam his first few times. Never did try it myself though.”
Made sense. I figured it would take some serious jets to lift Exel.
Prof stepped onto our boat tied up alongside the rooftop, then took out a paddle. “Contact Val via mobile when you want to be picked up,” he said. Then he rowed away toward where we’d hidden the submarine.
“What’s up with him lately?” Exel asked.
“Up?” Mizzy asked from behind me as she fiddled with the device on my back. “He’s always like that, so far as I can tell. Brooding. Dark. Mysterious.” I sensed a blush to her voice, and she ducked down a little farther.
“True,” Exel said. “But lately the mystery comes with extra brood.” He shook his head and settled down beside me. “David, when manipulating the spyril you have to keep the streambeam pointed at water. The moment it isn’t, you’ll lose access to your propellant, and that will send you crashing down.”
“Well,” I said, “at least the landing will be soft, right?” I nodded toward the water.
“You’ve never belly flopped, have you?” Exel asked.
“Belly what?”
Exel rubbed his forehead with a set of meaty fingers. “Okay. David, water doesn’t compress. If you hit it at high speed, particularly with a lot of your body at once, it will feel like hitting something solid. Drop from a hundred feet or so, and you’ll break bones. Maybe die.”
That sounded bizarre, but it didn’t really matter so long as I had one of Prof’s forcefields protecting me, disguised as a little electronic box hooked to my wetsuit belt. Since he often split the power among several Reckoners at once, it would wear out over time, and focused points of pressure—such as a bullet strike—could penetrate it. But a fall into the water shouldn’t be a problem.
“A hundred feet, you say?” I asked. “This thing can get me that high?”
Exel nodded. “And higher. Sam couldn’t reach the tops of the tallest skyscrapers, but he could reach many of the medium-height ones.”