What Sandor calls the Lecture Hall isn’t like the classrooms that I’ve seen on TV. There are no desks, no places to sit at all, really, with the exception of a cockpit-looking chair built into one wall. Sandor calls it the Lectern, and he climbs into the seat behind a control panel of blinking buttons and gauges. The room is about the size of our expansive living room, all white, every surface tiled with what looks to be retractable panels.
My footsteps echo as I walk to the center of the room. “How long have you been working on this?”
“Since we moved in,” he replies, flicking a series of levers on the Lectern. I can feel the room hum to life beneath my feet.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You weren’t ready before,” says Sandor. “But you proved to me today that you’re ready now. It’s time to begin the last phase of your training.”
I’d lured the Mog to our penthouse because I wanted to show Sandor that I was ready for more action. I’d wanted to show him that I could act independently, that I could be his partner. No more of his “young ward” crap.
But this is just more of the same. I thought I was ready to graduate. Instead, Sandor has decided to stick me in summer school.
Just a few minutes ago I was worried I’d made a bad decision of life-altering magnitude. Now, listening to Sandor patronize me, I’m reminded why I stayed up all night planning that Mog’s demise. For all his big serious pep talk, Sandor just doesn’t get me. I regretted the possibility that I’d put this place in danger to prove my readiness, but the more I watch Sandor play around with his gadgets and levers, the less sorry I feel about what I did.
“Shall we begin?” he asks.
I nod, not really paying attention. I’m tired of play-fighting. I got a taste of the real thing this morning and it might not have gone exactly as I expected, but it was still better than this. Hell, real school with soft human kids would be more exciting.
I’m part of the Garde. I have a destiny, a life to start leading. How many stupid training sessions will I have to endure before Sandor lets me start living it?
A panel on the front of the Lectern opens, discharging a trio of steel ball bearings at fastball speed. I easily deflect them with my telekinesis. This trick is played out. Sandor’s been shooting objects at me pretty much nonstop since my telekinesis developed.
Before the first trio can hit the ground, though, two more panels open in the walls on either side of me, both firing more projectiles. Caught in a crossfire, I use my telekinesis to ground the ones to my left, instinctively swinging my pipe-staff in a tight arc to bat away the others.
“Good!” shouts Sandor. “Use all your weapons.”
I shrug. “Is that it?”
Sandor sends another volley of projectiles my way. This time I don’t even bother with my telekinesis. I use the pipe-staff to deflect two of them, quickly spinning away from the others.
“How does the staff feel?”
I twirl my new weapon effortlessly from hand to hand. It feels natural, like a part of myself I didn’t know was missing before today.
“I like it.”
“On Lorien, they held competitions with those things. They called them Jousts. In his younger days, your father was a champion.”
It’s rare for Sandor to mention life before the Mogadorian invasion, but before I can grill him further, a section of the wall juts out at me like a battering ram. It’s too heavy to stop with my telekinesis, so I throw my weight into it and roll across it.
I land on my feet, supporting myself with my staff, and am greeted by a floating drone that looks like something Sandor made by attaching a helicopter propeller to a blender. Before I can properly size up the drone, it bobs in close and zaps me with an electrical shock that sends me tumbling back over the battering ram.
The shock isn’t enough to really hurt me, but it sends pins and needles through my limbs. Sandor laughs, delighted that one of his creations scored a hit.
His laughter just makes me angry.
I hop back to my feet, only to immediately duck another volley of projectiles. Meanwhile, the drone has bobbed out of staff range. I focus on it with my telekinesis.
From behind, a heavy punching bag on a chain detaches from the ceiling, slamming into me with the weight of a grown man. The wind is knocked out of me and I crash to the ground.
My face hits the floor in the fall. Instead of seeing stars, I see droplets of blood from my split lip pooling on the polished white floor. I wipe my face and scramble to one knee.
Sandor looks at me from behind his control panel, an eyebrow raised mockingly.
“Had enough?”
Still seeing red, I snarl and make a lunge for the drone. It’s not fast enough. I impale it with my staff in a shower of sparks.
I shake the broken drone off the end of my staff and stare at Sandor.
“Is that all you’ve got?”