In the virtual staging area, Neville stared at his cha’s control panel and felt his heart sink as he recalled.
If he used the neural sync interface that he was familiar with, he would be under suspicion since no one should be able to use neural sync solo at this point.
This cha used standard manual controls. An array of buttons and switches that required actual physical manipulation.
He could almost hear Shelly laughing at him from wherever she was lurking in his system space.
[Host, is there a problem?] Shelly spoke just in ti, like an innocent as a fox in a henhouse.
’You know exactly what the problem is,’ Neville thought back furiously. ’I can’t use neural sync here. I don’t know how to use these control panels!’
[Then don’t pilot smoothly. Problem solved!]
’That’s not—’ He cut himself off, aware that his ga avatar had been standing motionless for too long. ’Fine. Just... tell what buttons to press when I said the move. I’m confident with my reaction ti.’
Neville selected the tutorial map option and loaded it into a simple training environnt.
A standard cha materialized in front of him. A fifteen ters of reinforced tal, ard with a plasma blade, light pulse gun, and triple-shot projectile laser missiles.
Basic equipnt. Nothing fancy.
He gripped the control sticks and pushed forward experintally.
The cha lurched like a drunk beast.
"Okay," he muttered. "That’s the movent control. Good to know."
For the next several minutes, Neville fumbled his way through basic maneuvers.
Walking. Running. Jumping. Turning.
Each action required a specific combination of inputs that he never had to consciously think about before.
With neural sync, moving the cha was as natural as moving his own limbs. Without it, he felt like he was trying to thread a needle while wearing boxing gloves.
But muscle mory was a funny thing.
His fingers rembered patterns even when his mind didn’t. The typing speed drills at the black hell hole and experience in the high-pressure environnt in the Maxwell Corporation had honed his manual dexterity to a tee.
When Shelly fed him button combinations through their ntal link, his hands executed them faster than conscious thought.
Left stick forward, right trigger, bumper tap, rotate...
The cha pivoted smoothly, raised its pulse gun, and fired a precise three-shot burst at a target dummy.
"Not bad." Grayson’s voice suddenly ca through the internal voice communication in this private room.
Neville nearly jumped out of his skin. He had forgotten that Grayson was still here.
"Your movent’s a bit rough, but your targeting is solid," Grayson comnted.
"I’m a little rusty." Neville guided his cha through an obstacle course, gaining confidence with each successful maneuver.
His strategy instincts, at least, remained sharp. He read the terrain automatically—noting chokepoints, cover positions, flanking routes. The knowledge was burned in his mory from his previous life of hours of watching, and the experience of a few hours of playing this ga before.
"You’re adapting faster than most beginners," Grayson observed. "Your terrain analysis is excellent."
"Its just like typing fast at the company." The words ca out before Neville could stop them. "morizing the controls. Creating shortcuts. Executing it as fast as possible, that kind of thing. It translates well to operating manual controls."
Grayson paused and looked at him for a mont before saying, "That’s... one way to put experience into action."
Neville couldn’t tell if Grayson believed him or not. His voice carried that particular flatness that could an anything from acceptance to pointed skepticism.
"Why didn’t you try entering the military?" Grayson suddenly asked. "With skills like these, you’d have been fast-tracked through the academy."
The question hit Neville like a bucket of cold water.
Why didn’t I enter the military? He thought bitterly. Maybe because my target wasn’t in that place? Maybe because my ’skills’ were forcibly drilled into him by a cheat system and a training dinsion that doesn’t officially exist to complete my mission?
Or maybe, a darker part of his mind whispered, you should ask yourself why YOU couldn’t save yourself from the star pirates if you’re so skilled. You ca from the military, too.
Because of that passing thought, Neville suddenly rembered that day.
Rembered piloting a real cha with neural sync engaged, pushing himself to semi-transform to pilot the cha and reach the star pirates to save Grayson.
But this man just forgot everything and went on with his life without even asking who saved his life.
Really infuriating.
"I’m just playing for fun," Neville said, finally forcibly swallowing the bitterness of life.
"Hmm."
Grayson didn’t push further, which was sohow worse than if he had argued to convince Neville. Instead, Grayson spent the next twenty minutes walking Neville through advanced techniques.
The ergency thrust vectoring, shield timing, and energy managent during extended engagents. He was a patient teacher, explaining concepts clearly without condescension.
Neville absorbed everything, his respect for Grayson’s combat knowledge growing with each lesson.
It seed that he really rose into the general position from the bottom. His tactical understanding ran deep, honed through years of actual battlefield experience.
Not that he was questioning Grayson’s capabilities, it was just that the imagination of the poor of the wealthy was the worst. Rising to powerful positions with money was within his worst expectations.
"I think you’re ready," Grayson said after getting a good look at his movents. "Shall we have a real match?"
Neville’s pulse quickened. "Are you sure? I’m still pretty shaky with the controls."
"I’m sure." Sothing in Grayson’s tone sharpened. "Just saying, but I don’t plan on holding back even though you’re a newbie."
"Then don’t." Neville found himself smiling despite his nerves. "There’s no gentleman in here. It’s all fair ga."
Grayson’s chuckle was low and warm. "Great."
○●○●
The observation deck had reached maximum capacity.
Michael and Michelle Frost sat glued to their holographic screens, surrounded by dozens of other military academy students who had caught wind of the event.
The two professors hiding amongst the crowd also watched from a separate terminal. Their data recorders were running at maximum sensitivity.
In the end, thousands of other players had discovered the piggybacked broadcast and tuned in too.
"They’re about to start," soone whispered.
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