Spark

Ari squinted through her visor, crouching surfer-style over her windboard. Ahead, a glittering green ribbon traced a path in the air—the path she had to follow without mishap to pass this evaluation.

The path was virtual, but everything else about the simulation was real—real windboard, real magnetic boots, and real e-field stretching around her like a silvery, translucent disc.

The e-field that had become her enemy. It just wouldn’t do what she commanded.

The training gym was Windrider Academy’s largest building, sprawling near the cliffs on the campus’s western border. It held multiple indoor simulators, each as massive as the one she practiced in. The training zone stretched five stories above her and three stories below. Observation balconies circled the upper levels, creating a column of open space two hundred feet wide and eight hundred feet high. Had there been windows, she could’ve seen the afternoon sun pouring down and probably a glimpse of the nearby desert basin.

But simulators weren’t meant for admiring the view. The balcony support columns housed enormous wind machines that could be programmed to create whatever air terrain the evaluation team wanted.

As only a second-year cadet, Ari had the advantage of an open-book test. She could practice the test course as much as she wanted.

Not that it was helping.

A buzzer sounded, and the timer began, a big, annoying countdown in the corner of her visor. Why did all the tests have to be timed?

She squeezed her gloved right hand into a fist, pressing the sensor on the heel of her palm to release the windboard from its parking platform. The wind machines powered on, and she was off.

The first part of the course always went fine. Just easy slopes and valleys, then a few switchbacks and slaloms that didn’t challenge her too much. But the trouble came at the end, with the double-loop combo and a changing wind profile. Every time, the e-field got away from her, followed by everything else.