The flight to pick up the bus proved to be uncomfortable. Mike had no problem carrying two people, but without a vasted mind he couldn't keep up a telekinetic windshield and heating. By virtue of being in an enclosed vehicle, the return trip went better. Mike enjoyed the comfortable driver's seat on the flight while Jimmy explored the interior, occasionally yelling at him about turbulence or not receiving a complimentary snack from the non-existent stewardess. Mike landed the bus in the parking lot they had unofficially commandeered for their use and then flew the two of them back to the convention center.

Once inside, Mike began to evaluate the impact of losing his mental vasting on his kinetic talent. He ran through a battery of simple tests to establish his new baseline.

Number of separate items he could hold? Three. He could circumvent that limit by lifting multiple things as one, but the test was about fine control, not power level, which hadn't been affected.

Ability to navigate using tactile feedback from his corona? Virtually nonexistent. Once he closed his eyes, he could somewhat make out the walls around him if he walked slow and concentrated. Chairs, tables, and personal gear left out on the floor all challenged him. Anything with a low mass or small cross-section proved to be a navigational hazard.

Temperature control? Mike could keep his extremities warm without overheating, but it required his full attention. Which meant he could no longer multi-task.

Personal flight? Seemed good so long as he kept to sane speeds.

Catching items? No longer viable.

Forming a solid barrier? Easy peasy.

Corona wrestling? Mike needed another kinetic to test this one. He grabbed Greg Smith for that purpose.

Smith's enthusiasm level could best be described as nonexistent. While he reluctantly participated, he made close to zero effort. Every half-assed exchange ended with Smith muttering that he couldn't do anything against someone so much stronger than him. Eventually, Mike dismissed Smith and sought out Spencer instead.

They engaged in corona wrestling for less than half an hour before Spencer called it quits. "Ski, I can't help you with this. Even when you do literally nothing, I can't displace your corona."

"We've trained together before," Mike said.

"That was with you going easy on me. When you use your corona at full power like this, it is unbeatable."

Mike let Spencer get back to her free time while he considered his training options. Smith and Spencer were being difficult and complaining about the strength disparity. Joe had left the EDA, so he wasn't an option. Tracy . . . would be an awkward training partner at best, given their indiscretion had been so recent. In a few days he could try to get a quick training session with Cassandane. While he would prefer some space after being shot down, Mike knew he needed to adapt to fighting without vasting. He had essentially been downgraded from paragon level combat capabilities to those of a brute. A massively powered-up brute who would never lose his talents.

Suddenly, it occured to Mike why people with the kinetic and teleotic talent were called brutes. It wasn't simply that they were flying bricks. It had a lot to do with the fact that their lack of vasting rendered them incapable of the effortlessly brilliant multi-tasking that sirens and aeronauts demonstrated. They seemed uncoordinated buffoons in comparison. Just like him.

Mike followed up his kinetic baseline testing with the same thing using the teleotic talent. The results came back much faster this time. He could replicate none of his combat techniques. Even hardening his skin left so many gaps that he would be ripped into shreds by shrapnel.

Grabbing pen and paper, Mike began to write down a training circuit for the talents. If he couldn't vast his mind anymore, then he would have to use repetition to hammer the skills into his brain. While being effortlessly brilliant was obviously the better option, Mike had decades of experience drilling skills. He would treat the talents the same way he treated mixed martial arts. Maybe he would never be able to reach the height he had fallen from, capable of taking down an entire army of hostile terrorists, but he would get good enough to handle two or three simultaneous opponents.

While writing out his training program, Mike lifted a spare chair and began to orbit it about himself, making a deliberate effort to not track its progress with his eyes. The chair fell twice, smacked into him thrice, and wobbled about like it was drunk, but he grit his teeth in determination. He wasn't going to let this setback define him. He would be ready for the next batch of terrorists who came at the EDA.