27
“Sir,” a voice with a southern accent says. “Are you all right?”
I lie there, considering the answer to that question. A cowardly thought enters my mind. I wonder whether everything that happened today—the attack on the Temple, the Assimilation, the too-deep jumps into memories, and most importantly, Eugene’s machine that took away my abilities, maybe forever—were delusions brought on by falling and hitting my head. There’s only one way to test the realness of the situation.
I try to phase into the Quiet as I usually would.
I can tell it didn’t work, because I hear, “Sir, do you want me to radio in for medical help?”
“Yes.” I open my eyes. “Have them helicopter in a lot of medical help, but not for me.”
As the man says something into his radio, I touch the side of my head. I have
