He reached forward with his right hand—slowly, the gesture completely visible, the hand extending toward Ordin's face at six feet with a speed that wasn't fast enough to be a threat but wasn't slow enough to be ignored.
Ordin's eyes tracked the hand.
The hand was between Mark's face and Ordin's eyes—looking at the hand required looking in the direction of Mark's face, the trajectory of the extended arm pointing the gaze toward the silver irises at its origin.
The simulation gained ground.
Forty to fifty-five in the two seconds Ordin's attention tracked the hand before he pulled his eyes deliberately away.
He clapped—one hand, the left, a reduced-output burst aimed at the extended right hand, the attempt to force the hand's withdrawal by hitting it.
The burst hit Mark's right hand.
The hand withdrew—real impact, the hand forced back, but the two seconds of gaze had already produced the gain.
Fifty-five percent.
