The dust cloud from the crushed dark rock pillar settled slowly over the grit of Proving Grounds Four. Across the tiered stone benches, the silence stretched unbroken until a low, harsh chuckle rattled from Instructor Koslov’s scarred throat.
On the judges’ dais, Dean Horatio Pendelton reached into his coat for a fresh handkerchief. The cloth was soaked with cold rosewater and almond oil. But it did little to soothe the crimson flush creeping up his fleshy neck. He dabbed at his forehead, his piggish eyes darting between Arthur Vance and the digital readout still burning on the dyno display.
“A strange flaw,” Pendelton muttered, his voice trembling slightly before he caught himself. He cleared his throat into the sound brass horn. “A singular clockwork test of moving pressure. But the frontier defense outer edge doesn’t fight stationary quarry blocks, Cadet Vance. The Rust-Belt border is contested by high-speed aerial swarms, bio-wasps, and raptor broods that bypass heavy ground units entirely.”
To Pendelton’s right, Chief Inspector Jeremy Hargrave of the Municipal Board rose from his cushioned chair. Hargrave was a gaunt, fastidious bureaucrat who took huge pride in his ritual status. He wore a spotless midnight-blue uniform topped with a flamboyant crimson velvet beret, pinned at the brow with a solid-gold eagle crest and a fluttering peacock feather.
