affirmative. Cain started entering the wagers into his pad.
“No, no, my boy, two thousand each ,” Administer Bloom corrected.
The troopers nearby exchanged glances. Cain corrected the entry and returned the pads. Administer Bloom had a wide grin on his face as he and the Weaver left Cain and headed toward the observation deck proper.
“What was that all about?” a muffled voice asked from behind Cain.
Turning, Cain found Cassandra in full armor. She snatched his pad before he could answer.
“ Two thousand credits ? Wish I had that many spare creds to toss around. I’ll have to keep an eye on this Brent person,” Cassandra said to herself.
“I’d like to place a wager on that kid, too!” a trooper shouted, quickly approaching Cain.
About two dozen or so tried to do the same. Only four of them made it before Cain got the notice the exams had started and all betting was locked in. Thankfully, Cassandra kept the troopers from rioting as Cain explained the situation. After the troopers dispersed, Cain gathered his things and left the lounge, heading to the observation room proper.
“Your grin is missing. What’s bugging you?” Cassandra asked, walking alongside.
“Nothing really,” Cain said, reassuring Cassandra. “It has just been a long morning.”
“Have it your way. So what do you know about this Brent person?”
“Not much. He was a last minute addition to the roster. Never really made that big of an impact on the betting pools.”
“I don’t mean that. You know I couldn’t care less about the pools. I mean what is he like ?”
“Why do you care?”
“Well, if the Administer is willing to place that kind of wager, the kid must be special.”
“Or maybe he is the Administer’s nephew or something.”
“What if he’s a Weaver?” Cassandra’s voice became hushed.
Cain paused; he hadn’t thought of that.
“If that’s the case, Cassandra, it might be a good idea to scope him out during the lunch break,” Cain suggested.
As Cassandra nodded, Cain could feel dread build up in the pit of his stomach. Well it had been a good day.
Chapter 3: Infiltration
Leaving the main corridor, Brent and the rest of group C entered a large auditorium. Erin was still blushing from her run in with Humphrey. A tall skinny man was standing at the base of the stadium seating of the auditorium. As they got closer, Brent could make out large, thick-framed glasses that clashed with the slender nature of the man. The skinny man was staring at the timepiece on his right arm with impatience. It was overly elaborate for the simple task of telling time and looked needlessly expensive.
“You all took your sweet time getting here.” The skinny man’s voice was nasally and brisk. “The other groups have already begun their first examinations. Hurry up there; we don’t have all day.”
As the recruits quickly rushed down to the man, Brent noticed a large door behind him. Unlike the sleek doorways of the station, this one was an imposing sight of gray metal, easily twice the height of the tall man.
“My name is Mister Zimmer, and I am one of the five instructors who will be determining your fates today,” the instructor said as he scanned the group before him. “My area of expertise is infiltration, and after I’m done with all of you, we will know which of you will rise to glorious heights and which of you will sink to dismal lows.”
“What’s the difference between this and stealth?” Owen asked innocently. “Aren’t they the same kind of thing?”
“I hate that question,” the Zimmer said with a sneer. “I can’t tell you how many times I have to defend against that question. Stealth is the field of avoiding detection. Infiltration is the field of embracing detection,” the instructor said smugly.
The recruits looked at one another then Zimmer again.
“I can see by the blank expressions on your faces you don’t
“No, no, my boy, two thousand each ,” Administer Bloom corrected.
The troopers nearby exchanged glances. Cain corrected the entry and returned the pads. Administer Bloom had a wide grin on his face as he and the Weaver left Cain and headed toward the observation deck proper.
“What was that all about?” a muffled voice asked from behind Cain.
Turning, Cain found Cassandra in full armor. She snatched his pad before he could answer.
“ Two thousand credits ? Wish I had that many spare creds to toss around. I’ll have to keep an eye on this Brent person,” Cassandra said to herself.
“I’d like to place a wager on that kid, too!” a trooper shouted, quickly approaching Cain.
About two dozen or so tried to do the same. Only four of them made it before Cain got the notice the exams had started and all betting was locked in. Thankfully, Cassandra kept the troopers from rioting as Cain explained the situation. After the troopers dispersed, Cain gathered his things and left the lounge, heading to the observation room proper.
“Your grin is missing. What’s bugging you?” Cassandra asked, walking alongside.
“Nothing really,” Cain said, reassuring Cassandra. “It has just been a long morning.”
“Have it your way. So what do you know about this Brent person?”
“Not much. He was a last minute addition to the roster. Never really made that big of an impact on the betting pools.”
“I don’t mean that. You know I couldn’t care less about the pools. I mean what is he like ?”
“Why do you care?”
“Well, if the Administer is willing to place that kind of wager, the kid must be special.”
“Or maybe he is the Administer’s nephew or something.”
“What if he’s a Weaver?” Cassandra’s voice became hushed.
Cain paused; he hadn’t thought of that.
“If that’s the case, Cassandra, it might be a good idea to scope him out during the lunch break,” Cain suggested.
As Cassandra nodded, Cain could feel dread build up in the pit of his stomach. Well it had been a good day.
Chapter 3: Infiltration
Leaving the main corridor, Brent and the rest of group C entered a large auditorium. Erin was still blushing from her run in with Humphrey. A tall skinny man was standing at the base of the stadium seating of the auditorium. As they got closer, Brent could make out large, thick-framed glasses that clashed with the slender nature of the man. The skinny man was staring at the timepiece on his right arm with impatience. It was overly elaborate for the simple task of telling time and looked needlessly expensive.
“You all took your sweet time getting here.” The skinny man’s voice was nasally and brisk. “The other groups have already begun their first examinations. Hurry up there; we don’t have all day.”
As the recruits quickly rushed down to the man, Brent noticed a large door behind him. Unlike the sleek doorways of the station, this one was an imposing sight of gray metal, easily twice the height of the tall man.
“My name is Mister Zimmer, and I am one of the five instructors who will be determining your fates today,” the instructor said as he scanned the group before him. “My area of expertise is infiltration, and after I’m done with all of you, we will know which of you will rise to glorious heights and which of you will sink to dismal lows.”
“What’s the difference between this and stealth?” Owen asked innocently. “Aren’t they the same kind of thing?”
“I hate that question,” the Zimmer said with a sneer. “I can’t tell you how many times I have to defend against that question. Stealth is the field of avoiding detection. Infiltration is the field of embracing detection,” the instructor said smugly.
The recruits looked at one another then Zimmer again.
“I can see by the blank expressions on your faces you don’t
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