Being a live target was even more draining than David had imagined. Miller, for all his sharp wit, lacked the physical stamina. In under half an hour, his Gladiator"s movements grew sloppy. A string of simulated hits overloaded its systems, filling the cockpit with the acrid, simulated smell of burnt circuits—harmless but alarming. The guy started groaning weakly over the comms, "I"m done, man... Toast... Just leave me here..." David lasted a bit longer, a fact he owed entirely to Sergeant Hansen"s recent "motivational" training. He pushed for another ten-plus minutes, his flight suit soaked with sweat, muscles screaming from sustained tension and violent evasions, his vision starting to blur. Finally, after one particularly graceless, scrambling dodge, his mech was also judged "critically
