↑Beattle was a poor school, an Academy that accepted the bottom-rung students. It hadn’t been a place for innovation, and the course work of students had been, in part, an effort to pay the school’s dues. Drugs had been one thing, and the Rank had gone to some effort to learn that lesson and take it elsewhere. Stitched had been another thing, a mass-produced export. Munitions like the one I was using were yet another.
I hadn’t had to ask too many people or go to any great effort to figure out what we needed to produce gas canisters and then get teams in place to make it a reality. The canister launcher required a few more questions and a bit more searching before I found students ready and able to make one. - Excerpt from Head over Heals 16.3
↑Beattle Academy didn’t convey the sense of an institution. It clung to the city as a man might cling to a crumbling cliffside. In many places, the buildings weren’t identifiable as Academy buildings right off. It took a glance through windows or a glimpse of a plaque or lettering on the front face of the building, or attention to the students coming and going.
There was a ‘heart’ to Beattle, a core of the city center where nearly every building was Academy. As one got further away from the heart, the hold on the city slipped, and the Academy dormitories, classrooms, stables and labs were more spaced apart, interrupted by businesses restaurants and apartments.
Excerpt from Bitter Pill 15.6