Contest? thought Pat Rin, feeling his stomach tighten. He looked across the circle for Natesa, but she was turned away, watching something in the room beyond.

“Just as soon as the band’s ready,” Cheever said.

The drummer snapped out a twelve-count, then the guitar came in, followed by the fiddle, the omnichora singing softly in support. The tune was somewhat brisker than “Tiordia’s Stroll”—and completely unfamiliar.

“Acknowledge your co-pilot,” Cheever instructed, and Pat Rin turned to exchange bows with Nova, who smiled at him.

“Comp—” he began, but—

“Check your board,” Cheever called, which Pat Rin’s feet somehow knew to be a glide and change sides. “Bring up the screens!”

Warned by the set of Nova’s hip, Pat Rin managed to spin as instructed, though raggedly.

“Strap in,” Cheever instructed. Nova’s hand moved, Pat Rin caught it in his; they turned, separated—

“Lift!”—each danced six steps to their right—”Establish orbit!”—a half turn, so Pat Rin was looking over Nova’s shoulder at the starry rug that had covered the floor in Luken’s small private parlor in their quarters above the warehouse—

“Outer ring adjust,” Cheever said. Pat Rin kept his place while Nova slid three steps to left. His view of the rug was now unimpeded.

“Lay in coords!” Cheever called.

Lay in—

But Cheever was giving the coordinates. Rapidly. Pat Rin focused on the rug—on the map —found the first coord, slid forward two steps, located the second, slipped to the left three steps, the third—the third? There!—and forward again, four steps.

“Roll starboard!” came the instruction, and Pat Rin spun to the right with the rest, noting in a sort of mental gasp that the music was moving quicker now, that the ‘chora’s voice was louder, and the fiddle’s entirely gone.

“Lay in coords!”

This time, it wasn’t a complete shock; Pat Rin had time to face the map—the less familiar rug that had graced the schoolroom floor at Trealla Fantrol—and focus before Cheever intoned the first coord, then another, and another—a set of six full coordinates this time, and Pat Rin slipped, spun, circled, and lunged as directed, finishing the sequence damp and limp, but oddly triumphant. He hadn’t missed a step!