Val Con nodded. “None too soon, eh? And then skimmer racing may slide away into the past.” He tipped his head.

“There is more, perhaps? You are still distressed.”

“It is a small thing…” She looked at him worriedly. “Yesterday she railed at me for nearly two hours—she even missed a session of the Poetry society!” She sighed. “it is the Terran blood, you see, that makes Shan so wild and threatens to disgrace Korval forever.”

“It is fantastic, is it not,” said Val Con “that my aunt holds such opinions? After all, she was offered the Trusteeship when my father abdicated—and refused it, even as she refused to care for his son, leaving all to yos’Galan. At this moment she could be First Speaker.”

“Gods forefend,” breathed Nova, bringing fingers to lips too late.

Val Con laughed. “So I think, as well.” He lifted an eyebrow. “She does well for one unable to take sustenance.”

“Ah, you haven’t spoken to her cook.”

“Nor have I any wish to do so.” He was on his feet, moving with Scout silence across the short distance that separated them. Bending, he kissed her cheek.

“I’ll speak with Shan, since I have said it. will you tell me the location of the racing park?”

* * *

THE WIND SCREAMED and the skimmer bucked and slithered. Shan fed it more power, leaned right to correct the slide, kicked the throttle to the top and was over the finish line in a burst of breathless speed. He slewed in a half-arc for the joy of it and slashed the power, gliding to a halt by the timer-tower.

“Twelve minutes, forty-two seconds,” the mechanical voice informed him.

“Damn,” said Shan, heading sedately for the garage. Two minutes to shave at the very least, or he might as well leave Araceli home on Trilsday and watch the race from the stands.

Most skimmers carried a crew of two; he’d been foolish to think he could run singleton. He needed another pilot for second—and where was he to come up with one in so short a time? Worse, how to fin time for proper training?