“Aunt, I thank you—your instruction is superlative. Pray forgive my hastiness—Jeeves!” he cried as he passed from the room. “Bring your calculator! I must have a new cloak!”

The robot charged after in a thunder of wheels, orange head-ball flaring. “My calculator is ever at hand, Captain.”

Nova sat staring at the empty doorway. “A cloak? Oh, no…”

“But why not?” asked Lady Kareen, obviously gratified that her words had at last produced an effect. “What harm can it do him to have a new cloak?” She leaned forward to pat Nova’s hand. “Pray tell him to consider it my gift to him, cousin; he must have the cloakmaker send the receipt to me.” She smiled. “After all, an interest in one’s appearance is a beginning! I’ll deal with the racing later.”

* * *

SHAN SLAMMED THE skimmer’s bonnet, frowning. He’d gotten several offers from mechanics to enhance his engines beyond match regulations. He’d told them all no—a fair race and a fair win, that was what he wanted.

And now here was Val Con, insisting that Araceli be brought home for private testing. And if Val Con was willing to tempt fate in such ways…

“Practice? Practice how?” he’d demanded when he got the younger man’s call. “We need to be on the course to practice, youngling. Practicing on flat grass isn’t going to do us any good.”

“No, but it will. I think. Please, brother, bring her home. If it puts you out of pocket, I’ll pay the shipping.”

So here was Shan, cooling his heels on the stream bank, and Val Con uncharacteristically late—

A flash of bright color caught the corner of his eye. He tracked it—and froze, staring.

“Good evening, brother!” called Val Con cheerfully.

“What in moon’s honor is that?”

“This,” announced the younger man, pulling himself stiffly erect and moving his shoulders so the orange micro-silk shimmered, “is the next fashion.”