Out on the far side, running at a completely absurd angle, Araceli charged forward, upward—halfway up, in fact—and began to rotate.

Shan hit the jets; Araceli climbed; rotation unchecked. Val Con, ducking to give the pilot a clear view as they proceeded backwards, grinned at the confusion behind.

Several pilots, misreading Araceli’s rotation as unwanted spin in their own craft, corrected disastrously, slipping sideways—and downward.

Araceli gained ground, rotating gently to face forward again as the hill was crested—four places up in the running; only seven craft ahead.

But on the short straight the superior speed of the newer skimmers showed and Araceli dropped to tenth.

“Amateurs!” howled Scant’s pilot as that craft passed them. “Get off the course if you can’t drive!”

Shan waved politely and threw a quick grin at Val Con, motionless in the copilot’s seat, cloak tucked carefully around him.

Shan nodded a heartbeat later and Val Con threw his weight to the right as the craft spun sideways to descend the hill, setting up for the second curve. There was a bunch-up at the bottom and several skimmers overshot into a field of grain, releasing a storm of silvery pollen.

Val Con shifted to the left and Araceli skidded around, taking the corner raggedly, but in the running as they came into the second longest straight.

“Now!” yelled Shan.

Val Con knocked twice on the thin metal skin and curled himself into a tight ball behind his larger brother; ducking his head inside the silk of the cloak to create a smooth-backed fairing.

They neither gained nor lost on the straight and Val Con stayed hunched over. A gone feeling in his stomach warned him and he was instantly up, sitting far back; trying not to look at the ramp ahead, or at the gap they must jump.

The ramp edge was crossed and he lunged forward, grabbing for the kink at the base of the rollbar—