"Not always," Adda murmured. He gazed around the sky with his good eye and sniffed, trying to assess the spin weather. "And maybe not forever. The City isn't immune to the changes wrought by these unnatural Glitches. Even your great leader Hork admits that."

Bzya nodded at the boys. "It's good to see Farr looking a bit happier."

"Yes." Adda smiled. "The body has its wisdom. When you're doing barrel-rolls in the Air, it's hard to remember your problems."

Bzya patted his ample gut. "I wish I could remember doing barrel-rolls even. Still, I know what you mean." Now Cris had set up his board. Farr rested it against the soft, even resistance of the Magfield and Cris set his feet on it, flexing his legs experimentally. Adda saw the boy's muscles bunch as he pressed against the Magfield; his arms were outstretched and his fingers seemed to tickle at the Air, as if assessing the strength and direction of the Magfield. Farr pushed him off, recoiling through a mansheight or so, and Cris rocked the board steadily. He slid through the Air with impressive speed and grace; boy and board looked like a single entity, inseparable.

Cris performed slow, elegant turns in the Air; then — with a thrust at the board and a swivel of his feet almost too fast for Adda's rheumy eye to follow — he swept up and over, looping the loop in a single, tight motion. The boy flew across the blind face of Parz City, electron gas sparkling blue about his gleaming board.

He came to rest close to Bzya and Adda, and stepped away from his board gracefully. Farr Waved over to join them. Still a little dazzled by Cris's prowess, Adda saw the contrast with Farr: the Human Being had innate, Pole-enhanced strength, but beside Cris's athletic grace he looked clumsy, massive and uncoordinated.

But then, Farr hadn't had the luxury of a lifetime playing games in the Air.

"You ride that thing well."

"Thanks." Cris dipped his head with its oddly dyed hair; he seemed acceptably unself-conscious about his skill. "And you're in the Games, I hear," Bzya said.

Adda frowned. "What Games?"

"They come once a year," Farr said eagerly. "Cris has told me about them. Sports in the Air — Surfing, the Luge, acrobats, Wave-boxing. Half the people in the City go out to the Stadium to watch."

"Sounds fun."

Bzya poked Adda in the ribs with a sharp thumb. "It is fun, you old fogey. You should go along if you're still here."

"It's more than fun." Cris's tone was deeper than normal, earnest; Adda studied him curiously. Cris was a good boy, he had decided — shallow, but a decent friend to Farr. But now he sounded different: he was intense, his eyecups deep and dark.

Bzya said to Adda, "The Games can make a big difference, for a talented young man like Cris. A moment of fame — money — invitations to the Palace..."