"This is the third year I've had an application in for the Surfing," Cris said. "I've been in the top five in my age group all that time. But this is the first time they've let me in." He looked sour. "Even so, I'm unseeded. I've got a lousy draw, and..."

Adda was aware of Farr hovering awkwardly close to them, his callused hands heavy at his sides. The contrast with Cris was painful. "Well," he said, trying not to sound hostile to the City boy's prattle, "you should get your practice done, then."

The boys peeled away once more. Cris mounted his board and was soon sweeping through the Air again, an insect sizzling with electron gas before the face of Parz; Farr Waved in his wake, calling out excitedly.

"Don't be hard on the boy," Bzya murmured. "He's a City lad. You can't expect him to have much sense of perspective."

"The Games mean nothing to me."

Bzya swiveled his scarred face to Adda. "But they mean everything to Cris. To him, it's a chance — maybe his only chance — of breaking out of the life that's been set out for him. You'd have to have a heart of Corestuff, man, not to sympathize with the boy for trying to change his lot."

"And what then, Fisherman? After his few moments of glory — after the grand folk have finished using him as their latest toy. What will become of him then?"

"If he's smart enough, and good enough, it won't end. He can parlay his gifts into a niche in the Upside, before he gets too old to shine on the Surfboard. And even if not — hell, it's a holiday for him, upfluxer. A holiday from the drudgery that will make up most of his life."

There was a shout from above them. Cris had ridden his board high up the City's face, and was now sweeping through the sparkling Air close to the Longitude band. Electron gas swirled around his board and body, crackling and sparking blue. Other young people — evidently friends of Cris — had joined them, appearing from cracks in the Skin as if from nowhere — or so it seemed to Adda — and they raced around the Longitude band like young rays.

"They shouldn't do that," Bzya murmured. "Against the law, strictly speaking. If Cris goes too close to the Longitude the flux gradients could tear him apart."

Then why's he doing it?"

"To learn to master the flux," the Fisherman said. "To learn how to conquer the fiercer gradients he'll find when he's in the Games, and he Surfs across the face of the Pole."

Adda sniffed. "So now I know how you choose your rulers — on whether they can balance on a bit of wood. No wonder this City's such a damn mess."

Bzya's laughter echoed from the blank, crudely finished wall of the City. "You don't like us much, do you, Adda?"