“And be careful. Be wary of everyone. I don’t want anything happening to you while you are back there.”

Aphenglow gave a quick smile, rose, and left the room. Khyber Elessedil watched her go, resisting the urge to call her back. She did not want to lose Aphen. But she had to let her go.

Be careful, she repeated silently.

All of us.

9

THERE WAS NO DOUBT ABOUT IT. THOSE SPRINTS WERE one wicked pair of machines.

They sat side by side in the metal-clad storage shed, resting on wheeled trailers that allowed them to be pulled out into the open where they could be readied for use. Painted black from mast to keel, light sheaths black as well to better absorb the power of the sun, they had long, narrow hulls stripped of everything that might slow them down. The parse tubes were embedded in the hull behind hatches that facilitated easy replacement of the diapson crystals. The controls were set to either side of a shallow depression that served as a cockpit, all within easy reach of the pilot. The pilot lay on his back with his head slightly elevated, facing forward down the length of his body toward the bow. A thin padding lined the cockpit floor and walls, providing a modicum of comfort and a small amount of protection. A leather harness strapped the pilot in place, and a windshield constructed of metal, wood, and mesh allowed him to peer ahead over the rim of the hull’s curved surface without an undue amount of risk of being blinded by flying debris.

Inside the cockpit, the thrusters and steering levers were manipulated by a combination of hands and feet, the cords that ran from the levers to the sheaths, rudder, and fins drawn so tightly that even the smallest amount of pressure would produce a response in the vessel’s handling. The twins had built the Sprints this way on purpose. These slender black monsters weren’t designed as transports; they were built to race.

What the Sprints were, when you came right down to it, were modified flits, their superstructures pared down to the bare minimum of weight and material. They were a work in progress, of course, but it appeared that they were now as close as possible to what their builders intended.

Today’s test would determine whether or not this was so.

“They certainly look ready,” Redden Ohmsford offered, contemplating the sleek craft with satisfaction. “I don’t know what else we could do to make them go any faster.”

His brother nodded. “Are we going to take them into the Shredder?”