"Are you looking for your friend again? He's not here."

Virdon stayed where he was, elbows propped on the white railing of the training ground, but he turned his head to acknowledge the old ape who was now slowly approaching. Tovar held onto the railing with one hand; his steps were slow and short. A slightly sour scent was preceding him.

Virdon smiled, and turned his gaze back to the racetrack. "I know. He's worried he'll run into another wire again if he trains here."

He had decided to be blunt about Burke's absence; chances were that the wire incident was known anyway. The only thing traveling faster than light was gossip.

But Tovar didn't take the bait. He just grunted and leaned against the railing, and Virdon inconspicuously turned his head a little higher to catch the soft breeze that was ruffling the canopy above him. The chimpanzee had been drinking again, and hadn't bothered to change his robe.

"Then why are you here? Are you trying to figure out the competition?" Tovar smacked his lips. "Dark Intentions is gonna win. There, you can go home now."

Virdon didn't move. "Why are you so sure? He didn't win the last race, either."

Tovar vaguely flapped his hand. "This is different. This is a big race, not three laps around the town square. Your friend will run against professionals, he doesn't stand a chance. Better not get your hopes up."

"How do you know?" Virdon insisted. "I thought betting is a gamble? Seems strange that everyone knows the outcome beforehand..."

"Not everyone," Tovar interrupted him. "Just old Tovar here. Because he's been around forever, and he remembers every racer that's ever run."

"Yes," Virdon said calmly, keeping his eyes straight ahead, "old Tovar knows everyone around the tracks. Not just the racers, I'd bet. Trainers, clerks, grooms..."

"I know a lot of people," Tovar muttered. "Not all of them."

"I bet you know Vilam," Virdon said casually. "He's a kind of celebrity, or so I've heard."

Tovar coughed, a wet and bubbly sound. "Everyone knows Vilam, so?"

Virdon turned fully towards him, still leaning against the railing. "So I heard some things about him that I can hardly believe. I mean, I can believe an owner would try them, but I can't believe the other owners would tolerate them..."

Tovar held up a hand. "I don't wanna hear it, and you don't wanna work that mouth of yours, boy. You have one bad leg already, you don't wanna have two of them."

"So it's true," Virdon said quietly. "Vilam is threatening the other racers, and if their owners don't comply, he cripples their humans."

"Didn't say that he does," Tovar growled. "You said that."

"And you didn't object."

"Ah!" Tovar sniffed impatiently, and stared across the lawn. "All those trees were just little saplings when I was a boy," he said abruptly. "The humans had to run in the midday heat, with no shadow anywhere. Ape ladies were fainting in the stands, but the humans ran as if they didn't even feel it. Of course they were sweating like horses. Amazing creatures." He turned his head to squint at Virdon.

"Nowadays they take them old racers and stuff them into that charity, and make them sit all day and make those ugly, useless... things, I don't even know what they are for, to sell them to the fat ape matrons down South!" He spit out. "That's no life for a human. They're meant to run, not sit on their ass all day!"

"Before the charity took them, those humans were killed," Virdon pointed out.

"So they had a full life, and never knew anything but the tracks," Tovar exclaimed. "Never knew the misery of those workhouses! They ran, and then they didn't. Now if that wasn't a better life! A lot of things were better back then..." He sighed.

Like Vilam not fixing races, probably, but Virdon found he couldn't focus on that right now. "You really think that the sum of a human life is... running around in circles, chasing after nothing, round after round?"

Tovar smiled and spread his arms; he was swaying as if he was standing in a strong breeze. "Chasing after the horizon, boy, always the horizon. Don't you feel that hunger? Don't you wish you had two good legs again, to eat up the miles?"

Virdon exhaled heavily. "I do." God, words couldn't express how much he yearned to be on his game again. But if he was ever eating up the miles again, it would be on a straight path, straight up North, for starters.

Tovar nodded triumphantly. "See? Bird flies, fish swims, human..."

"Human runs, I know," Virdon said tiredly. "But lately, a lot of humans seem to suffer sudden injuries before they can run their race. Doesn't that take away all the... all the fun?"

"It does," Tovar agreed morosely. "But I'm just an old ape." He patted Virdon's cheek. "What can I do? It's bad luck, that's what it is." He turned away.

"Some humans seem to have excellent luck." Virdon followed him down the path, determined to get some kind of admission from the old drunkard. "They are so fast, it's as if they're being doped..."

Tovar turned around so abruptly that Virdon almost bumped into him. "Now you listen to me! This race is a celebration! We come together here, and we drink, and we're merry, and we admire them racers, and we have a good time. And Olman, he's the president, he makes sure that everything is as it should be, always has. You got me? If anyone was clubbing humans at night, or giving them stuff that's not good for them, or telling them not to run like the wind - the president would kick them out! He wouldn't allow such a thing! The race is the best thing that's happening here, and that's because everyone loves it!" The old ape banged a fist against Virdon's chest. "Do you even know what that is, love? Ah, you're a human, how would you know?"

"I know what... I understand that you love the races," Virdon said quietly, but the ape had turned away again and was shuffling down the path as quickly as possible, muttering under his breath.

Virdon decided not to take up pursuit. It was pointless - the old chimp was either too afraid, or too much in denial to tell him anything. He sighed, and rubbed a hand over his face. Who else could he chat up? Maybe one of the grooms?

He had to try. At least one thing was clear from Tovar's reaction: someone did attack the humans, at night, when they were supposedly safe in their locked kennels. And despite Tovar's heartfelt declaration, it didn't seem as if the president of the racing commission cared too much about the abuses under his patronage.

And with Burke insisting to stay in one of those cabins, too...

They had to know who they were up against.

"I'm sorry, but the director is not here... Faro." The young Chimp frowned at her scroll. "And he won't be here for the rest of the day, either, I'm afraid. Are you sure that you had an appointment today? There's nothing in his calendar..."

"Oh, I, I'm absolutely certain that he had spoken of today," Galen said softly. He had taken care to only show up at Tall Timber's main office when it was absolutely sure that its boss was not present. "It's about the sale of my racing human, you see, Director Olman had seen it run at the Sapan Valley competition..."

"That's yours?" the girl interrupted him with a broad smile. "I've seen your human run at that race, it was spectacular!"

Her eyes were suddenly shining with excitement, and Galen suppressed a little sigh. Back in Cesarea, a young ape had to be witty, charming, up to date on the latest gossip and the latest cultural and political events, and had to conduct diligent and clandestine research into the interests of his intended, if he wanted to have the slightest hope of getting more than some polite small talk from the young lady.

To be honest, the political stuff was more to impress the fathers than the daughters.

In Sapan prefecture, however, all that was needed were the results of the last five races, and a bit of betting lingo, and you were set. It was pitiful.

Well. He wasn't here for fun. Just a little bit.

"But why do you want to sell it?" The girl - Galen glanced at her name plate; Palia - wanted to know. "If it's such a good racer?"

"Oh, it's... I can't give it the training and the, the care that it needs," Galen said morosely, and Palia sighed with him in shared melancholy. "And it's already rather old, for a racer," Galen added after a moment of thoughtful silence. "Director Olman wanted it for breeding, not racing."

"Won't you miss your human?" Palia propped her chin in hand and stared up at him with furrowed brow.

"Miss it?" Galen said with feigned confusion.

"Ah, well." Palia pushed away from her desk and began to gather the scrolls that had been scattered all over its top. She avoided looking at him. "Maybe men are not so soft when it comes to that... my father always says that I shouldn't help out at the shelter, that it just gives me the wrong ideas." She shrugged and turned away.

"I will miss my human," Galen said quietly, and cursed himself for his blunder. This had been the perfect opportunity to bond with the young secretary, and he hadn't realized it. He had become too used to the 'cold plantation owner' routine, it seemed.

"You're just saying that now," Palia muttered, but she had stopped moving away from him.

"It's something one cannot admit to a lot of people without being ridiculed," Galen pointed out. "And although I could see that you're an extraordinarily kind and caring person, I couldn't know if your kindness also extended to humans. For many apes, it doesn't. So you have to forgive me..."

"No, no, that's alright," Palia said quickly. She began to sort the scrolls into the honeycomb-shaped shelves behind her desk. "You're right, Faro - you couldn't know." She hesitated. "Maybe... maybe you shouldn't sell it, then," she murmured, still not looking at him.

"I... I need the money," Galen lied. "But if there's a, a compelling reason not to give my human into Director Olman's hands..."

"Oh, no!" Palia had sorted the last scroll into the shelf, and turned back to him now with raised hands. "Director Olman will treat it well, don't you worry, and if it's a good sire, he won't retire it to the charity, either. He keeps his humans until they die from old age, did you know that?"

"No, I hadn't known," Galen murmured. "But I heard of other kennel owners who weren't so generous. Vilam, for example..."

Palia shuddered. "Such a horrible man." Then she clasped her hands over her mouth and stared at Galen with huge eyes.

Galen just grinned and winked at her, and Palia burst into helpless giggles. "Don't worry," Galen assured her with a conspiratorial whisper, "your secret is safe with me. Besides, I've met the man, and my judgment is the same as yours." He shuddered demonstratively, and a fresh bout of giggles burst through Palia's hands.

He allowed himself an answering chuckle and casually perched on the edge of Palia's desk. "I've heard that Vilam's not doing so well lately," he said confidentially. "It's maybe the best for his humans if they have to be sold off."

Palia rolled her eyes. "If that would only happen! But they won't get away from him anytime soon, the poor things! You know..." She bit her lip, clearly struggling with her professional duty of keeping business information to herself.

Galen studied the painting on the other wall - a pair of running humans against a sunset. "Men like Vilam somehow always swim on top," he murmured. "They have the right friends, the right connections..."

"It's just because the director loves the races so much," Palia whispered. She leaned a bit closer, and Galen leaned closer to her, too, until he could feel her breath on his face. "Vilam came here some days ago to get another loan from the director..."

Galen raised his brows at that. Another loan?

"That certainly was an eventful night," he offered, watching the girl's face closely. "Wasn't that when that reporter was killed, too?"

"Oh, that was so horrible!" Palia whispered. "Poor Felga..."

"Maybe Vilam had enough of her investigations," Galen ventured. "If he was struggling anway, a fine would've hit him hard."

"I think he'd absolutely have done it, he's the type for it," Palia nodded furiously. "But he and the director were in that meeting almost until morning - I know because I had to work overtime, because I had to do the tax declaration thing, and... and I'm still new, so I'm slow, and Andina said I wasn't allowed to go home until I fixed my mistakes, and..." She gasped for breath, and Galen laid a soothing hand on her arm.

"It's never easy being new at something," he said. "But it speaks for you that you'll keep at it until it's done right. That's the way to mastery. So when did you get to go home, or did you have to work through the next workday, too?"

"Director Olman," Palia gasped, and jumped to her feet.

Galen whipped around, heart thumping. But he wasn't supposed to be here today!

"Palia, dear." The silver-haired Chimp was standing in the door, relaxed, smiling, and not at all surprised about Galen's presence, or too smooth to let it show. "Make us some tea, would you?"

"Yes, of course, Director." Palia bolted from the room.

Galen had used Olman's momentary distraction to get off the corner of the desk and assume a less casual stance, searching furiously for a credible excuse for showing up in Olman's lair.

"And what brings you here... Faro, isn't it?" Olman quickly crossed the distance between them and genially shook his hand. "Aren't you the owner of that wildcard racer? Liquid Fire!" He tapped at his temple. "I'm really bad with names, but a racer's name gets stuck in my head immediately." He laughed, a relaxed, infectious laugh that would usually put everyone at ease.

Unfortunately, it failed to calm Galen. "Ah, ah, yes," he stuttered. "Liquid Fire. I'm still not used to that name. I, I had heard that you're an expert when it comes to breeding, and I, I had thought of asking you if you would share some tips..."

"Faro said he had an appointment with you, sir, for the sale of his racing human," Palia interrupted him eagerly, balancing a tray with a teapot and two cups as she entered the room.

Galen groaned inwardly.

"Oh, really?" Olman regarded him with renewed interest. "Your wife was dead set against the idea, when I talked to her about it."

"She still is," Galen said weakly. Great Cesar, how will I ever get out of this mess?

Olman clapped his shoulder. "Right you are to ignore her, Faro! Who's the master of the house, after all, huh? Well, I'm pleased to hear that you're willing to consider my offer, and I assure you, you won't regret it."

I'm already regretting it... Galen hoped his desperation wasn't showing, but Olman's shrewd eyes were on his face the whole time. "Well, Palia here made me aware of your schedule for today, Director, so maybe we should find another date..."

"Ah, nonsense!" Olman's hand clasped around Galen's arm and steered him gently, but relentlessly, towards his office. "I'll make the time for you, I'm the director, after all!" He laughed another of his full-throated laughs; Galen tried to fall in, but only managed a strangled "eh-ehh..."

"Come on in, Faro." Olman opened the door to his office and led him to a leather armchair under another oversized painting of human racers - this time, leaping over some hurdles that were placed across a racetrack. Palia followed them and put down the tray with the tea set, then left.

The door closed behind her with a soft click.

Olman sat down in the armchair opposite from Galen and leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees. "I'm a well-off ape, as you've probably noticed," he said, "and a bit crazy when it comes to human racing. You couldn't have come to a better customer." He chuckled and leaned back in his chair.

"So state your price."