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leaden pull into the drifting world, where long molten channels creep through their fiery beds, where blast furnaces roar, and there is the deafening whine of disks biting steel and a flaring out of burning swarf.

    Chance Two and Leap Two trained together—flexorology, mechanics, aerodynamics, flight systems administration, electromagnetism, macro-meteorology. Chance tended to score just above Leap in their coursework and has always enjoyed a slight professional edge.
    When they were in school together, Leap still had only two drives, but Chance rarely saw Leap One. Leap would say that Leap One was an introvert. Chance knew what Leap meant—one of the nice things about having multiple bodies is the ability to devote different bodies to different temperaments.
    Since then, Leap has grown to a four, and Chance has spent at least some time with each of Leap’s drives. Chance One even had a short fling with Leap Two. (And Chance can still distract any drive by picturing her naked.)
    A couple of years ago, Leap declined a promotion in order to keep flying with Chance. Chance had been pressing Leap’s case to their boss when Leap, in direct contradiction to years of moaning over meals and margaritas, turned the opportunity down. Leap said she just wanted to keep flying with Chance. The routes they traveled were better, she said, and she was set in her ways. Chance was touched, and a little puzzled. Then their boss transferred into low-orbit freight hauling, and they haven’t talked about it since. Leap is like that sometimes—contrary. For the last month or so, Leap has also been gloomy, but whenever Chance tries to find out why, Leap shakes it off and perks up.
    The flight they’re on today is a low ten-percenter, with no real weather. The Great Central storm has been subdued for over a week—retracted into a core lightning maze that crouches over the hardball, the charred, lightning-grooved ruin of what was once about ten thousand square miles of prairie.
    In an era of megastorms and sudden formations, Chance and Leap—as pilot and copilot—are responsible for rerouting the airliner toward lesser weather while balancing increased distance with schedule requirements. But the flight automation is pretty good at avoiding the worst surprises that storms generate, and the planes are highly instrumented and closely monitored. Having a crew on board provides a safety in case of network flakiness and helps to calm customers, but they spend most of their time reviewing reports from the various flight systems. They aren’t usually needed to fly the plane. Except, as the saying goes, when they are.

    About an hour after the first one, Leap does it again, the tic. They’re beginning the pre-descent review when Chance Two happens to glance over just as Leap Two spasms in the same way. Only this time, her shoulders hump up as well.
    Chance Two stares, but Leap gives no indication that she’s aware it happened. It wasn’t a sneeze and was definitely bigger than a hiccup.
    Afterward and without any preamble, as Leap Two is reading her screen intently, she says she’s sorry. If Leap is sorry there must be something to be sorry for. Chance examines a chart that maps actual humidity to expected humidity over the last half hour and projects forward for the next thirty minutes to landing. She says to Leap, “Do you want to talk about it?”
    When she says it, she has her back to Leap Two, but she knows that Leap has stopped moving. Chance continues the protocol.
    After a few moments, Leap Two says, “You only have one drive dreaming?”
    What does Chance’s dreaming drive have to do with anything? It’s strange, alien, for Chance to feel this uncomfortable while talking with Leap.
    â€œYeah,” she says.
    â€œYou’ve got terminal cancer,” Leap says. “That has to be stressing you out. Maybe you’re not as rested as you could be. You’ve been