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talk to. It couldn’t hurt to enjoy it while it lasted, even if most of what I enjoyed was telling Dane how unhinged he was. But I kept the tack laser handy, just in case.

    R.C. ll E WI S
    On the third day, the conversation he sparked was more serious. “After the crash, I told you more than I should’ve,” he said, his footsteps approaching from behind me. “Maybe the head trauma, I don’t know. But you haven’t reported my plans to anyone. Not even Petey, really. Why?”
    Stretching halfway into an exhaust manifold was an awkward way to work, so I wrenched the faulty regulator off the side and pulled myself out. I handed the part to Whirligig and sat cross-legged on the crate I’d been standing on, watching the drone fi ddle with the regulator. So crude and clunky compared to the elegance of machine code.
    “Like Petey said, we don’t want the watchdogs sniffi ng around. And part of me hopes you’ll see how impossible your odds are and just go home.” I chose my words carefully. Part of me hoped he’d beat those long odds and succeed. It’d lift such a weight off me. But I didn’t say that.
    “And be happy with the status quo? I don’t think you really believe that. Didn’t you upgrade the drones because you thought it would make things better?”
    No, I did it to make a place for myself, to create some standing that could protect me, with the side effect of helping the miners . . . selfi sh reasons.
    I kept my answer simple. “You could say that.”
    “Right. And I have to keep trying to make things better for my people.”
    “With some ‘treasure’ that more than likely doesn’t exist? If you want to make things better, just go ask the Exiles for help, offer a treaty, and see if they’ll back your rebellion. Candara’s coming close to us in its orbit right now. Put those sparkling 41

    S T I T C H I N G S N O W
    Garamite brains together with the Exiles’ military resources and you might end up less dead than you would otherwise.” He didn’t answer, so I glanced up. His expression was tense and hesitant. I couldn’t decide whether to smirk or smack him.
    “Afraid the Exiles will ‘possess’ you, steal your secrets, and make you their puppet?”
    That shook him out of . . . whatever he was lost in. “I’ve heard the rumors aren’t true. I mean, I heard body-hopping isn’t like that. The way I understand it, transitioning to another’s awareness is more about empathy than control.” My breath caught. Transitioning. Empathy. Words my mother had used when talking about the Exiles. I took the regulator back from ’Gig, testing the contacts to ensure it’d been fi xed. Focusing on work helped mask my reaction.
    “Empathy sounds like just what you need, so why not go to them? Seems the more direct route to me.”
    “Garam won’t unite against Windsong unless we can do it standing on our own.”
    I shrugged and pulled myself back into the manifold, setting the regulator in place. “Standing on your own will get you killed, Dane, and that’d be a blazing shame after all this work.”
    “I’m as capable of taking care of myself as you.”
    “Sure you are.”
    “Taking care taking care taking care—”
    “Shut it, Dimwit.”
    When I emerged again, Dane offered his hand to help me off the crate. I ignored it and jumped down, but Dimwit scuttled past right in front of me, making me stumble into Dane. He helped me right myself, no big deal, but he didn’t move away.
    Instead, he ran his thumb across my cheek.
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    R.C. ll E WI S
    I swatted his hand down and backed off, both fi sts up and ready in case he tried anything else.
    “I—you—just a smudge of grease,” he said.
    Just some grease. You’re twitching out over nothing, Essie.
    Forcing myself to relax and lower my hands, I snorted. “A touch of grease is nothing new, is it?” Not with the perpetual dust and grime covering every inch of me. I liked it that way.
    His head cocked to the side, confusion in his eyes. “No, I