63.

Seattle streets scroll far beneath. Blades beat air outside like drums, yet only gentle murmurs whir through their helicopter’s insulated polymer hull.

“Welcome to the big leagues.” Heoh pivots his co-pilot chair. “Let’s review.”

“Top cover.” Milly nods, seated amongst men, including Sarge, all wearing armor. Beneath a blinking dashboard, their pilot’s chair sits vacant.

Heoh points. “We hack AI-pilot logs after. The fewer people know our whereabouts, the better. Since you don’t have implants and your helmet’s still on back order, use this.”

Milly presses a button on her ballistic vest. “Check.”

He rubs his ear. “Check. Encrypted.”

Her vest echos his voice.

Heoh gives a thumbs up. “Just keep watch. Speak up only if you spot something unusual. Only if shit goes sideways — which it won’t — will you use that.”

“OK.” She cradles the high-powered rifle.

“The rest of the team enters and retrieves the package. Power in the whole building will be out.”

Milly shrugs. “Who cut power?”

“Me.” Heoh smiles, rubbing his fingers. “The cost of doing business. Now Sarge takes the lead. Time to meet Trip and his drones.”

Both machines rise, dark gray, disc-shaped, thick as a pancake stack, nearly as wide as a doorway, yet hovering gracefully. Underslung, one carries twin submachine guns. The other boasts tools, a grabbing appendage, and a pistol-sized firearm.

Trip, mid-thirties and gap-toothed, raises his palm like a conductor. “Ajax, Galen — meet Milly.”

“Hello. Hello.” The drones speak with different tenors.

“They talk?”

Trip laughs. “They can smell! Let them view your face, Milly.”

“No, I meant, is their AI talking on its own?” She points at Trip’s skull implant. “Or is that you talking, through them, with your thoughts?”

“Oh, good question. It can be either.”

“That’s trippy.”

“That’s my name!”

She rolls her eyes.

“I relearned how to think,” Trip says. “Just like they learned English. Right boys?”

“Sono tōridesu,” Galen replies.

“Japan makes the best combat drones, at least what we can buy on the black market. They’ve got all the upgrades: imprint, aggressor module, contingency planning, autonomy.” Trip caresses flashing lights on his head. “Plugged into me.”

Milly looks at a pair of young men — their faces a perfect match — sitting together. “Are you two brothers?” she deadpans.

Trip and Heoh snicker.

Sarge grimaces, unamused.

“Twins,” one says. The other adds, “Identical.”

Are they clueless?

“IVF,” they say dully, in unison.

“They still do IVF?” Milly asks.

Heoh raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, turned out great.”

Trip titters, practically in tears, hiding his face, then takes a deep breath. “The Boss hired two guys to replace Turtle when he quit the varsity crew. I can’t tell 'em apart.”

Sarge shrugs. “Neither can I.”

The Twins flash vacant smiles.

Heoh wiggles two fingers. “Sarge just orders them around like they’re one guy. Works pretty well, actually.”

“Turtle quit? Huh.” Milly turns to Sarge. “Were you really a sergeant in the war?”

“Of course, E-6.”

Milly salutes.

“Don’t. I’m not an officer.”

“No offense intended.”

“None taken. Just don’t salute. You’ll get me killed.”  

“It’s true,” Heoh says. “Snipers shoot those in charge.”

Milly gulps. She points at a photograph of a pretty, dark-haired woman duct-taped to the cockpit wall. “Who is she?”  

“Shut up everyone.” Sarge grips his seat. “We’re landing.”

Milly copies him. The chopper banks in. The skyscraper, pitch-black inside and out, towers like a massive void in the night skyline.

“Syncing jammer.” Trip fiddles with a long, metallic device. “OK, frequency up. It’s your house now, my boys!” Several meters above the roof, the chopper door opens. Noise and wind gush in. The drones fly out. Seconds later, Trip announces, “Coast is clear!”

The chopper lands on the roof. The crew exits. Trip folds open the jammer’s tripod.

“Circle building,” Heoh shouts. “Forty-five degrees, five hundred meters.” The chopper takes off, him inside.

Clouds obscure the waxing Moon’s tiny sliver. Milly points this way, then that, towards one corner of the roof. She looks over her shoulder. Sarge is watching.

The rest of the crew uses a plasma welder to cut open an elevator shaft. They descend into the building through their charred, oblong entryway.

Alone, rifle at her side, Milly peers over the city. Heoh’s helicopter circles by. Minutes pass.

Her white-with-green, floral print dress hugged her waist and flowed to her calf. Far below Milly’s feet, Maui’s coastline scrolled beneath glass.

Arms wide, Damien shouted over the whir of the helicopter. “This marriage is a brand new international hit — just like my song!” He laughed like a king. “I give you the world, my queen!”

She smiled at him, then at her massive wedding ring — sparkling in the sunset.

---

Milly’s vest radio comes alive with Sarge’s voice. “We’re in”—a gunshot—“all’s well.”

“Holy smokes, look at that!” says one of the Twins.

“Start the sequence,” Sarge orders. “Drain it, get the package.”

“Galen’s on it,” says Trip.

Milly presses her button. “What’s happening?”

Sarge cuts in. “Mute her!”

“Can you still hear me, Milly?” It’s Heoh.

“Yes.”

“It’s OK. Just keep quiet while I talk to the guys on the other channel.”

This is awkward silence.

Chatter resumes.

Sarge speaks coolly. “It’s shining spotlights at us.”

“Windows are reinforced,” one Twin barks. “Can’t get a shot!”

“Chase it off!”

“I’ll send Ajax.”

There’s static.

“Tight frequency,” Trip says. “Local, no relay. It may be autonomous.”

Heoh’s voice crackles. “Milly. Unidentified drone. Flying around the building exterior. North side. Can you spot it, several floors down?”

Milly leans over, then lies prone against the building’s parapet, her head jutting over the edge. “Yes, I see it!” The drone zips like a fly, lights on, then off.

“Stairs! Up, up!” Sarge sounds less cool than before.

Milly presses her button. “Heoh, should I shoot it?”

“No, Milly, we don’t know who it belongs to. And it might be armed.”

It’s different, that’s certain: sleek, dark, incredibly fast.

“Why not?” she mouths, shoulders now over the edge, rifle pointing downward. Her boots scrape roof tiles. The parapet creaks.

“Milly, are you leaning over?”

She rolls until her vest button clicks. “Mmph, sort of?”

“Don’t take risks.”

“OK.” She squirms back onto the roof.

A drone launches out of the elevator shaft. Milly’s head spins. She ducks. Clearing her by two meters, Ajax rolls past the building’s edge and dives downwards. She looks over. “It’s gone.”

The drone went high.

“Where’d it go?” Trip shouts. “Shit, that thing’s fast!”

Heoh chimes in. “It just buzzed the chopper, lights on me. So close! Milly, do you see Ajax?”

“No!”

Ajax approaches the chopper.

Silence.

“It went dark!” Trip again. “Stealth? Shit — it’s gone. Ajax: break off pursuit.”

The crew gathers on the roof as the helicopter lands.

Ajax returns. “I’m sorry Trip, I flew as fast as I could.”

“It’s OK, buddy.”

Sarge points at the jammer. “What the hell is wrong with that thing?”

Trip inspects it. “It was on. It is on. The frequency is set.” He turns to Milly. “Did you switch it off while we were inside?”

“I didn’t. I don’t even know how.”

Sarge squints with suspicion. “Did that drone come up here and film you, too?” He approaches Milly.

“No.”

He reaches for her vest collar.

She bats away his hand. “You don’t touch me!”

Sarge backs off.

Trip powers down the jammer. “We were in and out in minutes. Someone must have known our frequency or gotten very lucky. One in sixty-four thousand lucky.” He folds the tripod and stows it inside the chopper.

“Maybe,” Sarge says, lips pursed with frustration.

The Twins emerge from the elevator shaft. Beside them, a small girl stumbles onto the roof. With wet, straight, ink-black hair, she looks about six — expansive dark eyes, creamy warm skin, and a cute button nose. One of the Twins wraps her with a blanket and lifts, carrying her.

“Is this the package?” Milly asks, mouth agape in shock.

Heoh waves. “Get in!”

She steps up into the chopper.

The girl is helped aboard next. She clambers onto Milly’s lap, burying her tiny face in Milly’s blonde hair.

“Ohhhkay?” Milly pats the girl. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

Without answering, the girl reaches for Milly’s silvery bracelet.

The girl wears a bracelet, too — thick, teal-colored polymer — which Milly inspects. She turns to Heoh. “Is this normal?”

Heoh shakes his head, then shrugs. “Yes and no.”

Gripping Milly’s bracelet, the girl finally speaks: “Takara.”

“Takara?” Milly gently pulls the girl’s fingers away.

“It means treasure,” Heoh says, “in Japanese.”

In silence, the girl clings to Milly for the rest of their airborne journey.

Stroking her blanket, Milly stares at the Moon. Her eyes glaze over, then she squeezes them shut.

Here, in The Now — the connection.
That empty cage — the rabbit.
The rifle — this girl.
What — who.
Literal — emotional.
But which “her” just got saved?
The Homestead’s end is now unsealed.