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MILTON ABERNATHY

Princeton, New Jersey

M ilton Abernathy sat behind the wheel of his old Volvo station wagon with the seat pushed back and his computer perched on his lap.

The dog park up ahead was bursting with playful pups catching balls and sniffing the grass in the shade of broad oak trees.

His three-year-old rescue, a border collie mix named Newton, caught a frisbee and ran it back to the neighbor boy Milton had asked to walk him.

While Newton’s antics were enjoyable to watch, something far more captivating had Abernathy’s attention.

He tracked the drone on his laptop from its launch point ten miles away.

“Come on, Pluto. You can do it.” Milton and his former student and current colleague, Leo “Ren” Jameson, had nicknamed the drone Pluto after the Disney hound. It was their private joke.

The drone had so far found all four genetic marker clues Milton had planted and was following the program perfectly. It flew in ever-narrowing concentric circles, scanning the land and simultaneously mapping the clues already found. As instructed, the drone repositioned based on the gathered data.

Leo—his Navy buddies called him Ren, but he would always be Leo to Milton—had suggested a tweak in the physics of the design, and so far, the adjusted algorithm was working.

Despite the crushing disappointment of fifty previous trials, Milton couldn’t help but hold his breath and watch the small aircraft search.

The drone messaged Milton’s laptop. It had found the fifth and sixth DNA samples. Now that it had gathered more evidence, the machine was working faster. The artificial intelligence was directing the flight path.

Milton stepped out of the car and set the laptop on the roof.

He heard the soft buzz of the drone as his laptop pinged with the discovery of the last bit of evidence.

Finally, the drone linked a video, and Milton watched on the screen as his dog, Newton, chased his tail.

Below the footage flashed the words: Subject Located: DNA Match.

They’d done it. The drone landed on the hood of the Volvo, and Milton tapped the top. “Well done, Pluto.”

Milton carefully placed the drone in its case and closed the tailgate. He collected Newton and ushered the dog into the passenger seat. Milton started the car and gave the dog’s head a scratch.

“This is the day, Newton. That once-in-a-lifetime moment most scientists only dream about. A day that is going to change the world.”

Newton put both paws on the door and stuck his head out the window.

Milton chuckled. “I think Leo Jameson will be slightly more impressed than you.” He looked at the sky through the windshield. “We better get home before this rain starts.”

After a quick stop for dog food, Milton Abernathy entered his quaint home from the garage and tossed his keys and wallet onto the kitchen counter.

Newton followed him in and went straight to his water bowl.

The keys slid on the marble and stopped when they bumped an envelope with a yellow Post-it attached.

Plucking the note off, Milton read what his next-door neighbor had written.

Milton,

I returned from my year-long sabbatical last week and just got to my mountain of mail. This was mistakenly delivered to me, and my housesitter failed to notice. So sorry. Hope it wasn’t urgent.

- John

Milton picked up the small envelope, walked to his workroom off his kitchen, and returned Pluto to its usual spot.

He frequently took versions of the drone out for field testing.

Now that the prototype actually worked, Milton really should return it to the high-security vault at the lab, but as thunder rattled the windows, he decided tomorrow would be fine.

They’d done it. Fifteen years and hundreds of millions of dollars had all been worth it. Abernathy rarely entertained notions of accolades, but he knew this discovery would put him in the Pantheon of the greats in his field. My God . He’d be a candidate for the Nobel Prize.

The big bosses could wait. There was one person who needed to hear the news before anyone else.

He eyed the letter his neighbor had delivered.

Milton’s name and address were written in a shaky hand.

There was no return address, but the year-old postmark was from Baltimore.

After settling in his office, he withdrew the card, and a flash drive fell onto his desk.

The note from his old friend Casper Capelli simply read: Let me know what you think.

Milton seemed to remember Casper calling him several months back and leaving a cryptic message. How long had it been since they’d spoken? Twenty years? Milton knew his former colleague had gone down a dark path, but he had once been a great scientist and a good friend.

Uploads were forbidden on Milton’s work laptop, so he fished in his desk for the phone adapter.

He inserted the flash drive and watched the clip.

Between the dim lighting and the shaky camera, Milton couldn’t see much, but he immediately recognized one man.

He made a mental note to look again later.

It couldn’t be significant if Casper hadn’t bothered to mention it again after a year.

Something much more important took priority. Leo Jameson needed to be the first to hear the big news.

Now, what to say? Milton wanted to surprise Leo and show him the revised algorithm worked with an actual demonstration. So, the message should be enticing but cryptic. With a delighted grin, Milton sent a text.

Milton: Can you come down for a visit? Say, day after tomorrow, mid-morning? Pluto learned a new trick.

Newton barked at the thunder, then tucked himself under Milton’s feet at the desk. Abernathy reassured the dog with a pat. Not wanting to ignore his old friend, Casper, Milton sent another text:

Milton: Hello Casper, old friend. Is this still the correct number?

While waiting for a reply, Milton reread the message he had texted Leo. He couldn’t wait to see Leo’s expression when he demonstrated the drone’s capabilities.

After five minutes and no reply, Milton sent another follow-up.

Milton: Casper, I just got the flash drive you sent. So sorry. It was delivered to the wrong address. That looks like The ostrich in the video. Can you call to explain? I’d love to catch up—it’s been ages.

Next, he left a voicemail for his CIA contact, Sofria Kirk, explaining the strange letter from Casper Capelli.

Milton had sensed a spark between Leo and the lovely CIA analyst, so rather than forward the video to her, he suggested Sofria come to Princeton on the same day and time he had invited Leo.

Milton quite enjoyed playing Cupid. With the adapter and flash drive still dangling, he set the phone in the stand on his desk with the screen facing away—he hated the distraction of flashing notifications while he worked.

He removed his reading glasses and sat back with a satisfied smile.

What an exciting time to be alive.