Juli bounded into the incubator, waving a piece of parchment. "Aren't you proud, Pops?"
       Leo straightened and put his hands on the small of his back. He sighed. "I'm always proud of you."
       "Yeah, but look!" Juli twirled in front of her father, ever the bouncing ray of light. It was hard to believe she was graduating, moving on. Growing up.
       Leo smiled at his only child; it was bittersweet. She looked so adult in her newly earned white lab coat, but he caught a glimpse of her mother's locket hanging from her neck. The serious regalia felt at odds with her still youthful appearance.
       "Let's see here." Leo read over her exam results. High scores on biomarker finals, exceptional marks on genetics and bioengineering. Passing on husbandry. He chuckled and handed the paper back.
       "Always excelling at the hardest things, just like your mother."
       Juli stopped dancing and gave a quiet smile. "Yeah." She folded the paper neatly and slipped it into the front pocket of her lab coat. Then she pointed to the eggs in the tray on the shelf. "What's their hatch date?"
       Leo squatted so the tray was at eye level. He rotated one of the half-dozen eggs in its cradle, his hand shaking ever so slightly. They were larger than a chicken egg but still small enough to pick up with one hand. The shell's pearlescent sheen caused a glare under the red heat lamp which obscured the flecks of brown and gold at the poles. A pale band across the middle reflected pink in the artificial light. Leo always thought the eggs resembled ovoid planets, as seen from low orbit.
       "Twelve hours." He rotated a few more, then stood. "I'll need to transport them tonight."
       Juli scowled and crossed her arms. "Why don't you get the drones to do that? You know I don't like you going out to the cliffs alone."
       Leo's heart ached. She looked exactly like her mother when she did that.
       "Those machines lack finesse," he said, trying not to sound too defensive. They'd had this argument so many times before. "When the eggs start to pip, they have to point south, away from inhabited areas. That way--"
       "That way, they'll be more likely to fly south and not head our way. I know, I know." Juli tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Actually, in one of my last husbandry classes, they presented data on how the newer lineages are missing a few codons that are linked to internal navigation. They get lost, die out in the expanse." She shrugged. "They clean up the air and then wander away."
       Leo frowned. "Too much tinkering. You mess with one thing and then something else--"
       "Falls apart. I know, Pops, I know. But what else can we do? We need the Cleaners to scavenge the pollution, but we don't need them to--"
       "Eat us." Leo smiled. "I can finish your sentences, too."
       "I was going to say massacre us."
       "That's a bit dramatic, don't you think? Surely you scholars keep personal opinions at arm's length when manipulating genomes and measuring output?" He reached for a hug.
       Juli let her father envelop her in his arms. He smelled of wood shavings mixed with disinfectant. Now, thanks to the Cleaners, the other smells that used to fill the house--smoke, methane, ozone--were gone. Even with his back against it, he knew Juli had glanced at the air quality monitor next to the doorframe. Green. The air warning alarms had been silent for years and really, the monitors weren't needed now, either. An old habit. She took another deep, clear breath, then pulled away.
       "I'm going to take that position at the National Lab."
       She looked straight into his eyes, and her earnestness ripped his heart out. She was still so young to be committing to something so . . . serious? Permanent? Leo couldn't quite define the unease he felt. He also couldn't quite hide his disappointment that she had zero interest in following his footsteps as a brooder. She never did like the eggs. Instead, she was always more invested in bench work. Playing god, he called it. They'd had that argument so many times before, too.
       Juli noticed his hesitation, so she barreled on. "Great entry-level pay, plenty of areas to advance in, plus it's what I love, you know that, Pops. I've always loved the tinkering." She played with the locket around her neck, her tell that she wasn't completely convinced.
       Leo sighed again and clasped his hands on his belly, a new habit to keep the tremors from showing. Juli hadn't noticed. Yet.
       "You do what you love, and I'll do what I love," he said. He gave one last small smile for her benefit and turned to pull an egg transporter off the shelf.
       "Not even Mom understood why you loved the cliffs," Juli said.
       "And she didn't understand why you loved the DNA sequencer," Leo responded, but Juli was already out the door.

       It was archaic, Leo admitted, to trek a half dozen fragile, expensive eggs in a padded rucksack up the cliffs to hand place each one no less than fifty meters apart amid the crags and boulders that overlooked the southern expanse. Yes, there were drones that could do this, but Leo cringed at the thought of their clunkiness, or rather, their inability to pick the perfect spots.
       Juli didn't understand; the younger generation as a whole didn't understand. The brooding of Cleaner eggs was more art than science. No drone could ever replicate the care and precision with which Leo securely placed each egg in its own nook, facing south. It was a matter of feeling that he learned over the years, something he couldn't measure or describe.
        Plus, he wouldn't deny that he enjoyed being alone outside, high above the city. The physical exertion and grit under his nails were made even better by the clean air.
       He paused to wipe sweat from his brow. He was halfway to the cliffs, a steady climb. He remembered decades ago when the Cleaners were first developed, he had to wear a mask and climb through a thick layer of smog. The air would burn his eyes, and he had a chronic cough. Visibility was so poor he never had a clear view of the city or the expanse. But as the Cleaners hatched and flew and devoured the particulates in the air, his view grew to the horizon, his lungs no longer burned, and there were no longer tears in his eyes.
       With a final look before he continued his ascent, his eye caught movement toward the east. Squinting with his hand as a visor, he regretted not having binoculars. Something large and dark cruised low in the distance.
       He lowered his arm and furrowed his brow.
       They shouldn't be this close.
       He looked again and saw nothing. Relaxing, he shifted the rucksack on his shoulders and tightened the waistband so the weight rested comfortably on his hips. Six eggs, hatching within the next four hours. Each had to be placed alone, never in groups. The Cleaners had to hatch solo to avoid juvenile attachments and the subsequent development of peer groups. The enormous bird-like creatures were dangerous enough alone. Together, they would be terror.
       Leo peered one final time into the distance. Looking through such clean air still felt like a luxury, even though they'd had yellow to green quality for several years now. Leo promised himself he'd never take it for granted.
       There, again, in the distance. A low-flying object, larger now. Leo's heart jumped. It was a Cleaner.
       Leo crouched between a cluster of boulders, then felt ridiculous. It was unlikely the giant bird could see him. He was assured by Juli that the creatures were designed to have poor eyesight, a modification made after they started to appear aggressive toward humans. Still, he hadn't seen an adult in the sky for many years and had forgotten how big they were. Or were they gene-edited recently to be bigger? Possibly; the larger the bird, the more air it could clean, explained Juli.
       From his distance, he could only appreciate the scale of the creature, not details. It was at least thirty feet long. And the wingspan? Hard to say. Leo knew from Juli it would be covered with dense stubby feathers that resembled a short coat of fur. And the head he could see clearly: a monstrous, mishappened thing. It was essentially a giant beak with a pendulous pouch, similar to a pelican, for gulping air and filtering it through tines like a whale. Leo never did understand how the creatures metabolized the pollution, much less thrived off it. How could any living thing handle that much ammonia and microplastic?
       He shook his head and glanced at his watch. It was nearly time to start placing the eggs. He rushed up the remainder of the climb with an occasional glance at the Cleaner in the distance.
       When he summitted the cliffs, he shrugged off his rucksack and removed one of the eggs. It was roughly the size of a large goose egg, and out of the artificial light of the brooding chamber, Leo could fully appreciate its beauty. It had a heft in his palm and was still warm from the insulated rucksack. Every single time he held an egg in his hand, he marveled at the life it contained.
       This, Juli, is what it feels like to be a god.
       The location where he crouched pointed due south and overlooked the empty expanse. Near his feet seemed a good site to place the egg for hatching. Reaching out to settle it between the rocks, his hand began to tremble. Steading himself with his other arm, he hastened to place the egg but released it too soon. It dropped onto a sharp edge with a sickening crack.
       "No!" Leo shouted, then clasped his shaking hand over his mouth and looked out at the Cleaner still sailing the thermals in the distance. Or was it closer now? The egg rolled away, and clear fluid leaked out.
       A stream of whispered curse words poured out of Leo's mouth, and for a moment longer he remained crouched, sinking into himself. The bitter, dark feeling of failure washed over him.
       Each egg was not quite priceless, but the Lab might as well have said as much. To lose one to carelessness wasted untold money, time, and technology. To lose multiple eggs over a period of time . . . Leo felt sick. He still hadn't told anyone about his tremors, much less that this same thing had happened before. This was his fourth dropped egg this year. At some point, someone was going to notice.
       And then what? Forced retirement to start, Leo knew that much. And then what? A game he used to play with Juli when she was little and asked so many questions.
       When you grow up, you'll brood eggs like me.
       And then what?
       You'll help keep the air clean.
       And then what?
       You'll be able to live a long time.
       And then what?
       You'll have a family of your own.
       And then what?
       And they'll brood eggs like you.
       And then what . . .
       But she wasn't brooding eggs. She was manipulating them, making the Cleaners bigger, more efficient, and less dangerous. At least, that's what the Lab was saying.
       Leo took a deep breath. That seemed to steady him, and he pushed the dark thoughts away. This task needed complete focus, and he wasn't finished. Five eggs to go. He pulled out another and, this time, placed it successfully in the crook of the rock. As an afterthought, he reached out to knock the broken egg off the cliff. He felt guilty, like he was hiding evidence of his failure, but he couldn't stand the sight of the dead, wet Cleaner peeking through the cracked shell. The creatures were dangerous, but Leo always had a fondness for the chicks, and the loss pained him in a paternal way.
       Still staring at where the broken egg had fallen, Leo noticed something else glinting in the dawn light: a piece of broken shell, not from the one he had just dropped. He shifted closer, tottering on the precipice and bracing himself against the wind. There spread among the rock were multiple shells from multiple hatches.
       Impossible. He was the only brooder in the area who placed eggs for hatching, and he would never place multiple eggs together in a clutch. He pushed the bits of shell together to form a rough estimate: six. A clutch of six eggs had hatched together. A wave of sick washed over him. The hatched Cleaners were engineered to be solitary and sterile. But if a clutch has been laid from the outside . . .
       Leo glanced into the distance again and watched the lone Cleaner gulp air, keeping it breathable. He'd assumed it was one of his past brood but now he had doubts. They clean up the air, then wander away, Juli had said. With a start, Leo realized in all his climbs up the cliffs and his towering views of the expanse, he had never seen a corpse.
       How long were they living? Where do they go to die?
       A loud gawk echoed off the rocks, and a whoosh of air almost knocked him off the cliff. Another Cleaner, smaller but in full adult plumage, cruised directly above him. Leo dropped to the ground and put his hands over his head. The giant flew past, its focus on the other bird in the distance.
       Once it was gone, Leo sat up, his entire body shaking. He'd never been that close to an adult. What he had witnessed had so unnerved him it took every ounce of self-discipline not to turn and run down the cliffs to the city and relative safety. But he had four more eggs to place for hatching.
       He took several more deep breaths, and gradually, the shaking subsided, with the exception of his hands. He clasped them on his belly and glanced at the old air quality monitor hanging from his rucksack. Green. He took one last deep breath and continued with his work.

       The rustle of parchment was the only sound in the kitchen. Juli looked up from the paper-littered table. "You had 48 eggs last month, right?"
       Leo nodded. He clasped his hands tightly at his back while he paced behind her chair.
       "But area spotters only reported counting 43 hatchlings in the air."
       Leo continued back and forth.
       "Pops." Juli turned around and reached for his arm. It was a gentle gesture, but her steady, firm hold conveyed more to him than her voice. "Pops. You haven't turned in your reconciliation forms for what, five years? They're cracking down on that now. We can't afford to lose--"
       "We? Do you mean me and you or the Lab?"
       Juli ignored the question. "Pops, do you know what happened to the other five eggs? That's all I'm asking."
       "The inspector is asking that."
       "Of course, that's his job. All these new modifications cost money, and the budget is tight. You have no idea how expensive these eggs are now."
       A flicker of anger rose up in him. "No idea? Daughter, let me remind you I have been brooding these eggs since before you were born."
       "Things are different now, with the technology we have--"
       "Eggs are still eggs!" Leo shouted unintentionally. "Each one under my supervision receives the same care and attention--"
       "Pops." Juli pushed her chair back with a creak and stood. How long ago had she graduated? A year now? Two? Her face was missing something. She looked tired, all youthful mannerisms now lost. What was the Lab doing to her, his beautiful daughter?
       She held him at arm's length by his shoulders, like a mother would a young boy. Leo felt like weeping. Instead, he brought his hand up to touch her face.
       "You're shaking," she said.
       He brought his hand back down and clasped it at his belly.
       "Sit down." She guided him into her chair and then knelt beside him. "How many have you dropped?" she whispered.
       Leo couldn't meet his daughter's eyes and for a moment, they remained frozen, each holding their breath, waiting.
       "Maybe one a month, now," he finally said.
       Juli gasped. "Each month?"
       Slowly, Leo found the words and humility to admit his secret. "It hasn't always been this bad. This, this was a bad month, with you gone so much, the cold winds, more Cleaners flying closer." They were lame excuses, and he cringed like a kicked dog.
       "We're working on that." He understood she meant mods to keep the Cleaners away. So why did it always feel like the monsters were getting closer?
       "I--"
       "Pops." She pulled out the other chair next to him and sat. "It's funny. Now, with the air so much better, people are living longer again, and we're coming down with other things. No more black lung, but heart disease, diabetes, dementia . . ."
       "Daughter, my mind is completely fine."
       Juli let out a small laugh. "I know, I know. I said that to get to you. But we are seeing it again. Folks are living to ripe old ages, dying of old people things."
       Leo stared at the locket hanging at her throat. "No more asthma."
       Juli dropped her gaze and fingered the trinket. "Do you remember that childhood verse Mom and I used to sing?
       Hatch, beast, fly away
       Give our children another day
       Take the trash but leave our lives
       And when you're done, you'll see your end."
       Leo smiled. "It used to infuriate you that it didn't rhyme."
       "How hard is it to find something to rhyme with 'lives'?" She laughed.
       "You and your mother would sit at this very table and re-write it, over and over, trying to find something that fit."
       Juli nodded. "They were mostly silly. But some were--"
       "Pretty macabre," Leo finished.
       Juli grinned. "I remember--"
       Suddenly, a scream came from the open window. Juli jumped, and Leo knocked a chair over in a scramble to the door. Flinging it open, they saw their neighborhood darkened by large shadows.
       "Oh my God," Leo whispered, and Juli put a hand to her mouth.
       Three Cleaners, two adults at least fifty feet in length and a smaller one, slowly cruised just above the rooftops in V formation. Human legs dangled from the mouth of the one in front.
       Leo shoved Juli back inside and slammed the door.
       After a while of hearing nothing more, Leo hazarded another look out the window. Confirming no looming shadows, he turned to the counter to make coffee until he was able to speak. "That was a mated pair. They had a chick."
       Juli shook her head. "That's not possible. We've made them sterile, and they are programmed to migrate and die before they're sexually mature. We've made--"
       "Daughter!" It was now Leo's turn to grab her shoulders. "Don't you see what's in front of your eyes? Your precious mods and gene tinkering aren't working! You change one thing only to result in something else unintended!"
       Juli frowned and shook her head. "We're close, so close, to fixing downstream effects. Pops, the newer splicers are more precise than ever. In fact, tomorrow I'm--"
       "I'm just asking you to acknowledge what you see, not what the computers spit out at you."
       "The Lab gathers all its data, and we meet to discuss--"
       "Enough with the Lab! What happened to your senses, your own thoughts? Can you think for yourself anymore?" He regretted it as soon as he said it.
       Juli stepped back, stung. She set her jaw. "I'm doing plenty of thinking for myself, father, thank you. I'm thinking for you, too." She glanced at the stack of unfinished reconciliation forms.
       This only rekindled Leo's ire and he banged his coffee mug on the table. "I'm going to check on the neighbors, find out who was . . . hurt." He took care not to slam the door when he left.

       The knock on the incubator door made Leo jump and he gave a silent thanks that he wasn't cradling an egg. He opened the door to a lab inspector holding a clipboard. Leo's heart sank.
       "If this is about the reconciliation forms . . ." he started.
       The inspector, an unfamiliar man in a familiar white lab coat, walked up to the closest shelf with hardly a look in Leo's direction.
       Leo hid his shaking hands behind his back and watched the inspector squat down and count the eggs which were ten days from hatch, the oldest currently in the incubator. Leo was due for another clutch from the Lab any day.
       "Six." The inspector stood. Leo heard his knees pop, and this gave him a small bit of satisfaction. "You've decreased your clutches from twelve to six."
       It wasn't a question, and Leo was unsure how to respond. "Correct. That was a few years ago. It was getting to be too much to brood twelve at a time."
       "Do you have the records indicating that request?"
       The question startled Leo. He cleared his throat. "As I said, that was years ago."
       "Do you have the records?"
       Leo frowned. "I, I can't recall where they are."
       The inspector made a note and then peered over his glasses. He had a long nose, which Leo likened to a beak.
       "Three months ago, you released six eggs, but the spotters reported five juveniles post-hatch."
       Leo cringed.
       "What happened to that egg?"
       "I--"
       "Why didn't you report that loss?"
       "That morning, there was--"
       "Sir." The inspector removed his glasses. "The technology used to produce these eggs is protected with the highest security clearance. If a brooder can't account for all the eggs under his care, a much more serious audit is warranted."
       Leo's heartrate jumped. "Am I being accused of something? I've been a brooder for over three decades and would never--"
       "Try to remain calm."
       "I am calm!"
       The inspector looked around the room, which made Leo even more agitated. "What about those reports I submitted? About the Cleaners coming too close? Those clutches of eggs I found together on the cliffs? What about those recent attacks? Three people are now--"
       "That's not my department. Civilian reports are maintained by--"
       Leo stopped listening. This was his domain, his livelihood, his refuge. How dare this man come in unannounced and start sticking his nose in!
       "Sir." The inspector had stepped closer to Leo and put a hand on his shoulder. He had a worried look. "Do you want to sit down?"
       Leo hadn't realized both his hands were shaking and didn't want to think about what he might look like to a stranger. Some crazed old man, raving. He nodded and pulled a chair over.
       As Leo gathered himself, the inspector quietly took notes. After a few minutes, he handed Leo a sheet.
       Leo took it. "An OAI?" He looked up. "But why--"
       "Official action indicated." The inspector gave a curt nod. "I'm sorry, but a top security priority for the Lab is reconciliation of eggs and juveniles hatched. If we can't match the numbers, further investigation is warranted."
       "But what about--"
       "I'll be back in a week. That should be plenty of time to address the deficiencies noted." The inspector walked to the door.
       The form shook in Leo's hands. "Deficiencies? For thirty years, I've kept this place spotless--"
       "Sir, it's a privilege to be a brooder, not a right. I'll see you in a week." The inspector quietly closed the door behind him, and Leo fumed.

       When Juli came home, she found Leo banging pots and pans in the kitchen.
       "Angry soup for dinner?" she asked, giving him a quick hug.
       He wiped his hands and threw the towel in the sink. "I was inspected today."
       "Oh?" Juli flipped through the mail on the table, distracted.
       "He issued an OAI."
       Juli looked up.
       "He'll be back in a week. If I don't find papers from," he swallowed his rage, "five years ago, I don't know. I'll get removed?" He turned to the stove. "The nerve! The place is immaculate; I've never had any disease outbreak! The stuff that used to matter isn't--"
       "I tried to tell you, Pops. They have to balance the numbers."
       "So, I dropped one the other day! The rest hatched and flew away! They have no idea how hard it is to settle those eggs into the rocks, to get up there in the first place."
       "That's why there are drones now."
       "It's not the same!" Leo hadn't meant to yell at his daughter, but there it was, that same distance between him and the inspector. They were all people, weren't they? With the same goal? He glanced at the air quality monitor, still registering atmospheric particles after all these years. Green. No more alarms blaring, ordering people inside, windows shut. He used to take pride in helping keep the alarms off.
       Juli went over to him. She picked up chopping a pepper where he left off, and stirred the broth on the stove. As the pepper sizzled on the skillet, she whispered, "There are reports of people stealing the eggs, Pops."
       "But to accuse me?"
       "There's a huge black-market value. Internationally." She pushed the pepper around, watching it soften and curl in the heat. "Other entities are interested in their own Cleaners."
       "I don't understand, aren't they limited to--"
       "Pops, in the Lab, there are no limits."
       The calmness with which his daughter spoke jarred him. "What do you mean?"
       The broth was now at a rolling boil. Her voice was low, but she shrugged. "We can make them do anything we want. It would be nothing to turn them into war machines, use them as weapons."
       "Why would anyone want to--"
       "Pops." The pepper started to burn, and she waved her hand to clear the smoke from the pan. "Don't you think you should consider retirement?"
       Leo fell into a fit of coughing, whether from the shock of her suggestion or the smoke, he didn't know. The air quality monitor responded in orange, a color he'd only seen triggered by kitchen mishaps in recent years. It started to emit a high-pitched beep.
       He recovered and removed the skillet from the heat. Juli dumped the peppers into the broth and waved a towel in front of the monitor. The alarm stopped, and the kitchen grew quiet.
       "I can still do a good job. I am still doing a good job." He was surprised at how humiliated he felt. He grabbed another pepper to chop, but Juli reached out and took the trembling knife from him.
       "For your health, then. Do it for your health."
       "I am healthy!" he roared. With the smoke gone, the air quality was back to green. "I'm the healthiest I've ever been!"
       Juli wouldn't meet his eyes and instead continued to stir the soup.
       "You don't agree," he said. "You're siding with them?"
       "It's not about taking sides. It's about being realistic."
       "Realistically, those Cleaners are getting more dangerous while you swear your tinkering makes them safer. Realistically, I can hatch more eggs than any drone can."
       "Realistically, we all want to continue to have clean air, Pops."
       "Realistically, I don't like the way this Lab has changed my daughter's outlook."
       Juli set the spoon down and spoke slowly, as if to a child. "Realistically, you need to listen to me. You need to retire."
       Leo turned and walked out.

       In years past, when Leo needed a place to think he went to the cliffs. Now, for the first time, the open rock felt dangerous. So, he set up his exile in his second favorite place, the incubator. He let Juli assume he was preparing for the next inspection, but in reality, he was planning.
       The day before the re-inspection, he emerged greasy and disheveled but upbeat despite hearing some shouts and rumbling from outside. Juli dismissed these and reached out for a hug.
       "Whew, never mind," she laughed and stepped back. "Pops, how long have you been in there? What do you want to eat?"
       Leo grabbed a slice of bread off the table and hugged his daughter anyway. She squealed and held her nose in mock disdain, then grabbed for the screen in his hand. "Let's see. Got all your ducks in a row?"
       Leo smiled and opened a presentation. "Daughter, I need your help."
        "What's this?" Juli's face fell. "Where are your forms?"
       "I've collected all my observations over the past few years. Civilian they may be, but to use your precious word, they contain data. Lots of data. Egg counts, yes, but also hatching records, sighting numbers, attack reports, and air quality charts. Juli. Look at this. What I have here is compelling."
       Juli crossed her arms and stared at the line graph on the screen. "Pops, the standard deviation isn't--"
       "That's where I need your help. But ignore the statistics for a moment. Look at the overall picture. Look at what the data is telling you."
       "Pops, correlation does not imply causation. You can't just plug in numbers and then think it proves--"
       A muffled thud came from outside. Leo glanced out the window.
       "Juli, look. The Cleaners are mating outside the Lab. They are laying clutches in the cliffs, forming social units, hunting in packs, and coming toward the cities. I'm seeing it with my own eyes." He turned back to Juli. "So are you."
       Juli sighed. "The last round of genetic alterations has made them 14% more efficient at removing silica from the air. Their filtration system is now the biggest it's even been."
       "That also means bigger mouths and muscles. Juli, I think they're hungry. Their metabolism can't be supported by particulates alone anymore."
       Another rumble echoed from outside. Leo moved for a closer look, but Juli rose and gently took his arm. "Pops, they're starting to restrict access to the cliffs now. For drones only. There's too much risk in other people going up there."
       "Due to the danger."
       "Due to our need to protect the technology."
       "You mean the eggs?"
       "Yes."
       "Juli, these are animals, not machines. Sometimes I think--"
       Juli continued unabated. "Pops, we disagree. They're manufactured in the Lab." She shifted her weight and shrugged. "They're a sort of biomachine."
       Leo ran a hand through his thinning hair. He took a deep breath and collected his thoughts. "The Lab is worried about cost and budget, right? Fine, here's what you do." He bent over the table and swiped to another graph. "Stop the alterations. Let the Cleaners revert back to wildtype on their own, let them get smaller again. Less hungry. We don't need 135% particle removal efficiency. We can live on 85%, hell, seventy-five. Juli." He turned to face her. "We don't really need green air quality. Yellow is fine as long as it means we're not getting terrorized by dragons from above."
       Juli stepped back as if slapped. "I'll never go back to dirty air."
       "That's not what I'm saying."
       "How could you propose that? They'll think you're crazy! We've worked so hard for this!" She pointed to the air quality monitor which glowed a dazzling lush green.
       "Juli, you're not listening."
       "And don't call them that."
       "What?"
       "Dragons. What an ignorant thing to say. Don't ever let anyone hear you call them that. I'll be laughed out of a job so fast--"
       Her venom shocked Leo. He clasped his shaking hands in front of his belly.
       Juli grabbed the computer and angrily swiped through the rest of the slides. "So you're not ready for the inspection? This whole time, you've been preparing a, a manifesto?"
       Leo tried to take the screen back. "If you'll let me finish, I think I can convince the Lab that--"
       "No. No, I'm not going back to that." She looked up with tears in her eyes. "Pops, no. This isn't the answer. I won't die like--" She grabbed the locket at her throat and choked back a sob.
       Leo tried to hug his daughter, but she stepped back.
       A shout, then, from outside. It was close. This time, Leo maneuvered around his daughter to peer out. Five large shadows circled above. He cowered reflexively and pulled the shutters closed with shaky hands.
        "Sometimes. . ." Juli shrugged, her words tentative. "Sometimes sacrifices are needed for scientific advancement."
       A loud squawk filtered through the shutters, and Leo blinked incredulously at his daughter. "There will be no one left to advance science if we can't survive these abominations!"
       Juli set her jaw. "You act like attacks happen every day!"
       Leo's eyes widened, and he pointed to the window. Carefully, he opened the shutters just enough to peer outside. With Juli looking over his hunched shoulders, they saw black smoke rising in the distance. Somewhere, an ambulance wailed, and horns blared. More than one voice yelled, then screamed. The five shadows above were larger now. Closer. Leo thought he heard the swoop of wings.
       Leo started to feel dizzy. He pulled the shutters closed once again and leaned against the wall. He rubbed his face and had to ask, "What, then, is your acceptable attack rate?"
       Juli paused, and to Leo, it seemed like she had an answer but couldn't force the words to come out. She cleared her throat, but before her answer came out, Leo started to cough. His arm shook so severely he could barely raise his hand to cover his mouth. Or was his entire body shaking? Then, the room began to whirl around him, and things went dark.

       The pillow was thin and lumpy and not his. Leo opened his eyes. A clear tube ran from his arm to a hanging bag, and something beeped behind him. Sweat had soaked the thin hospital sheet at some point, and it clung to his bare legs. There was a wretched taste in his bone-dry mouth, but as he raised his arm to probe a stack of files on the small desk near the bed, he noticed he was steady.
       Steady, but not strong. The stack of papers hit the tile floor with a thump, and loose pages sailed in all directions. Leo then noticed the room had no windows.
       "Pops."
       Juli's voice was soft, and Leo heard exhaustion in that one word.
       She knelt by his bed and gathered the papers. "You should be resting. Lay back. Don't try to get up. Are you hungry?"
       "How long have I been here?" He cleared his raw throat and noticed an air quality monitor on the doorframe. Greenish blue.
       Juli saw him looking. "New color, a new good color." She grinned. "My proposal. Blue is even better than green!"
       Leo nodded but didn't match her smile. "What happened?" There was another noise coming from down the hall or above them. Disoriented, he couldn't tell.
       She stood over him and put a hand on his shoulder. "I've got the best lab physicians on your case, Pops. They say it's nerves, a stress thing. Anxiety attack. Rest really is the best medicine. They gave you a sedative for a while. You were . . ." She broke her gaze and hesitated. "You were pretty out of it. Like, raging."
       Leo laid back, trying to recall. Line graphs, his data presentation, arguing with Juli, and screams from the window. A siren, both then and now. That was the noise he was hearing.
       "No, what happened out there?" He looked up because he didn't know where outside was.
       Juli straightened the files in her lap. "A raid." She rushed on as if to bury the word. "But guess what, Pops? I've been in the Lab night and day, and I think we've got it. Something really innovative."
       "Raid?" It sounded structured, planned. "A raid by whom?"
       "The army is calling them that." She tried to dismiss the question with a wave of her hand. "When they fly in, they're a little more organized now."
       "They?" Leo sat up and winced when the tube in his arm pulled. "Who's they? What's the army doing?" He tried to turn around. "What's that alarm?"
       "The Cleaners, Pops. But don't worry. We're safe here. We've set up an alert system." She pushed him back into the pillow and tried to plump it without any effect.
       "Juli." The air in the room was damp and musty.
       She smiled again and there was true warmth and excitement now behind her eyes. The old Juli. "We found a codon pair that makes their hearts weak. It should drastically reduce their lifespan."
       "An alarm system for the Cleaners?" Leo struggled to focus. His mind was wrapped in wool and he felt two steps behind. "Wait, what are you saying? Giant dead birds falling like bombs--"
       "No, Pops, it's just a stopgap. In the long term, I have the lead on a new design. Something totally different. And it was inspired by your data."
       A weight lifted off Leo's chest. So she has been listening. He nodded, encouraging her to go on.
       "A new species to keep the Cleaners in check. A predator designed just for them."
       Leo's relief vanished. "So, you're creating something even more dangerous to hunt the danger?"
       "It's not like that. These constructs, we're calling them Sponges right now--just a little joke--will infect the Cleaners, get into their bloodstream, develop a natural cull rate, and keep their numbers down. It's actually pretty simple." She was proud of this, Leo could tell. It wasn't the arrogant pride of more senior scientists, but the earnest satisfaction of someone who felt she was doing the right thing.
       Leo heard the beeping behind him increase, announcing to the room his heartrate rising, but his hands remained still. He realized he must still be sedated to some degree. "Juli. Juli. This is insane." There was a distant rumble, and the liquid in his IV bag shuddered. Leo heard a few shouts above the alarm but Juli didn't appear to notice. There was something different about her that he couldn't quite place.
        "I won't die gasping for air like Mom did. I deserve to be able to breathe." Her smile disappeared. In its place came a haunted look.
       Her locket. That's what was missing. Where did it go? Leo reached for her hand. "You've worked so hard for air you can breathe, only now you can't go outside to enjoy it."
       "We're getting there, Pops." Juli squeezed his hand, and her original optimism returned. "I just have a few more cell cultures to incubate, and the pilot program can start."
       Leo couldn't help but feel sorry for the Cleaners at that moment. Those beautiful eggs he took so much loving care of were now pawns in a game that was too complicated for him to understand. Previously, he could find the words to explain this to Juli, but now he felt mute. This was her life now, playing god. Isn't this what she always wanted?
       He smiled weakly and patted her hand. After a few more encouraging words, she strode out of the room, radiating determination and gusto. The muffled sirens continued and Leo noticed how these were higher pitched but lower cadence than the air quality alarms of years ago.
       He laid back and worried the tape that held the catheter in his arm. Incomplete thoughts nagged at him but he felt groggy and only wanted to sleep. Hadn't they merely traded one fear for another? He took a deep breath to reassure himself and wondered vaguely if the alarms would ever be turned off.