Decoherence by Liana Brooks Page A

head. “But . . . whatever I guess. Sure, if I do the autopsy, I’ll slip you a copy. As long as it’s not classified. But don’t expect anything. This lab is probably not going to be handling the case. They have their own ­people. I get the ones from obvious accidents and the hospital.”
    â€œThat’s fine,” Ivy said. She replaced the sheet. “It’s not a big deal.”
    Runiker smiled. “Lunchtime?”
    â€œRight. Thank you for your patience.”
    â€œNo problem.” He grinned sheepishly. “It’s just that the line at the taco truck is long, and if you don’t get there early, they run out of jicama.” He held the door to the locker room for her.
    Ivy stashed her coat and lab shoes and switched to sensible sneakers before grabbing the tiny purse that had her walking-­around money and her city-­issued ID.
    A noise in the morgue made her turn around. “Dr. Runiker?”
    She pushed the door open. The lights were off, and no one said anything. Frowning, she let the heavy door swing closed until only a sliver of vision remained. She held still until the lights in the locker room shut off from lack of movement.
    It was pitch-­black in the morgue, but it took her eyes a minute to adjust to the gloom. Someone was there. Tall, built like a club bouncer, and digging through the boxes of the victim’s personal belongings.
    She watched in silence as he pawed through several drawers before grabbing what he wanted and running off down the long hall to the loading docks.
    Ivy pushed the door open, turned the lights on, and pulled on a latex glove before checking the drawer. It belonged to Jane Doe.
    Someone had stolen her clothes.
    Fuming at her own stupidity, Ivy wondered how she would explain to Dr. Runiker that someone knew who Jane Doe was. After all, who but someone who knew her would come and steal her clothes?

 
    CHAPTER 8
    â€œWith age comes the choice: betray yourself, or betray your ­people. A person cannot serve their interests and the interest of the state at the same time.”
    ~ excerpt from Broken and Betrayed: The True Story of the Last Soldier by B. E. Contrite I1—­2070
    Date Unknown
    Magdelia Corporation Housing
    Sequence 6—­Unit 27
    Main Continent
    Iteration 11—­Fan 1
    H ot blood flowed over Donovan’s hand as he sliced his other self’s throat with clinical dispatch. The body fell to the floor with a thud, the arterial spray caught on Donovan’s clothes and hand instead of ruining the room. It was a selfish action. He wanted to look at this iteration’s life one more time. Soak in the essence of another reality. Capture the memories of this Donovan for himself.
    â€œDonovan?” a woman’s voice called cheerfully as he heard a door open. Quick footsteps, then a beautiful woman with red hair stepped into the archway between the living space and the front door. Sunlight made her glow like an angel.
    For a moment, she glowed. Her eyes alight with love. Her smile inviting, and sincere. She stretched out her arms . . . and stopped.
    Too late, she noticed his blood-­soaked uniform, the knife in his hand, her beloved lying dead at his feet. Love turned to fear. She screamed.
    She was still screaming when Donovan walked into the backyard and crossed through the portal, leaving the iteration to shatter around the broken woman.
    He knew that there would be a sleeping pill next to his bed when he returned to Prime. And he knew with the same certainty that he wouldn’t be taking it. He wanted to savor this Donovan’s death. The man had looked at the pictures on the wall as he died. His last thoughts had been of the beautiful woman.
    And now Donovan would have them for himself.

 
    CHAPTER 9
    â€œThere is no shame quite like the one you feel when you look on what you could have been and realize only your own pride caused you to fail. I could have had