Decoherence by Liana Brooks Page B

so much more, but I thought I was invincible. I thought I was above it all. Now, look how I have fallen.”
    ~ excerpt from Memoir of the Fallen Man by A. N. Otra I3—­2064
    Day 186/365
    Year 5 of Progress
    (July 5, 2069)
    Central Command
    Third Continent
    Prime Reality
    D onovan tossed his Kevlar vest across the room so it clattered against the metal chair. It was an efficient alarm clock.
    In his hospital bed, Senturi stirred, opened an eye, then winced. “What do you want?”
    â€œTo fragging talk. What else?” He rubbed a his thumbnail where a bit of his other self’s blood remained.
    â€œDo you know what time it is?”
    â€œDoesn’t matter.” Donovan leaned against the window overlooking a dark plaza and darker apartment windows. The government was cutting back on electric wastage with another set of rolling blackouts. “Time isn’t real.”
    â€œNot this again.” Senturi swore and pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Why do you do this to me? I don’t need to be your Father Confessor or whatever those ­people were in that backwater iteration you were stuck in.”
    â€œThey were priests,” Donovan said. “They talked about death. I liked them.”
    â€œYou would.”
    A shadow of a nurse passing by cut through the weak yellow light spilling through the frosted glass of the hospital room’s door. Donovan waited patiently. Always patiently. He checked the window again, scanning the opposing rooftops for the telltale glint of a sniper’s rifle. “I did another run.”
    â€œI know,” Senturi said. “I still get the briefings.” He sighed. “Is this about Wagner?”
    â€œNo, she was grist for the mill. Emir sent me back. Alone. To a little sprig of an iteration. They had trees. The one where Wagner dies had an arboretum.” Donovan’s leg bounced involuntarily. A dangerous tic. It was getting worse. He was losing control with every jump. Splintering. He locked himself down and turned to Senturi. “Trees. Gardens. Plants I’d never even heard of.”
    Senturi shook his head and shrugged. “So?”
    â€œThere are ­people going hungry here. We can’t produce enough food. We’re growing algae to maintain oxygen levels because we strip-­mined the Amazon rain forest.”
    â€œAgain—­so?”
    â€œSo how is this the better iteration? How is this the better path for us?” He remembered the red-­haired woman, with wide green eyes and a sprinkling of cinnamon freckles across her nose.
    Senturi shook his head. “I told you not to think like that. You can’t question. That’s how agents lose their minds. You stare at yourself from behind a gun too many times, and you start wondering if the right person came through the portal.”
    â€œSo what’s the answer?” Donovan’s voice cracked, breaking with a need he couldn’t verbalize. Begging for reassurance. He could feel himself tearing between duty and desire.
    â€œThe answer is: That arboretum was going to lead to failure. They had trees. That doesn’t mean they had stable leaders. That doesn’t mean they were safe. We are months away from the decoherence event, and it is our job to make sure that the time collapse doesn’t knock humanity back to the Stone Age. We’ve dodged so many missteps, narrowly escaped extinction, and you want to question that?”
    The woman’s smile was all he could think about. “I saw pictures of my other self. He had a home. A lover. Maybe a wife. He was happy.” An idea tickled the edge of his brain. The first whisperings of a plan. A way to escape.
    There would be . . . consequences. Fatalities.
    â€œWell,” Senturi said, “if you left the capital more often, you’d see ­people smiling around here, too. Not near Rose or Emir, but there are happy ­people. I’ve seen