time.’
Everett slipped on his headset, scrolled down Jane Doe’s case history and pushed line one.
He was counting on the pathology lab being dark. One good thing about that department was the hours theykept—ten ‘til four. Nobody worked overtime there. That was for emergencies, bottom floor, his floor. The path lab always ran a thirty-hour week, or less. That is, until tonight.
Everett cursed when he saw the lights. This was going to be tricky. He had to get that body out of there before they ran deep-level DNA tests. He no longer remembered the reason for the urgency that drove him, but he was driven just the same. Feeling for the samples in his coat pocket, he took a breath and pushed through the doors. With any luck, Lucy J would be the one working late. The head pathologist was not an easy woman to deal with, but she didn’t support the Eternal Life Protocol and she didn’t mind breaking rules. At least, not the ones she opposed.
‘Everett,’ Lucy J said, calling out as the doors swung shut behind him. ‘I’ve been waiting for you. Come take a look at this.’
He weaved in and out of the vats, threading his way across the floor. At one point he glimpsed a familiar set of numbers and looked away before he could see the activation date. He didn’t want to know how recently she’d been used. He rubbed his ring finger and carried on.
‘You’re working late, Lucy J.’
‘With good reason.’
She stood over the cadaver, her dark curly hair escaping the blue cap. She pulled the sheet back and turned to him. ‘I couldn’t find a mention of this in your report,’ she said, pointing a slender brown finger at the body art. ‘How’d you miss it?’
He didn’t answer immediately.
‘Obviously you couldn’t have missed it,’ she said when he didn’t respond. ‘So, why’d you omit it in the work-up?’
Everett stared at Jane Doe’s chest. The tattoo wasvivid, considering there was no vascular supply. Perhaps the dead woman’s skin, pale now in the absence of blood, provided a better contrast than the tawny hue it had in life. He stared at the contours. No. Not better, he decided. When she was alive, the image rose and fell with each breath, a part of her life force. Now the artwork was immobile, as unresponsive as she, frozen like some painting left to collect dust.
‘I’ve had more pressing notes to make,’ he said, avoiding the pathologist’s eyes. ‘It was a baffling case.’ He shrugged. Surely that was an acceptable response, under the circumstances. She knew what kind of pressure he was under just to keep Jane Doe on his ward. Admin wanted her shunted straight to donor status. They had strict rules: no ID, no bed.
‘It’s still baffling,’ she said. ‘I’ve run bioassays over and over—all negative. Can I show you?’
He groaned internally and nodded. No choice.
She led him back to her lab bench, indicating the chair opposite hers. She switched off her com speaker and wheeled her chair closer until her knees touched his. He swallowed, forcing himself not to back away.
He scanned her results, shaking his head. ‘What do you make of it?’
Lucy J lowered her voice. ‘If I didn’t know better, Everett, I’d say your patient willed her heart to stop beating.’
His spine prickled. ‘You’re not putting that in your report, are you?’
She laughed, but it sounded forced. ‘You think I want to be shipped off to Psych?’
‘What, then?’
She pulled out a paper notebook and scribbled on it before tearing off the top sheet and handing it to him. He wondered at her stealth. They were the only ones in the room.
‘Follow those chains,’ she said, tapping the image she’d just drawn.
There were no chains to follow. She’d drawn him a map that led to the basement incineration unit. It was a massive furnace used for disposing of excess donor materials, limbs, old organs and pathological samples. His eyebrows shot up. ‘Shall I run your next load for you?’ he asked,
Learning to Kill: Stories