John Rockford

Patches

Had she the capacity, the Surgeon might’ve felt something like guilt. She picked up the small heart-shaped locket and pressed the tiny release on its side. Its gilded coverlet sprang open, clapped against the meat of her palm. She considered the photo inside, then clicked the locket’s mechanism shut and placed it on the Donor’s meager pile of possessions, where it shone bright against the drab, threadbare tunic and coarse Foundation-issued canvas trousers. How the Donor had kept it from Patrol Corps was anyone’s guess.