Hopscotch

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Rhys found one of the small hammers among some tools in a corner. He picked it up and slapped the heavy black head against his palm.

  Finally, full-fledged panic overwhelmed her. Teresa lurched away, but through a haze of tears and sweat and blood she couldn’t see where she was going. She turned in fear to look at Rhys one more time—just as he tossed the hammer at her. Teresa dodged sideways so that the hammerhead only clipped her collarbone. She heard the dry bamboo snap inside herself as the bone broke cleanly.

  A surge of adrenaline muffled the nerve-shouts of pain. She looked through a red-black curtain of near-unconsciousness to see Rhys just standing there, watching her. The thrown hammer could have crushed her skull—could have killed her—and he had not missed on purpose.

  Now he let her go with no more than a smug smile for farewell.

  Battered, Teresa fled, forced to take slow lifters and stairs, while her tormentors slid down firepoles to reach the street level and cut her off. Blood tasted salty and metallic in her mouth. Her sides ached with broken-glass pain.

  She just wanted to be far away, beyond the reach of the Sharetakers. Teresa would have to take the body she was wearing now, small and waifish and broken. The believers followed her, hurling insults, increasing the pain with their cruel taunts. In a few moments they might even turn into a mob, and she would never get out alive.

  Badly injured, both physically and psychologically, Teresa knew of one place she could go, someone with resources who would welcome her and help her, no matter what.

  Disoriented, she reeled toward the enclave doorway. She would run to Eduard for help.

  25

  The estate of Mordecai Ob was mostly dark, except for fairy lights that traced paths through the gardens.

  Though his body wasn’t tired, Eduard went to bed early. He had to get up before dawn to start exercising for his boss. Some days, the Bureau Chief liked to go to the undersea headquarters at the fringe of morning; other times he preferred to remain at home in his study.

  Eduard had to be prepared. It was his job.

  But he lay awake, unable to sleep. Breezes whispered against the ornamental vines that clawed their way up the brick walls. Standing like guardians at the corners of the mansion, blue spruces made a gruffer, deeper sound in the wind.

  Though Daragon had set him up with a wonderful job, Eduard rarely saw the young Inspector. He wanted to thank Daragon for saving him from the humiliating absurdities he had been willing to endure. Teresa rarely left the Sharetakers, and Garth had gone off to Hawaii.

  Eduard missed his friends. He grew restless doing so little, all alone on the estate except for his rare and brief conversations with Tanu the gardener. Garth could have done the exercise duties for Ob, then spent the rest of the day painting. Eduard was surprised the Chief hadn’t suggested it, since he was paying Garth anyway. . . .

  A sudden, startling signal jarred him out of his sleepless woolgathering. His COM terminal flashed, an incoming communication with high-priority overrides to cut through any other message traffic.

  Eduard slid off his bed and activated the receive button before he had time to wonder about the source. It was a brief but desperate message calling for his help. Teresa needs you.

  He didn’t pause to think, didn’t ask questions, just sprang into action—as he had done when the anti-COM fugitive had tried to take young Teresa hostage in the flower market. The reasons didn’t concern Eduard. Teresa needed him now—nothing else mattered.

  Within minutes he was dressed and out the door. He wondered how long it would take him to pick the lock to Ob’s weapons cabinet and arm himself, but decided not to delay. He borrowed one of Ob’s vehicles from the carport, using the Bureau Chief’s general access code—no time to ask for permission. Sweating, he raced for the Sharetakers’ enclave.

  This late in the evening, traffic was light, and COM control slotted Ob’s craft into a high-speed lane, cutting off other drivers, rushing him across the city. After docking at ground level outside the enclave building, he leaped from the vehicle and rushed to the entrance. He was ready to batter it down with his fists, if necessary.

  Before he could reach the door, a waifish young woman stumbled through the access barrier. Bloodied, she staggered forward, barely able to keep her balance. She gasped with each step, trying to run, but physically unable to do so. One of her wrists hung at an odd angle, broken; raw abrasions marked her face, her eyes bruised and haunted.

  Eduard hurried forward, not recognizing her in this body but instinctively suspecting who she was. “Teresa? Is that you?”

  She flinched as if someone had hit her, then saw him. Her face blossomed into astonishment and relief. “Eduard!” She nearly collapsed, but he caught her in his arms. “Oh, how did you know to come here?”

  “I got your message.”

  She fell against him, her muscles and bones turning to water. As he held her, she winced with the pain of broken ribs. “Message? Eduard . . . I was trying to get to you. Just now.”

  People moved in the entrance, shouting after Teresa like peasants bearing torches. Eduard glowered at the Sharetakers, his mind filled with questions, his throat clogged with outrage. “What have you done to her, you bastards?”

  When they saw him guarding Teresa, they hesitated. Their expressions showed a collective, unfocused anger, as if most of them didn’t even know what had upset them.

  A big redheaded man pushed to the front of the crowd, and Eduard recognized him as their leader. Rhys stopped, surprised to see him. “You’re Eduard Swan, right? If you’d come sooner, you could have prevented all this. It’s your fault.” His freckled face changed into a smug, supercilious mask. “Nobody wants you here now.”

  “Teresa wants me here,” he said.

  “We take care of our own,” Rhys answered.

  “Yeah, right. I can see that.”

  Teresa struggled to pull him toward the vehicle. “Eduard, please! We’ve got to go.” He realized how much this effort cost her. Tears and blood streaked her cheeks and chin, but she held the sobs inside. “Please take me away from these people.”

  He looked at her huddled against him and cradled the back of her head. “No problem.” He tried to soothe her, then locked his gaze with Rhys’s. “Damn you—damn you all!”

  Arrogant, Rhys gestured for the other Sharetakers to follow him back inside. If Eduard hadn’t been there to stop them, the mob would have pursued Teresa out into the streets and killed her.

  Protectively, he half led, half carried her to the hovercar. He moved slowly, helping her to get inside. From the Sharetakers’ building, Rhys didn’t even bother to watch Teresa leave. To him, she was beneath contempt.

  By the time Eduard got her to an emergency medical center, Daragon was already there, intimidating the admittance clerk. “Check your records again, please. She would have been admitted in the last hour.”

  Even groaning in her pain, Teresa recognized his voice. Eduard called out as he eased her into a chair. “Daragon! We’re here.”

  Looking powerful and confident, Daragon rushed down the hall. His dark hair was mussed, and his Beetle uniform looked as if he had pulled it on quickly. “Is she all right?”

  “She will be, now that I’ve gotten her away from those bastards.”

  Pulling all the strings of his authority, Daragon bellowed for a doctor. Much faster than Teresa would otherwise have been treated, a medical technician cleaned the worst cuts and contusions, started an IV, splinted her arm, and finally administered heavy analgesics. Both Daragon and Eduard hovered beside her, very concerned.

  Even as the painkillers bit through the aches, Teresa lifted her bruised eyes to Daragon. “How . . . how did you know?”

  Eduard leaned closer to Teresa. “He spies on us.”

  He flushed. “I watch out for you, though without COM terminals the Sharetakers make it very difficult.”

  The medical technician hummed to herself as she applied bandages and injected her patient with b
one-knitting steroids and cell-division enhancers, then applied polymer struts to hold the broken wrist and collarbone in place. She paid little attention to the conversation. In other circumstances, a doctor might hopscotch with a patient to better assess symptoms and hidden damage, but this one treated only the obvious injuries. And there were plenty of those.

  Daragon’s voice was grim. “The person who did this to Teresa was Robertha Chambers, a wanted anti-COM terrorist.”

  “The one from the explosion in the flower market? The fugitives that tried to take Teresa hostage during the shootout?” Eduard still had so much anger inside him he didn’t know how to focus it. “Are you saying Rhys is Robertha Chambers?”

  Daragon nodded. “She went into hiding, traded bodies with a man, took over the leadership of a local Sharetaker enclave. I found her because I was watching out for Teresa, looking into the religious group . . . but Chief Ob told me there were other priorities.”

  Eduard looked down at Teresa’s battered, beautiful face. “Other priorities? Come on, Daragon—look what they did to her!”

  Daragon felt helpless, but he maintained his stern expression. “Robertha had made no illegal move in years, and I could not get permission to act. I didn’t think Teresa would be in danger.”

  “Maybe I’ll have a few words with Chief Ob myself—”

  Daragon held up a hand. “Rest assured, Eduard. Teresa will be protected now. And the matter has my full attention, regardless of what the Chief says. I have justification now.”

  But Eduard knew the BTL was hamstrung by the niceties of law and bureaucracy. “Just don’t take too long, or that bastard’ll hurt someone else.”

  The medical technician searched her tray, as if wondering whether to use more drugs or bandages. “There, that’s all we can do. Nothing serious, no need for her to stay here. Your body will take care of what’s left. You need rest, and time.” She looked disapprovingly at the two men, but spoke to Teresa. “Do you have a place to go?”

  Eduard spoke quickly. “Yes, she does. She’ll be coming home with me, so I can watch over her.”

  Daragon agreed. If any problems arose, he could smooth them over with Mordecai Ob. “I’ll give you an escort.”

  Already fading from the intense mixture of analgesics and narcotics, Teresa could barely summon the strength to mumble, “Thank you. Both of you.”

  26

  Long after midnight, returning from the medical center, Eduard eased Teresa’s half-limp body out of the Bureau Chief’s vehicle. He led her one slow step at a time along the pea-gravel path to the rear of the mansion and through his own private door. She sank into his bed like a snowflake melting in warm water. Teresa lay barely awake, retreating inside herself.

  Hot with anger, Eduard looked at her bruised and childlike face. Tenderly straightening the sheets, he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Just rest here and don’t worry about anything. You need some peace.” He touched her temples. “Hopscotch with me, and I’ll take the pain for a while.”

  Her eyes flickered open, large and wide. She looked so lost. “No, Eduard. You’ve already rescued me once tonight.”

  He gave her a brotherly frown. “Hey, remember what I used to do for a living.” A few bruises and healing bones couldn’t compare with the unending agony of diseased bodies and severe surgeries. “Besides, you don’t have the strength left to argue with me.”

  When he stared deeply into her eyes, touching her head, he felt his consciousness leap across the narrow gulf as they exchanged bodies. Then he blinked to reset his frame of reference.

  Eduard lay in the bed, looking up at his own face, noticing the lines of concern written there now that Teresa could see her ugly injuries from the outside. A whirlpool of pain spun through her body, but he pushed it aside. Through the distant fuzziness of drugs, he sensed each one of her broken ribs, wrist, and collarbone, as well as the cuts and contusions.

  It wasn’t so bad. He could tolerate it. No problem.

  Teresa kissed him on an abraded cheek, and her eyes—Eduard’s eyes—filled with tears. She slumped into the sofa. Finally, after hours of keeping herself strong, denying the seriousness of what she’d been through, Teresa began to sob, great wracking convulsions that came out in Eduard’s deep voice.

  Lying in bed, he wanted to get up, to hold her and comfort her, but in this injured body he was too weak. Teresa wanted to be alone, too. He heard her broken-hearted weeping until she finally fell asleep from sheer mental exhaustion, sprawled across the cushions.

  “Eduard, wake up.”

  He had drifted off near dawn and managed only an hour of sleep in her injured body. Now Teresa stood above him over the bed. He could see his own eyes red-rimmed from crying, his cheeks puffy.

  “You have to get up,” she said. “Swap back with me, so you can do your job.”

  Eduard tried to sit, felt the wash of pain. Time for more medication. He dosed himself again, waited for the edge of pain to dull all over his body. “Teresa, I don’t want to let you come back into this body. It’s too—”

  “No choice.” Her voice was firm. He could see that she had already grown much stronger since last night. “You’ve helped me so much, but I can’t let you get in trouble with your boss. You’ve got too much at stake, don’t you think?”

  Eduard knew she was right. He glanced at the clock, saw that he still had a little time. “All right, but you need to promise me you’ll rest—heal yourself.”

  “Rest sounds like the best thing in the world right now, no matter which body I’m in.” They touched, and swapped, and Eduard watched her face fall. She must have forgotten how much her injuries hurt.

  Eduard’s limbs were stiff from sleeping in an awkward position on the couch. He rubbed his burning eyes. Maybe a hot shower would help. “I’ve got to get cleaned up.” As it was, Ob would scold him for bringing a body that wasn’t strong and refreshed.

  As Teresa sprawled on the bed, still getting used to the throbbing lethargy from the potent painkillers he had just taken, Eduard hurried to put together a breakfast. He fed her fruit slices in bed, and she savored each bite.

  “I’ll be back in a few hours, depending on what Mr. Ob needs me to do, then I can take another shift in your body. We’ll get through this, together.” He smiled at her. “I’m looking forward to nursing you back to health. I’ve already tried to contact Garth, but he’s not coming back from Hawaii for another two days.”

  The painkillers had already begun to work. Teresa looked at him with heavy eyes. “Oh, thank you, Eduard.”

  “Hey, it’s what friends are supposed to do for each other.” He gave her his winning smile. “You’re just lucky you sent me that COM message when you did. Otherwise I might have been too late.”

  Groggy, Teresa raised her eyebrows. “Never got a chance. No COM terminals inside the togetherments.” Her voice was raspy, thick with impending sleep.

  Perplexed, Eduard went off to find Mordecai Ob and begin another workday.

  While jogging, Eduard had time to let his mind wander. His anger built into a bonfire as he thought about Rhys and Robertha Chambers. He had experienced Teresa’s physical pain, though he could never feel the mental anguish she was still enduring.

  As he ran along in Ob’s physically fit body, he pushed himself harder, jogged faster. Cool morning air cut into his lungs, and perspiration soaked his exercise suit. As he thought more and more about the redhead striking Teresa, kicking her, throwing a hammer at her, he ran twice his usual distance. Ob would probably complain about sore muscles that evening, but Eduard didn’t care. Right now he’d rather be sitting beside Teresa, tending her, trying to make everything better.

  But he didn’t know how he could fix the damage that had been done.

  As he finished his second circuit of the grounds, at the limits of his stamina, he came across the massive gardener. The Samoan wrestled with a new ornamental tree, trying to heave it upright so he could lash on a support. His arm muscles bulged, but he managed to
prop the strut before he exhausted himself. Tanu straightened the bindings and touched some of the bent branches, fixing every detail like a fussy mother tugging the collar of her son’s shirt.

  Panting, Eduard stopped short, wiping sweat from Ob’s forehead. Tanu gave a quick wave before turning back to the tree. Making up his mind, Eduard caught his breath and strode over to the gardener. “Tanu, I need to ask you something.”

  The Samoan turned to him, his expression open and uncertain. “I have work to do.”

  Unable to think of a better alternative, Eduard said, “I want to swap into your body. Just for a little while. I . . . I have a job to do.”

  Tanu shook his big, black-maned head. “Lots of people offer for my body, but I don’t like to hopscotch.”

  Eduard realized that the Samoan’s physique would have been desirable to many people. He sat on one of the stone benches and folded his hands in his lap. “Tanu, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to. This is important—at least let me tell you about it.”

  The Samoan stood like a statue next to his tree as Eduard explained Teresa’s desperate situation, what had happened to her. His expression became grave and deeply saddened. “I’ll think about it.”

  Eduard got up again, feeling the stiffness of overexerted muscles. Sweat had dried on his arms and the back of his neck. “Let me finish my exercises. I’ve got to do a few laps in the pool. I’ll shower and change, and then I’ll come back.”

  As Eduard jogged off, Tanu trudged toward the rear of the main house, looking through the windows of Eduard’s private rooms. Inside, he saw Teresa’s battered form asleep on the bed. With his large, dark eyes, he stared at her for a long time.

  Later, wearing the Samoan body, Eduard felt as if his mind were in the driver’s seat of a massive piece of construction machinery. With rolling steps, plowing through the air as he moved, he returned to the togetherments. He shoved through the building doors without knocking.