Hopscotch

by Kevin J. Anderson

“Eduard’s your friend, too.”

  “Not after this.”

  “Daragon—your boss, your friend—was destroying Eduard. Mordecai Ob addicted Eduard’s body to Rush-X. It was killing him. Ob intended to use him up, and then hire another personal caretaker.”

  Daragon saw black static around the fringes of his vision. “That’s ridiculous. Mr. Ob died from an overdose of Rush-X—an overdose Eduard gave to him. I saw him fleeing the scene, and we found incriminating evidence in Eduard’s own quarters.”

  Garth glared at him with accusing eyes. “A good investigator keeps his mind open to all possibilities.”

  “You’re talking about the Chief of the Bureau of Tracing and Locations! I can’t let friendship twist an interpretation of a crime scene into something absurd.” In disgust, Daragon turned away. “Eduard ran from me that day. If he doesn’t turn himself in, he’ll be tried anyway, in absentia—and there’s no way I can defend him or help him.”

  He had given Eduard too many second chances. Ob had already been forced to hire a replacement for him. Perhaps Eduard had learned he was going to be dumped and couldn’t abide being kicked out.

  “You’re wrong about him, Daragon.” Garth sat up in the plush, overly comfortable maternity bed, his expression intense. “You’re making a big mistake. Eduard would never do the things you’re thinking.”

  Daragon shook his head and turned to leave the hospital room. “Garth, no matter what excuses he might make, no matter how much he means to you, Eduard did murder Mordecai Ob. If there was a problem, why didn’t he trust me? If I don’t bring him to justice, somebody else will.”

  His mind in turmoil, Daragon departed from the medical center, summoned his BTL hovercar, and cruised low over the streets, watching the pedestrians below. He stared at the crowds, remembering when he and young Eduard had gone out in secret, fantasizing about hidden immortals who lived in the shadows of society. “Is that a Phantom?” Eduard would ask. “Is that a Phantom?”

  This time, though, Daragon would be able to answer the question. He searched the unfamiliar faces for a flicker of the persona he knew so well. “Is that Eduard?” he thought. “Is that Eduard?”

  Daragon vowed to keep looking until he found him.

  46

  Even with a clearly defined goal for the first time in her life, Teresa still felt lost. Where to find her original female form, her home-body that she hadn’t seen in over a year? It seemed an impossible task even before she started. Without Garth’s sketch in his portrait spectrum, Teresa wasn’t sure she even remembered what she had looked like.

  Logging onto COM, she used all the skills Soft Stone had taught her in the monastery library, but she found no trace of the woman named Jennika who had fled the enclave wearing Teresa’s home-body. She wondered if “Jennika” had even been the young woman’s real name.

  As a start to her search, she knew she had to retrace her steps, go back to where her original body had disappeared. But asking the necessary questions meant returning to the Sharetakers. Teresa swallowed hard. It would be the most difficult thing she’d ever done.

  With gray clouds blanketing the sky, she stood in Eduard’s aching and wasted form. She tried to put aside the discomfort, her reluctant need for more Rush-X, the awful taste in her mouth. For two days she’d been trying to rest, to eat nourishing food, doing what she could to restore her vitality.

  Eduard’s body was weak and sore, maybe irreparably damaged. Even the fresh air smelled sour in her nostrils, and the constant headache wore her down. During the worst pain of withdrawal, though, she did not regret her choice for Eduard. He was still out there, somewhere. Alive, she hoped.

  Now, her stomach in knots, Teresa stood outside the enclave from which she had fled, where Eduard had rescued her. The familiar building looked rundown. Inside, the open area now looked cluttered and unfinished. The Sharetakers had once owned most of the building, but many of the levels had been repossessed and rebuilt. She wondered what had happened here.

  Where once she had worked joyously among a bustling crowd of fellow believers, now they all looked uneasy, stressed. Only a few Sharetakers remained, victims of disappointment and confusion. People moved with their heads down, carrying boxes, distraught.

  Upon seeing her enter, unrecognizable in Eduard’s haggard body, two of the members ran out of the room, as if to fetch someone. “Maybe he wants to join,” suggested one woman, her voice doubtful.

  Some doors were sealed, marked with new ownership tags. Construction workers moved about, measuring, marking, pounding. Support struts stood in the open rooms where the Sharetakers had knocked down walls to make their togetherments. Now the communal areas were being subdivided, new walls framed, individual living spaces mapped out once again.

  She stepped uncertainly into the dusty open area, at a loss. “I . . . I’m trying to find someone. A person who used to be a member here. Her name was Jennika. Does anybody remember her?”

  None of the remaining Sharetakers seemed to care. “Too late. She’s probably gone.”

  “If she got out of here, then she’s definitely in a better place. The Sharetakers are bankrupt,” said a frowning older man. “I lost everything. We all did. We’re closing down.”

  Teresa held on to a plaswood brace. She vaguely recognized this man’s weathered face, had no idea who lived in his body now. Names on ID patches meant nothing to her, and she knew they never kept any records. Steeling her nerves, she asked with dread, “Where’s Rhys?”

  The middle-aged man sagged. “Who knows?” Then, bitterly, as if he too had been betrayed, “Who cares?”

  A woman stopped, setting down a box full of miscellaneous items. “He ran away, actually. The Beetles kept sniffing around here, and one night Rhys just disappeared. He abandoned us, after all his talk about trusting and sharing, his compassion, his promises.” Her weathered face grew ruddy. “We trusted him.”

  Teresa tried to hide her instinctive relief. “It sounds like just the kind of thing Rhys would do.”

  The weary man snapped back to the situation at hand. “Sorry, can’t talk anymore. We’ve got work to do. Our group has been evicted from the building. No more togetherments, and we have to be out by today. I’ve still got some packing to do.” He sighed. “Well, not much to pack, really.”

  Teresa realized that it would do no good to keep asking. Jennika was just a name in an unremembered body; her loss had been of no consequence to the Sharetakers, especially not now, when everything was gone.

  She looked around, trying to recapture a single warm memory of this place where she had spent so much time, where she had once felt loved and at home. But she only felt as empty as the repossessed rooms.

  Walking away from the enclave, Teresa tried to think of where else to search. She had not even returned home in a day. Restlessness kept her moving, searching. As always.

  Now, though, she hadn’t gone more than a block before she heard shouts and running feet. Weapons sensors activated with a crackling zzippp.

  “Eduard Swan! Freeze!”

  A swarm of dark-uniformed Beetles converged from side streets, drawing heavy weapons. Overhead, with a loud whirring sound, an armored chopter cruised low. Long barrels of laser-tracking munitions protruded from the hull plates, all zeroing in on a target. On her. She was in Eduard’s body.

  Teresa stood motionless. “I’m not Eduard.” Her hoarse voice was drowned out by the chaos of apprehension activities. She made no threatening move, no twitches or gestures. They wouldn’t bother to use stun projectiles this time.

  The remaining Sharetakers who had slogged outside with packages and crates dropped their possessions and scrambled back inside, perhaps thinking that this was a raid on their enclave.

  “I am not Eduard!” She held up her hand, turning the ID patch for all to see, but no one came close enough to read the code.

  Orders were bellowed from loudspeakers. BTL troops surrounded her, but they maintained a substantial distance, as if her body might
be wired with explosives. Teresa stood in the middle of it all, very slowly turning to show that she was no threat to anyone.

  The apprehension commander came forward without lowering his weapon. He glared at her through a face-protective shield. “Prepare to be taken into custody. Be advised that we will show no tolerance for resistance.”

  “My name is Teresa.” She quietly repeated it, like a mantra. “Run an ID scan, and we’ll clear this up.” At any instant she expected the weapons to fire, the first shot taken by an enforcer who imagined a threatening motion, or even sneezed at the wrong moment.

  The heavily armed chopter cast a shadow over the prisoner. Another BTL hovercar streaked down the street, coasting to ground level with a blast of exhaust. The door swung up on glide pistons, and an Inspector leaped out.

  Teresa saw him, and her heart swelled. “Daragon!” The name came out in Eduard’s familiar voice.

  Daragon marched forward, face grim. He snapped at the other Beetles. “Lower your weapons! I want no shooting.” He pushed two of the armed hunters aside. “Absolutely none.”

  “But, sir—” the apprehension commander said.

  “If you believe one unarmed man can break through your entire cordon, Sergeant, then the Bureau needs to train its troops better.”

  “We haven’t ascertained yet that he’s unarmed—”

  “Of course he’s unarmed. I know Eduard—” Then his face paled as he got his first real glance at her. “Teresa!”

  She tentatively lowered her arms. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell them.”

  Daragon slapped the apprehension commander’s weapon away. “Back off! This isn’t Eduard—he’s already hopscotched into a new body. We knew this would probably happen.” He stared long and hard at her. “I just didn’t think the red herring would be you.”

  “Eduard has done the same for me, whenever I needed it. Whenever.”

  The Beetles grumbled at each other, disgusted. Daragon ordered them to fall into ranks. “This person is in my custody for now, until we get the matter straightened out.” He took Teresa’s arm, walking boldly through the encircling ring of troops, getting her away from all the weapons. The uniformed men parted with a rattle of boots and firearms.

  Daragon looked into her eyes with disappointment and saw only Eduard there. “How could you help him like this? Where did he go? Tell me. You must tell me—it’s your duty.”

  “To let you kill my friend?” Teresa yanked her arm away. “How can you side with a monster like Ob? He addicted Eduard’s body to illegal drugs—oh, just look at me!” She plucked at her shirt, touched Eduard’s scarecrow chest.

  Daragon shook his head. “So you believe that crazy story, too? I knew Chief Ob as well as I knew Eduard.”

  “Have you tried to check his story at all? Did you find Ob’s other caretakers?”

  “I have teams working on it. All three are still missing.”

  Teresa’s body trembled, aching from Rush-X withdrawal. “Doesn’t that make you at all suspicious?”

  “Chief Ob dismissed his caretakers because they were unreliable. I didn’t really expect to find them working comfortable jobs.”

  “So, all four were dismissed for being unreliable? A coincidence, don’t you think? And what about the gardener? He saw it all. He was the one who warned Eduard.”

  “He didn’t have proof of anything. But even if it were true, that changes nothing in the eyes of the law. If a hungry man steals from a store, he is still a thief. If a disgruntled employee kills an abusive employer, he is still a murderer. Eduard murdered a man, a powerful man, and he fled.”

  “It was an accident,” Teresa said, setting her jaw stubbornly. “Deep down inside you know Eduard isn’t a killer.”

  Exasperated, Daragon forced himself not to shout, not at Teresa. “I could arrest you for aiding and abetting a wanted murderer. How can I protect you from this? Do you know how much I’ve already done for you and Garth—and, yes, dammit, Eduard, too! Why didn’t he trust me?”

  “You aren’t exactly giving him the benefit of the doubt right now, either. This is Eduard we’re talking about!”

  A cascade of emotions flowed across his face, and he tried a different approach. “Teresa, aside from Soft Stone, I was the only one who ever listened to you talk about the mysteries of life. When Eduard was sneaking out of the monastery, and when Garth was painting the walls of the basement, I was the one who sat next to you. I listened to you.”

  Her expression remained torn. She had once cared deeply for him, but the Bureau had turned him into a stranger. “Oh, Daragon, you only came to listen to me back then because you wanted to be my friend. You didn’t care about those questions any more than Garth or Eduard did.”

  Daragon nodded slowly as if she were his confessor. “No, but you three had a different, closer bond. I wanted to be friends like—”

  She shook her head, frowning at him. “Friendship like that was only possible because we would have done anything for each other. Anything. You tried to be close to me, but you always kept a piece of yourself hidden. And now that uniform has made the wall even thicker. Until you realize that, and as long as you keep trying to kill Eduard, we’ll have nothing to talk about.”

  Teresa shook her head, feeling the stiffness in her neck, the pounding in her skull. “Eduard’s probably swapped out of my old body by now anyway. I honestly don’t know where he might be.”

  Daragon’s voice lost all compassion. “Are you telling me the truth now, Teresa?”

  “I would never lie to you.” She turned back to him, her face rigid. “I thought you knew that.”

  “But you wouldn’t do anything to harm Eduard, either, would you?”

  Teresa didn’t even hesitate before answering. “Of course not.”

  Frustrated and hurt, Daragon didn’t press the issue. He knew the other Beetles would be disappointed, even outraged, but he couldn’t ask her more. He longed for the closeness they had shared in the past.

  But before he could say anything, she walked away in Eduard’s drug-ravaged body, leaving the Beetles behind. She didn’t even glance back at him. The priorities of the Bureau meant nothing to her.

  47

  On the run for his life, with limited resources and limited possibilities, Eduard used every scrap of his abilities to stay one step ahead of his pursuers.

  And worst of all, Daragon knew him very well. Years ago in the monastery, Eduard had shared his dreams of becoming a Phantom, of disappearing into the cracks of the city to live as an invisible immortal. He had shown young Daragon how to slip out of the Falling Leaves, to elude pursuit, to dart in and out of crowds. . . .

  Now all that would come back to haunt him. Daragon knew Eduard’s tricks—so, he’d have to come up with new ones.

  On foot, he drifted along the streets. All routes out of the city would be blocked by now, or at least closely watched—and Eduard didn’t want to do anything stupid.

  Once Daragon found Teresa, he would need only a glance with his eerie talent to see that a switch had been made, and he would begin pursuing a different body. Her large-eyed, narrow-featured face would be transferred throughout COM. Everyone would be looking for him in this form.

  So Eduard had to become someone else, and fast, much as it saddened him to leave Teresa’s waifish body behind. He had defended and tenderly nursed this battered physique back to health. But he had no choice.

  He stopped in front of his reflection in a mirrorglass window, propped one hand on his narrow hip, and inspected Teresa’s body. She was small-boned, her hair a mop of mousy brown hair framing delicate features and a finely structured face. The breasts were small, barely noticeable, her hips narrow. After Rhys’s abuse, Teresa had not felt inclined to look attractive to anyone.

  But Eduard could see the potential there, especially in her big, dark eyes. His own intensity burned behind them now, making the gaze bright and flirtatious instead of haunted and withdrawn. This woman’s body could be sexy—if she want
ed it to be. Attitude was half the battle. He lifted his chin high and stepped along with a saucy confidence in his walk.

  He used some of Garth’s unmarked credits to buy a set of impractical, scanty clothes and a nonprescription pheromone spray. Prismatic makeup to highlight the eyes, blush around the cheekbones, some mousse for the hair, a splash of color, a hint of costume jewelry.

  An oil-slick wraparound tube top drew more attention to the exposed skin above and below than to the small breasts themselves. The bare midriff was flat and strong. A temporary sunburst tattoo surrounded the navel, with enticing flames that dipped into mystery below the waistband of a glistening short skirt.

  He laid a trail of sparkle powder along the backs of both smooth calves, feathering and widening out as the line rose up the backs of his thighs to disappear tantalizingly beneath the high hem of the scarlet skirt. It would draw the eye, fire the imagination.

  Finished, Eduard headed toward the lifters. He saw eyes turn, tentative smiles, eyebrows rise appraisingly. Because of Teresa’s withdrawn shyness, most people wouldn’t have noticed her before (which was in itself a blessing), but now he needed to set a hook. He was confident enough in the animal magnetism that he could have seduced any of those looking at him. Given time.

  But he was in a hurry, and Eduard knew where to find a sure thing.

  The buildings towered high above him, taller than he remembered. It had been a long time since he’d spent his days dangling in a mag-lock harness. Years ago, fresh from the Splinters, he’d worked the windows of these skyscrapers.

  He took the lifter to floor 26. There, outside the broad windows, he spotted the autoscaffolding that held a maintenance specialist. As Eduard had suspected, even after all this time, his former coworker Olaf Pitervald hadn’t changed jobs, hadn’t been promoted to anything better. He remained stuck in his unambitious rut, right where Eduard could find him.

  Knowing that Olaf spent more time gawking through windows than paying attention to his job, Eduard caught his eye, making the lanky man reel, as if he might fall backward off the autoscaffolding. Eduard strolled forward, swaying his hips as he kept his eyes on the window. His smooth thighs flashed beneath the skimpy skirt.