"Anderson,_Kevin_J._-_Identity_Crisis" - читать интересную книгу автора (Anderson Kevin J)

"She'll still make the payment," Eduard said sharply. Without being asked, he took a seat exactly opposite from the withered old woman. "If I'm going to die in this woman's body, she can pay the fee one way or another. And the amount is triple if I don't survive the operation." Eduard's eyes suddenly hardened. "That decreases the incentive for any sort of medical mishap." Eduard drew out papers naming Daragon as his beneficiary.
The lawyers looked over at the old woman. She nodded sharply. They hadn't really expected to get away with a death disclaimer anyway. "But I get to keep the body, by default," the old woman said. "If you die."
Eduard took a deep breath. He had expected that part too, but he knew this was a battle he couldn't win. "If I'm dead I won't have any more use for it, will I?"
"Quite correct," Ruxton said.
The go-fers fidgeted, waiting for something to do. One of them offered more coffee to all the parties with a hopeful expression on her face.
Eduard picked up one copy of the thick contract, leaned back in the chair, and began to skim the paragraphs. He was aware of the various ramifications, and he flagged certain minor points that he insisted on changing, just for the sake of appearances. It all seemed standard, though he had never done this with such a risky and painful set of consequences.
"Are you certain you don't want legal representation of your own?" one of the other lawyers said.
Eduard raised his eyes, still holding the documents in front of him. "No. I can be as suspicious as anyone else."
He made the attorneys wait as he read through the entire document.
The old woman coughed, deep retching sounds, as if she had a gravel pit operating inside her lungs. Her family members flocked close by, attending her with exaggerated concern. Perhaps they even wanted Madame Ruxton to die, but now through Eduard she would have a new lease on life.
Eduard handed the contracts over while the rest of the attorneys bustled about making copies, certifying documents, and no doubt charging Madame Ruxton an exorbitant fee for their ministrations.
"When is your surgery scheduled?" Eduard asked, looking directly at the rich old woman.
The lawyers glanced at him, and Madame Ruxton tried to sit up straight, holding her posture with great effort. Her salamander eyes glittered at him. "Tomorrow," she said. "My body won't last long without it."
Eduard kept his face bland, surprised that they had cut it so close. "My calendar's open."
With a flourish of a pen that laid down glittering magnetic ink, he signed the contract. He did not relish the prospect of living in the crone's body for the operation or the brief recovery period. But he could do it. He could survive this, and it would give him an importance and prestige he had never before had. He hoped it would be the start of many good things to come.
Eduard had long ago abandoned his high-rise window maintenance job. The actual credits didn't mean much to him. This was success for its own sake. It was _winning_.
* * * *
After swapping into the aching and withered form, Eduard lay back on the surgery table. It was all he could do to lever himself on his elbows and endure the weight of sheets around him.
Ruxton's body was a collapsing ancient structure held together with cobwebs. The deep agony in his bones spoke of unspeakable musty age, and his heartbeat stuttered like the slow drumbeat of a dirge.
The surgery would repair her deteriorating vascular system, the thin-walled heart chambers, the weakening muscles in her chest. But Madame Ruxton would never feel young and healthy again, regardless of how many operations she underwent. He saw her standing there in his home-body, eyes still glittering. A calculating expression pinched his familiar face.
For the first time, Eduard felt uneasy.
His body ached so badly that he welcomed the anesthetic. He saw his own physique -- Ruxton's, for the time being -- shifting and distorting behind rheumy eyes that no longer clearly saw the world.
Eduard heaved a deep breath, felt the symphony of pain in his sunken chest and lungs, then drifted backward into chemically induced blackness....
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*VI*
In full uniform, Daragon went to the business offices of the person who now owned the brother's original body that had gone missing years before. The current owner was a public relations specialist who dealt with celebrities. His name was Stradley, and he called himself a "hype-meister."
As Daragon waited in the reception room, he glanced at the receptionist, who shrugged toward the door where Stradley sat "in consultation," though Daragon had no idea with whom. Finally, the exuberant hype-meister burst out of his office wearing a grin, but the falseness of it wore off in a moment. Daragon had seen pictures of the missing brother's home-body and recognized it immediately.
The hype-meister just scowled. "So, what does a Beetle want in my office? You guys certainly don't need _my_ help with publicity. Of course, maybe the BTL could use a bit more favorable coverage."
Daragon didn't rise to the bait. "That's not why I'm here, sir."
Stradley crossed his arms over his chest. The hype-meister wasn't taking good care of himself. His neck and face seemed slack, a bit jowly, and he had begun to grow a heavy gut. His eyes were bloodshot, his movements frenetic, as if he sampled too many stimulants, legal or illegal. Daragon hoped the body remained in good enough condition for the medical treatment.
"State your purpose," Stradley said. "I command high hourly rates, and I'll start charging, if you start wasting my time." Daragon wondered how the man would ever get a bill through the BTL's bureaucratic accounting systems, but he decided not to press the matter.
"We want your body, sir," he said. "Someone needs the loan of it -- the sister of its original owner."
The hype-meister narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out Daragon's angle. "Why on earth is the Bureau messing around with a personal problem? Your mistress, maybe?"
"She needs DNA-matching therapy. You have the only body they can give the appropriate tests to. You have the genes, and they need to extract some samples."
"Not from my body they won't." Stradley raised his arms. "I'm a busy man with a burgeoning office here. This is _my_ body now. You can check your records. I acquired it free and clear, permanent lease, a year and a half ago. And even then, that wasn't from its original owner. This guy has been bounced and bounced. Who knows how many other people have lived inside it? Now it's mine."
"Mr. Stradley," Daragon tried again, "the only thing I care about is who _presently_ owns the body. That is you. You have the precise genetic match required. Can you find it in your heart to save someone?"
"I can't find it in my heart to give up what I'm doing here to have my body undergo a long and excruciating medical work." They faced off in the reception area. Stradley made no move to invite him into the main office. "I need my body. I use it every day."
Daragon mentally searched through what he had studied. The law remained murky in this area: Stradley was indeed the legitimate owner of that body, and even former family members couldn't force him to undergo a medical procedure he didn't want to have.
Daragon folded his hands in front of him. "You've been in that body for a year and a half, sir. Perhaps it's time you switched with someone else."
"I can't afford a new body just at the drop of a hat -- that's quite an investment."
Daragon continued, "I should put you in touch with the family. The parents and the sister may offer enough credits for a replacement body. You can swap out, so they have access to the DNA they need, and you can continue your work uninterrupted."
Stradley blew through his lips. "Might be acceptable, as long as it's a trade _up_."
Daragon nodded brusquely. "I won't take up any more of your time today, sir. I will provide the family with contact information and let them resolve this matter."
"No promises," Stradley warned.
As he left, before returning to the BTL undersea headquarters, Daragon knew he should check up on Eduard first. They had a lot to talk about.
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*VII*
Nightmares later, Eduard swam back to consciousness, letting light fall through his eyelids and then into his weary eyes. His brain couldn't think.
But he could focus on people surrounding his bedside, the tubes and electronic monitors hooked up to his body, which was now one constant scream of pain, louder than before. His discomfort ranged from low moans in his arms and muscles, to a shout where the open chest wound had been sutured back together. His heart felt different, repaired -- but battered into submission, not as good as new.
Then he recognized his home-body across the room ... and a dark uniform at the door, a man with black hair and almond eyes. Daragon!