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

* * * *
Daragon waited in the open-air coffee shop. Dressed in his BTL uniform, he didn't find it difficult to keep an empty table or even empty chairs around him. He pulled up the dark sleeve and glanced at his watch. Already twenty minutes late. Eduard wasn't a punctual sort of person.
As the street outside hummed with a flow of people, he scanned the crowd. He had no idea what body Eduard would be wearing when he came, but Daragon used his ability of spotting personas to recognize his old friend just by his inner presence. He fixed his gaze on an old man hobbling toward the coffee shop -- and made out the colorful core he knew to be Eduard, even without checking his ID patch.
Daragon waved to signal him over. Eduard approached with exceedingly cautious steps. His back was hunched, and his skin had a rough and leprous appearance. In his creaking body, he sat at the round table with a heavy sigh as if severing the puppet strings to his arms and legs.
Daragon shook his head in dismay. "Look at you. What are you doing to yourself?"
Eduard just waved a swollen-knuckled hand. "Some old guy had a hot date. Limited term. I'll get my own body back this evening."
The waiter came over, waiting for their orders. Daragon chose a spiced drink and looked at Eduard, who asked for a warm herb tea. "This body can't handle too much caffeine. The digestive system is pretty much shot."
"Eduard, you can't keep doing this to yourself. How often do you hopscotch? How many times a week?"
"Depends on how many clients I get."
Daragon leaned forward conspiratorially. "Listen, let me suggest something so much better for you."
Eduard crossed his liver-spotted arms over his skeletal chest, annoyed at the scolding. "Yeah, right. I've been thinking it's time to move on again, before I get too bored. Find the next phase in my life. But I'd rather not be turned into some kind of experimental subject for the Beetles."
He stiffened. "Why do you see only bad things about the Bureau? We watch out for abuses of power, spotlights the dangers inherent in unregulated hopscotching." Even to him, it sounded like a rehearsed speech. "Downtrodden people are too tempted to sell their bodies, their lives."
Now Eduard bridled. "Like me, you mean?"
Daragon gave him a hard look. "You were glad enough for my help with Madame Ruxton's lawyers."
Eduard pursed his lips, softening his voice. "Granted. Sorry if I insulted you. But no matter how close you observe everybody, you can't stop all the scams." He held up his hand to show the filmy rectangle of the ID implant. "These things are too easy to thwart, if somebody is willing to risk enough."
The waiter came with their drinks, and he picked up his tea with shaking hands and took a quick gulp. Daragon looked at Eduard's decrepit body with barely concealed dismay. "Please let me make you an offer. It's an opportunity I think you'll like."
Eduard watched skeptically while Daragon outlined his plan with rising enthusiasm. "Wouldn't it be better than nearly dying for someone else? Better than being sick all the time in someone else's body? Undergoing surgery for a coward?"
Eduard sipped his herb tea and sat back with a heavy sigh, trying not to show how much this crumbling body pained him. "All right, I'll hear what this Mordecai Ob has to say, and make my decision based on the merits alone." He pressed a hand to the small of his back as he stood up. "Doing this crap is getting to be a pain."
Daragon heaved a huge contented sigh. He gestured to the frail old man Eduard wore. "Mr. Ob cares for himself very much. Even though he's incredibly powerful, he still lives in the same body he was born with. He could have bought a new one a thousand times over, but instead he'd rather keep his own."
Eduard looked at the wrinkled parchment flesh on his wrist. "See me tomorrow. I'll be myself again."
* * * *
After the hydro-skimmer landed on the big oil-rig platform, Eduard looked around in the sunlight. The salt wind ruffled his hair. "Nice place. Not much of a tourist attraction, is it?"
"You're very lucky to be coming here," Daragon said. "The Bureau rarely allows outside visitors. I had to get special permission for you."
Eduard pretended to be impressed, but Daragon wasn't fooled. He just hoped his friend would make a good impression on Mordecai Ob. Down in the richly decorated office, the Bureau Chief had cleared his desk, turned on the fireplace, and set out a plush overstuffed leather chair for Eduard's interview.
Ob extended a large hand and took Eduard's grip. "Very pleased to meet you, Eduard." He gestured for the guest to sit in the leather chair. "Daragon tells me I should hire you as my new personal trainer. So far, I have found his advice to be invaluable."
Daragon's heart swelled. Eduard made himself comfortable in the creaking leather chair. He crossed one leg over his knee, brushed the smooth armrest. "So tell me what this position entails. It sounds interesting from the way Daragon describes it."
Ob put his elbows on his desk. "You'll be my 'caretaker.' I insist on remaining in shape, but I don't have the time to maintain the necessary effort. Your sole job will be to spend several days a week exercising my body. That's all. You will go jogging and swimming. You'll do calisthenics, you'll eat healthy food. Meanwhile, I'll spend the rest of the business day in your body and get my work done."
Eduard played the tough negotiator. "And the pay will be ... ?"
"Substantial. I'll also give you guest quarters to live on my estate. You'll be fed and clothed, but you must be at my beck and call at any hour."
"That's a tall order."
Impatient, Daragon replied, "Eduard, look at the other work you've been doing. You couldn't get a better job than this."
Eduard touched his chest, his arms, and took a deep breath, clearly pleased with how his own body felt. He gazed across the polished desk and noted the older man's muscular physique. "Yeah, it _would_ be nice to hopscotch into someone whose body I'd enjoy living in, instead of just gritting my teeth until it's time to swap back."
"Absolutely," Daragon said. "This is a great deal for all concerned."
Eduard and Mordecai Ob shook hands, consummating the arrangement.
--------
*IX*
Eduard perspired heavily in another man's body -- but this time he enjoyed the sensation, an exhilarating workout instead of a miserable fever.
Warm sweat trickled out of his close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair, down his cheeks. Mordecai Ob's strong heart pumped as he exercised, the blood flowed, the muscles strained. As Eduard panted, fresh air burned in his lungs. According to the clock and his employment contract, he still had another hour of calisthenics before Ob would be satisfied with the workout.
He stood under the overhead lights in the exercise room. Two walls were plate-glass windows that looked out onto the well-tended gardens and paths; two walls were floor-to-ceiling mirrors in which he could watch his muscles ripple, see how he exerted himself.
Eduard gulped half a bottle of water and toweled off the sparkling sweat. Then he tugged a sweatshirt over his head, plucking at the thick cloth where it stuck to his skin. He already wore running shorts, good shoes. Ob had taken care of everything. Eduard just had to do the time-consuming work. He waved his hand at the sensor, and the window skated aside. He puffed two breaths like small gunshots, preparing himself, then set off at a fast jog in the fresh air and morning sunshine....
In the past few weeks, Eduard had settled in at the expansive estate. He did Ob's workouts, and he took his generous pay. Ob didn't require much, though he occasionally asked to swap at odd hours, without explaining his intent. _Some shady Beetle stuff_, Eduard supposed. He really didn't care. It was part of the job.
Ob didn't want to be friends, just business associates. He made sure Eduard didn't make himself too obtrusive in his daily life. In fact, Eduard rarely saw the man except to swap in the early mornings, then back again in the evening.
Now, jogging around the estate, he listened to gravel crunch under his shoes. He fell into a rhythm, a pace he could never have matched in his own untrained body, and jogged along a circuit that encompassed two miles. He ran around hedges, through a quaint shrubbery maze copied from an old English manor.
As the path wound through Ob's extensive rose garden, Eduard raised a hand to wave at the huge Samoan gardener, Tanu. The immense man's upper arms were as wide as most people's thighs; his skin was dark and dusky, as if impregnated with the dirt in which he always worked. Tanu had a mane of charcoal hair like something a sword-and-sorcery barbarian might have worn.
But Eduard knew the Samoan was friendly and good-hearted, though he frequently averted his large, dark eyes. Tanu spent most of his time alone with his flowers and shrubbery, trellises and hedges. He not only talked to the plants, but seemed to listen to them as well.
As Eduard jogged past, waving, Tanu raised a hand the size of a boat oar. He had tried to strike up conversations with the gardener, but the dialog was mostly one-sided. He glanced over his shoulder, still trying to get a reaction from Tanu. Not looking where he was going, he stumbled against one of the rose bushes. The thorns made a long red scratch down his right thigh, but Eduard recovered without missing a beat. He glanced down at the rose bush, but saw no obvious damage.
"Sorry!" He brushed off his legs, then sprinted onward.
Another mile to go.
* * * *
At the end of the work day, when Mordecai Ob returned home, Eduard went to meet his employer as the man set down his papers and documents in the holding area by the door. He looked weary and drained, his expression covered with a blanket of stress. Impatient, Ob gestured him forward. "Take your body back. I want to feel refreshed again."