72
It amazed Eduard that people would come to watch him die—and do it with such obvious glee. Lantern-jawed Olaf looked indignant and betrayed, though Eduard had given him more material for sexual fantasies than the maintenance man had had in his entire life.
Then there was the woman who had gotten Teresa’s waifish body, trading with Olaf so the window man could have his lanky home-body back. Before she’d met Eduard, the woman had been overweight and dying of some degenerative disease—so what did she have to complain about?
Daragon still hadn’t shown his face, but he was probably lurking about somewhere. Eduard wondered if the duty-bound Inspector even felt guilty about what he had done. Probably not, given his Bureau brainwashing. He had clearly made his choice, refusing to believe Eduard’s story against his revered mentor’s.
Worst of all—or perhaps best—he didn’t spot his true friends, whatever bodies they might be wearing now. He wouldn’t want Teresa to see him strapped in this chair. He wanted her to remember him, but not like this.
And sadly, Garth must have died by now, trapped in the decrepit old body. That part hurt the most. He had never intended to hopscotch with the artist when he’d gone to the mansion for the last time. Though he felt little remorse for the death of Mordecai Ob, after what the man had done to him and the other three caretakers, Eduard’s betrayal of Garth warranted this most extreme punishment. With his selfishness, he had caused the death of his friend; therefore, in that instance, he was guilty of murder.
Just before the “beneficiary” of his body was led in to join him, Eduard sat seething as technicians wrapped his chest with a flexible stun mesh—a conductive fabric connected to discharge packs that could knock him flat if he tried to resist.
If he tried to escape, the BIE guards would probably gun him down, maybe drag his bleeding and mortally wounded body back here so they could upload him before he died. The end result would be the same—except then Madame Ruxton wouldn’t have the benefit of walking away in Garth’s body.
Maybe it would be worth the trouble after all.
But Eduard was finished running. Having had time to objectively consider Artemis’s long but ultimately wasted life as a Phantom, he realized how little he had accomplished in his own existence, as well. Maybe the old bitch Ruxton would live for another century in borrowed bodies. Eduard hated that thought.
The first attendant held out a spray vial of Scramble, as if it were a weapon. “This’ll make you groggy and knock down your resistance.”
“No need. I’d rather keep my clarity of thought. I won’t resist.” Eduard raised his chin to indicate the ugly industrial walls, the metal plates with protruding rivets. “I want to see this beautiful scenery to the end.”
“Suit yourself.” After the tech powered up the COM upload links, the arm restraints on his chair slid away, leaving him with only the leash of the stun mesh.
Gracious escort guards ushered in the weary-looking crone. Eduard remembered Ruxton leering at him before the surgery and how she had tried to steal his body afterward. “You don’t deserve this reward, no matter how much you paid,” he told her. Garth had sacrificed much more for him.
Ruxton met his burning gaze, her face open and hopeful. She seemed calm now, properly smug. He remembered her during the meat-market auction, her eager shouts and predatory actions that had dominated the other competitors. She had ruthlessly outbid everyone else just so she could purchase his body and exact her revenge—and he despised her for it.
Next to him, one of the two attendants saw his face redden. He held up the ominous spray vial again. “Do I need to use this, after all?”
Eduard glared at Ruxton. “No problem.”
He flexed his hands, artist’s hands, with delicate and clever fingers for creating images that had made the world pay attention. With wistful admiration, he thought of what Garth had done with his panoramic experiences. For so long, he had endured the unpleasant aspects of human experience to understand everything about life—and share it with his audience. Garth had truly made a difference, forced people to understand things they may not have wanted to think about.
Teresa too had given openly and selflessly of herself. She had devoted days, years of searching and contemplation. She had fought to pry explanations from the universe and from her own heart. She had made herself a better person because of it.
Eduard, on the other hand, had botched everything.
“Please, Eduard . . .” the old woman said from the restraint chair beside him. Her words came out in a husky whisper, as if she didn’t want the guards to hear what she was saying.
Frowning, he turned to her. In a moment he would be forced to inhabit this parasite’s body, just before the executioners drained his mind, his consciousness, his “soul” into the computer/organic matrix.
She gave him a tentative smile, as if trying desperately to communicate with him. He refused to offer her the comfort of a response.
The technicians applied electrodes to the thinning gray hair on Madame Ruxton’s scalp and temples. From there, Eduard would be sucked through conduits into COM. Hopscotching into eternity.
“Eduard, please listen to me. . . .” He realized how strange her expression was, how unexpected. He had expected Ruxton to gloat. He couldn’t fathom what she was thinking.
Then the guards wrapped her fragile body with a stun mesh as well, to prevent him from making any violent outburst immediately after the swap and before they could upload him. A firm band bound each outer wrist to the chairs, leaving their adjacent arms free so they could touch during the actual hopscotching. Eduard began to regret his promise of cooperation. Maybe a dose of Scramble would feel just fine right now.
The technicians left the room, sealed the doors behind them. Bright lights reflected off the dull metal walls. Beyond the broad observation window, the spectators watched, eager for the show. It would only be a few moments, now.
Ruxton whispered in a voice she knew the wall sensors would not pick up. “Eduard—it’s me. Garth! I’ve come to die in your place.”
She reached over to touch him so they could hopscotch.