67
So what else was money good for? Garth didn’t worry about what he would do afterward. He didn’t really think there would be any afterward. None of that mattered.
Now that Pashnak was gone, no one would watch out for him. The other man’s death was still an open wound, a foolish sacrifice that Garth never should have allowed in the first place, and now he could not correct the mistake—except by going forward.
He clutched Madame Ruxton’s name and address in his hand. If he could just spend the money, cut the deal, he would have no regrets.
The skyscraper condo-complex was unremarkable and drab, without character, the kind of building Garth could have passed repeatedly without ever noticing its presence. For a wealthy woman, Ruxton apparently squandered little of her wealth on extravagant luxuries.
Determined, he signaled at her door and waited, knowing she would be suspicious, perhaps even frightened, of a stranger. Garth had never been good at planning ahead, but he tried to rehearse what he might say to the old woman.
Ruxton’s face appeared on the door screen, tired and pinched. She had pale skin untouched by makeup, clean hair in an unattractive but serviceable cut, and once-expensive clothes. According to public records, she lived alone, had numerous business acquaintances, few friends.
“What do you want?” she asked without unlocking the door. “Go away or I’ll call security, and then my lawyers.”
“I’m an artist. My name is Garth Swan, and I’m here to offer you a lot of credits,” he said. Her reptilian eyes brightened, then narrowed in suspicion. His words tumbled out before she could say anything else. “You’ve got something I need, Madame Ruxton. Something I need very badly. I’ll pay.”
Standing there in Pashnak’s gaunt body, he looked far from intimidating. “How much money?” Her question told Garth a great deal. She hadn’t even asked what he wanted, what he needed—just the amount he would pay.
“Twice what you bid for Eduard’s body. Right now, in unmarked credits.”
The door opened immediately.
Surrounded by squarish, expensive furniture, cold wall prints, and empty bookshelves, Garth felt the dreary emptiness of her life. He sniffed dust and old packaging in the air, meals cooked for only one person. He’d been searching to rekindle his own waning passion, but Ruxton didn’t appear ever to have had any.
Eduard was due to be executed the following day, and this rich crone would walk away from the BIE termination facility wearing his strong and healthy body. Did she just want to make her harried, lonely life last longer? To what purpose?
She led Garth into a small sitting room, gestured toward a faded chair. “I have defensive systems, so don’t try anything stupid.”
Garth clasped his hands in his lap to keep them from twitching. “Madame Ruxton, I need your body.” Then he told her the story he had concocted, as true as he could make it, laced with lies when necessary, distorting facts when appropriate. Because of the embarrassment and the sensitive nature of the case, and because he was a famous “panoramic experience artist,” he didn’t want anybody to know about the switch. He feared his reputation could be ruined.
It sounded good. Eduard would have been proud.
As was quite apparent from her decor, Ruxton knew nothing about the art scene and had never heard of him. “But I too have a bit of a score to settle with Eduard,” she said in a raspy voice. “I could have had his body years ago, when he underwent major surgery for me. Unfortunately, he did not die when it would have been most convenient.”
Garth heaved several deep breaths. “You have already had your revenge, Madame Ruxton. The whole world saw you win the auction, Eduard himself saw it—and I . . . would rather we kept our agreement private.” In fact, it was imperative that no one find out. “In addition to the large sum I offer, I will swap you this well-cared-for body, if I can secretly take your place for the switch at the execution tomorrow.”
Ruxton tapped her fingers on the tabletop, scrutinizing him like a gravedigger studying a fresh corpse. Instead of sacrificing most of her assets, she could have a perfectly acceptable new body—Pashnak’s was as good as Eduard’s, for her purposes—and make a tidy profit on top of it all. Finally, she cocked her eyebrows and nodded appraisingly. “Do I look stupid to you? Done—you’ve got yourself a deal.”
Without giving her time for second thoughts, Garth transferred the credits into her account. Ruxton stared at the new balance, almost salivating, hardly able to believe her good fortune.
After they hopscotched, she ran her hands over her new cheeks. “It’s not as glamorous as the physique I bought, but it’ll do . . . considering the profit margin.” Garth looked across at her, seeing Pashnak’s drawn, familiar face. He would have to spend the night here, in this apartment, to maintain appearances.
Ruxton glanced again at the balance in her account and grinned. “Now I can afford to stay in a first-class hotel again. Get myself a suite!”
While she grabbed a few of her things, Garth stood with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. The old woman walked away in Pashnak’s body with a new spring in her step. She left Garth behind in her drab apartment, counting down the hours until his friend’s scheduled execution. Everything had unfolded the way he’d hoped, and now at least Eduard had a chance.
Garth would go to the BIE termination center, masquerading as Madame Ruxton. As the world watched, he and Eduard would supposedly trade bodies. But when the time came, Garth planned to refuse the switch, secretly, leaving an astonished Eduard in his own body. A free man, with a brand-new chance at life.
And Garth would also experience the very last thing on his List.
His own death.