Hopscotch by Kevin J. Anderson Read Free Book Online Page A

months. The Bureau and its concerns had become his life, twenty-four hours a day, with every breath, waking or sleeping. He immersed himself in the databases, studying old cases, absorbed in the nuances of law enforcement.
    Once humans had learned how to hopscotch, many new legal definitions and precedents needed to be set. The law stated that the “perpetrator” of a crime was the mind rather than the body. Investigations and prosecutions involved the
person
that had been inside a human vehicle when a felony was committed, backtracking the identity through COM or ID patches or sheer detective work.
    It was difficult to track someone who did not wish to be found, but a person's mind left distinctive pathways on a host brain, much as a body itself was marked by its unique retinal pattern—or fingerprints. Unfortunately, such mental identification methods were time-consuming and excruciatingly painful for the suspect body, which more often than not turned out to be innocent.
    Bureau Chief Ob had high hopes for Daragon, who could
see
the identities of people. Knowing the person to look for, he could find a guilty party at a glance, no matter which body the suspect wore.
    “We've survived for over two centuries now on the sharpest razor edge human civilization has ever encountered,” Ob said during a conversation in his underwater office. “You've lived with the idea of swapping all your life, Daragon, so you don't see what a ticking time bomb it really is. Think of the opportunities for total upheaval, the lack of individualism as we have always known it. Without a ready and reliable means for identification of a ‘person,' society would crumble into chaos. The sheer potential for abuse boggles the mind.”
    “Yes, sir. That is why the BTL is so important.”
The expected answer.
“But every person has an implanted ID patch.”
    Ob tapped his fingertips together. “Useful only if people voluntarily synch after swapping. We each have our identity code, which we are supposed to carry with us, no matter what body we inhabit. After I hopscotch with someone, we are required—by law—to update our patches, so that my new body carries the correct ID. Most people do it without thinking.”
    Daragon pretended to understand. “I can't imagine a situation where both parties would forget, considering the consequences.”
    Ob ran his fingertip over the rectangle of polymer film on the back of his hand. “That's why the penalties are so severe for anyone caught with an identity that hasn't been updated. The Bureau is completely justified in cracking down. We dare not allow the public to discover that they
can
get away with fooling us.”
    “Yes, sir, that would be dangerous.”
    Ob got up to stare at his gas fireplace. Fish swam overhead. “And the people want it, too, don't you see? They understand the precipice we're on. The human race has managed to keep its balance by
not
allowing this potential to run rampant. Luckily, most people choose not to hopscotch very often. They find it disorienting or uncomfortable. They return to their home-bodies and live their lives in the body nature gave them.”
    “Still, it seems impossible to control, sir, considering all the potential.”
    Ob smiled as if Daragon had finally reached some sort of breakthrough. “Absolutely impossible. But that doesn't prevent the Bureau from fostering the impression. Think of art—sometimes subtle strokes accomplish more, have a greater impact, than blatant messages.”
    The Bureau Chief was like a father to Daragon, who had never known one. Daragon wondered if one day he'd be able to find out the identity of his biological parents. Perhaps he could use the resources of the BTL to do it. . . .
    Now, taking a rare break up in the open air at the offshore Headquarters platform, he climbed to the top of the derrick superstructure. Sitting high on the derrick, Daragon breathed the salty air and gazed across to the shoreline. The tall rectangular buildings