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

stood like glittering blocks crowded to the edge of the water, on the verge of tumbling like dominoes into the sea.
    He thought of his companions from the Falling Leaves. Daragon hadn't had contact with them in more than a year, but he often took advantage of the Bureau's network to keep an eye on them. He tracked Teresa through her succession of dead-end jobs. Garth ran about trying to become an artist. Then there was Eduard, leasing himself for whatever demeaning activities other people wanted to avoid. . . . He missed them very much.
    Once he became a full-fledged Inspector, resplendent in his new uniform, Daragon decided he would show them what he had made of his life.
    But not yet. He still had work to do.
             
    As kids, he and Eduard had loved to explore the old brick monastery. Attic room, dusty shadows, the scent of mildewed rafters. With a grunt, Eduard forced the crank on an old half-circle window. Fresh, damp wind gusted through the opening. “Come on, let's slip outside. Soft Stone will never know.” He thrust his face into the breeze. “We can hop on the roof, make our way over the eaves to the tube walkway next door.”
    Eduard was like a big brother to him, someone who had the brashness to attempt the things Daragon secretly wanted to do. His almond eyes flicked back and forth, searching for excuses. “But what if we're caught?”
    “Then we'll get sent back here. And if we don't go, we'll be stuck here anyway.” Eduard flashed his charming grin. “Friends
do things
together, you know. Besides, I want to get something special for Teresa. Don't you want to help me? For her?”
    And with that, Daragon was helpless. “All right, but we need to be careful.”
    Keeping low, they climbed an access ladder onto a connective walkway, then scampered to the neighboring high-rise. Down at street level, Daragon stared at the towering buildings, a forest of mirrored glass, polished stone, gleaming metal. Walls were colored with finger paintings of chameleon pigment. Elevators like deep-sea diving bells rode on the outsides of skyscrapers.
    Grinning, Eduard pointed to a lonely-looking military recruiting station. He nudged Daragon in the ribs. “What do you think, should we join the Defense Forces?”
    They had recently watched a heart-wrenching story about brave soldiers during a major mid-twentieth-century conflict. Daragon didn't find the entertainment cycle nearly as engaging as the Dickens novels Garth read aloud to him and another boy, Pashnak. A great general had been mortally wounded during the height of a battle. Knowing the fate of his comrades was at stake, a quiet infantryman (who had been a coward for most of the story) selflessly sacrificed himself by hopscotching with his general, dying in his place so that the military leader could lead the troops to a spectacular victory. Eduard insisted that the twentieth-century wars had occurred long before anyone knew how to swap bodies.
    They sat on a sun-warmed flowstone bench to watch the world. Shadows strobed across the sunlight from the row of hovercars humming overhead. Eduard studied people passing through doorways, suspicious shapes slipping quickly from beneath one awning to another. He pointed out a well-dressed man who edged along a building wall.
    “Hey, have you ever heard of the Phantoms, people who hopscotch bodies again and again so they can outrun death?” Eduard asked, his eyes full of wonder. “Trading themselves into younger bodies, healthy physiques, doing whatever it takes to stay alive. Imagine, some of the Phantoms are supposed to be five and six hundred years old!”
    “People haven't even known how to hopscotch for that long.” Daragon wasn't so credulous. For a Phantom to stay alive for centuries, he would have to maintain an extremely low profile, a quiet existence, leaving no trail and attracting no attention. “Besides, the Beetles would know about it, wouldn't they? Nobody has any proof.”
    Eduard watched the