—11—
Wearing his best suit of clothes, Eduard went to the plush upper levels of offices that were inhabited by lawyers of all kinds. He made a cursory check of his appearance, straightened the conservative collar, brushed back his dark hair, and walked into the meeting with a tough expression on his face. When the negotiations started, he had to make sure he got off on the right foot. He’d never had an opportunity this big before, and he relished the prospect.
A crowd of expensive suits waited for him in the boardroom—representatives of the client, family members, and legal counsel. No face bore the slightest glimmer of a friendly expression. All business. No problem.
Eduard wondered if he should have contracted a legal advocate of his own, but he preferred to be independent, without relying on supposed “experts.” He’d made many such agreements before, though never with such formality.
Behind the boardroom table hovered several go-fers, lower-echelon employees anxious for any job in a big firm. Their sole purpose was to be on call during long, arduous deliberations. Any time one of the executives had a full bladder, a go-fer would swap bodies and walk out of the room to relieve him- or herself. No need to put an important meeting on hold to take care of bodily functions.
A cadaverous old woman sat propped at the end of the long table. She leaned forward, bracing herself on shriveled arms. Her skin hung like loose fabric on her bones, tinted a grayish-green from the bizarre medical treatments she had already endured. Her eyes were sharp and reptilian, her nose pinched. Eduard had never before met a person who seemed so altogether unpleasant.
“I am very happy to meet you, Madame Ruxton.” He pumped forced charm into his voice. Her lips compressed like a purse-string drawn tight.
The tallest lawyer stepped up, and others withdrew hardcopy documents from their folders, spreading them out on the table. “You are aware of the risks, Mr. Swan? Madame Ruxton’s surgery is very serious, and you are being asked to undergo it for her. Your survival is not guaranteed. We estimate a twenty-five percent probability that you won’t live through the operation.”
“I’ll survive, no problem. I’m strong, and I’ll help the body through it. Madame Ruxton will get her money’s worth.”
“Nevertheless, we must face reality,” another lawyer said. “You have been offered a very large sum. Madame Ruxton has guaranteed that such payment will be made—unless, of course, you don’t survive the surgery.”
“Come on, she’ll make the payment either way.” Without being asked, Eduard took a seat opposite the withered old woman. “If I’m going to die in her body, she can still pay the fee. And the amount is triple if I don’t survive the operation.” He gave them all a harmless grin and shrugged his shoulders. “That decreases the incentive for any sort of medical mishap.”
The lawyers looked over at the old woman. She nodded sharply. They hadn’t really expected to get away with a death disclaimer anyway. “Of course,” one lawyer said, not offended at all, “that’s perfectly standard.”
“But I get to keep the body, by default,” the old woman said. “If you die.”
Eduard smiled at her. He had expected that part too, and he knew this was a battle he couldn’t win. “If I’m dead I won’t have any more use for it, will I?”
“Quite correct,” the woman said.
The go-fers fidgeted, waiting for something to do. One of them offered more coffee to all the parties with a hopeful expression on her face.
“Have you chosen heirs or assigns for receiving such money, should you die on the operating table, Mr. Swan?” an attorney asked.
Eduard drew out papers naming both Garth and Teresa as his beneficiaries. He had thought about adding Daragon, but the BTL would take care of him. Eduard was more worried about his other two friends.
“Are you certain you don’t want legal representation of your own?” one of Ruxton’s lawyers said.
Eduard picked up one copy of the thick contract, leaned back in the chair, and began to skim the paragraphs. “Hey, I can be as suspicious as anyone else.” He had been through similar jobs before and was aware of the various ramifications.
Unexpectedly, the old woman made deep retching sounds, as if she had a gravel pit operating inside her lungs. Her family members flocked close by, attending her with the exaggerated concern of soon-to-be-heirs.
Eduard made the bevy of attorneys wait as he read through the entire document, knowing they were being paid by the hour. He flagged certain minor points that he insisted on changing, just for the sake of appearances. “When is your surgery scheduled?”
The lawyers glanced at him, and Madame Ruxton tried to sit up straight, holding her posture with great effort. “Tomorrow.” Her salamander eyes glittered. “My body won’t last long without it.”
Though surprised that they had cut it so close, Eduard gave her his best charming smile. “Don’t you worry about a thing. My calendar’s open for you. Estimated time to full recovery?”
“Four weeks,” one of the lawyers said.
With a flourish of a pen that laid down glittering magnetic ink, he signed the contract. He did not relish the prospect of living in the old woman’s body for the operation or the recovery period, but he could do it, and afterward he would have an importance and prestige he’d never had before. It would be the start of many good things to come.
He would have extra credits to give to his friends, since Teresa had recently lost her job, and Garth still hadn’t made any money with his artwork. For himself, Eduard didn’t need the extra creature comforts he could buy, but he did like to feel the sense of getting away with something.
Smiling warmly, Eduard handed the contracts over while the attorneys swarmed about making copies, certifying documents, and no doubt charging the old crone an exorbitant fee for their ministrations.
After swapping into the aching and withered form, Eduard lay back on the surgery table. Madame Ruxton’s body was a collapsing ancient structure held together by cobwebs. The deep agony in his bones spoke of age, and his heartbeat stuttered like the slow drumbeat of a dirge. It was an effort just to endure the heavy weight of sheets around him.
The surgery would repair her deteriorating vascular system, but Madame Ruxton would never feel young and healthy again. Eduard saw her standing there in his home-body, and a calculating expression pinched his familiar face.
For the first time Eduard felt uneasy. He had covered himself with every clause he could imagine, added every legal caveat, but Madame Ruxton was a wily and desperate woman. What if he had forgotten something? What if he had been incredibly naive?
He ached so badly that he welcomed the anesthetic when the surgeons arrived. His vision blurred. He watched his own physique—Ruxton’s, for the time being—through rheumy eyes that no longer saw the world clearly.
Eduard felt the symphony of pain in his sunken chest and lungs, then drifted downward into chemically induced blackness.…