—18—
Along with three believers, Teresa took a random assortment of odds and ends to sell, donated items Rhys didn’t want to keep (since sentimental objects had no value to the overall community). By liquidating personal items, the Sharetakers could raise cash for the construction materials the enclave needed. Teresa wished she’d had a bit more of her own to sacrifice when she’d joined, but the Splinter monks had provided no luxuries.
She and her companions staked out their usual street corner and spread their wares on blankets and tables. “See these fine necklaces! Beautiful, don’t you think?” Teresa lifted one of the prismatic chains to reflect the sunlight. “Good prices here! Grooming kits, collectible dolls, paperweights.” She scanned the assortment. “Remote uplinks, personal music libraries, hand-made scarves!”
Shoppers, tourists, and businesspeople flowed by, studiously ignoring them.
Teresa raised a pudgy hand to shade her eyes. She wasn’t wearing her home-body today—in fact, she hadn’t even seen her slender, auburn-haired physique for some time. Now frizzy yellow hair wafted around her eyes, and her plump limbs felt heavy and unresponsive. Since Rhys had sent her out to proselytize, she didn’t need strong muscles.
Teresa took her turn speaking to passers-by, telling about their beliefs, about the warm feeling of acceptance and community. As she spoke the words, it felt good to reassure and remind herself. She was proud to be among the Sharetakers. It was the best thing that had ever happened to her. If only other people could open their eyes and their minds, but it was so hard to get the message across. Wasn’t anyone else searching for a meaning to life, as she had been? Had they already found their answers, or did they not care about the questions in the first place?
She smiled at a young man who stopped to pick up a portable tattoo imprinter among their wares. He played with it, then shrugged and walked away without once meeting her eyes or asking the cost.
Teresa rubbed her heavy arms. Her swollen feet hurt from standing so long. She appreciated the sacrifice this body’s original owner had made, but she hoped she could swap into a healthier body again later, preferably her own.
The day before, when Teresa had asked to get her home-body back, at least for a little while, Rhys was annoyed. “I find this one more attractive today.” His sharp eyes cut into her heart. “Don’t you want to please me?”
“But it would still be me inside—”
“Exactly.” He squeezed her shoulder—hard. “It doesn’t matter. The body means nothing, Teresa. People are interchangeable. Don’t get possessive.” He leaned closer, his breath warm on her face. “Aren’t you glad I still take you as my lover more often than any other man or woman? I like a little variety—so why can’t you wear a different body, if I ask?”
Now, Teresa had no idea who this plump woman had originally been, or who its owner was wearing today. She thought about going to find Garth again, give him another face to draw in his series of portraits. But Rhys probably wouldn’t approve of her spending time with her artist friend when there was important Sharetaker work to be done.
Though the commune was a roulette wheel of shifting bodies and interchangeable sex, she had remained Rhys’s special partner, as if he owned her. Teresa understood the pressures he faced in the day-to-day operation of their group. The charismatic leader was the glue that held the Sharetakers together, and he did the work in his head, without COM.
“Of course, Rhys.”
By the time Teresa and her companions returned to the togetherments, her back and legs were tired and sore—this body was not accustomed to standing in one spot for most of a day. She looked forward to a few hours of rest.
But upon entering the togetherments, she came instead upon a disturbing tableau. Two of the newer members stood in front of Rhys, indignant and defiant, while the redheaded leader stood livid, trying not to listen to them.
“This is a scam!” one female newcomer said. “All you do is exploit people. You take our possessions and make us work the whole day, while you sit back and reap the benefits.”
“Your Sharetakers aren’t about community and acceptance, Rhys. We share, and you take,” the second one growled. “We’re leaving before you cause us any more damage.”
The first disgruntled believer looked around, calling out. “Don’t you see what this guy’s doing to you?” She wiped her hands on her pants, as if trying to rid herself of greasy dirt. “Rhys, you’re like a tick feeding on an endless supply of blood.”
The leader clenched and unclenched his fists. Teresa could see that he was close to the boiling point. Before Rhys could speak, though, Teresa burst out, “How can you say that? We all share here, we all work. When you joined us, you agreed to do the same and—”
“Some people just can’t handle it, Teresa,” Rhys said, looking in her direction. His voice sounded like rocks rumbling together. “These two came in expecting a free ride, but now we can see they don’t really belong here.”
“Get them out of here!” one of the other Sharetakers said. “We don’t need anyone who won’t contribute their fair share.”
A faint smile flickered on Rhys’s face. “They’ve held back from us since the beginning. I checked on their finances—and these two didn’t give everything. They kept a stash in secret COM accounts, hoping we wouldn’t catch on.”
“That’s a lie!” the male newcomer said. “We have nothing left. We believed your promises and platitudes.”
Teresa looked at Rhys, growing more and more upset. The Sharetakers based their entire community on trust. She’d given everything she owned, and willingly. It astonished her to think that some of the others might have done less. The gathered believers began to close in on the dissatisfied members.
“And their work has been sloppy, too.” Rhys spread his arms. “You’ve all seen it. Think of the support wall that collapsed, and the broken window.”
“We weren’t even assigned to those jobs!” the woman said, her voice shrill.
Because the Sharetakers changed bodies so often, Teresa wasn’t sure how anyone could tell who had worked which jobs at any particular time. But Rhys would know. He stood high and mighty, basking in the support. When the newcomers had tried to spread their discontent, Rhys turned the tide against them.
Humiliated, the two disgruntled members marched off. “You can’t take any more from us than you already have, Rhys. We’re leaving—and if the rest of you don’t see what’s going on here, then you’ll just have to deal with the consequences for yourselves.”
“Get the hell out of here!” someone shouted.
“Quitters!”
“At least we still have our self-esteem,” Teresa said. She was angry that these two had unsettled her, had disturbed the peaceful atmosphere of the togetherments.
After the two protesters slid down a pair of firepoles and ran into the streets with nothing but the clothes on their backs, Rhys stood in the center of his flock. Stepping close to his side, Teresa was proud at how the Sharetakers had supported their leader.
Teresa followed him as he stalked off, knowing what he wanted, glad to give him a chance to burn some of his nervous energy. Sometimes his intensity frightened her, but it also captivated her. Rhys always knew the best way to handle a situation.
As he helped her take her clothes off with more impatience than sensuality, he shook his head with a small, superior smile. He studied her large breasts and generous hips, then squeezed her buttocks. “You’re so eager to please, Teresa—so pliable. Like a stupid puppy.”
“I thought that was what you wanted, Rhys.”
They made love quickly, mechanically, and Rhys declined to swap with her afterward and do it again in opposite bodies, claiming he was too keyed up.
When he was finished, he dressed and went back out among the Sharetakers, leaving her to lie there, feeling empty inside. She hoped that he needed her as much as she needed him—but often Teresa felt as if she was getting the lesser end of the deal.
It took her several days to get her home-body back.
In the meantime her form had been passed from one person to another to another. When she finally did return to her own set of arms and legs, the female flesh and auburn hair into which she had been born, Teresa spent a long time in front of a mirror, just reacquainting herself.
But her arms and chest had been bruised and hurt somewhere along the way, and it no longer felt the same. She was not the same person she once was.