Cog Read online

Tears streamed again.

  “Stay there. Don’t cog anyone. I’ll be right there.”

  b

  She sat on her bed, wishing she had a pakz when the bell rang. Nicholle ran to the door, checking authorization on the way. Opened the magfield, pulled Chris inside, and opaqued it.

  “Oh, my god,” he said. He surveyed the scene, holding a hand to his mouth. The odor of burnt flesh had dissipated somewhat, but still pervaded the room. Nicholle had never shot anyone before; bad odors were the last thing she had expected.

  “The hell do we do? Call the cops?” she said. The idea of calling the police on oneself railed against her sensibilities as an ex-drug dealer. But she would do it to keep from being charged with murder.

  Chris still stood, running his hand over chin stubble.

  “Chris!”

  He jerked. “I don’t know, Nicholle,” he said, irritably. “I’ve never had to handle burnt bodies before.”

  “You’re acting like this is my fault.”

  “Don’t be—Hold on. Cog from Jamie,” Chris said. He tapped open the line. “Yes?…What? Wait, you can’t be serious. Hold on.” He turned to Nicholle. “Turn on the HV.”

  “What? You want to watch holovision, now?”

  “Jamie said Perim just announced that we stole twenty billion from the company,” he said, motioning for the HV. It clicked on. Hovering before them was a company photo of Chris in a navy suit next to one of Nicholle in an orange gown attending the Fire and Ice Ball.

  “In other news,” the newscaster’s voice droned, “American Hologram, known as AmHo, has announced that its Vice President, Chris Kappert, and company heiress, Nicholle Ryder, allegedly embezzled twenty billion dollars from the corporation. Arlington County police are investigating…”

  Nicholle’s body slacked and she collapsed on the couch. A lightheaded consciousness encroached, leaving her disoriented and speechless. Her mind reeled and surreality stole over the scene.

  “I don’t believe this,” she whispered. “It can’t be happening.”

  “Damnit,” Chris said. “First your father collapses, then your brother skips town with company cash, Perim’s bodyguard kills your friends, and now this. What the hell, Nicholle? We’ve got to go back to AmHo and clear our names.”

  When she didn’t respond, Chris stalked over, snatched her up by the shoulders, and shook her.

  “Nicholle! We have to call Perim and clear this up.”

  When she regained some semblance of coherency, something tightened in the back of her mind—instincts honed from years past. From years of covering my ass.

  “Are you insane?” she said. “This Perim wants us out of the way. If we return, he’ll just have us arrested. We need to go some place where we can find out more about this guy. Who is he? Where’d he come from? What are his weaknesses? In other words, we need to get the hell out of here.”

  Chapter 4

  Wills twisted on the satin sheets, inhaling the salt air that wafted in with the morning light. The woman next to him shifted to her side, surprising him. He had forgotten she was there. The ebony of the sheets blended with her hair, but contrasted with her skin’s saffron undertone. The swell of her breasts aroused him, even through his groggy consciousness. He reached over, then a call came through, chiming in his periphery with jarring flashes. Call from Meloi Ghio. He swung out of bed and walked out onto the balcony. Closed the glass partition.

  His skin tingled with the warmth of Narara Island. A wide expanse of blue ocean lay beyond. He was far away from everything and everyone, and he had wanted to be as far away as possible when the news hit the media.

  He answered the cog. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  Meloi held up a glass in a mock toast. He was sitting in an armchair next to a Great Dane. Behind him was a large batik print of a war scene outside the Great Wall.

  “Hello to you, too,” he said.

  “I thought we were past idle chit-chat,” Wills said.

  “Common courtesy never goes out of style. Now, as to your question…Chris asked Nicholle to take over. She agreed.”

  Wills turned around, as if Meloi were sitting behind him on the balcony. “What? She hated working there.”

  “I know. But apparently Chris convinced her. Told me he used the guilt trip about people losing jobs if there’s no family continuity.”

  “Shit. I didn’t want her in the picture,” Wills said.

  “Too late. The company also sold some commercial paper and furniture and fixtures to an upstream supplier to keep the ratios up.”

  “Predictable. Does she know about Perim?”

  Meloi shrugged. “I’m assuming she does by now. He told the whole world that she and Chris embezzeled twenty billion. She’s probably on the run now. I’d say he’s got the company presidency in sight.”

  “Shit! I knew I shouldn’t have put anything past that bastard.”

  “You want me to off him?”

  Wills paused, stroking his goatee. “No, that would bring more police scrutiny. She can take care of herself. She’s been on the street before.”

  “Yes, me bwana. How go the clinical trials?” Meloi clawed the air with index and middle fingers when he said, “clinical.”

  “I’m meeting with Rob and Douglas today for an update. I’ll let you know.”

  “All right. Anything else?”

  Wills shook his head. “No. Not right now. I’ll cog later. Sayo.”

  Meloi faded to the ocean waves breaking on the shore. The balcony door slid open and the woman whose name Wills hadn’t remembered stood in the doorway. The curtains swirled around her bare form.

  “I’ve got an eight thirty conference call,” she said in accented English. She raised one eyebrow in a beckoning gesture and approached him. Her hands feathered his muscled torso and a smile caught her lips.

  “Bagus sekali,” she said.

  He didn’t know much Indonesian, but he knew that was good. Wills prided himself on keeping in shape. His body was something he could control with absolute certainty, and he paid particular attention to it.

  “And I’ve got a meeting, so we’d better make the most of the next hour.” Wills ran his hand down her back, savoring her silky skin. He led her back into the bedroom.

  b

  Holographic data screens filled the middle of the room, with numbers scrolling from the top to the bottom of gridless squares. Bodies lined three of the four walls, each on a readout bed. Data hovered—recipient name, donor name, vitals, brain maps, and some other graphics Wills couldn’t make out.

  He crossed his arms and surveyed the lab with a rare sense of wonder. He silently thanked Thia Wayan. Without the information he’d stolen from her node, none of this would have been possible. And to think he’d just been sniffing around, hoping to find an angle on a foreign client. Instead, he’d stumbled on preliminary studies on consciousness transference.

  A few white-coat-clad attendants moved among the patients, adjusting data and dosages.

  “Good morning, Mr. Ryder,” said a voice behind him.

  He twisted around. “Pam. Have you seen Rob and Doug?”

  She jerked her head to her left. “They’re in the conference room. There’s pizza, but you’d better hurry.”

  “Thanks.”

  Wills angled past odd-looking machinery and through several holo body scans to make his way to the conference room. He walked in to find the two men poring over data screens.

  “Gentlemen,” Wills said. “How are things?”

  They exchanged a glance, as if each were seeking a confirmation of his own personal assessment.

  Rob, the taller of the two, with grey hair and inquisitive eyes, spoke first.

  “We’re not seeing full personality transference. There’s l
eakage from the original.”

  “In how many test subjects?” Wills said.

  “All of them. Although we get better results in younger subjects,” Doug added. “The brain patterning for them is not as fixed as in older ones. And we don’t get much use at all out of the brain-damaged burnouts.”

  Wills had arranged to acquire the bodies of AmHo subscribers who had chosen medinite-assisted suicide—those without concerned friends and family. Instead of the medinites causing death, they put the subject in a coma. He’d greased the palms of a few doctors with questionable qualifications to pronounce death, then leave with the body and ship it to Narara.

  “It’s not the new Cog 2 server, is it?” Wills said.

  “No, the server is fine,” Rob said, shaking his head.

  “What if you…try stopping the heart, waiting a few minutes, uploading the patterning, then restarting the heart?” Wills said.

  “A sort of reboot?” Rob said, skeptically.

  “If that’s what you want to call it,” Wills said. “At this point, I suggest you try everything possible.”

  Rob backed away from the table and leaned against the glass partition. “It would be better if we started off with a relatively blank slate. Like an adult clone.”

  Doug looked away. Human cloning was illegal in most countries, although there were tales of rogue labs on floating platforms in international waters that had successfully performed human cloning experiments. Some even said they ‘walked among us.’ Others said, ‘Horseshit.’

  “Gentlemen, if clones are what you need, then clones are what you’ll get. However, I put the burden on you. You know the rumors. Track them down and get what information you need. My resources are at your disposal. I’m in this for the long haul, but know that neither my time nor my patience is unlimited. So be as quick about it as you can.”

  “But…” Doug began, then lowered his voice as if in conspiracy. “If you want this to be commercially viable, this will have to be legal in First World countries.”

  Wills admired the man’s business sense. Rare in a scientist, he thought. “You just leave that to me.”

  “We could also use some more techrus,” Rob said. “Some good ones.”

  “You’re in luck,” Wills said. “I know just where to get some.”

  b

  Wills slid on his shades after stepping out into the blaze of white sun that reflected off the sand. He walked to the end of the porch and spied a boat in the distance. Watched it trawl across the horizon, waited for the ripples to reach shore. The lab had once been a yacht club for resort-goers. Now it was a holding place for the sick and dying.

  He cogged Senator Joan McKay of Maryland. Got her secretary, Mason. She had a high-bridged nose that sloped down to hooked nostrils.

  “Mason, is Joan in?”

  “Hold on, hon,” she said.

  Mason blanked out. The next image was that of the senator. She wore a pale green suit that complemented her olive skin and highlighted hair.

  “Wills, long time,” she said. “Sorry to hear about your father. And what’s this about you and your sister absconding with company money?” She leaned back in her chair, intrigue crossing her features.

  “It’s all a big misunderstanding.”

  “Mmm hm.”

  “Everything will be cleaned up next week. Anyway, I have a proposal.” He paused.

  “Go on.”

  “This is a long-term proposal. I know this will not happen overnight, but I need you to start research on this legislation.”

  “Wills, you’re teasing me like a burlesque stripper. Out with it.”

  Wills grinned. “There’s the Joan I love and admire. Ready? Human cloning.”

  She leaned forward, brows knit, and propped her head on one hand. “Are you insane?”

  “I can assure you I am not. But…let me take you to dinner when I get back in town. I have some…interesting news to share.”

  “It had better be fuckin’ dynamite,” Joan said.

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll be blown away.”

  Joan rolled her eyes. “Interface with my schedule and post a date. Ciao.”

  Wills tapped out and strolled a bit down the beach. The sun, sand, and waves made for a pleasant view. But he wasn’t the type to stay long on vacation. He had to be in the middle of things, managing projects, checking financials, running stock numbers, manipulating people and things. That’s how he relaxed. Not sitting idly by while the world kept spinning around him. He supposed one day he’d slow down and be content with life. But he figured he wouldn’t be disposed to such an existence for another thirty to forty years.

  He had worked for his father for the past decade, learning, watching…waiting. Remembering what had happened all those years ago. And now all Wills had to do was wait five days. Five days until he could exact revenge. And it would be sweet, he promised himself.

  As for Perim, Wills had installed a setup for him, and he was waiting to see if he took the bait.

  Chapter 5

  “And he’s still complaining about not getting secret clearance, bragging that he had it at his last job, and that the managers must be idiots. I mean it’s been three years. If he doesn’t have it now, he ain’t gonna get it. You know what I mean?”

  Thia Wayan trained her eyes on Menzel’s mouth to help her understand what he was saying. The cacophony in the crowded bar drowned out most conversations, and this was one she had been waiting to hear. Menzel was just an average spotter whose job it was to seek out potential recruits, but Thia had had her eye on a particular recruit for some time. Patience was the name of the game, and it usually paid off in the end.

  “Did you invite him here, as I asked?”

  “Yeah, but I dunno. He kinda keeps to himself. Said he might drop by, might not. Personally, I think he’s a bit stuck up,” Menzel said. He kept ogling the brunette at the bar, who returned his interest. Her cleavage threatened to spill out of a tight sweater with a plunging neckline. The sweater kept changing colors, blue, then black, pink, then blue again. Men were so simple, she thought. Thia swirled her gin and tonic, then drained it.

  “Well, thank you, Menzel. Your efforts, as always, are appreciated. I think I’ll just hang around for a bit, though.” She had slipped a five-thousand-dollar money chip under a cardboard coaster when she first sat down. Now she slid the coaster across the table to Menzel.

  Menzel’s fingers expertly picked up the chip. He winked at her, then headed for the woman at the bar.

  Thia retrained her focus on the milling patrons, mentally creating profiles: middle class, average student who used a prominent neighbor’s reference to become a senator’s aide; Georgetown graduate who’s slumming it with her ne’er-do-well boyfriend; administrative assistant who’s not shy about using what she has to climb to the next level. It was an exercise designed to keep her mind sharp and relieve boredom. But lately she’d been creating the same few profiles.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar face. Neer Bol.

  His hair lay flat, parted to one side, widow’s peak pointing down to an aquiline nose. An intelligence still peered from behind his eyes, coldly calculating. A taut Windsor knot lay atop a spread-collar shirt, underneath a dark blue pinstripe suit, sleeves ending in gold cufflinked folds.

  He shouldered his way to the bar and raised an arm, trying to get the bartender’s attention, who was busy pouring drinks for a group of blondes at the other end. Neer looked out of place with his stiff demeanor and passé fashion, juxtaposed with the three twenty-something males dressed in the latest smoothskins. Colors and images slid over bodies in synchronous timing—proximity patterning.

  Thia motioned to the bartender, whom she had tipped generously for her drink, holding up her empty glass and pointing to Neer. The bartender nod
ded and headed down the bar. He handed Neer his order and, when Neer tried to pay, waved his hand in refusal and tilted his head in Thia’s direction. The look on Neer’s face almost made her laugh. After he closed his mouth, he eyed her suspiciously, then sidled over to her table. He balanced his drink as he pushed his way through the throng. He edged around the booth and sat down.

  “Well, well. Fancy meeting you here,” he said. He had the same smooth baritone voice with the slight gravel edge she remembered.

  “I just stopped by. Thought this looked like a nice place,” Thia said.

  “Bull. You’re never seen unless you want to be seen. Don’t tell me. You’ve got a spotter at American Hologram.”

  “You always did cut to the chase.” That was one thing about working with those in the business. They knew the routine.

  “Did he or she tell you that Kalinska is having money problems, and that Urbana is a closet hetero?” Neer said.

  “I’m not interested in the others,” Thia said.

  “Oh? That so?”

  “How long has it been since you worked at the department?”

  Out of the window on M Street, white fairy lights illumined the bare trees that lined the sidewalk. Groups of workers passed underneath, on their way to the next bar. The street was a favorite after-work hangout. A recruiter’s dream.

  Thia turned her attention back at Neer. The vein in his temple throbbed. The mere mention of his old place of employ must have set off internal alarm bells. He swallowed hard.

  “Three years, two months, fifteen days.”

  Three years and the poor bastard still kept track. This should be a cinch. “Ever think of coming back?”

  “Every damned day,” he said. “But we know that’s not happening.”