Cog by K. Ceres Wright Read Free Book Online

across her forehead.
    The magfield chime rang again and the familiar whir of the butlyr followed.
    “What now?” Nicholle said. “Hold on, Henroi.” She paused her call and strode to the living room, half expecting a Quatrocellini purse delivery, but then remembered she hadn’t authorized an entry. The butlyr semi-opaqued the magfield to allow for speech.
    “Who is it?” Nicholle said. A shadowy figure hovered just beyond the door.
    “Talo Spyre. I’m your bodyguard. Sending up authorization now.”
    Nicholle’s periphery blinked red, then green as authorization was accepted. She allowed entry, and a tall man stepped through into the small foyer. He sported the brash confidence of a Mars shuttle commander, surveying the room as if ready to plant Old Glory between the cushions of the chintz sofa. Black hair waved back, stark against pale skin and watery blue eyes—a rugged handsomeness accented by a day’s worth of stubble. His nanon suit iridesced subtly, taking environmental readings—from room temperature to shifts in object proximity—feeding data directly to the cortex. She’d seen the like on Tuma’s personal sentry. Whoever this man was, he was top drawer.
    He proffered a hand, closer to his body than social convention dictated, as if drawing her into his space. She took the bait. He shined a perfect smile; goosebumps rose on her flesh.
    “Talo Spyre, at your service.”
    Tyla and Keala emerged from the kitchen, grinning like kids over a broken piñata. Nicholle introduced Talo and they all retreated to the living room. She messaged Henroi and told him she would call him back.
    Tyla and Keala squeezed Nicholle between them on the love seat; Talo sat opposite on the chaise lounge.
    “So…how long have you been…bodyguarding?” Nicholle said. She’d never had a bodyguard before and found the idea ludicrous. But she didn’t want to upset protocol. She had enough to worry over.
    “Ten years,” Talo said. “Mostly for corporate executives.”
    “So…what duties will you be performing?”
    He sat on the edge of the lounge, leaning forward, as if relaxing in a chair was a luxury rarely afforded. “I will plan routes, search rooms you’ll be in, check the background of people with whom you’ll have contact, search your vehicle, and escort you on your daily activities.”
    “Is all this really necessary? I mean, it’s not like we’ve had issues at AmHo where people have threatened lives. And excuse me, Mr. Spyre, I didn’t offer you anything to drink.”
    She fought her way from between Tyla and Keala and headed for the kitchen. “Is ginger ale all right?” she called out behind her. “I also have tea, coffee, water, and juice.” She grabbed a glass from the cabinet and stood at an open refrigerator, waiting for a reply. None came.
    Then two lason shots.
    Goosebumps. Her mind raced, instincts leaching back from street days. She pulled open the dish-towel drawer, reached at the back, and grabbed a Semi. Footsteps. Blue heat crackled past her head and she fell back, prize in hand. She pointed and fired blindly. She took out part of the wall, but nothing else. A sliding sound, as of someone crawling on carpet, and she lunged right and fired.
    A scream. Got him! He rolled, groaning, but twisted an arm around. His blast took out the Monet print on the wall, water lillies now a blackened hole. Nicholle fired at his back. His arm thudded softly on the carpet. She stood still for a moment, taking in the scene of a charred body lying on her dining room floor; she slid down the wall, scarcely believing what transpired…like 2D film noir. Tyla!
    “Tyla!”
    She ran to the living room and took in the gruesome scene.
    Too late.
    Blackened heads lolled at odd angles, bodies slumped to the side. Tears welled and streamed. She slid down the wall until she reached the floor and cried.
    When the oppression of three dead bodies nearby became too much, she cogged Chris. His face hovered before her, sporting a