Free Cog by K. Ceres Wright Page B

Nicholle, this is L.G.”
    L.G. reached out a hand. Nicholle nodded as she shook it. “Just call me Nick,” she said, slipping into her old persona.
    Chris threw her a look, but she shook her head.
    “So what brings you here? I heard you landed some mahatma job at AmHo. Didn’t think we’d see you again,” L.G. said.
    L.G. walked inside and Chris and Nicholle followed close behind. The hardwood foyer opened to a long hallway with a staircase to the left. Grunge yellow covered the walls, accented with brown marks and small holes. Old-style computers blanketed in a layer of dust crowded the hallway, forcing the pair to walk single file back to the kitchen. Nicholle stepped gingerly along the creaking floor, wondering if it would give way any minute.
    The kitchen lay ahead, mirroring the grunge yellow of the hallway. A microgen oven sat on a burgundy counter littered with dirty dishes. A netfridge stood to the right, displaying its contents onscreen: two cases of beer, an apple, and an expired bottle of French dressing.
    Nicholle forced her face into a mask of tight indifference, even as she longed to call for a biohazard unit.
    “You guys want a beer?” L.G. said.
    “No, I’m not thirsty,” Chris said. He turned. “Nick?” His voice dripped sarcasm.
    “No, thanks, though,” she replied.
    “Cor’s downstairs,” L.G. said.
    “Great,” Chris said.
    Chris opened the door to the basement and started down the stairs with Nicholle in tow. She had expected a dank-looking room with more cracked concrete and perhaps some exposed wires. Instead, the floor was blanketed with rich brown carpet, offset by beige walls decorated with murals of oils by the masters that shifted one to the next: La Primavera by Botticelli, Daniel in the Lions’ Den by Rubens, The Astronomer by Vermeer. They changed in rhythm to pulsating music that sounded throughout the basement.
    A flash of red drew her attention away from the murals toward the middle of the large room. A huge red dragon with two fire-breathing heads clawed at a knight. The knight wielded a broadsword, stabbing the air as it kept missing the weaving dragon’s head. The sword finally found its target and slashed down on one of the dragon’s necks. The head fell off, hemorrhaging blood onto the carpet. The other head spewed a stream of fire at the knight, who raised his shield in defense, letting the fire wash over him. When the dragon’s attack relented, the knight reared up and threw the broadsword at the dragon. Its tail whipped around and batted away the sword, which disappeared at the edge of the carpet. The music grew louder. The dragon leaped forward and landed on the knight, knocking him to the floor, then raised its head with a plangent roar. As the echoes of the roar faded, the music crescendoed and the dragon’s head dove for the knight.
    “No!” Nicholle cried. She was embarrassed as soon as she uttered the word, forgetting for that split second that the scene was not real.
    The dragon froze, the music stopped, and the knight’s armor faded away to reveal a brown-skinned man with hooded eyes and shoulder-length cornrows.
    “Cor. Hey, man,” Chris said. He helped the knight up. Two people’s voices could be heard from one of the back rooms, whose door was ajar. They sounded as if they were arguing.
    “Hey, keep it down back there! Jeeb, Chris,” Cor said. “Look at you. All suited up and shit.” He looked past Chris to Nicholle and smiled. He snapped his finger and the music stopped.
    “Nicholle Ryder, daughter of Geren Ryder, who invented wireless hologram,” Cor said. “On the run from the cops.”
    “Sheesh, news travels,” Nicholle said, slightly taken aback. “But I never stole any money.”
    She changed the subject, gestured toward the murals. “You like art? Interesting choice of paintings in the rotation. Any particular reason?”
    Cor snorted. “That was left here by the previous owner.”
    “Oh. Well, anyway…thanks for letting us