Ms. Wright has been watching science fiction (SF) since she
was three years old. As she grew, she became less and less satisfied with the
limited role minorities played in many SF books, shows, and movies, and decided
to write SF that better reflected the diversity of the real world. Her first
novel, Cog, was published by Raw Dog Screaming Press in July
2013. Her other work has appeared in Genesis: An Anthology of Black
Science Fiction; Hazard Yet Forward; Many Genres, One Craft; The 2008 Rhysling
Anthology; Far Worlds Anthology; and the upcoming Diner
Stories Anthology.
Excerpt from Cog
Perim Nestor stood watch over Arlington from a curved window
office in the American Hologram building. A scrim of clouds obscured most of
the evening sky as commuters headed home, yet a roseate sunset tinged the
underside of the grey, offering hope of a sunny tomorrow. Reflections from the
streets below, clotted with the red of brake lights, danced merrily on nearby
buildings.
Perim abandoned his watch and took up residence against a
credenza along the opposite wall, arms folded, jaw clenched, waiting for the
coming storm. He did not have to wait long.
“You’re joking, right?”
William Ryder stretched the skin between his eyebrows with
his thumb and index finger, then formed a fist and slammed it on the table in
front of him. He stood up, hunching over the edge of his father’s cherry wood
desk. The owner sat on the opposite side, glaring. Light from a squat,
burnished pewter lamp threw up blurry shadows on the metal paneling.
“Right?”
“Wills, sit down!” The stentorian voice of Geren Ryder
echoed in the large office. The bones of his face set like ice, holdovers of
the Last Glacial Maximum. Salt-and-pepper hair framed a mahogany canvas.
His son was a mirror image, only more muscular, with a
coloring of polished sepia.
Perim Nestor remained silent. However spartan the office, it
reflected more than the green and brown décor. It reflected the
multi-trillion-dollar company that Geren Ryder had built from scratch. And he
was used to being listened to.
Wills sat down, but the tenseness remained. He hovered on
the edge of the chair, ready to spring. Geren continued, his voice now measured
and calm.
“I didn’t know Perim was my son until last week. After I
confirmed it, I’ve been...coming to grips with the implications.”
“Confirmed?” Wills said. “So it’s been confirmed that you
whored around on my mother. As if I hadn’t already known. And what do you
expect me to do? Jump up and say, ‘I’ve always wanted a brother’? Shed
heartfelt tears and give him a slap on the back?”
Silence. The ether froze, like hanging mist on a December
morning. Perim drew up his lips and met the flinty stare Wills leveled at him.
He couldn’t blame the man. Heir apparent to a wireless hologram empire and
presto change-o…a long-lost older brother appears.
“Does Nicholle know?” Wills said, eyes still riveted on
Perim.
“No. She’s busy recreating the Prado in Anacostia. I didn’t
want to distract her. It’s her first full-scale exhibit,” Geren said.
Wills relaxed somewhat, straightening and placing his arm on
the desk. Mrs. Arthur Knowles and her Two Sons looked on the proceedings from
the wall behind Geren. In the painting, Mrs. Knowles was sitting on a couch,
one son clinging to her as his hand rested on a book. The other son lay
wrong-way on the couch, barefoot, his hand on his chin, as if contemplating
some mischief.
“I don’t want anything material…no money, no stock. I just
want acknowledgment,” Perim said.
“Acknowledgment!” Wills sprang from his seat. “And why do I
have a hard time believing that? On the eve of my father announcing his
retirement from American Hologram, you just happen to show up.”
Wills approached Perim, jabbing a finger in the air between
them.
“I’ve dealt with drug dealers, pimps, and CEOs, and I know
bullshit when I hear it. It’s all the same. You want something. Something like
American Hologram.”
Perim straightened. “I head my own accounting firm. What
would I need with your company?”
“Why settle for a little power, when you can have a lot?”
“Is that your life’s motto?” Perim stole a glance at Geren.
“In that case, you’d better watch your back, Father.”
Too late Perim noticed the oncoming blur of flesh, the
carpet rising to meet the side of his face. His next view was of a sideways
Potomac River through the curve of the picture window. The reflection of neon
pinks and blues undulated in the invisible waves and careened like a
slow-motion merry-go-round. Wills’ feet left his field of vision. Wind chimes
whispered as he exited through the magfield.
“I should have told you he boxed in college,” Geren said,
matter-of-factly.
“No shit,” Perim said, only it came out sounding like, “Oh
ih.” His head spun, mental function a whirlpool. He edged up on one elbow, then
leaned against the credenza and slid upright. The room slowed.
“
You’ll come to work for me. I’ll make you a vice president,
but you’ll have to prove your mettle,” Geren said. “Especially to Wills. He can
be a hothead, but he respects skill.”
“I have my own—”
“Company, yes. That has a quick ratio of point seven eight.
How long do you expect to stay in business running those numbers?” Geren arose
and began packing a briefcase that lay open on the desk.
Perim pulled himself to standing, gripping the credenza. “We
just scored a large contract with the defense department.” He rubbed his jaw,
hoping there would be no bruise.
Geren guffawed. “If you call forty million a large contract.
Look, it’s settled. I just sent in the approval. Let your second run the
company and you report here first thing in the morning. But…we will wait on the
acknowledgement until after I announce my retirement.” He closed the case and
hefted it off the desk. “Come prepared to learn. See you tomorrow.”
Wind chimes echoed again as Geren disappeared through the
doorway. Perim smiled to himself. This is going better than
expected.
No comments:
Post a Comment